Suing whoever keeps putting Pedro in crisp white shirts for damages.
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men whimpering >>>>
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Oh okay well this just made me fall even deeper in obsession love with Joel Miller đ„șđâ€ïž
i do fucking LOVE what a complex person we get in the joel on outbreak day.
like when tommy still hesitates even though he has the gun when mrs. adler is running at them, joel DOESN'T. he is clearly surprised. he is clearly wondering what in the FUCK is going on.
but he also IMMEDIATELY eliminates a threat to his family.
AND THEN HE THROWS HIS WEAPON AWAY AND GOES TO CHECK ON HIS DAUGHTER.
like the way joel IMMEDIATELY cups sarah's face and APOLOGIZES. we have just seen EXACTLY how brutal joel can get, but his IMMEDIATE concern is "baby, i'm sorry" bc he knows he just scared sarah. and his whole "but we're gonna be brave" HURTS ME SO BAD. GOD HE'S SUCH A FATHER.
and like. they are in a RUSH. they are trying to GET OUT. and he still pauses long enough to yell at their neighbor to get back inside and lock the doors. his family is still his priority, but he still obviously CARES. he didn't have to stop. he didn't have to say anything. but joel IS inherently a protector.
it's just that his family will always get his protection first.
i also fucking ADORE how much we see tommy defer to joel. like they have a ZOMBIE running at them, and tommy is still asking joel what they're gonna do here. and tommy goes to stop to help the family and clearly doesn't like the idea of not stopping, BUT HE DOES. and AGAIN we have joel trying to look out for sarah emotionally as well as physically with the immediate "someone else'll stop." like the tone of his voice isn't him reassuring himself for his own decisions. he doesn't regret that choice. he is saying that ONLY for sarah. also the way he is CONTINUALLY tucking her face down against his shoulder. even in this madness, he has the presence of mind to try and shield her from this.
so in this like. TEN MINUTE OR LESS STRETCH we have already established: 1. joel can get brutal with what seems like very little internal conflict if he feels he has to 2. joel is also a VERY attentive and gentle father even in fucking CHAOS 3. joel is the one who makes the calls in the family
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Iâm in the middle of wedding stuff rn and stopped to take a Tumblr break and then stumbled upon THIS absolutely beautiful piece? đâ€ïž cue the tears!
Saturdays with Javier: Always, Forever
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Word Count: 1463
Warnings: Talks of death/loss; otherwise pure softness and fluff
A/N: This came to me late the other night and Iâm a mess. Iâve been wanting to write more for these two, but didnât want it to feel forced. This seemed like the perfect addition to their story. Hoping it flows well and doesnât seem too rushed. The quote mentioned didnât have a source that I could find, but if you happen to know please let me know and I will site it. Like always, this is unbetaâd, all mistakes are my own doing. I also added some Spanish, itâs been many years since Iâve studied it or spoke it, so I apologize if I miss stepped and miss used any words/phrases, I used google translate (please let me know and I will fix).
Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist
His nerves are firing off the charts. This isnât some planned raid heâs done with a crowd of well trained men behind him. No bullet proof vest to protect his rapidly beating heart.
Inhale. Exhale.
Breathe.
His gaze shifts from the ground below his feet, up and out to the faces sitting before him. All familiar in their own right. Each one bringing a sense of peace to his nervous riddled body.
Inhale. Exhale.
Breathe.
A few family and close friends sit under the old tree thatâs tucked away on the back side of his fatherâs ranch. Draped in a simple white cloth, the tree has been witness to many life events throughout Javierâs lifetime.
Itâs branches providing protection on the hot summer days as a teen. A spot at the base of the trunk heâd find himself when life felt the most unfair.
After the loss of his Mama, this tree was where her service was held. Many gathering beneath its coverage to celebrate the beautiful woman she was. That day Javier spoke about how much she meant to him and how heâd do his best to grow up to be the man she wanted him to become.
The branches continuing to provide protection even as a grown man. Each visit sitting in the same spot. Heâd talk to his Mama here, not ever really sure if she could hear him. Heâd tell her about all what had happened between each visit. Itâs where he shared with her his thoughts and feelings. Heâd told her about the DEA and how heâd be leaving for Colombiaâ expressing it would be awhile before he would be able to visit again. Each visit to this spot he felt closer to her. Before he would leave, heâd look up through the crown of branches and leaves and tell her he loved her, âTe Amo Siempreâ.
Steve, Connie and Olivia are among those gathered todayâ they wouldnât dream of missing this day. He nods to Steve, a silent thank you for the many hours of travel to be here.
Your parents sit in the first row of the few chairs scattered about. Hands clasped together in your mothers lap. She smiles up at him and it feels like a warm hug. Your Dad gives a slight nod, a silent thank you to Javier for being the partner he wished for his daughter.
Across the isle, Chucho sits in his finest suit. His signature cowboy hat blocking the afternoon sun thatâs filtering through the leaves. Heâs holding his late wifeâs handkerchief tightly, already anticipating the waves of emotions the day will bring.
Beside his pops is an open chair. Something youâd suggested in the early stages of planning as a way to honor his Mama. A single rose sits on the seat, picked from one of the many roses bushes Chucho still tends to for her all these years later. Javier knows his Mama would love you, you possess so many qualities similar to her own.
A breeze picks up, the branches swaying slightly and a sense of calmness washes over Javier. He looks up, the leaves dancing in delight and he can sense his Mama watching over this day.
The music shifts to the next song, cuing the walk heâs been waiting to witness for what feels like a lifetime. A guitarist strumming the beginning chords of the familiar tune, he insisted it be your song, as you make your way to him. Heâs not sure heâs ever been so captivated by anything as stunning as you.
*
Your white dress flowing with each step you takeâ closer to him, closer to being his wife. Heâs waiting for you, look so handsome in his black suit and bow tie.
You wanted to surprise him with something special for this day.
Weeks ago you had ask Chucho if would be possible to take one of his Mamaâs old dresses to repurpose it into something for Javier. He was more than willing, and gave you one of her favorites. Sheâd worn it to so many family holidays and gatherings when Javier was younger, Chucho mentioning it was one of Javierâs favorites too.
Enlisting the help of Javierâs Tia, you made him a simple bow tie and pocket square. On the corner of the pocket square, you stitched his Mamaâs initials, MP.
Last night after dinner with family, before parting ways, you presented him with a small box containing the handmade gift. You explained to Javier the story behind how they came to be, hoping he would love them.
He was beyond speechless at your generosity in making him something so special and meaningful. He held you close and you both cried togetherâ not in sadness but in the love you shared for each other and what was to be.
Whispered words of gratitude danced across your lips, Javier doing his best to express his love for you and yet he feels like itâs not enough. The last shared kiss before seeing each again, parting ways beneath the starry night.
Your song carries through the emotion rich atmosphere, you feet guiding you to the row of seats taken by your mother and father. You turn to them, their smiles bigger than youâd ever seen before. Their arms wrapping around you, they each place a kiss on your forehead.
You turn around to see Chucho. Heâs a blubbering mess, wiping the tears as you make your way to him. He stands and pulls you inâ he tells you heâs never seen his son happier and more present since you stepped into his life. You thank him for everything he does to aid in Javierâs contentment as you wipe a few tears from his face.
You step around Chucho to the open chair next to him. Bending down you place your bouquet, a small bundle of delicate white flowers wrapped in a gauzy white ribbon, on the seat next to the single rose. You close your eyes and thank Maria for being with you today as you marry her son. And you promise to love Javier until your last breath.
*
Javier
Itâs Saturday, itâs easily become my favorite day of the week. When you asked me to dance that Saturday night, I had no clue I was stepping into a forever.
A forever spent with you is what I envisioned on my drive home that night. I knew you were it for me, and since that day you continue to prove me right.
My life has a greater purpose now. Itâs showing you how much you are loved daily and never letting your nightmares win. I will continue to hold you in the early hours of the morning so you know you are home and you are not alone.
I read a quote the other day and it feel so fitting for our life together.
âSomeday when the pages of my life end, I know that you will be one of the most beautiful chapters.â
I promise you forever Javier. Forever with you will always be enough.
I love you Javier
*
Mi Amor
I never thought I was deserving of a life filled with love and happiness, but you showed me that I am.
From a young age, I kept parts of me tucked away from everyone, especially myself. Being vulnerable was too risky in the line of work I was in, and as the years went on I forgot what it was even like to feel anything but grief and despair.
When I came home from Colombia, it was hard to imagine a life of normalcy. Until I walked into that bar and asked a complete stranger to dance. I believe that moment is when I knew my life would become more fulfilling than I ever dreamed.
You see me, flaws and all, yet still continue to love me. My days are brighter now, and I owe that to you.
I promise this life together will be foreverâ because forever with you is a lifetime worth living for.
Thank you for loving me with your heart and soul. I will spend the rest of my life hoping I can make you feel as loved as you make me feel.
Te amo
*
Vows exchange and rings placed, he canât help but admire youâ taking it all in. A kiss shared thatâs more impactful than any bullet thatâs threatened his life.
He wipes the few fleeing tears from your cheeks. His touch, warm and delicate against your skin.
Declaring his love for you in front of those who mean the most was not anything heâd ever expected for himself. Now he doesnât see a future where you arenât with him, tucked securely into his sideâ loved and protected.
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@for-a-longlongtime THE FANFIC IâM GONNA WRITE ABOUT VAMPIRE OSCAR I SWEAR TO EFFING GODDDD đ„”â€ïžâđ„
OSCAR ISAAC IN A VAMPIPRE MOVIE!!! IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENING OH MY GOD!!!!
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Oh look a new kink
when they murmur âI know, baby, I know,â when theyâre fucking you and youâre too overwhelmed to speak and can only make sounds >>>>>>>>>>>
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If you thought Poe was a menace in the last one, ooooohweeee yall are in for it on this one đ
WIP Wednesday / Last Line WIP Game
Thank you for the tags @mountainsandmayhem and @qveerthe0ry ! I finally have the WIP to share lol
@for-a-longlongtime sent me this photo of Oscar Isaac in the Brioni campaign, a sibling photo to the one that inspired my first Poe fic, and wouldnât you know, it seems like thereâs a part 2 (but standalone!) fic in the works now because that lap NEEDS to be ridden đ„”
Smut under the cut - 18+, MDNI!
âUh-uh, bebita,â Poe says as he puts a hand out, stopping your advance. âYou were being a brat before I left for whatever reason, so you donât get what you want so easily this time.â
Shaking your head slightly, you bite your lip and let out a huff of air from your nose. âThatâs funny, judging by that tent in your flight suit, Iâd say what I want also seems like what you want, flyboy,â you retort, smirking at the obvious erection at Poeâs crotch.
âOh, you sweet thing,â he purrs, keeping his hand on your chest. âYou forget that out of the two of us, I have far more patience than you.â
âHmm, thatâs not what I remember about three nights ago,â you mock-thoughtfully muse. âIf memory serves me correctly, I think you were begging? Something like, âoh Maker, please, baby, please let me fuck your ââ
âThatâs fucking it,â Poe suddenly growls and grabs your hips, crushing your lips to his. Moaning, you lean into the kiss, smiling quietly to yourself that you broke his resolve.
That is, until you hear a smooth metallic shick behind you and feel your wrists suddenly encased.
You pull away from him, eyes wide. Wriggling against the restraints, you realize that heâs â
âHandcuffed you? Yes, baby,â Poe confirms to you with a smirk. âYou want to be a brat? Fine, but Iâll treat you like one then.â He leans into your ear, whispering, âIf you want to come, youâll have to be my good girl.â
đ
Alert alert đš @campingwiththecharmings @alltheglitterandtheroar @dizthemonster @gasolinerainbowpuddles @luxurychristmaspudding @lu62 @im-poe-dameron @nerdieforpedro @ozarkthedog @sheepdogchick3
(Also if any of you wanna participate in WIP Wednesday feel free! This was more of an alert tag not a game tag)
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Ahhh thatâs so kind of you! Thank you for all the praise! đ„° I canât wait for you to read more of Frankie & Readerâs relationship⊠and maybe if youâre lucky, Joel might pop up in ch2 for a bit đ
SoCal to NorCal - Chapter 1: Malibu
Series Masterlist
Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x afab!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales
Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together?
- or -
you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU.
Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI
Chapter 1: Malibu
Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab!Reader x Santiago Garcia
Chapter Summary: You & Frankie visit your friend Santi at his Malibu mansion to kick off your roadtrip north, and you let desires guide the night.
Word Count: 6.9k
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI
Chapter Warnings/Tags: polyamory, threesome, multiple partners, MMF dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), DVP, multiple creampies, explicit talk about cum (is a cum kink a thing? a tag I should use? Pls comment with your thoughts lol), spitting, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames, Santi being a menace is his own warning, Frankie the PEK, Frankie has a big dick and so does Santi, Reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n
a/n: This is my very first series fic! I plan to have 3 chapters including this one. This one was meant to be a fun spicy little intro into the fic, but of course Santi being an absolute menace meant that this is absolute smutty filth and I'm sorry (not sorry). MASSIVE thank you to my sweet @for-a-longlongtime, who not only gave me the iconic Santiago line "guava goes better with pussy and mezcal," but beta read for me, bounced ideas around, and encouraged me when I wasn't sure that I could do this. Without Adi's help, this fic wouldn't be in existence! Dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics, thank you! (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader â vibes only!)
If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!
âI think that should be everything,â you murmur, closing the back of the forest green Jeep. You card a hand through your hair while going over a mental pack list for the third time this afternoon. Behind you, you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder and warm, strong hands envelop your waist.
âYou ready to ride then, sweetness?â asks your boyfriend, Frankie. You smile and lean back into his embrace. âYeah, Iâm really looking forward to this trip,â you say, turning to plant a kiss to his aquiline nose, and then another to his plush lips. You both hop into the car; Frankie navigates towards the coast, while small butterflies dance in the pit of your stomach as you think about how the two of you got here.
You and Frankie Morales met six months ago at the Santa Monica airport. In a bid to encourage team bonding, upper management at your job booked a helicopter tour of the Los Angeles skyline. Frankie was the pilot for your chopper. He charmed your group with his charismatic yet humble demeanor and fun factoids about LA, especially you â your coworkers insisted that he kept staring at you when you werenât looking. But Frankie ultimately beat you to the punch and asked you out for drinks the following night. You accepted, and the rest is history. The attraction was palpable from the get-go, and Frankieâs go-with-the-flow attitude complimented your fiery personality to a T. You adored how detail-oriented he was in all aspects of his life â memorizing your favorite teas, asking about how your projects were going, knowing exactly how to make you see stars in bed with his fingers, his cock, and especially his tongue. You couldnât deny that Frankie was the perfect addition to your life, and you to his.
Through those first few weeks, you both divulged the more challenging bits of your lives. Frankie told you about his daughter, Isabella, and how his struggle with cocaine almost ruined his life. His relationship with his ex-wife was strained because of it, but they co-parented well - it was their main goal to ensure that Isabella was never put in the middle of their struggles, that she always felt supported and loved by both of her parents. Frankie had lost his pilotâs license after he failed a random drug test, and he took that as a sign to do the work to fix what was broken. He was now two years sober, and back to flying.
You, in turn, revealed to Frankie that he wasnât the only man in your life. For the last decade, youâve been with Joel Miller, your husband of seven years. Joel was the steady compass of your soul, the man whose roots intertwined deeply with those of your heart. Youâd loved Joel almost your entire life, having grown up in the same neighborhood, although your crush on him was secretive during your childhood. He was your older brotherâs best friend from college, a transplant from Texas whose parents moved to the Bay Area when he was a teenager. You ran into him after getting your masterâs degree and moving back to the suburbs of San Francisco, and something sparked between the two of you. Since then, youâd been inseparable. When your work requested that you spend a year going between NorCal and SoCal to establish the new Los Angeles area office, you knew it would be a challenge for your relationship. As it turns out, it was only really a challenge for one reason â your sex drive was incredibly high, and sometimes you were apart from Joel for weeks at a time. Phone and video sex worked as well as it could, but it couldnât beat the real thing. One night, after a particularly frustrating video sex session â all of your toys ran out of juice and youâd left your charger at home, among other things â Joel surprised you by suggesting that you didnât need to stay monogamous.Â
âAre you sure, Joel?â you asked incredulously. âYouâve never been one to particularly like sharing.â
Joel huffed a laugh. âYes, darlinâ,â he replied. âLord knows the new office ended up beinâ more work than either of us thought itâd be. I know how much âgettinâ yoursâ can be de-stressinâ for ya, and I donât wanna be the reason you canât seek it. Itâs not like youâd be askinâ someone to move in with us. If it helps you, it makes me happy. And it sure would give my phone battery and hands some relief.â He chuckled as you scoffed in mock indignation. âYou donât have to tell me anythinâ you donât want to about whoever you get involved with. As long as youâre stayinâ safe and theyâre treatinâ you as well as I do, then Iâm okay with it.â
You sighed in consideration. âLet me think about it some more,â you said, picking at your rentalâs bedspread. âItâs not something Iâm going to take lightly.â
And then two weeks later, you met Frankie. Frankie was surprisingly relaxed when you told him about Joel, albeit surprised. Heâd hesitated to continue things until you got on the phone with Joel and had him tell Frankie himself. After all, youâd checked with Joel within a few days of meeting Frankie just to make sure Joel was still okay with you being with another man.
You made sure to tell Joel when youâd be seeing Frankie, and Frankie didnât contact you when you were back home with Joel. It wasnât that either man wanted to pretend the other didnât exist; rather, they each wanted to respect the other manâs time with you. Frankie wasnât seeking marriage or starting a family; he wanted to continue using his time and energy on Isabella and getting his career back on track. And Joel was confident in and comfortable with your marriage in a way that didnât allow for unseemly jealousy to crop up.Â
Gradually you told each of them bits about the other one, until one day Joel suggested that the two of them meet. You were game, but wanted to run it by Frankie first.
âHe wants to meet me?â Frankie asked, wringing his hands a bit and looking mildly surprised. The two of you had just finished dinner at one of your favorite taco trucks in LA, and you licked the tips of your fingers as you finished your last al pastor taco, the warm, savory spices dancing on your tongue. Frankie took a sip from his Mexican Coke, his plush lips wrapping around the cool aqua glass of the bottle.
You nod your head in affirmation. âJust for a couple of days. We could make a vacation out of it. Joel suggested maybe we road trip up the coast.â
Frankie looked pensive. You donât blame him, especially when the two men had made a concerted effort to keep their relationships with you separate. âYouâre sure you want to do this?â Frankie asked, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You studied those dark chocolate irises, so similar to Joelâs.Â
âYes, Francisco,â you confirmed, reaching out across the plastic picnic table to touch his hand. The sounds of the city wrapped around you as the two of you gazed at each other. âJoel has my heart, but so do you. And I want both parts of my heart, my favorites, to be with me at the same time for once.â
âOk, mi amor, letâs go then,â Frankie said resolutely, bringing up your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin.
Your thoughts bring you back to the present, with Frankieâs one-hand grip on the steering wheel and the warm coastal sun beaming through the windshield. The windows are down, allowing the salty sea air to filter through the Jeep. He flips on his turn signal and begins driving through a particularly posh part of Malibu. Giant mansions dwarf the street, pristine lawns and modern, open-glass architecture rolling by as you continue on. You let out a low whistle.
âJesus Christ, what the hell does Santi do again to afford this?â you ask Frankie, eyes flicking to and from each house you pass by.
âNothing,â Frankie chuckles. âWhen we got the money from that final mission that Santi and I went on, he invested the entirety of his share into the stock market. Well, almost everything.â He snorts at the champagne Range Rover in Santiâs driveway as the two of you pull up. Frankie, on the other hand, put the majority of his earnings into a trust fund for Isabella. The rest he used to set himself up comfortably but modestly. âSanti still does some consultant work for private security firms, but he just keeps reinvesting the money and using it to buy property and fund charity work,â Frankie explains.
âCanât say I blame him, itâs a pretty solid strategy,â you respond, taking in the splendor of Santiâs Malibu abode as Frankie parks his Jeep. The three-story home is minimalist and modern on the exterior, with a combination of cool beige stone and warm wood paneling. No other houses are on either side of the building, so the property was ulta-private, and even had its own beach. As the two of you unpack your bags from the car, you hear a wolf whistle shriek from somewhere around the corner. Jumping slightly, you turn and then smile as Santiago Garcia strolls barefoot out of the house, his pale linen slacks and caramel vintage ribbed polo shirt fluttering lightly against his muscular frame in the sea breeze.Â
âHey pendejo, you finally made it!â Santi yells to Frankie, then turns to you with a âhi, hermosa,â and a kiss to your cheek. You wrap your arms around Santiâs torso, inhaling his sandalwood and cinnamon scent and giggling a hello. Frankie walks up, bags in hand, and tries to ruffle Santiâs perfectly coiffed curls. Santi dodges him and then goes in for a bear hug; Frankie smiles broadly as they rock side to side before clapping each other on the back.
âGood to see you, hermano, and thanks for letting us stay with you,â Frankie says warmly as he picks up your luggage and the three of you head towards the house.
âNot a problem, Iâm in town for a consulting gig and figured itâd been awhile since weâd gotten together,â Santi responds ahead of you. You and Frankie follow him into the open-concept common area, admiring the sleek countertops, stainless steel fixtures, and plush yet subdued furniture. Light neutrals rule the color palette, with plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows to allow natural light in. You run your hand over the back of a velvet lounger, indulging in the texture against your fingertips. Frankie goes to the bedroom to drop off your luggage, while Santi starts pulling things out in the kitchen for dinner prep. Continuing towards the back of the house, you push open the sliding glass doors, letting fresh air in while you admire the view from the balcony. Below, the azure waves caress the sand gently, and the sound of the ocean encourages you to release all the stress from the last workweek.Â
The boys get going on dinner as you slip on a silky emerald green dress - opting to go braless and barefoot - and dab on some rosy lip stain. The dress drapes lushly over your body, making it both comfortable and beautiful. After spritzing on some of your favorite perfume and putting on thin gold hoop earrings, you emerge from the guest bedroom you and Frankie are sharing for the weekend. Santi looks up and hums in approval.
âDamn, bebita, you look delicious,â he purrs as he finishes seasoning the steaks. âDo you always dress up for dinner with this chump or did you get pretty just for me? Itâs okay, you can tell the truth.â
You roll your eyes at his cockiness and chuckle as you squeeze his bicep in passing. âSanti, donât flatter yourself,â you retort, âI did it for myself. I donât need to dress up for him to want to devour me.â You cross the kitchen to Frankie, whoâs working on the caprese salad. Frankie huffs a laugh and puts down the kitchen knife, wiping his hands on a towel before to circling his hands around your waist. You lean into him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
âThatâs right,â he shoots back to Santi without looking over, âshe doesnât need extra dressing up; sheâs stunning enough as she is.â He kisses your forehead softly as you gaze up at him lovingly.
âYouâre right.â Santi lets his gaze scan over you approvingly. âShe probably looks even better with nothing on.â
âSantiago!â you laugh. âYouâre such an insufferable flirt.â You walk back over to the opposite side of the kitchen island from him, fixing him with a smoldering smirk. âWouldnât you like to know, hmm?â Santi has always been relentlessly flirtatious with every attractive woman he meets, including you. Frankieâs never bothered by his antics, but you see his eyes flick towards the two of you, anticipating his response.
âDonât tease me with promises you wonât keep, sweetheart,â Santi warns you, voice like rich caramel, sweet and smooth. You hold each otherâs gazes for a moment before you break away, laughing softly and successfully ruffling his hair like Frankie wanted to earlier. That distracts Santi from the moment, as he huffs and runs his fingers through his curls to fix them.
A few hours later, the three of you are relaxing on the balcony by the fire pit after dinner, drinking mezcal margaritas and catching up on life. You sit with your legs across the cream patio sofa, your back against Frankieâs side like you often do with him. His arm is draped possessively across your torso while his thumb rubs absentmindedly back and forth across your shoulder. Santi goes inside to fetch the mezcal bottle from the kitchen, having switched to just the liquor, and you stand from the couch to observe the beach at the balconyâs railing. The darkness of night has settled over the landscape, lending deep navies and turquoise hues to the water, and everything feels more hushed.Â
As you inhale the coastal breeze, you feel Frankieâs warm body press into you from behind, and then his soft lips pressing a trail of kisses over your shoulder and neck. You hum happily, smelling his rosemary cedar soap on his skin, and press yourself further into him, lightly grinding against his hips. Frankie lets out a quiet groan and presses right back into you, letting you feel his hardening length against your ass. He begins to cup your breasts through the silken fabric of your dress, easily pebbling your nipples with no bra between his fingers and your tits. The heat of arousal starts to pool low in your belly as Frankie slides his hands down to your hips, grinding on you until heâs fully hard beneath his pants. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and turn to the side to catch his lips, biting on his lower one and eliciting a louder groan from him.Â
âSweetness, I need you so badly,â Frankie whispers into your ear. When you quietly moan in response, you can feel Frankieâs hands slip down the silk over your ass and hear him shuffle behind you. Spinning around and opening your eyes, you see him on his knees, hat next to him on the floor, starting to ruck up your dress.Â
âFrankie,â you hiss, grabbing his hands, desperate for more but concerned. âWhat if Santi sees?âÂ
âWhat if I want to watch?â you hear suddenly over Frankieâs shoulder, and you gasp when you look behind him and realize Santi is leaning against the open balcony door, sipping mezcal straight from the bottle. A fire ripples from the base of your spine upwards, and your gaze drops to Frankie, whose eyes have gone nearly black with desire but remain on you. Your lips pop open slightly, and you freeze.
âWell, querida, answer the man,â Frankie rasps. âEither you let him watch or make him go back inside, but either way, Iâm eating this sweet pussy.â His hands slowly drag up your legs until heâs cupping your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, which rips a moan from your throat. As Frankieâs lips trail up and down your legs, you look back up at Santi, trying to read his expression. Gone is the molten chocolate of his irises; instead, you see glimmering adamant, dark and deep like the desire painted over every line of his face. But that heated gaze is still respectful â you know Santi would never cross your boundaries. If you truly didnât want him to watch, heâd go inside the house, no questions asked.Â
Itâs for that exact reason that your desire thrums through you like a bass line, and you bite your lip. âFrankie, I need your mouth on me right now. I think Santi needs to see how hard you make me come.â
Frankie responds with a groan, while Santi lets out a deep purring sound. He moves to the couch, sitting with his legs spread, and takes another swig of mezcal as he takes in the sight before him. Frankie immediately yanks your soft lace panties down your thighs, and growls at the gossamer-thin string of arousal that connects your weeping center with your underwear.
âFuuuuck, querida, youâre fucking soaked,â Frankie moans, inhaling the intoxicating scent near your glossy slit. You step out of your panties, and he grabs them, tossing them to Santi. The man on the couch catches them with one hand, bringing them immediately to his nose and sniffing deeply.Â
âGoddamn,â Santi grits out, âshe smells so fucking good, hermano.â He brings the gusset of the lace garment to his mouth, gingerly licking the slick off, groaning at the taste. You gasp at the sight, a wave of wetness trickling down your channel. âTastes amazing too,â he adds, leaning back into the couch cushions and stuffing your panties into his pocket.
Frankie pushes your dress up to your waist and moves your left thigh to rest on his shoulder, spreading you open. He splays your lips open with his thumbs, staring at your pussy glistening in the fireâs light, on display for both him and Santi. He licks a steady strip from the bottom to the top, swirling around your clit at the end. You moan loudly, leaning back against the railing for support.
âOh bebita, listen to those sweet sounds youâre making for Frankie,â Santi croons from the couch. âHe must be making that pussy feel so good.â
âYes, Santi,â you gasp, swallowing thickly as your eyes close in pleasure. âHeâs so fucking good with his tongue.â You hear Santi rumble deep in his chest in response.
Frankie begins licking, sucking, and tapping on your clit exactly like he knows you like it, gripping your cheeks with both hands and massaging them. You writhe against his face, rocketing faster towards your impending orgasm. When you look up, you see Santi palming his cock through his pants, the bulge straining against the linen. Your cunt clenches at the image before you. Frankie can tell youâre close, so he slips two of his fingers into his mouth momentarily to slick them up and then plunges them into your warm cunt. You throw your head back, nearly screaming in ecstasy. Your grip tightens on the railing.
âI know youâre close, querida,â Frankie growls. âLet Santi see how pretty you look when you come.â Frankie then hooks his fingers just right inside of you and hits that soft spot that sends you into orbit, squealing. You feel everything tighten and then release, your orgasm rippling through your core and into your extremities. Frankie and Santi both moan at the sights and sounds of you reaching your peak, Frankie lapping up every drop of release from you.
âGood fucking girl, mamacita,â Santi says, getting up from the couch and stalking towards the both of you. Frankie gets off of his knees, easing your leg off his shoulder while wiping a hand across his drenched mouth. He knows exactly what Santi wants, so he moves back a couple of steps. You almost stumble, legs like jelly, and Santi catches your waist.
He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, and his assessing gaze breaks through the post-orgasm haze youâre in. âI really want to taste that perfect cunt, baby,â Santi whispers. âCan I do that for you?â You look at him, hesitating for a moment only because this is a line youâve not crossed with Santi before. You nod clearly at him. Santi shakes his head. âWords, sweetheart.â
âYes, Santi,â you breathe. âPlease put your mouth on me.â Santi groans in anticipation and starts walking backwards, pulling you with him. When you look at him in slight confusion, a sheepish smile passes briefly over his lips.
âBad knees,â he reminds you, and you laugh. âKneeling on concrete would kill me.â He tilts his chin to Frankie. âFish, open the door to the bedroom. Iâm gonna lay her down. And bring the bottle.â Frankie obliges, sliding open the other glass door to the expansive bedroom and grabbing the mezcal bottle.
âCan I kiss you?â he whispers. You sigh a yes, and Santi kisses you softly at first, then deeper. He tastes like cinnamon, tropical fruits, and smoky liquor. Moaning quietly, you start to lose yourself in his kiss as he moves the both of you backwards into the bedroom.Â
The California king size bed is draped in soft taupes and creams, the bedding a gauzy cotton that feels incredible on your skin as Santi gently lays you on it. He pulls your dress up your body, and you arch your back to help him remove it over your head. As your bare body is exposed to him, glowing in the low light, he sucks in a breath. Frankie places the mezcal bottle on the bedside table, then strips out of everything except his black boxer briefs, his length fully hard against his left thigh, and sits down on a sleek chaise lounger in the corner, watching you and Santi.
Santi strips off his shirt and then climbs onto the bed over you, slowly sliding his hands over your soft skin as he goes. You shift on the bed at his touch, back arching a bit and thighs rubbing together. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he reaches your head, forearms bracketing either side of your face. His body is so close to yours yet not touching.
Moaning, you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls and pull briefly. Santi bites your lower lip in response with a small growl. Sitting up, he grabs the mezcal off the bedside table.
âOpen,â he commands, taking a swig from the glass bottle. You obey, and Santi leans over your open mouth and fucking spits the mezcal into it. You swallow, moaning at the taste, the alcohol and him. He kisses you roughly, licking into your mouth, and you whimper, your legs dropping open of their own accord.
Santi notices and chuckles darkly. âOh, you liked that, huh?â he purrs. âDirty girl.â He kisses and nips along your ear and neck, across your collarbone, and down your chest. Reaching your nipples, he swirls his tongue around and then gently nips each of them. You feel slick pooling at your entrance, starting to drip down your inner thighs. Santi traces his tongue down your belly and to the curls above your pussy, inhaling deeply. He pushes your thighs open further and groans at the sight.
âGoddamn, youâre drenched,â he grits out, shuffling down to put his face at your center. You glance over at Frankie in the corner, and notice he has his cock out, slowly stroking the length. You whimper at the sight and Frankie licks his lips. You feel a sudden pinch at your inner thigh and whip your head back to the man between your legs.
âEyes on me, hermosa,â Santi orders. âI want you to look right at me when I eat this pretty pussy.â And with that, he dives in.
Santi is a messier lover than Frankie, who usually eats you out with absolute precision, priding himself with knowing exactly how to make you come as fast as possible, and repeat the process until youâre crying out from overstimulation. Santi, however, is licking at you like he wants to drown himself in your cunt. His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes across your slit, sucking on your lips and clit, biting at your thighs, shoving his tongue deep into your channel.Â
âSo fucking sweet,â Santi pants out in a daze, separating his mouth from your sopping cunt for just a moment, and then goes back in for more. You mewl and grip the bed sheets as he continues to ravage you.
Your moans of pleasure stir something in Frankie, who gets up from his seat and walks over to the bed, his need to touch you nearly insatiable.
âFrankie,â you whine as you see him, your eyes hazy with lust, reaching out to him.Â
âIâm right here, querida,â he reassures you, then gets onto the bed, placing himself behind you. You scooch up the bed so that youâre sitting in between his spread legs, your back to his bare chest. You can feel his hard length against you, silken and hot, his precum smearing slick against your skin. Frankie kisses your forehead, then leans forward and grabs your legs behind the knees, pulling back and spreading you impossibly wider for Santi. The man between your thighs groans, slipping two fingers into you, making your back arch even more.
âDoes our little slut like to be spread out? Do you like Frankie holding your legs open for me, bebita?â Santi growls, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You cry out at his words, throwing your head back against Frankieâs shoulder. One of your hands grabs Frankieâs thigh, and the other one grips Santiâs hair once again.
âYes,â you respond, pushing his head back towards your dripping slit. âLick my pussy like you mean it, Santi.â He groans deep in his chest and dives back in, and you feel Frankie bite the junction between your neck and shoulder in arousal. Santi continues pumping his fingers into you as he sucks your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue over it in tiny circles. You feel your orgasm begin to rise in your lower belly, intensifying with each thrust and lick. Santi feels your slick walls bear down on his fingers.
âThatâs it, honey, I know you want to come for me,â Santi says.
âGive it to us,â Frankie whispers in your ear. âCome for me and Santi.â
Frankieâs command is all it takes to snap the tether in your core, shattering you into pieces as the pleasure courses hot through your body. You scream their names as your pussy gushes wave after wave of slick, running down your thighs and Santiâs fingers, into his waiting mouth, licking and slurping obscenely, his fingers continuing to press into your g-spot to prolong your high.
âGod, I need to be inside you right fucking now,â Santi grits out, pussydrunk. He stands up and hurriedly shoves his pants and boxers down his legs, his thick cock springing free and bobbing slightly. You feel your mouth water; his dick is just as gorgeous as Frankieâs.Â
Santi meets your eyes once again. âDo you want me to fuck you while Frankie holds you open, sweetheart?â Santi asks you. You pause, your pleasure-addled mind narrowing in on one idea â having them both.
âI want you both,â you moan. Santiâs eyes widen a bit and then dart to Frankie. They share a smirk and then Frankie turns to you in his lap.
âQuerida, how do you want us?â Frankie inquires. âOne at a time or at the same time?â
âAt the same time,â you whimper. âI want you both in my pussy.â
Santi and Frankie groan in unison. Santi smiles wickedly, looking at Frankie. âWell, it wouldnât be the first time, eh?â
âJust like we used to,â Frankie chuckles darkly, and your fuzzy mind tucks away their exchange for later. âWe have to get her ready, then.â He slowly releases your knees and turns to you, kissing the side of your face and lightly nibbling your ear. He grabs your chin gently with his fingers, turning your head sideways to meet his eyes. âWeâre going to work you open first, okay, baby?â he intones softly. You nod your head yes. Santi and Frankieâs eyes meet, and Santi opens the bedside table drawer, grabbing a bottle of lube and tossing it to Frankie.Â
He catches it, reading the label. âGuava?â Frankie asks quizzically. âWhat happened to the mango-pineapple one?â
Santi shrugs. âI still have it,â he explains, âbut guava goes better with pussy and mezcal.â You huff a laugh and Frankie smiles, kissing your forehead again and sweeping your hair out of your face.
âGuess we have an edible lube connoisseur here,â jokes Frankie, opening the cap and pouring some of the slick liquid onto his thick digits.Â
The sweet, juicy fruit scent wafts through the air, and Santi grabs the bottle from him, doing the same while shaking his head incredulously.âItâs not my fault that you have no sense of refinement,â he retorts. Frankie just rolls his eyes and turns back to you.
âAre you ready, sweetness?â Frankie murmurs. You nod your head and breathe out a âyes, babyâ. Frankie reaches in front of himself and slips his two lubed fingers into you, and you whimper softly. Santi follows suit, slipping two of his fingers into you next, kneeling between your legs. You feel stretched full but so turned on. They allow you a few moments to adjust, and when you nod your head, they begin swirling their fingers in opposite directions. A moan rips from your throat and you grab at the bedsheets. They continue swirling and pressing their fingers in and out, and the sight of your pussy filled with their fingers gets the both of them rock hard.
The cloud of euphoria in your head is all-consuming as they continue, your arousal reaching an almost painful peak. Suddenly you grab their wrists and both men stop immediately, concern crossing their faces. âAre you okay, bebita?â Frankie asks, his brows furrowing.Â
You nod your head rapidly, and then bleat out, âI need you both inside me right now.â Santi and Frankie grin at your fucked out expression, looking at each other conspiratorially.
âWell, you heard the lady, Pope,â Frankie says. âLetâs give her what she wants.â He shifts you forward as he moves to the side, pulling his underwear all the way off. He lays on his back on the bed, his hard cock against his stomach dripping pre-cum. âI want you to ride me, hermosa, and then Santi is going to enter you from behind as you lean forward,â Frankie explains.
You nod your head in understanding and straddle his thighs, facing him. Frankie hands you the lube bottle. You dribble a stream onto his waiting thickness, and he hisses as the cool liquid hits his hot velvet skin. Grabbing his slick length, you shuffle forward and guide him into your channel, whining when he bottoms out easily. Frankie reaches up and grips your hips, guiding you to ride him.
After a minute, he looks over your shoulder at Santi, who is slowly stroking his dick. âI think sheâs ready, Fish,â Santi says, and Frankie nods once. Santi gets on the bed, coming to his knees behind you and grabbing your hips. Frankie slides his hands to your back, gently pulling you towards him until youâre leaning forward, laying chest to chest, your pussy on full display for Santi, stuffed with Frankieâs cock. You hear Santi groan behind you at the sight.
âI canât believe youâre letting me do this, bebita,â Santi admits as he slicks up his hardness with the lube. âBeen thinking about being inside this pussy for months.â
âWell, nowâs your chance,â you tease, looking back at him. âBetter hurry before the offer expires.â Santi smirks at you as he places his hands on your hips.
The moment you feel the head of Santiâs cock slide into your pussy, you gasp as the sting of the stretch hits you. You hear Santi behind you grit out a quiet âfuckâ. Slowly he continues sinking into your hot, wet heat. Reaching forward, he circles your throbbing clit softly, making you whine but relax, allowing him to slip deeper into you, inch by inch. Your pussy twitches and both Santi and Frankie choke on moans.Â
When he fills you as far as you can take both of them, the three of you hold still. As the seconds pass, the sting gives way as you adjust to being this full. The result is rolling waves of lightning sparking through your veins with each minute movement inside of you. You let out a high-pitched whine as a knot of white-hot pleasure tightens in your core.
âMierda, bebita,â Frankie moaned, âare you gonna come just from both of us being in you?â
âGod, she feels so fucking good,â Santi murmurs, almost to himself. Both of them are gripping you tightly as you continue to whimper and whine, your high quickly building. Your breathing intensifies, and you start to shake.Â
Itâs so much, being so full of them physically, and the thought of them both in you - two of the most attractive, sexy men you know - is nearly making you lose your mind. But you donât want to come before your boys have even gotten to move. It almost feels like a weakness, being this fucked out for them.
âItâs ok, sweetness, let go,â says Frankie softly, realizing youâre holding off for them. He presses a kiss to your neck and itâs your undoing.Â
The brush of his lips against that sensitive spot right under your ear pushes you off the edge and you wail, your pleasure cresting as you jerk under their firm grips. They moan loudly, your pleasure stoking theirs. The three of you catch your breaths as you come down from your high.
Frankie looks up at you, eyes pitch black, swimming with devotion for you. Santi strokes your hips gently, his strong hands shaking slightly.
âHow are you feeling?â Frankie asks you sweetly, rubbing his hands across your back, his thighs clenching from holding back.Â
You take a shaky breath. âSo fucking full,â you respond, and then giggle softly at your obvious observation. The boys laugh too, and then moan slightly as your bodies shift. Santi squeezes your hips and asks, âAre you ready for us to move, hermosa?â Your head is swimming in endorphins as you whimper out, âYes, Santi. I need both of you to fuck me now.â
With that, the two men lock eyes and nod, beginning an apparently practiced dance of their cocks. As Frankie slides himself out, Santi pushes in, and then they reverse roles. You cry out in ecstasy. Itâs so much more than you could have ever imagined.
Frankie and Santi start off with slow, shallow thrusts in and out, gradually stretching you around their lengths. When Frankie hits a particularly sweet spot, you moan fervently and more slick coats them, making them both moan back in response. The friction between their cocks and your walls is delicious.
âFuck, bebita, you look incredible taking the both of us,â Santi says, gripping your hips harder, a sheen of sweat glimmering across his body.Â
Frankie hums in agreement. âYouâre doing so well, baby,â he praises. You preen at their words, arching your back to change the angle. Santi whimpers and kisses along your spine, worshiping your body. The room is thick with the smell of sex, guava, and mezcal, the squelching sounds of your pussy weaving between all three of your moans and cries of pleasure.
The boys begin to speed up the wetter you get, starting to fuck into you with vigor. You feel like your whole body is vibrating. Leaning down to kiss Frankie changes the angle once again, and Santi lets out yet another whimper as you slide your tongue along Frankieâs.
âFuck, baby, just like that, thatâs perfect,â he gasps, getting even harder inside of you. He starts to rub your clit in tight circles, making you yelp. âI want you to come one more time for us before we fill you up,â he continues. âGonna make your pussy milk our cocks. Câmon, honey, youâve got one more in you, I can feel it.â
âI donât know,â you whimper. âI - itâs so muchâŠâ
Frankie lets out a growl. âOh, querida, I know you can come for us one more time,â he says. âJust think about how full of cock you are right now.â
Heâs right. The psychological thrill of having both men inside of you is the push you need. You start to shake again, everything tensing up. Both men moan as your channel pulls tight.
Santi leans down to your ear, still thumbing your clit. âFucking come for us. Thatâs an order.â
You scream so loudly when your fourth orgasm hits you, that youâre grateful that Santi has no neighbors - because they definitely would have called the cops by now. Tears leak down your face from the intensity, and Santi whimpers loudly as he thrusts in and comes deep in you, his hot seed coating your walls. The tightness of your pussy and Santi shoving deep end up pushing Frankieâs cock out, but he couldnât care less.Â
When Santiâs strokes slow and then stop, indicating heâs finished, Frankie pushes him off of you, and roughly flips you over onto your back. He shoves your legs apart, and pushes his dick harshly into you. Boneless, you lay there, moaning and taking it, unable to say anything coherent except for Frankieâs name. Your boyfriend presses your legs even further towards your shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he fucks into you hard and fast, Santiâs cum forced out of you with every snap of Frankieâs hips.
âGod, you look like such a goddess right now,â Frankie babbles, nearly snarling, âso full of cum. You like that? You want me to fill you up good? Youâre gonna be leaking our cum for days, querida.â
âYes, Frankie, yes,â you moan, âplease fill me up. I love your cum in me. I wanna be so full of both of you.â
With a shout, Frankie bares his teeth and comes, getting as deep as possible and filling up your cunt just like he promised. You feel his cum thick and hot in you, triggering another moan.Â
Frankie drops your knees back down to the bed, nearly collapsing down against your chest while the two of you pant heavily, trying to catch your breaths. Looking over, you spot Santi sitting up at the corner of the bed, looking disheveled but utterly sated, his now-soft cock still shiny with lube and your combined releases.Â
You reach your hand out to him, and he crawls towards you, slotting himself next to one side, while Frankie hisses as he pulls out of you and lays next to you on your other side. He smothers your neck and face with kisses, and you giggle, feeling Santi pepper kisses across the top of your head and stroking the underside of your breast affectionately with his thumb.
You let out a contented sigh. âWow, that wasâŠâ
Frankie hums out an âincredibleâ at the exact same time Santi rumbles a âso fucking goodâ to complete your statement, which makes the three of you laugh. Giggles subsiding, something they said in the heat of the moment suddenly pops into your mind.
âWait a second,â you say as you sit up. Both men lazily look up at you, faces blissed out, waiting for your question. âFrankie, you said, âjust like old timesâ... How many times have you double teamed with Santi?â
The two of them look at each other with nearly identical smirks. Santi pipes up first. âWell, back in our Army grunt days,â he explains, âwhen weâd go on leave together, we kind of had this habit of teaming up to pick up women.â Your jaw drops slightly, and Santi looks amused at your shock.
âIt was a fairly effective strategy,â Frankie continues. âTrying to land a girl alone was a crapshoot. But with the both of us offering her a night to remember?â Frankie huffs. âIt seemed like fantasy fulfillment for almost every woman we fucked together.â
Your eyes rake over the two of them, gloriously naked and handsome as ever, in bed with you. Yeah, you can see the appeal.Â
âOkay, but who came up with the idea?â You ask, then immediately put up a hand into the air. âWAIT, no, I know exactly who⊠Santi, you slut!â
Frankie lets out a loud bark of a laugh as Santi rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, annoyed.Â
âHey, donât act like you didnât benefit from it, idiota!â Santi grumbles. Frankie reaches over, finally successfully ruffling Santiâs hair. Santi flinches and bats Frankieâs hand away, making you shake with laughter as you lounge in the post-coital haze with your boyfriend and his best friend. You donât blame those women they slept with one bit. This was a night you will surely remember.
No pressure tags: @mermaidgirl30 @legendary-pink-dot @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem @arcanefox207 @campingwiththecharmings @exquisit3corpse @gutsby @honeyedmiller @lavendertales @lu62 @luxurychristmaspudding @ozarkthedog @qveerthe0ry @swiftispunk @sheepdogchick3 @thatshortgirlwithglasses @wannab-urs @musings-of-a-rose
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Everything @for-a-longlongtime said! Plus, I like that weâre getting lore about Javiâs sexual prowess with this. He has the building blocks â he likes to please, eager, wants to learn what Reader likes â just without the finesse. I love that itâs an older Reader whoâs teaching him all of that! And that sheâs not being fetishized for her age.
Lost and Found
Synopsis: If your ex can fuck a twenty-something, why can't you?
Description: Age gap fic with a young (pre-DEA) Javier Peña and an older reader. Don't you want to know why Javi is such a stud in the bedroom? It's because you taught him well. Told in the second person, reader has a history but little to no description. There is a surprise guest in Part 3.
Relationships and characters: Javier Peña x f!reader plus a surprise guest in Part 3. If you're not interested in a second PP character entering the fray you can absolutely read Part 1 and Part 2 as a standalone story.
Warnings (for all chapters): mostly smut, some discussion of loss. Javi can go all night and we take advantage of that in this story. Penetrative sex with protection, oral (both male and female receiving), some anal play (male receiving) cause Javi is finding himself.
Part 1 (5,144 words)
1980
The Lost and Found bar wasnât a place you frequented. Less than a mile from UT Austin, it catered more to a college-age crowd. But you find a seat at the dark end of the bar, order a whisky on ice, and wait.Â
âYou have to tell me everything about the guy who stood you up. I wanna learn from his mistakes.âÂ
You look over at the bartender who is leaning into your space so you can hear him over the music. His slow smile tells you he expects you to be impressed with his line.Â
âWhy do you think Iâm waiting for someone?âÂ
âYou keep looking at the door.âÂ
Youâre not impressed with his line. But you are impressed by his observation. You give him another moment. Basset hound eyes and smooth skin that you guess rarely requires a razor. Plush lips that you linger on for just touch too long if youâre being honest with yourself.Â
âI recently found out that my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend likes to frequent this bar on Friday nights.â You offer him an honest response.Â
He frowns. âBurly kind of guy, usually wears a backwards baseball cap?âÂ
âCould be him.âÂ
The bartender reaches behind him for the bottle of whiskey. He refills your glass without asking. âIâve seen him. Sorry to report, he rarely leaves alone.âÂ
You didnât need the confirmation. You had a reliable source. He came to this bar to pick up chicks half his age. The age thing might bother you more than the cheating. Itâs not that you thought Bruce was your forever-guy. Hardly. He took up space in your life, had a good sense of humor, was always up to grab dinner or go see a concert. If he had wanted an open relationship he could have asked for it. With the amount you worked you wouldn't blame him if he wanted more attention then you could offer. But the fact that he was sneaking around with college girls. That pissed you off. And you never shied away from a good confrontation.Â
âI know,â you take a sip of your refreshed drink. âI just came here to embarrass him.â
The bartender smiles genuinely at you. His wide mouth spreads giving you a view of his perfectly even teeth and his tongue poking out past them. He glances at the other end of the bar where a few pretty young ladies are trying to get his attention.
âI think those ladies need something from you.â Thereâs humor in your voice. You canât deny you like the way his eyes light up as he reads into your tone.Â
He wanders down to the end of the bar, tossing a rag over his shoulder. His t-shirt stretches tight across his back but hangs loose over his hips. Heâs still at that age where he hasnât quite filled out yet. The muscles in his arms are taught but still slender as he reaches for a bottle on a shelf behind him. It makes you nostalgic for a different time in your life.Â
You watch him pour three shots for the girls (women, you chide yourself) and one for himself. They clink glasses and tip their heads back. Two of the women canât help sticking their tongues out with disgust before they can suck on the requisite lime, but the other one takes it like a pro. The whole scene makes you smile. You hope when this is all done Bruce is too embarrassed to come back here. You think you might like to make an occasional home on this barstool and watch these scenes play out like reruns of your own youth.Â
Of course, speak of the devil and he shall appear. Bruce walks into the bar. He scans the room, clearly looking for someone. Heâs definitely not looking for you because at first he looks right past you. A second later his head whips back around. You give him a coy finger wave. The panic evident on his face feels like the warm sun on your skin.
He tugs at his t-shirt, a nervous habit of his, before he stands a little straighter and walks over to you.
âWhat are you doing here?â He asks by way of hello.
âWhat are you doing here?âÂ
âMe and the guys meet here for a drink sometimes before poker.â The lie is obvious, even as it rolls easily off his tongue.Â
You make a point of looking around.
âI, uh, might have gotten the time wrong. I should probably go call them.â He gestures around the corner where you figure thereâs a payphone.
Maybe he would have gotten away with this if he had been a bit quicker on his feet. But you hadnât been dating Bruce for his athletic prowess. Before he can leave a very cute coed makes eye contact with him and waves. She quickly crosses the bar.Â
âHey,â she says. Her smile is shy behind delicately painted pink lips. She blinks her long eyelashes up at him. She looks at him like heâs important. To be fair, you never look at him like that.Â
âI was starting to think you werenât gonna show up.â Her lips pout out just slightly. Sheâs pretty. Delicate skin, perfectly curled blond hair, boobs that probably stay where they are without the generous push-up bra sheâs wearing.Â
You had come here just to fuck with him. Catch him in the act, make him feel like an asshole and then leave. Eliminating Bruce from your life wasnât going to rock your boat.Â
So why is it that your hand grips your glass tight like you might throw it at him. And your throat tenses as you swallow. You donât want to compare yourself to the perky boobs in front of you. Youâve never been one to feel self-conscious. Your body has treated you well these forty-three years. The lines around your eyes, the gray hairs that highlight your curls, the soft layer of fat that cushions your belly and thighs and ass. All of it has been earned by a life well-lived so far.Â
Standing here, face to face with Bruce and the younger model heâs chosen over you, youâre furious at him for making you doubt yourself.Â
âHey, Iâm all done for the night. Are you ready to go?âÂ
The bartender is standing next to you. Heâs taller and a bit broader than he had seemed behind the bar. He puts his hand on your back and looks at you like you're the only person in the bar.
âYouâve got to be kidding me,â Bruce says. âYouâre fucking the bartender? Youâre old enough to be his mom.âÂ
You feel the hand at your back tense. But thereâs no need for it. All of the anger you felt just a moment ago is gone. You put your hand on the arm of the young woman, who, for her part, looks like she was just slapped.Â
âYou deserve better,â you say. Then you look at the bartender. âIâm ready.â You throw cash down on the bar and leave, the bartender close enough behind that you can smell the scent of cigarettes on his t-shirt.
âThat wasn't necessary,â you say as you approach your car.Â
âIf you think that wasnât necessary, wait until you see what I do to his drink next time he comes in here.â
You laugh, the feeling loosens your chest.Â
âI appreciate it nonetheless.âÂ
You're pulling your car keys from your bag and before you can say goodnight, the bartender is kissing you. It catches you so off guard that your body acts instinctively, leaning in. When his lips part and you can feel the heat of his mouth and his tongue against yours your brain jolts back like a shot of adrenaline to your system. You pull back, placing a hand on his shoulder, putting space between you both. Â
âYour commitment to the part is noble butââ
âThat wasnât an act. I wanted to do that.â He moves closer, pressing against your hand. His eyes dart over your face. âIâd like to do it again.â
You shake your head. âHe wasnât lying in there.âÂ
âDoesnât mean he was right.âÂ
Well, fuck, you canât really disagree with that. The double standard is bullshit. You know it and apparently, so does your bartender.
âWhatâs your name?âÂ
âJavier Peña.â And then he grins. Because you havenât pushed him away.Â
âYou got a car?â
He nods. His tongue slides over his lower lip, dragging your attention there. This is stupid. You shouldnât do this. The sex will probably be bad and youâll have to kick him out immediately because you canât fathom what you could possibly talk to a twenty-something year old about. But his eyes stay locked on yours, the only shadow of doubt there is your own. So fuck it.
âFollow me.âÂ
And he does.Â
Your apartment is about 10 minutes from the bar. I high-rise that overlooks South Congress street and the Colorado River. You direct him to guest parking and then wait as he exits a sedan that has seen better days. He follows you through to the building's lobby, his gaze flickering over the austere marbled and chandeliered space. Heâs quiet in the elevator up to your 14th floor apartment. Before you unlock the door you pause and look at him.
âYou can go, you know. You wonât hurt my feelings.âÂ
âI donât do anything I donât want to do.âÂ
Youâre sure he hasnât earned that bravado. But you let him in anyway.Â
The only light comes from floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. Javi wanders toward them and takes in the view.Â
âNice place. Bruce is an even bigger idiot than I thought.âÂ
You smile, though he doesnât see you, his gaze still trained on the city below him. His hands sit on his narrow hips. Heâs leaned to one side looking down at the city like it did something to offend him. Maybe it did.Â
âDrink?âÂ
âYeah, uh, whatever youâre having.âÂ
You pour two whiskeys and hand him one. He takes a sip, eyebrows raising.
âThis is better than the shit we have at the bar.â
âGood whiskey is one of lifeâs finer pleasures.âÂ
âSpeaking of which.â Javiâs eyes go dark on you and he puts his glass down on a nearby table. Like he did in the parking lot, he takes you by surprise. His tongue plunges into your mouth, whiskey soaked with a faint taste of lime. His hands come around the back of your head, keeping you locked against him. Heâs passionate, youâll give him that. And you can feel his hard length against your hip bone, so you know heâs not faking it. For the second time tonight, your brain says, fuck it.Â
You kiss him back with the full force of what heâs giving you. You bite down and the plush lower lip of his because youâve been wondering how it would feel between your teeth since you sat down at that bar. It doesnât disappoint. He moans as he tugs at you, trying to find a way to get your bodies closer together.
âHave you ever fucked an older woman?âÂ
He pauses, catches his breath. You can see the lie on his face before he thinks better of it.Â
âNo.â
âYour first lesson? Standing makeout sessions need to be quick. Otherwise I got back pain for the rest of the week.â
âShould I be writing this down?â He jokes as he follows you into the bedroom.
âMaybe. Weâll see how you do after your first round.âÂ
âFirst round?â His fingers trace his own lips and his eyebrows bounce up. The touch of mirth on his face is a little cocky and very hot.Â
âI always assumed the benefit of sleeping with a younger man was your rapid turnaround time. Is that a lie?â Youâre removing your jewelry and placing it on your dresser. You like the way he watches your every move but stays in the center of the room, waiting for instruction.Â
âIf youâre up for it, Iâm up for it.â He smirks, amused by his own double entendre.Â
âVery cute,â you say. âTake your clothes off.âÂ
He takes direction well, a plus one in your book. His t-shirt comes over his head revealing a toned and slender body. His muscles tense and move under his skin as he unzips his jeans and tugs them down his leg. Heâs not wearing underwear. Maybe this is his first time with an older woman, but heâs clearly no novice. His cock is erect in front of him and he fists it in his hand. He stares at you, eyelids heavy.
âTell me what you want,â you say.
âI want you to be naked.âÂ
You slip off your own clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor near your feet. Light from the hallway bathes you both. You know what you look like, but you canât help wondering what he sees. If you look different under a different gaze.Â
âNow what do you want?â
His throat bobs as he swallows. Heâs looking at you like youâre a medium rare burger and he hasnât eaten in days.Â
âI want to touch you.âÂ
You can hear his inhale over your own as you close the distance between you, stopping just inches away so he needs to take the last step. His hands immediately come to your hips. He grips the soft flesh there. He lowers his face to yours to kiss you again. But maybe he was taking notes because he backs toward the bed and follows you down on it.Â
Your eyes slip closed as he explores you with his lips. Your neck down to your breasts where he licks at your hard nippled. You let out a pleased whimper and card your fingers through his hair in encouragement. Heâs keyed into your movement. His hips rolling, pressing his hard length against your leg as your own pelvis arches up in search of friction. Both of you pick up speed, losing your selves in the fluid motion of two bodies working opposition.Â
âCondom,â you mutter as he shifts up the length of your body, lining himself up at your core.
âI donât think Iââ
âBedside table,â you cut him off and point behind you. Â
Your whole body tenses as he crawls away from you. Your blood thrums through your veins, libido pulsing at your core. Your fingers massage your clit as Javi opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a strip of condoms. He rips one off and tosses the rest on the bed nearby.
âAwfully confident,â you joke.Â
Whatever smart response is in his mouth it stays there. His eyes focus on your fingers where they press slow, gentle circles at your center, just enough to keep your body screaming for more. His lips part just enough for his tongue to brush against his lower lip. He watches your movement, no, he studies it, like he might be tested at any moment.Â
Of course, the best way to learn is by doing.Â
You reach out for his hand, taking the condom away and placing it next to you. Then you bring his finger to replace yours. You set your own hand on top of his and continue the slow, steady rhythm you had started on your own. Javi settles on his knees beside you, his eyes flicking from where your hands are joined up to your face. You bite down on your lower lip, back arching up, sliding his fingers down to your hole and back up, hitting every nerve along the path. Your fingers move quicker as the pressure builds. Your hips arch up as your muscles tighten. Your breathing becomes erratic, gasping for air as you fight to hold it in your chest, until the dark behind your eyelids goes white and you cry out in pleasure.
You slow your movements down, back returning to the bed. You slide Javiâs fingers to your entrance, pressing one inside so he can feel your wet, pulsing walls.Â
âHoly fuck,â he says. âI donât think Iâve ever seen that. Not like that, I mean, not so,â he loses his words. âFuck, that was really hot.âÂ
His fingers linger at center even as you slide your hand away. He presses one finger in experimentally. You offer him a slow smile and press your body down, forcing his finger in deeper.Â
âI can do it again if you want.âÂ
He presses a second finger in and you moan quietly at the feeling.Â
âI think I would like that.â
You expect to wake up to an empty apartment. You remember that thought as you were drifting off to sleep, Javi arm draped over your stomach. Youâd had a nice time, better than you were expecting. Javi kept his promise of a round two, asked you to be on top so he could watch you fall apart at a new angle. His enthusiasm was infectious. You easily forgot about how it was you ended up here to begin with and rode him until he couldnât hold out any longer.
But when your eyes drift open to sunlight bleeding through your pale blue curtains, the weight of Javiâs arm is still there. You shift gently, slipping his arm off you and getting out of bed to use the bathroom. You give yourself a once over in the mirror. You skin glows with that freshly-fucked look. You remember that happiness is the best revenge and itâs the last time you let any thought of Bruce cross your mind.
âYou look even hotter in the daylight.â Javiâs voice is rough from waking. One arm behind his head he watches you as you approach the bed, naked and exposed.
âShut it,â you say with a dismissive hand wave.
âYou need to get better at taking compliments.âÂ
âYou already fucked me, you donât need to give them any more,â you joke, still not ready to take his kindness seriously.Â
âYou say that like I donât want to fuck you again.âÂ
His reflexes are quicker than yours. He sits up and wraps an arm around your waist before you can even think of moving. He pulls you down to the bed, maneuvering you under the blankets with him. He kisses your neck as he works his way on top of you and between your legs. His skin is warm, soft. His lips connect to that sensitive spot below your ear and you hum affectionately.Â
âSee, this is a problem,â you say.
âOh?â He doesnât seem concerned as he works his way inch by pleasurable inch down your chest and ribs until he is nibbling at your soft belly.Â
âYes, I could really get used to this.â Your legs fall open as he lowers himself to your center.
âWell I donât have to be at the bar until 4 pm. So we have some time.âÂ
He licks through your folds, opens his mouth against you. His whole body shifts against the bed as he seeks out his own relief. He must find some because he groans into your pussy, his tongue moving faster. Too fast. His mouth moves against you without rhythm.Â
âJavi,â you say. You gently run your hands through his hair pushing his face to look up at you. Desperate eyes look up at you, lips swollen and wet. âYouâre a little eager?â
âI want to be inside you so bad.â Need strangles his voice like your hand was on his throat, like youâre denying him something.Â
âWell then what are you doing down there?â You smile down at him.
âI want you to come first.âÂ
Even as he says it his hips are shifting against the mattress. At this rate heâs going to spill all over your sheets, and that would be a waste of a good erection. You decide to take control of the situation.Â
You close your fist around his hair and tug. âGet up here.âÂ
You reach behind you to grab one of the condoms still on the bedside table. You rip it open with your teeth, unwilling to let go of his hair. You like the way it feels between your fingers. Reaching between your bodies you slide the condom over his cock. It is warm and throbbing against your palm.Â
âI donât want you to hold back,â you say as you notch him at your entrance.Â
His biceps flex as he supports his weight on them, hovering over your chest. You wrap your legs around his hips as he follows your instructions and thrusts firmly inside of you. You release his hair and immediately his head tips back. He takes a deep breath before pulling out and then hammering back into you. His cock punches up against your cervix and you groan a mix of pleasure and pain. You grip his biceps, your fingers fitting neatly around the stretched muscle there. Your hips lift, urging him on, faster and faster until you canât keep up with his pace and you collapse on the mattress. He follows you down, his arms buckling as he loses control. He bucks wildly into you, his weight pressing you down, his face crushed against the pillow beside your head.Â
You can feel him coming apart. The seething breath between his teeth. Your arms wrap loosely around his heaving rib cage. Your fingers trace the bumps of his spine. You wait, patiently rubbing your thumb in circles against his soft skin.Â
When you fell asleep last night you were certain Javi would be gone when you woke up. You were fine with that. A good night of sex and a story to tell your girlfriends.Â
But the fact that heâs still here? Achingly hard and desperate to fuck you? Well, itâs not doing your ego any harm.Â
When finally lifts his head to find your smiling face below him you ask him how heâs feeling.Â
âLike Iâm having the best day of my life.â
âThat would mean more if you had a bit more life to compare it to,â you joke.
He slides out of bed and throws the condom out.Â
âSo I need to make it the best day of your life?â He stands to the side of the bed. Hands on his hips, looking down at you like heâs not naked in the home of a stranger. Like he didnât just throw down a gauntlet of his own making.Â
He climbs back between your legs. Settles his shoulders against your thighs and drags his tongue lightly through you. Heâs taking his time now. Listening to your cues, both verbal and non. Itâs not long before, with your guidance, youâre trembling beneath him, short breaths as you rock against his mouth, your whole body charged static until the spark catches.
He lingers there, still sucking on your over sensitive skin.Â
âJavi,â you finally say. You reach for him but he dodges your hand.Â
âBest day of your life, remember?â
You donât argue. You remind yourself that you deserve this. Plus, you're educating the next generation of men, which makes this an act of feminism.Â
You stop him before he goes for number three. No need to inflate the kids ego anymore than it already is.Â
âBreakfast,â you say as you force his head from between your legs. You stop him before he can protest. âA growing boy canât live on pussy alone.â
You make omelets while Javi sits at your kitchen counter drinking coffee and watching you quietly.Â
âDo you think the other women Iâve been with have been faking it?âÂ
The question catches you off-guard and you have to force down your first instinct, which is to lie.Â
âMaybe,â you say, placing his food in front of him. âBut I wouldnât feel too bad about that. It can take young women a little while to get used to their own anatomy. And itâs not like weâre encouraged to ask for what we want.â You let out a little laugh with that. Understatement of the year.
âBut a little communication goes a long way. If your partner knows you feel comfortable with her needs then she might start to feel comfortable with them too.âÂ
Javi nods. âI can do that,â he says slowly, like heâs thinking over the ways he might accomplish his mission. He doesnât say anything else as he takes a bite of the omelet. He moans around his fork.
âThis is really good.âÂ
You raise your eyebrows. Youâre an okay cook, you know enough to get by. But definitely not good enough to elicit that reaction.Â
âBeen awhile since you had a home cooked meal?â
Javiâs mouth is full of eggs so he just nods again.Â
âI live in a house near UT with a few other guys. Not a lot of cooking goes on there.â
âYouâre in school?â You try to make the question sound neutral even though your brain is frantically wondering why you didnât ask him for his license last night and what the age of consent is in Texas.Â
âYeah,â he says, shoveling the last of his breakfast into his mouth. âIâm done in June. I had to take a few years off after my sophomore year.â And then he smiles at you, like he caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. âDonât worry, Iâm twenty-two.âÂ
You exhale a little louder than you would have liked.
You donât ask him why he took the time off and he doesnât offer up the information. But he does tell you heâs studying criminal justice and international law.Â
âYou thinking about law school?â
âFuck no,â he says, the derision clear in his voice.Â
You let out a loud laugh. You keep laughing as Javiâs face morphs from confusion to shame.
âYouâre a lawyer?â His fingers press against his lips.
âI am.âÂ
âSorry, I didnât meanââÂ
You wave him off. âLawyers are the worst. I should know, I spend most of my time with them.âÂ
Javi looks around your apartment like heâs seeing it from a new angle. âMust pay pretty well.âÂ
You nod. âConstitutional law. A bit soul crushing at times. But I guess I can afford a new one.âÂ
The truth is, you love your job. The hours are long, the work is hard, you spend a third of your year jetting back and forth to Washington DC. But you wouldnât trade it. Youâve proven that time and time again to the men you have met who expect you to play the role of wife and mother as if you hadnât spent your adult life hustling to make partner. Like changing diapers and making dinner holds a candle to standing on the plush red carpets of the Supreme Court.Â
You rinse the dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher.Â
âThank you for breakfast,â Javi says.Â
âThank you for coming over. I had a really good time,â you tell him honestly.Â
âYou could come visit me again, I work Wednesday through Saturday nights.âÂ
You lean back against the counter. âMaybe I will.âÂ
He rounds the island and plants himself right in front of you.Â
âI would like that,â he says quietly. Heâs taking up your personal space. His scent of booze and cigarettes has faded from last night replaced by the heady smell of sex and sweat. You kiss him even though he should leave. Even though you should get your day started. Even though you think four orgasms over the last twelve hours should have you sated. But when he kisses you back he licks into your mouth and presses his broad chest against you. All of those evens go right out the window.Â
His hands slide up your bare legs beneath the long t-shirt youâre wearing. He kneads the flesh where your thighs meet your ass and the guttural sound he makes has you wet all over again. Youâre tugging his jeans down as he pulls one of your condoms out of his pocket.
âLook whoâs learning,â you coo approvingly.Â
He tears the wrapper open and fists himself as he rolls it over his erection. Without a word he turns you to face the counter and pulls you by the hips so your ass is flush with him. He rips your underwear down so theyâre down around your knees and he spreads your legs as wide as they will go. Your pussy is already fluttering in anticipation so when he slides two fingers in you can help but moan, your chest collapsing down as you push back against him.Â
âSo fucking hot,â he says as he pulls his fingers out and slides them through your folds. Your knees buckle when he hits your clit.
âFuck, right there, Javi,â your voice sounds broken, starved.Â
He continues to rub you, his whole hand cupping your center. He squeezes your ass roughly and you moan again. You push back, desperate for him to fill you. Whatever control you had earlier this morning is gone.Â
âNeed your cock.âÂ
âOh do you?âÂ
You look over your shoulder at him. His grin is fully feral.Â
âDonât be a tease.âÂ
âNever,â he says. He removes his hand from your center and grips both your hips. âAlways a gentleman.â With that he plunges into your soaked cunt. He pulls back out and then angles his hips up, forcing you to your toes. The change makes your eyes roll back and you let loose an animalistic noise that must let him know heâs onto something because he repeats the motion again and again. He brings his hand back around to your throbbing clit and the second he presses down on it you're coming apart at the seams. Your walls clench down on him and your body folds over til your head rests on the counter. Â
Javi loses control behind you, wildly fucking into you, grip so tight on your flesh you are sure there will be bruises there by tonight. Not that you care. Not that you can see fit to care about anything right now. Warmth flowing freely through your body and when Javi collapses on your back you both fall to the kitchen floor. You lay there for a moment. Tangles limbs on the cool tiles. Javi chest presses heavy against your back so every one of his inhales spurs on your own.
Finally he sits, dragging you up with him as he leans against the cabinets. His jeans are still wrapped around his legs, same as your underwear. You twist your body to look at him. His eyes are closed, head back against the wood.
âThat was some good-bye,â you say.
âThat wasnât good-bye.â Javi opens his dark eyes and looks down at you. His face is so close you could count each long eyelash. âThat was to make sure you come and visit me.â
Part 2
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WIP Wednesday / Last Line WIP Game
Thank you for the tags @mountainsandmayhem and @qveerthe0ry ! I finally have the WIP to share lol
@for-a-longlongtime sent me this photo of Oscar Isaac in the Brioni campaign, a sibling photo to the one that inspired my first Poe fic, and wouldnât you know, it seems like thereâs a part 2 (but standalone!) fic in the works now because that lap NEEDS to be ridden đ„”
Smut under the cut - 18+, MDNI!
âUh-uh, bebita,â Poe says as he puts a hand out, stopping your advance. âYou were being a brat before I left for whatever reason, so you donât get what you want so easily this time.â
Shaking your head slightly, you bite your lip and let out a huff of air from your nose. âThatâs funny, judging by that tent in your flight suit, Iâd say what I want also seems like what you want, flyboy,â you retort, smirking at the obvious erection at Poeâs crotch.
âOh, you sweet thing,â he purrs, keeping his hand on your chest. âYou forget that out of the two of us, I have far more patience than you.â
âHmm, thatâs not what I remember about three nights ago,â you mock-thoughtfully muse. âIf memory serves me correctly, I think you were begging? Something like, âoh Maker, please, baby, please let me fuck your ââ
âThatâs fucking it,â Poe suddenly growls and grabs your hips, crushing your lips to his. Moaning, you lean into the kiss, smiling quietly to yourself that you broke his resolve.
That is, until you hear a smooth metallic shick behind you and feel your wrists suddenly encased.
You pull away from him, eyes wide. Wriggling against the restraints, you realize that heâs â
âHandcuffed you? Yes, baby,â Poe confirms to you with a smirk. âYou want to be a brat? Fine, but Iâll treat you like one then.â He leans into your ear, whispering, âIf you want to come, youâll have to be my good girl.â
đ
Alert alert đš @campingwiththecharmings @alltheglitterandtheroar @dizthemonster @gasolinerainbowpuddles @luxurychristmaspudding @lu62 @im-poe-dameron @nerdieforpedro @ozarkthedog @sheepdogchick3
(Also if any of you wanna participate in WIP Wednesday feel free! This was more of an alert tag not a game tag)
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Thatâs Pookie đ„čâ€ïž
pretty baby Iâm running back home to you
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My therapist even said it was a really great outlet for my sexuality and creative mind so do with that what you will bebes
reminder that coming up with some fake little dudes and creating intricate storylines in your head is a completely free and fun way to pass the time and the government can't stop you
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Oh for fuckâs sake, why doesnât my washer and dryer come with a Joel to fuck me into oblivion every time I use it? Unfair. đ„”
Dirty Laundry
Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.
Tags - 18+, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation on a washing machine, dirty boxer sniffing (you fucking freak), fantasizing about a dirty old man, unprotected piv, creampie, curmudgeon joel talks you through knife safety, washing machine repairs, and overstim. 8k words, idk what the fuck happened.
Thank you to @noxturnalpascal , @beefrobeefcal , and @papipascalispunk for helping me edit this monstrosity and @joelsgreys for letting me scream about washers and dryers for days <3
A/N - i have worked harder on this than my finals, but that should surprise no one. i only have one more left and then you should be seeing more of me this summer <3 i have a lot a lot a lot planned and I've been so excited to share new shit with you. Roman girlies, I haven't forgotten about you. He's up next. Anyway, you maniacs know what youâre here for, so please enjoy.
Joelâs best kept secret is his Whirlpool brand washer and dryer set, which is hidden deep in his basement. You stand before it now, loading your dirty laundry into it, using what is definitely too much of Joelâs detergent.Â
Perhaps itâs more accurate to say his washer and dryer set was his best kept secret, until you came along and forced his hand. Everything was fine, and then you showed up, both yourself and your basket of laundry soaking wet, leaving Joel with no choice but to lend you a hand. Biggest mistake of his life.Â
As great as Jackson is, it still comes up short sometimes. Not with everything; youâre beyond blessed to live in the safety of its walls. Just technologically, sometimes it can leave you missing the finer things. It's not Jacksonâs fault society is twenty years into an apocalypse, thus running on twenty-plus year old appliances. The older ovens, refrigerators, and other appliances that were built in the seventies to the nineties or so are surprisingly doing alright, but the ones built when manufacturing began to take a turn for the worse around the later nineties and 2000s are beginning to crap out, especially the washers. God, you hate laundry day. The washers at the laundromat in Jackson always give you a hard time. Week after week, your chosen washer wonât start, or itâll stop mid-cycle. The laundry attendant, Patti, often helps you wash your clothes by hand which is nice, but still frustrating for you both.Â
On a busy and gloomy Sunday a couple months back, you were lucky enough to pick one of the less temperamental washers and hardly had to fight or beg and plead with it to get it to wash your clothes. However, your luck ran out when it came time to dry, your dryer wouldnât run. Refused to start, even with Pattiâs help. Worse yet, every other dryer was in use at the moment. You were shit out of luck. Patti offered you a sympathetic smile and sent you home with a baggy full of clothes pins and a wagon to carry your basket of sopping wet clothes. The clothespins were a nice gesture, but didnât help much as you didnât have a clothesline. And - you had to laugh - most of them were broken. Oh dear, sweet Patti.
Once at home, you did your best to hang up your clothes on your porch, laying them out over the thick wooden railing, securing them with rocks. The wind was blowing something fierce that day, and then you felt it â a raindrop. And then another, and another. Before you knew it, you were caught in a torrential downpour, with your clothes blowing every which way. Working to gather your clothes as quickly as possible, you haphazardly chucked the rocks that were keeping them still in every direction, your neighbor Joel interrupting the task when he came outside and started to shout at you. Joelâs a man that can only be described as crotchety. A curmudgeon, even.Â
âThe fuck are you throwing rocks at my window for?â he shouted, but you couldnât hear him over the sound of the wind and the rain smacking your porch.Â
âWhat?â you yelled back, âJoel, I canât hear you.âÂ
âROCKS,â he shouted again, âWhy are you throwiââ Joel realized it was a lost cause then. He could see in your face that you couldnât hear him, you looked puzzled and annoyed for a moment before you returned to throwing rocks and gathering clothes. âFuck it,â he mumbled to himself. Through the pouring rain, he marched across both his and your lawns and right up the steps of your porch. âWhat are you doing?â
âI was at the laundromat and the dryer stopped working so Patti gave me clothespins but I donât have a clothesline so I tried to lay them out on my porch with rocks so they could dry but then it started to raââ Getting the picture, Joel had stopped listening to you and joined you in gathering your clothes tossing stones back into the rock edging surrounding your house. âWhat are you doing?â you asked.Â
âNothinâ, justâ come on. Letâs go â weâre goinâ to my house,â he answered, dumping the last of your clothes into your basket.Â
âWhy?â
Lightning shoots from a nearby cloud, with booming thunder following suit. Joelâs soaking wet, as are you. His hair was dark and stuck to his forehead, his thin t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his soft, pillowy tummy and belly button and his thick, muscular biceps. âGo, go, go,â Joel shouted, waving you away. âJust go. Move.â he grunted as he lifted up your laundry basket and hauled it across the grass in quick strides. He held the basket on his hip as he opened his door for you, guiding you inside with a push to your lower waist.Â
Your shoes squeaked as you followed Joel through his house. He took your basket down his basement stairs, âBe careful for me, stairs are steep,â he warned you, âDonât need you crackinâ your skull open. Got enough shit to deal with.â It was sweet, knowing that he was looking out for you â even with the irritation lacing his tone.Â
You couldnât believe your eyes as you saw what Joel had led you to. A washer and a dryer, olive green in color. He opened the door of the dryer and shoved your wet clothes inside it, then took off his own soaked shirt and pants and tossed them in too. âTheyâre clean,â he told you.Â
In another lifetime where the world doesnât go to shit and fungus is the least of your problems, the mundane appliances in front of you would be the very last thing on your mind. Youâd be focused on Joel, watching rivulets of water slide down his jaw, past his Adamâs apple and pool in the hollow of his throat. Youâd be tracing the outline of his body with your eyes, following that thin line of hair that spreads down his lower stomach, disappearing under his boxers. Youâd be eyeing his thick bulge and the way that if you squint, you could see the outline of his cock. But in this life, in this moment â where the world went to shit a long time ago â youâre more amazed by the washer and dryer he stands next to. âThis is why I never see you at the laundromat? The whole time, youâve had a washer and dryer?â you asked, astonished.Â
âMânot supposed to, but yeah,â Joel answered, shutting the dryer door before turning to you with his chin tilted down, eyebrows raised. Donât you go tellinâ anyone, now.â
âIâm gonna tell Patti.â
Joel looked betrayed and puzzled. âIâm doinâ you a favor,â he reminded you.
âI know.â
âYou want me to dry your clothes or not?â You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as you shrugged. âOh, Christ,â Joel grumbled under his breath. âWhy the hell would you go and rat me out?â
âBecause, Joel, â you began explaining, âAll of the washers and dryers are breaking and youâre hoarding your own? I donât think so â if everyone else has to share the washers, then you do too,â you scolded. âItâs selfish.âÂ
âLife ainât fair, sweetheart.â You stared at Joel for a moment before turning on your heel to go tattle on him, just like you swore you would. âWaitââ Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you. Despite being long gone from Boston QZ, Joel couldnât quite shake those smuggling and bargaining habits of his. You were serious about this threat, and he knew it. Youâd march your ass through the pouring rain to go snitch on him to Patti. And really, the worst that wouldâve happened to Joel would be a scolding from Maria and the washer and dryer removed from his home and placed in the laundromat. Itâs not like heâd be placed in a pillory and have rotten tomatoes thrown at him. But still. Joel liked his washer and dryer. He sighed. âWhat do you want?â
âI donât want anything, Joel. I just want to better our community.âÂ
Give me a break. âWhat do you want,â he repeated, his voice lower.Â
You pressed your lips in a thin line, eyeing those pretty olive green appliances of his. Itâs not a far walk to Joelâs house⊠And you wouldnât have to wait in line to wash your clothes behind twenty other people. You did want to better your community, that much was true. But you werenât opposed to bettering your own life. âLet me use your washer and dryer. Whenever I want.â
Joel was quick to counter in a stern voice, âTwice a week, tops.âÂ
âThree times,â you tried.
âOnce,â Joel lowered his offer and then looked at you with his eyes squinted, his head cocked to the side. âWho does laundry three times a week?âÂ
It was a fair point. Even with your very own washer and dryer, you wouldnât do that much laundry. âFine. Twice,â you agreed, and Joel held out his hand for you to take and you shook on it. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm. In that moment you met his eyes, taking in the beauty of his face. Those sparkling, big brown eyes and the beautiful curve of his aquiline nose. Your eyes traveled lower still, and it hit you both at that moment - the realization that Joel was wearing nothing but his boxers, and that you were still shivering in your cold, wet clothes. Joel dropped your hand quickly and grabbed a clean t-shirt from one of his own laundry baskets on top of the dryer. âHere. You can change into this and toss your clothes in there too, fâya want.â
âThanks,â you said quietly, taking the shirt from his hand. âDo you have something to wear?â
âIâm a little behind on laundry, actuallyâŠâ Joel trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. You scoffed and chuckled at that. The luxury of his very own washer and dryer, right in the comfort of his home, and Joel had the audacity to be behind on laundry. âUhh, anyway. You just turn the knob on the dryer to âhighâ and press the start button. Iâll give ya some privacy to change, you can meet me upstairs when youâre done,â he said, and then shuffled past you.Â
Once Joel was up the stairs, you took off your clothes and put them in with the rest of the clothing in the dryer. You changed into Joelâs t-shirt, the fabric was soft with time and many wearings, and it smelled like him despite being washed. It was a muted teal in color, littered with a couple of bleach stains here and there. You liked it.Â
Upstairs, Joel made a couple of mugs of hot tea to warm you both up. âHoney?âÂ
âYeah, Joel?â
âN- no, likeâŠWas askinâ fâya wanted honey in your tea.â
âOh.â Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. âYâ yes please. Thank you.â You felt heat rise to your cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. You watched as Joel stirred a bit of honey into your cup of tea, smirking as he then handed you the mug. Asshole. âThought you were a coffee drinker,â you mused awkwardly, attempting to change the subject after taking a sip of the hot liquid, âYou like tea?â
Joel grimaced in disgust as he took a sip of his own tea. âNo. Just tryinâ to be polite for ya.âÂ
âYou donât have to drink it if you donât like it, you know,â you smiled into your mug.Â
âDonât tell me what to do.â Aaand there it is. Curmudgeon Joel was back, Neighborly Joel never lasted long anyway.Â
You sat on Joelâs couch, warming up with your cup of tea. Joel had noticed goosebumps on your thighs and pulled a blanket over your lap. He sat next to you with his mug steaming in his hands and just stared at you, not even realizing how deeply he was admiring the way his shirt hugged your curves just right, highlighting all the right parts of you. He jolted when he felt his cock thicken in his boxers, spilling his scalding hot tea all over his bare thighs. âGod bless it,â he swore. Without thinking, he pulled the blanket from your legs and covered his own lap to hide his growing erection from you.Â
âJoel, what the fuck?âÂ
âNothinâ. Justâ mâcold,â he lied. âJesus fuckinâ- just - câmere,â Joel huffed as he patted the spot next to him and urged you closer, then laid the blanket back over your legs. You sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as you sipped your tea and Joelâs went cold. Dork.Â
Moments passed. You sat in silence, the only sound was the rain pounding against Joelâs windows as your heart fluttered in anxiety, or maybe excitement. You mightâve even called it butterflies in your tummy. But you knew better. It was just the close proximity to Joel. And the fact that you were wearing his shirt, and he was practically naked. All of it pretty insignificant, honestly. It was basically nothing.
Joel finally spoke first, âWas thinkinâ itâd be best if youâd come by at night, when Iâm on patrol or somethinâ. Nobodyâll see you with your laundry and itâll stay our lilâ secret, yeah?â You nodded, still a little bashful with everything that had happened. You arenât often like that. Itâs cute, Joel thought. âAnâ you can use my detergent and whatnot. Whatever you need, sâyours.âÂ
âThankââ an especially bright flash of lightning followed by nearly deafening thunder interrupted you. You startled and sort of hurled yourself closer to Joel, grabbed his forearm and held it tight. It was just a reflex, probably. Basically nothing.Â
âItâs just a storm, sweetheart. Ainât gonna bite ya,â Joel teases with a grin.Â
âOh, shut up,â you let go of his arm and missed the warmth of his skin beneath your palm almost immediately, but your longing for his touch was quickly soothed. Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side as you listened to the sounds of the storm together. You stayed like that, inhaling the sweet scent of him, masculine and heady. He smelled like the rain, too, and the hair on his underarms tickled your skin but you didnât mind. When your laundry dried, he carried your basket home for you. You thanked him and moved to shut the door, but Joel stopped it with his hand, âWasher can be sorta delicate sometimes, so just be careful with it.â
âNoted,â you replied. âSee ya, Joel.â
âSee ya, hon.â
A few nights later, you returned to his home with your basket of laundry. Joel was gone, on patrol as he often is at night. Doing the laundry was uneventful , even though you probably used too much detergent, but whatever. Joel didnât have to know. The next time you did laundry, Joel was at home. He told you not to worry about whichever nights you come by, that heâd always leave the washer and dryer empty in the evenings for you to use. He was even generous enough to make you dinner that night.Â
It all worked out. Joelâs washer and dryer stayed unknown to the rest of Jackson, and your laundry was cleaned in a much more efficient way. There really werenât any flaws in your and Joelâs system, as long as you didnât include the one laundry night where Joel was gone on patrol again, but had come home just as you were leaving. You bumped into him accidentally, causing a lacy pair of your panties to fall right out of your basket and onto his shoe. He bent down and picked them up for you, not even realizing what he was holding. âOh. My bad,â he blushed, once he recognized the garment. âIâll justâŠâ and put them back in your basket. From that point forward, he was always careful to stay out of your way. Aside from that it really did all work out.Â
-
After loading your clothes into Joelâs washer, you shut the washer door and turn it on. You make your way upstairs and thereâs a note on Joelâs table â Leftovers in the fridge are yours if you wanna heat them up.
Opening the fridge, you see a neatly packed container of what looks to be chicken and vegetables. Yum. God, youâll miss these vegetables when it gets cold again. You take advantage of the offer and heat up the food in a pan on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you stir the food to keep it from burning. A light flickers above you. Weird. It flickers again, and then finally goes out. But itâs no big deal, youâve seen in Joelâs basement that above the washer and dryer is a shelf full of supplies and you know thereâs a couple of bulbs there. You go back downstairs where the washer hums, working its way through the cycle.
âHmm,â you hum to yourself. Youâd never quite realized just how high up that supply shelf is. And the bulbs are in the middle of the shelf, so thereâs no good way to get them without climbing on top of the washer, which Joel would probably kill you for doing. He did ask that you be careful with his fragile washer, after all. Whatever. Itâll take like six seconds, tops. You hoist yourself on the washer and first try kneeling on it to see if you can reach one of the bulbs. No luck. You stand on your feet then, raising yourself up carefully, slowly, feeling the washer shake slightly beneath your feet. Joel would be absolutely irate if he saw you like this now. When you finally grab one of those light bulbs, you carefully lower yourself to a seated position on the washer to catch your breath. Youâre not usually prone to vertigo, but Joelâs wobbly washer brought the dizziness on. You know better than to try and move right now, so you just settle yourself down to avoid fainting. Â
The washer vibrates under the flesh of your thighs. Itâs a gentle sensation, lessened by the angle youâre sitting at. But if you focus really hard, you can feel it in your core. Curious, you spread your legs and turn to the corner of the washer, tilting your hips to the floor, and oh, this is it. Youâre not even thinking about potential consequences when you shimmy your shorts and panties off, then find that sweet spot once more. The metal of the washer is cool against you as it vibrates, sending sweet little buzzes through your hot core. Youâre not quite wet yet, just enjoying the sensation. Letting it build and build, seeing where it can get you. You let your mind wander, not really thinking about much in particular. The low hum of the washer fades away in your mind and youâre starting to become wet. Shifting your position, you extend your arm to find something to grab onto when you feel fabric. Joelâs clothes. Heâs still a slacker with keeping up on his dirty laundry. Usually it would irritate you. It does irritate you, this exorbitant waste of an advantage he has. You look at the shirt in your hand, the same shirt Joel had lent you. You think back to that first time you did laundry here at Joelâs, how he sat next to you nearly naked. The feel of his skin and the smell of him - sweat and rain and musk. And Joel being the beautiful, incognizant man he is, probably had zero clue of how sexy he looked. Or smelled, for that matter.Â
With Joel now on your mind and his shirt in your hand, you decide to experiment, create a better ambiance. You keep those images of him in your mind, those feelings too. You remember the low timbre of his voice, the rain splashing against the windows, the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. And with his dirty t-shirt clutched in your fist and its armpit pressed against your nose you remember his scent. Smell is a powerful sense, closely linked to memory and emotion, his shirt and what itâs doing to you is a testament to that fact. Legs spread wide, your hips angled down with your clit pressed to the corner of Joelâs washer, the machine vibrating under you as you inhale his scent deeply - youâre back in that memory. And then some.Â
In your mind, your back on Joelâs couch. You can smell him, feel him, and if you really concentrate, you can even taste him. Youâre on your knees and heâs drawing lazy patterns on your back as you suck his cock and fondle his balls, and heâs moaning, grunting and whimpering your name. He tastes like he smells, heady and all masculine. He grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, guides you to straddle his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, he notches the tip of his cock inside you and pulls you down slowly, careful so as not to hurt you but it does, of course it does. Not that you mind, you love the stretch and the ache of his thickness splitting you in two. You rock yourself, grind your clit against that unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock. Youâre coming, youâre coming, youâre coming.Â
Youâre coming. Loudly, whimpering Joelâs name as you rut against the vibrating machine. As you finish, so does the washer. It sings you a little chiming song indicating the load is done washing. You canât help but giggle at that as you bask in the discovery of this fortuitous delight. Youâve got private access to a washer and dryer and a vibrator now too? Lucky, lucky, lucky.Â
God, Joelâs shirt smells good. You inhale it deeply, wondering if he wears cologne. It smells almost woodsyâŠsmokey, even.Â
Fuck. Youâre smelling smoke.Â
You pull on your pants and sprint up the steps, racing to Joelâs kitchen only to find that the chicken and veggies you were heating up are no more. Theyâre black and shriveled, cemented to the stainless steel pan, and thereâs no salvaging that. No amount of scrubbing can erase your masturbatory mistake. Fuck, Joelâs gonna kill you. Your only choice is to conceal the evidence. Surreptitiously, you take the pan and hide it under a bush outside Joelâs backdoor.
Youâll be more responsible next time - yes, there absolutely will be a next time. Gas off before you get off.Â
The next time came and went. And the time after that, and the one after that. Laundry was always your least favorite chore, but with access to Joelâs washer and dryer and this new trick up your sleeve, itâs not so bad. Getting off on Joelâs washer has become a weekly thing and itâs been lovely, relieving, dirty, and exciting, but youâd be lying if you were to say itâs been perfectly fine the whole time.Â
Youâve been abusing the poor machine. Itâs no secret. You get every bang for your buck out of the washer, taking full advantage of Joelâs twice a week offer and then some. Some nights youâll sneak over and do an extra load, wash a blanket or something just to make the washer run for your masturbatory purposes. And so, the vibrating sensation the machine produces has begun to weaken. In order to compensate, youâve been rocking yourself harder on it, which probably isnât helping. But itâs still washing your clothes, right?Â
âŠYes. Mostly. It still washes, but itâs become sort of finicky. And the door doesnât quite shut the way it used to, and it makes an odd noise now that it never made before.Â
Tonight youâre at Joelâs doing a double load of laundry. There were no ulterior motives on your part when you came over, honestly and truly. Your first load is drying, the second load is in the washer. Joelâs home tonight, heâs gonna cook you dinner like he always does when heâs around. For such a grouch, he wears his heart on his sleeve.Â
It would be more accurate to say youâre cooking dinner together. Joel came home with a basket full of fresh vegetables from the market and actually put you to work, his reasoning being that he was starving and wanted dinner ready yesterday, and that having your help cutting up the vegetables for the meal he was making would have dinner ready that much sooner. He places a cutting board in front of you and hands you a knife, âChop chop,â he says, then laughs at his own pun as he rifles through some cabinets. âMissinâ a saucepanâŠâ he mumbles to himself. Oops.
You start by peeling the carrots. As you begin to chop them, you realize he didnât give you any sort of instruction. âJoel?â
âYeah, hon.â
âHow small do you need me to cut the carrots?â
âUhhhh,â he thinks. âLemme see.â Joel turns around and watches you with a look of disappointment and repulsion painting his features. âWhatâs the matter with you?â
âWhat?â you ask defensively.Â
âWhy are you tryinâ to cut off your fingers?â
You look down at your hand holding the carrot and your other hand holding the knife, then up at Joel. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. âIâm not trying to cut off my fingers.â
âSure looks like it to me. Is that always how you handle a knife?â
âYeah,â you reply, âWhy?â
ââCause youâre gonna cut off your damn fingers, dammit, thatâs why. Câmere,â Joel stands behind you where you stand at the island, then lifts up your left hand and curls your fingers underneath themselves. âKeep your fingers like this,â he instructs. âHoldinâ your fingers out flat like that are a sure fire way to cut âem off. Now show me how you chop.âÂ
With your fingers in the proper position now, you begin to cut the carrots. They wobble beneath you, you hate the way Joel has you holding them. âThis is uncomfortable,â you tell him.Â
âYou know whatâs more uncomfortable? Missinâ fingers. Keep goinâ.â You groan but keep chopping per his demand. Heâs pressed against your back, one of his palms lays flat against the countertop, semi caging you in as he watches you work. âOkay, okay, stop. Youâre makinâ me nervous. Gimme this.â Joel wraps his hand around yours on the handle of the knife. He moves the knife for you, cutting the carrot slowly, your hand securely in his. âYouâre liftinâ the knife too much, sweetheart. Just rock it back and forth for me. Just like this,â he whispers, showing you how he rocks the knife in a fluid motion to cut the carrots. His hands are warm, his grip on your hands is firm. His breath is hot and tickles your ear, sending goosebumps erupting down the back of your neck. He chops the carrots quietly, and you feel him against you - the rise and fall of his chest and tummy with each inhale and exhale he takes, his wiry scruff kissing the side of your face. âThatâs it,â he praises, âGood girl.â
Fuck. His words go right to your core. As if him holding your hands and caging you in to teach you how to cut vegetables wasnât enough, he had to call you âgood girlâ as well. That had to be deliberate on his part, youâre almost certain of it. And now youâve got to pay his washer another visit. His fault, honestly. âLaundry,â you blurt out, pushing his hands off of yours and shrinking away from his hold. âSorry. Gotta check the laundry.â
âOh. Alright, then.â Joel watches you pace down the basement stairs and listens to you pretend to check on your clothes, opening and shutting the washer and dryer doors. Heâs waiting for you to come upstairs, but you never do. âYou cominâ upstairs?â
âYeah, just a minute,â you call back.
âThereâs spiders down there, you know. Big anâ fuzzy too.âÂ
âIâll be fine,â you yell as you unbutton your shorts and pull them down your legs. âI donât mind them.â
Your reply immediately has Joel feeling suspicious of you. Even a mention of a mere ant should have sent you running into his arms and pleading with him to get rid of it. On more than one occasion, Joelâs woken up to you pounding on his door in the middle of the night begging him to come kill a spider thatâs in your bedroom. And he always does, of course, even when the spider is miniscule and simply minding its business in a corner somewhere. Heâll scoop it into the palm of his hand and set it outside in a bed of flowers, call you a wimp and be on his merry way, grumbling the entire walk home. He wonders why the hell youâre so brave all of a sudden.Â
A loud, clunking noise interrupts the silence. âOh, fuck,â you swear. And Joelâs deaf, but not deaf enough to not hear you. âWhat was that?â he calls from up the stairs.Â
âNothing!â
Joel knows it wasnât nothing, it certainly didnât sound like nothing. You quickly pull your shorts and panties back on when you hear him stomping down the stairs to investigate. Wracking your brain to think of a lie to tell Joel, you realize youâre fucked, utterly and completely. It wouldâve been more appropriate to think of one before now, probably around the time the washer started to make weird noises. Now youâre faced with god knows what consequences.Â
Joel greets you with a puzzled and angered expression. âWhat the hell happened?â
âI dâ I donât know. Just something⊠Happened, I guess,â you stutter. Subtly, you stuff the used pair of his boxers you were smelling down the back of your shorts to hide the evidence of your even dirtier secret. Joel sees that youâre avoiding eye contact, looking up and away, scratching your head. The silence hangs heavily in the air and Joel sees the guilt on your face and that your shorts are undone for some reason. âYou have ten seconds to tell me the truth before this becomes a much worse day for us both.â
âNothing happenedââ
 âNine, eightâŠâ
You fold instantly. âI sit on it,â you confess, Joel exhales in frustration. âSit? As in⊠this is a regular occurrence, youâve been sittinâ on my washer,â Joel asserts. You nod in confirmation. âWhy.â
 âI donât know,â you shrug, another lie.Â
âWell, how much have you been sittinâ on it?âÂ
âJust likeâŠa lot, I guess.â You look down at your feet, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Â
âWhy?â he asks again.
âItâŠuhhâŠsort ofâŠâ you mumble, picking at your fingernails.Â
âSort of what?â
âVibrates.â
Joelâs face falls at the admission. âYouâre not serious,â he says, but he knows you are. âOh my god.â
âStranger things have happened, right?â Your voice wavers as you try to soften the blow with a joke.Â
âUnbelievable,â Joel pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. âNo. Stranger things than you have not happened, sweetheart.â After taking a few deep breaths, he pushes you to the side and reaches for the shelf above the washer for a toolbox. He takes out a putty knife and wriggles the front of the washer off, then drops to his knees to inspect the washer. âDid I not ask you to be careful with it?â Itâs a rhetorical question. Joel groans when he sees whatâs broken inside of the washer.Â
âWhat is it?â
âBeltâs broken,â he answers. âYouâre lucky sâfixable.â
âOh,â you say. âWell, itâs good you can fix it, right?â
 âOh, no. You are fixinâ it, my darlinâ. You broke it.â
Joelâs out of his mind if he thinks youâre putting his washer back together. âI donât know how,â you tell him. Youâll make it up to him in any other way than this, but thereâs no way heâs serious. Besides, heâs now the first to know that your track record with washers isnât to be trusted.
 âIâll walk you through it,â Joel replies plainly. âGet down there. On your knees, sweetheart.â You roll your eyes at him. âNow,â he says, unimpressed with your defiance.
You drop to your knees in front of the washer, looking for the broken belt that Joel speaks of. You find one of the big and fuzzy spiders he was talking about instead. âJesus!â you yelp, launching backwards and nearly knocking Joel over in the process âThereâs a spider, Joel - kill it, kill it, kill it, Joel - kill it, please,â you beg.Â
âOh for Christâs sake, itâs harmless.â
âJoel!â
Joel nudges you out of the way to find the spider sitting right at the bottom of the washer. He scoops it into his hand, then holds it in front of you, âI thought you said you didnât mind âem,â he taunts.Â
âI lied. Get it away from me,â You shove him away from you, and he clutches the spider more carefully in his hands, laughing.Â
âYeah, I know you lied. Youâre very bad at it,â Joel opens one of the basementâs egress windows and sends the spider on its way, then closes it and returns to you, first grabbing what looks to be a replacement belt for his washer from a nearby shelf. Leave it to Joel to have the most convenient yet obscure supplies right in his basement twenty years into an apocalypse. âBack to work.â Youâre in front of the washer once more, and Joel takes his seat right behind you. âSee that black belt at the bottom of the drum?â
âNo.â
âThis thing here,â he points at it with his finger. âTake it off,â You reach for the belt and tug on it a bit, âGotta wiggle it a bit,â following his instruction, you wiggle the belt and it falls off the drum. âAttagirl. Now put this one on,â he hands you the new belt and takes the old one from you. âSâgonna be snug.â
You struggle to stretch the rubber over the drum and it snaps your hands when it slips. âFuck.â
âKeep tryinâ. Put some elbow grease into it, hon,â Joel hovers over your shoulder, just as he did earlier in the kitchen. âMâjust checkinâ to make sure you got it lined up properly,â Joel tugs on the rubber belt, making sure itâs sitting where it needs to. âSo tell me again how long you been doin it for,â he whispers. âLong time?â
You answer cautiously, âUhhhâŠa while now, I guess.â
 âYeah, I figured. Sâit feel good?âÂ
The question throws you off, makes you nervous. But his voice is low and gravelly, and his tone isnât pointed or accusatory. He seems curious, but for what reason, youâre not quite sure yet. âIt does.â
âBetter than your fingers?â Joel tightens the belt a bit and leans back. Heâs watching you, but you canât bring yourself to look into his eyes. You gasp when you feel his warm palm sliding underneath your shorts. âWhat theââ Oh, fuck. Joel found his pair of boxers. He holds the fabric in his hands, a knowing grin on his lips. âThese are mine. Whatâre you doinâ with my dirty boxers?â he asks. He doesnât allow you time to stutter out an excuse. âYouâre a dirty lilâ bird, arenât you?â
âJoel.â
He tosses his pair of boxers onto the dryer and whispers in your ear again, âI asked you somethinâ. My washer feel better than your fingers?â
âYeah,â you answer, âBetter.â
Joel hums in amusement. He slides his hand down the front of your pants, still unbuttoned from earlier. âSaved me the trouble, didnât ya, sweetheart?â he breathes. Your breath hitches when his fingers find your mound, as he toys with the curls there. He traces over your lips, then dips a finger between them, circling your hole, then circles your clit. âBetter than mine?â he asks, dipping a finger into your center and you moan. He holds one hand on your hip as the other pumps in and out of your center, and you lean back into his chest, relaxing with his touch. You sigh deeply. âDonât get all cozy on me, now. You ainât done. Gotta put the front of the washer back on, should just click right into place.â
Joel pulls his hand away from you so you can lift the front piece of the washer. âItâs notââ you complain, struggling to click it into place the way Joel says it should. You push and push, but it doesnât budge. âJoel, itâs notââ
âIt will. Just try.âÂ
âI am,â you argue, shoving it once more but to no avail. Youâve grown frustrated by his washer, by the task Joel bestowed upon you in fixing it, and his teasing, too. In a fit of anger, you stand up and kick it.
 âHey, easy,â Joel scolds. âLook, like this,â Magically, the front piece of the washer fits right into place, just like he said it would. He does nothing different than what you did, it just works out for him. Of course it does. âYouâre impatient, huh?â he murmurs, moving behind you. You gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, tugging the fabric of both your shorts and your panties down to your ankles, he helps you out of the garments and tosses them elsewhere. His hands are on your hips again, this time guiding you, whispering, âBack, back,â as he positions you where he needs you, spreading your legs apart. Youâre leaning on his washer and heâs on his knees behind you, using his nose to tease and part your slick folds. He inhales you deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your arousal before he tastes you. He traces your lips with a pointed tongue, up and down, before he dips his tongue into your heat, savoring you.Â
âHow âbout my tongue?â he purrs, whispering against your skin. You donât answer, and itâs not like you could anyway, with the way he devours you. His arms are wrapped around your legs, his fingertips are digging harshly into your thighs like he means to bruise you, tear the flesh off your bones even. Itâs possessive in nature, but not abusive or aggressive. You know his actions arenât borne of anything except pure pleasure and you indulge in it, in him. He moves slow like honey as he tastes you languidly, kissing you. He laps your velvety heat, his tongue teasing all of your sensitive, slick flesh. Now and then the wiry hairs of his beard will tease and scratch your inner thighs, a sensation that tickles you and rubs you raw all the same. âOh my god,â you moan, reaching behind yourself to take hold of his head, fingers tangling in his graying curls and waves. âJoel, oh my god.â
Joel takes your lack of a real answer to his question as a no, his washer pales in comparison to his tongue. Good. He bets youâve fantasized about him, all those times youâve used his washer for those needs of yours besides washing your clothes. And he bets that you probably grind yourself on it, picturing itâs his warm flesh beneath you and not the cold metal of the machine. Heâd be right. He sucks your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. He nips at your folds, sucking one, then the other between his plump lips, then focuses his attention back at your clit. Youâre moaning his name, the only word you know anymore. Joel keeps you still, held tight in his arms so that you canât push your ass back and grind against his mouth like he knows youâre fighting to do. All you can do is take it, feel his perfect aquiline nose tease between your cheeks. Heâs buried himself face first in your most private place as he consumes you voraciously, his tongue flicking and swirling and painting you. Youâre biting into your own arm, seeing stars as you come on his tongue. Itâs an elusive sort of orgasm, the kind where you donât exactly know where it begins and it ends. All you know is that youâre sensitive, so fucking sensitive and Joel is relentless. Your knees buckle as he toys with your clit, gives you a break for a moment before heâs right back there again, continuing to eat you. He keeps going and going, repeating the actions over and over again just to make you cry and beg, âStop - please - I canât, I canât, Joel. T-too much.â
âKnow itâs too much, sweetheart, sâwhy Iâm doin it,â Joel coos. But he obliges, places one last kiss to your heat, soaked by his spit and your own arousal before he stands up behind you. He wraps one arm around your stomach, pulling himself close to you. You can feel his hard cock against your ass, separated only by his denim as he uses his other hand to turn your face to the side, meeting him beside you. He kisses you, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, then feel his hand leave your face to reach for his fly. You hear him unzip his jeans slowly, and then heâs pulling his cock out, still kissing you as he lines up with you, first parting your thighs with a gentle nudge of his knee before notching his tip at your entrance. He finally pulls his mouth away from yours and gently forces your chest down toward the washer. He pushes himself into you, careful so as not to hurt you but deliberately so that you still feel that ache, the stretch of his thick cock separating your insides. Joel continues holding your body close to his as he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlacing his fingers in between your own. âHow about my cock, sweetheart? You like it better, worse?â he whispers, kissing, nipping at your ear in between words. He pulls out of you nearly all the way, then pushes back into your dripping cunt.Â
You try to answer, âBet - oh, ahhh,âÂ
Joel chuckles at the way heâs reduced you to nothing but broken syllables and moans. âOhhh, listen to you. I think itâs better, huh? Sâthat what youâre tryinâ to tell me?â You nod frantically. âYeah, I know, beautiful.â
His pace is slower to start, but it builds in quick time. You can feel heâs fighting with himself to be more gentle than he actually wants to be, his thrusts sloppier than he intends, like heâs losing himself in you. Youâre lost in him, lost in the moment all the same. You take it all in, the lewd and obscene sounds of the pleasure he creates with you - his thighs slapping against yours and the gushing of your cunt on his cock. Your moans, your cries, all babbling nonsense. And Joelâs deep breaths in and out, shaky and stuttering as he does it. His grunts and his swearing, a whimper here and there if you listen closely. He fills you up perfectly, hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over and overâŠ
âYou coulda had me like this the whole time,â he pants, âDidnât have to go anâ break my washer fâya needed somethinâ more than those fingers of yours, sweetheart. Know you been needinâ some lovinâ.â He reaches for your breasts, squeezing and groping the flesh, twisting your nipples and smirking when you twitch and whine. âAll you had to do was ask.â You donât respond, but he doesnât expect you to anyway. What he did expect, however, were your moans of displeasure as he pulls out of you. He knows, oh, he knows how empty you must feel, you poor thing. Heâll soothe that. He flips you around, seats you on his washer. âIâm gonna make you come again,â he promises, âIâm gonna watch.â
 âToo much, Joel, I canât,â you cry. You want to come again, really. But you donât think you have it in you, still so worked up, overstimulated by the endless teasing of his tongue on your pussy.
 âOh, donât cry. You can do it, hon. You can take it,â he says, âOpen up those legs for me, darlinâ.â Joel pushes your trembling legs wide so he can slot his hips between them, then wraps your legs around his waist before sliding his cock into you once more. He thrusts just once, rather harshly, before heâs met with another rather loud noise from the washer. Joel halts and scratches the back of his neck. God, he hopes he didnât just do it in. âProbably shouldnâtâŠuhâŠâ
âYeah,â you agree.Â
âDid you use my dryer too?â
âDuh,â you answer. âHow else would I dry my clothes?â
Joel rolls his eyes, âNo, smartass. Were you usinâ it for your dirty work, is what Iâm askinâ.â
âNo.âÂ
Still inside you, Joel slides you over to his dryer. âGood girl. Poor washerâs been abused plenty by you already.â Â
âBut I will,â You whisper defiantly under your breath, wrapping your arms around his neck as he adjusts.Â
âWrong ear, sweetheart. My right oneâs deaf. I heard that loud and clear.â
Joelâs back to fucking you in an instant. He wastes no time in making good on his promise, thumbing your clit as he rolls his hips into you. âSee, look at you. Takinâ me just fine,â he praises.The way you squirm and take your shallow little breaths fills him with satisfaction and delight. He knows this isnât easy, that youâre tired and sore and overstimulated. Heâll be done with you soon. âCome with me, wanna feel you come with me, sweetheart,â he says. âFocus here, eyes on me. Youâre gonna come with me.âÂ
Itâs a few moments of Joel painting your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you hard and deep. Thereâs a push and pull to it, where youâre not sure who this is for - yourself or Joel. Just like before, youâre not sure where it starts and stops, but youâre there. God itâs intense, youâre gonna break and you know it. Joelâs got his palm on the back of your neck, squeezing you. His jaw clenches and heâs coming undone first, but he never loses focus on you. His thrusts stutter as he milks himself in you but doesn't yet stop - heâs making sure youâre gonna come. âCâmon baby, câmon. Give it to me,â he says. âOne more for me. Last one.âÂ
His words are all it takes. You whimper and moan, cry his name as you find your climax. Release washes over you the way waves crash onto sand - itâs repeated, the way the tides push and pull. Deafening. Powerful.Â
But thereâs a calmness yet. The rolling of his hips slows, slows, stops. He presses his damp forehead against yours, breathing deeply. âYouâre okay,â he murmurs. âYouâre okay?â
You nod and smile, âYeah, Iâm good.â He smiles with you and helps you off of the dryer. Joel finds your clothes and dresses you in them, steadying your shaky legs.Â
Joel tentatively restarts the washer. It chugs a bit, but makes all the right noises and he breathes a sigh of relief. Youâre a bit startled when he takes you by the arm and marches you up the stairs. âNew rule,â he says, âYou stay with me when your clothes are washinâ.â
You bite your lip to hide your guilty smirk. âYes. Joel.âÂ
âAnd I still need you to cut them veggies for me, too.âÂ
I struggled heavily with this fic, comments and reblogs would be much appreciated if you were feeling so inclinedđ they keep me motivated and I look back at your words when Iâm writing to remember that Iâm capable of pleasing you all
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Star Wars fic writers, what is the Star Wars equivalent for ân00bsâ?
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This is highly relatable as I just got my engagement ring back from the jewelerâs after having to get it sized up half a size đ„Č
(to be fair, I got my finger sized years before my fiancĂ© proposed to me and Iâve now had it for 2 years and about 20 lbs later đ)
i like to imagine that his pinky ring used to fit his ring or index finger but then he had just one too many frozen pizzas (is there such a thing?) and now it's stuck on his fat little pinky.
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thinking about this moment again:
particularly in regards to this conversation:
thinking about inej, who is actively dying, asking kaz for an apology. inej, whose native tongue leaves no room for triviality here. this isnât âyou were mean to me and you need to make nice,â itâs so much deeper.
this is âpromise me you wonât treat me like a piece in your chess game again. promise me you wonât keep acting like iâm replaceable. promise me iâm not just another one of your investments.â
this is the first time we see inej holding kaz accountable, the first time we see her ask him to be more, to do better. this is the precursor to the âwithout armorâ conversation. and i think itâs fitting that we never hear whether or not kaz did apologize. because at this point, i donât think heâs ready to give inej what sheâs really asking for here, and in a way, itâs best that she doesnât hear him say the words. heâs not ready to mean them yet.
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EXCUSE ME MAâAM WHAT A TEASE YOU ARE!
Yall ainât ready for this HEATâŠ. đ„”
WIP(-ish)
Why do I expect every day that surely I'll have some brain power to write in the evening? Because it's always a LIE (except for the very rare occasion when it does happen and I'll be up until 3 am, thereby effectively ruining my life for the next few days).
Anyway...
Have another Tim x Javi x OFC (Mai) snippet because y'all have been very patient waiting for them:
âMai, hang on,â Javi chokes out, desperate to get the words out. âCariño, itâs too much - I canâtâŠâ
âTell her why she has to wait.â Timâs voice is low, soft, as calm as ever. âWhat Iâm doing to you. How it feels.â
His hand tightens slightly on Javiâs throat when thereâs no response. âTell. Her.â
So Javier tries, even though heâs struggling for words. Not because he canât breathe, but because itâs much too difficult to hold it together.
Because this, this is new. Finding words to describe whatâs going on between him and Tim, telling them to someone else.
Itâs too much, but at the same time he desperately wants to do it.
âFeels too good,â Javi finally croaks, brushing his fingers through her long hair as he presses a kiss to the back of her head, and he closes his eyes when he feels Tim starting to move his fingers again.
"He's got... Tim's got..."
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