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qveerthe0ry · 1 day ago

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Oh my god. My Shayla 🥺🥹🥰💕

Nonbinary Din Djarin has my whole heart (and so do you for writing this)

Lanz Carpo

Summary: Anxious to find the missing Beroya, Din is forced to confront truths that had lain hidden

Pairing: None! Just a young Din trying to figure shit out.

Written for @mandaloriankait ‘s Pedro Pascal Pride Event

A/N: Happy Pride! I kind of based this off of this moment I had around this age where I realized that despite growing up and getting cast as both men and women, most theater companies wouldn’t do that. If they cast me as a man it would be a ‘choice’. And that’s on gender dysphoria.

If I tagged you it was cause I thought you might like a Pride fic. Feel free to tell me if you would like to be taken off that list in the future.

Word Count: ~2.3k

Tags/Warnings: Gender Dysphoria / Confusion. Young Nonbinary Din Djarin (teenager). Being scared about the health of a parent. Discussion of injuries.

Graphics by @/saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Read on AO3

“Din Djarin, do you wish to join the search?”

Din’s Buir had been gone for 2 months. He hadn’t contacted the covert in 33 days.

At 16, Din was old enough to volunteer to help, and jumped at the opportunity.

The bottled up energy from being alone had nowhere to go, crawling up Din’s arms like electric tendrils.

Din nodded at the Armorer. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” The room echoed.

Din had rarely left the covert since being taken in all those years ago. Life before seemed like a distant dream, the memory distorted as if through thick glass.

With fists clenched, Din walked to gather weapons and supplies for the trip with the rest of the volunteers. It was essential to find their Beroya. Without him, the covert had limited income, leaving everyone on edge.

“The last message was sent from Coruscant.” Rasika advised. “He had finished a job there and had found a lead on the next bounty. We will retrace his steps and go from there.”

Din nodded in understanding, starting towards the ship.

When they arrived in Coruscant, they were each assigned a job. Din was told to go to a local tailor who may have seen their lost Beroya.

Restless, Din nodded, turning to leave.

“Djarin!”

Slowly turning back around, Din met the gaze of Paz Vizla’s helmet.

“Be careful. Don’t get cocky.”

Din scoffed, incredulous before turning and leaving.

Coruscant was nothing like anything Din had ever seen. It was exponentially more populated than what Din remembered of Aq Vetina, Concordia, or any of the planets they had set up coverts on since The Great Purge.

Unaccustomed to navigating the throngs of people, Din focused on finding the tailor’s quickly, finally locating it after only a few turn-arounds.

An older Twi’lek looked up as Din approached the front desk, doing a double take before straightening up.

Snapping his fingers, two more Twi’leks in long dresses appeared by his side.

“Good afternoon!” The first Twi’lek said, courtesy dripping from his tongue. “Please make our guest comfortable.”

As the two other Twi’leks stepped forward, Din held up his hand to stop them.

“I’m here for information.” Din said, hoping the filter of the helmet sounded tough.

The first Twi’lek dismissed the other two immediately, raising his eyebrows.

“I take it you’re here about your friend?”

Din’s hands clenched into fists once again.

“You’ve seen another like me?”

“Of course! Must have been about a month ago now. Just like you actually, wasn’t the chatty type, right down to business.”

“What information did you give my friend?”

“He asked if I’d heard much about a spice runner named Usak.” The tailor continued smoothly, seemingly unbothered by the beskar before him. “I told him I hadn’t as we do not serve spice runners.”

Din turned around, ready to leave in frustration when the tailor added: “But I recommended visiting Lanz Carpo, as I hear it’s a lovely place to relax.”

Din froze before turning slowly back to the tailor.

“I’ve never heard of Lanz Carpo being a place of relaxation.” Din said carefully.

“I think you’d be surprised.” The Twi’lek said with a knowing smirk.

Din nodded slowly before turning towards the door.

“Do take care of yourself.”

The Twi’lek’s words gave Din an uneasy feeling. Had Din’s Buir walked into a trap? Surely if Din felt that this was suspicious, the Beroya would have too and taken precautions.

Walking through the adjacent building on Coruscant was like walking through a completely different world. Din noticed how human men and women seemed to dress vastly differently here, filling different roles. Din had never really thought about gender. It hadn’t been necessary in training as you couldn’t tell with mandalorians unless they told you, but looking around, Din was confused by how everyone seemed to act and treat each other differently based on these arbitrary made up outward differences. Shaking the feeling off, Din continued back to the ship, finding that a few other mandalorians had also returned.

“You find anything, Djarin?” Rasika asked.

“I might have a lead. The tailor seemed to be feeding me information, but I’m not sure I trust it.”

“Go on.”

Din explained what the Twi’lek had said, mentioning how eerie it had all felt.

“We shall wait until the others return to decide a course of action.” Rasika declared.

As they waited, Din couldn’t help thinking again of how strange all of the interactions on this planet had been. It was all unsettling, from the Twi’lek suggesting they all go to the planet run by the Carpo crime syndicate to the division of gender. Din had never connected to the thought of gender in the way that others had described it. Rasika drew Din back to the present with the clang of Beskar on Beskar.

“Djarin’s lead seems like the best information we have received. I propose that we head to Lanz Carpo. As we do not have many contacts there, I suggest we stay in groups.”

The other mandalorians nodded their approval.

The flight to Lanz Carpo was tense and silent, everyone double-checking and cleaning their weapons in preparation.

Din’s eyes squeezed shut, hoping against hope to see his Buir again soon.

When they arrived, Rasika divided them into groups of three.

“Djarin! With me.” She said. Din nodded in understanding.

“Protect each other. Use your comms only when necessary. If you have foundlings in your group, they are the priority. This is the way.”

“This is the way.” They all echoed.

Din fell into step behind Rasika. She was a respected leader within the community. A lethal warrior.

Din’s heart pounded loud enough that they were sure Rasika could hear it as they navigated the alleys of the syndicate-controlled planet.

“Pssst!” A voice sliced through the silence.

Din turned around to see a Tholothian beckoning them through a side door.

“It’s not safe, mandalorians. Come inside quickly.”

Rasika froze for a moment and Din used his helmet’s heat sensors to make sure it wasn’t a trap before they both moved inside.

“Have you seen another like us?” Rasika asked with authority.

“Huh. I hadn’t heard much of female mandalorians.” The Tholothian remarked suddenly, ignoring the question. “I always assumed they stayed back with the children.”

Rasika’s back straightened as Din struggled to understand the man before them.

“Women often fight and men often stay home as needed in our culture.” Rasika said tightly. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Din repeated instantly.

“You don’t see many men who would stay home with the children or women leading the fight. It is refreshing.” The man said.

Something within Din clicked into place like the harsh clang of a hatch on an old ship. When people looked at Din, they saw a mandalorian. If Din was without armor, what would they see? It seemed that everyone else made assumptions based on perceived gender.

People were seen to be doing things ‘as a man’ or ‘as a woman’, even when they were fighting against stereotypes or gender norms.

A stinging started in Din’s nose and eyes, a roaring creeping in their ears.

Utterly confused and overwhelmed, Din turned, looking around the room until something shiny caught their eye.

Din moved instantly towards the object, brushing past the man harshly.

“Hey, wait!” He called to Din.

Din nearly fell over when they realized what it was. One of Din’s Buir’s pauldrons sat on the table.

Rage ran through Din as they turned back around, drawing their blaster and pointing it at the Tholothian.

“What have you done to him?” Din asked angrily. “Where. Is. He?”

The man quickly looked back to Rasika, only to find her blaster trained on him as well.

“Wait! Wait!” He said, raising his hands in the air immediately. “It’s not what it looks like. He’s safe.”

“Where?” Din repeated.

“Upstairs. Just- follow me.”

Din looked at Rasika for guidance. She nodded, and indicated that Din should go in front, the man sandwiched between them. Din cautiously led the way up the stairs that the man had indicated.

“He’s recovering. I’ve been taking care of him.” The man said in a pleading voice.

Din spun around to face the man again.

“Recovering from what?” Din snarled.

“Din?” A weak but familiar voice inquired from the door to Din’s right.

Din reacted immediately, charging towards the door and opening it to reveal a dark but comfortable looking bedroom. A figure on the bed drew Din closer. Without thinking, Din flew towards the bed, dropping to their knees when their brain caught up with them. It was their Buir, missing some pieces of his armor, but his helmet still securely in place. A sling was fastened around his bandaged left arm.

Their Buir reached out his unbandaged right arm, pulling Din close to him until the foreheads of their helmets leaned on each other.

“Din’ika.” He breathed.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Din asked quickly, leaning back to try to assess the damage.

It was then that their Buir explained what had happened. How he had followed the lead from the tailor’s shop and had gotten back to his ship only to find his comms were out (which he unfortunately hadn’t noticed until he had already set the course for Lanz Carpo. How he had chased his bounty for a few weeks across the planet until the bounty was able to get the jump on him, wounding him in the arm and right beneath the bottom of his chest plate. How he had been unable to find a way to call for help and was saved by chance when the Tholothian had found him and taken him in.

“The streets have been… unsafe as of late, so I haven’t been able to locate his ship or try and locate Bacta. Without the help of it, his healing has taken longer.” The Tholothian chimed in.

Rasika set to work immediately, contacting the other mandalorians to relay the information and help find his ship. After the initial rush of activity, Rasika looked briefly between Din and their Buir before leading the Tholothian out of the room and closing the door behind them.

Din immediately deflated, no longer having to keep up appearances.

“I’ve been so worried.” They said, their voice breaking slightly.

“I’m alright Din’ika.” Their Buir reassured them, pulling them closer and settling Din’s helmet close to his chest. “I’ve thought of you everyday. You are growing into a fine warrior, perhaps even a Beroya if you were able to help locate me.”

Din let out an amused chuckle at that, unable to picture themselves measuring up to their Buir.

“Don’t you scoff at me!” Their Buir exclaimed. “I’ll have you know I think you’d be a perfect Beroya.”

Din felt tears glide down their cheeks under their helmet, unable to be wiped away.

The trip back to the covert flew by. Before Din knew it they were sitting back in their room with their Buir, who was looking almost back to normal after being given access to Bacta.

“Something has been troubling you since we arrived back.” He stated, his head tilted to the side as he looked at Din.

Din froze for a moment before letting out a sigh, knowing they couldn’t get anything by their Buir.

“I have not been around… non-mandalorians in a long time.” Din began, shifting in their seat. “Their customs and beliefs… confused me sometimes.”

“Confused you in what way?”

“I had a moment of realization that if anyone ever saw me without my helmet-“

“They will not, Din’ika.”

“Or if they decided my voice was manly or feminine, they would assume so much about me without evening blinking.” Din finished. “It- that even if I defied expectations of gender, I would still be put within a box, a box that feels wrong.” Tears sprung to their eyes and they attempted to scrunch their nose to stop the stinging they felt there.

“Din.” Their Buir said softly.

“I have grown accustomed to Mandalorian culture and the gender neutrality of Mando’a.”

“It is true.” Their Buir said more firmly. “Mando’a does not use gender as Basic does. I am your Buir. Not your mother or your father. This is because in our society it is not relevant to our conversations. It does not factor into our decisions or roles within the covert. It is not for anyone to share their gender unless they choose to for their own reasons.”

“Why does it matter so much to others? I don’t understand.” Din pleaded. “The thought of it is- distressing.” Din paused a moment before continuing in a near whisper. “It breaks my heart.”

Din’s Buir’s chest ached at Din’s words.

“I do not know, but it need not be in your life this way.” He said. “When we speak in Mando’a, it will not be a necessity, and when we speak in Basic, there are ways around it.”

“How?” Din asked, confused.

A knock sounded at the door and both of them stood up to answer it.

The Armorer stood before them, and they both lowered their heads briefly in deference.

“I am glad to see you home.” She said with authority. “And I have heard that Din did well on the mission to find you. You must be proud.

“I am. They did well indeed. I am always proud of them.”

The words hung in the air, a warm feeling spreading through Din as they realized what their Buir had said. Their chest felt tight in the best way as they basked in both the praise and the language that their Buir had used.

The Armorer’s head tilted slightly as she regarded Din before she straightened up and spoke.

“Indeed. They hold much promise. They might make a powerful Beroya one day.”

“This is the way.”

Din couldn’t stop the smile that spread across their face.

Tagging some people who might like a Pride fic? Idk? @for-a-longlongtime @qveerthe0ry @syd-djarin @sp00kymulderr @perotovar @vindictivegranny @cosmickid-inmotion

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qveerthe0ry · 1 day ago

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please, please, please

#I won’t ever be over this #50 year old man with sweater paws I’m gonna THROW UP #softest most babygirlest boy I’ve ever SEEN UGH

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qveerthe0ry · 4 days ago

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Hi, I’ve recently discovered your blog (LOVE it) and was wondering if you’d be open to writing Joel Miller x top ftm reader

I’m not sure if requests are supposed to be specific (and forgive me if it’s too detailed) but I’d love to see Joel exploring his newly found attraction to men (bi Joel is so dear to me) and quickly finding out that he’s so *incredibly* sensitive and needy when his ass is being played and toyed with

Omg anon. My sweet anon. Thank you for sending this to me OVER SIX MONTHS AGO 😭 I'm so sorry it took me so long. I could lie and say I didn't see it, or that I was saving it for pride month, but I've literally written and re-written this one like 3 times over to get it right. Thank you for your patience, I hope you're still out there and see this lol.

Without further ado, enjoy this gay shit and happy pride! 🏳️‍🌈

Guys - Joel Miller x ftm! Reader

Word Count: 5,849 Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: brief talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, amab terminology for afab genitalia, reader is on T and has bottom growth, reader has top surgery scars, oral sex, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, Joel sucks the strap Betas: my literal soulmates @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you so much for all your help and feedback on this 💕

Joel, 41

New to dating and to men. Recent empty nester trying to figure things out.

It wasn’t promising, this man’s dating profile. But god did he look gorgeous in those three selfies that looked like they were taken on a Motorola Razr— the original one.

Still. You gave him a chance. And now you’re pleasantly surprised by the man he is.

The stoicism is just shyness, you find, a little timid exploring his sexuality for the first time. And the old-fashioned way about him influences his music taste and beer choices— not his ideals.

You knew he was bisexual, but people born in his generation, in Texas, aren’t often open-minded.

You’re surprised, is the thing, about how he’s reacted to you being a trans guy and how he treats you. Like a bro, but better, because he blushes when you tell him he looks nice and gets nervous when he wants to kiss you.

His nerves don’t last too long. He waits a gentlemanly amount of dates before finally accepting your invite inside, and then sucks the life out of you through your t-dick.

When you return the favor, and slip a finger just past his taint, he loses his fucking mind. It’s all you can do to not rub your grubby little hands together and laugh like an evil movie villain.

You gather him up into your arms as he comes down, panting and glistening a delicious sheen of sweat all over. He nuzzles into the scars on your chest and his sigh tickles through the wiry hairs there.

“Never had anyone touch me like that before.”

His voice is gruff, but still wavers with a tint of vulnerability.

“Did you like it?”

Then he laughs, deep chuckles that you feel in your own chest.

“Too much for my own good, I reckon.”

And just like that, a plethora of possibilities stretch out in expanse in your mind’s eye. You’re gonna have so much fun with him.

You give him time to ruminate, send him off with a nice goodnight kiss and plans for another date night.

A movie night. He shows up in gray sweatpants that should be illegal and a tight navy shirt that hugs his arms. You reach out and touch as you greet him with a kiss, and try to will the blood away from your cock so you can at least start the movie.

You’ve got your bedroom all set up. Your bed is a nest of pillows and blankets, the lighting is low with candles and dim lamps, and everything you need is prepped and ready just out of sight in your bedside drawer. It’s all in hopes that it eases his mind, gets him relaxed and cozy enough to enjoy every bit of what you have planned for him.

He smells like oranges and eucalyptus when you snuggle against his side, warm and bright and very clearly freshly showered. He leans into you but his jaw is tight and clenched as the title sequence plays out. You settle your leg on top of his, press your nose even deeper into those slightly graying curls and kiss a spot behind his ear that makes his shoulders go a bit more lax.

You smile against his skin, let your hand splay out over his chest to feel his thumping heartbeat.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take advantage of me,” he mumbles.

You chuckle, shift your leg a little higher, and find he’s already starting to fill out the front of his pajamas.

“Maybe you don’t know any better.”

His breath hitches, right there under your palm, stuttering his built chest. It makes you twitch in your briefs and squeeze his solid pec.

He’s been texting you later at night than usual these past few days. You know he’s been touching himself the way you touched him the last time you were together. You know that just last night he came all over his shower tile with two fingers inside himself, thinking about you. He told you this.

But still, he’s bashful now, maybe a little anxious. His foot bounces underneath your shared blanket and his rough, calloused fingers tap a frantic rhythm on your thigh.

“Joel,” you mumble, “are you okay?”

He nods immediately, clearing his throat.

“‘Course I am.”

But his Adam's apple bobs almost comically when he answers, and his lips twitch upward but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous. We don’t have to do anything.”

His head shakes again, fast, and it’s kinda cute how he’s seemingly turned into a bobble head.

“I’m not—” he sighs, squints his eyes closed and leans his head back against your headboard. He huffs and mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘it’s stupid’ under his breath.

“Not stupid,” you insist.

He opens his eyes back up and they’re so wide and deep brown when they look at you.

“Feel like I’m all bark ‘n no bite, textin’ you about it last night… and now I’m shakin’ in my boots.”

You roll your eyes but you smile at him.

“You think I haven’t done the exact same thing about a million times? It’s practically a queer right of passage.”

He bites at his plush bottom lip. You can’t look away as his teeth release it and leave it glistening in the warm orange lights of your bedroom.

“I want to. Bad. Just— go easy on me.”

You hum, nuzzle back into your spot along his neck.

“I’ll be so gentle, Joel. I’m gonna make it so good for you. All you gotta do is sit back and relax, and tell me what feels good.”

“Fuck, yeah, okay.”

Your smile spreads against his warm skin, and that’s where you start. His ear, the shell of it, the lobe. The taut tendons in his neck as your hand creeps under his shirt. His collarbone, once he’s thrown his shirt off. His nipples, something you have yet to explore, and feel delight all over again when it makes him whine high in the back of his throat. You backtrack just to capture his lips again, let him lick into your mouth and nibble on the tip of your tongue until he begins to liquify under your touch and rock his hips into nothing.

Your hand spans his flank, feels every tensing twitch of his muscles there. He sighs as his tongue curls against yours, and it warms your already heated face. You explore lower, tease at his waistband, and then flatten your palm to dip below. You’re sandwiched between the mattress and his asscheek, fuzzy like a peach and just as plump. When you squeeze it he hums and turns more toward you, allows you better access to knead it.

Arousal trickles through you, oozing slow but steady. Your head swims with it. Foggy, lazy, serene but intense. You roll your hips into him and let yourself make the noises you normally try to suppress, because you want him to know just how much you’re into this too.

But he’s straining against the jersey knit of his sweats, and his lips tremble against yours, and you have to define the line between worship and torture before you get lost in it. So you squirm down his body and watch how his eyes are nearly black, how his lips blush in the lamplight, how his beautiful sturdy chest heaves.

“You’re so gorgeous,” you sigh.

His stomach wavers under your lips, and he huffs and shuts his eyes and bites his lips and he’s perfect.

You nip at his hip bones, marvel at the thin, silky skin there. Following the trail of hair that entices you down, you curl your fingers around his waistband and flutter your gaze up. He’s nodding before you can even focus on his face, tilting his hips up to encourage you.

You unwrap him like a present, a slow anticipation until his cock springs free. The clear string that leaks from his slit reassures you that this quiet, timid Joel is just nervous. That the way he bites his lip when you shove a pillow under his hips is more anticipation than fear.

He’s so beautiful like this. You don’t know where to begin. You kiss the hinge of his thigh, nuzzle into the heady scent of him, close your eyes and then open them again when you realize you don’t want to miss a moment of this. Your nails drag up and down all the sparse hairs above his knee, and you only freeze when you hear a hitch in Joel’s breath above you.

“Okay?” You ask, searching his expression.

He nods and you watch his chest inflate with a purposeful breath.

“Yeah, just… not used to anyone wantin’ me like this.”

God.

His words slice right through you.

“Well… get used to it, cowboy.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his cock pulses next to your face.

Then, you develop a one-track mind, dead set on making Joel feel wanted, just like this, exactly the way he is.

His cock jerks again when you breathe on it, and then once more when you take the head into your mouth. He hisses and you don’t give him time to get his bearings. Just slowly sink down as far as you can and let his groan fill your ears.

You suckle, tease him under your tongue before you pull back and then slowly sink down again.

His noises are going to drive you insane. Surprised gasps, calculated exhales, a little whimper so quiet you know he’s trying not to let it escape.

His hands find your shoulders, squeezing and releasing, over and over, like a nervous tick. It only encourages you to take more of him and to bob your head faster. You start to drool from the effort, and you catch it in your hand and caress it over his sac. He makes another one of those noises and you press down into the mattress to alleviate even a fraction of the tension.

Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook him, you work your fingers behind his balls, to that smooth strip of skin just behind it. His thighs clench, and his hips twitch, and he curses above you in a low, gravelly tone.

You reach farther back, but before you make it to the fun part, he’s pushing on your shoulder to move you off of his cock.

“Careful–” he gasps, “gettin’ so close already.”

He looks bashful when your gaze flickers up to him. You just smile, and tell him to breathe, and place teasing kisses over his thighs. When you feel his muscles release their strain, you sneak a hand under his knee. He gets with the program, planting his foot flat on the bed, and then the other.

“You’re doing so good,” you whisper, almost scared to tell him, hesitant to lay it on too thick.

The way his thighs tremble on either side of your head tells you he’s more than fine with it.

You take one of his balls into your mouth, swirl abstract patterns with your tongue until his cock starts to jerk above you. You kiss between them, nuzzle them with your nose. It’s hard to snap yourself out of it. You’d be so content to lie here for hours and revere every nook and cranny of him.

But Joel’s shaking with anticipation, and you’re harder than you’ve ever been in your entire life. So you sink yourself lower into the mattress and crane your neck and lick one long stripe across his hole.

“Jesus fuckin’– shit.”

His legs wobble, threatening to trap your face between them.

“That okay?”

“Yes! Yeah, god… Didn’t think I’d like that so much.”

You’re able to hide your smirk from him, but you know he hears your dark chuckle.

“Good. Just… relax, yeah?”

He hums in agreement. His hand stops fisting the sleeve of your shirt and smoothes it out instead. Something about it makes your heart pound harder and feel twice as heavy.

Without the element of surprise, you’re able to coax his cheeks apart with your thumbs. You stroke the hairs there, finer than other places on his body, almost soft. You gently brush against his hole and it spasms under your touch.

Beautiful.

You don’t mean to say it out loud, but you do, and Joel huffs and tells you to shut up in the weakest voice you’ve ever heard come from him. But you yield. Your mouth has so much more to offer, anyway.

His hole flutters against your tongue and you groan at the feeling of it. Already so eager for you. You flick against it, rapid, and then press flat to feel how he responds. It makes him whine, all hoarse and high-pitched. The sounds make you ache. You want to be inside of him so bad it’s bordering on painful.

Joel shares the sentiment. You stiffen your tongue and he sucks you in, his tight rim squeezing around you.

“Christ almighty,” he breathes.

You chuckle against him. It almost sounds like he is praying; his voice is full of awe and begging for mercy. He chuckles too, though it’s choked and thick in his throat. It warms you, makes you feel floaty as you get back to lapping him up and spearing him on your tongue.

He feels so good. He’s warm and soft, and becomes pliant so much quicker than you thought he would. He urges you on with weak little pleas, with the crude hitches in his breath. He even grinds down into you, begging, as some of his pre-cum dribbles onto your cheek.

“More,” he says.

It doesn’t register at first. You’re too busy trying to get your tongue as far into him as possible. But soon enough he says it again, louder and unmistakable.

You wonder what you look like to him when you finally retreat from between his thighs. You can feel your own saliva drying on your cheeks and chin, feel your chest heaving like you’ve just run a goddamn marathon.

“You want more?”

He just nods, and takes his cock in his hand.

You’re overdressed, you realize. In too much of a hurry to get him where you wanted him that you didn’t even level the playing field. So you shed your clothes in haste, unceremoniously, wiping your mouth with your shirt before throwing it elsewhere, and wiggling out of your pants without much grace. But it doesn’t seem to bother Joel, your inelegance. In fact, the way he’s looking at you makes him look like he’s hungry, or possessed. It makes a whole new swath of flames engulf you.

He sits up, and you want to protest, tell him to just take it easy, that it’s all about him. But he grabs you before you can even open your mouth. His big, calloused hand lands on the back of your neck and he kisses you.

It surprises you, given where you had just been, and the fact that he’s never let anyone do that to him before. But he licks into you like a madman, like he wants to erase any trace of him from your mouth.

It’s also impossible to hide how worked up you are, now. His other hand finds the evidence, your hard t-dick and the slickness right below it that trickles down your thighs. He growls, much more confident now, and gets a few quick strokes in before you’re pushing him back down onto your bed. His brow raises in question, and you tut at him.

“Not right now, big guy. This is about you.”

His mouth is open, breaths puffing out fast and heavy. His eyes travel up and down your body again, so tangible that it makes you shiver.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, though.”

And out of all the things you’ve done so far, you may be more flustered than you’ve ever been before. Because usually he’s such a gentleman about it, calls you handsome, or a looker, or something equally as cliche and old-fashioned. But now it seems that all the push he needed to let his guard down was a hearty rim job. It’s excellent.

“Ditto,” you smirk, “but I’ve got plans for you.”

He hums, settles back down into the pillows. He watches as you lean over to your bedside table, curious, but not curious enough to ruin the surprise and take a peek. You just retrieve the lube anyways and settle down beside him. One last time before your hands get messy, you dote on him, swipe his hair off of his damp forehead and thumb at the bald patch in his beard.

“You wanna take my fingers now?”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He just nods and gapes at you.

You readjust, get him to hike his opposite knee up and then slide his other thigh between your legs. You curse at the sweet pressure and friction, and he encourages you by pressing into you harder and groaning. You hand him the lube and in a team effort he pumps it out onto your middle and ring fingers. You notice his shaking hand, but you don’t comment once he reaches down to lift his package out of the way. Still just nervous. It’s endearing.

“Just breathe, okay?”

He does, a slow breath through his nose, and his exhale tickles your forehead. You smile at him, and he smiles back, but closes his eyes when your fingers slip between his cheeks.

You find it instantly, tight and quivering under the pad of your finger. He takes another breath, much quicker than the last, sucked through his nostrils in surprise. His head digs into the pillow under him now, and you apply gentle pressure until he finally lets you in.

It’s just one finger for now, but he still gasps and digs his nails into your back. You kiss where you can reach easily, the smooth skin of his collar bone, and press deeper. You feel his forehead press against the top of your own. He clenches around your finger when you pull it out just slightly, and relaxes when you press back in.

“That’s it,” you tell him.

He whimpers, and you fuck him softly, just with one, just to get him used to the friction. You grind into his leg and bite the skin of his pec when arousal jolts through you. It feels fucking amazing, syncing the motion of your hips to the pace of your finger. You’re going to get to fuck him soon, and the anticipation only turns you on more.

You tilt your head up to look at Joel. His eyes are closed, and his lips are pursed, like he’s concentrating. It would be cute if you didn’t have a raging hard-on for him.

“How’s it feel, Joel?”

His breath catches in his windpipe when he tries to speak. He clears his throat.

“Better than when I did it.”

You quirk your eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. You’re more gentle.”

That makes you laugh, and he chuckles too. You kiss him, just because you want to, like every single part of your body needs to touch his. And a little bit to distract him, because you slip a second finger into him. This time when he moans, you feel it against your mouth, right before his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

His breaths are shaky with pleasure. You can feel it in the way starts to rock his hips, the way he starts to stroke his cock again. He pulls away from your kiss and his head rolls back and forth with his eyes closed tight. He’s mewling through every exhale, uninhibited, a string of vocal indulgence– needy. There’s a vein in his neck that’s engorged and obscene, but that’s not what you want to look at, however enticing it may be. He’s turned away from you, stuffing his face into the pillow, and that just won’t do.

“Don’t hide,” you tell him.

He huffs, a high-pitched and weak noise sneaking out as his back arches. But he doesn’t turn back toward you. Cruelly, you press your fingers deeper and curl them, and your pillowcase falls from between his teeth as he cries out.

“C’mon, I wanna see how good I’m making you feel.”

That does it. He whips his head back toward you and his brows draw together.

“Fuck. It’s– s’good.”

He grinds down into your fingers and his mouth hangs open. You don’t let up, keep stroking against his prostate. He feels incredible around you, squeezing your fingers rhythmically. And he looks gorgeous, clearly stunned by this new discovery inside of him. When you glance down, he’s grasping the base of his dick, and it’s drooling down the shaft.

“You take it so good,” you respond.

He does. So open and accepting for someone so new. It’s got your chest feeling so sticky.

“Will you… fuck me?”

Your hand slows to a stop, still snug inside of him, but he continues.

“Wanna feel it. Want you inside me.”

And god, his eyes are so big and wide that you feel like you can see into his soul. He’s being so vulnerable, and for you.

“You sure you’re ready?”

He just nods and tilts his hips, as if to prove a point.

“I have to… y’know.”

You tilt your head toward the bedside table, and he nods in understanding. You gently pull out of him, and his hips jolt when you slip from his heat, but he’s still watching you with so much… so much in his eyes that you can’t decipher any of it.

All you know is now you feel awkward, all of a sudden. You wipe your hand on your discarded shirt, and then pull open your drawer, and it’s so annoying, honestly, to go through these next few steps. You feel like every second you take is wasting Joel’s heat and eagerness and arousal.

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Because as you step into your harness straps, Joel’s gaze is focused and intense. He’s slowly jerking himself off as he watches you pull it up your legs and into place. When you work on securing the first buckle, he reaches out to hold it in place for you.

It makes your breath catch in your lungs, the way his big, rough hands are so gentle as he helps you along. All the while his gaze makes you feel like he wants to eat you alive. Like this isn’t an inconvenience for him, like it doesn’t make you any lesser than. Like he’s into you, all of you.

You retrieve your smallest cock. On the thinner side, only four inches, and you think it’ll be perfect for easing him into this. A breath shudders out of him when you’ve secured it through the o-ring and he looks you up and down.

But then he’s moving, flipping onto his stomach and crawling to the edge of the bed where you stand. His eyes dance from your eyes, to your cock, and it’s like slow motion when his tongue peeks out to lick at his lips. When he looks back up at you, his puppy eyes are unbearable.

“You look so good. Been thinkin’ ‘bout it since our last date.”

It makes you throb, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You don’t know what to say.

“Can I suck it?”

“Shit,” you breathe, like the wind’s been knocked out of you, “you don’t have to.”

“Want to,” he mumbles.

His hands find your outer thighs respectively, but he’s still looking up at you for permission.

“Of course,” you tell him, threading your fingers through his hair, “go ahead.”

You take that last half-step toward him and he opens his mouth wide. He sticks his tongue out and maintains eye contact and it doesn’t look like he’s never sucked a dick before. In fact, it looks like he gets paid good money to do it on camera. Christ.

He licks you first, just under the head, then swirls around it. He even places the gentlest kiss to the tip and it makes your heart flutter like his eyelashes do. He only closes his eyes when he wraps his lips around it and sucks, cheeks hollow, like a goddamn pro.

And you can’t feel it, but you can feel it. You can feel him taking you, receiving you, wanting you, just as much as you want him. The way he slowly sinks down on it is grateful– devotion.

He squeezes your thighs, and he goes as far as he can, until his nose presses against your belly and he’s gagging. Even then, he only pulls back a little, keeps you there in his mouth all safe and snug. It’s so much, maybe too much right now, on top of all this newness.

You tug at his hair a bit, and let him bob up and down a few more times before you pull him off.

His chest rises and falls, and those plush lips are so shiny, and if you don’t fuck him now you might just spontaneously combust.

“I gotta fuck you, Joel.”

He hisses his approval and scrambles back onto the bed.

“How do you want it? You call the shots.”

You stroke your silicone cock as he settles against the pillows again. He even readjusts one under his hips, and that’s enough answer for you to crawl back on top of him.

“Wanna see you,” he whispers.

Your heart palpitates at that, wicked and unruly in your ribcage, but you smile through the piercing feeling.

“Me too.”

The lube is still on his side of the bed. You get between his legs; he spreads them nice and wide for you without you having to ask, presenting himself, totally surrendering to you. It’s becoming super real now, and your gut is starting to swell with that familiar, white-hot pressure.

He startles a bit when your cock presses against his hole. You shush him softly and pet his thigh with one hand while the other squeezes lube out along the length of your cock. You let some drip onto his hole and spread it with your fingers. He sighs and moans and you feel him clench around nothing.

“You ready?”

“Please.”

If you would have told yourself all those weeks ago that ‘Joel, 41, New to dating and to men’ would be on his back for you and begging to take your strap, you’d have laughed in your own face. But now, you sigh as the mushroom head catches on his rim. It’s fascinating to watch how he takes you, how he only resists for a split second before he accepts you in. And when you slip in, you really slip in.

He pants and whines as you stop halfway. There’s a plea that hardly gets to leave his lips before you’re balls deep, just like that, thighs pressed to the back of his. His head is thrown back when you finally glance up, cock still rock hard, but his brows are drawn together and he’s holding his breath.

“Okay?”

He nods.

“Yeah, yes– shit.”

You watch his Adam's apple wiggle in his throat, and you’re not completely convinced.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t.”

It’s the most commanding he’s sounded all night, and hits you hard right where it counts.

Finally, you pull out and then thrust back in. It’s slow and it’s careful but that doesn’t keep it from feeling fantastic, euphoric, right. He keens, and it’s his enthusiasm that sends another shockwave through your nervous system. It’s doing it for him, and that does it for you.

You keep your thrusts controlled, full of purpose, letting him warm up. You know you look ridiculous, your jaw dropped in awe as you stare down between your bodies. He’s taking your cock like it’s the easiest thing in the world, moaning for it. His hands tighten in the sheets beside him, and loosen, and tighten again. You feel so powerful knowing you’re the one that gets to give him this, that he wants it from you.

“So full,” he mumbles.

Your eyes snap back up to his face. He’s watching you, how your stomach tenses and your hips grind into him. You wish you could film him, and the way you disappear into him and stretch him wider than he’s ever been before, so he can see how incredible he is.

“Good full?”

He huffs out a laugh and nods his head.

“Can go faster.”

The way his voice sounds so broken and gruff makes you bite your lip.

Humming, you obey, gripping his hip for leverage, and that alone makes him groan before you’ve even changed pace. You tip over him a bit, rest your hand on the mattress beside his neck so you can feel the heat radiate from his body. You press a kiss to his chest, and you’re not sure if that’s what makes him whimper, or if it’s the way you snap your hips into his for the first time.

He curses, calls out your name in a broken moan. You’d be worried it’s too much too fast if it weren’t for the way he hooks his leg up around your hip. Now the angle is easier, lets you grind into him at a quicker pace. The pressure isn’t quite where you need it to be, too high up on your mound to press against your cock underneath. But the steady slapping into his ass sends enough vibration between your legs that it’s making you dizzy anyways.

Your hips start to ache a bit from the effort, but the sounds he’s making help you ignore the twinges in your joints. He’s more vocal than he’s ever been, rhythmic whines and moans falling from his bitten lips like you’re fucking them right out of him.

“You think you can come like this?” you ask him.

You shove your hips into him harder, teasing a bit, and he shouts as his head knocks back against the pillow.

“Tryin’ pretty hard not to.”

“Shit, Joel.” You press your face into the hollow of his neck and taste the salty skin there. “You don’t have to hold back. You’re taking me so good, you feel so fucking good.”

He whimpers, and you feel his hand snake between your bodies. Your rhythm falters a bit so you can pull back and give him room. His leg is still hiked up around your hip, so you grab him at the knee and push it toward his chest. He moans his approval, eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open, so you do the same with his other leg. This way, you can really pound into him, as deep as possible, and he loves it. You watch with unabashed heat in your eyes as you bounce him on your strap, as his hand works over his dripping cock in a blur of tan skin.

“Haah– shit, shit, ah fuck.”

He sounds so fucking good. You encourage him to let it out, to let go, and he follows your commands so perfectly.

“‘M gonna come, harder, fuck me, fuck me–”

You’re so close yourself, hearing him beg for you. Though your thighs are trembling, you fuck him harder, pull nearly all the way out every time before you piston back in. His face is all screwed up, eyes clenched tight and his bottom lip between his teeth until finally

He lets go. His jaw drops around a surprised shout, and his back arches, and he comes completely unraveled. He shakes with it as his cock shoots stripe after stripe of his release, up his chest, over his stomach, even his neck. You fuck him through it until his hand slows over his cock and his eyes open, nonplussed, and he’s whimpering and tapping out against your thigh.

“So good, Joel. So fucking hot,” you praise him through labored breaths. “Gonna pull out slow, just relax.”

He does, as much as possible in his state, and as soon as his fluttering hole releases you you’re scrambling to release the buckles of your strap. It’s all you can do to push it low enough down your thighs that it’s out of the way. You half-collapse onto Joel, your face against his sternum as you jerk yourself off. It’s pathetic how little time it takes, just a few strokes and you’re babbling at him, eulogizing him as your orgasm flushes through your system.

Then it’s just the sound of the both of your labored breaths, and the TV you forgot was even on in the first place. You let the afterglow wash over you like a gentle summer breeze, until you feel Joel’s stomach shake under your face.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. You know this is common, but it still sends you a bit on edge when you look up and Joel’s got his arm draped over his eyes. You see a teardrop trickling down the side of his face and scramble to pull yourself up and lie next to him.

“You okay, Joel?”

He nods and takes a deep breath in.

“Better’n okay. Dunno why–”

“It’s okay, I know. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

He just nods under the comfort of his arm.

“Happens to me, too, sometimes. It’s normal when it’s intense. Did it feel good?”

He laughs, all wet and thick, but he uncovers his eyes to look up at you.

“So fucking good.”

You smile at him, gently place your hand on the side of his neck, and kiss away the salt water on his cheeks. He lets you with a dazed smile on his face, before he captures your lips with his own.

You stroke at the sweat on his chest, at the trembling muscles of his stomach, until you feel him settle and fall lax against the mattress. You don’t go far, just enough to grab the towel you set up in your drawer. He watches you with lazy eyes as you clean him up, just enough to be comfortable lying here for a while longer before getting up for a shower.

His breaths still come out shaky when you pull him to you, settle him right on top of your gooey heart. You stroke his hair, and he laughs at something on the TV, and you let yourself hope for a million more nights exactly like this one.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x male reader #joel miller x ftm reader #bisexual joel miller #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #prompt fill

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qveerthe0ry · 6 days ago

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PEDRO PASCAL Los 4 Fantásticos: Primeros Pasos vs Los Capetillo

#he is such a fucking BRAT lmao #he was bitchy this entire game I love it

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qveerthe0ry · 12 days ago

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@pscentral event: 39 -> PRIDE

Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe - Canon Queer Characters ♥

#LOVEEEEEE

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qveerthe0ry · 12 days ago

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I saw The Materialists last night and thought I would share my Letterboxd review (I only really review movies on Letterboxd bc my mom asks ‘well what did YOU think of the movie? and I want her to get my full, well thought-out, unfiltered opinion lol)

TW: SA

They kept saying Materialists ‘isn’t your average rom-com’ and it certainly wasn’t. I would venture to say it wasn’t a rom-com at all. I can count on one hand how many times I huffed a laugh out of my nose. And it wasn’t very romantic either, was it?

The movie teased a love triangle, but it was more like two lines parallel to each other.

The only thing I really enjoyed about this movie was at least Lucy was self aware enough to know she’s a bad person. And it’s not because of the way she treated Harry. I get what Celine Song was trying to say with that— Lucy’s involvement in ‘the business side’ of love has made her jaded at the cost of her own love life. It’s not even because of the way she treated John— constantly calling on him in her time of need just because he was there and she knows he’d do anything for her whether she deserves it or not (she doesn’t deserve him).

What I think made Lucy a bad person was the way she handled Sophie’s sexual assault. This is where the lines blur for me— was Lucy written to be a bad person for this? Was that the intent? Or was this a poorly written plot device? I’m not some expert critic. I haven’t even seen that many movies and I’ve watched even less with a critical lens. But I think it was a poorly thought-out plot point.

It seemed as though Song wanted this to be a rude awakening for Lucy— that love isn’t just a business, that there’s more at stake than wasted time and money on bad dates and incompatible matches. It read like the intent was to prove that the vulnerability in intimacy is what makes love worth more than a transaction. But it just didn’t land that way.

To me, Song’s use of sexual assault was a shallow device that wanted to make viewers feel like Lucy magically turned into a good person overnight. When speaking about it, Lucy only seems to be upset that it was her mistake, that she’s not good at her job anymore, that Sophie didn’t tell her or talk to her about it. She stalks Sophie, and for what? To apologize, and get forgiveness to clear her conscious?

The scene where she races to Sophie’s apartment to play hero fell so flat for me— not only in the moment but after the moment too. She finally gets ‘closure’ with this woman, believes she’s a better person, and then changes her mind on a dime about getting back with John? And THEN, after all the context we get about this situation, she still goes back into the matchmaking business, showing us that she really didn’t learn anything from this plot device that was supposed to fundamentally change the person she is.

I just didn’t buy it.

Were there some cute moments? Yes. Harry’s character was enjoyable, a juxtaposition between classical romance and modern. John’s character was sweet, love a hopeless romantic liberal guy, and his dialogue at the end was the best writing in the entire movie. But when a movie takes over an hour to flesh out why the girl doesn’t deserve the guy, and then in the last 15 minutes they end up together, it just doesn’t feel satisfying in the least. I’m not one to complain about unsatisfactory endings either, but it’s clear that it was supposed to be satisfying.

Was gonna rate this a 3 but gave an extra half star for Pedro Pascal’s butt draped in silk sheets.

(Not included in my Letterboxd review but it needs to be said: HARRY IS LOWKEY GAY????? The six inches scene is BEGGING to be an explanation for why he’s gay. I will likely be revisiting this via some gay ass fanfic.)

Anyways thank you for your time 😌

#the materialists #the materialists spoilers #tw: sa #tw: sexual assault

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qveerthe0ry · 14 days ago

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YOU CANT MAKE ME FALL FOR SMALL DICK PROPAGANDA!!!!!

I can and I WILL 😤 (small pp Dieter Bravo fic coming soon 😈)

#Love me a little wee wee

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qveerthe0ry · 14 days ago

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have any of you ever considered: maybe he has a average sized dick. small even.

#I have absolutely considered it and I love Marcus Pike’s small pp

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qveerthe0ry · 16 days ago

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Oh my GOODNESS. Your COMMENT made me weep. 😭 🥹

All your kind words are making me so happy that I posted this and other people resonate and find it enjoyable and relatable.

Thank you so much for reading and letting me know your thoughts 🥰💕😘

Conquer the Heart

Summary: Joel comes out - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 1: Coming Out Word Count: 3,981 Pairing: Joel Miller x M! Reader Rating: Mature (but my blog is 18+ mdni) Warnings: vague descriptions of sex, fluff, kissing, conversations about sexuality, really that's it this is pretty much just sweet and fluffy with a tiny hint of spice Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar who could have guessed? Love y'all <3 A/N: I just wanted to make Joel queer idk. Title from an Orville Peck song because of course

You don’t know what possessed you to pay the $5 cover to check that place out. The Round-Up Saloon, perched on a street corner in downtown Austin. The outside was unassuming enough, but the neon lights and mechanical bull and rotating dance floor inside made it look like something straight out of Urban Cowboy.

There were all kinds of crowds. College kids and business casuals and actual cowboys. And it’s Austin, so all the sexualities were represented in one way or another as you took note of the couples at tables and on the dance floor. You couldn’t really care about any of them, though, as soon as you laid eyes on him.

You were drawn to him and his broad shoulders and tight Wrangler blue jeans.

He was with a big group of women and men, all drinking and laughing and taking turns line-dancing with each other on the dance floor.

And to think you only stumbled into the honky tonk cowboy bar out of curiosity… It certainly wasn’t your scene.

But you’d watched Joel dance with a few women with respectful hand placement, and then he danced with a man, and hope had bubbled up inside of you to the sound of Alan Jackson.

He was a little sweaty when you worked up the courage to talk to him, and his cologne masked all the alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

You plastered on a flirty smile and asked him if he could teach you some of his moves. When he looked taken aback and flustered, you backtracked.

“I’m sorry, I saw you dancing with that guy— I didn’t mean to assume.”

“Tommy? That’s my brother,” he’d explained, a little flushed in the face.

“Oh! Shit, sorry, ignore me.”

But he’d caught your arm as you turned to hibernate for approximately 5-10 business days.

“I don’t see no harm in teachin’ you.”

And so he did. And it was fun, and his hands on you were so warm you swear they branded his mark all over your skin.

A few songs, all background noise to the ‘he’s just straight, don’t do this’ mantra in your head, and he was leading you off the dance floor for another beer.

A friendly beer. Surely that’s all it was.

But he was so friendly. He gave you pointers on how to dance, and then asked if you’re from around here, and then he was waving off his group of friends when they all announced their departure.

He asked you about your job, and you asked about his, and then the way his hands felt rough on the skin of your arm made more sense.

Maybe you were crazy, or the two beers you had were really getting to your head, but there was something so unspeakably electric between you. You felt it when he’d lean in closer to hear you, the way he touched your arm with the back of his bottle-filled fist, the way his hoppy breath ghosted across your cheek to reach your ear.

And then he said he should probably get home, and asked if he should walk you to your car, and maybe he wasn’t straight, you thought, as he briefly placed his hand on your back to guide you through the packed bar.

And you really, really shouldn’t have. But you asked for his number, and he put it in your shitty flip phone, and then you kissed him.

Right on the mouth. A quick peck that was so short you could’ve nearly pretended it was an accident.

He looked so stunned, and guilt boiled up in your stomach.

But he’d grabbed your wrist gently, and looked you in the eyes.

“I’m uh… I don’t… I haven’t ever done that.”

“That was your first kiss?”

It was a joke, and thank god he laughed. His smile looked so fucking good under the shitty, flickering street lamps.

“Call me, okay?”

And then he was gone. You thought about him the whole drive home, while you got undressed and ready for bed, as you fell asleep. You felt his touch in your dreams, and when you woke in the morning you could hardly believe he was real.

But his phone number was burning a hole in your cell phone. You stared at it on and off all Saturday long. What would you even say? Why did he even want you to call him, if he’d never even kissed a guy before? Did he just want a new drinking buddy?

The dread built up all day long, until it was late, and a sense of now or never goaded you into calling his number.

He answered, and you told him who you were, and he’d sounded so surprised to hear from you. He didn’t think you’d want to see him again, after he embarrassed himself, and his admission made you balk.

You told him you were the one who felt embarrassed. He laughed at that. Said he’s a lot smoother with ladies, but you made him feel nervous. He said he wanted to meet up again.

And so you did.

Just a shitty diner for an early dinner on Sunday, unassuming enough. The chemistry you felt at the bar hadn’t faded. If anything, it was so much more apparent now. The way he blushed when you flirted seemed less like the bad kind of gay panic. His foot kept nudging yours under the table.

He walked you to your car again, and then he kissed you, much less chaste than the night at the bar, with one big, rough hand on your neck and the other on your hip.

“That was pretty good for only your second kiss,” you’d said.

He shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing his heated face.

“Should stick around and find out about the third.”

And if you hadn’t already been wrapped around his finger, he certainly secured the spot for you then.

He wasn’t new to dating, but he was new to this, and it showed. He got pretty easily flustered around you. On your second date, he brought up his daughter for the first time like he’d forgotten he hadn’t mentioned her before. A casual thing, talking about her getting ready to graduate high school.

“Does Sarah know… who you’re on a date with?”

Joel shook his head.

“Not yet. No one does… Not even sure how to explain it to myself, if I’m honest.”

You were patient with him. It’s gotta be culture shock, living nearly 40 years of your life completely straight and having some random guy at a bar change that for you overnight.

You took things slow. You talked a lot over the phone, after Sarah went to sleep. He told you about his dating history, Sarah’s mom and only a few unserious flings after. You tried not to psychoanalyze him, but it makes a little bit of sense. Getting some girl pregnant at 19, marrying her, getting ditched with a toddler and a curt ‘good luck’ and then raising her on your own?

No wonder he never questioned his sexuality. There was genuinely no time to.

At first, you thought you may just be a stepping stone. A news flash for him, an experiment, something fun for a season. It didn’t bother you. It’s happened before. But as your nightly talks got longer, and as you took each other out more and more often, it became clear that it wasn’t like that.

You watched with fascination and adoration as Joel figured things out. It was so endearing when he asked if he should hold the door open for you, or if you should take turns. Likewise, when he held your hand in public for the first time, the way he asked your permission made your heart grow way too big for your rib cage.

Things weren’t perfect, of course, but nothing ever is. You didn’t get to see him as much as you ideally would. You were both busy during the work week, and he often had father duties on the weekends. Most of your dates were quick dinner bites when Sarah had a school thing, or an odd Saturday here or there when Sarah had a sleepover.

But that was quite enough for you. You weren’t even looking for something when you’d met him. You didn’t feel the need to move quickly when you hadn’t planned on going anywhere in the first place.

And he was sweet, and quite self-aware.

“Wish we could spend more time together,” he’d tell you over the phone, “I know this ain’t the way things normally go.”

But you liked him. So much. So it didn’t bother you.

And, as the weeks passed by, he opened up more. He started asking you more pointed questions, like how you came out to those closest to, and what it was like. He asked if you were seeing other people— it’s okay if you are, was just wonderin’— and then he asked you if you wanted to be together when you made it clear you weren’t.

“Like… as boyfriend and boyfriend?”

He chuckled, the deep gravel a familiar tone swimming through your landline with a nervous twinge to it.

“Yeah, as boyfriend and boyfriend.”

And he treated you right, and you got along with him so well, and he was so put together and responsible and respectful.

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.”

And his breath had hitched so loud it was caught by the receiver, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he told you that he’d really like that, too.

A few days after that, he told you Sarah would be gone all weekend, on a team trip for some hiking and kayaking and bonding.

“Could I stay at yours? I hate to invite myself, it’s just— Tommy’s got no boundaries. Wouldn’t want him bargin’ in, y’know, before I get to tell him.”

You didn’t mind one bit, aside from the mountain of laundry you had to fold in preparation for his arrival.

It was the first time you’d been truly alone with him. Your dates were always public, at least somewhat. And he’d kissed you, a ton, but that’s as far as it had ever gone.

You definitely wanted him. You’d wanted him since the very second you laid eyes on him at that cheesy honky tonk bar. But it was funny how nervous you were, even though your experience with men put Joel’s to shame.

It was a lot like high school, in the way you danced around each other at first. A movie on your couch, with his arm draped along the back of it. Readjusting to ‘get comfy,’ inching, until the warmth of his body was pressed against yours and his arm dropped from the back of the couch to your shoulders.

His heartbeat was deafening, hard and fast, when you’d tucked your head against his chest. You moved your hand to his knee in the world’s most intense match of The Nervous Game and feared for his cardiovascular health.

He said your name, and like it was the magic word, every single facade crumbled around you in an instant.

His kisses made your head spin, and the way his thick thighs felt under your own was addictive, and it was over before either of you realized it had started. Two sets of soiled pants and underwear thrown into your washing machine, along with the last of the pretenses. And then you’d dragged him to your bed.

The sex wasn’t even your favorite part. The best was the morning after, and how you were plastered to his back as you woke up slow and easy. The way he held your arm to his stomach, even in his sleep. And the way you only got out of bed for food or bathroom breaks, a whole day with him, alone, uninterrupted.

Just as you started to worry that this was a one-time thing, at least for a while, Joel huffed beside you and nuzzled his head into your shoulder.

“I wanna come out. At least to Tommy ‘n Sarah. S’not right, keeping you a secret like this when you’ve been makin’ me so happy. I know you’d make them happy too.”

You stroked his hair, and asked if he was sure, and though his pretty brown eyes looked wide and scared, his jaw was set with a determined nod.

So you devised a plan. Or— Joel devised it, and asked for your input, and it all made you a bit giddy.

He had you over for dinner. Just as a friend, at first. He’d ordered pizza and stocked beer and told Tommy and Sarah he was having a friend over.

You wondered if Tommy would recognize you from the bar, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just talked your ear off about Texas sports and old cars.

Sarah was… well, you understood why Joel could never seem to smile wide enough when he talked about her. She was so smart, and kind-hearted, and funny. You had a hard time keeping up, but the way Joel and Tommy were around her, you think she probably has that effect on most people.

It was a nice night, fun and easy conversation, good pizza, and a very competitive game of Boggle in which Sarah dominated.

And it was only a little bit difficult to spend the evening as just Joel’s friend, solely because of how easily you fit into his life. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops, that Joel wanted you to be a piece in his puzzle.

Sarah, so politely, excused herself to go to bed as it got later. The three of you left shuffled around, gathering game pieces and paper plates and empty cans, until you all eventually met back in the kitchen. Joel gave you a look, and you gave him a comforting smile right back, and it was like the room’s air was replaced with water as he spoke up.

“Tommy?”

“Mmhmm?”

The younger brother whipped around to face you both, sliding the leftovers into the fridge with a slice in his mouth.

“I uh… I wanted to let you know that I’m— that we’re, uh… Together?”

You watched as his dark eyes glazed over for a second, brow scrunched up in confusion. And then his gaze flickered from you to him, and back to you, and his eyes grew as big as saucers.

“No kiddin’?”

Joel laughed.

“Serious. He’s my… He’s my boyfriend.”

Tommy swallowed his mouthful of pizza, wiped his mustache, and smiled. A genuine smile, sweet and warm, reaching his eyes.

“Hermano, good for you. That’s— I’m happy for you.”

He opened his arms and tugged Joel into a hug, and Joel grumbled something about Tommy getting pizza grease on his clothes, but he was smiling wide and relieved over Tommy’s shoulder.

But then Joel’s face got serious again as Tommy pulled away with a manly slap to his shoulder.

“Sarah doesn’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everyone got along first, y’know?”

And then Tommy was looking at you and rolling his eyes and chuckling.

“Think we all get along just fine. You should tell her soon.”

And Joel knew Tommy was right, but it didn’t stop him from looking so anxious when Tommy left with another round of goodbye hugs.

“What are you most worried about?”

You asked him because you knew there were many things to fret over, in his situation.

“Just that… She’s had this idea of me this whole time, y’know? What if she sees me different, and then things change between us?”

And god, that made your throat feel thick, and Joel’s eyes got a little misty, so you pulled him tight against you and let him sag into your hold.

“I know the feeling,” you told him, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“No?”

You huffed a laugh and tangled your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck.

“You mean everything to her. I can tell just by how she looks at you. Never seen a teenager like their dad that much.”

And he laughed too, a little wet against your shoulder.

“Will you be there with me when I tell her? I don’t— I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Your lips found his bristly cheek and planted a kiss there, and you mumbled of course into the salty skin.

So you went home, with plans to come back the next day. This wasn’t easy for you, either, dating a guy with a kid for the first time. You knew she liked you, at least, but that was a face value assessment. Would she mind you taking up more of her dad’s time? Would she mind you in their space every so often? Would she mind if you came around to her soccer games or science fairs or graduation, as her dad’s boyfriend, in front of all the other kids with nuclear families? Would she resent you for shaking up what they had?

You didn’t get much sleep, thinking about it. You wondered if you should bring her some kind of gift, flowers or a trinket or something, but then you’d be trying too hard, right?

As you got ready the next morning, you thought about all the ways it could go wrong, but none of them really seemed realistic. Sarah was sweet, and intelligent, and surely if she did have reservations, they’d be able to talk them through civilly.

Right?

You couldn’t even listen to music on your way to their house. It was a silent fifteen minute drive with your nerves boiling over and spilling out, thinking of how awkward things could get.

But all of that kind of fell to the wayside when Sarah answered the door and said “I haven’t seen you in forever” with a cheeky grin and those bright eyes she definitely got from Joel.

It felt cozy when you sat down at their kitchen table while they sipped their coffee and orange juice and Sarah told you both all about the English project she was working on. It put you at ease to ask her questions about things you have in common, and for all of you to mesh so well into a normal conversation.

But as it lulled, you noticed Joel getting restless, and you noticed Sarah noticing his uneasiness.

“Dad, you’re acting weird in front of our company.”

And while she was alway kind and respectful, she was still a teenager with a dorky dad.

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She looked at him with her head tilted and her eyebrow raised.

“Now?”

She nodded her head toward you as she asked, and you couldn’t blame her for being confused as to why he had to have a heart-to-heart with his ‘friend’ visiting.

“Yeah um… You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should get a life and start datin’?”

Sarah laughed and looked at you.

“Yeah, could you be his wingman? It’s getting sad.”

And you laughed, and Joel laughed, but it was a little forced, and Sarah’s smart, so you could read the confusion on her face.

“What’s this about, dad?”

Joel took a big, deep breath and took Sarah’s hand on the table. You watched her squeeze his fingers as her face twisted up in worry.

“He’s my— we’re dating. He’s my… boyfriend.”

The worry dissipated, and her eyes got wide and her lips pursed before her jaw slowly dropped with surprise.

“You guys are together?”

She looked over to you, then, and all you could do was give her a soft smile and nod.

“I know you might have some questions—”

“How long? When did you guys meet?”

She looked back to Joel to answer, but you could see he was still reeling, with sweat saturating the curls at his temples.

“Just a couple months ago, he taught me how to dance to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

She made a noise, like a scoff, and it made you wince.

“Months!? Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”

You watched Joel’s eyes cloud with— fear? You’d never seen him look so scared.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just— I guess I didn’t know how. At first.”

His voice trembled, and you watched Sarah’s lip quiver before she shot out of her chair and lunged toward her dad, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“I love you,” she’d mumbled, like she knew it was what he needed to hear, because his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around her back.

You thought maybe you should look away. It felt real personal. But Joel had asked you to be here, and it was about you, too, as much as that fact made you want to burrow underground.

“You could have told me sooner. I love boy talk.”

Her voice was muffled and heavy with tears, but Joel chuckled all the same through his own misty gaze.

“I didn’t know you liked boys.”

She pulled away but didn’t go far, letting her hands squeeze his biceps as she looked to him for an answer.

“Me neither,” he shrugged, “I like this boy, though. A lot.”

And he got this goofy smile on his face, even though it was a little wet, and he looked at you, and you felt so awkward but so head over heels.

“Okay, well, you still should have told me. I would’ve been on the porch cleaning Uncle Tommy’s shotgun when he pulled up.”

Joel groaned and covered his face but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of you.

“What are your intentions with my father?”

And though her tone was joking, her eyes grew soft as she waited for an answer.

“I guess I just wanna make him happy. Because he makes me happy. If that’s alright with you?”

She sat back down and rested her chin in her hand, with her lips pursed again as she thought.

“Sarah, you can have time to think—”

“Deal.”

She extended her hand out to you from across the table, and you took it eagerly to shake on it. But after an appropriate amount of handshake time, she didn’t let your hand go.

“You have to come over for movie nights now.”

“I can do that.”

“And I have to make sure your taste in movies doesn’t suck before I let you pick one.”

“That’s fair.”

“ALSO—“

“Sarah,” Joel interrupted, “this isn’t how deals work. You can’t add stuff while he’s still shaking your hand.”

“As I was saying,” Sarah rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand tighter, “you have to treat him right. He acts all tough but he’s just a softy.”

“Oh Christ,” Joel huffed.

“No, she has a point,” you told him with a smirk, “I promise I will, Sarah.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, but then she grinned, and finally let go of your hand.

So yeah, you really really like Joel Miller. You’re never happier than you are when you spend the evening at his house, snuggled up on one side of him while Sarah’s snuggled up to the other, watching some movie Sarah’s usually the one to pick.

Or when you meet him and Tommy at Sarah’s soccer game, and he greets you with a smile and lifts the bill of your Miller Contracting hat you’ve stolen to peck your lips.

Or when you’re in your own kitchen, making his coffee, and you feel sleepy arms wrap around your waist and a sleep warm kiss at the nape of your neck.

Really, as long as you’re with Joel, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. And if those three little words slip out one day soon, well, there isn’t a single thing that makes you think Joel would be surprised by them.

#comment reblog

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qveerthe0ry · 16 days ago

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Awwww Gideon thank you so much 🥺🥰

I promise they are still together and happily ever after and Sarah is finally letting reader pick movies for movie night 😌💕