I'm sorry, I suddenly decided I didn't like the first chapter (while I was supposed to be working on the second chapter...)
For the time being, please pretend this is the first time I'm posting this, ooh look a shiny "new" story!
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x plus size f!reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Warnings: Mentions of overeating and weight gain, eventual smut, belly kink, weight gain kink, Dieter probably needs a warning all to himself, possible awful writing, I don't know how to write smut so don't say you weren't warned.
Synopsis: Dieter needs to gain weight for a role and goes in search of help, which he finds in the form of the reader; a plus size/feedism occasional content creator who has been longing to feed someone other than herself...
Dieter Bravo fic ch1
“Hold on. Gain weight?!” Dieter said after a long pause.
“It’s not that big of a deal, they say it’s integral to the authenticity of the character and thought you’d be the perfect fit. Well, once you’ve, you know-
“Gotten fat?” He interrupted incredulously. He was still a little high from an earlier gummy and wasn’t entirely convinced he was getting the right end of the stick.
“Fat-ter. Neither of us are ‘pre-lockdown’ weight any more, Doll”, His agent sighed down the phone.
Dieter wrinkled his nose, mildly offended. “Charming.”
She laughed and quickly chimed in to reassure him, “Hey, don’t knock it, it’s working for ya. Your fans are going feral for that behind the scenes stuff they shot on ‘Cliff Beasts’. Women love a ‘Dad bod’, Dieter.”
“Fine, send it over” He groaned as a farewell and let his arm drop dead weight to the side of him on the bed where he was stretched out on his back, aforementioned softened tummy bare and poking out over the waistband of his boxers, significantly further than it had done only a couple of years ago. Not that he’d ever really considered what his body looked like, he paid minimal attention when he looked in the mirror and his attentive assistant took note whenever Dieter grumbled that his clothes were feeling too tight and simply refreshed his wardrobe without fanfare.
He ran his hands over the soft curve of his belly and squeezed the flesh a few times, absentmindedly squishing and jiggling it as he pondered the part that was probably already in his inbox.
Gain weight. Could be fun, he’d just need to get takeout more often and stock up on snacks, right? He reached over the side of the bed and dragged his laptop up in front of him, opening his emails and scanning through the most recent to get the gist of what they wanted.
Several words caught his eye, confirming what his agent had just told him:
“Out of shape”, “Chubby”, “Let himself go”.
Hmm. He had already put on a little weight after all, and they did specify him as ideal for the role. ‘A few extra pounds would be nothing’, he thought as another email notification popped up. He noticed it had come from the casting director, most likely desperate to get him on board immediately after getting a positive response from his agent. Dieter clicked on the new email and again gave it a quick once over. His eyebrows raised in surprise and he spluttered out loud.
“Forty pounds?!”
He wondered how much weight he’d put on in lockdown, and thought maybe he was already most of the way there until he saw the words “Based on your appearance in ‘Cliff Beasts 6: The Battle for Everest’ we’d like you to gain 40lbs, checking in with us when you’ve gained 20lbs to update us on your appearance…”
Blinking hard as he made sure he was reading it right, he sighed and rolled onto his back, belly once again standing out a little from his body, rounded and smooth.
“Fuck it” he exhaled, and sent his agent a two-word text message.
“I’m in”.
—-----
Three days had passed and Dieter had, he thought, been doing a great job at putting on weight. His assistant had picked up takeout for every meal, picking the most calorific meals on the menu and making sure to include several deep fried sides for good measure.
On day two he had stood on his scales and felt a smug satisfaction that they reported a two pound increase, but that smug feeling quickly disappeared on day three when the scales showed he was back where he started. This pattern happened again. And again. Oh.
Clearly he had underestimated how difficult this was going to be, and needed to come at this challenge from a new angle. How on earth do people gain weight on purpose? He wasn’t the first actor to be asked to get fat for a role, but there was no way he was going to admit he needed help with his craft, not to anyone in the business at least. Dieter grabbed his laptop out again and flipped up the lid.
It turns out that most of the results you get when you search “weight gain” are for weight loss advice. Not helpful. A search for “How to gain weight” returned uninspiring tips such as “increase your calorie intake”. Based on the disappointing numbers on his scales that day he rolled his eyes at the page and decided he needed to be creative with his searches. After a few minutes of thinking and dismissing similar search phrases, he jabbed the keys apprehensively.
“Fatten me up”
A variety of results appeared and Dieter started scrolling through, determined to find something with the personal touch, real people, body builders maybe? A forum? A forum! Forums are full of real people, he’s bound to find somebody who knows how to bulk up quickly. He clicked on the link and was taken aback by the massive amount of photos of people. They weren’t bodybuilders, exactly, but they definitely looked like they’d know how to help him put on weight. People of varying degrees of fatness, chubby women and big-bellied men, all touching their bodies to show off their rolls and swells, highlighting their biggest and roundest parts, and Dieter was loving every curve.
He navigated his way to a thread enticingly named “Fatten Me Up Challenge” and found himself instantly drawn to the photo attached to the first post . A round, soft looking woman, with mesmerising curves and wearing the sexiest lingerie he’d ever seen. Or maybe it was regular lingerie but the way it was being filled out and stretched over her body was intoxicating and was something he wished he could experience seeing for the first time all over again. Her face was obscured but that seemed to be a common factor looking at the rest of the thread. He read the post, dated around a year ago, and as the title suggested she was setting herself a challenge to gain weight over a certain period of time. He immediately started scrolling down through the replies of people sending messages of support, asking questions, and in a lot of cases, just being downright horny. He didn’t want to know what they had to say, though. He needed to know if she hit her target.
Several pages later his curiosity was rewarded and his jaw dropped slightly as he took in the side by side comparison on the screen, noting the caption underneath: “40lbs in 2 months!”
Holy shit. His cock twitched as his eyes dragged over the image, taking in the way her breasts bulged over the cups of her bra, how insanely grabbable her hips looked, and how fucking soft and inviting her belly looked. Again, her face was hidden but he could tell from her features at the edge of her face that she was smiling.
He looked at her profile name, ‘FeedMeFillMe’ and he grinned at the suggestive words she’d chosen. He’d have to make a profile too if he wanted to talk to her, and then came the challenge of making an equally fitting and suggestive name. He started filling in his profile while he thought of a name, hastily filling in the bare minimum so he could send his opening message and hopefully start a conversation, then turned his attention back up to the username box. He typed out a few names, each time deleting it and rolling his eyes at how corny they sounded. He took a moment to think and decided he needed to utilise his fortunately innuendo-laden initial, then chuckled softly to himself as he slowly stabbed the keys to fill in the field.
sorry I always felt undesirable my entire life and it gave me kinks of wanting someone to desire me so extremely it's uncontrollable for them as if that's my fault
Warnings: Self-fatphobia, minor eating disorder (if you read between the lines), reader has PCOS, unprotected sex, creampie
Main Masterlist | Cowboytober Masterlist
Calories, a lot of calories. That used to be the only thought on your head when you ate anything aside from fruits and vegetables, had grown up as a fat kid didn’t help at all with your relationship with food.
God or whatever above knew how much you tried to fit a size 0 jeans, how many crazy diets and fasting methods you tried all your life, but your genetics were inclined to the weight gain and the late diagnostic of PCOS assured you that the size 0 would be almost, if not impossible to reach. You hated to look at yourself for a long period, until you realized that it was pointless, being so mean to yourself wouldn’t make you skinny and it made you feel horrible for nothing.
On the complete opposite side of all this was Jack.
At the very moment you extracted from Ginger the names of Jack’s exes and went a bit too deep on their social media, you hadn’t a single doubt that he wasn’t truly interested in you and all that was a joke, because, in your mind, there was no way he would look at you after have dated girls that easily could be on the Victoria’s Secret fashion show.
What you didn’t know was that it had an explanation. While living in Bardstown, his hometown, he didn’t have many possibilities aside from skinny girls, both the fact that the small town hasn’t been dominated by the big city’s bad habits or because there, as in a lot of rural towns, girls would be taught since the early age that their lifetime goal could only be getting married, and no man would want a fat wife. When he got into Statesman, despite being in Louisville, Kentucky’s most populated city, the social circle in which he had been inserted was the high-class one and Jack knew very well that rich ladies would spend 90% of their lifetime on a doctor’s table if it was necessary, doing absurd amounts of plastic surgery just for the sake of remaining on that humanely unreachable skinny frame.
And then the night you met happened.
Jack got immediately interested as his eyes laid on you and when the common friend of you two told him cowboys weren’t your type, it didn’t prevent him from taking his chances with you, ending with you two getting married around five months later.
If anyone got to search for the meaning of happiness, the result would probably be an image of Jack randomly looking at you during the day. Not only were you the best wife he could ask for, loving his country life and dear animals as much as him, but you also made him feel loved and cherished for the first time in his life and looked like a damn walking dream in front of his eyes.
Jack always knew he’d be completely obsessed with every curve of your body at the moment he put his hands on you, what he didn’t expect was all the rest that seemed to awake inside him. It wasn’t just your plump body that drove him completely feral, but the idea that he could put a bit more weight on you casually making your favorite meals or buying your favorite snacks or candies and that he would get to see you eating every crumb of it got the man almost climbing up the walls.
His thoughts on that late morning weren’t so different from that as he cooked lunch while you were grooming and playing with the dogs. As you entered the kitchen, the warm smell of food felt like a caress on your nose. You approached Jack with a curious gaze, unable to suppress a smile when you saw that he had made gyoza, one of your favorite foods.
“You’re not from this world, cowboy.” You joked while wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.
“What’s so shocking about a man pleasing his wife?” he turned his head slightly with a smirk, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then holding one gyoza for you “Try it, my love.” You didn’t hesitate before doing it, chewing it slowly so you could savor every little taste your palate was able to identify. Jack couldn’t help but smile at your pleased expression.
“Damn, this is amazing.” You said after swallowing all the food “I’ll take a shower, then I’ll get back to smash these gyozas.” You chuckled and kissed his cheek before following upstairs.
You took a good time in the shower to get rid of all the fur from the dogs that was on you, when you walked back to the bedroom, you found quite a scene: the lights were turned off so the only lighting was from the windows, which wasn’t much considering the cloudy day; your favorite soft comforter on the bed, your all-time-favorite movie ready to be played, and the plate of gyozas on the nightstand.
“What did I miss?” you questioned approaching the bed and looking at Jack with a smile.
“Well, we have no work for the rest of the day, so I thought you might enjoy a little rest.” He said with that charming smirk, sitting on the bed and taping his thigh. You promptly moved to nest on his lap, smiling like a happy kid as he coed you in his arms.
You got quite entertained by the movie, even being the thousand time you watched it, having to worry about nothing but chew the gyozas since Jack was making sure to feed you. Being distracted by the TV, you didn’t promptly notice Jack’s fascinated expression observing you eat.
If he asked to, Jack would be unable to explain that feeling, but the simple image of you degusting food so unworriedly made him feral; your jaw moving as you chewed, the soft motion of your throat muscles as you swallowed, the way your belly got rounder when you got carried away and ate too much. Every single detail of that made him completely out of his mind, and it just got worse when he causally found some pictures of your wedding and confirmed that you had put on some pounds since then.
Jack got absorbed in his thoughts, still feeding and petting you, unable to suppress everything going on in his mind. You were clueless about everything until you shifted slightly to settle better and felt something pressing against your leg. At first, you assumed it would be the belt buckle, another second passed and you remembered Jack was wearing sweatpants, then it could be just one thing. You turned to look and confirmed what you already expected while seeing that familiar budge.
“Did I miss anything?” you questioned both curious and confused.
“I haven’t lied when I said you look adorable while eating.” Jack shrugged while caressing your neck. Despite his sincere tone, you got slightly self-conscious as you realized how many gyozas you had eaten, looking down with your cheeks flushed. “Hey” Jack grabbed your face between his hands “Don’t get shy, little bee.” He leaned to press a soft kiss on your forehead, moving his hands down to your stomach, caressing it gently, and taking a sigh from you. “C’mere. Let me show you how much I love every inch of you.” Easily he manhandled you to straddle his thighs, leaning to kiss your shoulder while caressing your hips.
You could only melt on his hands, enjoying how he grabbed handfuls of you, massaging and squeezing your plump flesh, leaving no doubts about how much he desired you. Being a smooth lover, Jack got you so entertained while kissing and groping you that it took a moment for you to realize he had taken off your nightgown, making no flourishes before sitting you on his cock since you were already dripping wet. It felt like your brain was turned off, your thoughts were a complete blur as your husband’s strong rough hands held and caressed your hips, keeping you comfortably in place as he fucked you slowly, his eyes never losing sight of every little detail of your plentiful frame.
Jack intended to hold his wider desires, but at the same time, he couldn’t control his imagination, so he decided to feed his thoughts, more exactly, feed you. Your wandering mind was brought back to reality as you felt a gentle rub on your bottom lip and you opened your eyes, finding Jack looking at you with a satisfied smirk, like a mischievous cat observing a fish. You didn’t quite understand what was the matter as Jack grabbed one gyoza from the plate on the nightstand but wasn’t hard to figure it out as he approached the delicacy to your mouth.
You weren’t totally surprised, was an open-spoken fact that Jack loved to see you eating, but yet you didn’t expect something that exotic. Yes, you knew it wasn’t that peculiar, but was a novelty between the two of you. Enjoying the idea and curious about how it’d come out, you parted your lips and sighed while, once more on that afternoon, Jack fed you. If you thought about that in another moment, you would have found the idea of eating during sex kinda strange, but somehow it was surprisingly good. The boozing feeling of having to process the amazing taste in your mouth and the marvelous steady thrusting on your cunt was unexplainably good.
And surely you weren’t the only one enjoying it.
If separately, having you on his lap while buried inside you or watching you eating was enough to get Jack out of his mind, both things happening simultaneously was almost too much for him to deal with. You were so pretty being all soft and letting out your pleasured noises, but doing that while chewing and swallowing food produced an overwhelming feeling in Jack that he would never be able to explain; the satisfaction of seeing you well-fed and the expectation that it might give you a couple extra pounds always made his brain shut down for a brief moment.
Somehow it was like both of you could read each other’s thoughts: you knew that Jack loved to keep you eating every chance he had and, despite your occasional self-conscious thoughts, you were aware of how much Jack loved and worshiped every part of your body, and, in the other hand, Jack knew you enjoyed to feel cared and accepted in his arms, getting rid of your concerns about anything and no less important, he knew you loved his food, so why not join it all?
At the pace another gyoza was carefully placed in your mouth, things started to get hard to manage, and you chewed the food with more strength than necessary since your body was starting to get slightly out of control. Realizing that and feeling his control vanishing, Jack gave up on his thoughts, grabbing your jaw with one hand, smirking as he felt you doing the best you could to chew the gyoza while his free hand sneaked between your legs, giving you a little push through the edge. You grabbed his arms, sinking your nails in his skin and hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you dived into pleasure, finally reaching that satisfying release while Jack pulled you closer, nibbling on your shoulder as he filled you up. The two of you remained like that for a moment, a total mess of softened limbs.
You mumbled quietly when Jack settled you better in his arms, caressing the chubby folds of your side and planting a couple of kisses on your temple. You looked up at him with a soft smile, closing your eyes as Jack pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, reinforcing your wish to not get out of that comfortable spot.
“I have a question.”
“Tell me, sugarcube.”
“Do you already have plans for dinner?” you did your best to hold back your laugh as Jack raised one eyebrow looking at you.
“I didn’t, but now I’m starting to have some ideas.” He answered in that cocky manner and leaned to press a soft kiss on your lips.
Prompt: Scenes of Utter Depravity TM on discord, brain baby of @neverwheremoonchild, fuelled by @beefrobeefcal
Summary: Beautiful chubby Frankie takes a cooking course and we find out he's a very hungry boy
Word count: 2.9k
Warnings: 18+, We like big, we like bigger, let us enjoy bellies in peace, smut, oral (f receiving) general filth, really. The smut is actually in this chapter, got carried away with the warnings last week and forgot I was only posting the first half 😂
You had arrived at the bistro early tonight, anxiously awaiting the start of your class and silently praying that Frankie would return. You hadn’t been able to think about anything else all week, not when you were working, not when you were driving, and especially not when you finally found a moment’s peace to slip your hand down low past your belly and thrust your fingers deep inside yourself, imagining they were Frankie’s thick, strong fingers fucking you instead. Your mind conjured up endless scenarios that started in the kitchen and ended up with you underneath him, usually with him wearing his apron and nothing else, the front of the apron tented away from his body by an absolute monster of a cock, because just look at him, it had to be huge. Damn you were gagging for it, but now you had to be professional, because the first of your students were gathering outside the front door, dragging you from your fantasy.
You swung the door open and happily greeted everybody, scanning everyone’s faces but only really thinking of one in particular, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw him appear at the back of the group. He smiled sheepishly and ran his hand through his dark brown curls, ruffling them into the cutest mess, and you noticed a few stray greys running through his fingers. He was more beautiful than you remembered, and he was thinking exactly the same thing about you.
Frankie approached the door and was immediately transported to the week before when he had worked up the nerve to try out a term of endearment, something he was realising he would now find out if he had gotten away with. As he approached you your face lit up and you somehow seemed even prettier than before, your eyes wide and cheeks blushing slightly, and all he wanted to do was push you up against the door you were holding open and press himself into your softness, letting his hands explore your plush body and kissing you deeply.
“You came back! Glad I didn’t scare you off.” You smiled, standing back a little further to let the broad man through.
Frankie grinned, relaxing a little at the instant warm welcome and standing to the side so you could close the door behind him. “No chance! With a teacher like you I’d be crazy to skip class”, he added, feeling a little burst of confidence.
It paid off. You opened your mouth to reply but no sound came out. Did he really just say that? Damn you and your inability to riposte, you were supposed to be exuding confidence and sexiness but all you could muster was blushing deep red and clearing your throat. Little did you know, Frankie was twitching like crazy in his jeans and was very aware he needed to get behind his cooking station quickly. Luckily for him you composed yourself and gestured towards the kitchen, squeaking “Glad to hear it, after you!” and followed behind him, peeking at his gorgeous backside and reminding yourself to breathe as you followed.
You took your place at the front of the room again, and dove straight into the lesson. “Welcome back, everybody! I’m so pleased you all came back for more-” you glanced over at Frankie at that and smiled at him, “I thought we’d spend this lesson focusing on a very versatile ingredient, used in the most humble to the most decadent meals, from healthy and nutritious to downright dirty and comforting: chicken!” You finished, looking at Frankie and grinning. He laughed out loud and looked down, shaking his head slightly as he chuckled. Damn, you were cute. He looked back up at you and watched as you started explaining different ways of cutting into a chicken, taking in your soft shapes as you moved, your slight double chin as you looked down at the table, your tits jiggling softly as you chopped through the bird, making Frankie lick his lips and change his stance slightly to adjust himself. He was feeling hungry, and it wasn’t for chicken. Well, it could be a little for chicken, he thought as his thoughts drifted off to a scene of domestic bliss, cooking dinner together and teasing each other with kisses and squeezes as you passed each other in the kitchen. He imagined you feeding him morsels of food as you tweaked and perfected new recipes, patting him on the tummy affectionately and then taking a little bite yourself, groaning softly at the delicious flavours you’d created. He was half hard at the thought of this and was grateful for the cooking station obscuring his bulge.
In no time at all, again, it was the end of the lesson. Frankie took a little longer tidying his station on purpose, hoping to get a few minutes more with you without the rest of the class listening in. He was just wrapping up the last few pieces of cooked chicken when he realised you’d already taken everybody through to the front door and were already making your way back to him.
“Great work again tonight, Frankie,” you smiled at him, “You’ll have one lucky lady by the end of this course with the way you’re picking things up.”
Your nerve crumbled after your probing and you broke eye contact, praying that he didn’t confirm your worst fear that he was already taken. His chuckle brought your eyes back to his, and you saw him shaking his head and raise his hand to his belly. “No lucky lady, just me” and he gave his belly a little jiggle, making your ears burn furiously. He noticed your tongue dart out and lick your lips for a fraction of a second and he decided to be a little bolder. He stepped towards your station holding a little bowl of a creamy chicken dish he had experimented with and held it up, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows in question, offering you a taste.
You gulped and smiled, you were tingling at the proximity of the gorgeous tall man in front of you, you’d craved it all week and here you were again, this time he was offering you a piece of himself, in the form of his cooking. You reached up to take the spoon from the bowl but he beat you to it, scooping up a mouthful and holding it to your face, opening his mouth to implore you to mirror him.
A bolt of pleasure shot to your core, arousal spreading rapidly through you and you opened your mouth for the spoon, eyes locked on his. You took the delicious offering and your eyes fluttered closed softly as you tasted the combination of flavours and textures filling your mouth. You didn’t realise you let out the softest moan of pleasure but Frankie sure as fuck heard it and felt his jeans tighten immediately. He definitely needed you to make that noise again, but maybe with something else in your mouth. He was all in now. He had to know, had to know how your lips felt on his, had to know what your body felt like under his hands, how else he could get you to make those sinful little groans. He stepped right up against you and put the bowl down on your station, taking your face in one hand and resting the other on your plush hip, towering over you and leaning down closer and closer, until he was close enough that he dropped to a whisper and asked “can I get a taste, too?”
You swallowed the chicken, mouth still full of the creamy sauce and you nodded ever so slightly, mouth dropping open and leaning in as he closed the gap between you, all but devouring you and your softness. He licked eagerly into your mouth and you mirrored his movements, revelling in the almost sweet flavours swirling between you. His lips were so full and firm, and as he pressed into you the curve of his nose gently massaged the side of your own, reassuring and dominant. You were absolute putty right now and needed more.
Your hands reached up and you clenched your hands around the material of his t-shirt, breaking the kiss with a gasp and breathily spoke, “Frankie-” you looked into his dark chocolate brown eyes and pleaded with him silently.
“Querida, you taste so good, what else can I taste? Tell me, baby” he crooned, and he dropped to your neck to plant little butterfly kisses lower and lower as he waited for your answer. You let out another small moan as he kissed and kissed, and moaned out “Everything, Frankie, please, everythi-” You were cut off as he slid his hands under your thighs and grunted as he lifted you the few inches to the counter top. Your eyes snapped open in surprise and your arms flew around his neck in a panic. You had no reason to worry though, you realised, as Frankie had effortlessly hoisted you up, clearly a man who knows how to lift with his legs, and you were looking forward to getting your hands on those legs as soon as possible. You were glad you were sat down now as that small display of strength had sent your knees weak and you felt weightless, like jelly too as he used his hips to easily nudge your knees apart and nestle himself between them.
Frankie took a moment to step back and really take you in, eyes roving up and down your curves and dips, hands skimming over your hips, the curve of your upper arms, and down to your thick plush thighs. He gave your thighs a little squeeze and his eyes rolled back as he imagined them wrapped around his head. He slipped his fingers under the hem of your skirt and nudged it upwards slightly. “Is this ok?” He asked, and immediately had his answer as you started to remove the fabric of the skirt from under your bottom so he could push it up higher around your belly. He grinned and gently placed a hand behind your head to lay you down across the counter, sneaking an oven glove behind your head before you came into contact with the surface. You giggled at the cute gesture, and you heard a chair scrape across the floor from behind him. He perched on the edge of the chair, knowing there was no way he was going to survive the amount of time he wanted to be down here if he was on his knees the whole time.
You opened your legs wider and he grabbed you behind the knees again, this time pulling you towards him with a hungry growl and lifting each leg gently over his shoulders. He started kissing up one thigh, slowly moving closer and closer to your heat, feeling your thighs get softer and chubbier as he got closer to his goal. He closed his eyes as he finally felt both his cheeks warmly embraced by your thighs and took a deep breath, licking his lips. He nudged his nose up against your clothed pussy and you gasped as you felt your nerve endings come alive. Frankie plunged his hands either side of your hips and grabbed hold of your underwear, wiggling and tugging them free in a frenzy, desperate to lock his lips onto your sweet cunt.
You were so incredibly aroused, you knew Frankie would see just how much he turned you on the second your panties were removed, there was no hiding it now. You wanted him so badly, you couldn’t believe he was between your legs and were about to find out just how desperate he was to unravel you and claim you for his own.
Frankie couldn’t take it any longer, and dove onto your pussy like a man starved. He licked a deep stripe up your cunt and held your hips tight as you started to squirm in pleasure, darting back in and delving his tongue as deep as he could reach. He brought his index finger up to your slick folds and gently slid it inside, moving his tongue’s attention to your clit, drawing a low moan out of you that spurred him on to start curling his finger and stroking, stroking the softness inside you. Just as he was contemplating another finger, you whined out “more” and bucked your hips into his mouth, and he wasted no time at all adding his middle finger and fucking you that little bit deeper. That was exactly what you needed, arousal building deep in your belly and spreading out to your hips, consuming you completely and making you see stars. It was right there, you felt so full of him and so desired, you were about to come apart for him, you knew it was coming any moment-
Frankie pulled his mouth away from your clit for a moment and peered up at you, over your soft round belly and gorgeous tits which were trying to strangle you at that angle but looked fucking stunning, and his heart and cock both throbbed at the sight of you, teetering on the edge of pleasure which he knew he was going to unleash on you at any moment. He rested his free hand on the side of your belly, applying a little bit of pressure and letting his fingers curl posessively into your flesh, looking at you pleadingly with his dark smouldering eyes. “Alright baby, come on, now, come for me, querida? I know you can do it, DAMN you taste so fucking good, baby” he growled as he clamped his plush lips onto your clit and created a symphony of licks and twists that had you almost forgetting how to breathe.
You felt his teeth hungrily graze your clit and as he rumbled with ecstasy which vibrated through your core you screamed out and your hands flew to his messy curls, desperately pulling his face deeper into your cunt and bucking against him uncontrollably, until you tumbled off the other side of the crest and dropped back limply on the counter, desperately trying to catch your breath.
Frankie couldn’t help himself but to take a few more deep licks and savour every little drop he could before you were gasping and pulling away, causing him to chuckle and gently kiss back down your thighs comfortingly. He could stop, he could resist, as long as he got to devour you all over again of course he could hold off for just a little while. He stood up, the chair scraping backwards away from him, and he loomed over you, grinning down at your fucked-out expression and dishevelled hair. He ran his hands up and down your body soothingly, ending at your hands and gently pulling you up, bashfully helping you back into your underwear and waiting for you to replace your skirt. You looked up at him but before you even had chance to open your mouth he was pressing a tender kiss to your lips and snaking a gentle hand behind your head, the other on your waist, thumb stroking at the softness there. Your hands found his sides and you couldn’t help but hold on tightly, pulling him into you and burning up all over again at the feel of his belly squashing into you, so heavy and warm. Not to mention the evidence of his arousal rock hard against your own squishy belly.
Frankie pulled back and stroked your face, eyes hungry yet more relaxed now, and smiled, “Tastes better than anything I’ve ever had”, he said, licking his lips. “Think I’m gonna need seconds” He added cheekily with a wink, patting the side of his round tummy.
You felt the swirls of arousal fill you again and looked up at him pleadingly, rubbing up against the hard bulge in his jeans.
“Frankie, I’m hungry too, you’ve been so good to me, can I help you out?”
Frankie felt his cock twitch again and bit his bottom lip, he felt like the luckiest man in the world, this stunning, plump goddess begging to suck his dick, who tasted so fucking good and felt like heaven to touch. He couldn’t believe his luck, and knew more than anything that he had to have her completely. He needed to know what it felt like to lie with her, to fuck her hard, slow, desperately and lovingly. He wanted her bouncing on top of his cock and taking his breath away, literally, and wanted to make her feel the same way, pinning her to the bed under his massive frame and pulling those sweet sounds out of her night after night.
He composed himself, lost in his little fantasy, and kissed you on the forehead.
“Soon, baby. Maybe let’s get out of here though?” he said, indicating the less than sensual surroundings. “Tell you what, let’s get some real food in you, can’t have you wasting away on me” he said, cupping your cheek in his hand. “Then maybe we could head back to mine for dessert?”
You grinned at him and took his hand, leading him towards the front door. “That sounds perfect, Frankie.” you said, looking back over your shoulder with a seductive glance that damn near stopped his heart. “I never say no to dessert”
Prompt: Scenes of Utter Depravity™️ on discord, brain baby of @neverwheremoonchild, fuelled by @beefrobeefcal
Summary: Beautiful chubby Frankie takes a cooking course and we find out he's a very hungry boy
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: 18+, We like big, we like bigger, let us enjoy bellies in peace ✌️, smut, oral (f receiving) general filth, really.
Tags, yes, tags! I don't remember things very well so apologies for the meagre offerings of tags, I'm an old millennial who has no idea how to tumbl 😫 @rebel-held @missredherring @ezrasbirdie @nerdieforpedro
Lesson 1: The Basics
Frankie sat in his truck staring across at the small gathering of people hanging around outside, one or two peering in through the glass of a nearby bistro window, some chatting and laughing. He fidgeted with his keys nervously and considered just taking off, going back to his apartment and throwing a pizza in the oven. He wasn’t sure he was prepared for an evening of trying to navigate small talk and learning a new skill at the same time.
Frankie had been living the civilian life for a while now, his military days behind him and long gone the days of rations and eating efficiently and quickly. He realised he didn’t have much imagination when it came to cooking, or confidence in trying anything complicated, and increasingly relied on takeout and microwave dinners, something which wasn’t much of a problem in his 20s, but now a man in his 40s he was starting to show the effects of the convenience food he turned to so much. His long-gone fit form of muscles and sleek lines had been replaced with a small layer of chub, but mostly settled in his round, soft belly. His frame was broad and wide and he carried it well, but there was no denying he was now a ‘big’ guy. No, this would be the perfect way to start paying attention to what he ate, and get him out of the house and socialising a little, as the few friends he had had suggested to him on more than one occasion.
The door of the premises opened and the crowd started filtering inside, and he knew if he didn’t make himself go over now, he wouldn’t ever do it. He wiped his palms down his thighs and took a deep breath, and as he looked back to the only window he could see through clearly, he saw a curvy silhouette that made his breath stutter and he choked in a gasp to his already full lungs, causing him to cough and splutter. Shit, that was the push he needed right there. He practically jumped out of his truck and jogged over to the door, joining the last few people as they made their way inside.
Inside the bistro, he glanced around for the silhouette as he took a seat at a table and his heart skipped a beat when his eyes settled on you, stood up in front of everybody. You were talking to a woman sat at the table nearest to you, laughing at something she had just said and Frankie swallowed deeply, absolutely dumbstruck by your smile. Your smile, so warm and genuine, with a laugh so authentic, he was jealous that he wasn’t the one making you laugh right now. He could still hear your laughter long after you started talking to the group, which wasn’t ideal as he knew he should really be paying attention now. He squeezed his eyes tight and mentally shook himself to focus.
“-so it doesn’t matter how inexperienced you are, we’ll start with the basics and see where you’re all at, I can handle you all” you finished with a cheeky wink. “Come on through to the back and we’ll get started!”
You gestured for everybody to make their way through a door behind you and handed out a welcome leaflet to each person, taking their name as they passed. Frankie’s heart started to beat faster as he approached you, and as he was the last person to walk up to you he felt more confident to speak as nobody else would hear him.
You welcomed the woman directly in front of Frankie and then your eyes met his. He almost forgot how to function again but immediately pulled himself out of it and opened his mouth.
“Hi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name, I mean, I couldn’t quite hear you over my chair scraping, um-” he started rambling, and you laughed and held out a leaflet to him, pointing at a picture of yourself with your name underneath.
“Good thing I had these printed out then!” You said with a grin, pointing at your name. You picked up your clipboard and started to look for the last unchecked name on the list. “And what would your name be?” You said with a smile. The sweetest smile he’s ever seen, hands down.
You grinned even wider and checked the final name: “Frankie Morales” off the list. “Well then Francisco, Frank, Frankie, shall we find you a cooking station?” you asked with another adorable smile and turned to walk away, beckoning him to follow.
And follow he did. His eyes dropped unashamedly to your backside, jaw ever so slightly slackened as he watched your hips sway as you walked. They were wide. Oh boy they were wide, and he felt his mouth watering at the sight of them. He dared let his eyes slide further down and followed the line of two soft, thick thighs appearing below the hem of a simple yet beautiful black pencil skirt. He wondered if he was going to get anything out of what he’d paid for this cooking course, seeing as he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to concentrate with you as his teacher. He mentally gave himself a little slap again and told himself to pay attention. He needs this, he’s here for a reason. All he needed to do was not let his imagination run wild. That said, although he was here to actually learn something, he wouldn’t deny himself the opportunity to let his mind wander occasionally. Not with you stood at the front of the room.
At the front of the room was where Frankie also ended up, as luck would have it. Obviously he wasn’t the only one nervous to be there as the stations filled up from the back, leaving him front and centre, although now arguably the best spot in the room seeing as he was so close to you.
—---
“Well, Merry Christmas to me” You thought to yourself as Frankie shuffled round to his station. You watched him move with the energy of an overgrown nervous puppy and it pulled at something deep in your belly, desperate to lock eyes with him again once he finally faced the front. He turned to look straight at you and your heart leapt as he immediately dropped his eyes to his desk in embarrassment noticing you’d caught him looking. “Oh yes”, you thought, “Thank you, Universe!”, ecstatic that you’d get to look at him so much over the next few weeks. Assuming he came back to next week’s class, you immediately ruined your high by thinking. Oh you hoped he would, he was absolutely beautiful. Big. You liked big. You liked your body the way it was and the size it was and how gorgeous you felt in your own skin but there was something thrilling about somebody being able to make you feel physically small. Perhaps because it didn’t happen often, it was a novelty you rarely felt, but you felt it now, as your eyes dragged over his impossibly wide back and shoulders. As he turned around with his jacket now removed you saw how thick his biceps were, and when you noticed his chubby belly straining against the fabric of his t-shirt your jaw dropped slightly. You were done for. Not only was he gorgeous, but the way he had stumbled over his name in such an adorable way made your heart thud, and his warm, dark brown eyes felt like they were pulling you in, cute little crinkles round the edges and all. Yes, you could definitely let your imagination have at this one, and that would be fine, you thought. Of course it would be amazing if you fell in love while chopping carrots, or bumping into somebody’s cart at the grocery store, but life actually didn’t seem to be turning out like a Hallmark movie after all, and you’d resigned yourself to dating apps, frequently feeling the need to make it very clear that you weren’t as small and slinky as most of the women on there, especially as you’d been called out as a “catfish” (and much worse) when the vile specimens in question suddenly decided to claim they’d been tricked by a fatty. Their loss, you thought, as you’d had just about every kind of interaction online, you were less than bothered when they started to get lairy. It annoyed them that you were so unbothered by their taunts, you’d worked hard at learning to love yourself, and sure, you weren’t 100% confident in yourself but you’d come a long way, baby. So far in fact that you finally had the confidence to rent out a local bistro on Monday evenings to teach people your passion: cooking.
You loved food, you didn’t understand people who didn’t, those who just saw it as a means to an end, and wanted everyone to feel the joy, the comfort, the love you can feel from just a few ingredients and the way they’re married together. You’d had some amazing experiences teaching this class to various groups over the last year or so, and you were constantly thrilled at watching a nervous knife-holder learn to dice an onion, or watching somebody go from having a complete spice aversion to learning what flavours work well together.
You looked around the room and smiled brightly, picking up your apron. “Ok everybody, let’s put our aprons on and I’ll start by explaining the names and functions of the knives in front of you” you said, as you put your own apron over your head and smoothed your hands over your front. A move which Frankie watched and committed to memory, as your hands seemed to move in slow motion over the curve of your breasts and then out again in a curve over your belly, accentuating its roundness and making Frankie’s mouth water again. He threw his own apron on and reached behind to tie the strings, not noticing your eyes drift to his own form and take in the hot yet adorable image of his tongue poking out in concentration while his arms bulged as they reached behind his back. Not to mention his belly protruding even further out, making you feel tingly and warm.
Frankie listened intently as you spent the next few minutes talking about knives, watching you display each one and give a few words about its use, watching your hands as you showed each blade and passionately gesturing while you talked. Occasionally you glanced over at him and you both looked away blushing, a little stumble in your words occasionally as you collected yourself and continued. Frankie smiled to himself and couldn’t wait to speak to you one on one again.
Soon everybody was focussed on their own chopping boards, practising a variety of methods on the selection of vegetables in the bowls in front of them. Frankie wasn’t a complete amateur with a knife so he got to work dicing a carrot, then an onion, and as he was finishing up with the onion you appeared at his elbow, glancing down at his handiwork.
“Good”. You began, moving the small cubes of carrot around with a wooden spoon to inspect them. “Not a novice on this station then, eh? Want to try another carrot but try dicing it even finer?” You asked, the kindness and interest in him in your eyes just radiating out to him and confirming to him that he’d say yes to absolutely anything you asked right now, especially if that involved those lipgloss covered lips and soft cheeks- he suddenly realised he’d been staring at you without speaking for a lot longer than socially acceptable and cleared his throat.
“Bring it on” he said, hoping he came off confident and not sounding as helpless as he felt. Not just because you were causing him some serious blood flow diversion but he’d just chopped as steadily and slowly as he could to get a dice that small, and he had just claimed he could do better. He slowly started cutting into the thick root vegetable and you watched him for a second, waiting for the right time to intervene, mainly because you were so captivated by his hands and how small they made the carrot look. You swallowed and eventually held a hand up, telling him to stop. He looked up at you in question and you smiled at him, reaching out and asking “may I?”. He raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement, expecting you to take the knife, but you moved to the other side of him and placed your left hand over his, bending his large fingers slightly to grip the carrot differently, and moved back a little to give him space, your voice dropping into more of a whisper than you meant to - “try that.”
He paused a few seconds, waiting for his impossibly high heart rate to slow down before plunging the knife back down, and then started slicing again, much finer than before, and a grin spread across his face, a mixture of emotions from achieving something already, and being so gently and expertly led by the beautiful woman stood next to him.
He spent the next hour with a smile on his face, he was in his element, watching you move effortlessly around the kitchen, manipulating ingredients with skill and precision, and charming the absolute pants off of everybody as you went.
Before you knew it, the lesson was over and you dismissed everybody, a few of them saying a few extra words of thanks and promises to return next week, you waved them all off with a smile, trying not to look at Frankie too much, as you could feel he was watching you and you suddenly felt very nervous. You heard him clear his throat as he appeared to be hanging back, and you forced yourself to look at him. He stood there looking so sweet and nervous, one hand scratching the back of his neck as he searched for the words he wanted to say. Your eyes dropped to his plush lips and the second he saw it he found his voice. “Thanks for tonight, I’m glad I made it now, I almost chickened out” he confessed, chuckling slightly, but panicking over if he was going to be brave enough to say what he really wanted to. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but would he come across as a bit of a creep if he asked her out straight away? Would it seem like he only joined this class for one reason? His self torture was cut short as you spoke, anxiously fiddling with the strings of your apron and letting the feel of the fabric ground you.
“Are you kidding? Well I’m glad you didn’t chicken out, you did great today and- and it was really lovely meeting you” You blurted out, cringing at yourself for coming out with such an eager statement.
Frankie blinked and smiled warmly at you, feeling a tingly pull in his belly. He stepped forward the tiniest amount, although it was enough to make you both feel you were suddenly within the next boundary of personal space. His eyes darted to your lips and back up again immediately, voice dropping low and husky as he bade you farewell. “I’ll see you next week, then, Preciosa” and he walked out the door, stomach doing flips and not daring to look around in case he’d misread the mood completely and you were glaring after him. But you were frozen to the spot, mouth hanging slightly open and your heart thrumming so hard in your ears you could still hear ‘Preciosa’ ringing in them. Besides being temporarily deafened by lust, your core was now on fire and all you could picture was him between your legs pinning you down with that thick, heavy body and fucking your brains out. This was going to be a long week for sure.
Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.
Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that.
However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy?
You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic?
Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre
ao3: read here | masterlist: here
Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk
WC: 4.2k
You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift.
Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him.
At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that.
That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories.
The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach.
You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there.
Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked.
Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right?
You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible.
You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway.
After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course!
You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life.
The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench.
You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is.
The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep.
The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right?
You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything.
You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench.
Still, no Joel, however.
You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls.
As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.
The next moment is a blur.
“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone.
You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow.
“What are you doing here?” he barks.
Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run.
He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster.
“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist.
“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you.
“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face.
But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch.
Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon?
He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks.
“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead.
Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal.
You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic.
“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?”
“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door.
This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it.
You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.
He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken
For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop.
“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face.
You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk.
“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans.
Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues.
His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately.
“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock.
“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts.
Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm.
“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now.
“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core.
He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock.
They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop.
“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess. You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one.
“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin.
He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor.
Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you.
Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back.
The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer.
You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin.
Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours.
He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief.
He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought.
“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.
“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point.
“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?”
You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”
You snap your legs back shut with a glare.
“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.”
His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked.
“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.”
He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle.
A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat.
“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him.
“You need more?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum.
“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon.
But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.
“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.
“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene.
Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision.
“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.”
“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you.
“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway.
“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face.
“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move.
“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door.
When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose.
Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize.
The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display.
You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen:
Joel
Attachment 1 image
divider by @cyberangel-graphics
Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh
Rating: Teen
Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader
Words Count: 5,320
Summary: Your four hour flight home to Philadelphia turns into a 24 hour trip where you're marooned in the St. Louis airport thanks to a snowstorm. You and Joel Miller, the handsome man you just met on your flight, keep each other company.
Warnings: fluff, like the amount of fluff inside of a 7 foot tall stuffed bear fluff, snow storm, flight anxiety, comfort, kinda soulmate vibes, good dad joel, proud dad joel, sarah's in college, reader is an interior designer from philadelphia, the whole one bed in the hotel room trope as well, nothing bad happens to joel miller in this house, lying for a ticket.
A/N: This was written for @burntheedges' Roll A Trope Challenge. I received snowed in and thanks to the always lovely @maggiemayhemnj she helped me with suggesting snowed in at an airport. This is very very soft and cute, I hope you enjoy! ❄️💕
Early morning flights are your favorite. The TSA line is usually short, coffee from the kiosk is fresh, the magazines in the newsstand are in order, and the airport is quiet in an early morning hush versus the roar of the afternoon crowds. You stop at the newsstand to pick up a magazine and a cinnamon roll before heading to your gate. You stuff your customary travel treats in your backpack looking forward to enjoying your newest Architectural Digest and sugar rush once you’re in the air.
—
A deep throat clear grabs your attention while you watch the tarmac crew prepare the plane. A broad man stands before you in the aisle, clad in a flannel and faded gray shirt taking up most of the tight space. Instant panic bubbles inside when you realize this gorgeous man is who you have to share a tiny cubicle with for the next four hours.
“Hey, uh,” he stammers, a hand brushes the back of his neck in a nervous stance, “s’alright if I take the window? It’s… helpful to me.”
His voice is deep and husky with one of those famous Texas drawls, of course his voice is just as attractive as him.
“Not at all, I can take the aisle,” you say, awkwardly bending over to grab your bag.
The handsome stranger attempts to back up as much as he can yet your body still brushes against his, he tenses before moving into the row and sits down with a big huff; if you thought he took up a lot of room in the aisle, the room he takes up in the cramped business class seat is something else.
He adjusts his shoulders to try to give you more space and fails miserably. He lets out a grumbly sigh while attempting to find a more comfortable position. His arm bumps into yours before you angle your body towards the aisle, trying to give the large stranger more room. At least he smells just as good as he looks… mint, coffee and burnt wood. There’s way worse looking people to be packed in like sardines with.
The flight attendants walk the aisle and do their pre boarding steps, checking seat belts and doors before going into their safety spiel. Your seat neighbor shuffles nervously, tapping his fingers against his thighs. He’s a nervous flier, you can spot them a mile away.
“Why are you headed to Pennsylvania?” you ask, turning towards him trying to cut through his nervous tension.
“Oh, uh, to visit my daughter, she’s a freshman at UPenn. Wanted to spend the holidays with her,” he cracks a smile at the mention of his daughter. God, he’s handsome.
“That’s nice, it’s beautiful in Philly for the holidays. I’m from there, so if you need any tips on where to go and what to do, I can help.”
“Thanks,” his fingers still tap against his lap. “Guess you’re going back home then?”
“Yep, I just finished a job and I haven’t been home in a month, just hoping to beat the snow.”
“Here’s hoping… I’m Joel by the way,” he reaches his large hand out to shake yours. You grab his calloused and overworked hand then give him your name, he nods softly and repeats it. His deep voice echoes through your head, sending a shiver up your spine.
“It’s nice to meet you Joel, even if it’s in this cramped airplane cabin.”
“S’nice to meet you too,” he lets go of your hand, placing it back on his thigh, you notice that it’s no longer nervously tapping.
Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure and cross check.
Joel lets out a big, deep sigh.
“Nervous flier?” you ask.
“You could say that,” he grumbles. “Never liked giving up control of my life to someone I don’t know.”
“I understand that, but this happens to millions of people a day, you only hear about the bad.”
“I get that,” he chuckles, quickly stopping as the plane begins to roll on the tarmac. “Still don’t have to like it.”
“Well, I fly all the time,” you reassure, “I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”
“Here’s hoping,” he sighs, sinking deeper into the seat.
You are the opposite of your seatmate, you love how the engines rumble as the plane picks up speed, the way your stomach drops when it lifts off the tarmac, the brief thud underneath when the wheels are tucked into the plane. Flying has never bothered you, it’s always been exciting and a means of getting to new adventures.
The plane speeds across the pavement preparing for liftoff, your stomach drops before the wheels leave the ground... Joel’s hand grasps yours. Golden, thick fingers cover your hand squeezing tightly. You turn to him and your heart breaks a little at the sight, his eyes are squeezed shut with his nostrils flaring as he puffs deep breaths out. There’s something so heartbreaking watching this large, strong man look so scared.
“Hey, you’re alright, it’s quick, very soon we’re going to be in the air and all we have to do is wait,” you try to sound as gentle and comforting as possible. It’s easy to take fearlessness for granted, especially when someone as large and seemingly intimidating as Joel looks so helpless.
He nods, his eyes still tightly closed before swallowing a thick gulp of air.
Your free hand reaches up and opens his air vent before angling yours toward him.
“Can you look at me Joel,” you whisper. His hand still clasps yours tightly. It hurts like hell, but you don’t mind; if it makes him feel better, he can clasp as hard as he needs.
His brown eyes open wide and focus on you.
“That’s good, Joel, can you take a deep breath for me? Iiiiiin and ooooout. Very good,” you encourage with a grin on your face holding his eye contact. “This is worth it, you’ll get to see your daughter, tell me her name and what she’s like.”
“H-her name’s Sarah, she’s uh, studying to be a doctor, sh-she’s way smarter than her old man, sh-she plays on the soccer team, got a scholarship for it ‘n everything, she loves music and going to too many damn concerts. She’s going to go deaf like me if she ain’t careful.”
“She sounds awesome,” you smile.
“She is, don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“What do you do for work?” you keep him talking, making sure to distract Joel’s anxiety.
“Contractor, I own a contracting service with my brother, we specialize in retail and office buildings.”
“Oh, that sounds like hard work, but it’s nice you get to work with your brother.”
“Could be better, could be worse,” he shrugs.
“Hey, I’m an interior designer, we’re both in similar fields. How many carpenter pencils do you have? I probably have three floating around in my purse right now.”
He chuckles, his face loses its tenseness, Joel doesn’t attempt to take his hand from yours, and you don’t move to do it either. You work with contractors all the time, you’ve never seen one as gorgeous as him.
“My daughter always tried to get me to let her use ‘em for school work because they were a different shape, kept on having to take them away from her.”
“She sounds tenacious.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he muses.
Good afternoon passengers. This is your captain speaking. First I'd like to welcome everyone on Flight 86A. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 33,000 feet at an airspeed of 400 miles per hour. We’re going to try to avoid the snow the best we can, we’ll keep you updated in case anything changes.
You’ve been entertaining Joel so much both of you didn’t notice you totally missed lift off and your ascent into the sky.
“Would you look at that? We’re in the air, you only have four hours until you get to see her.”
“Thanks for that,” he says, moving his hand from yours. “I feel ridiculous.”
“No need, I’m happy I could help,” you shake the tenseness out of your hand after the twenty minutes of being in Joel’s vice grip.
“You alright? Did I hurt you?” his eyes round in guilt under his furrowed eyebrows focus on your hand.
“No, no, it’s okay,” you reassure. “You just have a strong grip. Must be all of that contractor business.”
He sends you a shy, crooked grin, “M’sorry.”
“I’ll survive, just like we’ll survive this flight together, Joel,” you wink.
He looks at you, his brown eyes turn darker and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You’re quite someth–”
“May I offer you a drink?” the flight attendant interrupts. Worst fucking time.
You order an apple juice. Joel orders a black coffee.
“Apple juice?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a tradition I have. I always get a cinnamon roll and apple juice every time I fly in the morning. Tastes kinda like apple pie when they’re together.”
“Hm, I don’t know about that,” he scrunches his nose and shakes his head.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” you shrug before pulling the cinnamon roll out of your bag.
You ask for an extra cup when the attendant brings yours and Joel’s drinks before ripping off half of the cinnamon roll and handing it to him. “Here.”
“No, no, it’s yours.”
“Yeah, but I want to share,” you urge, “I got you a cup for apple juice too.”
“If you insist,” he obliges, taking the soft pastry.
Half of your juice is poured into the extra cup before you hand it to him and raise your cup up to cheers.
“To four hour flights and apple pie” you quip.
“Cheers,” he says, gently shaking his head with eyes lit resembling something akin to affection.
You both take a drink of the sweet juice before picking up the cinnamon roll and taking a bite.
“See?” you say, still chewing the sweet pastry.
“Mmf,” he shakes his head and swallows. “Not apple pie, but pretty damn good.” He wipes the errant crumbs off of his mustache, you wonder if his lips taste like cinnamon and apples.
“I’ll take pretty damn good,” you muse, picking up your magazine and settling into your seat.
__
Joel glances towards you every chance he gets. He’s a realist, sometimes too much of one, he knows why he’s so calm during this flight– your comforting presence. He’s hated flying his whole life, his father never understood his fear, always telling him ‘I flew on planes bigger and louder than this all through the war, kid, buck up.’ Thanks dad, that’ll surely help the terrified eight year old crying and clutching to his mother. Sarah damn near broke his heart when she met him at the door excitedly waving the acceptance letter to a school 1,700 miles away. How could he crush his little girl’s dreams because her old man hates being in the sky? He got to bide his time, driving her in the moving truck to her new school, but now– with her first Christmas out of state and unable to fly home due to work– Joel was forced to step on the scary metal tube.
He could hardly believe his luck when the pretty girl gazing out the window ended up being his seatmate; the excitement over being so close to you helped shield a bit of his trepidation over his first solo flight and then he went on to embarrass himself. You didn’t shake your head or shun him, you accepted and supported him. He can still feel your soft hand wrapped in his and hear your gentle voice coaching him down from a panic attack. You’re a complete stranger, and yet you’ve shown him more kindness than he’s allowed himself to accept in years.
You adjust in your seat, your elbow brushes against his, little do you know he bunched up the sleeve of his flannel so he could feel the touch of your skin.
He doesn’t know why you affect him the way that you do, it’s only been a couple of hours in the sky next to you, but he’s already trying to think of a way to give you his phone number.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Captain Scott has informed us that we will be diverting to St. Louis due to the weather conditions at Philadelphia. We will be landing in approximately twenty minutes and will keep you advised about the continuation of this flight to our destination as information becomes available. We apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused. Thank you for your patience and understanding. We are aware that many of you have connecting flights departing Philadelphia. Our ground staff will work with you to confirm you on the next available flight to your destination. Thank you for your patience.
“Well, shit,” you sigh, placing your magazine down, rolling your neck and stretching your arms. “Had a feeling this might happen.”
“Shit indeed,” he sighs.
“How are you with landings, Joel?” you softly question. “Can I do anything for you?”
His heart skips, he hasn’t felt this feeling in years. Sure his little girl steals his heart every second of the day, but for a woman to make his heart race the way it is now making butterflies flutter through his stomach… that hasn’t happened in two decades.
“No, I should be okay, thank you,” he says, feeling a bit foolish.
“I’m here for you, okay?” The gentleness of your voice void of any judgment helps soothe his shame.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into St. Louis. Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have arrived at the gate. In preparation for landing, please be certain your seat back is straight up and your seat belt is fastened. Please secure your carry-on items, stow your tray table, and pass any remaining service items and unwanted reading materials to the flight attendants. Thank you.
His breathing turns rapid, he feels the phantom of fear rearing its ugly head 10,000 feet above the ground. He’s seen far too many videos of planes spurting flames and panicked passengers escaping down blown up slides. He remembers Captain Sulley and the miracle on the Hudson… that ain’t no miracle. Joel Miller is a realist, how about everyone almost died in the Hudson? He tries to breathe like that weird lady on TikTok Sarah showed him… make a square with every breath? Or make a line and then breathe? Christ, he can’t remember. His lips part to inhale more stale pressurized oxygen trying to calm his pulsating heart. This time your hand grabs his, he looks over at your face set soft with a reassuring smile, a wash of calm runs through him. You’re so beautiful.
“You’re alright Joel, I’m here with you,” you gently lilt.
He focuses on the soft back and forth of your fingers against him, centering himself and making the phantom back away. He loves the way your soft skin looks against his. Your nails are painted a light blue, it reminds him of the bright Texas morning sky.
The plane descends as you hold his eye contact with that same beautiful and assuring smile lighting up your face.
“We’re almost on the ground, you’re doing so good,” fear and veneration perform a duet in his heart making it pound against his chest.
The wheels hit the tarmac, he lets out a huge breath of relief. Your hand still holds his, even as he visibly relaxes. He watches the light blue of your nail polish swipe back and forth against the top of his hand.
Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to St. Louis. The local time is 9:45 AM. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight. We thank you for your patience, rest assured our staff is here to help you.
“Well, I know it’s not home, or Sarah… but we’ll make the best of it,” you say, pulling your bag out from underneath the seat. He loves how positive you are, he needs someone like you in his life.
__
Three hours of being stuck in the airport have slowly ticked by, at least you have the company of your new travel partner. You check your weather app for the millionth time, no change at all… snow still falls all along the tri-state area.
“Anything?” he asks, looking up from his Sports Illustrated.
“No luck,” you shrug, “I’m starving.”
“Come on,” he points his head towards the restaurant near the gate, “my treat.”
You follow him, wondering why you feel so excited over this impromptu lunch date. You can’t deny your attraction to him, an inkling inside of you makes you believe Joel might feel the same. Yeah, you might be stuck in St. Louis, your return to your comfortable bed and bathtub postponed due to the falling snow, but at least you have your handsome flight partner with you.
The restaurant is nice, a typical Concourse B type place full of simple people enjoying a hot meal, simple menu, a simple design inspired by of all things– airplanes.
Joel asks for a table near the window, the hostess obliges, leading you to a table in a quiet section of the restaurant. He pulls the chair out for you, southern manners and all.
He takes a seat with a humph, mumbling how tight his back is from all of the damn sitting. You order a hot tea, he orders a coffee.
You’ve known him for a grand six hours and yet you’re going to remember this usually milquetoast adventure for a long, long time.
“What’re you thinking?” he asks, perusing the menu.
“Turkey sandwich and soup,” you answer, mouth already watering at the idea of your meal. “You?”
“Burger ‘n fries. I’m hungry though that half of a cinnamon roll sure did satisfy,” he sends you a barely perceptible wink.
“So, do you have any plans for you and your daughter?”
“She says she has an idea or two for us, she’s a planner, I’m just there to see her, this is the longest I’ve been away from her.” His voice drops, a slight hitch in his breath appears, you can feel the sadness radiating off of him. He must be such a good dad.
“Sounds rough,” you empathize, wishing you could recreate what happened on the plane and put your hand over his while telling him everything will be okay.
“Yeah, it’s been difficult, it’s just been me and her since forever. I know she’s happy and fulfilled, that's all I can ask for.”
You wonder where Sarah’s mom went, why it’s just the two of them, and most of all if he’s single. How can you be falling for this almost stranger and his big heart that sits below his broad, flannel covered chest?
“I moved far away for art school and it was the best decision I ever made. I'm so thankful for my parents letting me have that experience. You should be proud of her… and most of all you should be proud of you.”
He looks over the brim of his coffee mug, takes a drink, and places it down on the table before grabbing your hand.
“You’re so– I’ve never met anybody like you before,” he says, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.
The restaurant and airport disappear from your periphery, it’s only you and this man from Austin on the way to your hometown to see his daughter. This has never happened to you before… a spark of something you have no clue what to call shared between the two of you.
“I could say the same thing to y–,” you're interrupted by the waitress’s arrival, Joel’s hand retreats from yours; the physical and emotional connection between you and Joel is broken by your food being placed on the table.
“So, what’s the plan?” Joel asks as he grabs the Tabasco bottle and shakes a smattering of drops over his burger.
“No clue,” you sigh, “I wish I could take a nap. What did your daughter say when you told her?”
“Oh, she was fine, disappointed but she told me she’ll still get over a week with me once I get there,” he shakes his head, his face lifts with a doting grin. “She’s always the glass half full type.”
“And let me guess, you’re much more of a ‘the damn glass is half empty’ type?”
“Always.”
“Mm,” you nod, before taking a bite of your turkey sandwich.
—-
His heart beats harder against his chest as he watches you approach him from the ticket counter.
“Any new update?” he’s nervous, he hasn’t felt this nervous in years. He never realized how much he missed this type of emotional tension that pulls his back to stand straighter.
“The storm hasn’t let up, all airports in the area are on a ground stop, and now with the storm here, I think we’re screwed,” you close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. You look exhausted, spending all day in a packed airport has obviously taken its toll on you. He wants to wrap his arms around you, carry you to whatever destination you need to go to and never let go. He can’t believe he’s thinking like this, he doesn’t even know your favorite color or movie. “I’m sorry Joel.”
He hates watching your face drop, you’ve done nothing wrong. “Hey, none of that,” he takes a tentative step forward, he’s worried to overcross a line, but your sunken shoulders and defeated posture pushes him forward. He wraps his flannel clad arms around you, pulling you into a hug. Your body instantly molds to his, finding the perfect spot on his chest to rest your head against. A sweet and grateful sigh breathes out of you, radiating through his whole body.
“Looked like you needed this,” he says against your hair, breathing the feminine scent of you in. He hasn’t been this close to a woman like this in years. Sure he’s had some hookups here and there, but a real honest to goodness connection with someone after only half of a day spent together? Never happened. He feels lucky.
“I did, thank you,” you breathe out. He still holds you, making zero attempt to let go. You imagine to the average passerby you resemble a couple in love, standing in the airport terminal, holding each other.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, still holding you tight. “I think there’s a pretty good restaurant here.”
“I am, a real nice guy once took me to lunch there,” you pull away. “It’s my treat this time.”
—-
Joel stands at the ticket desk, it’s now his turn to see if there have been any changes. It’s been twelve hours of being marooned in this airport, you should feel more miserable at this point, but the constant support the two of you trade back and forth to each other has helped alleviate the ugliness of stress.
“Any luck?” you ask, perking up when he stands in front of you.
“Actually, yeah, they have a 9 AM flight to Philly tomorrow afternoon,” he says, tucking his ticket into his pocket. You can’t look him in the eyes, if you do you’re going to think about how much you’re going to miss him… this man you’ve only known for a grand total of twelve hours. “There’s two seats left… and I got one. The lady at the desk is waiting for my fiancee to go get her ticket.”
Your eyes widen at what he implies.
“Oh, ohhhhhh,” you grin. “Clever man.”
“Yeah, I need your help, since I’m a nervous flier and all…”
Your knees feel weak from the doting smile Joel gives you. “Thanks love,” you stretch and kiss his cheek before heading to the ticket counter.
—
He can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk over to the counter. He can still feel your lips against his cheek, there’s a foreign feeling in his heart. He’s already thinking about introducing you to Sarah, what the hell is this?
The airport worker laughs at something you say, of course they’re charmed by you, you’re such a sweet thing, like cinnamon rolls and apple juice.
You turn, a big smile lights your face when you walk back to him, waving your ticket in the air.
He chuckles out a nervous snicker when you skip over and wrap your arms around him.
“The agent pulled in a favor and got us a room at the hotel attached here, she said she has a softness for ‘lovebirds’ like us,” you pull away with a mischievous glint lighting your face. “Plus, she thinks my fiance is handsome.”
“Uh… okay,” he’s not sure what you’re implying, you’re far too special to him already for a one-night romp in a hotel room.
“No funny business Joel,” you wink as you grab your bag. He can’t believe how well you read him. “Now, let’s go get our luggage and check in.”
—
You enter the keycard into the door thanking that lovely ticket agent for access to a comfortable bed. And it’s just as you feared… a bed… just one, singular bed that greets you in this average airport hotel room.
“I can take the chair,” Joel nervously says.
Part of you wishes he wouldn’t have offered.
“If you want, but the bed is big enough for both of us,” you shrug out of your jacket.
“S’okay, wouldn’t feel right.”
It’d feel just fine to you, but you don’t say anything, instead you open your luggage and fish out your toiletry bag and your pajamas.
“It’s almost midnight, I’m going to get my shower and get ready for bed.”
—-
His foot nervously taps against the carpet, goosebumps prickle along his arms when he hears your sigh reverberate against the shower tiles. Why is he so anxious? It feels like prom night all over again; he’s just a shy boy waiting for the beautiful girl to give him a sign, any sign, that she likes him. The last time he felt like this Sarah was born nine months later.
He grabs the TV remote trying to find a reprieve from his anxious thoughts, flipping it to the news. The anchor drones on about the great holiday snowstorm. In a way, he’s thankful for the blizzard– sure it means even more time in a flying panic tube, but at least he met you. He vows to not let any type of temptation get in the way of what feelings are developing between you two. No matter how much he thinks about your naked body in the shower and how good your body wash smells.
—-
You emerge from the bathroom, clean and fresh in your pajamas.
“Should’ve figured you’d be an Eagles fan,” he says, smirking at your oversized and faded sleep shirt.
“Let me guess, Cowboys fan?”
“Forever and always.”
“Oh, well, you’re my enemy now.”
He laughs, “I’m sure I am.”
You tuck yourself under the covers while Joel takes his shower, quickly falling asleep to the sounds of whatever generic late night host is cracking jokes on the TV.
—-
He quietly opens the bathroom door, the hotel room is bathed in the dim glow of the television. You're already fast asleep, cuddled under the white duvet, you look like an angel surrounded by clouds. Of course you're beautiful when you sleep. He tries not to stare too long, and yet he's planted in the threshold of the bedroom admiring you. He feels lucky at this moment, being able to watch someone as pretty as you slumber peacefully, while trying to silence the fact that tomorrow you both will go your separate ways. He doesn't want to say goodbye.
—-
A bassy groan and shuffle in the dark floats through the air waking you. The clock reads 1:45 AM. “There’s enough room in the bed for you, you know?”
“I know, just don’t want to overst– I’m still a stranger.”
“No, you’re my fiance, remember?” you shuffle the sheets on the other side of the bed down, “Joel, please, I insist.”
He sighs when he stands and makes his way to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, you can feel heated tension radiating off his body, the strong specimen of all man lays insecurely next to you.
“Joel, relax,” you whisper before placing your hand on his chest feeling the rapid beat of his heart.
“I’m okay, I-I just– haven’t done something like this in so long.”
“What? Laid in bed next to someone you’ve known less than a day? I’ve actually never done this.”
A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “No, just haven’t met someone as real as you in a long time. Is it real?”
“It’s real,” you say, shuffling closer to him, replacing your hand with your head. He wraps his arm around you as you listen to the pitter patter of his heart. “Goodnight Joel,” you whisper, closing your exhausted eyes.
“G’night,” he purrs, you feel the ghost of his lips against your hair as you drift to sleep.
—-
He lays awake most of the night, too afraid to fall asleep and disturb your beautiful sleeping form. He wishes he could record the cute sounds that emit from you as you slumber and dream, he’d listen to them forever if he could. He can’t believe he’s thinking this way, what should’ve been a terrifying and lonely standard trip to see his daughter has turned into an adventure of a lifetime with a woman he’s already crazy for.
Sure, he’s shared a bed with others since Sarah’s mom, he’s had a couple of flings here and there, but he never allowed himself to cuddle or care for them. They were never good enough for him… or most importantly Sarah. He thinks Sarah would adore you.
The red digits on the alarm clock read 3:00 AM, he’s known you for a grand total of twenty hours. Meaning he only has about eight hours left, he’s already dreading saying goodbye.
—-
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Your groggy eyes open, you move to silence the alarm but you quickly realize you’re trapped under a heavy weight. Joel. He groans against you, with his arms held tight around your stomach and his face nuzzled into your shoulder.
“Joel, it’s time to get up.”
He tenses against you and quickly unwraps your body from his hold.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly says, reaching across you to turn the alarm off.
“It’s okay,” you want to tell him you didn’t mind it all, that you haven’t slept that well in years, but you stay quiet.
“I’m just going to… get ready,” he stands, stretching and wiping his tired eyes. You try not to focus on the glimpse of his stomach remembering what it felt to have the soft swell of him against your back. “Don’t think I’ve slept that well in years.”
The bathroom door shuts as you flop back into bed, welcoming the fluttery feeling inside your body. “I feel the same way,” you confess to the empty hotel room.
—-
Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure and cross check.
“Well, we’re back to where we started, it’s been quite an adventure,” you smile.
“It has,” he clears his throat, reaches for your hand and sends you a soft smile. “I have ten days in Philadelphia, I was wondering if you have any good suggestions for a nice, romantic place to take someone I really like to?”
"Peach and Apple Pie"; Married Joel Sits On You (September Fic Prompt Challenge)
I gotta say @yopossum's "Snug" already nailed this writing prompt from our beloved @beefrobeefcal BUT it did get the creative juices flowing, as I've started to write for the Pedro Boys, and Joel is one of my favorites. Check out my previous attempts with Moody Joel and I hope you enjoy this Fall treat with a little slice of pie...
Triggers: post-apocalypse, discussions of "married life", M fo F reader, expanding waistlines, mentions of food, playful sitting/wrestling in committed relationship, lite smut at end...
An enigmatic autumn wind whipped around your cozy, creaking cabin. A fire crackled in the hearth and your legs were tucked underneath you as you ventured further into your well worn, re-discovered copy of Frankenstein. It was a miracle you had found it, during the raids and plundering—little luxuries like books, furniture and a home cooked meal had, at times, appeared almost imaginary. Trying to exist outside of survival had been a Herculean task, but with each passing day, your time at the commune and your relationships had started to spark that inner familiarity of comfort and peace. But with it, came the awareness that at any moment, those same luxuries could be whisked away like the bracing autumnal wind you were harbored against.
One aspect of your survival that seemed to anchor you to the realities of that new, peaceful life was Joel. Getting to know one another under the desperate, iron clad vice of hardened survival had been tempered by years of camaraderie, companionship…and eventually love. In one sense, marriage no longer existed, but had evolved into a state of committed partnership that transcended more than a contractual piece of paper. It was an unspoken agreement that was brought to life in passion, in practice and in repetition. In all the ways that humans were crafted for one another, you found yourself fitting into a life and another person who was helping you knit yourself back together.
Except for today. Joel was running late. As usual. The foreboding skies were darkening as you anxiously awaited his return, hopeful that the day’s patrol hadn’t exhausted him beyond recognition. “Marriage” had been good to Joel. His mental health and stability had improved, and he seemed, over-all, a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the “effect it had on his waistline”. You smirked, pausing in your reading, as you reflected on HIS choice of words. Joel wasn’t a vain man, by any definition, but his survival acumen was unmatched. Even in this happier state, it was difficult for Joel to relax into any kind of comfort whatsoever. It was only by your daily proddings, smushy kisses and love of baking that you were infinitesimally dragging Joel down the path of blissful, partnered life. If he’d ever get home.
You heard the tell-tale signs of your Frankensteinian bedmate lumbering up the wooden porch and flinging the door open as cascades of leaves and hay blew in after him. Slamming the door shut behind him, he grunted in recognition as you yelled from the couch, “DO NOT TRACK THAT MUD INTO MY HOUSE BIG MAN! TAKE THOSE BOOTS OFF IMMEDIATELY AND GO TO THE KITCHEN”. You pursed your lower lip with slight chagrin, aware that you were running a little hot. Joel’s heart might be significantly armored, but you bit your tongue with embarrassment. Annoyed at your own need, you hoped that Joel knew you well enough to discern your restless state. Joel always had a way of handling you that kept you grounded and present, but perhaps there were some moods that even Joel couldn’t tame. He huffed with exasperation, dropping his coat on the ground unceremoniously and heading into the kitchen.
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GARDEN OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS, BUT YOU NEED TO GET OUT THERE AND WRANGLE THOSE CARROTS INTO SUBMISSION!” you shouted from the living room, as Joel clanged around the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. “MARIA CAME BY TO ASK FOR AN EXTRA SHIFT NEXT WEEK IN CASE RAIDERS WERE COMING UP THE SOUTH PASSAGE!” you bellowed, annoyed that you had to sacrifice another evening with Joel at home. “THE LEG ON THAT DINING ROOM CHAIR IS MORE WOBBLY THAN EVER, AND YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EAT THAT APPLE PIE UNTIL YOU HAVE SOME…soup first…!” you trailed off, lost again in your literary masterpiece as the kitchen chaos lulled to a dull roar.
You began mouthing the words of one of your favorite passages, “I endeavored to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise.” You temporarily paused in your reading, suspicious at the sudden silence in the house.
“DON’T YOU DARE ATTEND THAT COUNCIL MEETING THIS EVENING AFTER A FULL DAY OF PATROLS, WITH NO FOOD IN YOUR STOMACH AND AN ACHING BACK! AND IF YOU EVEN GIVE ME ONE IOTA OF SASS ABOUT TAKING A BATH THIS EVENING I WILL ABSOLUTELY SMOTHER YOU WITH KISSES UNTIL YOU’RE BEGGING FOR REPRIEVE!” you let your voice echo in the cabin, pleased with your relative confidence and bravado. Joel might inspire fear in the hearts of the commune residents, but you had seen this man in a bubble bath. It was obvious to you who wore the pants in this family.
You continued reading, “I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye…”. You nodded your head in approval. It was so ridiculous that Mary Shelley hadn’t been recognized in her day as the foremost writer of science fiction. Eyeing the page skeptically, you were just about to shout something to that effect when Joel’s peach of a jean clad ass loomed large in your vision before he promptly sat on top of you.
“Jo-OOOOOOH-el!” you huffed as the warmth of his body covered you like a man-blanket, easing himself atop you delicately, at first, awkwardly smashing the book into your chest with solidity. The pine scented cologne of his plaid shirt muffled your laughter as he wriggled his hips atop you, sinking back to full effect.
“Needs Cheddar” he grumbled, mouth full of sugared sweetness, chomping away at the apple pie you had expressly forbade him to eat.
“I didn’t have tii—-ime” you hyperventilated “to cultivate and curdle bacteria between patrols you big…OOOF!” Joel pushed back gently as the couch creaked under both of your bodies, humming in delight at the baked goodness melting in his mouth.
“Look little missy” he drawled sarcastically “It was a long day, my back is hurtin’ and if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours I’m gonna give you a Texas spankin’!”. You stilled with anticipation, excited at the turn of events that had transpired with your moody attitude. Maybe you would have to start complaining more often.
“Just you t-t-try Big Man!” you tried to retort as a blush crept up your neck and cheeks, attempting to squeeze some sense into your hulk of man. Unable to grasp him fully around the waist, you shifted your hands to the meat of his thighs, gripping just under the knees. Joel lurched forward slightly in ticklish surprise, doubling down on his tactic he sighed contentedly, relaxing into your lap.
Shaking your head in comic disbelief, you decided to opt for a new tactic, and with honeyed dramatics you coo’d, “OOOH…I’m seeing stars! I can—t…can—t breathe!” you giggled, flailing your arms like a small child. “My life…it’s fl-fl-flashing before my eyes! This is it! I’m s-s-o weak….” you trailed off, releasing all the energy from your body and collapsing in mock catatonia. You heard Joel sigh heavily, easing off your body and creaking to the floor gently. The corners of your mouth turned upward as you hazarded a squint out the corner of your eye to find Joel on his knees in front of you with slight annoyance and concern.
“That’s better darlin’” he swallowed, a glint in his eyes flashing for the smallest millisecond. He reached over for his plated slice of apple pie, grabbing a small piece with his bare hand and dangling it inches from your mouth.
“Now that I got that pretty mouth to shut up, go ahead and open wide darlin’” he teased, licking his lips with more than hunger.
Your mouth parted lustfully as he delicately placed the gooey desert on your tongue, as you sucked the crumbs off of his fingers. Hissing with arousal his lips formed a small “oh” as you licked the tart sweetness off of his thumb which he dragged across your lower lip.
“Now that’s settled, Baby Girl, it seems to me…somebody said something about a bubble bath…”...
Digital drawing of Dieter as Eros as Marie Antoinette from @schnarfer’s gorgeous incredible perfect Eros & Psyche because I cannot get him out of my head. A thousand thank yous to Al for a masterpiece
JOEL SAT ON ME AND I CONSIDERED IT AN HONOR AND A PRIVILEGE
My contribution for @beefrobeefcal’s Married Joel Sits On You challenge is complete!!
Main Masterlist
Married!Joel x wife reader - M - 18+ only, weight gain talk and appreciation, drunkenness, Joel is a big ol love bug who wants to squish his perfect wife (you)
Snug
You were curled up in your old green tufted armchair, had just finished a chapter of your book, and were debating making another cup of tea when the tell-tale squeak of the front steps accompanied by heavy footsteps and drunken muttering alerted you to your husband’s return.
“Mmm, gotta… fix… ‘s not safe… gonna… gonna get hurt… not my baby…. Ah shit… where’s my…. ‘S still unlocked?”
With an aggressive jiggle of the knob, Joel came crashing into the house, stumbling over the toes of his boots and looking up bashfully.
“Hey handsome,” you smirked. “Have fun with Tommy?”
“Not ‘s much fun as I have with my beautiful wife,” he slurred, pointing a wobbling finger your direction. “Thas you, baby.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Joel,” you laughed. “You two had a bit to drink, it sounds like.” You set your book down on the coffee table alongside your empty mug and stretched your arms up to the ceiling, yawning.
“Jus’ a few, darlin’. Missed you too much, had to come home t’ ya. Need t’ see you. Alllllllll the time. Thas how much I wanna look atcha.” The booze stretched his twang out, slowed his speech, words sloshing and swinging from his lazy tongue like it was a porch rocker on a hot summer day. It wasn’t often Joel let himself relax, and it was a treat when he got loose like this.
God, you adored him.
“You hungry, babe?” you asked your stumbling hunk. “I left you a plate in the microwave in case all you two had was whiskey and peanuts.”
Joel groaned appreciatively. “Fuuuck, honey. How d’ya always know jus’ what I need? What’d I ever do t’ deserve you, hm? Funny, so damn smart, so kind, you’re gorgeous. Smell good. Perfect fuckin’ pussy…”
“Go get your dinner, Romeo,” you cut him off with a snort. With an over-the-top wink, Joel sauntered into the kitchen. You watched him go with a grin, admiring (honestly, ogling) the delicious way his jeans hugged him and the flex of his broad back under the snug green plaid shirt he favored.
A few years in, and marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed over all a happier person. The only drawback, to him, seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. Regular meals, fewer hours out at the job site, more time spent enjoying life’s small pleasures. Add in plain old aging, and some body changes were inevitable. God knows you’d had plenty of them yourself.
You knew Joel was a little sensitive about his pants fitting a bit tighter, the buttons of his ancient flannels straining slightly more than they used to over the swell of his belly. But where these changes made Joel frown at his reflection when he caught himself in the mirror before a shower, or sigh when he had to punch a new hole in his single belt, they had no negative effect on you whatsoever.
To your husband’s surprise, you were ravenous for his softening body. Your hands often found their way to his pockets to palm his plump ass through the denim, to the hem of his shirt to stroke the round warm underside of his stomach, to pat and squeeze his thick thighs. When he came inside you each night (and most mornings) and tried to hover over himself your body to kiss you after finishing, you often yanked him down on top of you, relishing the crushing weight of your husband enveloping your form like the world’s sexiest, most affectionate weighted blanket.
You couldn’t get enough of him, so having more Joel to love? A blessing. And when he loped back into the living room, his plate heaped with the dinner you’d made earlier ,wearing a smile wide and dopey, you were happy that the most hardworking, self-sacrificing man you’d ever known entrusted you with his comfort.
He plopped onto the sofa, a little harder than he probably meant to, and sat his plate on the end of the coffee table nearest to you.
“Looks so good, sugar, you’re amazin’. Fuckin’ girl of my dreams. And you *married me*! Wow. Wowwwww.” The tips of Joel’s ears and the rounds of his cheeks were peony pink, his eyes glassy with both drink and adoration. He took a forkful of the pasta and vegetables from his plate and opened his mouth around it with a moan. “Baby, mmmmfff, Jesus,” he mumbled through chews, eyes closing in ecstasy as he ate.
“Sober Joel is going to be mortified when I tell him about Drunk Joel’s table manners,” you snickered. You unfolded your legs and reached a foot towards the couch, poking at him in the side with your pointed toes.
“Naw,” he said with a dramatic shake of his head, swallowing his bite. You couldn’t help but track the way his Adam’s apple slid along his tan, taut throat, and despite his hazy state, he clocked it immediately. “Y’aren’t gonna tell that asshole anythin’. Jus’ our little secret, sweetheart.” He licked his lips, tongue poking into the corner to catch a spot of sauce that lingered in his mustache. “I’ll make it worth your while, promise this Joel knows ‘xactly whatcha like,” he hummed, eyes gleaming and dimple pitting deep in his rosy cheek.
“I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re drunk, Miller, if that’s what you’re getting at.” You cackled when he scowled, sticking out his lower lip in a nearly-irresistible pout.
“But what if I want to real bad, Miller?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I’ll letcha have your way with me any damn day, honey, please. I’m achin’ for ya.” His eyebrows curled up in a pitiful plea, his big brown sad puppy dog eyes in full force.
You leaned forward in your chair, planting your feet on the ground. “I’ll have my way with you when you’re not plastered, I swear.” Joel dropped his head in disappointment, whining.
“Jus’ love you so much…” he murmured at the floor. “Wanna show you… take such good care ‘a me, make me feel so good… best wife of every wife, give me the best life…”
Your heart was full to burst. “Come here, you big sentimental sap,” you said, sitting back and opening your arms to your pathetically endearing enormous drunken husband.
Rather than walk, Joel slid from the couch cushions to the floor with a thud and proceeded to crawl on his hands and knees across the rug, stopping at your feet and looking up at you sheepishly through long dark lashes.
You gestured to your lap. “Up.”
Joel clambered from the ground, dropping himself solidly into the cradle of your body (eliciting a breathy OOF as he knocked the wind from your lungs) and curling up like a pillbug against your chest. The chair creaked in fruitless protest. You struggled to catch your breath and adjust your legs underneath him, but managed to encourage his head into the crook of your neck so you could nuzzle into his soft silvered curls, press kisses to the lines across his forehead. Your arms didn’t fit all the way around him, but you snuck them in at his waist and ran your thumbs back and forth along the meat of his hips.
Joel burrowed his face into the space above your collarbone, nudging his nose up against your throat and humming softly, pressing a sweet kiss to the dip there. “Thas’ real nice. Love you s‘much,” he buzzed into your warm skin. Your ribs couldn’t quite expand enough to take your regular breaths without effort, and numbness was prickling your thighs and asscheeks, but you made no effort to move.
“‘M not hurtin’ you, honey, am I?” Joel’s quiet voice was already honeying over with the pull of slumber. His breath slowed and evened, inching its way toward soft snores.
“Not at all, sleepyhead,” you assured him, whispering warmly into the smooth shell of his ear, giving it a gentle nibble before laying your cheek against the top of his head. “You’re perfect.”
Anytime Dieter has to film a sex scene, he's pre-requisite is that you, his personal assistant, is there on set for him to fuck first. Minutes before the shoot begins, he's railing you in the makeup trailer, watching as you fall apart in the mirror until he's about ready to cum. With his face flushed, a bit of sweat going, and exuding sexual prowess, hes kicking down the door and storming on set, ready for his intimacy scene.
Really, how can anyone expecr him to act unless he gets his blooming ego warmed from the chick he's knocked up with his bastard.
You're home from college for the summer, staying with your parents in Austin, TX. So is your dad's best friend, Joel Miller.
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni
Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 41), masturbation (f), oral sex, PiV, hair pulling, dirty talk. No outbreak!AU.
Word count: 2.3K
A/N: If you know/follow me, you're probably just as shocked as I am to see a dbf!Joel fic by my hand. Totally get it if it's not your thing, please feel free to move on and skip this one. However - if you've read and enjoyed other fics by me, you may wanna give it a try! Submitting this also to @hellishjoel who is organizing the #hotdilfsummerchallenge (go check out all the other fics on her page!) 💜
series masterlist | main masterlist
You don’t hate him. Not exactly.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m just so damn sick of him, you know? He thinks he’s so important and hot shit. People are fawning about him all the damn time, but he’s just my dad and an asshole,” you sigh to your best friend on the other end of the Facetime call. You’re in an Uber headed to your parents’ house, desperate for time away from school and your cheating ex. Your mom had been excited that you would be spending the summer break with them in Austin, and assured you that your father would be too. As IF.
“I thought that maybe I could just relax, but no. Everything is about my dad again. He started this big... I don’t even know what. Project. Venture. Mission. Did you see it on tv? He’s on the news all the damn time.” Just the thought alone already makes you cringe, and you’re glad to see your friend nod at you, requiring no further explanation - she knows all about your father. “So I figured he won’t be in my way when I’m home. But now his friend Joel is staying at the house, too. The entire fucking summer. Who even does that?”
Your father and Joel had been friends for a long time, even before you were born, but you struggled to remember anything about him. He was a contractor, running his own company for quite a while now, and he had a brother named Tommy. “They’re working on renovating his house, so he needed a place to stay. It’s not like he’ll be in your way, sweetheart. Most of the time he’s out working for clients,” your mom had assured you, reminding you there were more than just a few spare bedrooms at the house. But to you, it didn’t matter; he would be in the way. You just knew it. Ruining your summer. The last thing you needed was a constant reminder of your dad shaped as Joel, hanging around the house.
“No, I don’t know much about him - it’s been years since I saw him.” You wince as you see your parents’ house down the street, and for a moment you’re tempted to ask the Uber driver to circle around the block one more time. “Look, I’m here - I have to go. Wish me luck, call me later,” you plead with your friend as the car pulls up to the oversized driveway. It takes a moment to get all your suitcases out of the car, since the driver merely watches you with an impatient frown on his face, but then you’re finally stumbling towards the front door.
It’s good to be in Austin again, but you haven’t missed the Texas heat - and humidity - for one bit. All you want right now is a pizza and a very, very strong drink to forget about the shitty trip you just had. But it seems not even that is in the cards for you right now, as nobody bothers to come to the door after you’ve loudly rang the doorbell. Not even on the third try. Just when you’re about to start screaming in frustration, you finally hear footsteps rushing down the hallway.
“Mom, why did you not–,” you start when the door swings open, but the words immediately stick in your throat as you stare at the man in front of you. Tall, strong, and handsome, looking much better than he had any right to while being dressed in old jeans and a t-shirt - courtesy of those arms in particular, and a mouth that immediately gave you ideas about where he should put it. Jesus Christ.
“Joel…?”, you finally manage when your brain seems to catch up with the low throb you’re feeling in your pussy. You do not remember your dad’s best friend looking this hot, or smelling so good - the sandalwood in his cologne reminds you of more than just a couple of debauched nights on campus that you’d had in the past year. But this was clearly not one of the frat boys that surrounded you during your classes or evenings out. This was a whole ass DILF, somewhere in his early forties like your parents, and it takes you effort to not whimper as you take him in.
Your core aches just from looking at him, a painful reminder of how many weeks it has been since you’d last had an orgasm that didn’t come from your own hand or a toy. Finding out that your piece of shit ex-boyfriend had been running around with several other girls had been a harsh way to end the semester, but at least it made you decide to spend the summer here in Texas. And that decision suddenly seems like a very, very good idea in retrospect.
It’s only when Joel says your name, an amused smirk playing over his face, that you realize you’ve definitely been staring at him. “Hey, kiddo. Been a while. D’you need a hand with that?”, he asks, and as you hear his drawl, you’re pretty damn sure that you’ve never heard that man sound anything like this. Goddamn. Hot in every way, it seems, it seems - you may have never before appreciated a Texas accent as much as you like his.
He doesn’t wait for your response, but simply takes over two of your suitcases and a duffle bag like they weigh nothing. “Nicole- I mean, your mom asked me to help you get you settled, she’s gonna be back in a few hours,” he says, keeping the front door open with one strong shoulder so you can get into the house.
“Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” you manage to say as you follow him through the house, to your bedroom on the second floor. Walking behind him is the perfect excuse to take in his physique, and you freely let your eyes roam over his strong shoulders and broad back, and you can tell you’re getting wet just by looking at him. God, he’s fit. Especially for a guy who is probably twenty years older than you are. Those arms… Was he single? And - did that even matter, really?
You realize that you must’ve zoned out and missed something he’s said to you, because he gives you a questioning look when you’re both standing in your childhood bedroom. The decoration, colors and posters are still familiar to you, but in a detached way, like you’re looking at them in a photo album of someone you used to be, in sharp contrast to who you are now and the man in front of you.
“I said that I hope I won’t be in your way this summer. Your parents are happy you’re staying here with them,” he says, then surprises you by giving you a friendly, brief hug. “It’s good to see you again, kid.” You gladly accept the hug, and you can’t help but bury your face against his shoulder for just a moment, inhaling his cologne and the underlying subtle tone of his natural scent. That’s when you internally make up your mind, right there on the spot.
You want him.
Now, and for the rest of the summer.
And if that pissed off your father? All the better.
Once you’re sure he’s left the hallway outside of your room, you grab your phone and immediately google his name, checking through his online profiles. No mention of any wife or girlfriend. Perfect. When you find his Instagram, your jaw drops at the photos you see of Joel clearly working hard and dripping sweat. Almost pornographic, really.
With a few taps you send the pictures to your best friend, quickly adding the caption ‘sooo i decided I’m gonna be his inappropriately young gf for the summer’. Her response pings almost instantly, as you expected, a barrage of emojis and ‘OMG GIRL YESSSS GET THAT DILF’. You can’t help but chuckle as you send a quick message back to her, ‘more later xxx’, then turn off the sound on your phone.
For a moment you consider unpacking all of your luggage, which would definitely be the more practical thing to do. On the other hand, your parents are not gonna be home in the next few hours, and since Joel’s room didn’t seem too close to yours to overhear anything…
You sigh in relief when you find the silky bag in your luggage that stores your sex toys, and pull out your favorite clit sucker without a moment of hesitation. Quick and dirty, that’s what you need right now, you decide as you get onto the bed. After a moment of hesitation, you re-open Instagram and scroll back to Joel’s page, while you reach for your AirPods in the hidden pocket of your dress.
His profile is clearly promotional for his company - Miller & Co -, and you vaguely recognize his brother Tommy in some shots, but fortunately the focus is mostly on him. When you click on Reels and see several videos of him at work, your heart starts racing, your mouth going dry while you feel the exact opposite happening in your panties. Fuck, he is so hot. If you thought the view you had while walking behind him was good, it sure is nothing compared to seeing him work on construction projects that show him flexing those muscles, jeans clinging desperately onto his thighs the way you would like your hands to do.
You’re stroking yourself already after the second video, and by the time you’re treated to the sight and sound of him lifting lumber with a grunt, you’ve got two fingers deep inside of your pussy. You whimper as you imagine he’s in your room watching you with those dark eyes. Your breathing grows heavy as you picture him getting on the bed, giving you that sexy smirk as he puts his head between your thighs so he can lick at your wetness. His bottom lip had tempted you from the start, and you just know it would feel so good as he’d circle your clit with his tongue.
You can barely suppress a moan as your hips buck up hard, and you press the toy closer against yourself, thrusting your slick fingers faster as you chase the release that’s close - so so very close already. What if he buried that stubble against your thighs, urging your fingers out of yourself so he could lick them clean, his lips closing around your digits as he’d suck on you. Brown eyes filled with desire, reflecting how much you want him too, and then the push of his tongue inside your cunt as he starts to eat you out.
You whisper his name quietly as your body starts to shake, hearing him moan contently as he works you up some more, then comes up for air, slipping two - no, three of his thick fingers roughly inside of you, just as demanding as his mouth is. “Good girl. Now come f’me.”
You gasp as the orgasm ripples through you, much faster than you expected, and you bury your face into your pillow so you won’t cry his name out loud. Before the waves of your orgasm have subsided, you flip yourself to your stomach as you keep the buzzing toy in place, grinding down harder on your fingers as you shudder from the overstimulation. Still you keep going, because it’s what Joel would do - you know it’s what he would want, tease you and push you to make you come again and again.
He’d make you cry his name out loudly, until you’re writhing against him like a feral cat in heat, desperate as you’re begging him for his cock so he can fuck you into the mattress, claiming you and demanding to own every part of you. His sweaty heavy body covering yours, lips and teeth drawing more gasps from you, until your head becomes completely devoid of any thoughts, only able to focus on how good he’s making you feel - how his thickness is throbbing inside of you, going deeper than anyone has been before, and you know that he’s about to ruin you for any other men, because it’s never going to be better than it is with him.
As your body convulses and you’re about to come again, you suddenly hear your name being called loudly from downstairs - not by Joel, but the shriller sound of your mom’s voice as she’s looking for you. It takes everything you have to restrain yourself from yelling angrily at the interruption, your mind and body at war with each other for a second, and you bite your lip hard as you mentally grab onto the fantasy of Joel, unwilling to let go of it - of him.
“Coming!,” you snap loudly, hoping that she won’t be able to hear the panting in your voice, or the buzzing toy in your hand. “Be right there!”
‘Good fucking girl. Such a dirty little slut for me,’ imaginary-Joel whispers at you, pounding into you, and you know he’s about to come too. “Give it to me again. Wanna feel you soak my cock,” the whisper changing into a low hiss that sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face even further into the pillow as you whine his name, begging him for more, to pump his seed into you and fill you up. He laughs, the sound hoarse and taunting, and then his hand grabs a hold of your hair and tugs your head back up. “No hiding. You scream my name when I make you come, you hear me?”, he grunts at you - and you bite your lip as you come hard again, soaking your fingers for a second time as the orgasm rocks you so much harder than the first one did.
Fuck. FUCK. You need him, every part of him, so goddamn bad.
A/N II: Thank you @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @lotusbxtch @sin-djarin @mountainsandmayhem
@qveerthe0ry @perotovar for encouraging me to write a wild idea that suddenly came to mind. This came together shockingly fast with ideas and feedback from all of them, so thank you babes for supporting and enabling me!
Fic title is obviously snagged from Chappell Roan's 'Guilty Pleasure'!
This could have been an e-mail Dave!York x f!reader
summary: When you mistakenly send a sample of your filthy fanfiction to the inbox of your uptight DILF neighbor, you don't see how it can end well. Luckily for you, it does.
tags: dirty talk: lots of it, exhibitionism (kinda?), Dave being a sexy menace.
a/n: Okay, I originally wrote this for @hellishjoel 's #hotdilfsummercontest but it didn't feel sexy or DILF-y enough. It was inspired by another story I read on here a few days ago called "What's a fanfiction?" (Go read it!!)
This could have been an e-mail
It was supposed to go to Dana, your online friend and general menace. The one who you sent back filthy memes to, the one who wrote comments under your stories like I need that filthy little agent to wear me like a glove.
It most certainly wasn't supposed to go to Dave fucking York, your asshole neighbor and neighborhood HOA captain. The broad man who barks at you when your side of the lawn grows too long or you don't bring in your trash bins fast enough.
It makes the neighborhood look bad and brings down the value of the homes; he told you your first week here. That was the day you'd exchanged emails with the promise that if anything came up you'd contact him.
You fucking idiot.
It's been six months of his bullshit. Six months of biting your tongue when he criticizes your rusty mailbox or makes passing mention of the oil spill on your driveway. Six months of living next to him and his two daughters, ignoring when the eldest kicks her soccer ball against the side of their house at six in the morning.
Well, five months of that, you suppose. The kids are with their mother this summer so it's been blessedly quiet these past few weeks.
You don't know all the details, but from what Caroline the neighborhood snoop from told you over the fence one day was that he and his wife Carol divorced last year. It lends him some sympathy in your eyes, but not enough to accept his continual irritating comments.
So it's been six months of living ‘peacefully’ next to the lawn-care tyrant. And you've maintained a healthy, respectful relationship in that time.
Until now.
You sit in front of your computer, refreshing the page, desperate for it to be a dream. But no, it remains, that stark black and white sentence staring back at you. Blunt, bleak and to the point; just like the man that sent it to you.
Think this was meant for someone else.
- Dave
And underneath it, the quick blurb you'd written. A sexy little one-shot fantasy featuring a character from a TV series you'd enjoyed. A racy little scene you thought your friends online might enjoy featuring the male lead, handcuffs and a lot of office sex.
Dana was your beta reader, a bloodhound for typos and improper syntax. She loved getting the story first, peppering you with memes and suggestions. You lived for it.
But in your rush to send it off to her before you ran errands yesterday afternoon you didn't see the auto fill address before you sent it off. Not to [email protected] but [email protected]
Fuck.
In the following days you remind yourself that it’s not like you and Dave are friends. It's easy to ignore him. He's just some guy who lives next door to you. You're rarely pulling out of your side by side driveways at the same time. And if you just run from your car to the house with your keys ready to go there's even less chance of seeing him.
And that plan works all the way up until Saturday afternoon.
///
"Who’s Javier?"
A low, gravelly voice reaches over the sound of rushing water from your bucket. You're outside in shorts and a t-shirt, your feet bare and your hair tied up in a messy knot. You're washing your car, tired of seeing it caked with dirt that's kicked up every time there's a storm.
You stiffen, hands ceasing their movements when you hear the question. You almost wonder if you're hallucinating. But when you turn around your nightmare is solidified in the form of Dave York standing there behind you. He's wearing black slacks, a powder blue dress shirt and a tie loosened at the neck.
"In the email you sent me," Dave adds when you don't reply. "It mentioned a man named Javier. A cop."
Normally he doesn't cross the boundary separating your two front yards but right now he's so close you can see where he missed shaving, the plump of his lips, the dark shine of his eyes.
"He's a DEA agent," you croak, feeling pathetic.
Dave looks gravely concerned, his eyes all flinty as he flexes his jaw.
"DEA? Fuck, it's worse than I thought." Dave looks so irritated. "I'm gonna need this guys full name, work address, everything you can give me."
"Huh? Why?"
"Your diary entry was pretty troubling," Dave explains, his elevens deepening as he looks at you.
"My... Diary?"
Dave nods. You watch him pull out his phone, tapping and scrolling with his thumb before he clears his throat.
"Javier takes me down to his office, thankfully empty aside from some desks, chairs and a framed photo of the president. He turns, pressing me into the chair nearest to him. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I watch him light a cigarette. 'You're gonna tell me the information I wanna know,' Javier tells me, his dark eyes blazing as his face nears mine. 'Or I'm going to fuck it out of you.'"
Dave reads this robotically as you watch helplessly, your eyes widening with every word. Dave looks disgusted shaking his head and shoving his phone back in his pocket.
"The descriptions of what he made you do in exchange for information... It's disgusting. It's also illegal. I work for the government, I have a duty to report it."
Holy shit. He thinks that your story is real.
You want to sink into the earth in humiliation.
"It's nothing," you stammer, your cheeks flaming. "it's just fa- it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Dave insists. "It's an officer taking advantage of a civilian, using his power to manipulate-"
"It's not real!"
You can't listen to him anymore and you interrupt your face absolutely throbbing with hot humiliation.
"I don't understand."
"It's just something I wrote and sent to my friend," you explain, resting your bottom against the car as you cradle your forehead in one hand. The other holds the wet sponge uselessly at your side. "It's just fan fiction."
"Fan fiction?"
"Yeah."
Dave squints. "What's that?"
Jesus Christ. Are you really going to explain fan fiction to this uptight Gen-X-er? He stands with authority and a severe expression on his face as he stares you down. You might as well just tell him and get it over with.
"Uh, it's like when, um..." You struggle with how to explain it, lifting your head. "Like think of a book or movie or TV show you like. You take characters from that and you write about them."
Dave looks flummoxed, stemming his hands on his hips.
"Why?"
"Why does anyone do anything?" You shrug defensively. "For fun? Boredom?"
"So this Javier-"
"Is a character from a TV show," you sigh. "And that story I sent…. It wasn’t meant for you, obviously. It was for my friend Dana. She loves him.”
Dave says nothing and you feel compelled to add something in the stark silence.
“…He's fun to write about."
It takes a moment but finally Dave's lip curls in amusement and belated understanding. It transforms his face and you take a moment to observe the way his clean-shaven face is so angular, in such juxtaposition with his soft eyes and mouth.
"So you just write stuff like this for fun?"
"Yeah."
"No other reason?"
Dave's voice is raspy and low, like he's dragging it over broken glass. It occurs to you that he’s dropped his voiced a few registers and his body is loosened. Despite this, he's eyeing you like prey, not even blinking.
"What other reason would there be?"
Dave casts his eyes around the neighborhood, seeing that it's free of the usual crowd this the holiday weekend. The street is currently deserted. Satisfied, his eyes flick back to you and he takes another step forward.
You take a sharp intake of breath when he moves his arms around either side of you and braces his palms on the vehicle's hood behind you, effectively caging you between he and your car. In this moment you observe that his mouth is inches from yours.
"Maybe you just want to be touched,” Dave murmurs silkily. “Or maybe you want to be used like the woman in the story, hmm? You want someone to take control?"
Dave smirks and everything in you suddenly attunes to the fact that this Dave York, pain the ass neighbor is... Hot.
He grips the dripping sponge in your hand, and you release it without thought, your breathing growing shallow.
"You couldn't believe when he forced you to your knees right there in his office, his dark eyes calculating like a shark as he pulled himself from his jeans. 'You're going to make me come, you little slut,' he told you bluntly. 'And you're going to do it now."
Dave parrots your written words back to you. You don’t miss that he’s changed the readers perspective. He looks further amused when you can only swallow back at him. His dark eyes bounce between your lips and your eyes and you know you should be pushing him away, but all you can do is listen.
It's humiliating for sure, but it's also so fucking hot hearing him say this stuff. He's a straight-laced dad next door; you didn't expect him to sound so... Syrupy when he spoke.
You watch silently as he raises the soaked sponge above your chest, squeezing it as he speaks.
"He fucks your mouth slowly, drawing his pleasure out as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. With every pass of him over your tongue you can feel yourself getting so wet."
The water from the sponge drips down, flooding your t-shirt. You gasp at the chill, your hands braced behind you on the car. You watch rivulets of clear water stream down his wrist, plopping onto your shirt, making your nipples pucker through the now sheer fabric.
His eyes grow darker as he watches them poke out the thin material of your shirt and bra. Cheap things you didn't mind getting dirty.
No part of Dave is touching you, but it's like you can feel his fingers ghosting over your body as his eyes rove your body before they come back to your face.
"You’re wet now aren't you?"
Is that from your story? You can't remember. Your brain is buzzing and your voice is gone.
All you can do is pant up at him. Dave shifts himself closer and his eyes dip to between your legs before snapping back to your heavy-lidded gaze.
"Should I check?"
You make a choked noise in the back of your throat, desperate for him to actually touch you. Your hips shift slightly at his approach, your legs trembling.
"Don't even need to," Dave hums as his head tilts thoughtfully, "I can see you're soaked from here."
You barely suppress a whimper. His eyes drift to your mouth and you shock yourself by tilting forward, wanting to feel his warm lips on yours.
"And it's gonna be overcast later today so I'd change when you can otherwise you might catch a cold."
He pushes himself off the car, a grin barely concealed on his handsome face as his words hit you. He hands you the sponge, careful not to brush your fingers with his as you mechanically take it from him.
What the fuck?
You blink rapidly as he strides over to check his nearby mailbox, pulling out a few envelopes and shuffling through them as you watch him agape.
Gone is the sensual man from moments before, replaced with the businesslike Dave you've always known.
"Don't forget," he tells you distractedly as he sorts through his mail, "Monday is still garbage day even though it's a holiday."
He gives you a short wave before he turns around, sauntering back to his house like nothing happened.
"Oh and washing your car during a drought is punishable by a $500 fine," he throws over his shoulder. "Just thought you should know."
You stand there with the sponge dangling from your fingers, your nipples on display under your sopping t-shirt and just stare after him, bewildered. You watch him about to enter his home, disappointment flooding you. You really thought something was gonna happen there.
And you're kind of disgusted with yourself that you were so into it.
You scowl, about to go back to cleaning when you hear him calling back over to you, a grin on his face as he leans one broad shoulder against the frame of his door.
"I know it's a steep fee and as a reasonable man I'm happy to discuss a more fitting punishment if that interests you."
A rush darts through your core at his words. Arousal tugs brutally below your navel causing you to lower the sponge, gazing at him coquettishly over your shoulder.
"This evening seems like a good time to discuss it, Mister York." You call back, unable to keep the smirk from your face.
"Excellent," Dave nods. "Be sure to email me the details."
