daydreamtdaisy - Tumblr blog

daydreamtdaisy · 2 days ago

Text

under the skin.

warning: stalkerish andrew, reader is super sweet and obsessed with andrew, andrew is a freak and obsessed with reader (yayyyy), sort of bubbly reader, pope's pov, smut, p in v sex, dry humping, extensive foreplay, body worship, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (male), voyeurism, perverted behavior (we all cheered!!!), etc etc etc.

summary: pope hadn't meant to catch a glimpse through your window, but after the first time, he just couldnt stop.

word count: 14.3k

note: this might be a little ooc since ive only watched like three episodes of animal kingdom. it was supposed to be like 7k words but it got away from me..

disclaimer: pictures are NOT indicative of reader's appearance. afaik there are no descriptors other than having hair and being an able bodied afab!!

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andrew didn't know about you until now.

hadn't been made aware of your existence on any letters, any calls, any visits — not that there were many of those.

he'd just come back from prison. it wasn't as if he could keep up with whatever happened in his neighborhood during his absence. he was observant, though. observant enough to know that you were new. that you hadn't been here before he got arrested, much less throughout all the years he had spent growing up in this house.

for years, he'd seen people come and go from the house next door. it wasn't an optimal place to live, not with the extracurriculars he and his brothers got up to, and not with the visits they'd sometimes receive.

no one ever lasted there more than a couple of years, always fleeing the house after a while and leaving an empty space behind.

andrew never cared much for that place. he'd never cared much for any of its temporary inhabitants either. he'd spent most of his childhood too busy being reckless to notice the people next door. he spent it alienated, targeted, chasing after people he shouldn't have, people who either left him too early or simply didn't care for him. he had no time to look next door.

when he left, he couldn't remember who was there last. he hadn't noticed, hadn't cared. but when he came back? that's when his attention was piqued.

things weren't too different when he came back. the usual occupants were still there. j was a new addition, but he couldn't really bring himself to pay too much mind to him. he was still recovering mentally from all those hours of solitary, all that time with julia in mind, with the memory of the last time he'd seen cath.

but even those thoughts left him when he came back home.

his home was empty when he got back. it wasn't surprising to him that no one had been there to receive him. he was a ghost to them, the unpredictable force no one dared come too close to — other than smurf, which andrew began to feel conflicted about after the stint that landed him in prison, after the pathetic lack of visitation during his stay in said prison.

alone in his house, andrew had time to wander, to look and find any differences he missed during his absence. by nature, he cleaned up the things he found out of place, fingers wandering here and there without much thought.

that was how he came to stand before the window in his room that led to next door. a window leading directly into another window, only with two sets of blinds separating the clear view from one to the other. but the blinds next door were drawn at that particular moment, and andrew's just so happened to be peeking through (courtesy of his fingers creating a gap).

it was the unfamiliar movement that had caught his attention. he hadn't originally meant to look in that direction, but the lack of blinds gave him a perfect view of whatever was going on over there, drawing his eyes directly to the window.

that's when he found you for the first time.

a girl, mid twenties, maybe, throwing a tight-fitted top over her head as her body swayed lightly to what andrew could only assume was music playing from your side of the wall. you were distracted, worryingly so. it would've been easy for anyone to sit there, spy on the pretty view, do something dangerous with it — unlike andrew who just sat there, blank look on his face as he studied you. he couldn't help but frown at the thought of you doing this every day, bra-clad and ignorant to whoever could be lurking outside your house.

andrew grew even more worried when he realized he enjoyed the sight. he stood there for far too long, watching you go through your entire morning routine, privileged enough to see you get changed, do your hair, do your bed, clean up any stray clothes off the ground and finally close your curtain (which seemed to be taking place of the customary blinds). andrew was fast enough to remove his fingers from the gap he'd created on his blinds before you could take a look at the peeping tom next door. he wasn't particularly new to this type of behavior, but he didn't know you well enough to have you think he was a weirdo — everyone else thought so already, he didn't need to add another person to the list. much less someone he was already finding himself infatuated with.

he sat back on his bed, hands on his knees and back straightened as he looked in the direction of the window. he thought about you then. wondered who you were, how long you'd been there, whether craig had already gotten his hands on you yet or if maybe andrew stood a chance.

he shook his head after that last thought.

all his neighbors growing up had been families. the usual nuclear unit; mom, dad, son, daughter, maybe a dog. it was never anyone your age. it was rare around these parts to have people past their twenties living at home with their parents. andrew was one of the exceptions, constantly living under smurf's thumb (whether that was his choice or by force was still a debate rumbling in his head). the economy wasn't good enough for someone in their twenties to be able to afford such a house either. he wondered if maybe you were married, but recalled a lack of ring on your finger.

this gave him some sort of hope.

of what, he didn't know. but the weird feeling in his stomach was there. he'd only felt this way about a few people in his life — cath, julia, smurf when he was a child.

he had no reason to believe this would go any differently, but one thing was for certain; he'd go back to that window tomorrow morning.

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andrew found himself at that window every morning that week.

his homecoming was put aside to focus on his new interest — you.

he found that you'd adopted the habit of getting dressed with your curtains fully drawn (you'd seemingly removed the blinds altogether, opting for some frilly curtains that matched the decor of your room). this was a dangerous and irresponsible habit, one that he frowned upon despite the hypocrisy behind his enjoyment of watching you.

although he never did anything with the illicit sight you provided him with, he still felt a slight pang of guilt in his chest at watching you without your permission. no one had been habiting his room for the past three years, it was likely you felt no risk of anyone watching you get dressed. but now he was here, panting at the sight, not knowing what to do with it.

andrew never touched himself to your sight. he didnt use his imagination to think about you while in the shower nor late at night when he found himself alone in bed. days went by where he had to slap the thought out of his head, nails digging into his hand as he balled his fists to prevent himself from staining the thought of you.

a few days passed until he learned a bit more about you. there was no need for him to ask, as you were a popular subject among his brothers. craig had apparently been trying to get you out of the house and into one of their parties, had also even attempted to just get you free for one night, but you always rejected his advances.

this proved conflicting for andrew.

on one side, he was relieved to know craig hadn't gotten his hands on you, hadn't tainted you yet. on another, if his brother didn't have any success at garnering your attention, would he even have a chance?

andrew grew antsy within two weeks of being home. he had enjoyed your presence for the entirety of his return thus far, but he wanted more. he was yet to hear your voice, yet to meet your eyes or interact with you in any way. he wanted you to at least know of his existence. this would feed his need to have you, right? he'd been able to satiate his infatuation with cath and julia by the sheer act of having them in his orbit. he was sure that a single word from you, a smile, a look, would give him enough to survive.

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andrew found his chance one sunny afternoon. it was a thursday after having arrived from some unnecessary outing with his brothers. he was in a mood, but it was alleviated as soon as he spotted you out in your driveway, hands occupied by multiple paper bags, way too many for a girl to carry home on her own.

with his brothers having already rushed inside, andrew talked himself into making his way to your trunk, meeting a fessed up version of yourself as you attempted to carry all four bags all at once, putting them down and picking them back up a few times to reaccommodate them in an arrangement that'd allow you to carry them all in a single trip.

as he walked closer, he heard a few sighs of frustration from you, some curse words under your breath. he took in your voice then, breath lost at the sound of it. it wasn't like he'd imagined. he hadn't been able to come up with a fitting voice for you, but he decided in that moment that its intonation was the perfect fit.

it made him falter, your voice. it made him rethink walking over to you. the likelihood was that he'd be met with some form of rejection or disgust. he was used to causing unnerving feelings in people. something about how intense he was, how quiet and blunt he could be. he didn't want to ruin the nice, sweet image he'd built of you in his head by facing you and finding disappointment once more in his life.

andrew rarely had good days. and although this wasn't a particularly good one, he didn't want to make it worse.

"oh, hi."

he hadn't realized that he had blanked until your voice interrupted his thoughts, now at full volume. standing a few feet away from you, he played with his hands, eyes widening slightly when he realized there was no way back now.

"can i help you?" you asked, tone even. eyes looking him up and down briefly. no sign of dislike just yet.

"can i help you? with your bags?"

your expression showed concern, head tilted in question before smiling lightly at him. it stopped his heart for a few seconds.

"yeah? that'd be really nice of you, actually."

he walked over to you, hands stretched forward to take the bags. when you went to hand him one or two, he went past you to grab all four. it was an easy feat for him. his build was more capable of the task than yours. in return, you let out a surprised 'oh, thank you!' and smiled even wider.

leading him into your house, you gestured at him to come in when he faltered at your door, keys already out and door opening to let him in. you let him in first, closing the door behind him before leading him to the kitchen counter where he could drop the groceries on.

before you could thank him, he spoke up again.

"can i help you put them away?"

again, he was blunt, direct. perhaps he was even a little unnerving to you (he usually was to everyone else), but you didn't react to it. you only faltered slightly before smiling once again (and killing him in the process) and saying that yes, that'd be very nice of him.

andrew was a natural at this. he was the only person in his household who ever took care of such things. organizing, cleaning, keeping things in place; they were all things he did as second nature. he enjoyed order, went a little crazy without it. there was no need for you to tell him where everything went, as he just needed a look through your pantry to know.

"you're andrew, right?"

he was kneeling in front of one of the cabinets in your kitchen as you asked, back facing you. you reclined your body weight against your counter, watching him as he organized your things. you tried to help at first, but he stopped you with an almost muted huff, taking on the task on his own.

"yeah. how'd you know?"

"your room is right across from my window."

you said it as if there were no implication behind it, no hidden meaning.

had you seen him? had you seen him see you?

"i broke my blinds when i first moved, so i can kinda see into your room when you open yours." you explained. "i rarely ever draw my curtains, so i've seen you a few times. also saw a picture of you one time your brothers invited me over."

he got back up when he was done, hands folding the paper bags and setting them on your counter. he looked down at his hands as he did so. as if his secret would be given away if he looked into your eyes.

when he didn't respond, you continued.

"i hadn't seen you until now. did you just move back home?"

"yeah."

"from where?"

"you don't wanna know."

you took a few steps forward, landing yourself on the counter opposing to the one you'd been leaning on. now you were side by side with andrew, but your body remained tilted towards him, attempting some sort of eye contact that he'd been avoiding.

"try me."

he sighed, weighing his options.

he could lie to you. the same way he'd lied in prison, said cath and lena were his, acted as if he had some semblance of a proper life outside of those four walls. he could skip the ugly details about his life, make you believe he was normal.

or he could be honest, try and see if you'd still think he was the nice guy offering a neighborly hand when he saw you struggling.

"i was in prison."

silence. you didn't react. he wasn't facing you, but could still see no reaction from his peripheral.

he felt some light pressure on his arm, a soft grip. it was meant to be comforting, but all it did was draw some goosebumps out of him.

"well, welcome home, andrew."

you walked away after that, putting away the paper bags he'd folded and saving them for future use.

it was casual, with no hidden weight behind it. as if he'd just told you he came back from some business trip, not been forced into confinement due to some dubious crime.

"thank you for the help, by the way. haven't felt exactly welcome since i moved in. you're the first person to help me out."

"how long have you been here?"

"only a few months."

"you, uh, you live alone?"

he was trying his hardest to not be obvious. he was never sure what things were appropriate to ask, or what could possibly give him away. he wanted to be nonchalant and controlled, just like baz, but he couldn't help the thousands of thoughts running through his mind at every waking moment.

you nodded. "yeah. my uncle knows the owner of a few properties around the area. got me a good price."

that eased his mind. you lived alone. which meant you were available. or at least not married. he'd make sure to find out whether you were actually available or not. he had meant to do so before, but he wanted an introduction before he went around following you, inserting himself into your life without your knowledge. at least now he knew you. now he had an opening.

"that's good."

"yeah. if you ever need anything, just stop by." your smile was genuine, he really believed that. he had to look away again, embarrassed to smile back (even if his lips were tugging upward on their own).

"just don't tell the rest of your family." you then said. it made him look back at you, confused.

"why?"

"just ... i'm pretty sure craig propositioned himself to me when he invited me over. then your mom stopped by with some pie my first week here, said to stay away from her sons. not in those words, but, you know."

he knew.

he was surprised you knew too. smurf was pretty amazing at keeping things between the lines. at saying a thousand words with a single sentence. the fact that you caught onto that with one single meeting surprised him. it usually took people a little more to realize smurf was working against them behind the scenes. her threats usually went unnoticed to the average ear.

"what about me?"

you giggled then. giggled. he had pulled a giggle out of you.

usually, he would've assumed the laughter was directed at him, not shared with him, but there was an ease surrounding you that told him you wouldn't laugh at him. that you were nice, soft. that you were exactly what he needed.

"i'll make an exception for you."

and that was the first time andrew heard those words.

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against his best attempts, andrew continued watching you every morning.

sharply at 7:30, you'd get up, open up your curtains for some light, and do your usual routine. it had been three weeks since he had come back, making it twenty-one days in which he'd enjoyed the sight of you getting dressed every morning.

thus far, your eyes hadn't met as he watched you. andrew had a constant fear that you'd turn around, find that small gap between his closed blinds and spot him, peeping at you like some fucking pervert. but you never looked. you acted as if your open window wasn't an invitation for anyone to come and watch the slight sway of your hips as you listened to music, nothing but some small panties covering your form as you undressed and re-dressed yourself.

but the reality was that no one but andrew could see you. your room gave the perfect view to whoever inhabited andrew's room. he knew that you knew this, but he could only assume that you weren't aware that he was hiding behind those closed blinds, the ones that always remained closed, only ever seeing the sun when his two fingers would create a gap small enough for his eyes to take in your form every morning.

although andrew continued to watch you behind your back, he also began stepping out of his comfort zone. watching you from afar would never get him anywhere (he'd learned this the hard way, seeing any possibility with cath slip through his fingers after years and years of just watching). he needed to make himself some sort of presence in your life.

and for once in his life, he was lucky enough that you seemed to be perceptive of it.

after that first time meeting you, he continued to help you with your groceries, practically spending all his free time awaiting to hear your car to park on your driveway, doing his best to act nonchalant when he strolled out of his house and headed over to the driver's door of your car. he even started to go the extra step in opening the door for you and holding your hand as you got out.

that small bit of contact could've kept him going for months. your hand in his, his thumb aching to caress the back of your hand. it was a quiet intimacy he couldn't describe. he wanted more, he was just unsure of how to get it without scaring you away. his mind went crazy thinking of how the rest of your skin would feel against his. images of your nude body flashed through his mind every time he saw you. the incessant need to see you at your most vulnerable, at your freest state, it overrode any sort of guilt he felt. he wanted you in ways he couldn't even understand.

he even found himself distracted by such thoughts any time he was around you, no matter how short-lived his visits to your home were.

it was partially his fault, really. andrew was always too lost in his head to relax enough to stay. he always assumed you wanted him gone, that he probably gave you the same discomfort he had a tendency to give others.

he wanted you to be the one exception.

"are there any fun places around here?" you asked one day, interrupting the war inside his head.

he had somehow let his guard down enough to accept your offer of a drink. after helping you put away some dishes, he accepted a tea from you, taking a seat on your couch right next to you.

there wasn't much proximity, but he still felt alert. he couldn't stop overthinking when he was around you.

"there's, uhm, the skate park. the beach." he responded after shaking his head of all his thoughts.

"is that it? i thought you grew up here."

he shrugged. "i like to skate. i like the beach."

"you skate, andrew?"

"yeah. always have."

you smiled at that, head leaning back against the recline of the couch, tilted towards him. "wanna teach me?"

his eyes widened a bit.

no one had ever really cared about his skating.

granted, he was an off-putting figure at the skate park, always making sure he had the ramp to himself, wanting everyone away from him while he did as he pleased. but a deeply buried part of him had always ached for someone to share that interest.

more importantly, was this an invitation?

"oh, uhm, you wanna learn?"

your shoulder nudged his, completely missed how he stilled at the contact.

"yeah. it'd be fun. you don't wanna?"

if you were teasing, he couldn't really tell. he didn't want to make you think he wasn't interested — he was. way too interested.

"no, no. yeah. i wanna. do you- you wanna go now?"

"now? yeah, sure. let me get changed first?"

you stood up before he could respond, making your way to a part of your house he was yet to see in person. he knew you were likely doing the same routine he'd seen every morning. and as he sat there, he felt himself flush at the thought. knowing you were just a few meters away, being the vision he'd had the privilege of witnessing for the past month, it made him groan internally.

you came back out pretty quickly after that, donning some shorts short enough to require some extra effort to get him to look away from the bare skin. it was hot in california, but god, it had never proved to be as much of an issue to him as it did in this moment.

the smile you gave him was as bright as every other. you were happy to be hanging out with him, happy to extend your hand and uselessly pull at him to get up, both of you knowing he could get up on his own but accepting the contact anyway. he had to look away from you every time you did this. every smile of yours was met with the sad excuse of a lip curled upward and eyes running away from yours.

but you didn't seem to mind, still holding his hand as you walked out of your house and made your way to your car.

as if it were second nature, andrew took the keys from you, silently insisting to drive as he led you to the passenger seat and opened the door for you.

"you're always such a gentleman, andrew." you giggled then, no objections from you any time he did such small favors for you.

andrew took note of every act that got a smile or a giggle out of you. occasionally he'd even get some flushed cheeks, some shy eyes looking away from his. those were his favorites. they made him feel like he had everything a man could wish for.

when you arrived to the park, andrew was a little embarrassed.

people knew him around there, knew he was a little off, a little strange. they were intimidated by him and his ability to keep everyone off his space while he was there.

this was one of the only places where he was happy (your house had been recently added to the list). he hoped it'd remain that way after having you here with him.

you'd waited in your car before leaving so he could pick up a few of his skateboards, giggling once again when he brought over one of his old helmets from high school, even throwing in some extra protection for your elbows and knees.

andrew couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart when you put them on as soon as he walked you over to his favorite ramp. you liked this; being with him. you looked giddy, excited to be there, not once letting go of his hand as he led you there.

"so, you any good at this, andrew?"

for once, he chuckled. a surge of confidence took over him.

"want me to show you?"

you nodded excitedly, not paying any mind to how people walked away as soon as they saw andrew coming, now standing at the sidelines as he climbed on the ramp.

andrew laughed as he made his way up and down the ramp, smiling when he looked to the side and found you cheering for him, small claps formed by your hands and tiny gasps whenever he'd perform a trick. he was on top of the world then, never having had anyone express any sort of genuine pride towards him.

the mixture of adrenaline from the speed, the wind hitting his face combined with the pride he felt from having you there, having everyone witness his girl cheer for him — it did things to him.

he finished after a while, making his way back to you and jumping back slightly when you took both his hands in yours, jumping excitedly as you praised him.

"oh my god? i didn't think you'd be that good! show me how to do it? please?" you were like an excited kid, talking a mile a minute while he let you sway his hands with yours.

fuck, he was losing his mind. he didn't know what to do with someone so sweet, so untainted. you were sheer perfection to him in that moment.

"let's start with something a little safer first."

he set your skateboard down on even ground, standing behind you as he led you on top of it. you lacked confidence in your balance, so he knew he'd have to stay near you. he was more than fine with that.

"shit, don't let go, andrew." you said when you almost slipped as you first settled a single foot on the board. "i'm too scared to put both feet on the board. you're gonna have to hold me."

"it's okay. i'll hold onto you." he promised, hands settled on the backs of your elbows as he held onto you.

from behind you, he could smell your shampoo. it took everything in him to not lean in and nuzzle his nose into it. that floral lavender scent was addictive. your skin was so soft under his fingertips, and your scent was too alluring for any man to resist.

another pang hit his chest at knowing that you were his in this moment. any of the usual spectators at the park could see him with his pretty girl, not knowing you weren't exactly his just yet. but he could pretend.

"wanna try going a little faster?" he walked behind you, aiding the small skips you made by using one foot to slowly push you forward while the other remained stagnant on the board.

"yeah, just — put your hands on my waist. i need more support."

you said it so casually, reaching behind you and placing his hands around your waist as if the feel of skin your crop top gave him wouldn't make him a dead man walking. he breathed deep through his nose, fingers caressing the skin there softly before squeezing, signaling for you to begin moving.

the angle was awkward by nature. you couldn't really teach someone to skate one-on-one without having to hold onto them like this. at least not if you wanted to aid them in the way andrew did.

this was mostly for show. you weren't really skating as much as you were being softly pushed by andrew. but fuck, he couldn't stop smiling. the sound of your laugh practically forced his own laughter to come out. he was on cloud nine.

"i suck at this." you giggled after your third stumble (andrew had no complaints about those; they gave him a chance to grip your waist, prevent an actual slip from happening). "but you're a fun teacher."

"thanks. you're- you're fun to teach."

after a while of this, you were finally confident enough to skate a little on your own. and against his better judgment, andrew let go of your waist, keeping a small distance as he watched you skate short intervals on your own.

as he watched, one of the regulars at the park came up beside him, watching you along with him, some guy he'd exchanged words with once or twice. andrew was so enraptured by you, he didn't notice the added presence until he spoke.

"who's the girl, man? never seen you this happy before. girlfriend?"

andrew didn't remove his eyes from you as he answered.

"yeah." he lied.

the guy patted him on the back. some sort of congratulations for bagging you, he guessed.

"woah, congrats, man. that's a fine thing you got there. how long?"

andrew looked past you being called a 'fine thing.' nothing could ruin his good mood.

"a month." another lie.

"shit, and you've been keeping her to yourself, huh? this your what, third date? fifth?"

"first." the first bit of truth, — or half-truth.

"first date at a skate park?" the man grimaced. "dude you gotta take her to some nice restaurant."

andrew withdrew his eyes from your form for the first time, confused as he looked to the guy next to him.

"y'know. fancy food. some table on the corner. no loud music, so you can hear each other. dark ambience. maybe a walk on the beach right after. she might take you home after that." the guy elaborated, speaking with an ease of expertise that made andrew feel like an idiot.

was that how things were supposed to play out? that's what girls liked, right? this was his first time really doing something like this. and you had asked him to take you to a place he liked. had that been some sort of test? maybe you'd been baiting him into asking you out, tired of his brooding presence in your home unbagging groceries with nothing of interest to provide.

"hey, man. just ask her tonight. she's in a good mood. she'll say yes for sure." the guy kept going after andrew's prolonged silence.

andrew simply nodded, his gaze finding you again.

he stood there watching you as he thought things over.

there was a high chance you only saw him as a friend. you hadn't shown any indication of wanting anything more. today had been the most you'd given to him. the touches of your hands and your insistence he stay close, were those hints towards something more?

andrew swallowed, unsure of what his next move should be.

➽──────────────────❥

"i had a lot of fun tonight, andrew."

you held his hand in yours then. your fingers were smaller than his, dwarfed by the encompassing hold of his hand. everything about you was soft, softer than he'd ever felt. your hands were too delicate for him to hold, yet he dreaded letting go.

after a while at the park, you headed back home. andrew was sure that'd be the end of it, but when he went to walk over in the direction of his house, you stopped him. your hand reached his own, apparently a new favorite pastime of yours, shyly pulling him back in and suggesting you go for a walk by the shore. he couldn't have said no even with a gun to his head.

"me too."

andrew kept overthinking it. he could ask you out right there and then, have a real first date with you, make it so what he said back at the park wasn't a lie. but this had never worked out for him before. no one had ever stayed before — no one he wanted to stay, anyway.

the two of you had known each other only for a little while. the surface hadn't even been scratched yet when it came to knowing you. you seemed to enjoy him as he was. he couldn't understand how or why, but he continued riding that wave.

in his head, he could see everything with you playing out already. he was already thinking of putting money aside for a ring, of what it'd be like to have a lena of his own. one with his eyes and your hair. everything was moving a mile a minute, way too fast for a nice girl with a bright future like you. he could think of keeping you all to himself, having a repeat of today over and over again until you were grey and old, growing wrinkled together in a pretty house by the beach.

"andrew. did you hear me?"

"sorry, what?" he looked back at you when you stopped walking, taking note of how, even then, you didn't let go of his hand.

he'd grown too into his thoughts. this happened often, but it was usually met with some insult, a loud reiteration of his name, — pope, not andrew — never with the sweet concern found behind your eyes.

"i asked if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime."

for the first time, you looked unsure. instead of the steady eye-contact you always held with him, your eyes wandered off. they went from his own, to your intertwined hands, to the white sand beneath your feet.

andrew swallowed, his grip faltering slightly as he tried to process what you'd just said. he felt unseemly as he stared at you. english felt foreign to him at that moment, no word in the language could leave his lips. and the usual glimmer in your eyes dimmed more by each passing second.

"i- it's fine. you don't have to-"

"yes."

"oh? really?" you looked confused for a second before lighting up again. "you're gonna have to choose the place, okay? take me somewhere you like." your usual confidence came back almost immediately. your fingers squeezed his, cheeks puffing up with joy when he squeezed back.

and again, you gave him the choice. his comfort seemed important to you. you never said it, never put it into words, but you looked at him like you had an innate care for him.

"okay. i'll- is sometime this week okay?" he promised.

he'd never seen a smile as intoxicating as the one you gifted him with then.

he provoked excitement in you. it made him lose his breath.

that night, he came home, completely over the moon. his cheeks hurt from forcing a smile back. he had to rush into his room, avoid any sort of interaction with any lurking members of his family. there was no way he could hold back his excitement, no way he'd be able to lie about the reason for his giddiness if he were prodded about it.

rushing into his room, he slammed the door behind him, heading over to his bed and sitting at its edge, hands coming up to cover his face. he was flushed, warm at the cheeks and almost pained with how strong his emotions felt at that moment.

after calming himself down for a few moments, he walked over to his window, blinds closed as per usual. it was nighttime, so looking to your window would've been useless. your curtains were always drawn by then, but he already missed your presence. even if it proved useless, his fingers took the usual trip to the blinds near the top of the window, opening the small gap that allowed him a look outside.

a small gasp left him when he peeked out, finding your curtains still drawn open. and past your window, he found you, beginning the process of undress.

he realized then, he'd been out with you all day. you hadn't been home to close your curtains as you usually did every day at sundown. you'd been at the skate park then, spending far too many hours together and arriving home well into the nighttime. like him, you must've been spent by the time you made it into your room, not caring for your open curtains at such a late hour — who could possibly be watching you, anyway?

who, other than andrew?

he felt dirtier than he ever had as he watched you that night.

those clothes he'd seen you wear earlier in the day, they were no longer hugging your body, instead making their way off as you took them off piece by piece. once you got down to a lone piece of clothing, andrew's breath grew so heavy. he feared you'd be able to hear him past the glass of his own window. he panted at you like an animal in heat, unable to control himself as his free hand reached down to his pants, making its way under the material of his boxers before he could stop himself.

your back was facing him, tiny panties contouring the shape of your ass. your back was bare, offering andrew the life-ruining sight of your freed skin. his hands had graced a clothed version of your back, itching to feel the skin underneath as he held onto you back at the park. as he wrapped his hand around his dick, he could only imagine what it'd feel like if he could touch it now.

he breathed deep and heavy, swallowing back any groans as he watched you make your way around your room in nothing but your panties, readying your room so you could head to sleep. he knew he had to hurry and get himself there as soon as possible, to use the sight to his fullest advantage before you made your way under your covers.

you moisturized your body, making him green with envy at the lithe way in which you touched your own body. it was an innocent touch, he knew this, but the sight still made him suffer with insatiable desire.

his hardness was painful as he worked himself at a punishing pace. he was aggressive with it, hand wrapped tightly around himself, thumb teasing the tip every so often, imagining how softly you'd touch him if you were in his place. the mere thought made him sigh, it made him close his eyes and groan to himself.

any shame left him when his orgasm finally washed over him. his eyes were closed now, his hand away from the blinds and any sight of you fully gone now. his release stained his boxers, but he couldn't find it in him to care. the image of your naked skin was imprinted in his brain. the imagined feel of your touch and of your body were all he could think about.

when guilt finally found him, he washed it away. he spent an hour under the stream of the shower in penance over what he'd done to himself in your name. he could imagine the disgust you'd feel at knowing of the way in which he'd used your body without your permission. as much as he had tried to avoid it, his infatuation turned to lust. he wanted you in mind and spirit, but he also wanted you carnally.

he went to bed with this thought in mind, only falling asleep after endless hours of reliving the day's events. the memory of your laughter calmed him, but the thought of your future date made his heart accelerate with foreign nerves.

➽──────────────────❥

the following two days repeated a similar routine.

you'd been working double shifts those days, meaning that your date had no chance of taking place as of yet. however, andrew had no complaints. he couldn't. not when he still got a front row seat of you taking your time in dressing yourself each morning.

after that first time touching himself to the irresistible view you provided him with, andrew became insatiable.

he kept touching himself the following two days. not only did he touch himself as he watched you, but he couldn't help but let his hand find its way between his legs in the shower, before going to sleep, all with the memory of your body in mind. he knew what you smelled like now, knew what the skin of your midriff felt like under his touch, had become familiar with the curve of your breasts under your shirt. his imagination made up for the rest.

everything in his mind was just a replay of you and every moment in which he'd laid eyes on you.

it wasn't only your body he thought about. his mind circled back to everything else about you. you were the sweetest girl he'd ever met. he felt guilty being on the receiving end of your kindness, felt undeserving of your smiles and of the privilege to keep you company. you were a form of salvation andrew had been unfamiliar with, and with one single look he had become addicted.

he had the misfortune of not being able to see you outside of his imagination for those two days, but he decided to spend the rest of his free time on something productive — he'd find the best place for your date.

it had to be perfect. he had to make sure that it was, that he got another smile out of you, another giggle accompanied by those flushed cheeks that made his fingers flex with frustration at not knowing what to do with all the emotions fluttering within him.

on the third day, andrew was finally able to see you again, now for an extended period of time. it was daytime then, and he knew you had a day off. maybe he'd taken the liberty of finding out where you worked, doing the math and figuring out when you'd be there, when you wouldn't. but he didn't do anything more with that information. he just needed it for peace of mind.

knowing you were off, he decided to go on a limb, to see if maybe you'd be happy to see him unannounced.

last time he'd done something like this, he got called a weirdo by baz, got a few creeped out looks by cath and a sinking feeling in his chest like he'd fucked up somehow.

but that still didn't stop him from doing the same for you. with a fresh bouquet of flowers in his hands, he walked the steps to your front door and stood there expectantly before knocking on your door.

"andrew?" you opened the door halfway, only opening it all the way after realizing it was him on the other side of it.

"hi."

the flowers were up to his chest, unmoving until you acknowledged them. he wasn't sure how to do this in a way that didn't feel standoffish.

"are those for me?" there was some hesitancy in your voice. as if andrew could've gotten them for anyone who wasn't you.

he matched your hesitance in lifting his arm up, offering the flowers out to you with nothing more than a nod and an almost muted 'yeah.'

"oh, andrew. that's so sweet of you." you grasped them immediately, pressing them to your chest before digging your nose in them to smell them. you giggled afterwards, making pope realize any risk had been completely worth it if this had been the result.

"did you wanna come in?" you offered.

he shook his head. "just wanted to give you those. and uhm ..."

he considered chickening out. the two of you hadn't seen much of each other (or at least you of him) in the past few days. he wasn't sure if a date was still what you wanted. you'd never even called it a date. thinking back to it, this could've just been you trying to make friends since you were new in town, not wanting to engage with him in anything further than a friendship. craig had insinuated as such when he caught andrew coming back from the beach after seeing you off a few days ago.

"yeah?"

and you were still smiling, still keeping a tight grip on your flowers as if they'd just become some priced possession.

"can i take you out tonight? for our date?"

bashfully, you looked down at your feet, but andrew could still see a smile on your face. you flushed slightly, which seemed like a good sign to him.

"i was scared you'd forgotten." you said when you looked back up at him. "not nice to keep a girl waiting like this, andrew."

he chuckled dryly. "i'm sorry. that's what the flowers are for. can i pick you up tonight?"

nodding, you reached out to him, flowers in one hand as you opened your arms out to him and gave him a hug. andrew stiffened at this, not having expected it without any warning. from the nonexistent distance, he could smell your shampoo, get a whiff of that perfume he'd smelled on you just a few nights ago. he could've stayed there forever, had it not been for you pulling away.

"and that's for the flowers." you teased. "i'll be waiting for you, andrew."

andrew fell in love with how you said his name. you made a point of saying it often, always with a dulcet intonation intertwined with the syllables. it was never said in anger, not even once in anything remotely monotone. it was an exciting word for you, always slipping out between smiling lips. and now it felt like a promise, something for him to hold onto until he could see you again tonight.

as he made his way back home, he tried to fight the smile off his lips. his hands were balled into fists, attempting to fight back the strong emotions he was feeling at that moment. it was a mixture of excitement and nerves. he still had many things to do. he needed to go confirm that the restaurant was perfect, that there was a perfect table on some dark corner, no loud music, needed to buy some button-up you may like, one that had a collar you'd want to touch and readjust when you saw him. it'd have to be blue, the color of your vintage car and of your nails the day he'd first seen you. you liked that color, so maybe if he wore it you'd like him a little more too.

➽──────────────────❥

the date had been a blur.

andrew had been on high alert the whole time, not knowing how to respond when he picked you up and you'd kissed his cheek with no hesitation, grabbing onto his hand as you called him handsome. he'd been equally as clueless when you stretched your hand across the restaurant table to hold his hand halfway through dinner. much less did he know what to do when it came to be time for dessert and you exchanged your seat across from his to sit next to him at the booth, head leaning on his shoulder and arms wrapped around one of his, suddenly being fed spoonfuls of the tiramisu on the menu you'd squealed over.

he'd never been on a date. not like this, at least. he wasn't sure how he was meant to react when you seemed so happy to be there, as if he was doing you a favor by gracing you with his presence.

he wasn't used to inducing happiness, not to receiving it or to giving it.

taking you home had been a blur too, walking hand by hand as you swayed your interlocked hands and made your way to your house. there, you paused at the door, turning to him with a smile. andrew returned it, smaller, shier, but there. your hands went up to play with the collar of his shirt, complimenting how handsome he looked tonight once more and making him look down at his feet bashfully once again.

"do you wanna come in?" you asked, head tilted and a sly grin on your face.

he nodded, flinching a bit when you gripped his hand once more and dragged him inside.

inside, he stood there, still as he looked around and took in the place. he wanted to become familiar with everything, to have this place feel like home to him as much as it did to you.

his thoughts were halted, though, as you grabbed his attention once again. you had turned back to lock the door, now taking a few steps towards him. you stood close, what would be too close for comfort if you were anyone else. but andrew wanted you close. he wanted you on his skin, wanted to breathe in your oxygen despite how fast his heart began beating at your proximity.

the room was silent, but andrew's heart was beating so loud he was certain you could hear it. he was anxious to see what you'd do next, but even more so to make a move of his own. when your hands lifted to lay on his chest, he sucked a breath in, hoping the hard beating of his heart would go unnoticed.

but it didn't.

"are you nervous, andrew?"

"yeah."

"do i make you nervous?"

"it's not you that makes me nervous."

you leaned in a little more, eyes dropping to his lips for a millisecond before turning back up to his eyes.

"do you want me, andrew?"

the way you said his name made him dizzy. even more so than your question. he couldn't breathe at that moment, fighting every urge to put his hands on you, keeping them stilled at his sides, knuckles white with the strength it took to hold back.

he nodded, breathing out when your hands began trailing up his chest, finding his shoulders and then the back of his neck.

"i've liked you since the moment i saw you." it was said almost as a whisper. your hand went up to his freckled cheek, thumb running atop his cheekbone softly.

"really?" his voice was even more muted than yours. he couldn't believe himself.

you nodded, now one step closer to him. your nose touched his, your breath mixed with his own. his hands hovered on your waist, not brave enough to touch, but silently begging to. his eyes were droopy, landing straight on your open mouth, thirsty for a meeting of lips.

"you're all i think about these days."

he whimpered silently. it was almost mute, but he knew you heard it. the tension in the room was too heavy for him to feel embarrassed over it. his body vibrated with want for you.

andrew didn't know what to say. speechless, he kept breathing against you. you panted against each other, spent despite your love affair barely being at its beginning.

the two of you remained at the entrance of your house. you hadn't made it far before you'd stopped him from walking further into your home, hand holding his and pulling him close without any warning.

slowly, you caged him to the wall, approaching him with slow steps until there was no room for him to run — not that he'd ever consider it anyway. still, he flinched when your hand trailed down to his jaw, thumb on his chin, angling his head so his lips would finally meet your own. you did most of the work, enticing him by lifting up your chin so your lips would touch.

it was soft at first. just a simple peck, separating immediately after, but keeping your lips close enough to touch. again, you pecked his lips. you did this a few times, always slow in pulling away and always keeping your eyes hooded enough to zero in on his lips.

you opened your lips at last, trapping his bottom lip between yours and sucking at it. this began a series of heavy kisses between you, tongues finding each other and sucking messily at one another. your hands pulled at the strands of his hair, pulling him closer as if to prevent the kiss from ever ending. you sighed into his lips any time he'd lick into your mouth, practically forcing him into holding onto you and pulling you just as close. he moaned and whined any time you pulled at his bottom lip, head trailing back so you could drag it with you and make him follow your kiss. he'd flinch sometimes, head moving back at how forward you were with your kiss. but you'd chase him every time, hands pulling his head so your noses would knock together and your lips would trap his tongue, holding it hostage as you sucked on it.

andrew's skin burned, he itched with desire for you, head completely empty as you had your way with him. he whined shamelessly when you trailed down to his jaw, kissing your way to his neck and sucking at the skin there, clearly uncaring of any marks you'd leave behind. he felt bad for how strong his grip on your waist had become, but he needed the support. his eyes were closed, rolled back behind the lids as he received every one of your love bites. he wanted them in visible places, imagined himself walking around shirtless, wearing them with pride knowing that you'd marked him as yours. he'd never been anyone's — not by his own will. but he found himself wanting to strip himself of everything other than you.

"i want you." he breathed. "please."

andrew didn't allow himself to want things frequently.

he was a well-oiled machine. obeyed orders when given, did what he had to do, always. but wanting? that was foreign to him. he hadn't been allowed to want, only to provide — whatever that meant at any given moment.

but with you, he wanted to want. he needed to try, at least. he felt safe with you, like that constant risk of rejection was completely forgotten. part of that fear still slipped through his words, but he couldn't help himself in wanting you, in expressing such desire.

"i'll give you anything you want" you breathed into his lips, barely touching. far but still close enough for your breaths to mingle.

he kissed you again then. his mouth was open, a groan leaving his lips upon the contact. your hands gripped his hair, insistent on pulling him as close as you could bring him. small hums of pleasure were released into his lips, licked and sucked by his tongue, vibrating against him in a way that had him recalibrating, readjusting to the foreign feeling of desire.

"need you closer." you moaned, tongue occupied with his own. "touch me."

his hands had been practically stagnant on your waist, now pulled at and encouraged to travel up and down your body. he went greedy with it really fast, squeezing your every curve, pulling you inhumanly close and grunting when you'd try to mold yourself to him. even chest-to-chest, groin-to-groin wasn't enough, he needed your bare skin on his, to let his tongue run down every inch of your body.

despite his urgency, he was still soft and intimate. he kissed your bottom lip, trailing down to your chin and your neck before lowering himself down to your covered chest. the thin straps of your dress didn't offer much coverage, allowing andrew to see your hardening nipples from underneath the material. his nose trailed after them, lips agape as he breathed against them, hesitant in closing around them until a sigh of desperation left your lips from above.

his tongue came out first, shy in wrapping around your nipple through the material of the fabric. he dampened it, sucking through it and taking in the vibration of your moans. your hand lost itself in his curls, running your fingers through them and softly pushing him closer to your chest.

eventually his hands gripped at your hips, not taking a handful, but letting his fingers take hold of the surface of the plush skin he found there. he wasn't sure how much he could touch you, how far he could take it before the other shoe dropped. even as you sighed so seductively into the air of the room, andrew remained with a seedling at the back of his mind telling him that this could all end at any second.

that's when you read his mind once more, always sensing even the slightest move to falter his actions. pulling at his head, you brought him back to your lips, pecking them softly a handful of times before looking straight into his eyes. yours were heavy with need, troubled in keeping your gaze on his eyes as they kept dropping to his lips.

"do you have a condom?"

he shook his head, remorseful.

"that's okay." you pecked his lips. "will you let me take you to bed?" it was whispered again. it seemed like you shared his fear. like if you acted on a whim, made any sudden movements, that it'd all be over.

he nodded, letting you take his hand and lead him into the master bedroom of the house. there, he couldn't help but stop at the entrance, looking over the room through which he'd been watching you all this time.

you stopped when his stilled hand pulled you back, turning to look at him over your shoulder. his eyes weren't on you, though. they were looking at your room, taking in every painting on the wall, every piece of furniture, the vanity in which you'd get ready every morning. andrew was well acquainted with everything in your room, recognizing every stuffed animal he could see from his window. every memory of you naked in your room came rushing back to him, causing him to swallow and for his fingers to squeeze yours unknowingly.

after a few moments of his silence, you spoke up again, getting his attention. you'd taken a few steps towards him, now standing face-to-face, your hands letting go of his in favor of settling on flat on the muscle of his chest.

"ever thought you'd be on the other side of that window?" you whispered, fingers trailing to the ends of his hair, drawing goosebumps in their wake.

"w-what?" his eyes, alert, landed on yours. you were too close for him to focus his eyes on you, almost going cross-eyed. but your eyes were distracted by his mouth, his ears, his neck, every single one being traced by your fingers.

you nodded at him, pressing one gentle kiss to his chin, then one to the corner of his lips, then to his cheek, pressing a few soft kisses in between words.

"my room? you've seen it before, haven't you? this morning? yesterday? a month ago?"

he felt lightheaded. his fingers flexed again, itching to touch you but feeling as if he did so at this moment, that softness in your voice would leave. you knew what he'd done. you were mocking him, likely playing with him as some form of punishment. but he wanted you so badly he was willing to take it — he needed you so much that he was scared to not even get this much from you.

"w-what? you-"

"shh. it's okay, baby." you whispered against his ear, chest now pressed to his and hands digging into his hair, pulling him in to rest his head on your shoulder. "did you like the view?"

dragging your hands down his body, they traced at the hem of his shirt, fingers teasing as they trailed up the expanse of his abdomen from underneath his shirt. your movements were slow and calculated, making him falter and his breath stutter.

he shook his head. not at your question, but at himself.

"n-no, i-"

"no?" your nails dragged down his chest softly. your tongue traced the shell of his ear. "i was hoping you'd do something about it. come knocking down my door or maybe sneak through my window."

he groaned at the thought (though maybe also at the way you sucked at his neck at that moment). his hands turned a little greedy by then, digging into your hips with a grip strong enough to keep you hostage if you so tried to leave.

"you knew?" he asked uselessly.

"since your first week back."

"i ... i'm sorry."

but you shook your head, your nose shifting against his cheek and nudging him so your lips would meet. kissing him a few times over, you licked into his mouth, swallowing his sigh of pleasure.

"it's okay, baby. i knew you were watching. just wanted your eyes on me" you sighed into his lips, whining when he opened his, licked your tongue bravely. "took way too long to seduce you."

you'd said it as a joke, as a lust-filled jest to relieve some of the heavy desire in the room. but andrew couldn't take it. he couldn't handle knowing that the feeling had been mutual, that you'd orchestrated a plan to get him hooked, get him panting like a dog, chasing after you in silence until he could finally push himself into making a move.

he thought about the self-control he exerted those first weeks, the repentance he'd felt at simply watching you, at the itch within to keep you all to himself. the day he finally touched himself to your body, he'd gotten on his knees and hoped you'd forgive him one day, not knowing that had been exactly what you wanted.

"i liked it. watching you." he admitted, swallowing back any shame.

you responded by cupping his cheeks, holding him far enough so you could look into his eyes. your thumbs held onto his cheekbones, gentle in your touch.

"do you wanna see it up close?" you whispered as you leaned in for a kiss, swallowing his groan in return.

"can i?"

"come here."

you reached down to pull at his hand, walking him over to your bed and gently pushing him onto a sitting position. he sat there, back straight and hands on the top of his thighs. there was a furrow to his brow. he wasn't sure what to do, how to react. inside, he was losing his mind. his eyes kept begging to reach every inch of your body, but the confident smirk on your face convinced him to keep his eyes on you.

reaching the hem of your dress, you pulled it off in a single move, leaving you in just some panties. your shoes came next, thrown off with no finesse. andrew watched every move like a hawk, fingers digging into his clothed legs and pulling at the material harshly. there was a heavy weight on his chest, he felt like he couldn't breath properly, panting at the sight like a rabid dog.

seemingly enjoying his reaction, you giggled, straddling him on the bed, hands on his shoulders before leaning down to stick your tongue in his mouth. static, his hands remained on his sides, not daring to place them on your hips until you dragged them there.

"is it as good as you remember? the view?"

"you're perfect." he groaned, hands now hovering, but still not brave enough to touch the now bare skin.

you turned soft for a moment, staring into his eyes and leaning down. "you are too, andrew."

before he could grunt some sort of disagreement or denial, you kissed him again, pushing him to lay down on the bed. his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you against his chest and groaning into your mouth. when you began to grind against him, he sucked on your tongue, humming at the way you moaned his name into his lips.

greedy, your hands reached south, finding the hem of his shirt before tickling the skin underneath it, itching to remove it. andrew sighed at your touches, pondering as to whether or not to help you undress him, but having the feeling of the skin of your back win that battle. his hands reached down to your ass, grabbing, pulling at the fat there and pushing you up against him as his hips reached up in attempts to grind into yours.

"off."

"what?"

"all of it."

andrew was nothing if not obedient. unwilling to displease you in any capacity, his hands went straight to work, awkwardly working his clothes off while you remained on top of him. there were a few accidental shoves of elbows, some bitten lips, perhaps one or two limbs trapped in fabric, but the reward for his nudity had been immediate.

andrew had never been on the receiving end of such ravenous lust, of such thirsty eyes staring him down and threatening his ruin in the most appetizing of ways.

demanding hands ran up and down his back, trailing to his front and tracing his stomach, his abs, his pecs, fingers running through every ridge and making him shudder through every second of it. his head found its rightful place resting in the crook of your neck, head turned to the side to breathe tiny gasps into your skin. andrew's knuckles remained white with the effort it took him to take in all your touches. it was an unfamiliar feeling, to have his entire being traced and memorized with such amorous touches.

he'd never been on the receiving end of infatuation, nor had he ever been quite good at being the giver of it. yet he was sitting there, his own fingers shyly reaching your hips again just so he could have a tiny taste of your warmth. you were greedier with your touch, shameless in getting your feel of him.

it was when you began trailing down his body that andrew broke himself out of his trance. when he felt the wet kisses go from his neck down to his chest, his abs, reaching his hips, his thighs, and ending at his cock.

his head was already being licked and sucked at before he could react. he was rarely one to be caught off guard, but the deep groan leaving his lips was enough indication to show just how much he'd lost himself in your affections.

you were on your knees as he laid back on the bed, legs settled on the ground from the side of it and back arching slightly when your tongue would sneak out and trace his slit in between sucks. your hands took whatever your mouth couldn't, following the rhythm of the bobs of your head. occasionally you'd pay attention to his balls, causing his hands to itch to hold your head and keep you there. but he couldn't bring himself to even try and take any control of the situation. he was willing to let you call the shots, let you run things however you wished if it meant he would be on the receiving end of it all.

his mind was fuzzy within minutes, fingers flexed as they gripped at the frilly sheets under him, hips doing their best to stay still and endure the torture your mouth provided without forcing himself further inside its wet warmth. his groans and huffs were muffled to the best of his ability, sometimes through sheer willpower, while occasionally by biting the back of his hand. the only other sound in the room was the squelch of your mouth as you played with him.

but then there were your own sounds.

looking down at the very first vibration against him, he found your eyes almost completely rolled back. your lips were pursed and releasing tiny gasps and cries around his dick. he could mostly feel the vibration of your sounds, but if he really tried, he could hear the tiny little whines you let out as you engulfed him. that, coupled by your nails dragging red lines down his thighs, made him groan in defeat.

because you were enjoying this. you were moaning louder by the passing minute, desperation taking over as you sped up your movements, nails digging so hard into him he was sure those marks would prevail for days on end. he could've come like this, could've given in and had the image of his cum being drained by your lips, could've ruined his own life with such an image imprinted in there. but he couldn't bring himself to be selfish when it came to you. he needed to atone for every soft demonstration of selfless affection you'd given him — he needed to make you feel as good as you did him, and then by a tenfold.

when he pulled you away from him, he was met with a petulant whine. pope wasn't one to laugh much, but it did almost pull a chuckle out of him to see how needy you were at that moment. he felt the same way, was just not secure enough to show it.

"nooo." you whined once you were back to straddling him, eyes meeting once more. "wanna make you come."

your eyes were heavy, lips swollen and wet with a mixture of saliva and pre cum. you weren't 100% there, clearly drowning in desire (just as he was, he was just better at hiding in plain sight). he exhaled deeply, mouth opening and closing a few times, wanting your lips on his own more than anything at that moment.

"you first."

you whined again. huffed, even. your lips met his again after that, needy, messy, wet and nasty. you wanted to give him a taste of himself, to show him what had you so obsessed past the point of critical thinking. and god, he adored it. he never imagined enjoying the taste of himself (and to be frank, he didn't), but he was convinced he'd swallow poison if it were delivered by your lips. a mess of teeth, tongues, bitten lips and bumping noses, but it created the most mind-numbing kiss he'd ever exchanged. his mind was so gone that he lost all reservations he'd had before and allowed his hands to be overcome with greed for your body. every inch was squeezed, pulled at and manhandled. he didn't care if he left you with bruises the next day (he would later, but for now he just wanted to melt into your skin, and this seemed like the closest way to do so).

as gently as he could manage, he flipped you over, hands wrapped around your frame, holding you against him and ending up above you. he wanted to copy your earlier actions, to kiss and lick every inch of your body until he had you wrecked under him. it wasn't that he wanted power over you, but he wanted to take every thought aside from him out of your head. just like you'd done from the moment he met you.

his lips trailed your jaw, unsure of where to start his mission. they eventually landed on that crook between your jaw and your neck, latching there and sucking a mark he knew you wouldn't be able to rid yourself of any time soon. he felt bad marking you, but a sick part of himself told him that this way he'd make sure anyone who saw them knew you were his — including you.

his hands held you still under him, legs straddling you and ensuring you wouldn't attempt to grind at him from underneath (which you were actively trying to do). when he landed on your chest, he sighed at the fat plush he found there, dragging his teeth down the skin until they came to contact with your areola and eventually your nipple. he hummed at your sigh of relief, wrapping his lips around it and sucking, nibbling at it and eventually pulling at it with his teeth. the same was done to your other nipple, receiving a handful of his hair being pulled at in a manner he could only describe as painful, but that felt like bliss at that moment.

it didn't take long for him to accomplish his mission, to make you grow desperate beneath him as he kissed every inch he could get his lips on. greedy, your hands dragged down his back, providing yet another space of his body that would be gifted with your marks. he groaned into your skin, returning the favor by filling your body with splotches of red and purple.

when he reached south, he took a detour from the part he'd been craving to taste the most, instead reaching the inside of your thighs and tasting the skin there. he held your legs open against your petulance to close them around his head (which he would've gladly accepted had it not gotten in his way).

andrew never thought himself to be a greedy man until this very moment. never knew he could be allowed to want to this extent, to take and get his fill and then go for some more. being rewarded for his greed was an entirely different concept completely foreign to him, receiving the breathiest moans of his name the closer he got to your middle.

and when he finally reached it, — nosing his way to your cunt, breathing in deep and shameless, your back arched, pressing yourself up against him and pushing his head down simultaneously — that's when he really lost all reservations. he dug in, fingers gripping the skin of your thighs as he pulled them apart to give space for his venture. licking from top to bottom, he landed on your clit, tip of his tongue running circles, figure 8's, his initials over and over again until your wails were so loud he knew that craig would be awoken from his nap next door due to them.

"andrew, i- fuck." you attempted.

multiple times you tried moaning out some sort of sentence, but he'd lose himself even more in you every time, taking a single syllable out of you as a challenge to ruin you far enough so you wouldn't be able to form a single word.

he groaned into you, shaking his head side to side as he licked and sucked at you, tongue going south to prod at your hole and lick away at your juices. feeding off your whines, he dug himself closer, his nose now digging into your clit as he licked into your hole.

"i'm- i'm almost there, shit. please don't stop. please please, shit, please, baby. i need-"

he blanked out the rest of your pleas. they all went straight to a corner of his mind he rarely ever visited. and there they would remain for the rest of his life, accompanying him the next time he felt deserving of your sweet whiny voice begging for him.

as you continued to cry out his name, your orgasm built up, taking over you unexpectedly as your legs clamped around his head, muffling your shrieks of his name. andrew could not have this — no, if his name was leaving your lips, he needed to be able to give it his full attention. he continued to hold you open, straining his arms as you subconsciously fought against him. the pleasure was too much for you. you writhed and cried and shook on the bed, making it hard for andrew's hips to continue to occasionally grind against the side of the mattress as they'd been doing from the moment he got his tongue on you.

he said nothing as he pulled away, instead kissing your ankle before trailing his way back up your body with his lips just as he'd traveled his way down. ignoring the hardness between his legs, he straddled you, lips curling up slightly when you pulled him down to your lips with haste.

nothing was more enjoyable to him than your taste, nothing but your own tongue trying to lick its remnants out of his own. pulling at his hair, you held him against you, greedy in the same way he'd been between your legs.

"you taste so good." he mumbled. "d'you like it?"

"mhm" it was high pitched and distracted, anxious to get back to his lips. "felt so good, andrew."

your legs wrapped around his middle, pulling his center closer to your own and grinding up.

"want more." you licked into his mouth as you said it.

"yeah?"

you nodded, hands antsy. he could feel your desperation for him in various ways. from your hands to the wetness between your legs, he knew you were genuine about your need for him, for his touch. he couldn't understand why you needed him, but he needed you so badly in return that he was unwilling to question it.

"condom?" he remembered from earlier. "i don't have one."

"like this. i'm clean. promise."

he nodded along, offered a similar affirmation before finally sneaking his hand between you. he was so pent up he groaned at his own touch, body shuddering when you whispered encouragement in his ear.

"oh, andrew." you sighed when he dragged himself up and down your slit. it made a squelching sound. it made him groan how you tried to squeeze around him when he passed by your opening. your body was begging for him; so were you.

andrew was no stranger to carnal pleasure. but it was never more than that — carnal. it was always a quick affair. in and out, a simple exchange of temporary pleasure. he'd never had anyone look at him the way you did at that moment. never had anyone's eyes widen and eyebrows furrow as they looked up at him, hands gripping at his shoulders as if they'd die if he dared pull away. that was only you.

he entered you at last, groaning an expletive that barely made its way out of his lips. you gripped him like you dreaded ever letting him leave. he was trapped inside you, and he was happy to be.

"fuck, andrew, you're perfect."

just like him, you were breathless. your mouth was agape, chin tilted up and silently begging for another kiss.

he didn't fuck you fast and hard. this wasn't some exchange; it was a beginning. he'd have time to let his carnal desires take over some day in the future (seeing as you were his now — you hadn't discussed it, but he knew). today he needed to show you how he felt.

never one good with words, andrew let the hammering of his hips speak for him, let the wet kisses pressed against your skin tell you how he already felt like he was in love. he'd had a taste of your kindness, your sweetness, your affection, and suddenly he couldn't imagine getting by another minute without it.

"you're perfect." he corrected.

you grunted lowly, your heels pressing into his ass to push him closer. when he followed your direction, giving you more and more, your cries of his name rewarded him. you gasped and choked around the two syllables that formed his name, sometimes replacing it for an expletive or for a 'baby' or a whiny praise for how good you felt.

andrew felt like he'd explode. praise wasn't his forte, but the whispered words of affirmation couldn't stop leaving his lips as he interrupted your wet kisses with them. he was even worse at receiving it, but his ears still blushed a deep red when you'd cry his name with a specific intonation that had him reeling, or when you'd scream how good he felt inside you.

you were heaven around him, made him forget about every piece of hell he'd been dealt with up until this moment. it all felt worth it now. it all made sense if this was what god had sent down to him for atonement for his suffering. greed kept growing within him as he enjoyed you, gasping when you'd squeeze around him every time he hit that spot that made your eyes cross.

"w-wanna cum. fuck, andrew. please, wanna come. want y-you to come with me."

his head fell on your shoulder. fuck. he could barely hold back when you sounded so broken for him. his hands gripped the back of your legs even tighter, pulling your back off the bed and carrying most of your body weight against him as his hips lost control. his strength had finally proved useful for something other than destruction.

"yes, oh, god, and-andrew! i'm right there."

"do it." he huffed. "do it with me."

your orgasm came first, slightly unexpected as you lost yourself under him. andrew couldn't handle it, couldn't withstand the sight nor the feeling of you melting into him. your orgasm dragged his out of him, making him let out an embarrassingly broken groan he'd tried but failed to muffle with your skin.

in that moment andrew decided that you were his. as you gasped and cried out his name, nails digging crescent moons onto his shoulders, andrew knew that this was a forever thing.

it was too soon, he knew this, but that'd never stopped his feelings from materializing. he'd known from the moment he saw you that he'd be infatuated upon the first touch. and now, having gone beyond his wildest thoughts, he knew he'd be addicted to you forever.

the soaked velvet of your walls spasmed around him, making him never want to leave that space between your legs he'd marked as his own. no part of you would ever belong to anyone else, and andrew would make sure of it. a sick part of him hoped that this first time would be enough to tie you to him forever, recalling the lack of condom as he felt every fiber of yourself wrapped around him.

he knew these were sick fantasies that would likely scare away anyone else. but not you. tilting his head up, he met your eyes, blown out as your orgasm seized.

and with just one look he knew you were just as sick for him as he was for you.

➽──────────────────❥

"you have a lot of scars."

"yeah."

"i'm sorry."

you turned your body closer to his. your hands had been shyly tracing over the many scars on his torso, some on his arms. it felt gentle, your touch. andrew had no hesitation in letting you touch him, knowing you were incapable of causing him any sort of pain.

still, he felt inadequate.

he didn't want to explain his scars. wanted to hide them and prevent you from ever knowing what had brought them on. he was afraid of what you'd think, how you'd look at him if you knew what he truly was.

"for what?"

"i'm not sure." you mumbled. "just hate that you've ever been hurt." you leaned down then, kissing the spots on his chest you'd just been tracing. when you were done, you squirmed your way back to his eyeline, pecking his lips softly, slowly.

"i'm not hurt now."

"yeah."

there was comforting silence between you after that. his arms continued to hold you against him, your hands now wrapped around him rather than exploring his body.

he hesitated for a moment before breaking the silence, swallowing as he did so.

"i'm sorry about watching you through your window."

you didn't respond at first. the two of you just laid next to each other, with him only receiving a hum in response as your nose dug into his chest, breathing him in.

"i'm not."

"did you ... did you do it on purpose?"

"not at first." you responded. "but then i saw you roughhousing with your brothers through the backyard and, i dunno, i just liked you."

"why?"

it was incomprehensible to him. he knew people were scared of him. that one look was enough to get people turning their backs on him, uncomfortable with his mere presence. it used to bother him at some point, but he'd grown so used to it by now that he'd forgotten it was possible to find someone who didn't feel that way about him.

"i just like you."

you said it with a kiss to his chest, a soft scratch of nails to his stomach and what almost sounded like a purr as you cuddled into him. all were signs that you found comfort in his presence, something which andrew was afraid to get used to.

but you made it so easy. you made him want to curl up against you and breathe in the flowery scent of your shampoo. and so he did just that. he laid next to you, tracing nonsensical shapes on the skin of your hip as you fell asleep in his arms.

the next morning he'd wake up nuzzled into your chest, hands already awake and running through his hair, comforting him in a way he'd never been before. he'd lay there and wonder if he could make this a reality.

he wondered if he could pay off your lease and take you away.

➽──────────────────❥

idk what that ending bit was but lets pretend reader is a little dumb and already in love with andrew and they run away together forever yayyy

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daydreamtdaisy · 4 days ago

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 – 𝐚. 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | OKAY. very nervous and excited about this one. it was supposed to be a two paragraph blurb... then it balloned as it always does. very special thanks to @robbyology for their kind words about exploring kink in fic. i've become sooo much more open with others and myself when writing/reading taboo and dark fics but still start shaking in my boots when trying to show that growth. eneeways, i hope you find this as hot as i did! i need this man so bad y'all, i'm SICK. if anyone can guess where i got the title from, i'll give you my a cookie <3 word count is sitting at 1.2k :)

warning(s) include language, watersports, holding!kink, freaky!pope, taboo/dubcon, reader has a vagina, pope wants to watch you pee, bodily fluids, public urination; also PLEASE remember this is fiction. do NOT hold in your pee regularly unless you want kidney failure (which can very much kill you)

Of course, Pope doesn't realize he has a piss kink until you're sitting in the passenger's seat of his truck, leg bouncing and gritting your teeth. He immediately asks you what's wrong and you reassure him that you're fine.

"Just gotta pee..." you clarify, and his eyes zip to your clenched thighs.

Gulping, he thinks. You're on the interstate and will be for a while.

"Well... you want me to pull over or–"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head. "No. No, it's fine. Don't wanna go on the side of the road."

Pope shuffles in his place, flicking his stare to you again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Pope. I'm good, just try not to hit any–" Thump. The vehicle jumps with a hard jerk, Pope steadying the steering wheel as you gasp and shut your eyes. Your thighs shut even tighter, a groan pouring from you after you hold your seat with a worried grip. "...bumps."

Mumbling a sorry, Pope scratches the back of his head. A thousand words are stuck in his throat and they won't move. Not with you less than an arms length away, doing a bad job at hiding your squirm and quiet groans.

Shit. Why the fuck is he getting hard? Is he that into you that the sight of you struggling to hold your piss is getting to him this badly? The answer is a resounding yes, and he's rock solid and bulging through the crotch of his jeans not even a few minutes later.

Luckily... or unluckily... you're too busy trying not to pee all over his seat. Fuck, the thought of that does not help the man, who ends up grunting out loud before he can stop himself.

There's a shift that happens in Pope after that... one driven by the thoughts of his cock and not his brain. He inhales silently, pushing out his next question on a tight breath.

"...they were really pushing the drinks there, weren't they. You had to have... what? Four? Five? Was kind of impressive, actually. Chugged 'em all like a damn champ."

Pope doesn't look at you when he speaks. But he can still feel the helpless stare you throw his way, your eyebrows furrowed and body rigid as you squeeze. He bets you feel great, all warm and clenched. and he wonders how much warmer you'd feel if he can coax you into letting it go while he was still inside you.

Go ahead. Call him a freak, it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Andrew," you call out, the strain of your voice twitching his cock. The fidgeting you're doing is getting worse. More noticeable, more desperate, more distressed.

"Sorry. s'probably not helping, is it? Me talking 'bout drinkin' stuff," Pope continues, making sure to drive over the small hole in the road he sees a few feet ahead. The truck bounces again.

"Shit–seriously," you start, voice wobbly with what sounds a little like embarrassment. You turn to him halfway, eyes pleading. "No more bumps. please, or you'll make me piss my pants."

"Might be you're only option, darlin'," he eases out, swallow at the way your eyebrows furrow at his words. "Don't see another exit comin' up for a while."

You curse again, this time to yourself and quieter. Turning your head from him and to the window, you bite hard into the inside of your cheek as your bladder inches closer and closer to giving out.

Not one part of you is willing to admit that the pressure feels... nice. Better than nice and it's making you wet as you sit here next to the man who is unknowingly the usual cause of your arousal.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see the thick of his arms flex as they readjust themselves.

Hm. Okay.

You need out of this car.

Now.

"Okay, yeah. P-pull over, 'm not gonna make it back into town," you tell Pope, who feels a heat bloom throughout his chest.

He obeys you with zero words, merging the truck and pulling it to an easing stop. The rasp of his voice sounds just as you're rushing to unbuckle and pop open the door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Just wait–

"Pope, what–"

"Can I watch?"

For the first time since you've gotten in the car, you freeze. It becomes so silent that you can almost hear the gulp that bobs Pope's throat. When you swivel your head, he doesn't look at you... not until you let out a small what?

A long inhale rises his chest and he holds it for a few seconds before huffing out the air, eyes cutting to look at yours.

"Can I?"

Pope doesn't blink the entire time you think on an answer. his heart jumps in his chest when you finally open your mouth.

"...okay."

He follows you away from the truck and behind a thick gathering of trees. Mouth settled in a hard lie to stop him from grimacing at the way his dick is rubbing against the fabric in his jeans with every other step.

Stomach flipping when you stop, you turn and blink at Pope. throwing him a tense smile, he quirks his mouth at you.

"So i'm just gonna..." you sputter out and he nods reassuringly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Do your thing," Pope tells you, scanning his stare to make sure no one else is around. Once he's certain, he looks back to you... eyes darkening when you start to unbutton your jeans.

Hooking your thumbs at the waistband, you pause.

"Do you... do you wanna get closer?"

Pope's answer is a hesitant step toward you. One that sucks the air from your lungs and compels you to pull your bottoms the rest of your way down. His breath hitches as you reveal yourself to him and he shudders all over.

He studies you, unmoving and eyes cemented while you lower into a deep squat and lean against the nearest tree. There's no use in trying to stop the sinking of his stare. rattling with a shaky, sharp inhale, Pope watches you... mesmerized as you finally release.

Jesus, you sound like you're coming with the noises you're making. choking out groans of relief and sweet whines. Your stream is strong and loud splashing beneath you messily, and Pope's mouth is damn near watering at your exposed slit.

"Fuck, that's pretty," the man mumbles to himself, hands clenched into tight fists. His cock is pulsing and now he's unsure that he'll make it home with needing some kind of relief of his own.

You finish with a easy trickle, and Pope hurries to offer his arm. Taking your hand, he tugs you upwards in complete silence, and you end up closer to him than you expect. It stays quiet between the two of you as Pope bends and helps you underwear and jeans back into place.

Buttoning your jeans, Pope floats his face near yours with a bite of his lip. All you can do is look at him. He looks right back.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Thank you," Pope replies lowly, hands dragging across your hips before he pulls them away.

You don't think about your next move, you just do it. Grab the thick bulge between his legs and pressing until Pope croaks.

"Might need a few more minutes," the man grates out, voice edging with a held back laugh.

Pope groans out again when you squeeze him harder.

"No worries," you bob your head, eyes brightening a touch. "...Can I watch?"

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daydreamtdaisy · 5 days ago

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: also known as the story of how you became jack abbot's sugar baby.

word count: 7.8k

tags: younger reader/sugar baby dynamic, reader is in an unspecified masters program, reader is poor (sorry girl), descriptions of burn wound, jack tends to reader's wound because why wouldn't he!, robby guest appearance, smut (hard and fast and creampie.. sorry), these two are so cute and i love this reader

note: based on this blurb. enjoy! crazy what motivation can do. go listen to don’t worry baby by the beach boys 💛

you should have known you were in trouble when dr. jack abbot of the closest emergency room handed you a full-size tube of the expensive burn gel you needed and said in a firm yet gentle voice: don’t worry about it, kid.

little did he know that you did worry about it, that you worry about everything and then some. like the ridiculous injury that led you here in the first place—ridiculous and embarrassing, a double whammy. you were writing a paper at two in the morning despite the fact that the words on the screen had stopped making sense hours ago, determined to get at least another three pages done before calling it quits.

what you really needed was a coffee, but instead, stupidly, you settled for making hot chocolate. you thought it would be comforting, like a warm hug, which is probably what you really need and since you live alone, it’s not like you’re going to get that anywhere else.

so—hot chocolate, with milk rather than water, and mini marshmallows. you make it on the stove because it’s just better that way, and despite how you feel about yourself deserving things, you think you can waste the few extra minutes to make it the right way.

except you probably should have made the cup of coffee. after two am, your brain really, really stops working. your palm ends up against the burner of your stove and you cry out from pain before realizing what you’ve just done.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck-” you curse, taking your hand to the sink immediately and running it under cold water. it stings and the pain isn’t going away, and then you realize a few other things.

one—that you have nothing besides bandaids and neosporin in this apartment. two—that you have no idea how to take care of a burn. and three—you really, really should have just gone to sleep.

on the verge of tears that are about to spill over, you keep your hand wrapped against a towel, slip into real shoes, and call an uber to the nearest emergency room. you’d walk but you’re in pajama shorts and a hoodie and it’s three in the morning and you don’t think you can handle anything else going wrong right now.

your paper is abandoned at your desk. the cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in it looks at you almost jeeringly. and you think you’ll never trust your stove again.

you wait for a little bit but luckily, it’s not as packed as you were worried it’d be. you still have to finish that paper when you get back home, and if the sun is up by then there’ll be no sleeping for you. the nurse looks at you kindly when she notices your wet eyes and wobbly chin as you explain you accidentally burnt yourself and you didn’t know what to do.

“hold tight, honey. the doctor will be right in.” you thank her and then curse to yourself—you’re reaching levels of stupidity unknown to man. you hope she’ll tell the doctor it was just a burn and whoever it is will leave it at that. you don’t think you have energy to explain this to anyone and your face burns with embarrassment at the very idea.

then the curtain gets pulled back and he walks in and whatever thought you were thinking flies out the window.

“hi, i’m dr. abbot,” he says, his head tilted down—showing you a mane of messy salt and pepper curls—and looking at the tablet in his hands. he looks up at you to confirm your name and then your birthday, though in all honesty, he could have said something completely wrong and you would have nodded and agreed.

your doctor is handsome. he’s hot. like grey’s anatomy level hot. like, some other medical show that your brain recognizes but can’t currently remember the name of hot.

“so you burned yourself? can i take a look?” as stupid as it is—you don’t think you’ve ever been stunned into silence by a man before. his words are gentle and sincere and it sounds like he really cares about whatever's wrong with you—so many things you can't begin to name them all right now. fuck, he asked you something. you nod and then he looks up at you again. “i kind of need to hear you say it.”

fuck. me. what the hell kind of doctor says things like that to deliriously delusional women at three in the morning?

“yes. yes, thank you.” you move the towel and lift your palm towards him and he takes a gloved hand to support you. you can feel his fingers against the back of your hand, holding you in place, and normally that contact would be enough to have you reeling into never-never land where all the doctors are hot and single and you’re presenting with a more much cool, mature injury.

but then you notice his arms, and you have to bite your cheek so hard to not accidentally say anything you will without a doubt regret. hot doctor is jacked, with huge arms and a scrub top that covers most of his biceps. his forearms are thick and veiny and your eyes focus on them for way, way too long. you can make out so many freckles on his skin that it presents like a galaxy. you momentarily forget how badly your hand hurts. he sucks in a breath and looks at you again, making intense eye contact that you can’t bear. you look away immediately.

“ouch. so how’d this happen?” he asks, and you groan before you can stop yourself—of course he’s a good doctor who doesn’t cut corners and has to make sure you’re not suicidal or a masochist or something. “you okay, kid?”

what the fuck. one man cannot be doing it for you in so many ways—this dr. abbot should have never existed because you don’t know how you’re going to stop thinking about him. when you meet his eyes again and can actually look into them—hazel and very pretty, because of course they are—they’re filled with concern.

you can’t imagine how crazy you must look to him right now. plaid pajamas shorts, a grey hoodie for some sports team you know nothing about, messy hair. you curse yourself for not doing your makeup earlier.

“yes, i’m sorry. i-i was just hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“yeah?” he says, with a teasing lilt to his voice. seriously, fuck this guy. “why’s that?”

“i…i was making hot chocolate. y’know, the good kind. stovetop with milk and the tiny-” jack looks at you with a smile, holding back a laugh and you lose your train of thought and trail off. “marshmallows. the tiny ones. and i was half-asleep already working on this paper, so, yeah. that’s, um, the story.”

jack asks you some other questions quietly—about what you’re in school for and how you like it—probably to distract you while he cleans your wounds. his touch alone is enough of a distraction and the way the muscles in his arms move while he does is enough to make you black out, but you still answer politely and try to not embarrass yourself further.

when your wound is all wrapped up, you cover your mouth to stifle a yawn and blink tiredly at dr. abbot.

“thank you,” you repeat for what must be the hundredth time—though you are very thankful. different people wearing scrubs interrupted him to ask a question probably three or four times and he never once stepped away from your bedside or left to go help someone else, even though you told him you could wait.

“you’re very welcome,” he stands up and you get your hand back and it feels much colder without his touch. stupid, you think to yourself, don’t think that! you are stupid! “now, don’t get this wet and change the wrap daily. when you’re changing, if it looks red or swollen or there’s any pus, you come straight back. and you’ll need burn gel. the nurse is going to give you some packets but it’s a bigger wound so you’ll have to buy a bottle at the pharmacy. that sound okay?”

you want to shake your head and tell him no, it kind of doesn’t. for starters you don’t want to leave his comfortable presence—maybe you’re just really lonely. if you had more money you’d get a cat so you’re not so alone all the time, but it’s one thing to subject yourself to poverty, bringing in a cute little kitten to your life is just stupid. oh god—there you go again. he said something and you can’t even remember what it is. you blink dumbly at dr. abbot.

right—burn gel. the real answer is no, insanely handsome doctor jack, i unfortunately cannot buy a bottle of burn gel at the moment, not until my next paycheck. but admitting all of that to him right now, after the already humiliating hot chocolate story, seems the emotional equivalent of your own personal 9/11. instead you lie and nod.

“sounds good.”

he smiles at you and you smile back, though you feel incredibly silly.

“don’t try to make hot chocolate half asleep again, kid. just go to bed next time,” jack says and you feel your face flush and burn at his words—you feel like a child getting scolded by dad. “and get some sleep, okay?”

“yeah. thank you, dr. abbot,” you say quietly. he smiles one last time, closes the curtain and leaves you in there alone again.

and though you thought it very nearly impossible, you do fuck up one more time before leaving pittsburg trauma medical center. you ask the nurse, who brings you two tiny samples of the burn gel, if there’s any way you could have more, explaining in not so many words that you’re a student and hoping that she gets the gist of what you’re trying to say.

“oh. well, let me go ask dr. abbot, and if he says yes, i can-”

“no! no, never mind. this is perfect, i’ll figure it out, um-” you scramble to your feet to get the burn gel packets and your paperwork.

“just one second, okay, i’ll be right back.” the nurse—young and very pretty and probably new, which is why she wants to make sure she’s not making a mistake, rushes out.

and you, not sure if this is exactly against-medical-advice, take your belongings and head outside to go back home.

(the nurse does go to jack—asking if she can give you some more packets of burn gel because you can’t afford it. he agrees immediately, thinking that he would have given you more if you had told him, wondering why you hadn’t. he goes back to your bed to give them to you himself, but you’re not there.)

and two days later, staring at your hand post-shower, still needing to write two thousand words before bed, you wonder if it looks a little… red.

you hadn’t gotten it wet, but you’re using the burn gel sparingly, and maybe because you’re not using enough, it had gotten infected.

fuck. you should have just coughed up the money to pay for the big bottle—you’re so dumb sometimes. you try to justify that it’s not red, it’s just the lighting, but when you take a picture with flash, you don’t think it’s in your head.

an hour later, it starts to hurt again like the first day. double fuck.

grumbling something about cyclical poverty, you pull on your hoodie over your outfit of the day, which was at least some-what cute. both things thrifted—a denim skirt and a plain pink henley—but it’s cold, so on the jacket goes. it’s a struggle to get it on without hurting your hand but you figure it out. it’s only just hit nine o’clock but it’s dark—so there goes another charge for the uber.

you go inside and go up to the lady with whom you check in, telling her you were here a few days ago for a burn, and that somehow must mean you get priority access, because the nurse—a different one—brings you back right away.

you wait for someone to tell you dr. abbot’s not here but there’s another just-as-good doctor, preferably one with normal arms and a normal smile that doesn’t make the lines around his eyes crinkle and light up his whole face and doesn’t make you fall headfirst into numerous, unrealistic fantasies, mostly centered around what a hug in those absolutely abnormal arms would feel like and—

you realize you’ve lost the plot as soon as dr. abbot pulls back the curtain.

“oh. i didn’t know if it would be you again.”

“it’s me again.” you must look starstruck, you conclude, with the way he looks at you and smiles and takes a seat on the stool in the room. now you’re the one staring—crow’s feet and all. “so what happened?”

“i was looking at it after my shower and, i-i don’t know, it just looks red. and it started to hurt again and i-i have to write so many papers and i don’t wanna lose my whole hand because i didn’t use enough burn gel-”

“hey,” he says, firmly yet still tinged with gentleness. like someone talking to a skittish animal—which, you think, you pretty much are at this point. the fact that he's the one taming you makes you dizzy. “you’re gonna be fine. you’re here now, so i can take of it.”

you refuse to let yourself read between the lines—the way he only mentions himself. the way you think he should have said so i can take care of you.

“o-okay. thank you, dr. abbot.”

you peel away the shitty, rushed bandage wrap and let him observe your palm closely. he’s so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

after what feels like ages, he tells you it’s not infected. you sigh before you can stop yourself, shoulders sagging in relief. jack looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize—like he’s a little confused and amused at the same time.

“but it’s good that you came in anyways.” you face burns when he pulls out a tube of the burn you were supposed to be using generously from the pocket of his scrubs.

“oh, um, listen, i can explain-”

“don’t worry about it, kid.” you accept the bottle and stare at him and he does the usual thing—tells you to come in if it gets worse, use the gel and if you need another tube, just come back here and find him, making you flush hard and get teary-eyed when he finally leaves.

maybe it’s just nice to be taken care of, for once. but you shouldn’t get dependent on it. you indulge in the reality until the uber is there to take you home, and then you conclude that you’ll likely never see dr. jack abbot, the kind hearted, good physician who took care of your wound twice now, ever again.

until you do.

sometimes your work writes itself when you’re in a new environment, and you blame the lack of progress on your boring, tiny apartment. there’s a coffee shop not too far from campus that another girl in your masters program had told you about. good coffee, even better pastries, and there’s always cute guys, she had said with a laugh.

you had been so focused on figuring out what the cheapest thing to buy was that you forgot the ending half of your friend’s sentence. from the hospital nearby.

there’s always cute guys from the hospital nearby.

you get settled with a small iced coffee and start typing away, working with an intent to make sure this paper gets done because it’s been put off long enough, when the door opens and you almost feel him before you see him.

it’s eight in the morning. why would he even be here? it’s not him—you conclude, staring at the back of a man in a dark blue shirt that fits him a little too snugly and green cargo pants. you don’t see the telltale black stethoscope or an id badge that tells you anything, just the profile of his back and a head of messy, gray curls.

fuck. it's him, isn't it? of course it's him. jack orders and then steps away to wait for it, hot coffee black in the biggest size they have. and when he turns around, he sees you looking at him like a deer in headlights. then you turn your head down immediately, as if you’re trying to hide and make yourself as small as you can.

he chuckles to himself because you’re pretty cute when you do things like that.

you keep your head down long enough, pretending to be so engrossed in your paper, that you get a little too locked-in, not realizing the footsteps approaching belong to him.

“is this seat empty?” jack asks, and you almost jolt with the realization that he’s so close to you.

you look up tentatively, bracing yourself for the encounter, reminding yourself not to act a complete fool like you have the last two times.

“yes. hi, dr. abbot. small world, huh,” you say, though it’s not a question, more of a cruel joke.

“yeah, kid. you still working on that paper?”

“yes. it’s, um, a real beast,” you say, before realizing how dumb you must sound to him. “oh my god, not that, it’s like a real job, or anything, or as hard as yours. it’s just taking a lot longer than usual, and-” “don’t say that. that’s plenty hard. i couldn’t do it, that’s for sure,” he says, in that gentle voice that still sounds like he’s teasing you but you know he’s not because he’s so sincere. your head feels like it's spinning from a single sentence.

“really?” you ask, feeling like a stupid, scared child all over again.

“yes.”

the validation washes over you and you try to soak in every drop—it’s been a while that someone older than you hasn’t made you feel silly for what you’re pursuing. or rather, for the fact that it is hard sometimes, that it’s not just typing away at a computer all day. the research and the readings and the discussions and everything that you pour into your work, the stuff that no one in your life save for your favorite professors seem to understand.

jack is intoxicating, and you’re beginning to realize how much of a problem that is.

he smiles at you and you smile at him, reaching for your coffee just so you have something else to focus on because his attention is almost blinding, when you stop your hand half-way. it’s empty.

you bring your hand back to your lap awkwardly and look up at him, hoping he didn’t notice. he did.

“so, are you coming straight from the hospital?” you try to pivot the conversation away from yourself because the truth is that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“yeah, i just finished the night shift. and i’ve got a couple days off so i figured i’d get a coffee before tackling my list of things i’ve been putting off.”

“that’s always a smart idea,” you say.

“yeah. you’re doing the same thing, huh?”

“i guess i just needed to get out of the house. and drink something that’s made without bodily harm involved.”

he laughs, so you laugh, and then you stare at his pretty, sparkly eyes and wonder why everything feels so easy around him. the concern that you’re not good enough or not working hard enough melts away and you feel so much lighter. your struggles are forgotten, if just for a moment, and you realize that this, unfortunately, is something very bad. because he’s not going to be around you much longer.

the barista calls out his name and he says he’ll be right back, getting up quickly. you think he would have said that he’ll see you around and in true doctor fashion, remind you to take care of your wound, but he didn’t.

you conclude that he must be saving it for after his coffee, that he’ll pass by on the way out. you’re a little distracted with your thoughts to notice that he’s gone for a little too long.

he comes back with his coffee—large and in a hot cup, the polar opposite of yours—and a pastry in a bag.

but then he hands it to you.

“oh—what?” you ask, confused.

“it’s for you. you haven’t eaten, right?” “well, no, but i-” he sets the bag down next to your empty coffee cup. “you didn’t have to do that, i, um, i-”

“that’s okay. i was a student once too, y’know.”

“yeah. wow, um, thank you. that’s so nice of you.” you’re so stunned you can’t even begin to piece together jack’s reaction. it’s a five dollar pastry, and he thinks briefly he’d buy you ten of them if you really wanted, with how grateful you seem.

“they’re making you another coffee, so pay attention for your name.”

“dr. abbot, i-” your eyes are wide like coins, heart thudding in your chest, confused and dizzy and unable to process how nice this man is.

“it’s nothing, kid. don’t worry about it.”

you laugh at how crazy this whole things seem to you—or maybe you’re just not very used to nice things.

“you should stop because i’m gonna get used to this,” you say half-joking with a smile and another laugh, taking a bite of the delicious pastry so he’ll be appeased.

“maybe you should.” you blink at him. “i gotta go, kid, but here’s my number.” he takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles the number on the back of the paper bag the pastry came in. “call me if you need anything, hm? for your hand or anything else."

you stare at him blankly, and he laughs, and heads out with his coffee, turning to look at you one last time when he’s at the door.

the barista calls out your name and there’s a large iced coffee waiting for you on the counter.

yeah, you’re in trouble.

you save jack’s contact but you don’t text him, worried that he’ll think you only want to see him for his money or the seemingly endless generosity that’s always pouring from him.

you do need need help—there's a half assembled desk from facebook marketplace that you didn't have the tools to finish yourself, despite how hard you tried. but you can't possibly ask him for help with that—he's a stranger. he's your doctor. so you don't do anything with his number.

it’s just as well because the universe has other plans for you two.

you work a part-time job to pay for your tiny apartment. it’s inconsistent, you get scheduled when they’re really busy, and now that it’s getting warmer out, there's more shifts.

so saturday morning, bright and early, you get ready, first wrapping your hand as discreetly as you can. it’s doing much better now, half of which you attest to the burn gel and half to jack’s healing powers. then your hair and make-up, and then whatever seems suitable for the hot weather today.

there’s no uniform, at least, and you decide on a black athletic skirt and a pink shirt with the material that helps you not get too sweaty, even though you’re in the shade of the drink cart for most of your shift.

it’ll be a full day so you pack lunch and fill up your water bottle before making your way to the golf course. you’re assigned a specific section and you pray to god it’s filled with stupid, rich businessman who tip way too much if you flutter your eyelashes at them.

it’s a little skeevy at times, but money is money, and no one’s ever tried anything more than a failed pick-up line or the more sober friends dragging away the drunk guy who lingers, even though they all wear wedding bands.

you make the first round, and though it’s early and you’re more of a disarming, clumsy sort of charming, when you smile brightly and say it’s five o’clock somewhere, it’s enough to the men golfing to laugh and buy hard seltzers.

a little bit later, the beers start selling, and by noon, you have to go restock your cart. it’s been a good shift—you think if it keeps up like this, your tips will be enough to put towards rent and if there’s extra, you can go find a dress if you ever work up the nerve to text jack and ask him on a date.

but post lunch, to your surprise, it slows down a little. it’s hot out and you have to admit to yourself you were never going to be brave enough to text jack. at least if your rent gets almost paid, you’ll feel better than you did last night.

you drive around on the cart, stopping in front of a tall man who you think is golfing alone. in your experience, if they’re alone, they’re looking to get drunk.

“hi,” you sing, hoping he’s a good tipper. he looks nice when he smiles at you but you never know. “would you like anything to drink?”

“two beers, please. thank you, sweetheart.”

the nickname, like always, make you a little flustered. it’s always the older guys who lavish them on you, and when they’re wrinkly and too old it’s not that big of a deal, but when they’re in this one specific age range—your heart churns remembering that jack is probably a part of that group, just like this guy—it’s enough to make you spiral. many things are, you conclude, unsure how you’ve made it this far in life.

“two?” you confirm, since you don’t see anyone else around.

“yes, just waiting on a buddy of mine.”

“oh, okay. coming right up,” you respond, leaning over to pick up two beers. when you turn back to tell them the price, again, you feel him before you hear it.

“our livers are gonna be shot, man.” you hear it in the distance.

“well, after the week i’ve had, i deserve it-” the man next to you shouts out to his friend, who you, unfortunately, recognize. you hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

“yeah, yeah. don’t come calling when you want a piece of my liver. i got it,” jack says, approaching you. you turn around to face him. “oh. hi, kid. talk about a coincidence, huh?”

you want to say something but you’re not sure how to get it out without stammering.

jack’s eyes rake over your body—short skirt, tight shirt, cute golf shoes that you had spent way too much money on. you just wanted to play the role and fit in and it had all seemed worth it at the time.

and then he notices how you’re holding onto the beers with both hands, condensation dripping onto your mostly-dry bandage. and he turns into dr. abbot right before your eyes. “hey, hey, let me take those. you’re supposed to be keeping this thing dry,” he says, handing one over to robby.

“you two know each other?” his friend says, his eyes going from you to jack and back to you.

“yeah. listen, i’ll be right over.”

“sure,” robby says. “thank you again for the beer,” he tells you and you weakly smile before he walks away.

“i-i did keep it dry. it’s doing better. but i didn’t want to turn down work so-”

“yeah, but, i don’t want you compromising the healing. how long have you been out here? have you been drinking water?”

“yes, i have,” you say earnestly, his concern for you making you light-headed, though you resist the urge to fall directly into his arms, no matter how much it possesses you.

“as your doctor, i don’t think i can recommend this.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, unsure of what else you can tell him. “you know how it is. gotta pay for coffee somehow, right?”

“you didn’t text me. or call. i was hoping for a call but i figured you’d send a text, but then you didn’t.”

“i’m sorry-” “stop apologizing. i-i’m kidding. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i just meant-” “i wanted to,” you pipe up, interrupting him. “i still want to. i just-i just got nervous, i guess. you’re like a real doctor and i’m, i’m barely a real student.” “why do you do that?” “do what?” “make it seem like it’s lesser. you are a student, you told me all about it. it’s impressive.”

“no it’s not. you don’t have to lie-” “i’m not lying.”

you pause, processing everything happening in front of you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t text you.”

“that’s okay, kid. i’ll take your word for it this time.” “i didn’t think you’d actually want to see me, i guess.”

“yeah? why’s that?” he gets in a little closer, until he’s in the shade of your cart with you. he stares intensely and you feel yourself getting warm, unable to answer, unable to even remember what he had said.

“i-i-”

“you, you?” you hear it in the distance—his friend calling out his name. jack takes a step away from you and looks over. “i gotta go. thanks for the beer, kid.” he pushes cash into your hand and you feel like you’ve been shocked with a live wire where your hands touch. “if you don’t text me, i can’t get your number, you know.”

and then he walks away. and in your hand is a hundred-dollar bill for two beers.

it turns out, that texting jack was, indeed, a mistake. you text him a simple sentence—hi, followed with your name so he knows who it is. maybe he has other former patients he’s giving his number out to—you don’t know. (you hope not, as the thought just made you nauseous.)

he calls you a few minutes later and completely unprepared, you have to answer, and talk to him on the phone as you pace around your tiny living room until your downstairs neighbor hits the ceiling with a broom to get you to stop.

jack is a planner, you realize, because after the phone call where he asked about your day and you learned about his, you have a date for friday night.

against every better instinct, you go buy a new, used dress for the date from your favorite consignment store, using the money from jack’s tip. you get dressed up hours in advance, unable to focus on your work, but rather chewing your cheek and reapplying your lip gloss until it’s time to go downstairs.

jack meets you outside your apartment, though he tells you he was going to come up. he has flowers for you but you elect to carry them, not sure if you’re prepared for him to see the tiny place you call home.

this has never happened before. your first date with a man, rather than a boy, and he brought you flowers and he’s driving you to the restaurant and he gets out first and tells you to wait and then goes around and opens the door for you.

it’s ridiculous. it’s like a movie.

the first date goes well, you think.

well—it’s the best first date you’ve ever had. jack tells you all about his life but he always stops to ask about yours, though yours isn’t nearly as interesting. instead you preen him on about his time in the service, and he tells you about the prosthetic you saw when he was at the golf course, and why he wanted to become a doctor and how he likes it there now.

(when you bring that up, he puts his hand over your injured one, still wrapped with a much smaller bandage than before, and asks how your hand is for probably the third time that night, like he has to keep checking to make sure you’re okay. it’s dizzying. everything about him is dizzying.)

he lets you pick dessert and walks you up to your door and kisses you goodnight, and you have to refrain from inviting him inside right then and there.

you stare at the flowers daily—not sure when one date had become two, and then three, and then four.

he brings you a box of chocolates—the good kind—on the second date and you makeout for twenty minutes in his car after. new flowers on the third one, when you end up seeing inside his gorgeous apartment for the first time and also end up on his lap for the better part of an hour.

and then the fourth one, which was supposed to be a late lunch after his shift at the hospital, you very nearly have to cancel. jack is outside your door and you still have a complex about your apartment, but you let him inside while you scramble around.

“woah, woah,” he says, steadying you by your shoulders and turning you towards him. “what’s going on?”

“um, work called and this girl is sick and they want me to come in but i-i have to see the bus times or call an uber and i don’t even know where my golf shoes are and-”

“just tell them no, then sweetheart,” he says, and you blink at him.

“but i should really go. if it’s busy it’s like enough to pay half my rent, and-” jack sighs, moving his hands from your shoulders to your waist.

“i don’t think you should have to worry about things like this.”

the way he says it, it sounds very final, very firm and absolute.

“i wish it was that easy,” you say, but when you turn to meet jack’s eyes again, he’s already looking at you intensely.

“it is. let me care of it.”

and it’s jarring. letting him pay for every date—though you paid for the ice cream after date two, something you pride yourself on—is one thing. letting him pay for coffee because he sends you money when you mention you’re going to the coffee shop to work is… something. but letting him pay for your life—your rent and your bills—is something else entirely. it’s dependence, it’s serious, it’s what you’d expect if you were engaged or his sugar baby or something—

“stop overthinking it. you know how much i like you, right?” you nod dumbly. “then let me take care of it. let me take care of you.”

unfortunately—it’s way, way too easy to give in. you’ve never been the spoiled sort, ever, but with jack, you get to be. you tell work you can’t come in and you don’t feel incredibly guilty about it for the first time. you get to go on your lunch date and then kiss jack goodbye and tell him to have a good day at work, instead. jack sends you a direct deposit for your rent, and you think he’s made a mistake at first—it’s almost double what you need. you call him to tell him about his mistake but he says the same thing he always does.

i know. the extra is for you. don’t worry about it, kid.

it’s incredible what those five words can do to your body and soul. it gets worse—the next time you see him, when you’re hearing home after a day of classes and he’s heading to the hospital, he takes out a little box and hands it to you, telling you to open it at home. and then he kisses you until your knees are weak and drops you off at your apartment.

on the elevator, you open it—a pretty necklace with a glittery diamond that probably costs three times your monthly rent.

you’ve never thought you’d get used to be spoiled like this so quickly—but you do. it’s not like you need so many luxurious things, but the little luxuries add up so quickly to the point where you’re overwhelmed. a new pair of shoes for every day because your old ones were hurting your soles. a large coffee and a pastry when you go to the coffeeshop to work. when your laptop stops working, you don’t freak out and cry like you’re programmed to do, you just tell jack and he helps you pick out a new one a few hours later.

intoxicating is the only word you can use to describe jack abbot and his affect on you.

and after another date—matching earrings for your necklace this time, ones that he helped you put on—you end up in apartment, staring at the bustling city below you from his huge windows. jack comes up behind you, kissing your cheek and then your ear, which makes you laugh, and then your shoulder and your neck, and you melt into his touch.

you’ve been doing nothing but kissing for the time you’ve known him, and you think you’ve been fed up for long enough. actually, you know you have, but he’s been the one insisting to take it slow, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

you wrap your arms around him and bring him in for another kiss, though this one feels slightly different. hot and wet and hard, the two of you pushed so tightly against each other that your mouth hurts. you open it further to let him push his tongue inside, and you realize as fun as this is, you need more. you need whatever jack abbot will give you.

his hands—still enough to make you think voltage is buzzing through them because every time he touches you, you feel like you’ve been hit with a live wire—grab your waist and roam up and down your back. you moan into his mouth and jack pulls away briefly, letting you catch your breath.

“please, jack?” you ask, and that’s all he can let you get out, smashing his mouth against yours again.

you squeal when he picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom and letting you land on his bed with a gentle thud.

“i wanted to stay out there,” you say softly, running your hands over his shirt, exploring his chest. your hands go to the buttons, undoing them even through your hands feel a little shaky.

“yeah? why’s that?” jack answers in that quiet, rough voice that makes you so wet you can’t think straight. he hovers over you, leaning into press another kiss to your neck that makes you moan. “wanted to give everyone a show, huh?” he presses his lips to yours and you giggle against them.

“s’not my fault you have such big windows.” then, emboldened, you keep going. “maybe i just wanted to show everyone that i can take care of you too.”

jack pulls away, staring at you with those eyes. those eyes, those eyes. it’s enough to drive you crazy, the way his gaze is so intense. you feel chills run through your whole body despite how hot and flushed you feel. you can’t help it—jack abbot makes you feel every emotion in the book at the same time.

“yeah, kid? you want to take care of me?” you nod, your hand finishing unbuttoning his shirt and helping him take it off.

“please, jack. i really do.” you let your hand wander to his bulge, palming him while biting your lip at the sheer size you’re feeling. he’s so big it’s going to hurt—though right now you can’t think about anything other than getting him inside your mouth so you can finally begin to take care of him how he’s been taking care of you.

“next time, kid, i promise-”

“ja-ack,” you whine. you think you’ve gotten a little too used to getting exactly what you want from him. it’s his own fault—he shouldn’t have spoiled you so much.

“come on, sweetheart. i thought you’d be good for me, huh?”

“but i wanted to-” you feel jack’s hands wander up your thighs, searching for the fabric of your panties, but he can’t find it. instead he feels the wetness between your legs, the your juices coating the inside of your thighs. he chokes out a laugh, burying his head into your neck like he can’t believe the sight in front of him.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath this?” he asks, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. “oh, kid. you’re in for it now.”

you squeal again, trying to fight his hard grip but jack keeps you firm in place, his lips crushing down on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. he pulls your dress up until it’s bunched around your thighs, and he’s still in his slacks but you want him inside of you so badly that you don’t think you can wait for the clothes to come off.

“shh,” jack says against your ear, nipping at it right above your pretty new earrings. “i’ll give you what you want. i just gotta stretch you out first.”

the words are enough to make your eyes roll all the way back—your head hits the pillow with a thud. jack keeps you distracted with a kiss while your wrap your hands around his neck. his finger get closer and closer to where you want them, and when he slips inside one thick finger, you gasp against his lips.

“yeah?” he teases, “feel good? i know, sweetheart, just take it.”

the stretch of just one is incredible, but then he adds a second, pushing them in and out with his palm flush against your clit, the pressure building in your stomach already.

it’s a combination of everything, you think. the soft sheets that smell like him, the way you’re both too eager to even take your clothes off. how the jewelry you’re wearing is from him, just because.

and finally, his weight on top of you, even when you’re begging him to let you take care of him for once, he can’t rest, he can’t stop it, like it’s so engrained in him. like his only mission in life is to take care of you.

jack adds a third finger and you don’t think you’ve ever been so stretched out in your life. panting against him, you lean in for another kiss, sloppy and wet.

you pull back so you can stare at jack’s expression while he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, so wet that he’s almost slipping out. he’s flushed, pretty silver hair damp against his forehead, and you reach over without thinking to brush some of it away.

“c’mon kid, cum for me. i know you want to. let me take care of you, hm? don’t think, don’t think, just cum-”

and you do. it’s explosive, though you’ve always thought this sort of orgasm was impossible for you to achieve. you guess nothing’s impossible when jack abbot is the one doing it. you hear him before you fully feel it—fuck, yes, good girl—and your entire body tenses and tightens as that coil low in your belly snaps and washes over you. if you had ever thought his touch was electric, then today it was lightening. he rides you through it, not stopping until you’re practically pushing his hand away, and even then, he only stops to laugh against your sweaty skin.

like he knew it’d be too much for you. like he’s only just begun breaking you in.

every muscle is aching and sore by the end of it. your body collapses into his mattress and you flutter your eyes shut, still leaning for another kiss, even when your brain is so tired it can’t think straight.

“good job, sweetheart,” he says, and you hum against him. “you think you’re ready for it?”

when he says it like that, you can’t help but nod.

jack lines himself up with your leaking cunt, and you can’t imagine what a mess you’ve made on his nice sheets. but when he pushes inside you, your eyes roll back again and you lose all train of thought.

damn him—you can’t even keep a sentence coherent anymore. it’s not fair.

you feel so full. your toes curl and your muscles scream at you, but with jack’s grip tight on your hips, the fabric of his pants rubbing against you because he had just taken himself out, not taken them off entirely, it’s hard to complain.

he sets a rhythm that makes you cry out against him, so loud that you’re worried his neighbors will hear. but jack doesn’t seem to care, encouraging you, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars over and over again.

the sheer size of him is enough to make you cum again, you think, deliriously and delusionally.

your eyes are shut tight, but when you open them and meet jack’s eyes, you smile at him like you can’t believe this is real.

“j-jack,” you moan, unsure of your own volume. you hear the bedframe thud against the wall repeatedly, feel jack hold your legs up to get deeper in you, if that’s even possible. he looks down at where you two are connected, like he’s unable to pull his gaze away from there. “jack, it feel s-so good,” you hiccup, wet eyes meeting his.

“yeah, kid?” he asks, the words coming out in a shuddery breath. “fuck, oh fuck.” hearing him say that makes your toes curl, and when he picks up his pace and starts battering against that one spot in you, your feel it again—the electric current washing over you and running through each nerve, making your limbs into jello and your heart race so fast you think it’ll thud out of your chest.

you dig your nails into jack’s back, leaving little crescent shaped marks in your wake. and when you bring him for another kiss, you whisper it against his lips, watery eyes blinking up at him through wet eyelashes, just because you felt like you had to say it.

“thank you for taking care of me, jack.” you feel it before you hear him—his hips stuttering, streams of hot cum filling you up endlessly until you’ve made a mess all around him. he groans loudly—a noise that you wish you could hear on repeat from how good he sounds, how good you made him feel.

none of this is grounding—it’s so extremely un-grounding that you feel like you’re floating on clouds.

though you wish he wouldn’t, jack pulls out of you. his sheets must be ruined by now.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and you can’t believe this is your life.

“yes. are you okay?” you ask quietly, throat sore.

“yes,” he says, with a laugh, he helps you pull the skirt of your dress down and curl up next to him. his chest is warm and you think you could fall asleep pressed up against him like this.

you trace patterns on his forearm where it rests next to you and stare at all the freckles.

“we should have stayed out there. the sun’s setting soon.”

“yeah?” “yeah. i like your apartment.” you sigh and mew next to him, curling in closer, close to sleep.

“yeah, kid? how would you feel about moving in?”

♡ thanks for reading!

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daydreamtdaisy · 6 days ago

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random pope moments that make me bark

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daydreamtdaisy · 11 days ago

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Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction.

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling.

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened.

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do.

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled.

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?”

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen.

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking.

But his eyes lingered on the top one as he straightened up to his full height.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—”

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “you did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him—“you’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded.

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

��Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did.

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents in the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you?

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement.

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving.

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?”

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No false facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years.

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second.

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face.

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.”

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie.

He was practically salivating, now.

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.”

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had.

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance.

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.”

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers.

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside.

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours.

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did.

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled.

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.”

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight.

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured sweetly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again.

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “inside.”

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck.

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed.

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

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