This Is Absolutely Beautiful!

This is absolutely beautiful! 😭

until then | joel miller 18+

summary: you’re not meant for each other. not right now.

warnings: religious trauma, religious themes, priest!joel, angst, guilt surrounding religion, allusions to shitty family members, right person wrong fucking everything, etc.

a. note: this is for @almostfoxglove’s angst writing challenge!! i am so happy to be able to participate <3 the song you gave me for inspo is incredible, and i built a bit off of that! (good lord lorrie by turnpike troubadours)

It had been raining cats and dogs for nearly a week now, a weather phenomenon that was deeply uncharacteristic for Austin, Texas during the summertime.

You had been sneaking away every week for Sunday night mass, a little sermon that only five or six people ever showed up for. And even though you didn’t believe in God, and even though the concept of Heaven and Hell had become deeply irrelevant and idiotic to you, you still went.

Perhaps it was to atone for all the guilt that sat heavy in your body, perhaps it was an attempt to unhinge the burden that had screwed itself deep within the tallow of your collarbones, rusted there from years of tears and fear.

Or, perhaps, it was to just simply see the priest. The handsome, charming, mysterious priest.

Joel Miller was known throughout the city as a patient and quiet man, a priest that stood out amongst the fire and brimstone baptist preachers that plagued the Bible

Belt. Everyone was welcomed in his church, the sinner, the saint, the believer, the non believer.

Some say he hardly believed in God, others say he was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

But for you, Joel Miller saved your life.

So now you sat in the Cathedral every Sunday, where you would watch him walk across the stage, hands emoting what his words could not, and after each sermon you would meet him in his office, where his real personality would shine through past the rim of whiskey filled cups and shaking cigarettes.

Tonight, however, something different swirled about the air, something heavy, something full of burden, anger, trepidation.

Joel sat behind his desk, a thick block of Mahogany that was older than the city itself, with his face illuminated behind the absinthe colored bank lamp.

You watched with heavy eyelids as he sipped the amber liquid, a sizzling cigarette resting in a carefully crafted ash tray.

“Father?”

Joel chuckled, looking up at you. You knew he hated when you called him that. A thick eyebrow was raised, and his eyes dripped with honey beneath the silver shine of the weeping moonlight. He was beautiful, he always had been, he always would be.

“Yes?”

“I want to get out of here.”

“Well, y’know where the exit is, darlin’.” His head lazily pointed towards the door to your right, and with a heaving sigh you dragged your palm down the expanse of your cheek. It radiated heat from the glass of Whistling Pig you had been sipping on, a favorite whiskey of Joel’s that he had always given you a heavy handed pour of.

“No. No… I just-” You took in a deep breath, wringing your hands across your lap. “I mean here. Austin. Texas. The South.”

Joel blinked a few times behind his reading glasses, slowly dropping his pen down on the stack of papers that rested before him. He looked up at you, and you noticed how old and tired he looked as he took off his glasses.

Secrets were a heavy burden to share.

And so was love.

You watched the lines in his forehead crease as his brows knitted tightly together, the way the veins in his neck tensed as he swallowed a thick lump that had formed in his throat.

Joel knew this was coming. He always had. And he always knew you would be the first to leave. He had been cursed with foresight, and the wisdom to know what would play out, yet it never deterred him from seeing you, touching you, feeling you.

Joel was smitten the moment he met you, a sweet temptation he was willing to risk his immortal soul for.

How could he not risk it all? How could he turn a blind eye to the curve of your neck, the bounce of your hair, the electricity of your fingertips? How could he ignore the very woman who had bewitched him, body and soul? How could he forget the beauty of you, when that very same beauty hung the stars and moon just for his eyes?

“I’m not worth it, you know.” You had purred through a cigarette, leaning against the brick wall of a club. The winter air had tousled your hair, and Joel readjusted the black collar around his tan neck.

“You are.” He whispered, his breath puffing out little clouds in to the frigid night sky. “You have been since the day we met.”

“Joel.” There was a hunger in your voice that you had never known before. “You know we can’t, baby.”

“‘Course we can. They don’t gotta know.”

“They’ll find out.”

“Who says?”

You ran your hand down his arm, and you could feel the tension that lurked behind the muscles of his biceps. “If you met my family, you’d understand. They’ll find out some way. You know my daddy’s got eyes everywhere-”

“Then let them see.” Your eyes lingered on the way his jaw tightened, his teeth snapping together in a wolf life snarl. “I don’t care who your daddy is. I don’t care how many brother’s you got. Let ‘em try and break my jaw for all I care.”

You laughed softly, leaning your cheek against his shoulder. “What did I do to deserve somebody like you?”

Joel’s fingers found the back of your head, the tips of his fingers gently tracing shapes into your scalp. He could feel you shiver against him, he could feel your heart beat, the hot wave of your breath fanning across him.

“Must’ve been somebody real good in your past life.”

“Past life? Such hearsay from a priest, Father Miller.”

“I ain’t no father around you. I’m just Joel.”

Joel blinked to himself, and that tender moment that had happened so long ago faded alongside the flurries that blurred through his vision. He came back down to earth, and he was back in his office, staring at you as you nervously picked the skin around your pinky finger.

You looked up, your eyes lingering on the scar across his chin, a bloodied mess your brother had once made on him when he found out you had been seeing him.

“We don’t talk to no Catholics.” He had growled to you. “‘Specially not that kind.”

You remember the venom that dripped from his tongue, the names he had called you, the way he swore you would go straight to hell.

“Fine!” You had screamed to him. “I’ll go to Hell with Joel!”

Your daddy back handed you so hard after he found out, that you couldn’t see straight for a week. Joel was there to clean up the bruises, but that’s all he could manage to do.

“Joel.” You spoke softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I have to do this.”

“Why can’t you just…. why can’t you just stay here?” There was a certain pleading in his tone that had overtaken his voice, a certain gasp for air that tugged at his syllables.

Your thumb brushed across his knuckles. “You know why.”

Joel’s chest inflated with a deep breath of air, a breath he couldn’t hold in any longer. You felt the clamminess of his palm, the subtle shake that had taken over his calloused fingertips.

“Look… I love you. And I have never asked for you to feel the same way. I-I’ve never asked for you to leave all of this.” You whispered, trying your damndest to blink away the rapidly forming tears. “But I can’t keep dancing this dance.”

“I can try.” Joel’s voice cracked, his tongue suddenly dry. “I can try to love… to-” He shook his head.

He watched the way you shook your head, his eyes growing increasingly darker, sadder, more distant. His grip tightened on your hand, fearful of what would happen once you finally let go of it.

“No. No, baby. You can’t. I know you.” You gently dragged your knuckles across his cheek, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut. “You’ve got the same guilt as me, lurking deep in your chest. Scared of God, scared of Hell, scared of what might happen.”

Joel’s lips parted, and he stared at you, his gaze glossed over. You would always remember his eyes, always remember how they would stir with emotion when he saw you, when he heard you, when he felt you.

“And I gotta get away from it all.”

Joel let out a quiet breath of air, a whine of anguish gurgling at the back of his throat. There was an uncertainty swirling about him that you had never seen radiate around him, a worried sort of look deep within the irises of his wet eyes.

“Away from… me, too?”

“Yeah, Joel. Yeah.”

“I would have- if… if I could’ve.”

“I know you would’ve. But I get it.”

You stood up from the chair, and his nails dug gently into your skin, as though he was trying to tether you down to that mahogany, to the room which surrounded you.

“You gotta let go, Joel Miller.”

He followed you to the door, engulfing you tightly in his arms. He gasped out, tears pooling down his cheeks, his palm flat against the back of your head.

“I’d have loved you.” Joel whispered, and you nodded against him, grasping ahold of his shirt material. “If I… could let all of this go.”

“I know. I know.”

“You’ll think about me, won’t you?” There was humor in his words now, a gentle glimmer of humor that shone behind his eyelids as you reached for the door knob.

You laughed, and he relished in the familiar way you tilted your neck back, the way your giggles filled his eyes.

“Course I will. ‘Til the day I die.”

“Maybe we’ll see each other then.”

You looked at him from over your shoulder, and for a moment you reconsidered it all. You tried to swallow that angry guilt that clawed at the lining of your stomach, tried to wonder what a future would be like with him.

A future that would never come.

“Until then, Joel.”

L!!! This was so good! 😍

The ending had me cracking up 🤣

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

🤣😂🤣😂

It’s always nice to get a reblog! ❤️

Tumblr Topic - The Importance of Re-blogging: Re-blogs vs Likes.

Hello lovelies,

I wanted to shed and share some info on re-blogging. Perhaps you're new to Tumblr and are not sure what re-blogging is, or means. 🤔

Or perhaps you're a silent lurker here, afraid to start re-blogging because you're not sure how or why you should.

Don't worry, I, and with a little reluctant help from Joel, (Dave has gone on a top secret mission 🤫) have you covered. 🖤

Sorry to interupt your coffee Joel, but we have work to do... chop, chop! 👏🏻

The Like Button ♡

☝🏻First of all let me just start by explaining that Tumblr is not like other social media platforms. The algorithims here are vastly different.

Where you may be used to pushing the like ♡ button over on Instagram, X/Twitter, TikTok etc..., to boost and share the things you like out to a wider audience, Tumblr's like function works very differently.

For a start, it doesn't actually mean you 'like' the post at all. It's simply a way of bookmarking the post.

And it doesn't boost that post to wider audience either.

You'll find the like button on the bottom of each blog post. Here it is circled:

So, what happens when I push the 'like' button, then?

When you hit the like ♡ button on Tumblr, that post is saved, or bookmarked, into your own like list.

Tumblr notifies the original blog poster (OP) that you "liked" their post.

That's it. 😐

That post then gets pushed to the bottom of your like pile each time you like something else. The more things you like, the more that post gets buried and forgotten about.

So, I shouldn't press the like button on Tumblr then?

Absolutely you should! Like I say, it tells the OP you liked it. And if you wanna bookmark things to come back to later, it's a great way of keeping track.

But... there is something else that's more important that you should probably do if you liked their post.

You should re-blog it. (And comment too, The Tumblr Trinity, but we'll cover comments another time.)

Okay, so what's a re-blog? 🤔

A re-blog is you sharing the original creator's post on your own blog. (Not by copy/pasting it into your own post, that's plagiarism, bub. That shit will get you killed. Joke, but it is a big no-no!) But a re-blog allows you to share the post whilst giving credit and recognition to the OP.

At the bottom of every post you'll see this continuing arrow symbol, or ouroboros if you will. 🐍 ('Cause an ouroboros depicts something forever continuing, and if you re-blog something, it's forever continuing... geddit? 🤪)

This is the re-blog button:

By re-blogging it, the algorithm on Tumblr pushes the post into all your follower's orbits and it will appear on their dashboard.

They'll see your re-blog and can either re-blog your re-blog themselves, or click on the OP's post and re-blog it directly from them.

Either way, the original content poster get's notified whenever someone re-blogs their post, as does the person who re-blogged it, if they re-blog from a re-blog - make sense? 🤪

If you simply just 'like' the post and do nothing else, no-one else is notified that you liked the post except the OP, and it goes to die a sad, lonely death at the bottom of your like graveyard. 💀

So, why is re-blogging better than just liking? If I like it, surely that means I like it, right?

Yes, if you like a post it tells the creator you like it, sure. But that's it. There's no other engagement there. It simply tells the creator "Joe Bloggs likes this." That's it. 😕

But by re-blogging the post instead, it tells the creator that "Joe Bloggs liked it so much that they wanna share it and see more from you, dude! Yay! Party in re-blog alley and everyone's invited, woo!" 🎉

You get the point. But it gives the creator that boost to share more of the content you like to see.

The more they share, the more you re-blog, and the more you re-blog, the more they share. Ouroboros, see? (And you thought it was just a snake eating it's own butt...)

🤓 Tumblr is a site that was specifically created for sharing the things you like through re-blogging. That's what makes it different to other social media platforms.

It's a place of engagement, making friends and building communities - all through sharing in the things you love.

If you want a silent and non-engaging platform where you don't have to get involved, then Instagram, X/Twitter etc... is probably the way to go...

But you're here on Tumblr for a reason, right?

Yeah, but if I re-blog everything I like, won't that be annoying? I don't wanna piss people off! 🫣

No. Let's get outta that mindset that sharing things you enjoy is annoying - it isn't.

And if anyone ever says to you to stop re-blogging or liking their stuff so much, then they're probably not understanding the whole point of engagement and sharing on Tumblr...

I guarantee you that if you re-blog something, no-one is gonna be pissed off at you, bub.

So, do I HAVE to re-blog?

Look, no-one is holding a knife to your throat demanding that you must re-blog everything-

Joel, chill my dude. We don't stab our chums here... 🙄

But creators don't share their work for it to be forgotten about or for no-one to engage with it. If we didn't want anyone to see our wacky shit, we wouldn't post it online.

Creators share their work to engage with their followers about it, especially in fandom communities.

Creators make art, GIFs, write stories, share thots thoughts, and share their medium with you so you can enjoy it and share it and get excited about your blorbos together, thus creating a fandom community. 🤝🏻

However, you are not obliged to re-blog or like anything if you don't want to.

We understand there are people who want to just remain silent and prefer to lurk. That's completely okay and creators should never bully you or put pressure on you to do so.

☝🏻It does/will upset us however if you ask/demand more from us when you don't bother to engage or share, FYI... so please bear that in mind. If you want more, show us by re-blogging our work.

We'll always encourage you to simply re-blog what you love, because we wanna share it with you and talk about it and be your friend, and squeal over that broad-shouldered man together. 🥰

So, if I like or re-blog something, how can I find it again?

If you simply 'like' something, you have to manually scroll all the way back through your like list to find it again.

Say you liked 1000 posts. That's a hell of a lot of scrolling you gotta do to find the post you liked, right? And ain't nobody got time for that! 😨

But, if you re-blog the post, you can add tags to it so you can then search for it and find it easily on your own blog.

For example, you re-blogged a cool post about Joel Miller...

Oh, hey Joel. We're talking about you, not to you... as you were, handsome.

You can tag your re-blog 'Joel Miller' when you post it. Then, you can use the search function on your blog, 🔎 type in 'Joel Miller' and every single post you've ever re-blogged using the tag 'Joel Miller' will be found and shown to you.

Ta-da! ✨️ No scrolling for bloody hours to find it.

☝🏻You can also queue up re-blogs if you're worried about continuously re-blogging.

Wait, "queue up" re-blogs? What does that mean? 😶

Say you found 12 posts of Joel Miller you like and want to re-blog, you don't have to re-blog them all at once, one after another.

You can queue them up by adding them to your queue to be posted a few hours, days, weeks, months, or even years apart.

Queuing re-blogs also keeps the original post circulating (ouroboros 🐍). And creators will often use queued re-blogs when creating content in bulk to save time and not to flood their followers with too much content at once.

☝🏻There's no limit to the amount of times you can re-blog a post too. So if you really love that post about Joel's, uh, bulge 😏 you can re-blog it again and again.

You can only ever like a post once though. Boo. 👎🏻

So, re-blogging is the way to go then, right?

Absolutely. It makes creators very happy.

And will also make your dash very happy too as when you re-blog something, Tumblr will suggest more content that's similar to it for you to enjoy.

So if you reaaaally like Joel Miller, (and who doesn't? 🫠) your whole dash can be filled with him! Bulge ahoy! 🍆🫡

He likes the sound of that really...

🗨You can also add comments to your re-blog too...

Wait, comments?? 🤯

Yep! You can free type in the space at the bottom of the original post, and the OP will see this and is able to respond to it by re-blogging again.

You can even have a whole conversation through re-blogs if you want to. And others can be tagged to join in too for even more fun mayhem! 🤗

So if you really liked that Joel Miller fanfic you just read, you can type your thoughts into the re-blog itself.

And FYI, creators LOVE comments. (I'll cover comments and tagging in another post. Don't worry, I got you.)

And Joel just loves fun too, don't you, Joel?

So, I hope that gives you a better understanding on what re-blogging is and why it's so vital on Tumblr and in fandom communities.

If you found this post helpful in any way, then you now know what to do, right?

Re-blog it! 😁

Thanks so much for reading, and I'll catch you next time in another Tumblr Topic post. Stay kind and keep it creamy. 🖤

HELP & COMPANY MASTERLIST

Can I have this neighbor?! 🫠

A neighbor in need one shot Joel x f!reader

Rating: 18+

Pairing: DILF!Joel x f!reader

Words: 3.2k

Summary: You didn't mean to see catch your DILF neighbor jerking it, you really didn't!

(My one-shot submission for the #hotdilfsummerchallenge by @hellishjoel) (also dedicated to @almostempty because she loves a jorkin' Joel as much as I do)

Tags: AU no outbreak, voyeurism, Joel jorkin' it, teasing, gratuitous Joel body worship.

You didn't mean to catch him jerking off, you really didn't. 

You were just moving boxes inside the rancher home next to his. You'd just moved to Austin and had found a roommate situation in some old lady's spare room. Her name was Kathy-May and she was a sweet empty nester who was desperate to fill her home again. 

"An architect," she whistled lowly over the phone last month when she called to get your references. "You seem so young to have such a fancy career."

"This'll be my first official job since graduation," you told her. 

There weren't a ton of jobs out here in your hometown. Austin however was vibrant, it was continuously developing and it was a great place to start your career in architecture. 

The day you move in Kathy-May is there on the porch, a squat little blonde with oversized glasses and a sweet cherubic face. She's all waving hands and tight hugs insisting you come have a sweet tea before you unpack. 

You oblige, tired from the drive and excited to see your new home away from home. You follow her into the brightly colored space. Cross-stitch hangs on the walls; walnut colored furniture covered in pastel quilts littered the rooms. There are animal knick-knacks all over the place. 

"You really like cats," you observe politely when you see the fifth feline figurine, shocked that her home smells of pecan pie instead of a litter box. 

"I'm deathly allergic to almost every animal," she explains, pressing her glasses up the bridge of her stubby nose. "Just love looking at 'em." 

After a quick sweet tea where she peppers you with questions and insists you have at least two slices of her pecan pie, she tells you she needs to run to the market before they close.

"You go on and see your room sugar," Kathy-May urges, pointing to the far end of the house. "Third door on the left. You have your own private bathroom and everythin'." 

Then she's gone, a flash of car keys and sputtering motor from her sky blue Cadillac, leaving you in the quiet of this new space. You glance out the front window seeing a truck parked in front of your car on the curb marked Miller Construction. Must be a neighbor, you assume. 

Your room is simple, a bed (with equally hideous pastel quilt as you saw in the main room), a large closest, a desk and a tall lamp. It's small but it’s all you need for right now. You smile, looking around the room before crossing the space and pulling back the closed pink curtains. 

Light spills in, warming your face and shoulders as you peer out. The neighborhood is a classic suburban mix of ranchers and two stories, separated by white picket fences or greenery. Between Kathy-May’s house and this one, there exists only a short hedge separating the yards. 

From your window you can see directly into the house across from you. It's far away enough that you couldn't possibly hear a person speaking with the windows closed, but close enough that you can make out the details of the room inside. A quick scan tells you it's a bedroom, a male bedroom judging by the framed deer pictures and haphazardly strewn bed sheets. 

You glance around the backyard, noticing the pink bike, the Barbie’s half buried in a sandbox under a tree. This is a family home. You’re surprised when you see no feminine touches in this bedroom and surmise perhaps there is no female presence. A part of you who grew up with divorced parents feels a pang of sympathy for the child who lives there.

A flash of motion catches your attention and instinctively you dart behind the curtain. You watch curiously as a man walks across the room, a cell phone wedged between his broad shoulder and his ear.

You can only see him from behind, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles that ripple under the tight t-shirt that strains around his biceps when he gestures. He's got gorgeous dark hair that waves around his ears and when he cards his fingers through it and it hits the light you can see it's threaded with silver. 

Fuck, from behind the guy is hot. A DILF for sure.

You smirk to yourself, watching him speak animatedly as he removes his wristwatch, placing it on the dresser beside the window. The dresser at the window blocks his lower half, but you’d bet money he's just as hot below the belt.  

"Big dick energy," you murmur to yourself, thinking back to the phrase your best friend taught you. She said it was reserved for Pete Davidson, but you have a feeling it's for this guy as well.

You continue to watch the man's back, your feet stuck to the floor. You wish you could hear what is being said, but both your windows are shut.  The man looks like he's frustrated with something, throwing up his hands and gesticulating wildly. You notice he wears no wedding ring. 

Not that it matters. 

This guy is a dad. He could be an asshole. And he's your neighbor. Plus you don't even know what he looks l-

At that very moment the man turns around, a scowl on his rugged face. You take in the big, dark eyes, the pouty mouth and trimmed but patchy beard. You feel your legs tremble just at the sight of him. A thrill goes up your middle, sending warmth spilling through your body. You grip the lip of the window so tightly your knuckles lighten. 

He's fucking gorgeous. 

He says something sharp, tossing his phone onto the bed before pinching the bridge of his sharp nose. Obviously the phone call was frustrating. He mutters something to himself, shaking his head before taking a deep breath, holding it in and exhaling slowly.

This is when you should creep away, pretending you aren't a spy. But something about this handsome man has you intrigued. 

Your eyes widen when he suddenly pulls at the neck of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head and dropping  it onto the floor.  As you look closer you realize he's sweaty, the roots of his hair damp. You think back to the truck you saw earlier. Miller Construction. He likely just came home from some job site. 

Why is that so sexy? 

He flexes as he rights himself, tilting his neck to loosen it. He's tense. His eyes are closed languidly, he rubs at the back of his neck and you notice just how large those hands are. The perfect size for holding you as he f-

Whoa, stop. 

He's a dad. A grown man. He's older than you. You shouldn't be drooling over him like this. 

Now that his front is uncovered you feel your mouth run dry. His bronze shoulders and chest and are so fucking broad, tapering into a waist that holds a strong but softer looking belly.

Classic dad bod. 

He turns away from your direction, reaching to pull off his jeans and you watch the glistening muscles of his back ripple as he does. He throws the pants into the hamper, but they miss as well as the t-shirt that follows. He's having a tough day. 

Then his boxers go sailing into the rumpled pile and your thighs subconsciously squeeze together as you realize he's getting completely undressed.

He's naked right now. 

You hate the dresser that blocks from the tops of his thick thighs down. You want to see where that trail of hair under his navel leads. Fuck you just know he has a great ass. 

You still hide to the side of your window, partially concealed by the curtains, concerned that he can see you when he turns back. But if he notices you he makes no indication of it. Instead his left hand goes to land on the top of the dresser while the right is reaching down between his legs. 

You belatedly realize what he's about to do and you feel your arousal grip you in its lusty claws. A prickle of arousal starts at the top of your head before feeding down into the rest of your thrumming body.

I'll just watch for a second. A quick second. Just a peek. 

The man looks desperate and hurried, like he's on a time limit. He doesn't lie down on his bed or take his time. He just grips that one hand on the dresser, lowers his head and you watch a long string of saliva drop into his other waiting palm before it disappears below his waist again. 

He’s a dad, you figure, so he has to hurry. Who knows how long he has until he’s interrupted? You don’t see any movement in the other parts of the house, but you also can’t see everything. For all you know he has a brood sitting watching TV at the other end of the house while he finds a moment for himself to get himself off.  But his bedroom door is cracked, so you think he’s likely alone in the house.

His eyes shut tightly, like he's trying to block the world out and he gets right to it. It's not subtle; the way he must be tugging on it must feel rough. His brows saddle while his teeth clench tightly. He's murmuring something to himself, his breath coming out in quick little bursts you can only imagine as you watch his lips move. You wonder what he's saying. 

His eyes are closed, his mouth all wet and pink and parted. It's so fucking hot, so fucking sexy to see this handsome stranger so exposed in the moment, letting go. Something about watching his muscled forearm flex as he jerks himself off is getting you so wet. 

You can't help it, your own hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, sliding down the front of your panties where you're soaked. Fuck, you’re really wet. Your fingers curl around your clit, rubbing gently as you watch the stranger.

Fuck his mouth is pretty.

It's so pouty. It's fucking sinful for him to have a mouth like that. You wonder what it would be like to kiss those full lips

Your fingers make quick circle eights along your pulsing clit now, your body taut with need. It's been a long day of driving and apparently you really needed this release as much as the hot dad across the way. 

Your eyes struggle to focus open because they threaten to roll back when you curl your fingers deeper into your core, desperate for anything that feels close to a cock. But you force yourself to keep your gaze on him because he's so fucking beautiful, like some statue come to life. Nothing like those fuckboys back home, this is a man. 

And he's so vulnerable, this big strong man looking so sweetly desperate as he fucks his hand, intently chasing his own pleasure. You step closer to the window, desperate to make out what he's saying as his mouth starts moving again. 

You move a little further into the center of the window, hoping you can catch a glimpse of more. His neck is strained as the movements become jerky, his chest starting to flush pink. He's getting close, his arms tightening. 

His head is tilting forward, his clenched teeth bared as he furiously strokes himself. Fuck you wish you could see it. You just know he's got a pretty cock. You want it in your mouth. You want to be on your knees in that room, mouth open, tongue out, eager to please him. You want him to slide it over your tongue, to grip your hair, to thrust into your mouth with that same needy expression he wears now.

Your fingers begin to thrust shallowly in your slot, not long enough for what you want. You whine in desperation, your mouth in a pout.  

A sudden squawk of a bird sounds overhead, loud enough to startle you both. 

Your pussy clenches when the man's dark eyes suddenly jolt open, a small look of surprise on his flushed face when he sees you standing there watching him in the house across from him.  His movements slow, uncertainty flashing over his features as he takes you in. You know he's thinking that he's done something wrong. 

You should jump back or avert your eyes, but you feel trapped, pinned in place by those eyes. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t move.

His dark eyes scan your face, taking in your glazed eyes and the way your chest heaves. And then they dip to where your hand disappears under your jeans waistband. You think you see him smirk, but it's hard to tell. 

His brows rise, a silent question.

Should I keep going?

All you can do is nod.

Yeah. 

Now he smiles a heart-stopping, sexy, half-smile that pops a dimple out in his right cheek. He keeps his eyes on you, the stroking reaching back to that fever pitch within seconds. He nods at you, silently urging you to continue as well.

You've never been an exhibitionist, if anything you'd categorize yourself as a prude when it came to sex outside the bedroom. But right now you're preening under his hungry stare, knowing that you must look the same to him. Your fingers are rubbing furiously, the taste of that pleasurable high within reach.

He's murmuring to himself again and you find yourself desperate to know what he's saying. But it doesn't matter, you're reaching your peak startlingly fast with his eyes on you. 

Your palm comes to rest on the window pane, your eyes shuttering. It feels so fucking good, you're so wet and your clit throbs under your touch, desperate to release. You're starting to whine, your eyes glazed as you stare at him. 

You can see the man nodding to you, and you focus on that sensual mouth as they shape the words suddenly so clear. 

C'mon baby. Come for me. 

His jerking intensifies and between that and his mouthed words you feel yourself falling over your apex. Your cunt flutters as you drop into a pleasured release that has you moaning loudly. It builds between your legs before branching out into the rest of your body and you come so hard your vision momentarily goes white.

You cry out sharply, your fingers curling around the windowsill to keep you stabilized. Your breathing comes out in short little gasps and you blink wildly as your vision clears. You focus on your neighbor. The man is watching you with a glossy look to his dark eyes, his mouth pulling into a sleepy smile before he mouths the words: 

Good girl. 

You whimper, trying to imagine how he sounds. Deep voice? Southern? Fuck you don't care. Having him just look at you was enough to turn you into a quivering mess. But you want him to join you in this post orgasmic bliss. Your eyes dart to his forearm, your eyes drifting to his face, the meaning is clear; your turn.

The man nods giving you another broad smile before his forearm picks up in a frenzy of movement. He doesn't let his eyes leave yours as he takes himself over the edge as well, the yes yes yes clear in his speech despite not being able to hear him. 

And then he must groan because his brows furrow as his eyes smash shut. He almost looks like he’s in pain. You pant, watching him come with vigor, his hips stuttering and his hand gripping as he no doubt paints the floor with his seed. He shivers as his cock drains and you curse the powers that be for not letting you see the surely gorgeous curve of his cock or his pearlescent spill. 

You watch his eyes crack open, gazing at you with a sleepy look. You can't help but cast a tired grin back at him, hoping you don't look as fucked-out as you feel. You like to think you look attractive, not completely disheveled from the drive and the orgasm.

All of a sudden you hear the telltale sound of Kathy-Mays muffler pulling into the driveway and you jerk back from the window, away from the man's soulful gaze watching you as you hastily pull your hand from your jeans and stagger back to the kitchen. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you go to grab a gulp of your sweet tea. You can't believe you just did that with a fucking stranger and you can't believe how good it was. You can still see his face as he came when you blink. You wash your hands hurriedly at the sink before going to the door just as Kathy-May is approaching. 

"There you are," she says sweetly as she goes to grab a brown bag from her trunk. "I wanted you to meet one of the neighbors. My favorite man on the block." 

You step down from the porch and glance around the corner, feeling your pulse spike as you watch the handsome DILF from before come striding into view. 

"Hi there," his deep voice rumbles, syrupy and low as he gazes at you.

He's wearing new jeans and a fresh t-shirt. He must have gotten dressed the second you ran away. As he nears you and Kathy-May you subconsciously inhale. He smells good, like leather and soap and you're certain the lingering scent of sex underneath it all. But that might just be your imagination. 

“This is my new border,” Kathy-May offers. “She’s an architect.”

He stretches out a hand, the very one you watched him snake between his legs moments before. Your face burns as you reluctantly allow him to take your hand. 

"Nice to meet ya," he says pumping your hand gently in his. "I'm Joel Miller. It's a real pleasure meeting you." 

His eyes twinkle, the meaning of his words not lost on you. 

"Pleasures all mine," you murmur back, your cheeks flushing under his playful smile. 

You're having a hard time keeping your mind working. Up this close you can see the amber flecks in his dark eyes, the thick lashes. And that mouth is even more delectable up close. All you want to do is nibble on it. 

"Joel came over to see if you needed some help with any of your moving boxes," Kathy-May informs you. "Ain't that sweet?"

It's like you both just remembered she was still there standing and watching you both because you both blink over at her, dazed.

"Just bein' neighborly, ma'am." 

"I told you he was just the sweetest man," Kathy-May sighs as Joel, embarrassed with the praise ducks his head, glancing away a moment.

"That's okay," you finally manage, shaking your head at Joel. "It's just a suitcase and a few light boxes. I'll manage. But thank you for the offer, Joel." 

Kathy-May makes a cooing sound of approval before announcing her ice cream is melting in the car. As she turns away Joel leans forward, his voice dropped sinfully low, only for you.  

"If you ever need anythin' at all you know just where to find me, darlin'. Always happy to help out a neighbor in need."

With that he brushes his lips against your temple, striding away back to his home with a grin. You're speechless, only able to watch after his retreating figure. 

You were right. 

He does have a great ass.

Lies, Excuses and Bullshit

Pairing: Exboyfriend!Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: A man with a double life willing to do anything to keep his obsession around, and a woman who doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! Breaking up, creepy!Dave, infidelity, stalker behavior from Dave, oral(f receiving), spanking, unprotected PIV(make smarter choices), manipulation, and if there is anything I missed please let me know!

A/N: Phew, not sure what happened here. This is a first, I don't usually write darker stuff but something about Dave made it just fly out of my finger tips. This was written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge! Thank you Shortie for letting me be part of the challenge 😊 I need to shout out @beefrobeefcal @strang3lov3 @ozarkthedog and @mothandpidgeon thank you all for the encouragement and lending your eyeballs for this story! ❤️

@jay-zzle, my love, my bestie. This one is for you! 🥰❤️🥰❤️

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

You thought things were fine. Dave is the perfect gentleman. It is a complete shock to see this text from your friend. It was a picture of Dave with another woman and two little girls at a soccer game. Maybe it’s his niece's soccer game and he’s just there being a good uncle? Until the next text comes in.

Isn’t that your boyfriend?

Another picture is attached featuring Dave, his arm around the woman. Then another and another and another. More evidence to suggest he is obviously in a relationship with the woman and you are the one left in the dark on this whole situation.

You stopped responding to your friend a while ago, staring at the pictures they sent. Back and forth, memorizing every detail. The way he’s looking at her. The way his arm is around her. The way he’s touching her. The way he kissed her -  that was the one that sealed your fate of knowing you had in fact not been seeing a recently divorced man but a married one. Your phone buzzes with another text notification.

D. York: Hey baby, still picking you up at 9 right?

You glare at your phone unsure of what the next step is. Obviously he is cheating on his wife unbeknownst to you. How does somebody even handle something like this? You really liked Dave, you saw a future with him. Your relationship has been going on for months now.

After neglecting to respond your phone buzzes again with another text from the man himself.

D. York: Been thinking about you 

You roll your eyes and text him back.

You: Not tonight. Don’t feel good.

D. York: Aw you poor thing. Do you need anything?

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with this new found information rattling around your brain, pressing the button to make your phone sleep and making your way to your bedroom. You plugged your phone in and crawled into bed, ignoring the constant buzz against your nightstand as you tried to drift off. The sun was still out but you couldn’t be awake right now. You needed to shut your brain off and this was the only way you knew how.

There was a pounding on your door when you woke with a startle. The moon casting shadows through the curtains into your room. You checked your phone, seeing the multiple notifications, some from your friends and some from Dave. He’d also tried calling several different times.

D. York: Are you okay?

Did you talk to him yet?

D. York: Do you want some company?

Want me to kick his ass?

D. York: How are you feeling?

What do you plan to say?

D. York: Baby, please answer me. Getting a little worried here.

The pounding on your door continued as you checked your phone. The doorbell camera he insisted on getting for you and installed showed Dave at your doorstep holding a plastic bag, grumbling, you got out of bed and walked towards the door.

“I’m coming. Give it a rest,” you shout, hoping Dave can hear you over his loud knocks.

Sliding the chain lock you open the door.

“Baby,” Dave sighs with relief, “What have you been doing? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours now!”

“I told you, I don’t feel good,” you shrug, “I’ve been sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, I started to get worried,” Dave says, looking around your living room, “I got you some stuff to hopefully help with whatever bug you’ve seemed to catch.”

You watch as he carefully steps into your space, placing the bag on the coffee table in front of your couch.

“Dave,” you sigh, “I know.”

“Know what?” Dave asks, hands on his hips and shaking his head with a smirk.

“I know you’re still married.”

You see his adam's apple bob as he swallows, flopping back onto the couch, and clasping his hands together. He stays silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next.

“How’d you find out?”

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to fold so easily. 

“A friend sent me some photos from today at the soccer field,” you murmur, trying to keep the wavering in your voice to a minimum.

“I see,” Dave says with a nod.

“You also have kids?”

Dave nods again, facing you this time.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Dave scoffs, “Sleep with you?”

“I wouldn’t just call what we’ve been doing as ‘sleeping together,’ Dave,” you say, using your fingers as air quotes when the words sleeping together leave your mouth.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Dave chuckles, “I get bored from time to time and like to play with someone new.”

“Your wife know that?” you ask, glaring at him. This man who you thought you knew is showing an entirely different side of himself, and you don’t like it.

“She doesn’t need to know because it’s not a big deal.” Dave sighs exasperated.

“I think it’s best if you left.”

“Alright,” Dave says standing, “If that’s what you want.”

“Yep,” you say with a sharp nod.

“Listen,” Dave says, reaching a hand towards your arm, and you slid your arm back letting him know not to touch you, and he put his hand down beside him, “Okay, well, it’s really not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. I like you, I like what we’ve been–”

“Dave, you’re cheating on your wife,” you grit through your teeth interrupting the spiel he was going on, and swung the door open for him, “Leave.”

—

“Fucking take it.” Dave growls in your ear, thrusting his hips harshly into you, “Just like that baby.”

Your moans fill his ears, he can tell you’re close. The way your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tighter. He can practically taste your climax in the air around him, gripping your hips tighter and angling them so he can get deeper.

“Dave,” you sob, after a particularly harsh thrust. Fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, back arching as you continue to cry out his name.

Dave. Dave. Dave.

“David!”

Dave jumps to the sound of Carol’s voice. Looking around to see he’s in his own bed in his home, not yours.

“Honey, your alarm has been going off for 10 minutes now.”

He lets out a sigh facing his reality, adjusting the hardness in his pajama bottoms. It was just a dream. It’s been months since he’s seen you. You’ve seemed to make your way into his brain at all times of the day, conscious or not.

“I’m gonna get the girls ready but you don’t need to be late for work again,” Carol says, giving him a smile and wink. After last night, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this. He’s been trying to have sex with Carol more. Sure, she’s his wife but she doesn’t scratch the same itch you did.

He’s tried. He’s tried to be a good husband, he’s tried to be a good dad and he’s exhausted. Dave feels himself becoming more of a shell since you told him to leave.

You’ve made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. He tried to reach out to you, only to have his number blocked. You disabled your doorbell camera after he left that night. You must have known he’d try and look at it on his phone, you knew he had the information for your account. Why wouldn’t he try to look?

What you don’t know is that once Carol takes the girls to school, he gets the second phone hidden in the false bottom of a shoe box in his closet that is an exact copy of your own. He can see who you’re texting, where you’re at, how things at work are going, who you’re hanging out with. It’s become an obsession to check it daily.

—

As he steps out of the shower, Carol shouts up the stairs that she’s leaving with the girls, and the front door closes shortly after. Time to start his day.

Getting dressed in his running gear and snatching his headphones from the dresser. He makes his way to the closet. Finding the shoe box with your duplicated phone.

Texts from your friends, a text from your boss and a missed call from your mom. What catches his eye the most is the notification from some jackass on Tinder. James. Scanning James’ profile he’s definitely not your type: blonde hair, green eyes, gelled back hair, and a full beard.

James, 29

Looking for a girl who just wants to have some fun, if it leads to more that’s cool too. I like hiking, graduated from Harvard, hanging with my bros, anything else hmu

Dave shakes his head as he reads the messages shared between the two of you. He scans reading hellos, good nights, sharing random facts about each other, until he stumbles upon the most recent messages

James: Hello gorgeous 😉

Hello 😊

James: So I’ve been thinking would you wanna meet up? Go get a drink or something?

Sure! 7 good?

James: Awesome! Yeah. Do you know where Sal’s is?

I do! It’s not far from my job

James: Perfect! I’ll see ya then beautiful

No. No way in hell is this James guy meeting up with you. Dave calls the office letting them know he’s taking a personal day, he has some business to take care of.

—

Sal’s is exactly what you expected it to be. Dark, dingey, and small. Not too crowded thankfully, it’s definitely got character though. The random decor on the wall is confusing. You can’t tell if this is supposed to be a sports or a punk bar with the random band posters on the wall along with sports jerseys next to them.

Making your way to the bar you sit down on a stool, flagging down the bartender.

“What’s your poison for the night?” He asks, wiping his hands on the towel he was carrying.

“Jack and Coke,” you say, slipping your hand into your bag to get your wallet out. He makes quick work of mixing the drink and placing it in front of you, handing over your card while you hear the jingle of the door.

“Starting a tab?” The bartender asks, swiping your card.

“No, thank you,” you smile as he hands your card back to you, putting it back in your wallet.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see someone standing a couple stools away. Looking down at your drink, moving the straw around before taking a drink. You take a peek at your watch to see it’s 10 minutes before you’re supposed to meet James. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, you haven’t had to do this in months. It was easier when Dave just kind of fell into your life.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you heard the familiar timber of his voice, head snapping to look at him. Dave. His smirk as he waits on his drink says it all, he knew you would be here. Was he James?

“Are you fucking serious?” You hiss through your teeth.

Dave thanks the bartender, moving closer to you.

“I come in peace,” Dave says, sitting in the stool one away from you, “All I want to do is talk.”

“Are you James?” You ask through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

“Oh baby,” Dave tuts, “I’m not James, he’s very real.”

You continue to glare at him. Unable to force your brain to work with your limbs on moving, leaving, throwing your drink on him. Anything other than sitting here being in his presence.

“He wasn’t hard to convince to leave you alone though,” Dave looks at you with a smirk, one eyebrow raised and begins to chuckle, “One mention of snapping any finger that touches you sent him running.”

You try to swallow but your throat feels like a desert, gripping the tumbler in front of you and taking a swig. Did he… did he do something to James? Surely not, Dave wouldn’t even kill the spider that appeared in your apartment one day, scooped it up and took it outside. How could he cause harm to anything?

“Dave did you…” pausing pondering how to even ask the question.

“Did I hurt him?” Dave asks, scooting to the stool next to you and leaning in closer, invading your space and you nod your head, “No, just made it known what’s mine.”

You let out a sharp gasp at his words, arousal seeping into the gusset of your underwear, thighs clenching together at his closeness, feeling goosebumps erupt across your skin. This shouldn’t be happening but your body thinks otherwise.

“I’ve missed you baby,” Dave hums into your ear, “Don’t like how we ended things.”

The way he says it has the ice around your heart melting. You hate him but can’t help the way your heart betrays your brain at his words. Dave lets out a small growl, gripping your bare thigh beneath the bar top possessively.

“I’m staying in a hotel room tonight,” he says, the grip on your thigh becoming less and smoothing his hand against your inner thigh. Gliding his hand up, up, up. Pinky finger playing with the edge of your underwear under your skirt.

You grab his hand and pull it away from your core, bringing it to rest on your lap. Lacing your fingers with his, while his thumb rubs along your palm. You sigh, contemplating what to do. Go with him or send him packing like last time. The devil on your shoulder telling you to go with him, it’s just stress relief, it won’t- it can’t mean anything, he knows your body better than anyone else. The angel on the other side just repeating the same words, he’s still married.

In the words of your mother, if he doesn’t cheat with you then he’ll just find someone else. Might as well have fun.

“I’ve missed you too,” you confess with a soft whimper in his ear. Finally seeing him again after months of nothing has your practical sense crumbling. 

“Let’s go then,” Dave smirks, standing pulling your hand slightly to stand with him and leave.

—

Dave drove like a bat out of hell to the hotel, dragged you to the elevator and his room as if this was his last chance to have you. Clothes flying off the moment you crossed the threshold of the room.

“Dave,” you moan, his lips ghosting down your neck to your collarbone. His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against his front, feeling his erection against your stomach.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he groans, his mouth sucking the flesh of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth and giving it a nip. A whine escapes past your lips at the sudden pressure of his teeth, moving your body with him until you feel the back of your knees hit the bed.

Dave releases your nipple, pushing himself against you to lay back on the bed, making room for himself between your thighs. His dark eyes swimming with lust study your face. His hand comes to rest on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Why’d you let me leave like that?” His voice barely a whisper, lying his forehead against your own.

“You’re married,” you wince hearing the words leave your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“I can change that,” he smirks with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth, “I’d leave if it meant you’d stay,” kissing your jaw, “I’d spend every single day of my life making you happy,” he coos, trailing his lips down to your neck, laving his tongue against your pulse point.

“Dave,” you plead, hoping to stop his words. You don’t want to hear this, it’s all lies to get you to stay. The ache between your thighs begging for more.

“Mean it baby,” Dave says with a hum, mouth traveling down the expanse of your body, “Only want you,” he breathes when his face inches away from your sex, “Looks like you want me too,” he teases.

You feel the warmth spreading through your body as he sighs using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, staring at your glistening slit.

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely missed me,” he hums, flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Dave,” you gasp, gripping the sheets between your fingers. He works his tongue along your bundle of nerves swirling and sucking.

“God I’ve missed this pussy,” Dave growls, gripping your hips tightly before fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you moan, back arching off the bed. The fire in your abdomen grows more intense. You reach for one of his hands, linking your fingers with his. His other hand moving, fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg, “Dave, pl- please. More, I- I need m-“, you cry out when his fingers plunge into your cunt. Swiftly curling them inside you as he moves the pads of his fingers back and forth putting delicious pressure against your g-spot.

“That’s it baby,” Dave groans, nipping your inner thigh, “Let me have it.”

Your toes curl feeling the coil in your lower belly tightening, leaning your head up to watch him. He looks as wrecked as you feel as he rapidly flits his tongue against your clit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he worked his mouth and fingers in sync for you to reach your climax, his lips shiny from your arousal. He opens his eyes to see your mouth hung open in a silent scream, brows pinched together as you pant looking into his eyes.

“Dave,” you pant, “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

Your walls clamp down on his fingers as you stare into his dark orbs. White hot heat spreads throughout your body, letting out a soft shriek.

“Flip over,” Dave instructs, moving your pliable limbs so you’re on your stomach. You cry out as he pushes his cock into you sharply.

“Fuck.”

“Shhh,” Dave tuts, “It’s okay baby, you can take it.”

You whine, it feels like he’s splitting you in two, walls gripping his length. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s roughly snapping his hips into you.

“Make you mine again,” Dave grunts, “No one else deserves you.”

The pain quickly turns into pleasure as he works his cock in and out. The sound of your squelching pussy filling your ears as strangled noises crawl up your throat.

“God damn baby,” Dave hisses, tilting your hips up as he grinds his hips into you, hitting that spot deep inside only he’s been able to reach.

“Missed this so,” he grunts, slapping your ass, “Fucking,” another slap against your skin, “Much,” another harsh slap before soothing the marks he’s left with his palm.

“Dave,” you let out a choked sob, feeling the pleasure building, thrusting your hips back into him, “Faster.”

“Dirty girl,” Dave hums, gripping your hips again, pounding into your pussy at a frantic pace, “You gonna- oh fuck- come again?”

You can only nod your head weakly, feeling the sizzling pressure in your abdomen start to boil over. Your walls spasming and contracting around his cock. The muscles in your legs tensing before screaming out.

“Oh fuck,” Dave moans, “That’s it baby. Come on my cock. Just like that.”

Dave leans over caging you between his arms, thrusting into your wet heat a half a dozen times before his hips start to lose rhythm and going still, your name tumbling from his lips, letting your walls milk his cock feeling the warmth of his seed paint your walls.

“I really have missed you,” Dave admits slumping against you with a sigh, “So fucking much.”

He kisses your shoulder before pulling out with a hiss. You groan feeling the emptiness before he helps you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

You shower together, taking time to wash each other with delicate touches, and sharing intimate kisses before crawling back into bed with his arms wrapped around you.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. Dave’s snoring beside you, finding your phone amongst your belongings scattered around the room, you make your way to the bathroom. Looking at Dave sleeping so peacefully from the doorway of the bathroom you can’t help feeling torn. You loved him, still do if you’re being honest with yourself, but this isn’t what you two should be doing.

You find an uber available and schedule to be picked up. Quietly making your way out of the bathroom and grabbing your things when you hear two identical dings. One from your hand and one from Dave’s bag. Slipping your clothes back on you slowly wander over to his things. Rummaging around until you find a phone, similar to yours. Pushing the button on the side you see a notification for an Uber 5 minutes away, looking at your own phone to see it displaying the same.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, head snapping to look at Dave hoping you didn’t wake him. You look around to find a pen and piece of paper.

—

Dave wakes the next morning with a smile, remembering what happened last night. Sliding his hand to where you should be, feeling the cool sheets under his palm, peeking an eye open to see the empty spot next to him.

He listens closely to his surroundings, hoping to hear the shower but is met only with silence. Frowning as he sits up, scrubbing his hands against his face trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Looking around the room for any sign of you, taking note of your things being gone.

He sees a folded piece of paper lying on top of something on the dresser. Dave gets up to inspect what it is. His name is on the paper, sitting on top of two phones. Immediately recognizing one as yours and the other the duplicate he had made. His eyes scan the note you left, unable to believe what he was reading.

You’ll never be anything but a lying, cheating, manipulative douchebag. Figure your shit out. Don’t ever reach out to me again.

Dave’s hand curls into a fist as he reads the note over and over again. You left. You really left and this time it’s going to be even harder to find you.

He smirks, shaking his head as he collapses on the edge of the bed. You must not realize how much he loves a challenge.