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syd-djarin · 19 hours

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I LOVED THISSSSS!!

Imperfect perfection

So... this is it! Thank you, Jo🥹♥️ @undercoverpena, for being you and encouraging me to put this idea into words. I hope anyone who takes a chance and reads this snippet has a sweet time. I'll do my usual, posting it and run away for a little while!😬

pairing: Frankie Morales x fem! able bodied reader. summary: You are ready, tired of waiting, and eager, so eager to have him, for him to have you, he's too, and you're sure, absolutely sure, tonight will be perfect. Right? word count: 4500 (ups!🤭) tags/warnings: 18+ mdni, established relationship, smut, oral sex female receiving, unprotected piv sex, no body description, no beta, no use of Y/N.

Dividers by @saradika

Two months.

Words put together. Three and six letters.

A time frame. Specific. Special. Alive and growing.

It takes less than a second to say them, but the repercussions are life-changing.

An accident. A morning, like any other, a day with no extraordinary significance attached to it, until a coffee gets spilled on the floor before the owner has the time to take the first sip of that scalding beverage considered by many as the Good’s nectar and what makes a great deal of that many decent human beings ready to start the day and interact with other people.

A crash between you and him. Frankie. And now you are sitting beside him while he drives to his place and the radio hums softly in the background. The night is warm. Welcoming. The windows are open to let the breeze in, and the moon is full, shining proudly with no cloud in sight.

He had been pissed at first, ready to verbally eviscerate you -Frankie wouldn’t have been the first. Thanks to your clumsiness, you’ve been the cause of quite a few spilled drinks during your life.- but your awkward attitude and the uncontrollable verbal vomit that took control of you every time you got nervous or flustered had charmed him enough to keep his mouth shut and accept your offer to buy him another coffee. A coffee that turned into a non-date -Those were Frankie's words, as in his opinion, a first date needs a proper question with a proper answer and proper planning.- with an exchange of numbers and a proper first date for the next Friday.

Since then, the days started to fly.

Two months of endless conversations about everything and nothing, by phone mostly, and face-to-face when your schedules aligned and one date became two, and three, and four, and there was no count anymore.

Two months of getting to know each other, discovering traits and things good and not that good, like your perfectionist tendencies and stubbornness or his tendency to bottle his feelings, of letting him see all your sides and seeing his, and only keep being thirsty and curious to learn more.

Two months of a hunger that only keeps growing.

Two months of life, work, friends, families, and the flu season getting between you two.

Two months of making out like teenagers, of touching skin, and getting so aroused you ended up ridding his thigh till your orgasm took your breath away and you made him cum in his pants.

Two months of wanting him but not having him as you crave, of a few rounds of phone sex, of being more and more enamored by his voice and his accent, of his Spanish bleeding in his words, of hearing your name on his lips and relishing in the sound of every endearment he called you by, of his good manners, his bashful attitude, his eagerness to talk to you and see you, his charm and sweetness, of his natural and intrinsic constant seek of your comfort and happiness, of being frustrated and endeared at him by his desire to wait until you had a whole night together before going all the way, to be able to wake up in the same bed the following morning and have time to cook the breakfast he had promised you.

But there’s no more wait anymore.

Tonight, tonight, is the night.

You feel it in your skin. It’s heated and covered in goosebumps. It feels alive, as does the night, and the giggles haven’t stopped since Frankie picked you up to spend the afternoon together at one of his favorite places.

You’re happy and drunk in this happiness, but you are not alone. Frankie seems as excited as you, keeping his hands on you, touching you like he couldn’t get enough, holding your hand in his as much as he can while driving, intertwining your fingers, and kissing the back of your wrist, your knuckles and every bit of skin he can, smiling as much as you, looking at you with so much desire it makes you bite your lips. As eager as you are. Ready for what is coming, greedy for it.

Something akin to a forewarning gets control of the space when the motor gets turned off, and with it, the radio and the soft singing voice go away, letting the silence envelop the two of you.

Frankie's stare is on you, quiet, unpressuring, but heavy. It makes you look at him, and the tension in the car makes you shudder with its thickness. A knife could easily cut it in two. He doesn't turn down his eyes, but his hand on his neck is a telltale sign of his nervousness mixed with his eagerness.

“Cariño (Darling), you know…” Always the gentleman, your man. You don’t need to hear what he was about to say to know he wanted to reassure you he had no expectations. That he wants to, but your choice is what matters to him in the end.

Licking your lips is unconscious, but the boldness growing in your veins at his reaction is not, at the way his pupils dilate as they keep track, nor is the way you see him watch your movements as you slowly get closer to him, kissing his cheek, distracting him from your real intention.

"I know." You’re hungry for him, to see him naked, to be able to touch him and kiss him everywhere, to feel his hands on you, to feel him inside of you. To let him catch you and devour you.

The thrall you've created and its hold only break as you back away, and his keys enter his field of vision, catching his attention as you swing them hard enough to make noise.

“The first one to get inside calls dips on who’s on top.” Your mischievous smile is the last thing you show him as you leave the pickup.

“Shit!” Frankie’s curse makes you giggle as you run away. By the time you hear the car’s door close, you’re halfway to the door. You feel him behind you, going after you. Fast. Swift. A predator after his prey and the thrill of the chase surrounds the two of you. He touches your shirt, but you elude his grasp, still giggling, just about to touch the doorknob until all becomes a blur. Your head hits the door with a painful sound, and Frankie’s chest, squeezing you against the door, takes your breath away.

“¡Mierda! (Shit!) You ok, Cariño (Darling)?” Frankie moves fast, turning you towards him, holding your face as he kisses your forehead. “Lo siento. I’m so sorry. I was looking at you and not where I was going. I didn’t have time to stop. ”

“I’m ok.” Your voice, still a bit breathless, doesn’t seem to reassure him as he steers you inside.

“Let’s go inside.” His hand doesn’t leave your back, guiding you until he has you where he wants, under the closest light in the foyer. “Let me me see.”

His touch, featherlike, probes and touches the bump already growing, lifting your face to see it better, cursing under his breath for his carelessness.

Another kiss is given to make it better for you and him, but you can only look at him, at his beautiful brown eyes, concentrated on you, at his plush lips, his heavy brow now serious and sorry, at the slope of his nose, at his handsome face that makes your heart beat faster.

"I'm ok." Your reassurance falls on deaf ears as he still keeps looking at your forehead. "Frankie." Scratching his neck is enough to catch his attention. "I'm ok. It's ok."

"I'm sorry."

“I know. It’s ok, baby. It was an accident. But I want you to kiss me. I need you to kiss me. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

You don't need to tug him much before he starts to lean on you. His smile, small but truthful, doesn't leave his face as he keeps getting closer. The kiss is nothing but filthy, hard, with his tongue barreling into your mouth as soon as his lips touch yours. Heated. Blissful.

“I want to see you. Can I take it off?” You feel the question on your lips as his hands toy with the hem of your shirt, only touching your skin with the tips of his fingers.

“Only if I can take yours too.” You’ve seen his chest before, but it feels like the first time once again as you move a bit to take his shirt and let him take yours.

His lips are on yours before you get a glimpse of his skin, and your hands go back to his hair in a movement that feels intrinsic to you already. His hands on your back are warm, big, curious, looking for something. You’re too distracted to notice the tug against your chest, sucking his lip between yours, scraping the tender skin with your teeth at the same time your hold on his hair tightens, stealing a moan from him, distracting him from his task, and with it, the back of your bra slips from his grasp, lashing at you, the nibble turns into a bite, unforgiving and cutting, and his moan becomes a painful grunt.

You’re quick to let go and ask for forgiveness, to coo at him as you look at his lips as he had looked at your forehead, careful, gentle, checking for blood, feeling thankful for its absence, peppering the skin with little kisses, trying to ease the pain even if the hurt cannot go away, and tomorrow it will be swollen. It makes you feel guilty.

It makes you hurt after him as if you were the one with the bite, but his expression is the worst, a mix of shame and mortification, the one your worry hadn’t let you see nor feel the stiffness of his body when his attempt to unclasp your bra had gone so wrong. It makes you want to hug him, reassure him, kiss it away so his smile returns, the one that never fails to make your tummy tingle, but the fear of making it worse and putting more attention on the mishap keeps you still.

Unsure of what to do, you let your instincts and desire take control and decide, going forward with your hands moving to your chest instead of staying in the moment.

“The clasp is on the front.” It's easy to reach it and undo it, almost giggling at the way his eyes bulge as you let your breasts free. Your nipples harden as the bra falls, left forgotten on the floor.

“I…" He only stares, quiet, focused, awed, and the turn is his now, liking his lips, starving, as if he could already taste you, keeping the urge to cover yourself at bay. “You’re so beautiful."

He has touched them before while clothed, seen glimpses of them through your cleavage, but he has never seen them like this. Free, unbidden, unrestrained, his to stare and to touch. But when he finally reaches you, he goes lower, grasping your thighs and lifting you, making you giggle one more time, taking you to his bed fast as you kiss his neck and his jaw, lowering you on his bed slowly, not tempting fate, backing away to keep looking at you.

"I still don’t know how I got so lucky.”

He seems to be talking more to himself than to you, bewitched by the sight of you, almost naked, on his bed.

"Bump included?"

"It's the prettiest bump I’ve ever seen, just like its owner."

The sight of him kneeling in front of you makes you sit and help him get rid of your pants and underwear as he moves you to the edge of the bed, ending up perfectly nestled between your legs.

“Will you show me? Will you let me see her?” Baring yourself like this is something new, but his voice, needy, makes you want to spoil him and let him have what he wants. It makes you nod as you part your legs, letting him see your pussy. “She’s so pretty and so wet.” His voice is almost a whisper, full of reverence and care, as his fingers caress the insides of your thighs. “I want to taste you. Will you let me? Saborearte (Taste you), like I’ve been dreaming.”

The yes is barely out of your lips when he’s already pouncing on you, starved and groaning at your taste, taking his time, making you vibrate, dipping his tongue on your hole before going upwards to your clit, sucking it with his lips, making you shudder and start tensing as you can feel your orgasm already building up. The state of arousal you’ve lived with the whole day, thinking of this moment, paired with how long it has been since someone that’s not you or your toys is touching you, and that it's him the one touching you, adds an unexpected intensity to his touch. You cannot talk, only moan and let him do what he wants as your hands try to find leverage on the sheets, your thighs clasp around him, and your hips rise from the bed. And you’re gone. Tensing as your release takes control and your eyes don’t see anymore.

You hear Frankie chuckle, proud as a peacock at the state he has left you in, kissing your skin, leaving a trail of them as he returns to your side, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue, giving you time to come back without breaking the skin contact, surprising you with his nakedness and the feel of his erection on your hip. You can’t recall when he took off his pants.

“Still alive?”

“Don’t be so cocky.” Even if it’s at your expense, you love his laugh. It makes you want to kiss it and see if it tastes as sweet as it sounds, and you do. “I want to be on top.”

“Of course.” He’s already moving, sitting on the bed with his back resting on the headboard, still ravenous for you, pulling you towards him with a tad of extra strength you weren't expecting when your legs still feel like jello. You go to him, miscalculating the distance. Your knee lands on his body and not the bed, and with it, your weight goes to his groin, making him yelp and shove you away, stopping just inches from landing on the floor.

“Oh my Good! I’m so sorry, Frankie. Are you ok?” The delay in his answer only makes you fret more and feel worse.

“Yeah… yes…” You hear him take a deep breath. “It’s ok. You got me on the hip. Shit. Are you ok?”

You’re still sitting precariously on the edge, not sure if your touch is welcome right now, looking at him and at his cock, now soft, limp between his legs, and perhaps it makes you shallow, but you cannot stop the pout on your face.

“It’s gone.” Your eyes start to sting at the situation and its hopelessness.

“Thought you were about to break my dick.” His attempt at humor doesn’t have the intended result as you start to cry. It all crumbles. The expectations, the reality, you want for him and your shame take control. He’s so good to you, caring, open, easy to talk to, and you go and make such a mess. You wanted the night to be perfect. A cherished memory for the future, responsible for fond smiles and emotions. You’re so ashamed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, don’t cry, Cariño (Darling). It’s ok.”

“It’s not. I’m a disaster.”

“You’re not. Come on. Come here.” His arms are already open, welcoming, encouraging, offering selflessly his touch and his comfort when it should be you the one offering.

And fuck, you love him. You love him. It’s too early, but you do. Because he is him, open, caring, sweet. Handsome, yeah, but it's the warmth and safety his countenance makes you feel and not just how aesthetically pleasing he is. Because he makes you smile and happy. Because he is a fast learner, quick to see when to help and when not, and when to step in even if your bursts of independence make you not see you need him. Because he makes you want his company, take care of him, laugh and cry, to simply be without caring of the wheres or the hows.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come on, sit on my lap.” As you sit, he tugs you against him, chest to chest, forehead to forehead, and your arms hug his shoulders. “We have the whole night. We don’t have to do anything else. We’re in this together.”

“But I want to. This was supposed to be our night.”

“It still is. It's perfect because it's ours.” He makes you want to say them, even if you're not ready, those three words you've just realized you feel and leave a tingle on your lips. “Why don’t we just kiss for a while. We’ve done it before, and we’re damn good at it.”

It’s what you do. Finding each other again. Kiss for the shake of kissing, not caring about the time, with no other goal in mind other than to enjoy them, and the closeness created as your hands touch skin and tongues and lips goad moans and growls. Chaste, filthy, lips on lips, mouth closed or with tongue, a dance between two, taking and giving control, growing in desire, craving for more and more as your hips start to move, slowly, gently, seducing, creating desire that’s answered, making you mewl in delight when his hardness settles between your folds, wetting them with his pre-come mixing with your juices.

"Frankie." He's too focused on kissing you to respond at first. "Frankie."

"I told you we are damn good at it." His amusement, contagious, feels like a balm to your heart. Brings lightness and laughter.

"Put it inside." Your voice is no more than a whisper, scared that any movement or hard noise will make you lose it again.

"You're not ready."

"I am. Don’t worry." He doesn't look that convinced, and that little voice in your head wants to side with him, but you are tired of waiting.

He’s about to argue, but you take him in your hand, squeezing him, carefully making him shudder, touching him up and down, taking away his will to argue while looking at him until he nods his consent.

Still straddling his lap, you align his cock to your hole, and as the tip starts to enter you, your eyes close. He doesn't move, letting you have control and settle the speed. It stretches you. Slowly, making room for himself, and it burns. Burns more than you thought, more than it should, making you clench around him as your hands tighten their hold on his shoulders, and as much as you will yourself to relax and take all of him, you're stuck.

"You ok, Hermosa (Beautiful)?” The question is gentle, conscious of your trouble, and the worry is obvious in his voice. You don't need to see him to know he’s frowning as his hands on your sides stop your movements.

"Mmm." You nod, focused on taking him inside you, of wanting him inside, warm and thick.

“We should stop.” His concern, while sweet, only makes your stubbornness grow.

"Don’t you dare! I want it. I want you, please. Please, Frankie. I want it.” It’s hard, and the tension coiling inside you only makes it harder.

“You sure?” How could he not be hesitant when he always wants to take care of you?

“Yes. You’re so thick. Ugh. Don’t be proud. It’s not a compliment right now.”

“I know, cariño.” The humor in his words reassures you. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable.

“Talk to me.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Whatever. Just distract me.”

"Didn't you tell me you have toys? I've heard you use them over the phone.”

“Really? That’s what you go for?” You snort.

“What? It distracted you, didn’t it?.” Your eyes are still closed, but you feel the smile, the cheek on his words. He's right. He knows it, and you do, too. About this and about you not being that ready for him.

It's not easy to stop your smile and let his ego grow, but you love it so much, this easiness and comfort. The trust to banter, to be playful even in a moment like this one when things don't so as they should, when you're frustrated, and your eyes are a bit puffy thanks to your tears, and instead of wanting to run and wallow in your misery, you still desire each other, want to keep trying, to give and take pleasure, to share your bodies.

"I do have toys." You mumble, with annoyance creeping into your words, still obsessing about having at least one thing go smoothly tonight. "For my clit, but I don’t have a dildo of your fucking size, Francisco." You feel his snort come from his chest.

"You need to relax." His hands moving to your hips distract you for a second with the trail they leave as they move.

“No shit Sherlock."

His hand on your ass freezes the time, and it takes you a second to associate the sting on your skin, and the noise with the slap he had just landed on you. He's quick to soothe the skin as your eyes open, finding Frankie's. The intensity is almost overwhelming. He looks surprised, too. Aroused. And it has a very much desired effect as you gush around him, and more of him gets inside you.

"Don’t be mean." The apology is almost out of your lips when his voice keeps your focus on him. “You really want this?” His hands haven’t stopped moving, going between your ass cheeks, where your folds are.

“Mmm”

“Mmm what? Need your words, Hermosa (Beautiful).”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Take a deep breath. There’s no rush. You need to relax. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just us.” He’s never this bossy, and it’s hot.

You cannot fault that glint in his eyes, the one showing awareness of this discovery, but you don't care. There will be time to talk about it. Right now, no other thought occupies your mind, but the urge to do it. Comply. To get more and more. Be drowned by the pleasure. "That's it, cariño!" His praises are your reward, and finally, you start relaxing and lowering yourself. “Take your time.”

His lips start kissing your sternum and travel to your breasts. One first and then the other, equally kissed and sucked as his hands go back to your sides and stomach and upwards to cradle them in his hands, and your moans are his reward with the feeling of finally being all buried inside you, and you feel him in your belly.

“Baby. Look at me. You look like a Diosa (Goddess). Mi Diosa. I’ve never seen something so beautiful. Perfecta (Perfect).” It's not smooth, but finally, you get to rest on his lap.

You don’t move, enjoying far too much the moment and the intimacy, looking into each other eyes, feeling him inside, warm and throbbing, squeezing him in answer, making him whine.

“Don��t do that or I’ll come.” He looks wrecked already, and you’ve barely moved, but you're not that far off, either.

“What? This?” You’re about to do it again, but his hands go to your sides and start tickling you, making you giggle and almost lose your seat.

“Ok. Ok! I won’t do it again.”

“Little minx.” The laugh is obvious despite the bark in his words. His hands, always warm and big, encourage you to start moving, just a gentle rock as you try to be as close to him as possible, as your arousal keeps dripping out of you now, making it all slippery.

The first trusts are slow, deep, a bit uncoordinated, but so pleasurable. The rhythm is building, and then it happens, and it’s like you could see the stars, but there’s only him, him, his brown eyes, and his knowing smile once again.

“There?” The question is not needed after how you had squeezed him.

“Yes. Please more.”

How had he found it so easily, that hidden spot he kept reaching with every trust? It’s so intense.

“Frankie, harder.” And he does, helping you, taking part of your weight when you go up, meeting you with his hips.

“Estoy enamorando de ti, mi Diosa. Podrías pedirme la luna y solo pensaría en como robarla. Me tienes loco por ti. (I’m in love with you, my Goddess. You could ask me the moon, and I would only think about how to steal it. I’m crazy about you.). Do you understand me?”

You’ve been learning Spanish, slowly, in secret for now, until you can surprise him with a few sentences and not just a handful of words. It’s so hard to think when he’s so deep, and the blood is thrumming in your ears, when your clit rubs on his pubic bone, when breathing takes so much effort.

“Something about wanting more?”

“Yeah, Hermosa (Beautiful). Something like that.” The smile is surprisingly tender between the filth around you like he’s keeping a secret.

Licking his ear spurs him, riling him enough to flip you around without breaking his tempo, going harder, grunting your name between licks and open kisses on your neck, slamming into you, making you forget everything that’s not him and his cock, and his fingers on your clit. Your pleasure builds and builds, and the edge keeps coming closer, and you clench around him, and the only thing to do is keep your hold on him with your arms around his neck.

“Come for me, baby.” And you start to, undone, ruined by him and his touch, sucking him inside you, making him follow you, making him spill himself inside you and claim you. His body goes lax on top of you, with his face still hidden on your neck, giving you his weight, and his hips keep a few clumsy trusts drawing out your pleasure, making it a bit too much, perfect.

His weight is grounding, heavy, solid, still trembling as your hands caress his back. The goosebumps emerge as the skin covered with sweat starts to cool down, feeling his heart slow its beat and yours follow, as if it wanted to be its twin with a matching rhythm. And you know it. In the morning, Frankie's lower lip will be swollen, and the bump on your forehead will have started to darken, showing the same color as the bruise on his hip. You will smile at each other, say good morning, not caring about morning breath, caress your bodies, laugh and kiss, be happy and get frisky between the sheets, keep learning about your bodies, get better, bring pleasure, spice in some love and care, and fuck a little bit. Just being imperfectly perfect together.

No pressure tags! (just because there was interest on the WIP Wednesday and the last line tag game) @mermaidgirl30 @secretelephanttattoo @burntheedges @mrsmando @pascalssbabyy @thundermartini @joelsdagger @schnarfer @katiexpunk @joelsgreys

#syd’s recs #snail trail alert 🚨

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syd-djarin · 19 hours

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you’re gonna go far (joel miller x f!reader)

we ain’t angry at you, love, we’ll be waiting for you, love. and we’ll all be here forever. 📻✨

summary: your daughter needs her father — he’s never let her down before. and hell, if he’s about to start now.

warnings: age gap (sixteen years), no outbreak, fluff, husband!joel, insecure parenting, smutty happenings, cursing, alcohol, timelines all over the place, one (1) tiny mention of daddy kink, allusions to unprotected piv, mentions of babymaking & pregnancy, 18+ mdni.

notes: this has been languishing in my drafts for months now, so here it is! nothing special, just proclaiming my love for joel miller the father <3 i also promised a plushy-sized surprise for @hellishjoel all that time ago, and here it is! sorry it took so long 🥹

thank you, as ever, to my @macfrog for your eyes on this. i couldn’t do this without you. also, to @frannyzooey, who helped me navigate the trickier parts to get right! i love you.

“Joel.”

He groans, stretches out languidly in his sleep.

His hand instinctively slides over your tummy, his favourite place: chest pressed to your bare back, wedding band against your warm skin as he holds you.

It can’t be time for him to get up yet.

“Joel,” comes your voice again, more insistent this time. He feels you reach back and tap his hip, sheets pooled round your bodies.

“Phone.”

Joel blinks one eye open wearily. His iPhone flashes obnoxiously from the nightstand, rattling the smooth wood as it vibrates.

11:45pm.

A number he doesn’t recognise flits across the screen. A slight frisson of anxiety settles in his stomach, jolting him awake.

“Hello?” Joel answers cautiously, settling back into the pillows with the phone crooked under his ear.

“Dad?” comes a timid voice, whispering from the other end.

“Clara? Are you okay, honey?”

At the sound of your daughter’s name, you turn to face him, eyebrow raised uneasily.

“‘m fine,” she admits, and Joel waits for the inevitable whimper that he knows will come from his seven-year-old. He can picture her bottom lip trembling, and his heart wants to break for her.

“Baby?” he pushes, certain he knows what’s coming.

“Can you come get me, please? From Madison’s? I can’t sleep, daddy. I tried, but—” she sniffles, and Joel soothes her.

“Ssssh, baby. It’s okay, you don’t need to explain it to me. Is Madison’s mom there?” he asks, and listens for Clara’s quiet uhuh.

“Pass me over to her, honey. Jus’ wanna confirm everything, that’s all. I’ll be twenty minutes,” he assures her.

“She okay?” you ask when he’s done with the call, flicking the beside lamp on, both of you wincing at the sudden intrusion.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep. Wants me to go ‘n get her,” Joel chuckles, hand squeezing your calf fondly.

He watches your features draw tight with anxiety, the way they do so often when it comes to the daughter you share.

“You think you could try to see if she’s alright? Y’know, with school and everything?”

Joel’s eyebrow raises, prompting you to continue.

“I just worry she’s not settled. I don’t want her being bullied, but I don’t want to be overbearing—”you start, pulling at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Hey, hey,” Joel hushes, moving to hold your face in his hands. “Sweetheart, I’ll talk to her. I promise,” he adds, before kissing you gently.

“I mean, I don’t think she’ll tell me anythin’, but I’ll give it a shot anyway.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, thumb stroking across your skin.

“You’re forgetting she’s a daddy’s girl, Joel,” you tease quietly, pushing at his chest.

“Makes two of ya, then,” he smirks, eyebrow raised.

You roll your eyes; slide back beneath the covers, breathing a little easier. He knows you’re anxious about Clara, you both are.

But it’s not his first rodeo.

Nineteen years separate his daughters, but Joel relishes fatherhood and all the trials and tribulations that come with it, knows he will for the rest of his life. Lessons learned and repeated, a cycle he’s grateful for. Both kids so different, but their hearts the same.

“Drive careful,” you mumble, after he’s pulled on sweatpants and an old shirt.

“Always.”

He switches the lamp off again and bends to kiss the tip of your nose, ignoring the creaky protests of his knees. The house is quiet as he moves through it soundlessly; photos of the women in his life grinning at him as he heads downstairs.

Sarah: freshly graduated from college, working as an accountant in Houston. The earliest years of being her dad were the hardest; getting to know her, raise her, round her out. But holy shit, was it worth it; even through the hardship of doing it alone.

His beautiful baby girl.

He thinks of her, now, making a note to call her tomorrow. Sarah still has a room here, Clara gazing at her with starstruck eyes whenever she visits.

Joel rummages through the chipped trinket dish by the front door, searching for his truck keys. Typical family detritus litters the space around him; individual declarations that show love is well-known and nurtured in those four walls.

His work boots lie abandoned in a heap, your sneakers and sandals stored away neatly, Clara’s favourite plushie left behind on the tabletop: Grogu’s big eyes watching him make ready to leave.

Joel sticks the toy carefully in the crook of his arm, sliding his own battered sneakers on as he scrubs his free hand over his face. Cicadas sing as he makes his way to his truck, moonlight casting silver shadows over the front lawn as he deposits his green friend in the front seat beside him.

“Alright, pal,” Joel yawns, turning on the ignition. “It’s time to go.”

There’s no traffic, and Joel finds himself thinking of a time he’d been here before: on the same stretch of road, years earlier. Sarah had called him from a friend’s house; said that some of the girls had teased her for being a tomboy with unwashed ketchup stains on her shirt, and Joel remembers the burning shame sticking to him like slime.

Trying to make it as the sole parent, and failing at it.

Working all the hours he could, roping in a young Tommy to take care of Sarah when he couldn’t, going without so she could have more. When he’d picked Sarah up that night, though, she wasn’t upset. She just wanted her dad, asking if Joel could stop for pizza for them to share on the way home.

The memory makes him smile. Sarah’s toothy grin told him everything he needed to know, soothed away all his doubts.

He was enough.

Joel grew confident in his abilities, watching his baby stretch up and out into the arms of happiness and security in herself, chasing her college dreams.

Then, you came along.

Joel had been feeling the stretch of the long days without his daughter to fill in the gaps, his not-so-little brother moved out to his own apartment. He felt unsure about the stage in his life he was settling into, had been pondering it one day when he got home with a smaller grocery haul than he was used to.

He hadn’t noticed the moving truck next door, but he’d noticed you.

The Adler’s eldest niece, he found out later. Denim cut-offs and a snug baby tee, smile bright enough to light up the neighbourhood. You were fresh from a bad breakup, younger than him by sixteen years. You’d moved in with Danny and Connie for a new start, looking for some stability in your life.

It happened faster and more perfectly than he ever could’ve predicted.

Joel was asked to remodel the kitchen, and he couldn’t turn the Adlers down. You made him lunch, hung around him whilst he worked; asked questions that would’ve been irritating, had it been anyone else.

You told him you’d never really settled; not at home, not at college. Always searching for something else, something more. Never feeling like you fitted in.

“Seems like you’re doin’ a fine job of that here, sweetheart.”

That smile: so captivating, entrancing, striking Joel dumb every time he saw it.

“You think so?”

“Neighbourhood wouldn’t be the same without ya.”

He loved the way you looked down at your feet, like you couldn’t believe what he was saying. He wanted you to know: wanted to show you, push you down into his sheets and make you certain of it.

You’re so fucking sweet.

He caved one day; too tempted by the soft curves of your body and the lingering glances he felt from you whilst he worked.

He asked you on a date, feeling like a fool, fumbling his words and carding a nervous hand through his hair. His earlier bravado deserted him - surely he was being foolish. A beautiful, young butterfly like you?

Joel didn’t have much to offer, he knew that: a bad back from too many years on site, not a lot of spare cash, weekends spent woodworking, a slow, steady way of living.

But he had to try, and to his delight: you said yes.

You were waiting for him that night on his doorstep, pretty sundress floating round your thighs. The bodice lifted your breasts towards him, smooth skin dewy along your collarbones, eyes bright with excitement.

Goddamn. An absolute dream.

Joel knew he was late — fuckin’ Tommy, getting the wrong size for the headers — but you laughed his apology off, said you’d wait for him to take a shower.

He offered you a beer in his kitchen, joined you for one after he’d towelled off. One beer turned into two, into three, into a slow kiss that became something deeper: wandering hands, breathy groans, forgotten insecurities.

“We’ll miss our reservation,” Joel gasped, when your lips left his to take a breath.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you giggled, eagerly pulling his shirt over his head, sliding your panties down your calves. Hearing you curse spurred him on, filth falling from that sweet mouth.

Joel wanted to hear it again, pull it from you as many times as you’d let him.

You didn’t even make it upstairs.

You both collapsed naked on his couch, and Joel held you there till dawn broke, the skies pink and rosy.

You’d hardly been apart since.

He was insatiable for you.

You kept him laughing, made him feel younger. Joel wanted to be with you, around you, inside you, as much as he could. He’d never have called it a missing piece as such, but he felt whole. For the first time in his life.

You’d done that for him, without even trying.

Joel Miller was only human. He had a feeling you, however, were not.

You were married after two years. Joel watched you love Sarah like she was your own, despite you not even being a decade older. The two of you were thick as thieves whenever she was home, and Joel remembers the tears of joy when you told her she had a baby sister on the way.

Joel’s younger daughter was the light of his life: unexpected, but loved unconditionally. Everyone who knew Clara doted on her - she had a face you couldn’t help but fall in love with.

Yours.

Joel knocks on the door as quietly as he can.

Madison’s mom is endlessly kind, waving away Joel’s sympathetic smile. His daughter’s shoulders droop as they head back to the truck, holding Grogu close as she leans her head against the window.

“Y’okay, bug?”

Clara sighs, scrunches her brow in frustration. The streetlights illuminate tear tracks on her cheeks, Joel’s heart shattering a little to see it.

He knows he can’t keep her this close forever.

He remembers when Sarah stopped needing him for grazed knees and scary dreams; came to him to help assemble her bed frame instead, to check the tyre pressure on her car.

He feels grateful to be able to do it all again, even if it hurts him to see his daughter like this.

“They’ll all think I’m a baby,” Clara confesses, screwing her fist up to wipe her eyes. Joel tuts quietly as he spins the wheel, wishing he could gather her in his arms.

“What makes you say that?”

Another drawn-out sigh, wobbling bottom lip, downcast gaze.

“‘Cuz I wanted to come home,” she sniffs. “I - I missed you, and mommy. The sheets smelled all different, and I didn’t like it.”

Joel reaches out a hand, his daughter wrapping her smaller one in his. He squeezes tight, feels his own heartbeat thrumming right back at him.

“But that’s okay, baby. Y’know what? I actually think you’ve been really brave.”

Clara plays with Grogu’s ears, making a dissatisfied noise that tells Joel she doesn’t believe him. At all.

Tough gig, kids.

“Takin’ yourself out of a situation - or place - where you don’t feel comfy or happy is very brave, sweetheart. You might not think so, but grown-ups do it all the time.”

She releases his hand, turns to look at him. Joel flashes her a smile, happy to see one in return. Not quite her trademark toothy grin, but he’ll take what he can get.

“You remember Sarah’s boyfriend, Jake? How we don’t see him now? That’s because he wasn’t makin’ your sister happy anymore,” he tells her, Clara silent as she digests his words.

“She was brave and made a decision, one that sure as hell wasn’t easy. We all liked him, right? But Sarah had to do what was best for her, just like you did tonight,” he tickles her under the chin, hears her giggling.

“‘s there anythin’ else, baby? Anything on your mind, like school or your friends?” he prompts gently, and is met with silence, knowing his daughter is thinking it through.

“Can I call Sarah? I want to tell her I’ve been brave. And if she’ll come over and help me finish my Lego,” she adds, crisis averted, face set with fierce determination.

She reminds Joel of you when she does that.

“In the morning, bug, we’ll call her. ‘s gettin’ late now, and we need to get you in bed. Mom’s waitin’ up to give you a hug,” he tells her, pulling round the bend to the cul-de-sac they call home.

Clara nods, yawns gratefully. Joel already knows he’ll be shaken awake before 7am, mobile stolen so Clara can call her big sister. Sarah’s her hero - always has been, always will be.

Nothing makes him happier.

An hour later, and you close the bedroom door behind you. Joel’s in bed with a book, propped up against the pillows, soft lamplight spilling out across the room.

“She okay?”

“Out for the count,” you smile, hanging your robe up on the hook he made. “She told me what you said — that she’s brave, about Sarah. Nothing seems to be bothering her about school, either, from what I can tell.”

“Told ya. She’ll come to you if she needs you, baby. I promise,” Joel smiles. You sit down by his side, reach out to take his hand. He brushes his thumbs across your knuckles, lifts it towards him and kisses your palm.

“I know I’m overreacting. It’s just, you get to know ‘em - or think you have - one day, and by the next week, they’ve changed. Our little person.. Always growing, having new interests, new fears.”

He nods sympathetically.

“Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up, y’know?”

“I know,” Joel agrees, because he does know, hates to see you doubt yourself.

“It’s not just you. Hell, parenting doesn’t come with a manual. It’s one of the scariest things you can do, and everybody’s wingin’ it.”

He plays with your wedding band absentmindedly as you lounge against his legs, digesting his words.

“One day at a time, mama. You’re doin’ just fine,” Joel murmurs, and you look through your lashes at him, chewing your lip. He gazes at you imploringly, and you shrug, start to laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I know so.”

He opens his arms, beckons you towards him.

“C’mere. I’ll prove it.”

Your eyes roll again, but nevertheless: you slip your panties down your thighs, just like the very first time, and toss them in the hamper, grinning shyly.

He helps you to sit astride him, hands planted firmly on your ass. “I ever tell you you’re the best daddy?” you whisper, bending to press your lips to his. Joel anchors you to him, thumbs rubbing circles across your flesh, inching beneath your nightgown.

You start to rock your hips slowly against his belly and the coarse hair that lives there. Joel feels you on his skin: already so slick and soft for him; groaning as he slides the thin straps of your dress down your arms.

“It’s all teamwork, sweetheart,” he tells you between kisses, welcoming your tongue in his mouth. He squeezes and pinches you softly, fingers eager for any skin he can find, claim as his own. You’re so goddamn responsive to his touch: tugging at his hair, nails drawn across his chest.

“What if I said I wanted another, one day? Another baby?”

Joel stills for a moment, peering up at you. Your chest is heaving; breasts spilling out over the flimsy material, lips bitten, eyes narrow and full of longing. You’re still grinding against him, all worked up - he knows you can feel it, feel what you do to him.

You’re incredible.

Joel flips you over as you squeak in surprise, pulling the dress over and off your head so you’re finally bare beneath him. He searches your face, kisses you softly. He remembers your first pregnancy: how beautiful you were, round with what the two of you created.

“I’d say.. Okay. I’d say, let’s try.”

You wrap your legs round his waist, work to push his boxers off together. Joel pins your hands above you in one of his, teeth scraping in the column of your throat, dragging the scruff on his jaw between your breasts, just the way you like.

He teases you, touches you till you’re ready; breathless and downright impatient for him. Before long, Joel’s sliding into the warm, wet heart of you — his wife, his forever.

#syd’s recs #something about that DILF

196 notes · View notes

syd-djarin · 19 hours

Text

salt, shot, lime

➔ Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

➔ 2.3k words

➔ You meet your celebrity crush in a bar; he turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected.

➔ Rated MA for protected p in v, public sex acts/public nudity (they fuck in a bar y’all), body shots/alcohol consumption, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart) // reader has female anatomy (afab - no pronouns used), wears a bra, is generally able-bodied but is otherwise a blank slate.

“Go on. Don’t be shy.”

Your fingers work slowly at the buttons of your blouse, so readily and eagerly baring yourself to this man who–for all intents and purposes–is a complete stranger.

He’s familiar, though; to you, not the other way around. Dieter Bravo lives very publicly, after all. You follow him on Instagram and Twitter; you see bits and pieces of his life throughout yours. When he approached you at the bar, he had no clue who you were. But you knew him.

And now he’s eyeing you over the rims of his sepia-lensed sunglasses, ringed fingers idly tracing the rim of the empty shot glass that sits on the counter next to him. He looks at you like he wants to know you, and that’s exactly why you’re in this position.

This is crazy. This shouldn’t be happening at all. But he’s hot, and he’s interested in you. And you’re not nearly drunk enough to not understand the risks and consequences associated.

You can see the gulp that traces down his throat as you set your shirt on the counter and it gives you the willpower you need to keep from crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself. Dieter fucking Bravo is effected just from this simple view of you in your cute yet simple bra, and it’s the headiest confidence boost you’ve ever received.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” His voice is breathless, lips parted in awe. “Fuck.”

The bartender clearing his throat and setting down a tray next to Dieter’s right hand is enough to snap the actor out of his dazed reverie. Dieter clears his throat and wrenches his eyes away from your half-naked torso, scanning the contents of the tray before humming his satisfaction.

“Ready, honey?” He asks, and you hum your approval as you lean back over the bar.

This is the first time you’ve done this, and you don’t think Dieter follows standard protocol. Or maybe he does—it’s not like you would really know, this isn’t your typical Saturday night activity—but there’s hardly anything that can be called standard about the way his wet tongue laves quickly and wetly over your sternum to give the salt something to stick to. Just that little bit of contact is enough to make you squirm, and it takes every out of restraint you possess to sit still for him as he pours the shot into the dip of your belly button.

It’s messy and sticky and not very comfortable, especially when you position the lime between your lips, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

He gives you a look—dark and pleading—and you take a deep, aroused breath as you nod your consent.

Again, his tongue is between your breasts, but this time it’s languid. He takes his time and flattens the length of the muscle against your skin to collect every last grain of salt.

Then he purses his lips and slurps the tequila from your belly button—but really, all you can focus on in the moment is the weight of his hand resting dangerously high on your thigh under the guise of steadying himself. His fingertips are so close yet so achingly far from where you’re wettest, and the smirk on his face says he knows it.

Finally, after a moment that seems to last at least three years, he moves up your body and bites into the lime waiting between your lips.

With him this close you can smell the heady, woodsy scent of his cologne, and it only serves to turn you on further as he sucks the juice from the tart fruit.

The way he takes the lime from you with his teeth and spits it out on the countertop should be a crime but you really can’t be fucked about it because suddenly he’s kissing you. You could isolate all three flavors on his tongue if you cared to, but you don’t in the slightest. All you can really focus on is those hands as they slide up your sides and come to rest at the base of your skull, thumbs swiping simultaneously over your cheeks to anchor you while he licks deeper into your mouth.

The cocky bastard actually smirks against your lips when you moan. The sound is soft but it only serves to motivate him; he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth like he’s trying to lick your molars as your hands wind around his neck to tug him closer to you.

And then, just as suddenly as he started kissing you, he pulls away.

“Your turn, sweetheart.” There’s just a faint little smirk to his lips, but it’s enough to make you want to smack him. It’s also enough to make you want to suck him so deep into your throat that he never fully recovers.

And fuck, you really want to tell him fuck it and ask if he wants to get out of here, but you also want to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You nod to the bartender, who sets down another shot for you. And then you nod to Dieter’s chest, and he starts tugging his baggy shirt over his head without a word.

He’s pretty. You’ve always admired his physique, sure, but it’s even better in person. There’s an unkempt quality to the smattering of hair on his lower stomach, and the soft curve of his belly has you eager to get your hands on him.

You haven’t even gotten your shot yet, but you’re hoping and praying that he’ll want to drag you into the bathroom to have his way with you after this.

He leans back and lets you prep him–smiling slightly at how careful and neat you are about laying the salt and pouring the shot. There’s a tender reverence in your touch that makes his heart pound in a way it hasn’t in years.

“You good?” You ask, looking into his dark eyes when he takes off his sunglasses, neatly folds them, and sets them on the bar.

You watch his throat bob around a thick swallow, and then he nods; and you can’t help the sick satisfaction you feel over how breathless he already is. Too easy.

You make a point of dragging your nails over his treasure trail, under the guise of steadying yourself, as you lick the salt from his firm chest. You spend a little more time there than strictly necessary; but you want to get him clean, after all. And if your tongue trails off course to drag over a taut nipple–

“Oh, fuck!” His voice is muffled from the lime wedge perched between his lips; he’s so sensitive that his hips actually jolt at your ministration, but your hand on his lower belly steadies him to assure his shot isn’t wasted. “Baby that’s not fair–”

His protest is breathy and trails off into a useless little whine when you move down to suck the tequila from his belly button. You can actually see the way his cock springs to life under his trousers in your peripheral vision, and you think you deserve an award. A big world cup-style trophy, with an inscription that reads “I made Dieter Bravo hard just from licking his fucking belly button”.

He spits the lime out before you even get a chance to taste it, but that’s okay because you’d rather taste him anyway.

His grip is firm as he cups your face in his big, meaty hands and pulls your lips to his. There’s a desperation to this kiss–a frantic meeting of lips and tongue and teeth as he tries to pull you closer to him than it’s physically possible to be. And you let him, let him take everything you so desperately want in return as you feel the scratch of his beard against your chin and the firm grip of his hands guiding the angle of your head.

“W-we should… take this somewhere more private,” you pant when you finally muster the courage to pull back for air.

He shakes his head, and you feel a twist of disappointment in your gut. But then he looks over your shoulder; you hear a deep, guttural voice–and before you know it, the entire bar is empty. Not a soul in sight, not even the bartender

“This private enough for you, honey?”

You nod dumbly, still kind of starstruck over such a powerful display of the way the entire world dances to Dieter Bravo’s tune.

He pulls you in for another deep kiss, this time backing you up into the bar counter. You can feel the insistent press of his arousal against your hip like this, and it makes you moan needily into his open mouth.

“Wanna fuck you,” he murmurs into his mouth, rolling his hips against you in a way that makes you moan again. “Please baby, lemme fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” you murmur back with a nod.

You’re definitely not normally the type that would strip down completely in the middle of a bar to fuck some man you just met, but there’s something about him that has you disregarding all common decency to toss aside your bra and wiggle out of your jeans so he can see every inch of your exposed skin.

It’s all worth it for the pleased moan he makes when he takes you in with his eyes, hungrily eating up miles and miles of flesh that he wants to touch and kiss and appreciate. But there’s not enough time, not here; so he lifts you up sideways onto the bar like you’re weightless and then presses you to lay down flat against the counter top, completely ignoring the sticky glass-sweat rings that press little cold patches into your flesh.

You get a good view of him as he loses the rest of his clothes, flinging them to the corners of the room with a ferocity that makes you giggle. The sound brings a smile to his face, too; and then he jumps up onto the sturdy bar counter with you, spreading your legs with eager hands so he can slot his hips between yours as he continues to kiss you.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he grumbles as he shamelessly ruts his hard cock against your wetness–his voice is so deep it’s almost gravelly. And then he produces a little foil packet from seemingly thin air and winks at you like a hammy cartoon character. “Safety first.”

He’s so silly it’s sexy, and he laughs with you as he presses his lips back to yours. He fumbles a little bit as he tries to roll the condom onto his impressive length while simultaneously kissing you, so you reach down with steady hands to help him; he whimpers at the way you take his girth into your hands and so easily sheathe him.

“M’not gonna last long,” he whispers as he lines up with your entrance, and you’re surprised he can’t actually feel the way it makes your cunt sob with arousal.

“That’s okay,” you reassure, one hand coming to tug firmly at the curls that compose the nape of his neck. “Just make it good.”

He nods, gently bites at your lower lip, and then he thrusts into you smoothly all the way to the hilt.

There’s a bit of a stretch to accommodate him and it makes you moan; the feeling of your tight heat sends a physical shudder down his spine.

“Oh, fuck–” he scoots his knees up further towards your ass, shoving himself as deep as he can get while simultaneously trying to let you adjust to his sudden intrusion. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good–”

You feel the slight scrape of his thick curls against your clit, and it yanks a desperate little moan from your lips. “Move, Dieter, fuck me–”

He’s nothing if not obedient. The first needy little thrust is hard enough to jolt your entire body–he scoops a hand under your head to soften the blow, and then he starts moving with reckless abandon.

It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s desperate. He thrusts hard and deep into your soaked core, mouthing uselessly at your mouth and jaw, whimpering with each rut of his hips. He watches your face when he can actually keep his eyes open and finds the exact spot that makes you writhe and squirm underneath him, angling his hips to hit it with relentless accuracy.

He looks pussydrunk, it’s the only way to describe the expression created by his glassy eyes and his parted lips. He nuzzles his face in between your tits and looks up at you like you created the moon and the stars, like you’re something to revere. You’re scared that if he keeps looking at you like that, you’re going to fall in love with him.

“I’m close, Dieter…” you warn, the hand that's not clutching desperately at his messy hair reaching down to put your favorite kind of pressure on your clit.

He tilts his head down and watches to the best of his ability, making mental note of exactly how you like to be worked over–storing that information away for next time. He so desperately wants there to be a next time.

He feels it a second before you do and angles his hips just right to hit that toe-curlingly pleasurable spot right as you come. It sends you sky high, the way he pounds mercilessly into you while the pleasure ebbs and flows over you.

He comes hardly a minute later, grunting and whining and cursing under his breath as his balls draw up and he empties himself into the condom, shoved as deep inside you as he can physically get.

There’s a long, heavy moment of silence as you both pant and try to come down from the clouds. He scatters little feather-light kisses over your sweat-slicked chest, and then he looks up at you with those big brown puppy eyes you’re starting to adore.

“You wanna grab dinner?” He’s so earnest in asking, like he’s not balls-deep in your cunt right now.

It’s so ass-backwards that you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up your throat, but you don’t consider any other answer than, “Yeah, sure.”

It’s worth it just to see the smile that lights up his face. “Amazing.”

➔ dividers: @saradika-graphics

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#syd’s recs #snail trail alert 🚨

191 notes · View notes

syd-djarin · 19 hours

Text

Gi,

Thank you for:

1. Blessing us with your fine ass ‼️🍑🍑

2. Giving us babylove & Joel, and making each installment so sexy, sweet, silly and downright FILTHYYYYY.

In sin & smut,

Syd

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“Takeout 🥡”

A/N: I sent @strang3lov3 post shower titty pics in my takeout undies…and then she said I should write baby love wearing those said panties around Joel 🤭 so I did the mf thing and wrote it! P.S that is yours truly’s fine Italian ass in the moodboard! 🍑

~word count: 1.4k~

Summary: Friday nights are takeout nights, baby love

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, oral f!receiving, mentions of ouid, teasing, flirting, intimacy, daddy kink! Mommy kink??, Joel and the reader are pornstars, Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

Friday nights were arguably your favorite night out of the entire week; takeout night, baby! Every Friday night you and Joel would pick a local restaurant to order from and this week it was your turn! Instead of simply letting Joel know where you wanted to order from, you decided to play some theatrics into it.

You were, after all, well seasoned in front of the camera.

So while Joel was downstairs, seated at the kitchen table with his jar of weed and rolling papers laid out in front of him, you slipped into one of your favorite pairs of lounging panties. The fabric had little Chinese takeout boxes printed onto the fabric. They were a high waisted, cheeky pair and you had a sneaking suspicion that Joel was absolutely going to love and devour them.

After throwing on one of his well-loved shirts, you headed downstairs to greet him in the kitchen. He had just finished rolling a joint when he noticed you in his peripheral, his lips curved upwards into a boyish grin when he saw that your attire consisted of nothing but panties and one of his shirts: delicious.

“Hey, baby love.” He tucked the joint behind his ear, turning in the chair completely so he was facing you.

“Hey, baby.” You grinned, lifting the hem of his shirt up so he could get the full view of your cheeky choice of panties.

His eyes traveled from your face and all the way down the curve of your body. His eyes flickered back upwards, grin widening as he beckoned you to come closer, “Ooh, how’d you know I was hungry, baby love?” He snickered, wrapping his strong arms around your waist when you were within reach and pulled you in close. He started nuzzling his face against your exposed stomach, pressing open mouth kisses here and there while his hands grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh between his thick fingers.

He brought one hand back, giving you a playful slap that elicited a giggle to slip past your lips as you gently carded your fingers through his soft, salt and peppered kissed curls. You leaned down, giving the top of his head a sweet peck as he hummed against your tummy.

“No, baby.” You giggled, “ME. I’m hungry. I want lo mein and orange chicken from Fortune House.”

He let out a soft huff, tickling the sensitive hairs above your pubic bone with his enticing warm breath, “yeah, that’s what you want tonight, baby love?” He looked up at you, resting his chin against your stomach while you gently brushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

“Mhm. Are you good with that for tonight?”

“Always down for some good Chinese takeout.” He rasped, dropping one hand from your ass so he could reach across the table and grab his wallet, “think I wanna eat you first, though.” He chuckled, pulling out one of his cards and handed it to you.

“You always wanna eat me, Joel.” You shook your head with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Can ya blame a man?” He focused his attention back on you, slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties and gently pulled the elastic back before letting it snap against your hip. “These are fuckin’ adorable, by the way. Love how they look on you, baby love.” He pressed a wet kiss to your hip bone, and then the other before trailing his lips just above the delicate lace on the hem of your panties.

His eyes flickered upwards, deep pools of brown full of nothing but unbridled mischief. The look he was giving you sent heat rising to your cheeks and your thighs involuntarily clenching together.

“Thank you, baby. They’re one of my favorite pairs to lounge in.” You hummed, keeping one hand in his hair just as he began to lower his lips, hot breath fanning your covered core. He leaned in, rubbing the tip of his nose against your covered clit, taking a deep inhale at the scent of your arousal.

“Fuck me.” He grunted, lashes fluttering shut momentarily before they opened again. He kept his eyes locked on yours when he pressed a kiss to your clit, and then another, and another till there was a small wet patch forming from the moisture building up between the thin layers in the fabric.

You stifled a moan, gripping onto his hair for support, your words coming out stuttered when he dragged the flat side of his tongue from your core and all the way up to your clit. “J—Joel, the f—food. Fuck.”

His words were muffled by his face being buried in your covered pussy as he hooked his thumb around the front of your panties and pulled them to the side. “You have my card, baby love, call ‘em and place the order while I feast on ya.” He chuckled deeply, sending a series of sparks to shoot up your spine as you tilted your head back.

“O—okay. What do you want?” You reached for his phone, snatching it up quickly just as he began to suckle on your clit.

“Gimme a minute, kinda busy.” You could feel him smirking against you as he swirled his tongue against you in a languid figure eight motion.

You struggled to dial the number to the restaurant with just one hand, but somehow you managed. “Hi! Yes, I’d like to place an order f—for delivery! Mhmm—I’d like an order of lo mein, orange—chicken. What—size? Uh, large for both, please!” You squeaked out, eyes rolling back into your skull when Joel had crooked his middle and pointer finger inside of your core, thrusting them shallowly.

His mouth and fingers were working in unison as your slick dripped out of you and down the side of his hand almost immediately. You struggled to keep your composure while he was working you into absolute ruin. You pulled the phone away from your ear, placing it against your shoulder for a moment.

“Joel!” You hissed, “what do you want, baby? Seriously J—Joel!”

He detached his mouth from you, looking up at you, beard and chin glistening in your slick as he licked his lips, “what was that, baby love? S’matter?” He teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him, struggling to not let a moan slip out and scar the poor old woman on the phone, “please, just—tell me what you want to eat.”

“Hmm.” He pondered, smacking his lips together, “an order of crab rangoon.” He leaned back in, dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit, sucking it between his lips before gently releasing it with a wet smack! “Egg rolls.” He repeated his previous action, feeling your thighs begin to quiver and tremble, “pan fried potstickers.” He suddenly ceased the movement of his fingers inside of you, and his mouth, forcing you to drop your hand from his hair to brace yourself against his shoulder, “and an order of beef and broccoli.” He added.

You swore you saw stars behind your eyes when he purposely edged you from your approaching orgasm. With a shaky hand you brought the phone back up to your ear, “hi! Sorry, I would also like an order of crab rangoons, egg rolls, pan fried potstickers— Jesus fuck—” you stuttered, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood when he continued with his ministrations, pumping his fingers inside of you at an unruly pace while he suckled on your clit. “I’m so sorry for swearing! That just slipped out—can I also get an order of beef and broccoli? Thank you—yeah, that’s it!”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby love. Give it to me. Soak my fuckin’ fingers, sweet girl. Give it all to daddy.” He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of pussy.

You don’t even remember saying your address, or the digits on Joel’s card when the sweet old lady let you know that the food would be delivered within the hour. You said thank you, ending the call and tossed Joel’s phone on the table before you slipped your fingers back into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you pressed his face further into your dripping cunt. “Don’t you dare fucking stop now, daddy.”

He looked up at you, tongue sinfully swirling around your clit, stray strands of curls dropping from between your fingers, falling against his forehead and briefly obstructing his view, “I wouldn’t stop eatin’ my girls sweet fuckin’ pussy even if the world was ending, momma.”

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syd-djarin · 22 hours

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he’s so pretty I think i’m gonna cry

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syd-djarin · 23 hours

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Maintenance Request Chapter 20

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.3k

chapter summary: when Joel met Ellie 👀

a/n: thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕

chapter tags/warnings: flirting, banter, fluff, cursing, food and drink mention, pet names (honey, gorgeous, darlin’, baby, sweetheart, pretty girl, good girl, handsome, cowboy), tricky conversations, typical Ellie bluntness

Chapter 20

Saturday, November 16 Twelfth week of the semester

In the week leading up to The Meeting, as Beth had been calling it for days (in a ridiculously deep, dramatic voice), you were nervous. You knew Joel was a good guy, and you wanted Ellie to like him. But you wanted her to like him on her own, not because you pushed her, or because she felt like she had to for you.

Beth joined you and Joel for lunch by the psych building on Friday, even though your schedules only overlapped for 30 minutes. Afterwards she blew up the group chat you had with Ellie with her review (“He’s pathetically into your aunt, like it’s written all over his face. He seems like a good one”). You got the go ahead from your sister (who was working that weekend), which wasn’t actually difficult but you were glad to have it anyway.

By Saturday, you were so nervous you googled breathing exercises on your phone while you waited for Beth and Ellie to come pick you up. Joel was going to meet you at the restaurant, after Tommy picked up Sarah to take her to soccer practice. You tried to tell yourself not to be nervous but it didn’t work. You felt like you actually had plenty to be nervous about, so you couldn’t trick yourself out of it.

You were in the process of breathing in 1-2-3-4 and holding it when your phone buzzed with a text from Ellie saying they were outside. You released your breath and took one more deep one before gathering yourself to leave.

Ellie was in the front seat of Beth’s car and stuck her tongue out at you, so you rolled your eyes and got in the back.

“Morning,” you said as you slid into the seat.

“Morning!” Beth sounded cheery, at least. “Here we go!” You sighed and tried to force the muscles in your back to relax.

The brunch spot wasn’t far from your apartment, and during the ride there you poked at Ellie a little bit to try to gauge her mood. She seemed fine, if wary. That was probably the best you could have hoped for.

Joel was waiting for you outside of the restaurant when you arrived. He was looking pretty nervous himself. He had his hands in his pockets and he was trying to look casual, but his shoulders were tense.

“Hey, darlin,” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Morning, Joel.” You smiled and gestured behind you. “You know Beth. And this is Ellie.”

Joel and Ellie looked at each other for a moment in silence. She was squinting at him fiercely and you could tell he was trying not to smile in response.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Joel nodded at her and you were suddenly glad he seemed to intuit that offering a handshake was not a good idea. “Heard a lot about you from your aunt.”

“Hi,” she replied, eyes narrowed. “What did you hear?”

Joel couldn’t hold back the smile anymore. “Heard you made a pretty cool presentation about the Emu War. How’d that go?”

Ellie looked torn between her warring desires to give Joel the third degree or to monologue about the Emu War at any given opportunity. “Um, fine.” She visibly bit back something else and you sighed.

“Let’s go get a table and then maybe she’ll tell you all about it.” You gestured to the restaurant and Beth moved behind you to open the door.

“Bet I can recite your presentation from memory.” Beth grinned as she teased Ellie, who rolled her eyes.

“Bet me what? I bet you can’t.” Ellie crossed her arms as she entered the restaurant and you laughed.

“Hmm,” you heard Beth muse as you stepped up to the host station to get a table. “I’ll buy you another weird little guy of your choice.”

“Deal!” Ellie sounded gleeful. “Get ready to perform.”

You mentally thanked Beth for putting her more at ease in this unfamiliar situation as you all followed the host to a table and sat down. Joel sat next to you on your left, with Beth across from him and Ellie across from you.

Your conversation got stuck on the Emu War for a bit (Beth managed to postpone her performance and bet fulfillment until you weren’t in public) and you tried not to watch Joel and Ellie too closely. You realized you were twisting your hands together under the table when Joel reached over and gently laid his hand on top of yours, pulling them apart to tangle your fingers together and rest them on your thigh. You took a deep breath.

Before you could say anything, though, Ellie beat you to it.

“So, Joel. What are your intentions with my aunt?” She stared him down, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed on the table in front of her. It sounded like she had rehearsed the question before asking it. Intentions, you mouthed to yourself. You caught Beth’s eye and realized your best friend was grinning.

Joel squeezed your hand before he nodded and replied. “I’m serious about her, about us. I care about her a lot. I want to be good for her.”

Ellie hummed, and was briefly interrupted by your drinks arriving. She took a long sip of her orange juice.

“I have some questions.” She said it like she was throwing out a gauntlet. You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands.

Joel nodded, face serious. “Ask ‘em.”

And then rapid fire, she did.

“You have a kid, right? What happened to her mom?”

Joel didn’t even flinch. “She left, isn’t coming back. We weren’t together long. You’ll have to talk to Sarah for more details.”

Ellie squinted like maybe she wanted to ask a follow up, but proceeded to her next question. You were starting to suspect she’d made a list and wondered if she had it written down in one of her pockets.

“Have you ever been arrested?” You closed your eyes and took a long sip of your coffee.

“Not really. Got thrown into the drunk tank once and I wasn’t even drunk. My little brother was actin’ up in public, got us both in trouble.” You tried not to laugh at this new information about Tommy, even as you realized Joel had apparently chosen the path of extreme honesty. You didn’t want to interrupt Ellie’s interrogation but you wondered if there was a limit.

“Hmm. Ok. Have you ever done drugs?”

Joel shook his head. “Just smoked weed a few times in high school. Used to smoke cigarettes before Sarah was born. Quit when she came along.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, hands tense on the edge of the table. “What’s your worst habit?”

Joel smirked. “Probably leavin’ my towel on the floor in the bathroom. And sometimes I’m a grouch.” You met Beth’s eyes and looked away sharply before you both could laugh. Joel pressed your clasped hands into your thigh, like somehow he knew you were struggling to hold it together.

“What’s your daughter’s favorite tv show?”

Joel grimaced. “She likes that dating show, the new one where they don’t see each other at first. I hate it.”

“Do you watch it with her?” Ellie raised her eyebrows.

“Sometimes. She likes watchin’ it with Tommy better, he likes it more’n me. She says I bring down the vibe.” He shrugged.

“When’s the last time you had an argument with her?”

Joel tilted his head, considering. “Maybe last week? Wasn’t really an argument. She made me drink some orange juice in the morning, said I can’t live off coffee alone. Or I guess maybe when she wanted to go to a sleepover but I wouldn’t let her. I haven’t met those parents yet. But you’d have to ask her what she thinks about it.”

You watched Ellie’s face carefully and could see that she was relaxing a bit. You could guess at her reasoning for some of these questions, but not all of them.

“Why do you like my aunt?”

Joel raised his eyebrows in response and Ellie raised hers right back, expression unchanged. “Well. Alright then. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I love learning how she thinks and how she sees the world. She’s funny, been making me laugh since the first day we talked. She’s got good taste in music.” He glanced at you and smiled the little half smile that you loved. “And she cares about people. You can see it in the way she teaches, in how she talks to her students. She wants to help them. She gives so much of herself to everyone around her. I want to do the same for her.” You bit your lip as you felt a sudden tightness behind your eyes. He winked at you. “And she’s gorgeous.” You laughed.

Ellie squinted at him again, frowning. “I mean, she’s the fucking best, I know that. But you better know that, too.”

He grinned at her. “I do know that. She is the fucking best.” He raised his eyebrows at her again when he echoed her curse. “And for some reason she seems to like me. I’m not arguin’.”

You elbowed him. “Joel, you know–”

He shook his head at you. “I know, darlin’, I swear I’ve been listenin’. But right now I’m tellin’ Ellie all the reasons I like you.”

You sighed, but Beth cut in. “Wait, I have a question.”

Ellie looked at her skeptically. You both did. Joel didn’t, but he hadn’t known her as long.

“What? I do!”

Joel smiled. “Go ahead.”

Beth grinned, and you started to worry. “Alright, we need to know, and you have to be honest. How bad at dancing is she? We’ve seen her dance! We know the truth!”

Ellie burst out laughing and despite your own annoyance, you grinned at the sight. “Yeah!” She agreed through her laughter. “Tell us!”

Joel looked at you and smiled, gently. “Nah, she was great. Didn’t even step on my feet. She followed my lead just fine.” You felt your cheeks heat in response.

“Oh, come on! That's it?” Beth nudged Ellie with her elbow.

“That’s it.” He nodded and squeezed your hand again. “I’d dance with her anytime.”

“Gross.” Ellie rolled her eyes, and you knew she was feeling more comfortable.

Joel straightened in his seat as the food arrived and released your hand. “Can I ask you some questions now?”

Ellie immediately looked suspicious but nodded, grudgingly.

“Alright. I heard you started the art club. What kind of art?” He took a bite of his food after he asked, looking at Ellie expectantly.

She glanced between him and you, clearly unsure. You nodded at her in encouragement.

“You want to hear about that?” She sounded skeptical.

He nodded. “I do. Sounds like maybe it took a lot of work. Are you in charge of the club?”

Ellie continued to squint at him but answered. “No, I’m the vice president. I didn’t want to be the president but they made me pick something.” You snorted and she rolled her eyes at you. “My teacher says I’m not enough of a people person to be president anyway.” She looked like she wanted to swallow those words back after she said them, and glanced at Joel warily. You frowned.

“Sounds like your teacher might need to work on their own people skills, if you ask me.” Joel grumbled and furrowed his brow at his plate and you wondered if he was thinking about Sarah’s mean chemistry teacher. Ellie looked like she wanted to agree and was conflicted about it.

“That’s what I said,” Beth agreed, nodding. “You’d be a great president.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be president, anyway.” She shrugged.

“Sarah’s thinking about trying out for varsity soccer next year, not just playing outside of school,” Joel offered. “I told her maybe she should start a club of her own, somethin’ to do with reading, since she’s been doing it so much.” He nudged you as he said it and you smiled.

“There might be a book club already,” Ellie offered, voice neutral. “I dunno what they have.” Ellie and Sarah went to different schools, on opposite sides of the town. The schools were almost identical other than Ellie’s having slightly more artsy offerings for students.

Joel nodded. “Maybe. I’ll tell her to check.” He took a sip of his coffee and glanced from you to Ellie and back again. “Got any more questions for me?”

Ellie furrowed her brows and frowned at her waffle. You watched as she straightened her shoulders and started to wonder how many questions she might have left on her list.

“How many people have you dated?” Your heart rate picked up at her words and you opened your mouth to interrupt, but Ellie shot you a stubborn look.

Joel answered just as honestly as he had been so far. “Well, I think your aunt and I will keep some of those details between ourselves. But I haven’t dated much, haven’t been in a relationship in a while, not since Sarah’s mom.”

Ellie eyed him and crossed her arms. “That’s it? How do I know you won’t hurt her?” Her face was fixed in a scowl and you didn’t know if you should say something or let Joel answer. He did before you could decide.

“Well, I won’t pretend I’ve always been perfect,” Joel’s voice was even and you could tell he was treading carefully. “But I would never hurt her on purpose. And I would try real hard not to do it accidentally either.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, clearly not satisfied with this response. “I was there, you know. After Matt. I know what he was like.” You felt a tightness in your chest as you remembered how much of a mess you were when Ellie came to live with you, freshly free of your relationship with Matt and still figuring yourself out. She’d only been 9 at the time and you’d hoped you’d shielded her from most of it. You blinked against the emotion building behind your eyes. Beth sent you a supportive look from across the table.

“I believe you.” Joel nodded. “But there are parts of our relationship that are just for us, and I’d rather your aunt decide what to tell you about them. I will tell you that I already promised her I’d never treat her that way. She’ll decide if I’m good enough for her. And you should know Sarah would take care of me long before you could get to me, if I ever did anything like that.”

Ellie continued to scowl for a minute, looking first at Joel and then down at her plate. “Ok. I–” she trailed off, looking unsure. “Ok. One more question.”

Joel nodded and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself.

“Can you cook? Because she’s not great at it.”

Beth cracked up laughing and you gasped. “Ellie!”

She grinned at you, unrepentant. “It’s true, and you know it!”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Joel turned to you with the half smile that sent shivers down your spine. “Dinner was pretty good the other night.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “She can make, like, 5 things. Do not let her make soup.”

He raised his eyebrows and darted his eyes from her to Beth and back to you. “What happened? Soup’s easy, darlin’, what could go wrong?”

Ellie cackled and launched into the story of the Soup Geyser with infuriating glee. As she did, you looked up and met Beth’s eyes. She grinned at you and nodded, and you felt your shoulders relax in relief. She was right, even though she hadn’t said the words out loud.

Ellie was teasing you. In front of Joel. Something had gone right, after all.

…

After brunch, Joel offered you a ride, so that Beth and Ellie could go check out some more “weird little guys” before Beth dropped her off at Riley’s. You hugged them both (squeezing Ellie a bit longer than usual) and she promised to text you later. You took a deep breath, knowing that would probably be her final verdict. But she smiled and waved at you, so you hoped it would all be fine.

You found yourself standing next to Joel by the passenger door of his truck and realized you’d been silent for your whole walk from the restaurant. You looked over to find him looking at you, a smile playing around his lips. You smiled back, sheepish.

“Sorry, Joel, I was just thinking.”

He reached out to tangle your fingers together as he crowded you against the passenger door. “I could tell, sweetheart. So? How do you think it went?” He looked a little worried, which was sweet.

“Honestly, Joel, I think it went really well. Sorry about the interrogation.” You sighed as you leaned against the truck.

He shook his head. “No, I expected it, or something like. I’m happy to answer her questions. You know, to a point.”

You laughed. “She respects honesty. So you probably won some points, with all that.”

He smiled at you and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Good. I want her to like me. I want her to meet Sarah, too.”

For a moment the two of you just smiled at each other. You were shaky, like you were coming down from a huge adrenaline rush, and you supposed that wasn’t far off of what happened. You heaved a deep breath, shaking off your nerves. “Do you have some time, Joel? Want to come over for a bit?”

He grinned, a bit wicked. “Tommy’s taking Sarah to a movie after soccer practice. I’m all yours until dinner time, baby.”

You pulled him into a kiss. “Good,” you mumbled against his lips. “Take me home, cowboy.”

…

Ellie (3:02 PM): ok, he’s maybe a little bit cool. he’s alright (3:03 PM): I want to meet Sarah (3:03 PM): but I think he checks out

you (3:05 PM): thanks, Ellie. I’m glad you got along. even if you had to embarrass me to do it

Ellie (3:06 PM): it’s not my fault you can’t make soup (3:07 PM): do you think he meant it when he offered to teach me to play guitar or was he just doing that adult thing where you say nice things to kids 🙄

you(3:08 PM): he meant it. but I’d be there too. if you’re interested

Ellie (3:10 PM): I’ll think about it (3:14 PM): Beth was right though. he’s pathetically into you (3:15 PM): like I thought you were bad (3:15 PM): but he’s on a whole other level

you (3:16 PM): I thought you’d be happy about that

Ellie (3:17 PM): don’t make me admit to having feelings

you(3:18 PM): 😇

…

sis 👯 (4:12 PM): finally, my break! How did it go?

you (4:15 PM): yay! I think it went ok? You should ask Ellie but her official verdict is that he’s “alright” and maybe “a little bit cool”

sis 👯 (4:16 PM): well damn. High praise

you (4:16 PM): I know!

sis 👯 (4:18 PM): I’m heading back in but now I want to meet him, too

you(4:19 PM): of course! He’d love that. Also he offered to teach Ellie to play guitar and I could tell she was interested, but I promised I’d be there if she does want to take lessons. To make her comfortable

sis 👯 (4:20 PM): she’d probably love that, if she does actually think he’s alright. But yeah I’d want you there. And not until after I meet him.

you (4:21 PM): of course 👍

...

a/n: they met! it happened! what do we think?

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syd-djarin · 2 days

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Something spicy 🌶️ 🥵⬇️

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syd-djarin · 2 days

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the internet isnt enough i need to appear in my mutuals rooms and gossip while hanging upside down off their beds

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syd-djarin · 2 days

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Dieter AND Chappell Roan? I’M DECEASED.

this was so hot and cute I love their dynamic and chemistry is ELECTRIFYING

‘Cause After Midnight…

A/N: this idea came to be randomly yesterday morning and thus the brain rot began! Idk about y’all, but I would do ANYTHING for slumber party!Dieter 🤭 big thank you to @chronically-ghosted for sharing the brain rot cell with me this week! 🫡

~word count: 8.5k~ yeaaaah idk what happened!

Summary: a slumber party with your bestie Dieter Bravo, after midnight! What could possibly happen between the two of you?

Pairing | slumber party!dieter x best friend female!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst, DUBIOUS CONSENT, mentions of alcohol and ouid smoking, infidelity (not by dieter) toxic relationship (Dieter’s ex) denial of feelings, secret pining, best friends to lovers?, pussy pronouns, domestic intimacy, mutual masturbation, masturbation with a shower head (iykyk), sexual tension, language, dirty talk, unprotected piv, aftercare, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is bug, +18 minors dni!

Being Dieter Bravo’s best friend since…well, forever, came with a long list of perks. Your favorite perk of all, you may ask? Getting to spend time with your best friend. Whether that was at his home, lounging side by side next to his inground pool, stumbling out of a DTLA nightclub, clammy hands entwined together as you head to the nearest street food cart ASAP (Dieter demands steak tacos when he’s wasted) or when you were his glittering gem on the red carpet, dodging the incessant questions from the red carpet wasps—I mean, interviewers asking you and Dieter if you were dating.

It was like clockwork, you and Dieter would look at one another, laugh and shake your heads in sync, “us, dating? No, you have it all wrong! We’re simply just two besties that do everything together, don’t get it twisted!” (So what if you and Dieter would sometimes get equally wasted in the club and drunkenly makeout…and sometimes, while making out, he would grope your ass beneath your dress—you were just friends! Best friends kiss like all the time…right?)

Of course, Hollywood didn’t buy it despite yours and Dieter’s repetitive denial, and the fact that Dieter was currently smitten with his girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now. The tabloids spewed their cheap gossip, but your friendship with Dieter never soured.

You frequently slept over on the weekends he was home. It was your shared routine from Friday-Sunday (sometimes even Mondays), you and Dieter would get higher than two kites, cross off a few movies on your watch lists, paint together, and order takeout for every meal. Truthfully, it was fucking bliss.

This weekend, in particular, Dieter decided he wanted to have a whole ass slumber party. (Not nearly as extravagant as the princess diaries slumber party, or the Barbie movie) but Dieter knew how to throw a killer intimate slumber party. He invited all of his close, niche friends including you. He already had a whole array of different foods to munch on throughout the night so that no one would go hungry.

As always, Dieter was nearly glued to your side and if it were anyone else, or any other man for that matter, you would be annoyed, but when it came to Dieter, you shared your small bubble of space happily with him.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Dieter’s ex showed up uninvited. Dieter was in the whirlpool, wearing the tiniest swim trunks known to man. He had a beer in one hand while his other arm was resting along the outside of the hot tub. He was mid conversation, laughing about something one of his friends said before his eyes met yours when you appeared from the kitchen, a nervous look plastered on your face as you approached the hot tub.

“Hey, Dee?..” you crouched down along the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah, bug?” He took a sip of his beer, brow cocking in curiosity. “What’s up? Why do ya look so worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dee. Just uh—well, your ex just sorta showed up uninvited. She’s in the kitchen—”

“What the fuck do you mean she just sorta showed up?! What the fuck.” He groaned, dragging his wet hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I reckon she just invited herself in, too?”

Your nod confirmed his suspicions. “Unfortunately she did. I told her she wasn’t welcome, but she essentially told me to fuck off.” You stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well, she’s never exactly been the type to respect boundaries.” He sighed and handed you his beer so that he could pull himself out of the hot tub. The swim trunks he was wearing quite literally left little to the imagination, and you swore that you caught a glimpse of his infamous package when he bent down and grabbed his towel to quickly dry off.

His hand gently brushed yours as he reached for his beer. “I’ll deal with her. Not gonna let it spoil my night.” He gruffed out and draped the towel around his shoulders. “Be back in a jiffy, bug.” He winked and headed towards the sliding doors leading to the kitchen.

When he didn’t return to the backyard in over 20 minutes, that’s when you made the executive decision to see if he was okay. When you neared the front door, you could hear the distinct tone of Dieter’s voice through the thin glass and you caught a glimpse of him throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You can’t just fucking show up here uninvited! You’re not only trespassing, but you’re crossing a boundary! This is exactly why we broke up in the first place because you’re just so fucking clingy!” He yelled.

“Oh, I’M THE CLINGY ONE?!” She laughed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger directly into his bare chest. “So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you spent more time with your best friend than with your girlfriend?! Don’t you think thats a bit fucking weird, Dieter?!”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! Here we go again! Don’t you dare go bring her into this when she’s done nothing wrong! So sorry that you felt like the attention I was giving you was inadequate! Guess that gave you just the right amount of ammo to cheat on me with MY fucking pilates instructor?! Dude, I can’t even look the guy in the face anymore without wanting to rip his dick off, balls and all!”

“YES, because you left me with no other choice, Dieter! He gave me more attention than you ever have!”

“Right, sure! So instead of oh—I don’t know, acting like a fucking normal person, you let your jealousy take front and center and cheat on me?! Why the fuck couldn’t you just be like hey, Dieter! I’m feeling under-appreciated in our relationship and I’d like to talk about it in a healthy, productive way because I love and respect you as a person! I would have never fucking cheated on you, don’t you get that?!”

“Okay—you’re right! I’m sorry that I wasn’t mature, and I’m sorry I cheated on you, Dieter. I’m so sorry! Can we please just—”

He laughed, throwing his head back with his hands carding through his damp curls in disbelief. “You have got to be shitting me! You just expect me to what—take you back after all of that?! Fuck you. I may be a stupid fucking actor, but I’m not that stupid. Please, can you just—leave? I don’t want to call the cops, but I will if I have to.”

“Dieter, come on! Baby, please. Let’s just talk—”

“I’m not your baby.” He muttered and turned on his heel and walked back towards the front door. He really just wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, but he was determined to not let her ruin his night. So, when he opened the door, and found you on the other side, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Well, that was a crapshoot. Did ya hear any of it, bug?” He closed the door softly and made sure to lock it for good measure.

“You okay, Dee? I heard the last bit of it…I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“S’okay. It’s done now and I’m gonna try and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Thank you for checking in on me, bug. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dee. Everyone is still in the backyard. Wanna join them? Otherwise I was thinking maybe you and I can get high?”

He grinned at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb, “say less.”

That’s how you found yourself in Dieter’s bedroom, sitting on the floor with his rolling tray in your lap while he was changing out of his too-tight swim trunks and into a pair of boxers that were…equally as tight. You loved the way that his little bit of tummy pudge hung over the side of the boxer's waistband. What you wouldn’t give to worship that tummy while he shoves his—You kept your eyes focused on plucking a few bud clusters and placing them in the grinder. His phone was charging next to yours on the nightstand. You had Spotify open on shuffle playing yours and Dieter’s favorite playlist. The song that was currently playing was After Midnight by Chappell Roan.

He plopped down beside you, gently grabbing the tray and placed it in his lap so that he could roll the actual joint. He used the front of his bed as a backrest as he opened up the grinder and carefully distributed the ground up herb into one of the papers.

“I seriously don’t know how your dick can breathe in those tight fucking shorts, Dee.” you said with a playful edge to your tone as you let your head rest in the crook of his neck. He leaned into you too, naturally.

“They are not that tight!” He scoffed and looked over at you with a playful grin on his lips. “My dick can breathe in these perfectly fine, bug.” he retorted.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

Comfortable silence washed over the two of you while he finished rolling up the joint, looking over at you expectantly as he sparked the end of it, inhaling with his cheeks slightly hollowed, “should we have a full slumber party moment and paint our nails and do each other's makeup?” He asked softly, blowing the smoke upwards towards the ceiling and held the joint out to you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you just brought that up because I was thinking the same exact thing!” You looked over at him In disbelief, reaching for the joint as your fingers briefly brushed against one another during the exchange. “I must have manifested this or something because I made sure to bring my nail polish this time!”

“Just start calling me Dieter the all knowing!” He chuckled, feeling the inhaled drug slowly send him into a relaxed state. He let his head comfortably rest against the back of the bed. “and I have my makeup that we can use! Think you can show me how to perfect the winged liner look? I’m shit at doing it on myself.” He huffed.

“I am not gonna start calling you Dieter that all knowing! There’s no way in hell I’m going to grant you all that power!” You nudged his shoulder gently with your own before you took a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling it. “Of course I can help you with your eyeliner, Dee! Only if you let me pick out your nail color this time.”

“Okay, deal!” He was quick to respond with zero hesitation in his chipper tone.

So, after you each took a few more drags from the joint and your minds began to go hazy, Dieter lazily got up and walked into the en-suite to grab his bag of makeup from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you had grabbed your overnight bag and already had all of your nail products laid out.

“Damn, did ya bring your entire collection from home with ya?” He teased as he plopped down next to you. His movements were uncoordinated due to the drug coursing through his veins. He nearly fell into your lap, giggling and quietly apologizing as he sat back up. This was a normal occurrence for you and Dieter. Whenever the two of you would get high together, (which was frequent), you both became naturally affectionate and extremely touchy with one another. It was second nature, and something that neither you or Dieter ever thought about as being ‘weird’ and not the norm for most platonic friendships.

“Go big or go home, right Dee?” You had already picked out a pretty sparkly blue polish for his nails and set it off to the side.

“Absolutely, bug. Hey, can you do my makeup first, please?” He had his hands clasped in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs as if he was a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents.

“Of course I can.” You said softly, and grabbed the makeup bag from his lap. “Hey, are you okay?…”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily and shook his head. “No, not really. I’m fucking pissed off about what happened down there with my ex.”

You nodded in understanding and stood up to grab one of his many pillows so that he would have something comfortable to lay against while you would do his makeup. “I gathered that.”

“That’s because you’re always reading the room, bug.” He chuckled, grabbing the pillow from you so that he could place it under his back. Once he was situated, he patted his thighs, beckoning you to come sit in his lap. (Doesn’t everyone straddle their best friend and do their makeup?)

“Am I?” You mused and wasted no time to straddle his hips, making yourself comfortable above him. He was looking up at you with that sparkle in his irises that only appeared around you. It was as if you were the reason why the sun shined, and the stars twinkled in the sky. You were too busy going through his bag of makeup to catch the look, and when your eyes did land upon his face, he looked like he was going through constricting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re really good at doing that, y’know?” He sighed, feeling his shoulders deflate and sink against the pillow.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Dee?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting his hands gently rest around your hips, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin visible under your shorts in a soothing figure eight motion. “I mean, who the fuck just shows up to someone’s slumber party uninvited?”

“Well, she’s never really respected your boundaries, has she? Remember when you forgot to leave your phone in your dressing room at the Oscars, and when you were reading out the nominees and she called you, despite knowing that you were at the Oscars?” You grabbed his little bottle of toner and a couple cotton rounds, softly telling him to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes, flinching slightly when the cool mist of the toner kissed his skin. He relaxed further into the pillows when you gently patted the toner into his skin with the cotton round. “Yeah, that was a fucking disaster! I just remember going all red in the face and fearing that my career with the rest of the Hollywood assholes was over at that point.”

“I’m pretty sure she made that move out of spite, Dee. Y’know, because you didn’t ask her to be your plus one?”

He peeked one eye open to look up at you, “that’s because you’ve attended every single red carpet event with me, bug. It’s…tradition.” (Yeah, sure it is, Dieter. Just tradition.)

“I’m not justifying her behavior by any means, but I can understand why she was upset that you invited your best friend over your girlfriend to the Oscars.” You set the bottle of toner down and grabbed his usual moisturizer and squirted a few pumps onto your fingers and rubbed it into his skin.

“Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty fucked up huh? But I don’t think I deserved to be cheated on.” His lips curved into a downwards pout, brows furrowed intently.

“Oh, of course not, hun. Cheating is never justifiable.” You reassured him, reaching into the makeup bag and pulled out his primer, foundation and concealer. “Do you wanna do a full look or something on the more no makeup/makeup side?”

“So then why did she try to justify her reason for cheating on me? Not only that, she tried to sweet talk her way back in towards the end of the conversation. Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry!” He scoffed, “she even pulled the baby card on me! I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent individual 99% of the time, and I’ve struggled my whole life taking much of anything serious, but I still have a fucking heart despite what the tabloids gossip about.” He paused mid-venting, remembering what you had asked him, “surprise me, bug.”

“She pulled the baby card on you? What a fucking cunt move, honestly.” you shook your head. “Dieter, you have one of the biggest hearts in all of Hollywood, hun. You just don’t share it with everyone and that’s okay. Those tabloids are a load of crap. I told you before that you have to stop feeding into their agenda. It’s not worth it, Dieter.”

“Exactly! It was a cunt move. And if I didn’t realize my worth sooner, I probably would have fallen right back into a relationship with her again! You know what I’m starting to believe? Maybe…I just have to accept the fact that no one is ever gonna love me.”

You let out a sigh, reaching back into the makeup bag and pulled out one of his glitter shadows to apply on his eyelids. He let out a content hum when your fingers began to gently card through his damp curls while your other fingers began to gently pat the shimmery shadow onto his closed eyelids. “Dieter, don’t you fucking start that shit and claiming that no one is ever going to love you.”

“Well, it’s true! I can’t fucking hold a healthy relationship down to save my life! I’m the laughing stock of Hollywood, days away from fucking relapsing, and no one is gonna give a shit!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” You fought the urge to laugh, not at him, of course, but at the situation at hand. “I love you, idiot. You are not the laughing stock of Hollywood, and you will not fucking relapse under my watch, Dieter.”

“Bug, I know you love me, and I love you too! But…that’s different. What I’m talking about is real, true love—ow!” He whimpered when you had accidentally poked his eye with your nail.

You weren’t even paying attention when he started rambling about true love and that the way he loved you was completely different…it stung and sent your heart straight through a shredder, and he had no idea!

“Shit, Dee! I’m so sorry—are you okay? My finger slipped.” Your palm came to rest around his scruffy jawline, leaning in close to make sure that you hadn’t accidentally poked his eye out with your fingernail. Your warm breath gently fanned his face as he blinked a few times to surpass the dull sting he felt on his cornea.

“I’m okay, bug. But damn, girl! Are you trying to poke my eye out or something?” He joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension growing between the two of you.

You were quick to change the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed that you allowed his words to affect you that much. You reached for the joint that was resting along the rolling tray and picked it up between your two fingers along with the lighter. “I’m going to take a couple more hits…you want any?” You asked while sparking the joint up, taking a deeper inhale this time to try and soothe your already scrambled brain.

He nodded, reaching his hand up to pluck the joint from between your lips after you were finished and placed it between his own and took a similarly deep drag. He looked so fucking pretty, laying there, joint hanging low between his lips, shimmering eyeshadow making his rich brown eyes stand out even more.

“Y’know…” he started, “if ya take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He mused, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke off to the side. When you didn’t immediately laugh at his weak attempt to ease the tension further, he frowned. “Hey, you okay? You’re never this quiet, bug. Even when you’re high.”

“I’m fine, Dieter.” You sighed, and went to slide off his lap, forgetting about doing his eyeliner when his hand resting around your hip tightened and you freezed under his touch.

“Hey, please don’t lie to me. Did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” He was always so genuine in his apologies to you. He could claim to not know how to read the room, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Dee, I’m fine.” You reassured him. “I was just having a moment.”

“Well…stop that! It’s not allowed when we’re having a sleepover.” He really just couldn’t stand to see you upset. It tore him up inside and made him feel like he was always the root cause for your mood change.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, giving his cheek a light pat while your other hand ruffled through his hair. “Do you still want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes please.” He grinned. “Just promise to not poke my eye out again?”

“I promise, Dee.”

While you carefully began to apply the eyeliner to his eyelids with careful precision, he continued to ramble on underneath you, careful to not move too much because he really didn’t want to accidentally get poked in the eye. Once you were finished, you expected him to immediately want to check how he looked in the mirror, but instead, he switched positions with you, straddling your hips now so that he could do your makeup.

You didn’t protest, of course. You’d take any excuse to admire his handsome features up close while he was zoned in on his work, his muse being you. Whenever he was painting, his focus was intense and it was as if he had tuned out everything else around him. He acted all the same while he was gently applying a shimmer shadow to your eyelids.

The intimacy simmering between the two of you was becoming too much for you to handle. You could feel him through his too-tight boxers, the weight of his cock pressing right against your clothed center. Despite knowing Dieter for as long as you have, you never had seen his cock, only just the outline of it. However, you heard the stories from his past partners, flings, and even some colleagues. They were all shocked to hear that you yourself had not seen Dieter Bravo’s package.

The walls in his spacious bedroom felt like they were closing in on you from how flustered you were feeling. Surely there was sweat beginning to bead and perspire along the column of your throat and behind your neck. Perhaps there was even an evident sign of your arousal between your thighs. You hoped to god that he hadn’t caught on. But when his hips shifted forward, his tongue poking out between his lips while he carefully applied a swipe of eyeliner across your right eyelid, it was too much.

“Hey—Dee? I’m not feeling too hot. Think the weed is messing with me. I—I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” You stuttered out, trying to focus on the words coming out of your mouth and not the images of his thick cock—

He frowned, looking deflated when you said that you wanted to go to bed. “Oh—okay, bug. I understand. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll get you some food and water, okay? Maybe you’re just having a bad trip?” He was genuinely concerned, feeling slightly nervous that his trusted dealer had laced his stash with something, but he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole just yet.

“No—I just…I want to shower and go to bed, Dieter. I’ll be fine. It probably is just a bad trip.” You reassured him and subtly tried to create any form of distance between the two of you to relieve the tension you were feeling.

The weed is only enhancing what I’m feeling right now. If he could see the thoughts going through my head right now—

“If you are having a bad trip, then I should stay with you, bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“Dieter.” You were on the edge of snapping and saying something you would inevitably regret, “I don’t want you to stay with me, okay? I just want to fucking shower and go to bed.”

Ouch.

He visibly recoiled, feeling like you had just stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. Maybe I am the clingy one…

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He wanted to snap right back at you, but he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, and when he didn’t immediately uncage your thighs from under his hips, you took matters into your own hands and placed your palm flat against his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you could quickly stand up.

He felt his heart twist even further when you disappeared into the en-suite, slamming the door behind you. He wasn’t sure if it was done maliciously or on accident, it still fucking hurt.

Seconds later he hears the sink turn on and the sound of water splashing against your face. It felt wrong to leave you in this state, so even after he heard the shower turn on while he was cleaning up the strewn about makeup on the floor, he sat down against the door, his back leaning against it as he waited. For what? He really didn’t know the answer to that.

You knew that Dieter was concerned about your well being, and if he could have it his own way, he would be in the bathroom with you right now, sitting with his back facing you so that you would feel comfortable to shower. You also were aware that he was sitting against the bathroom door and your heart lurched at the thought. You felt the guilt swim and swirl around you. Snapping at your best friend was not on your bingo card for the night, but maybe this was a sign that you and Dieter needed to set some serious boundaries between one another. Maybe you were beginning to realize that the two of you were…too close.

“Can you just…let me know you’re okay in there?” You heard him ask through the door as the scalding hot water streamed down over your bare body.

“Dieter, I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled under the stream.

“Yeah, sure you are, but I’d be a terrible fucking friend if I just left you to deal with this bad trip on your own, bug.”

God dammit, Dieter. Why can’t you just be an asshole like a normal person?! Is what you really wanted to say.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “I’m going to be in here for a while.”

“That’s okay. You can use up all of my hot water. I don’t care.” He reassured you.

When you didn’t immediately respond he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the door, closing his eyes. He remembered that your phone was still playing music from where it sat on his nightstand next to his own, and the familiar tune of Pink Pony Club started playing. It was yours and Dieter’s favorite song off of Chappell’s album.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA. And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.”

Dieter Bravo could not fucking sing, but everytime that he did for you, it was the most endearing gesture ever.

“You fucking asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee. Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me. Won't make my mama proud, It's gonna cause a scene. She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream…”

“God, what have you done! You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it’s where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!” You and Dieter sung the chorus in unison, completely out of tune, but neither of you could give a fuck about that.

You could practically picture his dopey, weed-stained grin plastered on his handsome, scruffy face behind the door when you sang the chorus together. The mental image sent your heart surging out of your chest, and your pussy pulsing in tandem.

Fuck me.

You truly had just planned to take a hot, relaxing, mind clearing shower and then go straight to bed, but you were feeling bothered by the weed, and your blatantly obvious attraction towards your best friend. Not to mention, the little rasp in Dieter’s voice was not helping you out in this predicament, either. That’s when you noticed his attached shower head and the lightbulb went off in your weed-induced brain.

You reached for the attached shower head, gently removing it from where it was mounted against the shower wall. Before turning it on, however, you quickly got familiar with the numerous spray settings and chose the medium spray before slowly dragging the shower head between your legs and—oh, fucck.

The pressure was just right and was directly spraying a stream of water onto your exposed clit. You held back a moan, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down as you slowly sank to your ass along the shower wall, your thighs spread fully, eyes rolling back into your skull from the intense feeling. That’s when a moan slipped past and Dieter initially thought he was just hearing things, but then he heard it again…and his cock twitched to life beneath the tight confinements.

“There’s no way. I’m just high as shit right now and hearing things. Yeah, that’s the logical explanation!” He muttered to himself, scrubbing one hand down his face. But then he heard you distinctively moan, and his face suddenly felt hot to the touch. He pressed his ear against the door, raising his fist and gently knocked on the wood, “you uh—you okay in there?”

You were so close to hitting that big ‘o’ that you didn’t even hear Dieter’s low rasp through the door.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You whimpered. “So fucking close, just a little more. Just a little more. C’mon, baby.”

Now that he could hear you more clearly, he knew exactly what was producing those little desperate sounds to slip past your pretty lips: his fucking shower head.

“Excuse me?? Are you getting yourself off with MY shower head, without me in there?!” It was a thought that he had meant to keep in his head, but now that it was out there, there was truly no going back.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, immediately dropping the shower head from your loose grasp and it clattered to the shower floor just as the bathroom door burst open.

“Dieter—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” You screeched, hair drenched, thighs spread and trembling.

He shut the door behind him, muttering under his breath as he approached, looking you right in the eyes, “more importantly, what are you doing?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Your little moans and whimpers made me rock fucking hard!” He gestured to the obvious tent in his boxers, his cock straining against the tight material. “Had I known it was gonna be that kind of sleepover, I would have joined you a heck of a lot sooner!”

Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening, is it?!

“Dieter, you can’t just fucking come in here when I’m masturbating! Dude—what the fuck!”

“Oh, heavens! Are we going back to the 1800’s or something? Just call it for what it is! You playing with your pussy, and using my shower head to get yourself off! By all means, please continue, but next time? I want a personal invite!”

You were appalled…and a little turned on? Okay, a lot turned on! In fact, your pussy was pulsing between your thighs, the edge of your interrupted orgasm was still simmering, waiting to fully bloom. To make matters worse, Dieter had crouched down outside of the shower, his brows furrowed when he noticed the setting you had set the shower head to. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head as he reached into the shower and picked up the shower head from where it had been dropped between your spread thighs.

“Dieter, what are you—”

“Hush and listen to the teacher, okay? For starters, you’re using it all wrong. You gotta build yourself up first, and then go full blast. Otherwise you’re just gonna overstimulate your poor little clit, and that just takes away from the experience.” He said in the most casual fashion, as if this wasn’t crossing a million different invisible boundaries all at once.

“Dieter, I don’t need your assistance on getting myself off, okay? Please just—”

“Bug, don’t make this weird, okay? We’re friends, and there’s nothing in the friends handbook that says that we can’t help one another get off! It’s totally not forbidden.” He retorted.

“I think you just made the whole friends handbook thing up. It totally doesn’t exist and we absolutely should not be doing this, Dieter! It’s wrong for a multitude of reasons!”

“The friends handbook totally exists! I’ll get you a copy, okay? I’m not going to touch you, unless you want me to. I’m just gonna use the shower head to show you the right way to get yourself off with it, and afterwards you will be thanking me!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this. I cannot fucking—”

“Best start believing it, baby! Now, spread your thighs for me a little more, okay?”

“Okay, I’m giving you my full consent, but if I start feeling weird, we’re stopping this whole thing, okay?” You looked him directly in the eyes as you spread your thighs further so he had a better view.

“Bug, if at any point you feel weird, uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m not gonna pressure you to continue doing this if you don’t want to. I’m leaving the ball completely in your court, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you change your mind, okay? I promise.” His words were sincere, and it was hard to look away when he was staring at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He leaned forward then, briefly getting caught under the stream when his lips brushed across your forehead, leaving you both feeling slightly stunned. He softly asked you if it was okay if he did touch you, to which you obliged, lower lip taken between your teeth when his hand that wasn’t holding the shower head slowly dipped between your thighs and his fingers spread your slick folds apart so he would have better access to your clit.

“I always knew that your pussy would be pretty, baby, but goddamn—she really is so fucking pretty.” He took a sharp inhale of breath, his cock twitching painfully in his boxers.

“Dieter Bravo, you’re going to be the death of me.” You breathed out, heat rising to your cheeks from the way he was gazing at the spot between your thighs, eyes glazed over the same way a dog looks at a delicious bone, or a plate of juicy, rare, steak.

“You’re already the death of me, bug.” He whispered, unable to help himself when his thumb gently brushed across your clit. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand but between you prettily spread out beneath him, and the weed still flowing through his system, he was fucked.

He changed the setting on the shower head without even having to look down at it. He was too focused on your face, particularly your eyes and how you both seemed to be drinking one another in, an invisible string tied between the two of you, reeling him in closer, and closer. You observe his face, and the way his eyeliner has now started to run and bleed under his eyes and down his cheeks from the water and steam. Your pussy clenches from the sight just as his thumb lightly presses against your clit, making slow, languid, figure eight motions.

He thinks he wants to kiss you—no, scratch that. He wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his eyes flicker from your face and down to your lips, and then back up again.

“Dieter…” you whisper, bringing your hand up to gently cradle his face in your palm, curling your pointer finger under his chin. “Do you want to kiss me?” Your warm breath fans his face as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, I do.” He rasped, slowly leaning in.

“So kiss me, you fool.”

And so he did, but instead of hesitating, and holding back, he dove right in, noses pressing into one another as he licked greedily into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours while his hand holding the shower head angled it right against your exposed pussy and between his fingers where he was keeping you spread open.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered into the kiss, keeping your one hand anchored around his jaw while the other came to rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangled through his drenched locks, tugging on them gently.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Told ya so.” He snickered into your lips, kissing you deeper. “Lower water pressure builds you up slower, drawing your orgasm out to last longer, and it’ll feel 10x more intense.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled into his lips, scooting your hips closer to the stream of water, and to him.

“Greedy little pussy, huh? Can’t get enough, can ya?” He teased.

“Dieter…” you warned him, playfully biting down on his lower lip and tugging it out gently before releasing it.

“I know, I know.” He chuckled and reluctantly detached himself from the kiss, pecking your lips once before he sat back on his thighs to give himself any form of relief. “You wanna give yourself a whirl while I go take care of this er—in privacy?”

Your cheeks were puffed out, lips swollen with his kisses as you stared up at him dumbfounded. “Are you insane? Just get in here with me, Dieter. Right now.”

He blushed, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly turning all bashful as if he wasn’t just talking about your greedy little pussy seconds ago. “Are you…sure? I really don’t mind! I can just go jerk off in my bed like a normal person—”

“Dieter.” Your tone sounded strained, “get in the fucking shower now. Take those ridiculously tight boxers off and get in here.”

Well, you certainly didn’t need to ask Dieter Bravo twice as he scrambled to peel his boxers down over his hips and thighs, tossing the damp fabric outside of the shower. His cock bobbed between his thighs, hard, heavy and the tip was swollen a painful red color. Poor guy.

He climbed over you, situating himself and his cute little tush right next to you with his shoulders gently brushing yours. He spit a glob of saliva into his palm and wrapped his fist around the veiny girth of his cock. “I’ll come fast, I promise. You won’t even have to do anything, okay? Just pretend I’m not here!” His tone was rushed as he squeezed the base of his cock, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you. His eyeliner was completely smudged now and his lips were swollen with your kisses.

All you could do was nod dumbly, your eyes transfixed by his fist wrapped around his cock. It was as if you were seeing a unicorn for the first time! The unicorn being er—Dieter’s cock.

He looked at your face, and then down at his cock, and then back up at your face. “Hello?” He waved with his freehand, “why are you looking at my cock like that, huh? Are you the only person in the whole state of California who hasn’t seen my cock before?” He was in disbelief, his mouth falling open when he realized that you never had seen his cock.

"I totally thought you'd seen his dick. Practically everyone else has." You remember his ex cruelly teasing you about it one day.

You shook your head, eyes glazed over as you watched his fist slowly twist and pump around his length. “Nope. First time, and it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn!” You exclaimed playfully.

Dieter snorted at your enthusiasm, feeling his heart lurch from his chest, “well, it is sorta like seeing a unicorn for the first time…I suppose?” He chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock for some form of relief. He felt like now was the best time to address the obvious elephant in the room, silly Dieter. “So uh—well, this doesn’t mean anything, right? Because we’re just friends and good friends masturbate together. It's cool, this is super casual!”

Sure, bud. You keep telling yourself that.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, spreading your thighs further so you could continue your ministrations with the shower head. “Sure, Dieter. This means absolutely nothing. Just two besties jerking it off, side by side. Totally casual!”

He let out a huff as he pumped his fist faster, “Well, we wouldn’t be in this predicament if those noises you were making didn’t make my cock as hard as a slab of concrete!”

“Dieter, shut up, and get yourself off! Or so help me—”

“Yes ma'am!” He squeaked out.

In tandem you placed the shower head close to your clit once more while he fisted his cock, and when your moans started to intermingle and become one, that’s when your glazed over eyes met once more. He had his lip harshly taken between his teeth, his cock was twisting and pulsing beneath his fist. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing your bare shoulder where he had dipped his head down to nuzzle you. His eyes flickered upwards towards your face, pupils darkening by the second, “I really want to fuck you right now, baby.” He rasped.

You met his gaze, thighs trembling and your eyes rolling slightly as your orgasm rippled through you, “yeah, you wanna fuck me, Dieter? How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“So fucking bad, baby. You’ve got no idea.” He mewled, “there’s that convenient bench right over there.” He gestured to the shower bench with a coy tilt of his chin, “you can sit right on my cock, if you’d like that…”

“Did you have that bench installed for convenience purposes or for your old man bad back?” You asked teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, glaring playfully before he chuckled, “a bit of both. More-so on the convenience side of things. And, it’s newly installed so you and I would be the first to use it.” He winked coyly.

“Really? Well, your offer is most tempting, Bravo. I’d like to take you up on it and sit on your big fucking cock.”

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned, loosening his fist around his cock so he could offer you a hand and helped you up. Now you were both directly under the stream of water, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. You kissed deeply, giggling in unison when you grabbed his ass and he grabbed yours. He could happily live in this moment forever with you, even if it meant that his skin would inevitably prune and probably fall off.

You backed him up against the shower bench, climbing into his lap as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position along the marble bench that could easily fit both of you.

You wrapped your own palm around the base of his cock for the first time as you slowly sank down around his girth till he was fully pressed inside of you, bottoming out with a low grunt against your lips. He let his arms loop firmly around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could so that your chests were pressed flushed together. He swore he saw heaven behind fluttered lashes when you started to slowly roll your hips into his, bouncing and grinding along his length.

If it wasn’t for his steadfast orgasm, he probably would have lasted longer before he was shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, but he was a man, after all. And while his cum leaked and dripped from your weeping little hole that was still stuffed full of his cock, he made sure that you got to come again, too. He pistoned his hips upwards at an unruly pace, loving the way that your nails clawed at his back and shoulders, leaving little red crescents in their wake. Maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me later. He briefly thought as you came undone around him, crying out his name.

You stayed seated on his cock for what felt like hours before he gently eased you off him, his cock now soft between his thighs and glistening in a thick, pearlescent ring of your combined releases.

You washed one another’s bodies under the lukewarm stream and he was the first to step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and when you emerged, he had a towel waiting for you. You kissed a few more times, gentle pecks of intimacy as you stood side by side in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

“Soo, where are you sleeping tonight?” He suddenly asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. His deep pools of brown boring into yours.

You hadn’t really thought that far if you were being honest…and now with that fresh ‘I just got fucked good’ glow illuminating your features, and the remainder of your high still sizzling, you suddenly feeling nervous all over again.

“Um, well, where do you want me to sleep?”

“I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for your response.

“Okay, fair, how about on the count of three we say it together?”

“Deal.” He nods.

“Okay—one, two, three—” you counted off in unison.

“Your bed—my bed.”

You both looked relieved at your answers, letting out breaths you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank fucking god.” You both laughed.

He kissed you then, mouthful of toothpaste and all. You made a funny squeaking sound when he had unexpectedly kissed you, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling back slowly.

When you left the en-suite, you found Dieter already in bed, sitting up with the rolling tray resting in his lap. He had a fresh pair of boxers on, this pair was made of cotton and was far less constricting. He was rolling another joint to smoke before bed when he looked up, smiling softly at your lingering presence in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Well, don’t be shy, bug. Ain’t the first time you’ve slept in my bed.” He winked, patting the empty spot beside him on his massive king sized bed.

You took a deep breath, remembering that this was Dieter Bravo, your best friend and partner in crime. He would always be your best friend.

You made your way over to the empty side of the bed and pulled the covers back so you could climb underneath them.

He finished rolling the joint, grabbing his lighter from the nightstand to spark it up before he paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hey, we don’t have to like—do anything, okay?” He reassured you.

“But Dieter, I wanna do stuff with you. It’s just—in your bed it feels…” you trailed off, scratching at the outside of your arm absentmindedly.

He tucked the joint behind his ear and rolled over into his side so he was facing you, using his elbow to prop himself up, “I understand, baby. This is…new for me as well. We can smoke this joint and then make out a little? See where it goes?…”

You nodded, lips curving up into a soft smile that sent his heartbeat racing, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He grinned.

He sparked the joint up between you, taking a few hits before he passed it off to you. This went on a few more times before your bodies just naturally gravitated towards one another, and when the joint died out, he set it down on the tray on his nightstand before his lips found yours.

You kissed like this for hours, simply just enjoying one another’s company and soft touch when the sun began to rise over the Los Angeles landscape. Dieter was uncharacteristically quiet, even for being stoned.

Your fingers were gently dragging through the patches in his beard, playing with his scruff in between kisses. “I can hear you overthinking, Dee.”

“Are you a wizard?” He chuckled, “you can hear my thoughts? That’s crazy!”

“Shh.” You giggled. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry.” He whispered, scooting his body closer to yours. He would absolutely crawl inside of your skin and never leave, but well—-he might go to prison if he did that.

“I’m gonna say something that might sound stupid, but I gotta get it off my chest, okay?” He started, his glazed over eyes met yours as he pressed a few kisses to the underside of your fingertips.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, so—well, this is just different for me because I don’t normally fuck my friends.”

You gave him a funny look at his admittance, unable to help yourself.

“I’m serious! I don’t fuck my friends—and well, I care about you a ton.Maybe even more than I care about myself? Anyway, I don’t want things to get weird between us tomorrow. Like if you wake up and regret everything that happened, I just want you to tell me, okay? My hopes is that maybe you felt the little spark that I did and if you did we can—”

“Dieter, I promise you I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and regret everything that happened tonight. No matter where this takes us, I’m always going to love you, and you’re always going to be my best friend.” Your words were sincere and directly from your heart and he knew you weren’t just saying shit just to say it.

“I think I just shat my heart out, that was so sweet.” He giggles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “In all seriousness, thank you. I was just afraid that this would ruin our friendship, and I would lose you forever.”

“Never, Dieter. You could never lose me.” You reassured him.

“Good, cause in the morning? I’m making waffles!”

Helen Mirren: Narrator for the Barbie Movie:

Dieter did not in fact make waffles the next morning. Instead, Dieter had his breakfast between your thighs, and then let you order whatever brunch you wanted on his black card

"You can be my sugar baby! I get to eat you out and you can order whatever you want on my card." He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of your pussy.

"That's not how that sort of thing really works, Dieter. But, yeah, okay."

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#snail trail alert 🚨#syd’s recs #becoming a dieter girly #love u gi<3

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