#pedro pascal x reader

[undercoverpena]

up sky, low high

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: frankie takes you on a heli-ride. you decide to test his competency and take him for a ride.

word count: 1.9k warnings: smut. 18+. there's mouth to cock action in the sky - new kink for jo? maybe. jo's interpretation of how to fly a heli is deffo a warning in itself. everyone is safe. remember he's a professional, but don't try this in the air bbys. jo’s spelling—written on phone, forgive me. moodboard not reflective of reader. an: this wouldn't be possible without @morallyinept who not only thotted with me, told me to write this, filled me with confidence at the halfway point when i sent it to her but also made the prettiest banner and moodboard for this (see at the bottom). babe ily, thank you so much for this.

It’s not ideal—not even close to safe.

Finger pushing in on the button that releases the elements of your seatbelt as you swallow, staring at him. Gawking, in fact.

Frankie always looks good, a fact not fiction.

Whether it’s first thing in the morning, sleep in his eyes—fingers scratching over his soft stomach as he yawns. Or when his eyes are hidden under the bill of his hat, dark, all mahogany brown pupils blown with lust as the thing on the television becomes forgotten.

And while he does always look incredible, there’s something criminal about the way he looks right now. Piloting, all in his element, wearing fucking competency like he was the one who first birthed it as he keeps the helicopter in the air.

Short flight, he’d said when he’d helped you into the rental.

Now, you could bet on it.

Because you're not even sure how long you’ve been in the air, too busy gazing, hungrily undressing him as he flicks switches and checks gauges. Your understanding of what he was doing lost, barely reaching a basic level.

What you do know is that if he reaches over, slides his hand up your dress and touches the fabric covering your pussy, he’d find them soaked.

But then, he’d also likely notice the way you’re taking shallow breaths, that you’ve been squirming for friction for the past so many instructions—

Because of his voice.

It all low, husky—dragged through gravel when it comes through the headset. Pointing out sights, places, but he’s the only thing you want to gaze at from this height. From any height.

That’s why the thought had arrived, to begin with, the lucrative one. The one so far gone that you try not to consider logistics and just trust in the fact he’d stop you if it was too unsafe. Your voice barely steady through the microphone, asking—layered and wrapped with demand, as your pulse quickens and your palms become slick with sweat.

You know the idea is ridiculous. Yet, somehow, you find yourself moving up onto your knees, digging them into the chair you’d just been seated on.

That’s when you see it. The glimmer, the spark, before he whines out that he’ll maintain altitude as you palm him over his cargo pants. Feeling him harden, pressing against the zipper, all thick, long and delicious as your mouth waters.

Because you need him in your mouth.

A thing you must murmur because suddenly he’s helping—lifting his hips as he whispers an oh fuck, when you drag his layers down and your hand wraps around his cock. More so when you move your wrist, dipping your head to slide your tongue to lick up the bead of want already there at the tip.

Flicking your gaze up, you find hungry eyes staring back—ones lit by the sun, shades a plenty making up the lust-filled gaze that makes your mouth open wider as you take as much of him as you can.

Fuck it’s glorious.

Both the thrum of vibrations through the cushion seat under your knees as he keeps the thing in the air and the feel of his hot length sliding against your tongue. As you take him. As you make him hiss through gritted teeth when you try to take a little more of him than you usually manage—tears springing in your eyes and your throat constricting around him—

“Careful, querida,” he soothes.

Large hand cupping the back of your head, easing, aiding, as his cock rests at the entrance of your mouth, placed perfectly on your lower lip. Breath coming back to you; eyes blinking as he darts his eyes from the world below him to you.

“You okay?”

Until now, you weren’t sure if it was possible to be more in love with him. Then he proved that even up in the air he thought of nothing but what was best for you.

Nodding, spit trailing down your chin, droplets falling to your chest where it pools as fabric meets skin, you smile. Gleam. Grin. Before making him swallow a moan as you take him again, his head falling back.

It’s then, when you hollow your cheeks do you feel him shift, allowing him, as he gently thrusts to slide his length as far down your throat as it allows. Good girl, so good, my good girl—

Humming around him at his praise, a blend of languages as he calls you pretty and perfect. And you can tell he’s close, taste it on your tongue as he begins to rock his hips, as he begins to hiss—teeth biting down on his lip, imagining his knuckles whitening around the cyclic stick.

It’s enough to make you come from the thought—close to ruining your own panties further as you press your thighs together.

Closing your lips around him, sucking and adorning, showing him, etching your love for him with the way your tongue swirls over the tip, hand gripping his thigh as he groans your name. It followed by s’close, m’close baby—

Then he pulls you off him, all with care. Spit connecting your lips to his tip as you stare at him in confusion. The line dropping, snapping—it clinging to the curls at the base of him, soaking his hair like dew on a spring morning.

“Frankie…”

It’s all you manage to croak out. Eyes wide, thoughts barely present, all cock-drunk and adrenaline-fuelled—the scent of him still there, around your nose, musk and engine oil.

“Need to land,” he replies, short, jaw tight—cock angry and throbbing between his thighs as he flicks a switch. “Can’t… can’t fuck you, unless I land.”

You’re not sure he’s ever landed so quickly, never mind so clunky. Remembering stories, how he gloats at his prowess at most of his land landings. But you have no time to question, think, or ask, before he pulls off his belt, headset and hat before reaching to yank you into his lap.

It’s clumsy—a mess of limbs, a tight squeeze as your hands skate around his neck. But you forget about it all when his mouth crashes to yours. Kissing you so hard and hungrily your teeth clash. His breath is hot in your mouth as he pants at the feel, likely tasting himself as he slips his tongue into yours.

And it’s warm, his tongue. Licking into your mouth, large hands around your waist brushing your clothed core against his cock—the hiss reverbing down your throat as you swear you feel him shake. Tremble. So desperate for you that it makes him quiver.

You love kissing him.

Could spend hours doing it. Not caring about jaw aches when you’re tangled up with him. Like right now. In some field, in some place—

“Need t’fuck you, baby. Can I fuck you please?” he asks, voice low, but tinged with a plea.

His hand balls up your dress, the other hand hooking a finger in to pull your soaked underwear from your pussy before groaning at the sight. “Hold them for me, baby.”

Swallowing, smiling—you do. Lifting, nudging yourself closer as your knees screech on the leather as you become full of molten hunger. Hovering over him as he eases the head of his cock to your slick entrance, sliding it through your folds, eyes focused on you.

“Can’t wait.”

“Then, don’t,” you whisper.

Then he hisses as he pushes in, right between his teeth. One that’s born at the back of his throat and makes an entrance into the air. Cuts. Slices. The sound so fucking hot that you clench around him when he bottoms out—mouth open in an O at how full, stretched and stuffed you feel.

“No te muevas—lemme feel you, baby. Fuck—”

Your smile widens—practically smirking. Shifting on him as the hand on your waist tightens its hold. But, you’re not listening. Even less so when you press an open-mouth kiss to his skin as you begin to move, to slowly slide your pussy up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, querida—feel so—good—incredible. Tu perfecto. Made for me, you know that…”

It’s layered—all in a breath; you answer similarly when you say that you do. Practically pressing it into the air as you pant, resting your forehead on his shoulder, as the two of you are quick to find a pace.

It’s almost drowned by how wet you are, how loud it is when he begins to thrust up into you. All aching for one another, practically feral as you feel your slick clings to your inner thighs—likely smudging against his skin as your fist clenches at his shirt. Clit brushing against the tangle of coarse hair, you’re soaking, that makes you dizzy as he begins to fuck up into you.

All deep thrusts. Making you moan—feeling nothing but good. Perfect. Amazing.

Just how he always makes you feel this way. Every, single, time—

“Need you to come, baby,” he strains, rasps, groans as you feel his hand—all expert, calloused in the right places—snake between the two of you.

It’s there, trying to disguise between letters: desperation. Despair. His touch confirms it, finding your bundle of nerves as he makes you gasp, arch, tighten around him as your hand finds refuge on the back of his neck. Your fingers slide into his sweat-soaked curls, smearing against your fingers as you clutch, grip and grasp.

And you’re aware of it now. How the cabin is warmer—windows likely smothered in perspiration—but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your body. It licks at your neck, at the base of your spine, the backs of your thighs that meet your calves.

But you’re lost in it, in him. Wanting nothing more than to come; unable to speak from how much you want to. More so as his hips cant up into you, as you begin to see white in the corner of your vision—as your body becomes more fire than bone.

Tightening around him as he shifts, an angle that makes you see fucking stars as you whine his name like it’s made of one syllable.

“—that’s it, querida. Fuck, s’good for me, I love—“

It building, so near to snapping as you hear him babbling, rambling. Your mouth is just open against his neck, moaning—the noise slipping out of you as it slams into you. His voice fading, the world going quiet as you come undone, all pulsing, all clenching down on him as it crests.

But his hips push you through it. Chasing, seeking. His pace is all sloppy, difficult, lost as you blink your eyes open to see the way his face is scrunched, lips over his teeth. And if you hadn’t just, you swear you’d come against from the sight.

That look of sheer determination, skin bathed in sweat before his eyes find yours—crystallising, glazed over and fucked out—

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper.

And his expression pauses. Relaxes.

Smooths.

His hand tightens on your hip, grunting out your name—burying it into the air as his hips stutter. Then, he whines. Spilling inside of you as he collapses back into the chair, you pressed against him, jaw all slack and his eyes clenched shut.

And you swear you can feel his heartbeat. It is all out of step with your own.

Not that you care.

Smiles painted on your faces as your eyes met his, breaths ragged, your finger wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

Before his lips slide back over yours, kissing you, writing gratitude against your mouth as the muscles in his neck flex under your palm.

an: look how pretty this issssssss. thank you so much, jett.

[honeyedmiller]

Anniversary | Frankie Morales

frankie morales x f!reader

synopsis: frankie takes you out to a nice restaurant on your first wedding anniversary, but with a little twist.

rating: explicit – 18+, minors dni.

warnings: established relationship, canon divergent tf one shot, smut (f & m oral receiving, fingering, unintentional edging, teasing, unprotected piv), small endearments of spanish are sprinkled throughout, frankie is a simp for you in this (as he should be), no use of y/n.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: happy frankie friday y’all

“You almost ready, amor?” 

You were putting your favorite earrings in before giving yourself one last look-over in the mirror. Once you felt satisfied with your appearance, you turned to walk back into the master bedroom to see your husband buttoning up a crisp white long sleeve tucked into some black slacks. 

Frankie whistles when he sees you in your floor-length red dress with a high slit on the side. “Goddamn querida, you’re giving me a run for my money tonight. Gonna have to fend off all the fuckers that are gonna check you out.” He laughs, holding his hand out to twirl you once to get a 360 degree view of you before pulling your body into his. 

You can’t help but laugh at his words, knowing damn well you’ll only be focused on the man in front of you.  

“Too bad for them,” You offer him a smirk, holding up your left hand toward him, wiggling your fingers. Your wedding ring glinted in the soft bedroom light—a reminder that you’re his and he’s yours forever. “I’m already taken.” 

“And I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive.” Frankie says, grabbing your hand before laying a gentle kiss onto your ring. 

“That you are, Mr. Morales.” You shoot him a wink before giving his cheek a kiss. You separate from him to retrieve your black heels from the walk-in closet, sitting down on the bed to put them on. 

Frankie knelt in front of you with a soft smile settled onto his lips, the crinkle lines around his eyes deepening. 

“May I?” His voice is soft, lulling you into a brief blissful state. You hand him your heels, playfully nudging his chest back with your foot, pushing him back on his haunches. He takes your leg in one of his hands, tracing a featherlight finger up your calf and to your thigh. Goosebumps rise on your skin as you watch him carefully. He slips the heel onto your foot, kissing the inside of your knee before giving the same attention to your other foot. His lips meet the inside of your other thigh, but instead of pulling away, he starts to trail his lips up toward the apex of your thigh. 

A ghost of a moan slips past your lips before you thread your fingers through his curls, giving them a soft tug as your head lolls back. Your husband continued nipping, licking and kissing his way up your thigh until he reached the lace of your panties. 

His face was buried underneath your dress at this point, teasingly poking his tongue out to run over the lace. 

Your moan was louder this time and you could practically feel Frankie’s shit-eating grin. 

“I think you should wear different panties tonight.” He starts, and he pulls his face back from underneath the chiffon fabric. 

“I thought you liked these ones?” Your lips form into a slight pout that drives him absolutely crazy. It takes all of his willpower to not say fuck it and skip your dinner reservations just to keep you in bed and eat you out all night long. 

“I do, bebita, but I have other ones for you to wear,” His infamous sly smirk appears, and you furrow your brows in confusion. He stands up to full height, trudging over to the dresser before pulling out some white panties. He hands them to you and you look down at them in confusion, wondering why there was a bit of added weight pressing between your palms. “They go with this.” He says, pulling out a small remote. 

Your jaw drops in shock, looking up at your husband in disbelief. 

“Frankie—”

“Let’s try something new, hm?” His words were tender with plea, but his eyes pooled dark with desire. 

“Okay.” You agree, slipping off your panties you had on before slipping on the white ones. You knew he was going to have fun with this one, and truth be told, you couldn’t ignore the thrill that settled in your bones at the thought of Frankie using vibrating panties on you in public—let alone the fancy restaurant he was taking you to for your one year wedding anniversary. 

You knew you were completely fucked tonight. 

-

You were admiring the general romantic atmosphere of the restaurant as you and Frankie stood behind a couple that was checking in with the host. The soft orange glow the lights emitted left a romantic feeling lingering in the air. 

Your hand was wrapped around Frankie’s bicep, too distracted to even see him dig into the pocket of his slacks. You felt a low vibration against your clit, and you quietly gasped as you gripped onto his arm a little tighter. You already had an agonizingly dull ache heavy in your core before you left your house due to his incessant teasing, and this was only making matters much worse. 

The hostess returned to the stand with a smile on her face, coaxing you and Frankie to walk forward. Frankie upped the vibration with one click and you had to bite down on your lip from moaning, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. 

“Hi, how can I help you folks?” The hostess asked, and Frankie gave her a polite smile before telling her the last name under the reservation. 

“I have reservations for Morales, party for two at six.” 

“Ah yes, I have you right here. Go ahead and follow me this way.” She leads you two through the restaurant, Frankie’s broad palm splayed over your lower back as he guides you in front of him. 

She sets the menus down on a booth tucked in the corner, practically away from prying eyes. You quietly thank her as you scoot in, Frankie sliding in right next to you. 

“Your server will be with you shortly.” She turns away and you’re left sitting next to Frankie in agony. 

“Baby, please.” You beg, shutting your eyes as you practically force yourself not to rut your hips into the vibrations. 

“Oh,” Frankie coos, “Does my poor wife need me to stop?” He teases, nosing at the shell of your ear. 

“No, Francisco, I need you to fucking touch me.” 

He pulls back from your ear, a lust-filled gaze searching your own. “Yeah?” He quirks a brow, checking over his shoulder. The server walks up a few moments later and greets you both with a bottle of wine, pouring you both a glass. 

You could barely even think straight when the server asked what you guys wanted to eat, and you gripped the leather of the booth as you forced a smile and told them what you wanted. As soon as the server walked away, Frankie took a casual sip of his wine before leaning into you again. 

“Bet she’s so fucking wet for me, hm querida?” 

“You know—” Your breath hitched in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut as you swallowed harshly. “—Damn well, Frankie.” 

“Bet she’s gonna taste so fuckin’ good when I get my mouth on her, hm?” 

“You’re not playing fair, Francisco.” 

“And how should I be playing, baby?” He coos, kissing your cheek. The unfathomable ache that was once a low flame in your core has now been ramped up to a point of desperation, release impending very soon. 

You grip onto his thigh and squeeze your eyes shut, concentrating on staying quiet. You both know if you were at home right now, you’d be anything but. 

The server comes back with both of your plates, unsuspecting of your little escapades with your husband. You thank the server as graciously as you possibly can before they disappear again. 

“Frankie, baby please. I’m gonna come.” Your whisper is strained, nails digging into the meat of his thigh. 

“Make a mess for me. Can’t wait to clean it up after dinner.” 

“Baby please, I—” And right when the coil was about to snap, the vibrations stopped completely. Tears pooled in your eyes as you sat completely still, not expecting to be edged like that. 

“Did you turn it off?” You whisper, hands starting to shake. You took your hand off of Frankie’s thigh and clasped both of them together, looking at him with a desperate stare. 

“No baby, I swear I didn’t. I think the battery might’ve died.” 

Of course it did. 

You nod and swallow hard, trying to focus on the meal before you. It was hard to have an actual appetite when all you really wanted was your husband. 

Frankie felt bad, and he really wasn’t one to deny you of your needs. He got the server’s attention and asked for to-go boxes and the check, and within the next few minutes, you were both leaving. 

“We didn’t need to leave, Frankie. This was such a nice place and I didn’t mean—” 

“Uh uh. I’d rather be at home where it’s just us. Somewhere I can take care of you properly and not get arrested for public indecency.” 

You laugh at his words as he opens the truck door for you, kissing your temple as he offers you his hand to hoist yourself up into the cab. Once he settles into his seat, the truck roars to life and you’re on your way home. 

The throb in your core was so unbearable that you were gripping onto the handle of the door, steadying your breathing. Your eyes snapped up to the road and noticed an abandoned dirt road that no one ever went down coming up. 

You glance at Frankie and contemplate for two microseconds before your hand lands on his thigh. Fuck it. 

“Pull over,” You say, nodding your head to the dirt road. Frankie looks at you in confusion, but it suddenly clicks when he sees the pure desperation in your eyes. “Please.” You whisper. 

He pulls over onto the side of the road, turning off the headlights and the truck. You were both surrounded by the darkness of the night, with only a sliver of moonlight peaking through. 

“Cariño—” 

“I can’t wait anymore, Frankie. I fucking need you.” You cry, pawing at the buttons of his shirt. Frankie jerks his head to the back. 

“C’mon princesa, more room back there.” 

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You clamber into the backseat first, thankful that it was roomy back here, leaving little to no room to be cramped. Frankie sits on his haunches as he stares up at you, licking his lips. 

He doesn’t waste any time. He pushes your dress up and hooks his fingers into both sides, pulling the skimpy white material down your legs. He’s amazed at the string of arousal that was attached to the panties, eyes flicking to your core. 

You were absolutely soaked. 

Frankie smacks his tongue against his teeth, “Pobrecita. You’re really soaked, honey.” 

Frankie doesn’t say another word as he tosses your legs over his shoulders, kissing and nipping his way up your thighs. He starts to lick up your arousal at the apex of your thighs, hot tongue making you gush even more. 

You whine in desperation, a string of pleasepleaseplease evading your lips. 

“Love it when you’re so needy for me, baby. You and this pretty little pussy of yours.” He says, and finally, he licks a long stripe up through your folds and to your clit. 

You inhale sharply, threading your fingers through his thick brown locks before shoving his face closer to your cunt. He groans, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your husband’s skillful tongue laps up every last drop of your arousal. 

Frankie plunges his tongue into you unexpectedly and fucks you with the muscle, nose bumping your clit with every thrust. 

“Frankie, fuck, please—” You pant, and he removes his mouth from you for a second to look up at you and smirk. The whole bottom half of his face was coated in your slick. 

Staring back at you was a man who loves to eat his wife’s pussy like it was the last meal he’d ever have, and fuck was he always starving. 

“You need my fingers too, baby?” He asks, moving to suck on your clit. A loud moan escapes you, and you grip onto the back door handle for dear life. 

“P-Please.” Your voice is a desperate cry, the coil building up so quickly it nearly gave you whiplash. 

He eases two fingers into your sopping heat, the warmth of you contracting around his fingers. He moans at the feeling of you, the sensation going straight to his already impossibly hard cock. 

He needs you to come first. That’s his rule. 

“She’s so needy for me, hm?” Frankie asks, and you can’t even begin to form a coherent thought as he scissors his thick fingers in and out of you. He picks up his pace and curls them, the squelching sound obscene as it reverberates through the cab of the truck. 

“Don’t stop Frankie, please,” You beg, the coil about the snap. He brings his mouth down onto you once more, licking through your folds, flicking his tongue once he gets to your clit. 

Your whole body stills as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, orgasm washing over your body like a wave crashing down onto shore. 

“There you go baby, that’s it. That’s it.” Frankie’s voice is smooth; calming. It’s almost dream-like with the way he sounds and the euphoric bliss that pumps through your veins. 

Your body slumps against the seat as you try to catch your breath. Frankie takes a seat next to you on the bench and pulls you into him, tipping your jaw up so your lips meet his. Your tangy-sweet taste dances on your tongue as he slips his into your mouth, groping at your body desperately. 

Your hands make their way down to the bulge in his slacks and you rub your hand over him. A groan rumbles from deep within his sturdy chest, and that’s when you’re quick to get to work. You fumble with his belt buckle but eventually get it undone, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks. 

You tap his hips and he raises them so you can take off his slacks and boxers simultaneously. His hard cock springs free, and Frankie’s shoulders slump at the slight relief from restraint. 

You maneuver yourself onto your knees in front of him, placing both of your hands on his thick thighs before rubbing your hands up and down. You move a hand to gently grasp his cock, thumbing the pre-come off and popping your thumb into your mouth. You moan at the taste, moving your head down to lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock.

 Frankie’s hand cradles the back of your head as he closes his eyes in pure bliss. You love seeing him like this, falling apart under your touch—or rather, your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around him before taking him as far down as you can go. You swallow around him when you feel the urge to gag, easing yourself all the way down until your nose meets the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck, honey, your mouth feels so fucking good.” Frankie praises, peeling his eyes open to see you taking him so well. Your gaze locks on his and he inhales sharply, the sultry look in your eyes nearly sending him over the edge. You move your head up to feel and taste his silky flesh onto your tongue as it glides upward. 

You keep a consistent pace, moaning around him as he pants and grunts above you. Pleasing him like this only added to your arousal further, a deep need lighting aflame in your core once again. 

Frankie’s panting was getting louder, and he had to abruptly yank you off of him. 

“I don’t wanna come yet,” He pants, “I wanna be buried in you.” 

You whine softly at his words as he pulls you up to straddle his lap, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds. You gasp when it catches your clit, slumping forward onto him. 

“Look at me, querida.” He instructs softly, and you move your head back so your gaze meets his. His eyes are full of carnal desire for you, muscle in his jaw ticking furiously as he concentrates on your gaze. 

He notches his tip at your entrance, and your eyes briefly shut before opening once more as you sink down onto him. Your jaw hangs open and your brows furrow, Frankie’s expression mirroring yours. 

You buck your hips forward, loving the feeling of his cock buried in you as he stretches you so deliciously. You thread your fingers through his locks once more, grinding your hips down onto him. His hands bring themselves to your hips, keeping your pace steady as you rock yourself against him. 

Your lips meet his once more, the kiss so passionate and hungry and full of a primal need that you can never seem to satiate. 

“So fucking lucky you’re my wife. I love you so much, honey.” 

“I love you too, Francisco. I always will.” You pant against his lips, enveloping his in yours once more. He stills your hips and fucks up into you as you trail your kisses down his throat and suck on his pulse point. 

Frankie slots a hand between you both and finds your clit, rubbing furiously at it as you both brace yourselves for impending release. 

Before you can even clock it, your cunt convulses around Frankie’s cock as you gush around him, head thrown back between your shoulders as you hold onto him. He leans forward and noses at your neck, kissing and nibbling the spots he knows drive you wild before his own hips still and he comes undone, spilling everything he has into your warmth. 

He groans repeatedly into your neck, both of you panting furiously as you try to catch your breaths. 

You huff a laugh and slump into his body, enjoying the post-coital bliss as you inhale the earthy musk and salt your husband smells of. 

“Did I take care of you well enough, bebita?” He asks breathlessly with a smug grin plastered against his lips, not-charged-enough-vibrating-panties completely forgotten. 

Your nails lightly scrape the exposed skin of his chest, and you’re so fucked out that you can only hum in approval. 

He kisses your forehead and admires the glow you always have after you two have sex. It’s the little things like this that he truly never thought he’d have in life, and then you walked into it all those years ago and made him an honest, loving man—and he truly wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“Happy anniversary, baby.” 

tags: @endlessthxxghts @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @punkshort @party-hearses

divider by @saradika-graphics

[pedge-page]

Candles

Part 5 to Best Man Series. follow Christmas Party.

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It's Tommy's birthday. So why are you still looking for Joel to celebrate it?

notes: Its been 4 months but here's the next part for those of you still waiting on since December! The next part will most likely be the finale.

Warnings: unprotected sex (with Tommy), infidelity / cheating, pregnant reader, toy usage, dildo riding, breeding kink, oral m!receiving (with Joel), m!masturbation, short voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cum eating, jealous!Joel, emotions are FLLYYINNGGG in this one

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous. 

He’s at home, drifting off in thought as his hands do poor work on wrapping paper around the new pair of shoes and watch that he picked out. When Sarah, who’s focus is on brushing her doll’s hair and changing her bathing suit, starts yapping about how Uncle Tommy's kid is gonna be her best friend since she doesn't have any siblings to play with right now, all Joel can think about is you and Tommy together right now on his special day. 

What would it be like, waking up to you in a shared bed every day? To be the first to kiss you, smell your morning breath and sift his fingers through your bed head? To see your eyes shine from the sun reflecting off of them, twinkling with the buildup of a tear after a yawn.

What would it be like, getting a birthday blow job from you first thing in the morning? Even if you aren’t his wife, he’s thought about getting to have you all the time, just for him. He doesn’t get jealous of Tommy very often, because Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous, but he tuts at the idea that your mouth wrapped around his cock is a sight he gets to behold more often than Joel ever will. 

What would it be like, to not have to sneak around? To just have you loudly, unashamed, sloppily, proudly, the way you deserve, without constantly checking behind your back? To capture your lips in front of everyone like it were normal, to hold your pregnant belly like it was his, because damnit it might as well be.

It drives him insane he can’t mark you up the way Tommy can, less the two of you be caught in your affair. All he can do is pound you better, ruin you some more, and fill you with his seed. 

As if the last one hadn’t already reared its consequences in your growing belly. You’re too beautiful, too full of something special to be kept to one guy.

Still. He’ll only ever be second to Tommy.

What would it be like … to call you his?

“Dad…Dad!”

“What!”

Joel looks down at Sarah who’s got her hands on her hips and a stern look about her face.

Jesus, she really does spend too much time with me.

“The door,” she repeats, pointing downstairs. On cue, the doorbell chimes again.

He grunts as he lifts himself to his feet, brushing her head messily with his big palm before hopping down to answer.

It’s his dad.

“How old ya gotta be to leave your old man standin’ outside in the cold?”

Joel rolls his eyes, shifting to allow his father through the front. “It’s 79 degrees out.”

“Cold for my old bones,” he groans, feinting a shiver. “Share-Bear!”

Sarah bulldozers straight to his abdomen and wraps her arms in a big hug. 

Joel lightly tugs on one of her curly strands and she yelps “ow!”

“Go upstairs and get changed.”

She barrels upstairs to her room, leaving Joel and Miller senior. 

Joel continues tossing a bunch of tape on to the sad excuse of a gift before crinkling all the paper up and tossing it. He moves to search for a gift bag in the closet instead.

His dad sighs loudly. “Tommy sure got a nice beat goin’ for ‘im.”

“Sure does,” Joel notes, his attention more on the shoving past the vacuum.

“Good house, good job, kid on the way. A pretty gal.”

Joel closes the closet and turns towards his dad. “What’s your point, pops?”

“You know my point. He’s got it all together. You...”

“Me what? You don’t think I ain’t doin good on my own?”

“You shouldn’t have to be on your own. Sarah’s mom wasn’t...we knew she wasn’t gonna stick around. Its tough havin’ a kid to raise by yourself—“

“I wouldn’t trade my babygirl in for anything else in the world,” Joel snaps quickly. His eyes dart upstairs briefly. Its a conversation he hates when his dad brings up, especially when Sarah could just be lurking around the corner.

“Im not sayin’ that but.” Grandpa Miller shakes his head and takes a seat at the island. “Kid needs a mom. You need a woman. Someone to hold and kiss and make promises to. Someone to love.”

Joel drops the now filled bag on the countertop. I have that already. It’s just—complicated. “There a reason you stopped by? Other than to lecture me?”

His father grunts apathetically. “Just came by for some wrapping paper, but by the looks of it—“ He glances at Joel’s empty tape roll and bunched up pile of ribboned paper—“Guess I’ll go down to the store to get some.”

“Well you know where the door is.”

His dad follows Joel to his open front door to show him out. One aging father and one rapidly aging eldest son look at each other with a sense of sadness.

“Joel—“

“I’ll see you at Tommy’s.”

-

If you weren’t so pregnant, waking up before Tommy would have been so much easier to give him a blow job.

Instead. It’s half past 9, and you’re just rousing to consciousness. Fully well knowing Tommy has probably been awake for at least an hour but faking it just so he can wake up with you.

“Good morning birthday boy,” you grumble groggily, a soft smile spreading across your cheeks as you pull him in for a peck.

He grins and wraps himself around you. “Mmm Good Morning, little Momma. Ya know what I want for my birthday?”

You did know. He dropped hints like crazy and you already had it ready to go by your nightstand.

The thing about Tommy is…Tommy likes watching. It’s something you figured out when you were already dating after a year. Something about watching you touch yourself, spreading your legs on the bed and fucking yourself with a dildo, or grinding on his pillow and moaning as he stroked his cock from across the room, has him leaking in his palm with dirty words of encouragement.

And even with a hefty baby in your belly, his view of you bouncing on top of the sizable dildo was no different.

“Fuck, fuck that’s it angel. Takin’ that dick so good. Bet it feels good, huh?” He grips his balls with his palm while the other fists over his dick. Sitting upright in your makeup chair, fully naked and facing the bed, he gets a view of everything. His hungry eyes never once leave your body.

You nod. Your knees hurt, but the sight of Tommy’’s heart shaped eyes watching your milky breasts bounce, your lips spread to accomodate the girth of the silicon cock has you smiling for your deserving husband.

“It’s—not as easy with the bump…” you say fretfully. You feel like shit, not being able to give him the show that he wanted on his birthday. It’s a lot more difficult to angel and thrust a stick into you when there’s a planet blocking your view.

Tommy hoists himself up quickly, jerking his cock as he approaches you. He tosses the dildo and crawls over you before veiny hands caress along your hips, over your belly and squeezing your tits. “S’okay, little Momma. ‘m’here now. Daddy’s gonna make it better.”

You grasp his face with both hands and grin, pulling his lips to yours. At the same time, he slides his leaking member into your folds, forcing a grunt in the back of both of your throats as he bottoms out.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” he growls, fucking you steadily with deep strokes. “I get my one birthday wish today. Thinking’ I’m gonna leave a little present in this pussy. Have ya walk around all day with a lil bit of me inside.”

You laugh and gently tap your belly. “There’s a bit more than a ‘little’ bit of you inside me already.”

His stomach rumbles with a a chuckle. “That’s for everyone else to know who ya belong to. Nah, I’m talkin something just between you n me.” His arm holds himself above you as he rocks his hips with shallow ruts. “Shit, shit, ya gonna take it f’me? Gonna take my present on my fuckin’ birthday?”

You let out a high pitched whine, neck convulsing backwards as your cunt starts tightening around his length. 

Tommy locks your lips to his, tongue’s messily rolling into one another’s mouth. A string of saliva connect between the two of you when he pulls away, only for him to rub it against your breast.

“Tommy,” you moan desperately. You’re close, you’re about to tell him so: “I—“

“I love you,” he rasps. His eyes are shut tight as he finds that sweet spot inside, sending you over the edge before you can finish your thought.

 He thrusts a few more times before stilling. His balls twitch with satisfaction, each grunt from his chest echoing the spurts of his seed inside you. He feels at peace when he can be this close to you, his hand warm against your tight tummy and his soon-to-be kids.

His soon to be complete family.

His words rattle in your ears. You feel the opposite of light and airy after an orgasm. No, everything is heavy. Your head feels like a boulder stuck to the pillow. Yet empty. Your body so full yet feeling incredibly hollow right now. 

Tommy kisses your lips once more, not noticing the way you don't return the vervor. He sits up, wipes the sweat from his brows and slaps your thigh.

“You okay? Fucked ya a little too hard, baby momma?” He snickers.

You fake a laugh, hoping he’ll see you’re feeling exhausted rather than suspect anything is wrong.

Your husband kisses your forehead with a whisper “Stay in bed, you rest as long as ya need,” before walking towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

I love you. It should have made you feel surrounded by him. Comforted, secure, proud, inseparable, sound, cherished, warm, fuzzy, happy, truthful, light. Your husband confessing his love to you. 

Instead, it only reminded you of the dream had about Joel again last night.

Joel in your house. Joel in your bed. Joel dropping Sarah off at school and feeding your newborn with her bottle. Joel cooking in your backyard, Joel’s hands entwined with yours on a walk. Joel rubbing your shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Joel kissing your cheek and telling you he lo—

You cover your face with the back of your hands. Tommy’s the one in your bed. Tommy holds your hand and kisses your cheek, and will be feeding and burping your baby, will be there for you forever and always because that’s what you promised to each other. 

You hold the ring on your finger up high in the air, its dazzling shimmer glints in your eyes. Your eternal promise, displayed on something so small yet so permanent, wrapped up in such a beautiful band.

The same ring that Best Man Joel carried in his pocket safely for months before you swore yourself to his brother. 

 You curse under your breath.

You’re still going to have to see him today.

-

He watches you crowd over Tommy seated at the head of the table, your hands lovingly on his shoulders. He thinks about his “one wish” for a while, but he only looks sideways towards you, holding your gaze for a moment before he confidently blows his candles. The room erupts in a rumble of cheers and clapping, but Tommy and you are only smiling at one another. He grabs your face and kisses you, smearing some icing on your nose. You laugh with him and rub it along his own, the two of you giddy and in your own world.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

And when you slice into the cake, nobody really understand why the cake is split between a blue and pink center. Everyones thinking the same thing--we already did the baby shower, it was going to be a girl!

“We might...have found out…there's gonna be another one,” you say sheepishly, your hands rollings over the heft of your larger than life belly that surprisingly has two little bubbas growing inside. 

Twins. you're having fucking twins. 

Tommy grasps your face and smears more icing on you, the two of you locking lips again and getting a little too pg-13 in a room full of raucous screeches that feel like nails on a chalkboard, shuffling chairs like a thunderous stampede. Everyone rushes to congratulate the two of you, how your lives are really starting, how exciting it must all be, what names you’ve been thinking of, its its everything you’d hoped it would be.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

Tommy knew, of course he did. Both of you planned it, to announce it like that. He’s got that smug look on his face, nothing of surprise. Just absolutely elated to share news that had been sitting on the two of you for who knows how long. Something Joel used to always get firsthand word from. You’re having twins. And he’s learning about it for the first time, same as everyone else. Tommy’s friends pat him on the back. Aunts kiss his cheek and even his dad smiles towards his youngest son’s success, all while the whole time, his ringed hand hasn’t left the curve of your swollen womb.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

He slips out the back of the room, everyone too engrossed in surrounding the happy couple. Nobody cared for Joel’s presence, not since the minute Tommy was born. Nobody would bat an eye for his absence today too.

…

You’re excited, you want to celebrate, and having everyone touching and surrounding you and asking questions wasn’t the way you wanted it. That’s why it was supposed to be during Tommy’s birthday, so there was something else to focus on.

But your body is on edge. It was attention from all that thrill. Jittery and warm under your palms.

Between your legs.

It’s hard to force Joel out of your mind whenever he’s in the same room. So when he dips out of the kitchen without making any gesture towards you, you didn’t hesitate to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Nobody questions it, continuing their swarm around Tommy now who’s too eager for all the attention to really notice.

You don’t know what you expect from Joel. You don’t even know why you’re seeking him right now, and not standing by your husband’s side. You love Tommy. He’s everything to you. 

So why is there still this half of you that feels… like you need more?

Maybe your body is thinking on her own accord now, and that’s been a problem that needs to end. No. No you just wanted to talk. That’s all. He's your brother-in-law, for fucks sake. it’s natural you want to hear his thoughts. He’s gonna be a double uncle! He deserves a congratulations! Hope he’ll tell you congratulations too. Acknowledge it in some way. That its happening. That you and Tommy—are just you and Tommy. 

You wonder where the older Miller may have gone in such a small house. Sarah was still in the room, sneaking cake since nobody else seemed to care to slice it up, so where on earth—?

A callused palm wrap around your mouth and pulls you backwards into the dark bathroom, the door closing you inside with him warm and pressed tightly against your back.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, all the way down to the dampness spreading along your panties. Fuck. What was it about just ‘talking’ to him again? 

“J-Joel,” your voice wavers cautiously. “I—“ 

“You still gonna keep pretending you don’t want me?”

You face him as he turns the lights on and the two of you are caught in one another’s grasps. There’s a moment where you size him up, and he wonders if you’ll bluff his pass.

Instead, Like magnets that can’t resist their attractions, your instincts overwhelm you. Your eager fingers dig into the back of his neck and smash his lips against yours. The traces of icing still linger on your lips and tongue, the two of you devouring one another, fighting to get the last lick before coming apart to breathe.

Joel just smirks, his tongue swiping over his puffy lower lip. “Sweet,” he hums. His thumb brushes the bit of icing you didn’t know was still on your nose and puts it in his mouth. “How somethin’ so sweet come from someone so naughty?”

You quickly drop to a squat and roughly shove his hips back against the sink. Nimble fingers working swiftly to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down to his thighs.

You’re both panting through swollen lips, heart rate moving a lot quicker than the activities you’ve so far done would permit. He’s gorgeous like this—illuminated by the harsh florescent light above, his sincere, albeit sinful, smile and rosy cheeks watching you kiss his hardened length. 

He doesn’t force you. Doesn’t do anything to make you feel concerned. In fact, you’ve cornered him against the vanity, forcing yourself between his bent knees and inserting his tip to your wet mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers softly. His thumb strokes over your cheek as you guide more of his leaking cock into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, not even to blink. 

Your head bobs eagerly, swallowing around him. There’s just something about that huge dick of his that has you going feral. An itch you can’t scratch until his cum is either nested safely in your stomach or your womb. Maybe it’s because you’ll never be able to get rid of him. He’ll be around forever, and that means you can keep seeing him and his beefy horse cock forever. Forbidden yet yours for the taking. Every day if you wanted. 

The sounds of the party outside feel so remote compared to the events happening in such a little room right now. Just between you and Joel. 

The babies ain’t quite here yet so just you and Joel.

“Pretty pretty angel, sucking’ Daddy’s cock like that. What would your husband think? Suckin’ his big brother off in your house? I’d tell ‘im you got to your knees all by yourself. Little slut couldn’t wait for it. Second she saw me, needed my fat cock stretchin’ her throat, ain’t that right? Needed me to give ya something today too? Just that selfish, aren’t ya?”

You pull off his cock with a big gasp, smiling lazily. He slaps his cock against your open tongue with thick and wet patpatpats. 

He tsks you. “Pregnant gal, on her knees, takin’ cock like a slut. What a woman you are, little momma.”

You hum in approval, the drunken desire for Joel to fill your every senes clogging your brain.

Soft lips enclose around his tip again and he thrusts forward this time, holding his cock deep. You try to remember to breathe through your nose, even with his hairs tickling your lashes, but Joel pulls back enough to just his tip, and sets a gentle rhythm back and forth.

Joel’s head falls back against the mirror. His eyelids feel heavy each time he looks down to you. So full and rounded by a child—two children…if they're his, Joel’s having another daughter and his first son.

“Told ya you were made from breedin’. You’re gonna be like this the rest of ya life. Gonna put another baby in ya, then another—” he chuckles to himself, “N’another—havin’ ya suck cock not remember what number baby ya got growing’ in ya belly.”

He hisses through his teeth as you suck his member in and out, picking up pace. Your tongue works over his tip with each swipe, hand jerking off the base of his dick that you can’t fit. Any saliva and precum is immediately suckled and swallowed, leaving no evidence at the scene.

You’d gotten pretty good at that.

Joel’s beefy paw grasps the porcelain edge behind him as he hisses through his teeth. His stomach tenses, the veins in his v’line straining and you know he’s close. 

You alternate between sucking his balls and jacking off his cock above you. “What if I busted all over that pretty face? Have ya walk around your house with my cum on those lashes as everyone told ya what a cock hungry whore you are.”

You moan around him, your pussy so slicked between your thighs that it’s dripping down your pants. Its wrong. Fuck, you’re so wrong to want it. Want Tommy to see who’s marking you up, see how much you’d spread your pussy for Miller cock no matter if its your husbands his brothers.

His cock finds its way to your mouth again, and he starts thrusting lightly. 

“Swallow it, swallow it all. Want ya hesitatin’ to kiss Tommy after this. Knowin’ ya got my spunk in your mouth still. Fuck me babydoll, mouth’s a dream.”

His jaw drops low as he cums, and god what a sight. Your cunt throbs as he lets out pained breaths into the air, ready to cum if you were able to touch yourself right now.

You gulp down his salty load, lips suctioned to his tip and milking him clean to avoid any messes that might linger.

“That’s a good slutty wife,” he whispers down to you. Even on your knees, the heft of your pregnant belly is doing wonders to him. 

You lazily grin up to his smug grin. He knows you like showing him just how good you are at swallowing loads, like a good wife always does.

He pulls his softened cock out of your mouth, and you gasp a big breath of air, your hands still clinging to his thighs.

You feel his protective hands hoist you up to your feet. 

“Anything hurt?” He asks gently, holding your body flush against him as he rubs your tummy and hips. He feels much less tense than just moments ago when he pulled you in the bathroom with him. 

You shake your head. It’s not the first time you’ve gone down on a man while 30 pounds heavier with a baby. Your knees are a bit sore, but it’s nothing compared to the ache you’ve been feeling in your back for months now.

You try to pull away from Joel, but his arm is wrapped tightly around you. 

“Didn’t think you were pullin’ me in here just to suck me off. Why are you actin’ like this little snatch is happy from that?”

“I didn’t pull you—you pulled me,” you correct.

“You came lookin’ f’me. And you got on your knees all by yourself.”

His hands caress lower down your hip, gliding along your leggings towards your crotch. It should be wrong, the way your hand closes around his wrist to guide him closer, his digits dipping below the waistline and down your panties. 

He feels it: the soft squelch of your slick in your ruined underwear, pulsing madly. He grins and lets out a satisfied yet devious ‘ooooh there we go’ against your cheek. 

But there’s more. More dripping from here than he’s given you just from the thrill of sucking his cock.

He pushes his middle finger past your entrance and fingers out the glob of cum that had been deposited inside you earlier today.

“It’s —it’s Tommy’s birthday,” you moan, as if he needed an explanation as to why your husband’s seed is dripping out of your pussy. “Had—to give him—ooohhhhuugggg—his…gift—“

He continues to finger fuck you slowly, his younger brother’s cum practically pooling in your underwear. “Got one man’s cum in your mouth and a different one’s in ya pussy." He shakes his head. when he gets you like this, sometimes he would forget that you’re Tommy’s wife, after all. That Tommy gets you more than him. Gets to fill you whenever he pleases. Gets to hear your moans as loudly as he wants. That Tommy’s right to your pussy is his first and foremost, sacredly, forever and always.

That doesn’t stop Joel from seething at the thought of having to finger his brothers spent out of you.

"What, he didn’t make ya cum?” He taunts, picking up the pace. Even as you wreathe under his touch, your nails clench into his bicep, feeling the muscle work with each flick of his knuckle. “S’why you’re so desperate today? Wifey didn’t get her selfish little cunt pleased from your husband on his birthday?”

 "I did come …” you protest weakly. You squeeze your eyes shut, head tilted down as he works you open. It’s sloppy and sticky in your leggings, soaking the underside with your slick and Tommy’s cum being forced out by Joel’s big fingers relentlessly hitting the gummy spot inside.

His other hand grips your chin and forces you to look at him:

 “Then why you comin’ to me?”

There’s a prickle of a tear filling your eyes. You've been asking yourself the same thing for months. You don’t know from what; the brink of pleasure or guilt, but there’s a hefty stone that’s burrowed in your chest all day that you didn’t know needed to escape. The words are forced out of your chest with a pained gasp. 

"... I just want... more.”  

It should pain you to admit it, to be so selfish for these men, never feeling one is enough for you.

Normally He would kiss you right now, to hush your mind to reveal something so heavy, but instead, he holds your gaze, gritting his teeth with a snarl just barely poking along his lip. He wants to let your words sink into your bones, really grasp what you've been denying for too long. Suffer with it, even.

You hadn’t even realized he backed you up against the door, pressing his knee between your leg. You’ve become trapped and hadn’t even noticed. His fingers prod your entrance incessantly, reaching deep inside so there’s no way of you to wiggle out of his grasp. curling up and beating your g-spot better than Tommy can—at this point, its very possible you’ve had more sex with Joel than with your own husband.

And that makes the coil in your pussy snap.

Joel belittles you without any words while you fall apart against the wooden door holding you up. Working the heft of his palm against your clit until your brows are furrowing, mouth agape, walls clamping down tight around him as you cum. The door rattles with each little roll of your hips, and your moans aren’t hushed either. 

He watches, the way your eyes are glued to him, blown wide in guilt and in pleasure while little whines escape your lips. Unrelenting and stoic as he works you through your orgasm, granting no mercy nor even trying to shush your little cries from over stimulation. You don’t hesitate when he brings his fingers to your lips, swallowing them whole and sucking Tommy and your slick off Joel’s fingers. He wipes the rest off on your shirt.

Every emotion you feel with Tommy, you feel with Joel in moments like these. He holds you close to him as you breathe in his musky, minty scent. His shirt smells a bit like flowered softener and a hint of early morning sweat. Fumigated with the thick aroma of sex.

You're looking at the ring on your knuckle.

“I helped pick it out. Carried it for months. ’S practically my ring to you too.” He’s babbling now, getting lost in that hazy after-orgasm glow between two people who are connected by a strong, strange bond. “Sometimes …sometimes I think about stealing you away all to myself.”

He makes you two look in the mirror together, with him cradling your belly as you hold your ring hand to your chest. “Look,” he commands softly against your ear. “Kinda looks like our own little family.”

You hate that you kind of liked that idea. But then Tommy is in your mind, the man that you actually love, who fought for you, who you tied your vows to, and as far as you’re concerned, the father of your children. 

Angry, you try to break away and shove Joel, but he's used to it. Used to you closing him off right after these moments of pure insanity. He's not letting it happen today. This time he’s got a firm grip on you like a brick wall and steel wire melding you tight to him. He knows you don’t actually want to push him away. 

"You said you wanted more.”

It’s not a question: it’s a statement. A fact.

The very real thought, the one you tried to push away every time this happens, dawns on you: Joel is tired of sneaking around. Wants to have you when he wants. When everyone is watching. 

Not just sex. To be in your bed, making you dinner and watching movies, dropping Sarah off to school rubbing your back when you’re in pain, there for the babies when you deliver and every day after. 

You manage to push him off of you and shake your head. The chatter outside grows louder than the beats of your heart. Hoisting your pants back up into place, you go to grab the bathroom door, but Joels strong grip lays over top your and forces the door shut.

There’s a deadly, threatening finality to his tone. “I’m telling him.”

You turn back with a shocked expression, partially expecting him to be joking about it. Not that it’s funny. It’s not funny at all. 

But Joel hasn’t moved. Hasn’t cracked a smile. A man whose resolve has overcome his patience. His lips are tight, jaw tense as he watches you try to answer to that horrifying outcome. 

“Joel. No. Are you insane?”

“If its my kids you’re having, I have every right to be there for you—“

“But it’s NOT!”

“You know that? Tell me right know, you know it for sure. Say it ain’t mine, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

You go quiet, looking down at the belly that’s carrying your babies. You want to shrink away from your fears, from the men who’ve caught you between them with their words and their love and their touch. You’re Tommy’s wife. Yet here you are with Joel. Again. In your and Tommy’s house. And Joel’s hand on you, and on your finger is Tommy’s ring—Joel’s ring--TOMMY—

 It’s too much. Everything is closing around you, your lungs suffocating themselves under the pressure that you caused by seeking him out. Finding him and putting yourself in this exact situation ever. Single. Time. 

You yank the door again, desperate to escape, but Joel doesn’t budge. He refuses to let you walk away from the conversation. From him.

“You didn’t deny it,” he reminds you. he pulls your reluctant focus to him again. “Just say it: Tell me you want me. Tell me you lo—”

“I don’t.” You declare rigidly. Its too far. No, no, no,nonoNO. You expel those thoughts, his words, quick to cast them out before letting them enter your system. The next words rush out of your mouth with a deep ache seized in the pit of your stomach: “You’re just a good fuck.”

The air is thin around you. Something has dropped, a pin, a dime, a fucking boulder, between the two of you. Joel grits his teeth and removes his hand from the door, backing away from you with a scowl. He pulls it the knob open harshly and brushes past you quickly, not even taking a moment to check if anyone was nearby to see you emerging from the bathroom too.

He grabs his jacket and strides towards the living room. You can make out the commotion behind the wall; Sarah is having her own philosophy course to her personal audience, asking, "Whats the point of having so many candles if you can only make one wish!?"

Joel grabs her hand and dismisses them quickly. Her sad cries echo into the hall: “But why! It’s too early!”

Joel’s stern voice echoes in the hall as they make their way across the entryway.  “Because I said so. I’ve got work tomorrow. We’re leaving.”

She continues to complain, but Joel doesn’t have any heart to continue their conversation. Ushering her out of the house and slamming the front door behind them.

You stare at the door, having not moved from your place. 

The carpet beneath your socked-feet feels too shaggy. I hated this carpet. Its too fucking much for fucking Texas and every god damn person who sees it here.

You flinch when Tommy’s hand creeps along your belly. Disgusting your sniffle as a cough and wiping your nose. You worry he noticed, but he doesn’t do anything to push the matter further. “What’s up with him?”

You huff an annoyed sigh. “I don’t fucking know. He’s your brother. Just Leave me the fuck alone.”

Tommy observes  your face momentarily, the way you avoid his eyes. He pulls away. “I’m gonna let this one slide as a pregnancy hormonal thing,” he says lowly, a cold soberness to his tone. “Then you can tell me what’s botherin’ ya so much lately. Or not. I’ll let you decide.”

You cover your face with your hands, sinful hands that feel like dry leather and charred ashes. Hands that don’t feel like your own anymore.

It would be better if Tommy just walked away. So you can simmer in your guilt and pain, like any cheating wife would. Like a sensible man who doesn’t take that shit from his wife, no matter what her personal problems are. From a woman who’s secretly jeopardizing their marriage for… what exactly?

You wanted more…but…what did you want more of?

Instead, Tommy feels his lips quiver slightly. He brings your head to his chest, smothering you in his scent and his embrace, his love and comfort.

Your insides break down in a flood. Tears and hiccups suffocate you as you wrap your arms around your husband and sob into his denim jacket, the one you just gave him this morning as his first birthday gift from his new wife. 

Tommy’s never pushed you for anything. Maybe to his own detriment.

Deep down, you suspect, he knows it too.

Instead, he just holds you, swaying back and forth with gentle ‘shhh’ into your forehead. Never once faltering on the stretch of his hug, his arms holding you up and against him like a seatbelt built for a lifetime.

You feel like you just drove the car off a cliff.

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[guess-my-next-obsession]

Because I adore the elementary series ; I’m curious if there will be more drabbles about their first baby & the cute moments like the birth, first shots, first everything; smiles, first mom insecurities, etc.

My apologies if you are not taking any requests of the sort! 🫢

The Firsts

pairing: elementary!joel miller x f!reader

rating: M (talks of labor from a person who’s never given birth so bare with me, talks of shots/needles, first-time mother highs and lows, joel being the husband of our dreams)

wc: no clue but probably around 2-3k?

a/n: sorry this took so long @jennfromthebayarea !! this semester’s been a bitch, but i’m trying to find the spark to write again so bare with me if this is a pile of shit 🫶🏼

elementary masterlist

| The First Delivery |

Though you were well warned and made aware of the pain caused by childbirth, nothing compared to the reality of a contraction, or the searing pain of pushing a baby through your fucking vagina.

Even Joel seemed to have underestimated what birth would be like, his face pale and sweaty as he stood at your side, allowing you to squeeze his hand so hard he was sure it was broken.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he cooed, wiping the sweat that gathered on your forehead away with a damp cloth. “Can already see her head.”

“Fuck this,” you cried, tossing your head back into the pillow you brought from home, your eyes clamped shut as you pushed again, hoping that this one would be the last.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured against your hairline as he pressed a kiss there. “Just a few more pushes, baby.”

“I’m getting the epidural next time,” you panted, taking a second of rest to gather your strength.

“Next time?” he grinned, but you didn’t reply as you started to push again, hard enough to get her shoulders out. “Hardest part’s over, baby. Soon she’s gonna be cryin’ her eyes out in your arms.”

“Can’t wait,” you groaned, your head rolling back against the pillows. “This better be the last one.”

“Go on, then,” he urged with a smile. “Gimme our new babygirl.”

Though it felt like the next few minutes took hours to pass, your entire body screaming at you from overexertion, none of the pain seemed to matter or register the second that the room filled with your daughter’s gargled little cries. Joel let out a choked sound, something between pure joy and disbelief, as he left your side to cradle your messy newborn in his arms. Neither of you were capable of listening to the nurses or doctor’s congratulations as he carefully lowered your bundled up daughter to your chest, her screams music to your ears just because it meant that she was finally here.

She was real, made up of equal parts you and Joel. His dark hair and your kind eyes, his curved nose and your lips. The epitome of love come to life.

“Oh, babygirl,” Joel cooed, a tear rolling down his cheek. “You sure put up a fight on the way out.”

You laughed, something exhausted and yet so full of love and joy and relief.

“I can’t believe…” You shook your head, allowing your tears and emotions a moment to breathe before turning your glossy eyes to your husband. “We made her. Isn’t that insane?”

“I think we did a pretty good job,” he chuckled, lifting a thumb to wipe a rolling tear from your face. “Got all her fingers and toes. Looks like you, not like me. I’d say she’s perfect.”

You gave him a loving pout, rolling your eyes before turning back to your slightly calmer daughter in time for the nurses to take her away for a little clean up.

“How long ‘til she’s back?” Joel asked, his eyes fixed on his daughter as they laid her in her cart.

“Just a minute,” the nurse assured with a smile.

“I still have to push out the—“

“God, forgot about all that,” Joel winced, resuming his seat beside the head of the hospital bed, his hand finding yours. “You know how proud I am, baby? How much I love you?”

“How about you remind me,” you grinned, eyes batting with exhaustion. Joel leaned over, his lips ghosting against yours.

“So fuckin’ proud,” he murmured in between kisses. “And so fuckin’ in love with my wife. Mother of my girls. Fuckin’ everything to me, baby. Everything.”

| The First Shot |

“How long are we supposed t’wait?” Joel groaned, adjusting his posture in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the pediatrician’s waiting room. You grabbed his wrist, lifting the face of his watch up to read the time. “How long we been here?”

“An hour,” you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall as you let your dry, tired eyes rest for a moment while Iris took a nap in her car seat on the floor in front of the two of you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he cautioned, reaching his hand over to lay flat on the top of your denim-covered thigh, his touch warm and soothing even in all your irritability. “Y’know they’re gonna call us as soon—“

“Miller family?” the nurse called from the door leading to the patient rooms. With a rub of your eyes, you stood up along with Joel who, thankfully, already had Iris’ car seat handled. The nurse smiled at the three of you in a way that looked trained rather than genuine, but given your exhaustion and annoyance at having to be out in the world doing real people things with a newborn, you might just be extra critical. “Hi, come on back, guys.”

“S’about time,” Joel muttered under his breath, seemingly just as cranky and desperate to get home as you. “Any reason it took an hour for us to get called back?”

“Just a hectic day, I do apologize,” she offered, though once again…trained. Leading you down a hall, she pointed at a room with an open door on the right. “Right through here.”

Joel was even more tense than you as the two of you watched the nurse take your diaper clad newborn’s vitals before handing her back, Joel’s hands quick to take her into his arms.

“Fuckin’ cold in here,” he murmured as the nurse left the two of you with the assurance that the doctor would be right in. “Baby girl’s probably freezin’.”

“She’s behaving at least,” you said, reaching over to place her blanket over her as Joel kept her cradled in his arms. “No tears yet.”

“Until the needles come out,” he snarked.

“Just because you faint every time a needle comes near you—“

The sound of quick, sure knocks cut you off as the doctor walked in. “Miller family?”

“Yep,” you offered her a smile.

“Alright, and this must be Iris,” she said, walking over to Joel. “May I?”

Joel looked tempted to tell her to fuck off but conceded, handing Iris over.

“She’s a cutie, isn’t she?” she asked as she rested Iris on the examination table.

“All from her mama,” Joel added, forcing a smile onto your face.

“Well, her stats are looking great,” she said, pressing her stethoscope to Iris’s chest. “Only thing left to do is give her some shots, and I’m gonna need one of your help for that.”

“Joel,” you nudged him, not entirely confident in your ability to keep your daughter still in the middle of a potential tantrum.

“I’ll faint,” he said, no humor in his voice. “You gotta.”

“Fine,” you sighed, nerves coursing through you as the doctor walked Iris over to you. “How many shots?”

“Three today,” she said as she and the nurse set up the needles.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking deep calming breaths while Joel chose to close his eyes altogether as the doctor walked over with the first needle. “Alright, baby girl. Don’t hate me.”

“Just a quick pinch,” the doctor said as she injected the shot into Iris’s right thigh, the so-called “quick pinch” tearing a wail from your daughters chest.

“Oh, baby,” you frowned, holding her tight as she screamed her lungs out. “Just two more.”

The crying didn’t end until the three of you were seated in the car, the color drained from your faces as you all recovered in silence.

“Next time, I’m leavin’ the room for the shots,” Joel said, turning the key in the ignition.

“I feel so bad,” you frowned, leaning your head back against the headrest to listen to your daughters sniffles. “Poor baby.”

“Fuckin’ doctors,” Joel grumbled, shaking his head. “Makin’ babies cry.”

“Absolute sickos,” you agreed with a chuckle.

| The First Steps |

“Baby!” Joel’s yell was almost enough to get you to drop the sudsy plate in your hand as you washed the dishes. You quickly set the plate down and wiped your hands off on the dish towel hanging off the oven door before hustling out to the backyard where Joel, Sarah, and Iris were.

“What happened?” you asked in a panic, finding Joel half-crouched over with his back turned to you.

“Look,” he smiled over his shoulder before nudging his head to call you over. You hesitantly approached, rounding his frame until you saw what had him smiling so hard.

“She’s standing!” Sarah announced, squatting in front of her little sister while she held onto two of Joel’s fingers for balance.

“Stay,” you ordered the three of them before sprinting inside to grab your camera. When you returned to the patio, however, you almost forgot what you’d set out to do as Iris, guided by Joel’s clunky steps behind her, waddled and stumbled towards you. “Damn it, I don’t want to cry.”

Joel laughed, “Take the damn picture, baby.”

You sniffled away your tears and held the camera up, watching through the viewfinder as Joel leaned down to blow a raspberry against Iris’s cheek, making her laugh. You clicked the camera a couple times, determined to get a good photo unlike all of your previous attempts at documenting her growth—closed eyes, frozen frames of her right before she turned herself red with a tantrum, dribble flooding down her chin.

“Jesus, I’m getting this framed,” you cooed, frowning adoringly at the picture. “She looks so much like you when she smiles, Joel.”

“Poor girl,” Sarah teased, walking up to you to look at the picture. “She is a cutie, though. Especially when she’s not covered in barf or drool or snot or—“

“Like you were any different?” Joel teased her right back as he scooped Iris into his arms to settle her on his hip. “Had to get rid of half my shirts back in the day ‘cause someone wouldn’t stop pukin’ on me.”

“I probably did you a favor given your fashion sense,” she returned with a flip of her curls.

“Okay, you two,” you chuckled, handing Sarah the camera before reaching for your daughter. “You interrupted my chores so now they belong to you. I’m gonna go cuddle with my precious little—“ A whiff of something familiar hit you the second you hugged Iris closer. “Oof. More like my stinky little girl.”

“You’re takin’ diaper duty over dishes?” Joel asked, arching his brow.

“You’re right,” you said, handing your daughter back to him. “You’ve been doing it longer than me, I’m sure you’re better at—“

“Load of shit,” he laughed, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Sarah’s got the dishes. You go sit down and think of some new ways to manipulate me into changing her diapers. Material’s gettin’ stale.”

| The First Day |

“Joel,” you sniffled as you started on Iris’s hair for her first day of preschool. “I can’t drop her off. I’m gonna have a breakdown and then she’s gonna have a breakdown and then I’m just going to cave and bring her home. You have to go do it.”

“Baby,” he laughed, his voice still coarse from sleep as he leaned in the doorway of Iris’s bedroom with a cup of coffee in hand. “S’gonna be fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you returned, more snippy than you’d intended. “I’m already a blubbering mess.”

“Mama,” Iris frowned, turning in your lap to stare at the tears sliding down your cheeks. “S’okay. Don’ cry.”

“Mama’s alright, baby,” Joel intervened, setting his coffee on the dresser before coming over to sit on her twin mattress beside the two of you, his arm wrapping around your waist. “You’re excited to go to school, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, flashing a toothy smile. “Sissy said it’s not scary, so I’m not scared.”

“Good, there’s no reason to be,” he smiled at her before turning to you. “See? She’s good, baby.”

“But I’m not,” you managed through a whisper. Joel frowned and reached over to wipe your cheek free of your tears. “Can you please just come with me? I know you’ve got work but—“

“I’ll call Tommy n’ let him know,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “How ‘bout you go take a second to yourself and I’ll finish up here? Sound good?”

You gave him the sort of smile that screamed appreciation and undying devotion, one that was reserved just for him. “I love you.”

Joel placed a kiss on your shoulder and scooped your five year old out of your lap and onto his. “We love you more, mama. Don’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Iris grinned. “More than the whole wide world.

“Don’t get me started again,” you chuckled, wiping a few fresh, happier tears from your waterline. “Alright. Pig tails, she said.”

“What’s that? A lopsided ponytail? Comin’ right up.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Five More Games

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You haven't seen your boyfriend in over two weeks, your longing for Joel interrupts a FaceTime session. Warnings: smut, baseball talk, FaceTime mutual masturbation, pining, softness, Joel cum's all over his stomach Words: 3,000 Playlist A/N: These two have previously appeared together in 18 Seasons and Golden Corral. I wanted to write something super self indulgent to celebrate the month anniversary of posting my first fic Golden Walkway on here. I also want to shout out two people who helped me in this whole writing process. @ohheypedrito for being my steadfast fellow obsessor and idea bouncer offer and @justagalwhowrites for her very sweet response when I asked for words of advice that ultimately made me take the big step to hitting post.

Joel has internally struggled this season:  unhappy with his new team, unhappy with his new city, unhappy with the game he loved. Unfamiliar fans, unfamiliar apartment, unfamiliar restaurants, unfamiliar grocery store. The only familiar thing for Joel is you, taking the train down to the city whenever you can, staying in his aforementioned unfamiliar apartment making it seem more like home. You of course knew you couldn’t go to any of his games and openly root for him, but you were happy to watch the game on his couch in his new home, welcoming him back with a hug, smelling the sweat of the game still on him… Joel always far too impatient to shower at the stadium, too excited to get back to you. 

The two of you stuck together living a secret nobody knew about, the two of you never admitting the love you had for each other was growing into something loud enough that soon everybody would hear. What would your dad think? What would Joel’s old teammates think? What would his agent think? What would your coworkers think? What would Sarah think? 

For eight months you and Joel have done this alone, the only people privy to your relationship is whomever might look over at him placing his hand on your thigh at a restaurant, a couple of close friends of yours, and maybe the doorman of Joel’s apartment building delivering packages addressed to you. No, you didn’t want to live in this lie, but to stay with Joel and know him like you do, all of the struggles were worth it.

When he got off the call letting him know that the Philadelphia Liberties signed him to a one year deal, Joel didn’t call his daughter, he didn’t call his brother… he called you. Playing in Philly meant he would only be an hour and a half train ride away. How many more times could you make empty excuses as to why you needed to fly back home to Texas? He knew the toll it was taking on you personally and professionally, he couldn’t give you up, but he also couldn’t live with himself always seeing how tired you were as you stepped out of the airport and into his car. 

The worst part of all of this… Joel was having one of the best seasons of his career. Articles and reporters all repeating over and over how at his age he was having a banner year. Joel loved a challenge and he loved to take his frustrations to the field, playing harder and more focused than ever. 

He wanted to share his accomplishments with you, publicly. He wanted to see you as a part of the wives and girlfriends group, knowing how much you’d stick out against all of the preened and fancy clothed wives, never understanding why they dressed up the way they did to watch a ball game in the Summer heat. He wanted to see you cheering louder than anyone else as he rounded the bases after hitting a home run. He wanted his teammates to tease him for having a picture of you taped up in his locker. He wanted to see you waiting for him in the tunnel after the game wearing his jersey. He wanted to be able to call you his to anyone who’d listen. 

He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in almost twenty years. Once Sarah’s mom left, he gave up dating and significant others to focus on the game and being a dad. Maybe there was just never anybody worth it, but you? You were worth it, and he hated that he couldn’t show everyone how much he loved you. 

——

“Next week’s the All Star Game, you still able to head home?” Joel asks as he watches you change into one of his old Capitals shirts you took as a sleep shirt. 

He loves FaceTime. For years he rolled his eyes at the idea of having to look at who’s he’s talking to… until he learned he can watch you go through your nightly routine in your bedroom. Now he gets to watch you apply your face lotion, feeling a bit like a voyeur looking in on your world from your MacBook screen. He especially likes FaceTime when you angle the laptop on the bed to show him your body as you make yourself cum while chanting his name and how much you miss him. 

“Yeah, so far so good. Can’t believe we’re doing this, especially seeing as you’re in the actual game and we’re letting everybody know the night before. What happens if it’s not good and it affects your g—” 

“I’ll be fine no matter what. It has to be done, I don’t know how many times I can tell Sarah my agent is texting. I think she knows something’s up, she’s too smart, she knows I don’t have friends,” he sighs. “How do you think your parents are gonna take it?”

“I think my mom will be cool with it, she always liked you, especially because of Sarah. My dad? I don’t know, I think he’ll be fine but I also think he’ll have a lot of reservations about us and how it’ll look once everyone finds out. He’s going to drop some business words and worry how it might end up as tabloid fodder amongst baseball people, and I fully understand his issues.” You get into your bed, moving the computer to lay next to you, Joel’s face and broad shoulders taking up most of the screen, it’s such a pitiful replacement to having his warm body next to you. “I don’t know, I wish we could just not do this but be able to do everything like normal people.” 

“There’s nothing normal about this, I’m in a hotel room in Seattle and I just got done eating $45 grilled chicken and brown rice from room service. You just closed your blinds with a remote in your apartment with a view of Central Park. We’re not a normal couple sweetheart,” Joel gives you his reassuring smile, his dimple pressing into his skin, you wish you could touch it. God, you miss him.

“I know, I just wish things could be more simple.” 

“I know baby, me too,” his smile faltering as he hears the longing in your voice. 

“I think I just really miss you… it’s been almost two weeks.”

“It has, we’ll be together soon. Just have to wait six more days.”

“Five more games,” you whisper. 

The two of you always finding it easier to break it down in games. Only 45 innings.  Only five trips for Joel to step on the team bus and head to the ballpark. Only five games worth of you checking your phone for updates.

“Five more games,” Joel’s voice dropping. “You able to watch tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so,” you try not to let the disappointment in your voice show as much as it does. “I have that dinner with the group in from Toronto. I’m hoping I’ll be home around 9, and the game starts at 4 there… I guess I might be able to see maybe the last couple of innings.”

“Mm, pretty sure I’m just DHing tomorrow, so should be in for the whole game.”

“Save your home run for the last inning please.” 

“‘Course,” he smirks. “I’ll swing for the fences.” 

“Joel—“ you whisper out.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too, your bed’s always so comfortable. Sick of these hotel beds.”

You bring the neck of Joel’s shirt up to your nose and inhale. “Your shirt no longer smells like you, I need a new one.” 

“I’ll have one for you next time baby. I won’t take this one off.” 

“You can take it off now.”

“Yeah? Why do you want me to take it off?” Joel’s eyes get darker. 

“I want to look at you while I touch myself, so take it off.”

“Love how bossy you get.”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“Very funny,” he leans forward, pushing his laptop farther down the desk to give you a better view and removes his shirt. 

The two of you are well versed in the proper set up to have this type of experience over FaceTime. No bright lamp behind you because your body will be blown out by the light. Make sure you angle the screen the right way at the right distance so you can still see each other’s faces and bodies. Joel usually chooses to stay on the couch or in an office chair when he’s in a hotel room, allowing him to sit up and jerk himself off while he can still watch you. You always place your laptop on his side of your bed, laying diagonally across it so he can watch you touch your pussy while staring at the screen. 

You love seeing him shirtless, the way his body fills out in all of the most broad and right places. His shoulders are so wide and muscular, connecting to his toned and strong arms, his muscles never being overbearing and huge, just the perfect size and super capable of hitting a ball over 250 feet. The smattering of hair across his chest trailing down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. His stomach, you’re obsessed with his stomach, it’s so soft, your favorite feeling on earth is laying your head against it. The perfect amount of softness filling out his athletic midsection. Joel’s body perfectly encompasses him, soft and rugged, broad and safe. 

“You’re staring again sweetheart,” Joel’s voice blinks you out of your daze as you ogle the square of him on your screen. 

“Sorry, I just really like looking at you.”

“I know, and I like looking at you.” Joel leans back, placing one of his arms behind the couch, his other hand resting against his thigh. “Now, let me really see you. Take m’shirt off.” 

You nod and move your laptop to its customary location so Joel can see all of you. You take his shirt off leaving you bare for his eyes to roam across your body from over two thousand miles away.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, wish I could rub my hands all over your soft skin. Wish I could smell your hair, wish I could taste your skin. Miss you so fucking much.”

“What would you do to me if you were here?” Your voice barely above a whisper, your body aching for his touch.

“I’d rub my tongue up and down your neck,” you move your fingers to your neck and begin to trail them across it copying Joel’s words. You close your eyes and pretend instead of hearing Joel’s voice coming from a tinny set of computer speakers you’re hearing him from across the bed before he touches you. 

“I’d move my mouth down to take one of your nipples into my mouth.” Your hand grazes down your body to one of your breasts, grabbing your nipple and pulling at it. 

“Fuck baby, yes, grab your other tit, play with ‘em,” you open your eyes at the gruffness of Joel’s voice. His hand is still behind the couch, the other has moved from his thigh to cup his half hard cock through his shorts. 

You begin to push and pull your tits apart and together, rubbing your nipples as you stare back at Joel holding eye contact through the computer.

“Looks like your pussy is drooling all over your sheets, lemme see how wet you are.”  

Your hand goes down in between your legs, you pet yourself making sure to bite your lip, something you know Joel likes as you touch yourself. A groan spills out of Joel’s mouth as he watches you bring your soaked hand up, spreading your fingers to show him how your wetness stretches across your digits. He angles himself up to pull his shorts down, his cock standing hard and solid, you can’t take your eyes off of it as his hand wraps around his length. He begins to stroke himself, as you put your hand back to play with yourself. 

“Wish you could smear yourself all over me and watch me jerk off, wish you would spit in my hand—,” Joel spits in his hand, “so I could fuck my hand until I cum all over your pretty face.” 

Your back arches as you watch Joel lick a bit of spit up from his bottom lip, his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he smears the spit all over his shaft and begins pumping. 

“You’re so pretty, god I miss you. I miss feeling your body pressed against me, I miss sucking your tits, I miss fucking you.” You can’t stop staring at the screen, your fingers paused and resting on your clit. He’s beautiful, the way his muscles in his arms tense as he strokes himself, the way he snarls as he twists his fist around the head, the way he can’t stop staring at you through his laptop screen. “You miss me babygirl?”

He knows what his words do to you, he knows that if he can’t touch you he can at least talk you through it. He’s so thoughtful, not stopping at anything to make you happy, to think about you, to care for you. You hate that you aren’t even close enough to be in the same time zone.

“Yes,” you whisper, if you were any louder you might just start to cry. “So much.”

“I know, I know, fuck,” Joel stops jerking himself off, “I know,” blinking the lust out of his eyes, his big brown concerned eyes planted on his screen. “You okay?”

You didn’t want to do this, you wanted to get off with your boyfriend, shut your laptop lid, and go to sleep. Now? Now you miss him so much you’re naked with your hand still in between your legs and sniffling away tears alone in your bed.

“I am, yeah, I will be. I’m sorry, it just really hit me how long it’s been and I guess I’m just nervous about everything we have to do. I don’t want to lose you…” and at those words and the fear that gets planted inside your heart, you pull your fingers away from your cunt.

“We’re going to figure it out sweetheart. M’not losing you.” Joel follows you and unwraps his hand from around himself. “It has been long, but we’ll have almost a week together next week.”

“Five games?”

“Five games.” The softness of his voice and the reassuring smile he gives makes your stomach twist.

“I’m sorry.” An apology, you’re almost embarrassed by your juvenility, missing your boyfriend so much you almost started to cry.

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize, believe me, I understand.”

“Did you still want to…”

“I’m only happy doing what you want to, sweetheart.”

“I want to show you how much I miss you.” Your hand snakes up your body to start petting the area between your breasts, the place where Joel always like to nuzzle his face in and smell your skin.

“Fuck, okay sweetheart.”

“Five more games until I can feel you inside me.”

“Jesus, getting right back to the point, aren’t we?” He smirks, his eyes follow as you snake your hand down to back in between your legs.

“I’m efficient,” you bend your knee to give Joel a better look as you begin to rub circles along your clit.

“Fuck sweetheart, you look so fucking good,” he groans, wrapping his hand back around his cock. “Fuck yourself with your fingers baby, pretend it’s me.” 

You moan as you stick two fingers in, slowly pushing them in and out, ignoring how poor of a substitute they are for Joel’s cock. 

“Good girl, look at you. My pretty baby, I love you so much.”

His eyes soften as he watches you get lost in fucking yourself. You love how you can tell just how much he loves you by his big, brown eyes, even on your small laptop screen they shine bright. 

“I love you,” you whimper as you reach your other hand down to begin rubbing your clit. Your fingers working overtime inside you and on your clit causing your orgasm to build. 

“Love you baby, so much. Love watching you do this for me,” he grunts as he fucks his fist faster.

“Baaaby,” you breathe out, your heart beginning to rapidly beat, the swirls around your clit quickening. You’re a quivering mess on your bed, staring into your computer screen as you feel your orgasm show. 

“Oh, you’re close, can see it pretty girl, you gonna cum for me? M’gonna cum for you,” he grits out as you watch the hand against his thigh tighten its grip against his skin. He’s close, his jaw going slack, his tongue resting in between his lips, his brows furrowing deeper. It’s a sight you’ve seen so many times now, most of your FaceTime sessions ending like this.

“Cum for me,” you whisper as you orgasm, your pussy squeezes your fingers, your clit pulses against your finger, you fight the urge to shut your eyes because you need to watch Joel as he begins to spurt thick ropes of cum all over his stomach. You love how he looks, biting out swears totally blissed out, his cum pooling against the plush skin of his stomach. 

He swears as he grabs his shirt and cleans himself up, you smile as you watch him, feeling like you’re spying on your own boyfriend. You love FaceTime.

“You’re smilin’ quite big,” he chuckles as he tosses his shirt next to him, and pulls his shorts back up. 

“I like to watch you, that’s all, you’re so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm?”

“Yep, always thought it, and now I get to look at you whenever I want to.”

“Lucky you, huh?”

“Lucky me. Only five more games until I see my handsome boyfriend.”

“Five more games.”

[joelmillerisapunk]

Beach Daddy I. Unexpected Encounters

Rich daddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 5,849

Summary: You find yourself on a luxurious yacht, invited by your old roommate Sarah, only to discover that her new boyfriend is none other than your very recent ex. Feeling out of place and overwhelmed, you take solace in the kindness of Reggie, Joel's intern, who helps you navigate the ship and offers a sympathetic ear.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of cheating, reader has hair and wears a dress, you meet Joel, there's a few random oc's thrown in

Notes: Hi, I hope you enjoy 🥰 if you're feeling saucy after comments and reblogs and thoughts are always welcome! Ty @saradika-graphics for the dividers

As soon as the soles of your worn-out converse hit the wood of the dock, you know you're underdressed. Your old roommate, Sarah, has invited you to spend a few weeks on her father's boat. But as you approach the enormous white yacht docked at the end of the pier, you realize this is no ordinary boat. The yacht's sides are lined with three stories of windows, reflecting the ocean's crystal clear water.

From where you're standing, you can make out a double staircase leading to an upper deck with a circular swimming pool large enough to land a helicopter in. Men and women in matching black and white uniforms pace the decks, preparing the ship to leave the marina.

When Sarah invited you, you had no idea the vacation would be so extravagant. If you had known, you would have packed something nicer than your department store shorts and tank tops. Truthfully, you don't own anything that would make you feel undressed on a yacht that likely costs more than a private island.

"Wow," you say to yourself.

"What was that, miss? Is there something I can help you with?" The driver asks you.

"Oh, sorry, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though," you answer sheepishly.

"Don’t worry about your bags, miss. Someone from the ship will be down shortly to get them and take them to your room."

Sarah sent a Cadillac to the airport to bring you to the private dock her father owns. You appreciate the gesture more than she knows because even though you accepted her vacation invitation, you're on a very tight budget. Splurging for a taxi from the airport to the Florida coast would have left you choosing between buying textbooks or food when your next semester starts.

This vacation marks the beginning of a massive change in your life. After graduating with your Master’s Degree from NYU, you got accepted into Harvard Law School. You'll be moving out of New York City at the end of the summer and getting a new start.

You worked at a hole-in-the-wall bar to pay your tuition and barely scraped together rent each month from your tips. You lived in an apartment that you shared with your two roommates, Lin and Aubrey. You're not renewing your lease on that dilapidated and overpriced apartment, and the thought of finally getting to quit your job is a fantastic feeling.

After all of the excitement of opening your acceptance letter from Harvard, you notice a shift in the one person you thought would remain your constant through all of the change. That person is Todd, your boyfriend of two years. He dumped you with no explanation the night before graduation.

So when you receive a text from Sarah inviting you on a vacation, you accept without hesitation. You're still hurting from the breakup and wanting to be anywhere other than New York.

"Miss?" A woman in a white polo and black knee-length skirt asks you.

"Uh, yes."

"If you will follow me. Miss Miller is waiting for you."

"Of course," you say with a small smile. It's typical that Sarah would send someone to get you rather than meet you at the dock herself, but you ignore it. You're on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it.

As you reach the deck with the swimming pool, you hear a high-pitched version of your name being yelled and you instantly remember why Sarah and you are friends. She has a way of making you feel special.

Sarah is lounging on a deck chair in a glamorous white bikini with a blue chiffon kimono. As she stands to greet you, you're surprised she's wearing high heels. You thought women only did that on the runway–or maybe in certain kinds of movies....

"Sarah! It is so good to see you. You look amazing, by the way." You're not surprised to see that Sarah already has a pink fruity drink in her hand.

"Oh, thanks. Daddy bought me a new yacht wardrobe while we were in Paris. Isn't this bikini just to die for?" She asks.

"It really is." You smile with your response.

"You look cute too. You’re always dressed like you're in a Gap advertisement."

Your smile almost falters, but you catch it before Sarah notices. You had almost forgotten how Sarah can make you feel special one moment and two feet tall the next.

"The yacht is gorgeous. I had no idea what to expect; I’ve never been on a boat like this before." You admit while brushing off Sarah's previous comment.

"I figured this would be a big treat for you. It’s a shame most of my other friends have a fashion show in London. Anyway, I am glad you could make it."

"I'm glad I could make it too," you say, still trying to maintain your smile.

Sarah snaps her fingers at a young man cleaning the pool while wearing a uniform that indicates he is part of the yacht’s staff. He immediately stops what he's doing, brings over a second pink drink, and hands it to you.

"Thank you so much," you say to him with a sympathetic smile. You take a small sip and are sure you will be having many more of these; it's delicious. The pineapple juice perfectly complements the rum.

"Good, right? It’s a Caribbean rum punch." Sarah says, clearly watching the enjoyment on your face.

"It’s really good. I’ve made these for customers before, but I haven’t had the chance to try one."

"Oh, you still work at that little dive bar?" Sarah asks, but she is clearly uninterested and does not intend to wait for your answer. "You are going to love the yacht," she continues without skipping a beat. "Daddy bought it last year; it is much better than his old one. You and I will be on the second floor, right off this deck, with the pool. Daddy is on the third floor in the main suite. He has a whole deck to himself, but each of our rooms has its own balcony."

You had not had a room to yourself in six years. In your apartment, all three of you shared one bedroom because you couldn’t possibly afford anything bigger. The thought of a room and a balcony all to yourself feels almost too good to be true.

"That sounds amazing, Sarah. I can not begin to thank you enough for inviting me. You have no idea how badly I needed this. I just went through the worst break -"

Sarah cuts you off before you can finish.

"Daddy keeps to himself. He says he has work to do or something like that. So most of the time, we will have the ship to ourselves. It's going to be the biggest party. Daddy even hired a DJ as part of the staff after I begged him."

"Who is us?" You ask wondering how many people she has invited.

"You, me, my boyfriend, and a few other friends. Everyone else will be coming a bit later. They’re taking Megan's private jet, so they'll get in just before we set sail.”

Part of you is nervous to meet the rest of Sarah’s friends. People who have their own private jets are not your usual crowd. However, you feel a bit relieved that there will be other people to entertain Sarah so you can find some time for yourself to relax. Sarah is the type of person who can party for hours on end. She always has to go to one more party, one more bar, or one more club before calling it a night.

“Maybe don’t mention to the others that you could only afford to fly commercial. If you do, at least lie and say you flew first class.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend Sarah,” you say, purposely trying to change the subject. “How long have you been seeing him?” Sarah must have changed more than you realized, because in the past she never would have settled for one man. Sarah knows this and flaunts it. She has a line of guys wanting to date her and she likes it that way.

“We have been seeing each other for four months now. He is absolutely amazing. You are going to love him. Plus he's super hot!” She gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” you say with a bit of a laugh.

“You will soon, he just went to our rooms to get his sunglasses. Oh, here he comes now,” Sarah says with a huge smile lighting up her face.

He walks out onto the deck, wraps an arm around Sarah’s waist, and pulls her in for a kiss. Then he turns to you as though you had never met.

“Hey, I’m Todd.”

“Todd?” you say, completely dumbfounded by the fact that your very recent ex-boyfriend is standing in front of you with his arm around Sarah.

“Yea, I’m Sarah's boyfriend. She told me one of her old roommates would be joining us.”

“Um, yea.” You respond awkwardly. At first, you don’t understand why Todd would act like he doesn’t know you, but then a lump forms in your throat. Sarah says they have been together for four months.

“Hey, you should go get changed, and we can all go up to dinner together. We're eating on the rooftop deck tonight.” Sarah says, completely missing the strangeness of your interaction with Todd. She snaps her fingers again at another member of the yacht staff. “Will you show her to her room?”

“Of course. If you will follow me,” the woman says and starts walking towards the double doors leading into the ship.

You glance back at Todd and Sarah and quickly wish you hadn’t. Todd is kissing her again, and then he winks at you as his hand starts sliding down her back. You turn away quickly before you have to see where his hand lands.

“You are in the first room to the right.”

“Thank you so much-” you pause.

“Molly.”

“Thank you so much, Molly. Also, I'm sorry about the snapping. I work as a bartender and always hate when people snap to get my attention.”

Molly smiles genuinely at you after your comment. “Thank you, but we are all used to Sarah and her ways. There is an intercom in your room. If you need anything, just press the button, and someone downstairs will respond.”

You nod and open the door to your room, but room is an understatement. The size and luxury of the room are unlike anything you have ever experienced. The main room houses a king-size bed covered in a white silk comforter. There is also a lounge area with two modern black leather sofas. And your suitcase is already waiting for you on an ottoman at the foot of the bed.

You sigh and throw yourself onto the bed face down in the comforter. It seems like a bad dream that Todd is here, pretending he doesn’t know you, let alone date you for two years.

You were comfortable, and your relationship was secure, or so you thought. It started with little things, like Todd bailing on plans you'd made and how he stopped inviting you to spend any time at his place.

Aubrey was always suspicious of Todd, but you never questioned him. Because you knew, deep down, he was cheating on you, but you went on pretending because it was easier than losing him. You didn’t have to pretend for very long because he dumped you the day before graduation.

You cried for hours on the living room couch as Lin and Aubrey comforted you and supplied you with all the ice cream you could eat. You picked yourself up the morning of graduation and packed away your pain. You would not let Todd, or anyone else, see you beaten; you thought maybe that would make you a good lawyer one day.

You walked across that stage and accepted your diploma with a giant smile on your face because you truly earned it and right after the ceremony, you let yourself fall into misery again.

And now he's dating Sarah.

Sarah had said that they’d started dating four months ago, which meant that Todd was definitely cheating on you. It was just hard to believe that he cheated on you with one of your friends.

Sure, Sarah and you fell in and out of touch as your lives drifted apart, but it still made the betrayal hurt more.

During college, you were very different people. Sarah attended NYU for the party life and never missed an opportunity to go out and have fun. You spent most of your time studying to ensure you didn’t lose your scholarship. Even though you had your differences, you got along for the most part, and while you were living together, you became close friends.

You allow yourself a few more moments of self-pity before pulling yourself off of the bed. You didn't let Todd see you beat at graduation, and you aren't going to let him see it now.

You make your way to your suitcase and roll it into the connecting ensuite. As you walk through the double doors of the ensuite, you are shocked again by the sheer size of the yacht. You take your time unpacking each item of clothing and hanging it in the closet. You pick out a black knee-length dress, which is the nicest thing you have brought, and change into it.

Just as you finish touching up your makeup, you hear the click of the door latch opening.

“Hey, are you ready? Everyone else is here, and we are all heading up to eat,” Sarah says while she bursts into the room without bothering to knock.

“Yeah. Perfect timing. I just finished.” You walk out of the ensuite and see her standing in a floor-length dress made of silvery fabric. She takes one quick look at you outfit and says nothing, obviously unimpressed by your simple choice. You follow her out into the hallway, where three women and four men in black tie attire talk among themselves.

Sarah makes quick introductions, but the only name you catch is that of the tall brunette woman, Megan, the one with the private jet. Your hands are already starting to sweat, and you're honestly grateful that most of the other guests ignore your presence as waiters bring plate after plate of food and set it in front of each of you.

“Megan, how was the flight here?” Sarah asks.

"Oh, it's the worst. My mom has to take the big jet to Japan for a business conference, so I'm stuck with the little jet. Hudson nearly hit his head on the ceiling because it's so small." Megan throws a seductive look at the tall man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't have the worst flight. She had to fly commercial," Sarah says, gesturing towards you.

"You poor thing. I've never flown commercial, but I hear it's horrible. Do you really have to sit next to strangers?"

"Yeah, you do, but not in first class." You say remembering that Sarah had told you to say you flew first class even though you didn't.

It's typical of Sarah to throw you under scrutiny when you had planned to avoid talking about how you got here or anything else to do with money, for that matter. Luckily, the one dig at you seems to be enough for Sarah because she gets distracted by Todd.

"You are the sexiest woman I have ever met," Todd says as he runs his hand up Sarah's arm.

"You two are the absolute cutest," the woman sitting on your right says.

"Oh, I know, right? It's so fun that we are equally numbered men to women," Megan says, throwing another look at Hudson, who seems completely clueless.

You eat your meal in silence and try your best not to watch Sarah and Todd. However, it's hard to ignore the fact that Todd has abandoned his meal and is instead licking Sarah's neck. She laughs, runs her fingers into his mess of brown curls, and pulls his face to hers.

You make it all the way to dessert before you can't take it anymore and quietly slip away from the table. Of course, no one sees you leave; if they did, no one cares.

As the door closes behind you, a few tears start streaming down your face. You have to get back to your room before anyone finds you crying. You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and do your best to keep any more from falling.

The day's events have finally hit you in full force. You're angry and hurt that Todd has been cheating on you the whole time, and now you have to spend your vacation watching him and Sarah together.

You're so distracted in your thoughts that you run straight into a rock-solid chest.

You had hoped you just ran into one of the yacht's staff members, but you quickly realize the man is not wearing the uniform. All you can see is a suit jacket. You pull back and continue to try to hold back your tears.

"I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going," you say while trying to plan your escape.

When you look up at who you ran into, you're met with the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Are you okay, Miss?”

—♡—

Joel is walking down the hallway on his way to the upper deck when he hears a loud burst of laughter. He sighs in frustration; this was supposed to be a quiet escape from work, yet his yacht is full of a bunch of twenty-year-olds.

He had invited Sarah, as a way to spend a bit of time together this summer. Then Sarah asked if she could bring her new boyfriend along, and he agreed without much thought.

Joel met Todd earlier in the week over breakfast, and he seemed like a good kid. He works in finance for his father’s financial firm in New York, so they immediately have so much to talk about.

He is very complimentary of Joel's recent purchase of Explore Air, the second airline that he now owns. It truly is a good purchase, and he has big plans for expansion. 

Joel is impressed that Sarah has picked someone who is putting down roots, and he seems like a stable choice. Sarah has never introduced him to a boyfriend before, so he is taking their relationship seriously.

Having her boyfriend join them would be an easy way for him to get to know him better and also give Joel a little more time for himself, which is probably a little selfish. It’s not that he doesn’t love his daughter; he finds it difficult spending time with his daughter; they aren’t very close. He had only found out she existed fourteen years ago, and trying to connect with a ten-year-old with whom he has nothing in common has not been easy.

It doesn’t help that he has bought her everything she could possibly ask for–for the last fourteen years. In the beginning, he did it to make up for missing the first ten years of her life, but after that, it just became easier than dealing with her when she didn’t get what she wanted.

Sarah is now a spoiled and entitled twenty-four-year-old with no plans for her life other than partying and spending as much money as possible.

In classic Sarah fashion, his agreement to let her bring her boyfriend along turned into her filling each one of his guest rooms with her rich and arrogant friends. Sarah also hired a DJ against his wishes, but after a hysterical outburst where she accused him of not loving her, she got her way, just like always. So his quiet and relaxing vacation with his daughter quickly turned into him hosting a summer-long party.

Before he heads to his stateroom, he figures he better play the welcoming host and go up to greet Sarah and her friends. As Joel turns a corner, he bumps into someone. The woman has her head down, so all he can see is her hair.

“I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going,”  the woman says. 

When her eyes finally meet Joel’s, he is surprised it looks like she is fighting tears.

“Are you okay, miss?” Joel says in response. He feels dumb as soon as the words are out of his mouth. She, very obviously, is not okay.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,”  she says as she straightens up, obviously not wanting to be caught crying.

“Oh right,” Joel replies, suddenly realizing that she called him sir, so she must be one of the maids.

He starts picking through his memories, trying to remember when he’d hired her.  Reggie must have been the one to interview her because he surely would have remembered a woman so captivating.

“Before you do that, would you head up to my stateroom and unpack my luggage?  I'm afraid it's been delivered later than usual. Had some business I had to attend to before leaving port, and I didn't get here as early as I would have liked.”

“Oh - I am - Uh -” she starts staring at the floor.

Joel stands waiting for her response. He thinks it is cute how flustered she is; perhaps it's because he makes her nervous. That's pretty common with new hires, but oddly, she makes him feel a bit flustered, which is completely uncommon.

“Yes,”  she stammers.

“Thank you so much -” he says with a smile, leaving a pause in hopes that she would tell him her name, but she quickly turns and heads in the opposite direction. He can't help but stare as she walks away. As she slips around a corner and out of sight, he sighs, knowing he needs to make an appearance upstairs.

Joel walks out onto the deck, where a large dining table is placed and decorated with an extravagant centerpiece. The stars reflect over the ocean and create a stunning backdrop for his daughter's dinner party. He is really impressed at how well the staff has done at transforming this space, most likely with very particular instructions from Sarah.

“Daddy!” Sarah screams as he makes his way out onto the deck. She screams a lot, but he notices most girls her age do. Thankfully it looks as though their dinner party is just wrapping up; waiters are clearing away everything from the table. 

Sarah runs over and hugs him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says kissing  the top of her head. “Is everything goin' alright?”

“Everything has gone perfectly so far. The yacht is so awesome; I think my friends could die out of jealousy.”

Joel remains silent, not knowing how to respond to Sarah's need to be the envy of other people. He would leave figuring that out to her mother, Marnie. They hardly speak other than when she needs money from him, which is more often than he'd like.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” Todd says as he makes his way over and shakes Joel's hand.

“S'good to see you again, Todd.”

“Likewise. I’d like to discuss a real estate investment I'm working on for a client when you have the time. I would love to get your opinion.”

“Of course. We can talk about it tomorrow night over some drinks.” 

“I look forward to it, Mr. Miller.”

Joel continues to greet Sarah's friends and make small talk for as long as he can manage. He makes his exit by lifting a glass of champagne in the air and toasting, “To an amazing summer.”

Sarah's friends echo his toast, followed by cheering and chatting amongst themselves. Joel slips out and heads over to a hidden elevator, which goes up one more floor where his room and private deck are located. He really hopes that the group makes their way to their rooms soon. He's exhausted and can not wait to slip into sleep.

He opens the double doors to his room and is slightly disappointed that the maid he met earlier was already gone. His suitcase was missing from where he left it, so she must have come and gone while he was greeting my guests.

He immediately makes his way to the bar cart and pours himself a glass of whiskey taking a long sip of his drink, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the maid he ran into. It’d been a long time since someone had caught his attention as she did. She did seem much younger than him, though. He wasn’t sure that would be a problem.

He walks over to the screen mounted on the wall next to the door, and at the press of a button, the wall of windows at the far end of the room slid open, eliminating the barrier between his living room and private deck. That feature was one of the main reasons he purchased this particular yacht. He thought there would be nothing better than feeling the ocean breeze and hearing the waves even while hiding away in his stateroom.

He steps onto his deck and could see the dinner party continuing without him one deck below. The muffled sounds of conversation and laughing are the only sound drifting up to him. 

Joel sips his drink and watches the white foamy waves follow the yacht as they move through the water. It's the only way he can tell they're moving as the sky darkens to a deep blue. He sits back, relaxing, and imagines the woman's eyes staring back at him.

—♡—

 “Are you okay, miss?” the attractive man asks after you run directly into him.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,” you respond.

“Oh, right,” he says, lost in thought. He pauses for a few seconds and then continues.

“Before you do that, would you head up to my stateroom and unpack my luggage? I'm afraid it's been delivered later than usual. Had some business I had to attend to before leaving port, and I didn't get here as early as I would've liked.”

You stumble over your words, mortified that he clearly thinks you are a member of the staff rather than a guest on the yacht. However, you suppose you look nothing like the typical guests.

“Yes,” you finally say, deciding it is easier than trying to explain the mix-up. He thanks you and continues standing there, staring at you, making sure you are actually going to go unpack for him.

You quickly turn and head back down the long hallway. You must be headed in the right direction because the man does not tell you otherwise. Unfortunately, this is leading you in the opposite direction of your room.

You take a few turns, trying not to accidentally run into the man again and have to explain that you don’t work for him. You should have just told him from the start, but he startled you, and you got a bit distracted staring at his face.

He has a very nice face and a very nice body, and you can’t stop thinking about him. It isn’t too long before you are completely turned around; the ship is so outlandishly large.

Exhausted and embarrassed, you find a small alcove off of the main hallway, lean your back against the wall, and slide to the floor. You just need a minute to yourself to get control of your emotions, but a door opens next to you and cuts that time short.

You jump to your feet and smooth your hands over your dress.

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met,” the man says. He is very clean-cut, with smooth black hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. You guess that he isn’t much older than you are.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” you introduce yourself, not wanting to get mistaken for part of the staff again.

“Oh, wonderful. I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he says with a genuine smile. You feel at ease in his presence, happy to have finally found someone who isn’t already judging you.

“I am, but I may need some help. I ran into someone down the hall, who mistook me for one of the maids and asked me to unpack for him. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble if it doesn’t get done,” you say, slightly embarrassed. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Do you know who it was?”

“Uh, it was a man wearing a very nice suit - but that probably doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Not exactly,” he says with a sympathetic grin.

“He was tall with dark brown hair that perfectly complements his brown eyes. He had a concrete jaw that was peppered with black and silver facial hair. His voice was deep, had a southern accent, and he smelled like sandalwood,” you say, picturing the man in your head.

After a few moments, you realize you’ve said way too much. If you could have jumped off the railing and into the ocean, you would have.

“That is Mr. Miller,” he says quickly, saving you from further embarrassment. “I am his intern, so I can make sure someone goes and takes care of his luggage.”

Did he say… Mr. Miller? As in, Sarah’s dad?

“Thank you so much,” you say. “You will have to forgive me. It’s been a long night, and I’ve been so rude and haven’t asked your name.”

“You can call me Reggie.”

“Well, thank you so much, Reggie. Can I ask you for one more favor?”

“Of course,” Reggie says with his signature smile.

“I got a little turned around after leaving the dinner party upstairs, and I’m not sure how to get back to my room.”

“It would be my pleasure to escort you back to your stateroom, Miss,” he says and offers you his arm.

“Thank you so much,”  you say as you take his arm, absolutely delighted by the gesture.

Reggie is leading the way back to your room when he says, “Please don’t hold it against Mr. Miller for mistaking you for part of the staff. He has been under a lot of stress lately and passed the hiring off to me. Since you weren’t at the dinner party, it’s likely he just figured that you were a new hire. He really is a kind person and would have never intentionally offended you.”

“He didn’t offend me. I know I don’t fit with Sarah’s other friends, so it was an easy mistake to make. I could have straightened everything out, but I was a little distracted by some personal issues.”

“Do you need to vent?” Reggie asks innocently.

“It’s just that I went through a really difficult breakup, and I hoped this trip would help me get my mind off of him. It hasn’t worked out that way,” you say, trying to remain as vague as possible.

“I’m very sorry. Was it a long relationship?”

“Two years.”

“Ouch. Well, just give it a bit more time. With what Miss Miller has scheduled, I’m sure you will have plenty of distractions to keep your mind off of things.”

You laugh. “I’m sure you’re right. There is never a dull moment with Sarah around.”

Just as your conversation wraps up, you reach your door. You are so relieved to be back in your room that you could have hugged Reggie. You feel like you could talk to him about anything, and it helps you to feel as though there is at least one person on this ship who has not immediately judged you.

“Thank you so much for all of your help, Reggie. I don’t know what I would have done had I not run into you.”

“I’m here to help anytime. That goes for all of the staff on the yacht. If you need anything at all, just ask.”

You nod as Reggie walks away, and you slip into your room.I You head straight to the bathroom for that giant tub you discovered earlier. You have never been so in need of washing away the events of a day before.

You soak for almost an hour when the water starts getting cold, you reluctantly pull yourself out and wrap yourself in a fluffy bath towel.

You change into your pajamas, a pair of gray shorts, and a Harvard T-shirt. Your grandfather sent you the T-shirt as soon as you told him you’d been accepted; he was so proud.

You pull out your phone to send him a quick text telling him that you are okay. You should have sent it as soon as you arrived, but you forget in the chaos of seeing Todd with his arm around Sarah's waist.

You type out a quick message reading, "Hi Gramps. I made it safe. I will keep you updated. Love you." When you go to hit send, you realize you have no service. So not only would you not be able to contact your grandpa, but you can't update Lin and Aubrey about this horrible situation you are in. You sigh in defeat and toss your phone onto the bed.

Instead of talking with your friends, you use the intercom system in your room to call down for a cup of chamomile tea. You are shocked at how quickly there is a knock at your door. You take the tray and make your way out onto your private balcony.

The balcony is large enough to fit a lounge chair and a small breakfast table. You quickly make plans to put that to use in the morning. It would be amazing to sip your coffee and listen to the sound of the ocean.

You take a seat on the lounge chair and place your tray in front of you. A tiny teapot and matching cup are accompanied by a small plate of macaron cookies. You pour yourself a cup of tea and bite into one of the pink, dainty cookies.

You can't help thinking that this vacation would be perfect if you could spend the whole time in this room. Unfortunately, you would have to come out eventually and face Todd. You could have told Sarah the truth about Todd being your ex, but now that you are sailing, you have no escape.

It would have made the rest of the vacation unbearably awkward if you'd told Sarah. You have to keep this secret, at least until you are all back on land. A flash of shame hits you when you remember the other secret you would have to keep from Sarah. 

The fact that you are undeniably attracted to her dad.

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [masterlist]

Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie’s spent the last twenty years with you on his mind. He’s watched a video you put in his pocket the last time he saw you more times than he can count. Have you been thinking of him too?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, SLOW BURN, time skip (~20 years), friends-to-lovers, this is 100% from Frankie’s POV - refers to main female character/reader as “you”, she is physically described in some ways (shoulder-length hair, hair long enough to pull back, wearing glasses, having freckles and scars, wearing form-fitting clothing, being shorter than Frankie, Frankie is able to pick her up, reader’s pubic hair is described), reader has a definitive age - there is a 2.5 year age gap between her and Frankie, reader engages in different forms of sex work, talk of drugs and addiction, mention of the reader having children, talk of breakups and divorce, addiction issues causing estrangement from children, talk of death and grief, mention of TF canon death, general warning for any/all sex acts, a little bit of spanking🧀

Part I (5608)

Part II (4184)

Part III (3792)

Part IV (4028)

Part V (4292)

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Thank you to @iamasaddie for their prompt: "It's Always Been You" when I chose "slutty little knee" in their writing challenge 2.0 - I am SO sorry this is VERY late, but I took on a monster of a project (my own fault.) Thank you for your help over the last week, I could NOT have finished this without you - @strang3lov3 - you helped me come up with the idea, made me this amazing moodboard, made my summary.... you kinda did everything. Except write it I guess, I did that part. You're so amazing and I'm so lucky to have you in my corner. I love you. (and big thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @covetyou for the motivation and beta-reading)

[freelancearsonist]

oblivion

➔ Dave York x gn!Reader - 2.2k

➔ Dave left years ago to keep you safe from him. Now, he comes back to finally claim what’s his.

➔ Rated MA for kinda dark fic?????, gn!reader (no pronouns or anatomy described), reader is able-bodied but otherwise is physically a blank slate, infidelity (Dave cheats on his wife w/ reader), smut, choking, biting, blood, this is the midnight mass au that no one asked for [pls let me know if i missed any warnings you think should be included :)]

➔ Thank you to my love @ozarkthedog for this prompt, if you're reading this ily <3

Everyone is leaving this island–your home–in droves. The seas are drenched in oil, and there’s nothing left to fish or net. People are moving on to bigger, better things. But not you; you’ve never enjoyed the mainland, never craved the just-another-face-in-the-crowd feeling of those big cities. You love your little small town, even if most of it is gone now.

You go for your nightly walk, and the loneliness gets to you for the first time since the spill. There’s no lights on in house windows, no kids playing out in front yards. It’s just you as the sun goes down, casting everything in fiery red and orange brilliance.

Some nights seem darker than others, regardless of the star visibility or the moon’s phase. It’s almost like the air swells and surrounds you until it feels like a thick, dark blanket. It can be almost stifling; and those nights never quite leave your mind.

That’s what it feels like tonight, and for no discernable reason. There’s a wicked sense of foreboding–even more so than you’ve come to be accustomed to. It ramps up even more so when you see the only other house in the neighborhood with lights on: Dave’s house.

Dave left with his wife and daughters two years ago, long before the spill destroyed the island’s economy. No one’s stepped foot in it since–you figured it just never sold. But certainly it hasn’t sold now; who would want to move to the island at a time like this?

Curiosity gets the better of you, maybe because a traitorous little part of your brain wonders if it’s Dave. If he’s finally come back for some reason, if he’s here to fix things. That nagging little hope keeps you up at night more often than you care to admit; that he might return and you’d get a second chance. Either way, you don’t think twice about walking up the short driveway to knock on his door.

It’s completely silent for a long few minutes; long enough that you almost knock again. But maybe this is just some fluke thing, an electrical malfunction or something that turned his lights on. He swore he’d never be back, after all. It’s just wishful thinking.

It started on your night walks. He jogged the same route every single night after the girls went to bed, and eventually his jog slowed to a walk when he would come alongside you. You’d walk side by side and talk about anything and everything, vent about work or life and tell each other little stories. Before too long, you knew him better than anyone, and it was all completely by accident. Just the neighborly kindness of him slowing his pace to chit chat with you.

And then this man who you shared nothing with besides a nightly exercise route, after weeks of small talk every single evening, kissed you. In the middle of a street, in the middle of a very small island community where every single person knew every single thing about every other person; a community where every single person knew that Dave was married, and that he wasn’t married to you.

You dragged him home to scold him somewhere that no prying ears would catch it, and somehow you ended up in bed underneath him. All desperately breathless kisses and deeply earth-shattering thrusts and muffled moans of pleasure.

He whispered that no one had ever made him feel so alive before, that he’d never wanted someone more. And you wanted to believe him, so you did.

Miraculously, no one ever found out; not about that first time, and not about the million times after. No one ever found out about all the times that you swore up and down it could never happen again, only to fall right back onto your knees for him. No one ever found out about the time that he finally agreed with you, and the way you cried yourself to sleep when he stuck to it and didn’t catch up to you on your walk the next night. No one ever found out about how the next night after that, he caught up to you and begged for you–for your forgiveness, for the feelings that only you had ever been able to make him feel.

And for a while, it was enough. Being his at night under secrecy of darkness was plenty; until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Until you would bump into his wife at the market and nearly have a panicked breakdown by the time you got home, wondering just how much she knew. Until he would say things that were heavier and heavier–things that translated to something akin to ‘I love you’ without actually being the words. Until he had to leave for a work assignment.

He’d be gone for a week. That was all. A simple job, he’d explained. Somewhere overseas, but that was really all he said. He never liked to talk to you about his work much. He said he’d be back before you could even miss him.

But it was a month before he returned, and he came back different.

Withdrawn, dark eyes darker than usual, sunkissed golden skin looking a little insipid. You tried to convince yourself that he was just coming down with a cold, that the way he’d put his hand around your neck just to feel your pulse thrum under his fingertips and squeeze a little tighter than comfortable wasn’t related; that the way he nearly broke skin from biting into your shoulder so hard wasn’t anything to be concerned about; that the way he seemed to have doubled strength while he was away wasn’t cause for alarm.

You lied to yourself because it was easier than the truth; whatever had happened on his assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. The man you had started to fall in love with, circumstances be damned, was long gone.

But it came to a point where the truth couldn’t be avoided any longer, because the inevitable can’t be postponed indefinitely. Ignorance is only bliss until the truth comes unapologetically crashing in.

He fucked you so relentlessly it scared you. The hands that had once held you so gently were pushing you into positions far past your comfortable range, his hips were thrusting hard and deep enough to bruise. He saw the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes and called you pathetic; and just like that, you knew your Dave York was gone. Where to, you weren’t sure. But something in his roughness, in the way he wanted to hurt you, made you sure he was never coming back.

You pushed him off of you and told him to get the fuck out. For a moment–one flickering, horribly tension-fraught moment–you didn’t think he would. The most terrified you’d ever been in your life was when you looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but violence.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was going to do. And then he hastily pulled on his clothes and slammed the door shut behind him without a word.

You didn’t see him on your walk the next night, and the following night after that there was a U-Haul parked in front of his house. Part of you was relieved at the sight of boxes and furniture being lugged out of the front door into the box truck; another, more complicated part of you wanted to fall to your knees right there in the street and start screaming.

You felt his presence before you saw him–just behind you to the left, out of your field of view. You didn’t turn to look at him; you couldn’t stand to see his face when you asked, “Why?”

“There are worse ways to hurt you than leaving,” he murmured, low and deep. “If leaving is what I have to do to keep you safe, then I’m never fucking coming back.”

You turned at that, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? What would he have to keep you safe from?

You saw so much sadness in his brown eyes that you nearly broke down sobbing. You knew right then that it was over. There was no begging him to stay, no changing his mind. You didn’t even really know if you actually wanted him to stay, at that point.

He walked away to help the movers lug a couch before you got a chance to say anything; no ‘I love you’, no ‘I’ll miss you’, not even a simple ‘goodbye’.

By morning his family was gone, him included. His house stood empty for two years with not a sign from him. Until tonight.

The living room lights cast a warm yellow glow over the front yard in the dark even through the obscurity of dusty window blinds. You’re tempted to peek through and see if you can tell what’s going on inside after standing on the stoop unacknowledged for a few minutes; just as you make the decision to snoop, the front door opens.

It’s him. It’s really fucking him. He hasn’t changed even the slightest bit. His brown hair is still cut short and neatly styled, his handsome face is impeccably shaved. His dark brown eyes are just like you remember them, from before; the hatred and violence they held those last few days isn’t there anymore.

He whispers your name, and then his eyes flash. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, on guard. “This is my home.”

His fingers twitch on the doorknob, like he’s contemplating shutting you out. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Why did you come back?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

His eyes shift for a moment, jaw set firmly. “It’s the only place I have left.”

He doesn’t have to put it any clearer than that for you to know that his wife isn’t in the picture anymore. You wonder what happened between them, but a selfish little part of you is triumphant at the fact that he came to you.

Except he didn’t, not really. He said himself that he didn’t think anyone was left. That he wouldn’t have come otherwise. Why wouldn’t he have come?

“You need to go,” he says firmly, moving to shut the door in your face. But your hand shoots out before you can really even contemplate it.

Now, you say what you wish you would’ve had the courage to say all those years ago. “I missed you, Dave.”

You can see his patience is waning–his hand flexes anxiously against the door but he doesn’t say anything quite yet, and you know his is your only chance for closure.

“You said, before you left, that you were protecting me by leaving. What do you have to protect me from?”

“Myself,” he growls. His eyes flash dangerously, the same way they did two years ago.

“What…”

“Each man kills the thing he loves, honey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. It feels like he’s towering over you now, looming ominously. You don’t remember him being this imposing before he left. “And I… I loved you.”

“I loved you, too,” you whisper. Hindsight is funny like that–your brain reveals in hindsight what your heart can’t reveal in the moment. “We can… we can make this work, Dave.”

You should be more hesitant. You should remember how scared of him you were at the end, how strange it is for him to show up here in the middle of the night all alone. You should wonder why he’s back here now, when everyone else is gone.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, all the while moving closer to you as if you have a magnetism he can’t avoid. “I’ve changed.”

“I’m asking for a second chance,” you plead as you set your hands on his strong, solid chest. He’s so achingly close now, and yet he still won’t touch you. “I’ve changed too, I’m… I’m willing to make this work if you are.”

He licks his lips, dark eyes focused… on your neck? Why is he looking there of all places? 

He notices that he’s been caught when his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. He just stares at you for a moment, then two, so close that each breath you exhale mingles with his.

And then suddenly he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut, awaiting the sweet sensation of his lips on yours after so long; but it never comes. You wait, and you wait, and then you feel something puncture the side of your neck.

It’s sharp, and it hurts. Your eyes snap open and all you can see is Dave; his body curls around yours as he gulps eagerly from your punctured artery. A weak hand comes up to nudge his head halfheartedly–somewhere in the back of your mind, you delight in the softness of his hair between your fingers again after so long–but his arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place and your weak resistance is futile.

He was right, you think as your vision blurs around the edges. You really didn’t have a clue what you were asking for.

➔ beta: @futuraa-free and @mothandpidgeon (thank u so much my loves <3)

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[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel deals with upsetting his overly sensitive eight month pregnant wife.]

Fluff

“Baby girl, open the door” you could hear the defeat in his voice but you didn’t respond. Joel knew he fucked up and he knew he had to fix it fast.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon, Joel should’ve been here by now. Here you sat in the waiting room looking at the clock every other minute, even waiting for a ring from your cell. It was your eight month sonogram appointment. Yes, Joel had been present for each and every sonogram but this was your last one and you wanted him there. Maybe it was your hormones but you could feel the heat in your cheeks as each minute went by and not even a call from Joel. This wasn’t like him yet it still set you off. When the doctor finally called you, you could feel tears forming in your eyes knowing Joel wouldn’t make it in time.

“Maybe he got caught up today, sometimes our job can get hectic, I’m sure he ain’t mean to miss it” Tommy spoke as he drove you home. He was nice enough to pick you up when you called him in tears that Joel wasn’t there. Sarah sat silently in the back, she knew how much this meant to you, she also knew her father didn’t do this selfishly.

Not saying a word you walked straight to the room closing the door shut. Tommy and Sarah giving you your space as you waited for Joel to show up.

A half hour later Joel rushed in through the front door throwing his bag aside.

“Where is she?” He looked around as Sarah pointed at the bedroom. Tommy and her both raising their brows not knowing what to expect.

You heard the front the door close, you knew Joel must’ve been home. The second the handle of your door turned you pushed yourself up as fast you could and rushed to the bathroom. Joel walked in, attempting to stop you from closing the door, reaching you a second too late, you slammed it in his face without saying a word. Locking the door shut you turned your back to it.

“Baby girl, open the door” you could hear the defeat in his voice but you didn’t respond. Joel knew he fucked up and he knew he had to fix it fast.

“I tried to get out of work as fast as I could, honey, I swear. These assholes delayed me then my phone was dead. I was in the other side of town, I came out rushing as fast I could” he explained.

Still no response.

Upsetting a pregnant woman was the last thing Joel wanted to do, upsetting his pregnant woman was something he could not ever have. You were under a lot of stress, anxious about giving birth, your sensitivity at an all time high Joel did his best to keep you calm but clearly failed at it today.

“Honey, please…ya know it ain’t good for you and the baby to get upset like this,” you rolled your eyes wiping away a tear.

“Fuck” Joel mouthed silently rubbing his forehead. He knew how important this was for you, he knew how much you wanted him there.

“Open the door, baby” Desperation in his voice when you suddenly opened up. His dark brown eyes widening with guilt noticing how puffy your eyes were, knowing you had been crying.

“Aw Jesus, baby” he whispered.

“You know today was the last sonogram-“

“I know” he whispered with sincere understanding eyes. His voice was gentle as he took a small step forward.

“I wanted you there, I..I wanted you to see him-“

“I know, baby”

“Did today even matter to you?!” You yelled as you felt yourself about to cry all over again and he could see it.

God damn those hormones.

“Of course it did” he took a step closer to you.

“How could you even ask such a thing?” You began to sob covering your eyes, his voice coming out more aggressive than he meant to.

“Shit, baby I’m sorry” he took another step closer slowly pulling you towards him. You took a deep breath wiping your tears.

“I…I don’t even know why I’m so upset” you looked down feeling a bit embarrassed. A soft chuckle escaping his lips as he held you, gently he kissed your forehead.

“That baby boy of ours is doing a number on you, honey” Joel whispered as a million things ran through your head.

“What if…what if you don’t make it on time to his birth? I can’t do this alone, Joel-“ you began to panic.

“What if-“

“Look at me” he gently tilted your face up at him.

“Ain’t no one or anything stopping me from seeing my son be born, ya hear me?”

You nodded in silence as you looked away.

“It was such a frustrating day, not to mention that damn man at the pharmacy got my vitamins wrong again” you walked around him towards the bedroom.

“Not again, ya need me to go over there and say somethin’ to him?” You could hear the playfulness in his voice.

“Joel” you turned to him rolling your eyes placing your hands on your lower back for support. He attempted to hold back a smile, the sight of you eight months pregnant with an attitude was something else.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked as he quickly turned serious and shook his head.

“No mam” he took a step towards you as you tilted your head looking up at him.

Joel was forever teasing you.

“Ya know, after how upset you had me today, I highly suggest-“ Joel reached in his jacket unexpectedly pulling out your favorite pack of chocolate cookies you hadn’t found anywhere near by in weeks. You gasped with excitement making a big grin appear on his face.

“Where did you find them?!” You grabbed the pack out of his hand excitedly ripping the wrapper apart. Joel watched as you eagerly took a bite, closing your eyes, sighing with pleasure. It had been weeks that you were craving them, Joel had gone around every neighborhood searching for them, it was the only good thing that came out of working on the other side of town.

“Oh…Joel you’re the best” you continued to devour the cookies making him laugh.

“Oh I’m off the hook now huh?”

“Mmmmhm” you rolled your eyes back enjoying the taste.

“Anything for you mama” he whispered leaning in with a kiss as you sat back on the bed enjoying your snack.

[secretelephanttattoo]

Series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter moodboard

Afterword

Series summary: A story about hope and new chapters.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: 18+

See the series masterlist for more information and for tropes/warnings.

Chapter 1

Marcus takes the final bite of his sandwich, turkey slices and salad leaves which he doesn't want but thinks he should eat, and scrunches up the aluminium foil into a ball before stuffing it in the pocket of his leather jacket. He brushes a few crumbs off his jeans, glances at his watch, and decides it’s probably time to head back to work.

He has a good viewpoint from this spot at the top of the hill. He can see the slate grey lake at the bottom and the neat park behind it. The last of the summer flowers still shine from the flowerbeds, and he can hear the distant rusty squeak of the swings.

A symphony of squawks overhead pulls his attention upwards towards the V-shaped formation of a flock of geese as they begin their annual migration towards somewhere warmer.

Ten summers. That’s how many he’s watched slide into autumn from here. He’s seen the tree behind him grow from a sapling to a teenager and watched the plaque underneath it become tarnished and weathered. He notices how it’s covered in watermarks today from the rain that fell last night and buffs it to a shine with his sleeve. He’s used to this now, seeing her name written there, Eve Moreno. The pain is no longer sharp but dull and cloudy.

His knees protest as he pulls himself up off the ground and folds up the tartan picnic blanket he’d been sitting on, holding it under one arm. He follows the winding path back towards the small parking lot, past other trees with other names and dates, and reaches his car just as yet more fat raindrops begin to fall from the sky.

He shucks off his jacket, lays it flat on the passenger seat, and flexes his hands on the steering wheel. It’s always hard to leave this place, to step back into the noise of ‘real life.’ Whatever that means.

He flicks through the radio channels and lands on the local talk radio station. He doesn’t quite catch who they’re interviewing, but the pleasant tone of the conversation washes over him. The discussion is evidently being done over the phone, and the line keeps breaking up. He thinks he hears the warm, cheery female voice name his neighbourhood as a place she’s moving to, and perhaps something about a book. It’s hard to hear over the rain and the creak of the wiper blades.

He swings the car onto the busy road and sets off back towards town, hoping today’s long lunch break sees him through to closing.

---

You hop out of the removal truck cabin, landing on the wet pavement with a less than graceful thud. You fiddle with the straps of your dungarees and regret choosing them as your moving day outfit. The aesthetic was cute, but peeling them off in the rest stop bathroom on your journey here was less so.

You take the front door key out of the envelope in your pocket. It has a little card tag attached with No.14 written on it in neat cursive.

You unlock your new front door and push it open, a small stack of mail and take-out menus, making it resist slightly as they drag across the mat. Dust motes glitter in the empty hallway as you step inside, and you're relieved to get that homely feeling again that you’d had when you originally viewed this place.

The removal guys roll up the back door of the truck with a metallic slam, and you hear them begin their well rehearsed routine of emptying a home into a house.

The older one, Ernie, trudges through to the kitchen with your coffee machine, drops it onto the counter, and plugs it in. “Priorities.” He winks.

You let them get on with their work and try not to get under their feet too much. The upstairs is soon filled with boxes and furniture, and the younger man, Stan, even fixes the runner on your dresser drawer, which had been broken for longer than you care to remember.

The rain, which began as a fine drizzle, is now pouring, and you’re glad for all your sakes that the truck is nearly empty.

Ernie lifts a box (which you know you overfilled) and stumbles on the uneven damp pavement. The box slips from his hand and lands in a deep puddle in the gutter, its contents spilling out.

It looks like junk. You know it does, but those were what you might generously call your ‘writing materials’.

For as long as you could remember, you’d feared the blank page. But worse than that, any new page. You only let yourself write on ‘old’ paper, scraps of things, the backs of old letters or even pieces of cardboard packets, until you felt like the idea was good enough to type up onto a screen. You envied people who had the confidence to open up a fresh notepad and let themself mark it with their ideas.

You pick up the sodden, sad remnants and dump them straight into the trash can in the kitchen. It had taken you forever to amass all that old paper, and you are about to start planning your next book.

Your hands are drenched from the rain and the wet paper, and as you shake them dry, your wedding ring slips from your finger. You hear the metallic ping of it against the floor, see it bounce, then roll and almost in slow motion slide between a crack in the wooden slats and out of sight.

You crouch down onto your knees and peer into the gap. You can’t see anything, and you’re not about to start pulling up the beautiful antique oak floorboards, which had pretty much sold the house to you.

You sit back on your heels and look upwards, rubbing your palms against your thighs.

“Well, thanks, Alex.” You say to a crack on the ceiling. “People keep asking me when I’m going to take it off, and I guess you’ve made the decision for me.”

You sigh out a laugh, small but it bounces off the empty walls, and it hits you that he isn’t here. It catches in your throat, and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand before giving yourself a firm “No” under your breath.

“Now if anyone asks, I’m telling them my husband is under the floorboards.”

---

You're disorientated for a moment when you wake up the next morning. The frenetic traffic noise from your old place is replaced with a welcome quiet.

You still sleep perched right on the edge of the bed, all those years of sharing the space with a starfish shaped man are seemingly a habit you can’t break.

You lean over and pick up your phone from your nightstand. You’d passed out exhausted after yesterday’s long day and had a fair few messages to reply to from people wanting to know if the move had gone smoothly.

Today was Saturday, and you needed to pick up a few things in town, which was a pleasant short walk away.

Remembering poor Ernie and his mishap with your box of 'treasure', you open up google and type in ‘stationery stores near me’.

---

You walk down the town high street, pop the last piece of a croissant from your inaugural bakery trip into your mouth, and take a look at the scribbled shopping list clutched in your other hand.

Curtain rings

Toilet roll holder

Light bulbs….

The list goes on and on, and it doesn’t get much more interesting. You curse the previous owners for taking anything that wasn’t nailed down with them, revenge for your below offer asking price perhaps.

You round a corner and look up from the list to see a pretty row of shops. The storefronts are all a little crooked and weather beaten, a far cry from the gleaming glass and chrome of the street they neighboured.

There’s a tiny florist, an archway of foliage and flowers curves over its door, and the paving slabs outside are crowded with a hodgepodge of buckets filled with seasonal blooms in oranges, pinks and reds.

Next to it, a jewellery store stands proudly, with a wooden door painted in a deep forest green and golden hand-painted lettering above the window. A woman steps out and admires the watch on her wrist, turning it this way and that and smiling to herself as the metal strap catches the light.

The final store is the one you’re looking for. The pencil silhouette etched on the brown framed curved window tells you you’re in the right place and you step inside.

The bell tinkles above your head, and you’re surprised by how far back this unimposing place stretches and how full of people it is, even for a Saturday.

You pick up a small wire basket from beside the door and take a measured walk around, dodging the other patrons. This feels like a big step, as silly as it seems, letting yourself try something new. You run through the list in your head, you’ll need notebooks, highlighters, post-its, and maybe some pens.

No, pencils. Pencils are more forgiving.

This place is like an Aladdin’s cave. The wooden shelving units are stacked almost to the ceiling with art materials, calligraphy supplies, reams of paper, piles, and piles of notebooks in every shape and size imaginable. You notice a wooden ladder attached to a rail that looks as though it can slide the whole length of the shelves and wonder how much fun it would be to sail along on it.

You pick up a rainbow of assorted items and hook the now heaving basket over your elbow. The writing supplies are towards the cash register at the front of the store and you’re charmed by the array of pencils on offer. It looks like a wall of Pic ‘n Mix sweets, all brightly coloured in their clear Perspex boxes. You run your hand through a pile on instinct and feel the cool wood roll over your fingertips. You pick up pretty much one of every type, not knowing which will feel right for your book two scribbles, and head to the counter to pay.

The queue is several people deep and moving slowly. Everyone seems to be catching up with the store assistant, and you can hear a steady stream of laughs and gentle enquiries up ahead. You pull your phone out of your pocket and respond to a few more messages asking how you’re getting on, and try to put people off from visiting until you’ve at least got your bearings.

You shuffle forwards with your eyes down on the screen until the toe of your shoe bumps into the counter.

You haul the basket up and slide it over to the man behind it, half expecting to be greeted by a surly teenager at this time on a Saturday.

The man who is actually there looks familiar somehow, like he was on a TV show or the news or something. He throws you a friendly “Hello” and your eyes flick quickly from his face to his grey t-shirt clad shoulders and to the practical, yet distracting, sight of his tan coloured leather apron and the way it frames him.

Apparently you're noticing handsome men again now. This is new.

“Stocking up?” The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and you’re not sure why you notice this small detail, but you're glad that you do. You want to keep looking at him.

“Something like that. I’m a writer. Well, sort of. I’m not writing at the minute, but I’m hoping all this stuff,” you gesture to the large pile between you both, “will help get me started again.”

He probably didn’t need your life story, but the words just keep flowing.

He scans the items, your conversation punctuated by the pip of the barcode scanner. “A writer, huh? Haven’t seen you around at our artistic waifs and strays events.”

“I just moved here, actually. Just yesterday.” You drum your fingers against the lacquered wood. “Only from an hour away, but it might as well be the other side of the country for how many people I know here.”

He reaches out his right hand and shakes yours. “Then let me welcome you to the area, and to The Stationery Stop.”

You feel a tingle across your palm, something like a static shock but gentler, like a buzz.

“That’s two stops.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“Stationery….Stop…it means the same. Although they are spelt differently, I never remember which is which.” You shrug and turn your credit card over and over in your hands.

“Do you know you’re the first person to ever make that joke, and I’ve been waiting two years for it?” He smiles and scans the last of your notebooks before picking up your array of pencils. “And you’ve chosen all my favourite things.”

The deep brown eyes partially hidden behind his thick, dark-rimmed glasses are kind and soft. You can see why the line ahead of you was so long. He feels like a friend you've known for a long time.

He passes you your items, wrapped carefully in tissue paper and string, piled inside a pale green paper carrier bag, and hands you a flyer from a tidy pile on the counter.  “You’d be welcome to join us, by the way. We meet on Thursday nights.”

You speed read the glossy paper. “Pencils and Pals?” You laugh.

“I know.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not good at that type of thing, but it’s better than Artists Anonymous, which was my first idea.”

You bid him goodbye and barely register how freely you’re swinging the bag in your hand as you walk back down the street and finish reading through the flyer.

His phone number is listed on the bottom, and a name; Marcus Moreno.

Next chapter

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[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone. 

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word. 

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor. 

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used. 

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention. 

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on. 

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover. 

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us? 

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.” 

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth. 

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate. 

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway. 

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.” 

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him. 

[whxtedreams]

Those damn puppy eyes

Inspired by rupi kaur poem

They should feel like home A place that grounds your life Where you go to take the day off - The one (the sun and her flowers - page 180)

word count: 1.5k

Pairing: neighbour!joel x reader

tags: sad!reader, reader just needs a hug, crying, comfort!, hurt & comfort, cuddles, soft kiss, mentions of love, rejection letter, joel miller (pedro) and his puppy eyes will be the death of me, two idiots in love, joel really loves cookies, joel is the king of comfort, soft!joel, photos are for aesthetic purposes only, reader has no description

A Poet's love masterlist - Main masterlist

Your feet are plastered to his front porch, your hands heavy as they hover at his door. You want to knock, to hear his footsteps beyond the door as they race towards you. You want to hear his voice as he calls out that he’s coming. You want to see the smile on his face when he realises that it’s you that’s standing before him. 

What you don’t want is for him to see you in the state you’re in. You don’t want him to see your tear stained cheeks. The whites of your eyes strained red from the time spent crying on your couch. You don’t want him to feel your damp sleeves, where you’ve tried to wipe away the evidence of your own emotions.

Your chest burns, your eyes sting and your heart shattered.  

But you want him.

What you wanted was to walk into his house like any other night, to hear Sarah upstairs listening to her music on full volume as Joel shoves a pre-made dinner in the oven with his headphones on, drowning out his daughter's music. You want to scare him as you wrap your arms around his middle while he has his back to you, feel him jump in your arms. Hear his huffed laugh as he turns around and kisses your forehead, telling you once again you’re going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

Tonight however there is no music playing in the house. There’s no pre-cooked dinner and there’s no possibility of a heart attack. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you reach for it, opening the text from Joel. 

OMW home now darl. Sarah wanted to stick around and chat to her friends. Her team won tonight so shes a little high on adrenaline, get ready for her talking ur ear off tonight ;)  bringing home pizza, cant wait to hear about ur day!

A tear slips down and lands on the screen and a soft sob rattles through your body. Of course he’s not home, how could you forget? Sarah had her semi finals tonight, she had been so excited about her first big game last night. 

You shove your phone back in your pocket and walk the short distance back home, not wanting to ruin Sarah’s night. 

Your phone buzzes again where it sits on the coffee table in your lounge room. The pillow you lay your head on is damp, your tears soaking the material as you lay in silence, your heart heavy. You know it’s Joel, wondering where you are but you don’t want to answer him. 

The letter sits beside your phone. The letter you thought was your acceptance into the culinary school you applied to but turned into informing you they had declined your application. 

Your front door opens and Joel’s voice fills the air, the sound of his boots shuffling on the doormat as he rids his shoes of any dirt before he enters your house. “Babe?” He calls out as he shuts the front door. “You get any of my texts? Got me all worried-” His words stop as his feet still in the doorway of the living room as he sighs.

He walks around the couch and gently lifts your legs off the couch before he sits down with a huff, placing your legs over his lap as he settles on the couch. His fingers run over your legs and he sits in silence as you sniffle into your pillow.

“The letter came today?” He asks after a moment, already knowing the answer and you nod without looking at him. 

His hands still on your legs before they squeeze and you finally tilt your head to look at him. “No matter what they say, you know Sarah and I are always going to be proud of you. You’re amazing at what you do darl’, they’d be fools not to see that.” 

You nod, a lopsided smile forming on your face before you sink back into the pillow. “I know, I just really wanted this.”

Joel leans over you then, pushing you slightly to fit behind you on the couch. His arms wrap around you as you shift to make room for him. His chin rests on your shoulder, his legs wrapping around yours and pulling you tight against him. 

He pulls you close to him and wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tightly as the warmth of his touch sinks through you. You sink into him, your mind and body relaxing as his arms hold you close to his chest, the heat of his body surrounding and grounding you as the weight of the world seems to slowly lift off your shoulders. Your body shudders at the touch, as though he's somehow absorbing all of your negative emotions and easing the anxieties that lay heavy in your heart. 

“I know you did and I’m so sorry baby. We’ll find you another school, yeah? Someone that appreciates your talents.” His mouth kisses your shoulder as he talks and your body relaxes, believing his words once more. 

He always does this, always seems to know just what you need, just what will make you feel better, better than any medicine or solution or remedy could ever do. A simple touch is more than enough to calm your worry and soothe your anxieties, to remove all of your worries and fears and to convince you that everything will end up right, as it should be. A few words and a tender smile and you're able to believe in the things that he says, able to believe in the fact that everything will work itself out and that you have nothing to fear.

“I love you.” You sigh and you feel his body shake behind you, a soft chuckle in your ear. 

"I love you too, darl," he says, his hand rising over your chest and landing just over your heart, your hand rising to meet his and interlocking your fingers with his. The warmth of his body is enough to overwhelm you, the love that you feel rising through you as you hold onto his hand and feel his touch on your chest, your hand gripping tightly as your heartbeat speeds up slightly at his touch.

You move your head and look in his eyes that glisten with adoration as he looks at you. 

Those damn puppy eyes. 

He leans in and lands a soft kiss on your lips, the gentleness of the kiss enough to make your breath catch in your throat, your hand tightening around his as all your thoughts and emotions flood from your mind at once. Every time he kisses you, it feels like perfection, as though your souls are meant to come together in this moment, two halves finding each other in the space and the time where they belong. He feels like home, wherever he is becomes safety and warmth and comfort that fills you from the inside to the outside and back again.

He leans back, breaking the kiss and leaning his body back as well. His grip doesn't let up, however, and he looks down at you with a warm smile, a look of genuine affection and care and tenderness on his face as he watches you. You never want to leave his embrace but your stomach aches from hunger and you smile back up at him. 

“You mentioned pizza?”

He scoffs and shakes his head, pushing himself up from behind you, a mock offended look on his face and a slight pout that borders on the verge of a smile. "Oh, so you did get my texts?" His voice is light and playful, a tone that makes the pout of his mouth even more evident as he tilts his head to the side slightly, giving you a look of mock disappointment.

“I’m sorry, what can I do to make it up to you?” You ask as he pulls you up from the couch and pulls you right up against his side, his arm wrapping around you tightly as he pulls you close,

His smile turns wicked as his lips ghost over your ear. “I think you know exactly how to make up to me.” 

Your smile mirrors his as your turn to face him once more.

“Chocolate chip cookies, right?”

His eyes close as he leans his head on your shoulder, a soft moan escaping his chest as his body relaxes. He leans his head back slightly, his eyes opening again, but his eyes are soft and warm as he looks at you, a fond smile on his face. "You know me so well," He whispers to you, the softness of his voice enough to make you melt into him as he holds you tight.

And you suppose that you do know him, that you know him as well as you can know the feeling of home. The warmth that you feel when you are with him, the comfort that spreads through you whenever he is close, all feels like home. He is home to you, the place where you feel as though you can let down your guard and be your true self, the place where you can take a deep breath and relax.

Because he’s the only one for you.

Notes

it's been over two months since i've updated this fic yikes im sorry. These two have my heart and i just want the best for them.

[604to647]

Sugar Drop (a Mi Galleta one-shot)

3.3K / Modern AU Grumpy Bouncer!Pero Tovar x Sunshine-Rich Girl!reader

Summary: You’ve been dating Pero for several weeks - have you made a mistake in assuming the two of you are exclusive?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Newly dating relationship, some angst and insecurity (if you've read the series, you know our reader has a tendency to assume the worst), fingering (semi public), mention of oral (m receiving).

A/N: I wrote this for @undercoverpena’s April Showers Challenge - please use #undercoveraprilshowerschallenge to see all the other wonderful works! I'm so nervous because this is the first time I've ever participated in a writing challenge 🫣 The story was written as part of the Mi Galleta AU and takes place early on in Part 3 after Pero and reader start to date. While I would love for people to read Mi Galleta, I don't think it's necessary to read this? Just know that Pero works as the downstairs bouncer of a high-end restaurant and he rides a bike🥵🏍️

“Keep your eyes open, Cookie.”

Your eyes snap open at Pero’s words, followed by a slower opening of your plush mouth into an oh shape before you let out a whimper.

He’s working you open so deftly with just two of his fingers, it’s a wonder you’re not crying out obscenities and pleading to come.  But you have to stay quiet; you are, after all, at Pero’s place of work.  You and your friends had come to Lin for dinner and Pero had not only looked fucking delicious when you arrived, he had then been so damn teasing palming your ass as he walked you, Eloise and Dorothy to the elevator, you hadn’t been able to wait until after dinner to see him again.

In between appetizers and the main course, you used the pretense of bringing a drink to him as an excuse to visit with Pero while he worked.  The majority of the dinner rush now over, Pero had welcomed your company, pulling you into his lap and burying his face in your neck; the soda water you brought him forgotten on the side of his desk.

If memory served him correctly, he could expect roughly 20 more minutes before any late seating diners would start to show; it was less time than you deserved, but Pero would make do with what he was given.  Perching you on the edge of the desk and facing you away from the front doors, he remains sitting in his chair, eyes trained forward to see if anyone approaches to enter the lobby.  His fingers dance up your thighs past the hemline of your dress and trail straight to the front of your panties where he finds you wet and wanting.

“So wet already, princesa?  Is this for me?”

Biting down on your lip, you nod and let loose a soft whine, “Yes, Pero… all for you.”

Eyes darkening, Pero teases you merciless over the fabric before pushing it aside and thrusting in two fingers, taking your quiet gasps and shortened breaths as encouragement.  Scissoring you open before adding a third finger, he stretches you to the brink and touches that part of you only he can.  Just when you start to feel a familiar slow winding of the coil beneath your belly, Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit and begins to write his name; your back arches, ascent now accelerated.  Pero needs only to repeat the cursive script of his signature three times before you’re shuddering, legs shaking and threatening to slip out from under you.

Pero holds your thigh firm with his free hand as he speeds up his fingers, “I got you, Cookie.  Let go and come for me.”  And you do.

As you take a minute to catch your breath and regain the use of your legs, you watch dreamily as Pero pops his slick covered fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean with a shit eating grin, “Always so sweet, hermosa.”

Tucking you under his chin, Pero walks you to the elevator and lets you go with a sweet kiss and the promise that he’ll see you when you're done dinner, then again when he comes over after he gets off at 10:00.  You think you hear the front door of the lobby open, and regretfully, Pero heads back to his desk before the elevator doors close.

After straightening up your dress and checking your make up in the elevator mirror on the ride up, you nearly crash into a girl who barrels into the elevator the second the doors open.  She barely acknowledges when you excuse yourself then maneuver out of her way before making it back to your table.

Eloise points to your five-spice crusted pork medallion, “Your dinner just came.”

With the most diabolical smile to ever grace her lips, Dorothy chimes in, “… as did you?”  You swat her on the arm with your purse before the three of you burst out laughing, and you start to dig in to your dish - it’s delicious, a contender for your top 5 favourites at the restaurant for sure.

The three of you have been happily eating for less than ten minutes when the girl that almost mowed you over in the elevator comes back to the table that’s right next to yours.  As she sits, her friends all lean in expectantly, and one of them asks excitedly, “So???!”

She smiles, triumphant, “His name is Pero Tovar, he gets off work at 10:00, and that’s when I’m going to suck his dick.”  Her friends squeal and high five her as she sits looking excited and smug.

You put your utensils down in shock and look up at your friends to make sure they heard the same thing you did; their stunned faces indicate that they did.

Suddenly, your appetite is gone.  Eloise places her hand on yours, “Babe, that doesn’t mean…” but even she is unsure how to finish her sentence; you just look at her and shake your head lightly to thank her for trying, but you’re trying very hard not to cry.

You and Pero have only been seeing each other for a few weeks, and while things have been moving rather quickly, they've been going quite well - or so you thought.  Up until now, you haven’t given it much thought, but now you realize that the two of you haven’t had any talks regarding exclusivity.  Although you’re not interested in seeing other people and as much as it stings to admit, it would be completely within Pero's rights to see other people.  Or even just hook up with them, you suppose, chest tightening as the girl at the next table continues to express how hot Pero is and how she can’t wait to see him later.

Dorothy calls for the cheque quickly, and while you wait, you feel your cheeks flush.  It would be one thing to see other people, but it’s really quite another to make plans to mess around with some girl at the restaurant while you’re still here.  And right after he had his hand buried in your cunt.  You’re humiliated.  You suddenly wonder if he does this every night with a never-ending parade of paramours from the restaurant, of which you’re just one.  That’s when the first tear falls.

“Oh babe, don’t cry,” says Eloise soothingly, putting her arm around you.  Dorothy hastily pays the bill and the three of you stand abruptly, leaving you half finished dinners behind.

“I’m calling for a car,” announces Dorothy as you wait for the elevator; you feel your stomach churn at the idea of having to walk through the scene of your recent exploits.  Tears of shame spring from your eyes; you never would have done that with Pero, if you had known you were just the first (and of that, you’re not even sure) of his many conquests tonight.

Pero is surprised to see via the security camera dashboard that you and your friends are coming down as it’s earlier than he had expected you.  He hopes no one is unwell.  When the elevator dings, he stands to meet you, but to his surprise, you and your friends rush past him; Eloise has her arm around you and Dorothy makes sure to stand between you and him.  It had started to rain heavily and none of you have umbrellas; Pero keeps a few behind the desk and goes to offer them to your group, hoping as well that you’ll slow down enough to talk to him, “Hey-”

Dorothy spins around with blinding speed and just says Don’t definitively and with finality.  Pero is stunned.  He watches as Eloise holds her jacket over the two of you to shield you from the rain before climbing into a waiting car.  Briefly, he catches a glimpse of your face before the car door closes and his chest constricts when he sees your sad expression and tear-stained cheeks. 

He immediately texts you: Cookie, are you okay?  What’s wrong? And he’s confused and worried when you don’t answer.

---

You have a good cry in the car and by the time the car reaches your place, you’re tired out.  Dorothy and Eloise come in and help you finish a bottle of wine before you send them home; you tell them the truth – you want to go to bed.  You don’t want to be anywhere near awake when 10 pm rolls around; if you are, you know all you’ll do is spiral imagining what Pero’s doing at that time.  After getting ready for bed and snuggling in, you open your book hoping it will help you drift off, but the heavy rain beating against your windows provides enough of a white noise calm that you’re quickly lulled into the sleep you so desire.

---

Pero cannot fucking sit still.  At ten to 10:00, he decides to throw in the towel.  It won’t make a difference if he leaves 10 minutes early; all the late seating diners have been seated and there’s no need for the front desk to be occupied when the restaurant closes.  He can’t stop thinking about you how sad you had looked when you left earlier, very clearly upset by something; it pains him to see you being anything other than your usual cheerful self.  Having made up his mind, Pero forgoes the time it would take to switch out his dress clothes and just grabs his helmet out of his backpack and beelines for his bike.  So hell bent on getting to you, he doesn’t even register the torrential downpour until he has to repeatedly wipe his visor before he even starts the ignition.  Fuck. He had planned to throw caution to the wind and speed all the way to your apartment, but now that plan is shot.  He can’t comfort you if he’s laying in a ditch by the side of the road.  He settles for weaving through the city streets as fast as he can go with risking a wipe out, squinting through the rain that hits his face having long since given up the futile task of wiping off his visor and just leaving it flipped open.  By the time he gets to your apartment, his suit is soaked through, he can't feel his face, and it’s an effort just to take off his waterlogged gloves so he can text you.

Cookie, are you feeling better? 

The engine on his bike cooling under the wet onslaught, Pero sits shivering waiting for your response.

Did you still want me to come over?

Princesa, I can see your light is on.

This last message finally gets a response: You’re here?

Look outside your window, baby.

Having fallen asleep with your light on, you were woken up by the buzzing of Pero’s first message.  After reading his second, you were miserably contemplating whether or not this was his way of asking for an out so he could go home with that other girl, when the notification for the third message scrolls down.

You pad over to your window and look down to the street.  It’s dark and the rain is coming down in sheets, but you can just make out a striking figure illuminated by a street lamp sitting on his bike and looking up at you.

He’s going to catch pneumonia.

Looking at your phone again, you’re surprised by the time - it’s only quarter after 10:00.  Either that was the world’s fastest blow job or… Pero had teleported here; judging by the look of his soaked clothes, you would say not.  As you stand there, confused, your phone starts to ring.

“Pero?”

“Cookie, are you okay?  Can I come up?” 

You can hear his teeth chattering.  Despite the turmoil you feel, you’re not totally unfeeling towards him and you definitely don’t think it’s a good idea for Pero to be outside in the rain a minute longer.  The best thing for right now would be for him to get dry; the two of you can deal with the rest separately.

As soon as he steps through your front door, Pero mumbles an apology about dripping water everywhere, but you don’t even hear him through your fog of devastation – you approach him wordlessly, and as if on autopilot, start to take off his wet clothes.  Pero removes his helmet and tips your face up to meet his eyes, “Cookie, what happened tonight?”

You thought you were all cried out, but the tears that well up and spill over your lash line prove you wrong.  You hadn’t even considered the possibility that you would have to confront Pero tonight; you need time to think and his soft eyes and honey-laced baritone voice aren’t helping.  Lowering your gaze and crying softly, you simply shake your head, “Let’s just get you out of these wet things.  Don’t want you to get sick.”

Pero lets you undress him, seeing that for the moment you prefer to focus on the mundane task.  He lets you take off his soaked through suit jacket and loosen and lift his tie over his head.  He watches you chew your bottom lip as you slowly unbutton his dress shirt and cuffs, then unbuckle his belt and peel off his pants and socks.  You take all his wet things to the bathroom, and return to lead him, nearly naked, to your couch where you drape a warm blanket over his shoulders before straddling his lap and burying your face into the nook under his jaw, still sniffling.

All Pero can do is wrap you up in his arms and under the blanket with him, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back soothingly until you’re ready to face him again.

Your body feels warm and safe pressed up against Pero’s solid bare chest with his arms encircled protectively around you, but your heart still feels restless. 

After what feels like forever, you push yourself off of Pero’s chest and positioning yourself to face him, you say very quietly without meeting his eye, “Pero, were you with someone else tonight?”

If it were not for the distressed look on your face, and the unusual way you’re holding yourself so small, Pero would have thought you were making a joke and laughed.  He can’t quite figure out what would prompt you to ask such a ridiculous question.

Not sure how to interpret Pero’s silence, you press on voice shaky, “If you were… I mean, I couldn’t really say anything about it.”  You toy nervously with the hem of your sleep shorts, “You haven’t made me promises or anything, so you’re free to do what you want.”  Your voice breaks a little at the end of your sentence and Pero’s heart plummets into his stomach.

Tipping your chin to finally look up at him, he tilts his head and tries to soften his usually hard countenance, “Princesa, what could I possibly want except to be with you?”

You try to shift your gaze away, but Pero won’t have any of that. He gently cups your face in his still freezing hands, willing you to hear his words, “There’s no one else, Cookie.  Never has been.  There’s only you and there will only ever be you.  I don’t want anyone else.”

You smile a little at these sweet words so he continues, “Why would I?  Look at you, beautiful and sweet even when you’re sad.  I’ve hurt you somehow tonight, and still you take care of me.” His thumbs continue to lovingly stroke the side of your face.

“There’s no one kinder and more considerate.  I’m too lucky, hermosa, and I hope I never mess this up.”  He places the gentlest, most precious kiss to your lips.

You snuggle into his neck again feeling a little lighter, and murmur, “Didn’t want you to get sick.  You’re so grumpy when you’re sick.”  Pero can’t help but lightly chuckle as his holds you tighter.

When your breathing eventually evens from him softly petting your hair, Pero asks, “Can I ask what happened tonight?  Did you really think I was with someone else?”

After giving him a slightly awkward shrug and nod, you hear Pero make a questioning hmmm in the back of his throat.  You sigh, “There was a girl at the restaurant bragging that she was going to blow you tonight.”  Pero furrows his brow in confusion at this, not only at having no idea what would possess any girl that isn’t you to make such a proclamation, but that you would believe it.  When he expresses this to you, you feel minorly irritated, huffing, “She knew your full name and what time you got off work!  And she said she made the plans with you after I saw her go down to the lobby when I went up.”

Something minorly familiar tugs at the corner of Pero’s mind: after he had sent you upstairs, he had almost immediately let in a table of five using the second elevator, then left to have a chat with William in the staff elevator alcove in the opposite corner of the lobby.  When he got back to his desk, there had been a girl waiting; recognizing her as a patron that had already been dining upstairs, he figured she had come down and gotten locked out by accident.  He had wordlessly gestured for her to follow him to the elevator before swiping his fob and sending her back upstairs again.  The whole interaction had been less than a minute.

When he describes what he remembers of the girl, you confirm she’s one and the same. “Princesa, my name is on the lockscreen of my computer, and she must have overheard me talking to William about when I was leaving.”  You look at him with a raised eyebrow, but it’s not in any serious way; you’ve already decided you believed him.

“I can prove it, hermosa.  There are security cameras for the elevator bank and the lobby, with sound.  I’ll pull those up for you and show you.”

You shake your head lightly, smiling, “It’s okay, that’s not necessary – I believe you, Pero.”

“Maybe I should still give Dorothy the tapes.  I feel like she would say that hard proof is necessary.”

Laughing at how well Pero knows your friends, you tuck yourself back into Pero’s arms, now feeling somewhat silly and bashful at having gotten so upset over what turned out to be nothing.

“And what would you have done if she came down at 10:00 and offered herself to you?” you smile into Pero’s shoulder.

“I would have told her I was spoken for,” Pero say very softly, “I’m sorry that you were upset tonight, Cookie.  I take it this is your way of telling me you don’t want me seeing anyone else?”

Shaking your head, you bring your hand up to Pero’s face and lightly scratch his scruff that you love so much, “No, I don’t want you to see anyone else, Pero.”

“Good,” Pero’s voice drops to that husky register that goes straight to your panties every time, “I don’t want you seeing anyone else either, princesa.”  And then he kisses you, fully and passionately.  Tongue begging for entry, you grant him access as you adjust yourself on his lap so that the two you can entangle your arms around each other.  Pero licks into you immediately and with such a hunger that all you can do is gasp and swallow him with a groan.  Your hands feel hot and soft as they map the expanse of his bare chest and strong arms; Pero’s hands reach to roam your backside, groping and pulling you even closer to him.

Suddenly, you pull away, having made a shocking realization, “Pero!! There are security cameras in the lobby?? Can they see behind the desk?”

Laughing, Pero reassures you, “I’ll delete the footage, Cookie, don’t worry.”

Threading your hands through his hair, you bite your bottom lip, shy, “Do you think you could get me a copy before you delete it?”

Smirking and nodding, Pero pulls you back onto his lips and growls, “Dirty girl,” as you squirm in his lap with delight.

[freelancearsonist]

a dieter bravo x nonbinary!reader-insert!oc series

This is it: your big break. Your first real role as a serious actor. It's a huge deal, a limited drama series produced by a major television and streaming network; it's slated to shoot you directly to stardom. All you have to do is not mess this up. Enter Dieter Bravo: your character's father, but your celebrity crush. Not messing this up just got considerably harder.

this reader insert character is: unnamed, afab and nonbinary (has female anatomy and uses they/them pronouns), neurodivergent, latinx, 21 years old, an actor playing a female character. I’m trying to keep them a physically blank slate but it is mentioned that they have longer hair (past shoulder-length) for the role and they wear a bikini for the role at one point as well. They are mentioned to be shorter than Dieter.

each chapter has its own rating and warnings. overall series rating is MA for eventual explicit content.

[COMING 04/26] chapter one: this is what it looks like, right before you fall

You meet the cast and vow yourself to professionalism as filming starts, but one particular costar tests your willpower.

chapter two: haven’t seen the sun in a while but i heard that the sky's still blue

It's almost midnight, and there's bumping and groaning sounds coming from the hallway. You should probably investigate, right?

chapter three: why i gotta build something beautiful, just to go set it on fire?

Emotions have been running high lately, and it all comes to a head on set during a particularly tense scene.

chapter four: and that’s the problem with a closed door

No one really knows how to handle what happened on set last week, least of all you and Dieter. You each go about it in your own separate ways.

chapter five: if life is but a dream, then so are we

The end of shooting is quickly approaching, and you have a lot to sort out before picture wrap.

chapter six: i always shine, even when the light dim

Press interviews and red carpet events have your entire life turned upside down--but in a good way.

header and title: @beskarandblasters ; dividers: @saradika-graphics follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted!

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter 13

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.9k

Chapter warnings: physical abuse, mental abuse, manipulation, non consensual piv sex, non consensual vaginal fingering, degradation, alcoholism, panic attacks, fluff at the beginning, hurt/no comfort, non consensual makeout session, suicidal thoughts, self hate

Chapter Summary: Javi does something he won't be able to take back.

A/N: Hey, babes. This is the first chapter in which Javi takes the reader in a non consensual way. This time won't be super in depth, but the next times will be. It hit very close to home for me and was difficult to write, but I'm glad I got it down. It's a pretty tough chapter regardless, and I hope that you keep my warning in mind <3

*****

You wake up to a soft hammering sound coming from the kitchen. It’s faint as you start to come around, pulling the sheets up to your eyes to guard yourself from the sun pouring in through the window. You don’t remember coming to the bed last night. Javi must have carried you in, you realize after a moment. 

The thought of Javi taking care of you again makes you smile, and you realize that the sound must be him working on the tiles or cabinets you had asked him about. You smile and stretch out, deciding you may as well get up. You pull the blanket from your body and let the light bathe you for a moment as you slowly open your eyes and adjust to the brightness. You stay there for a moment, enjoying the peaceful feeling that’s settled within you this morning. 

After a few minutes pass, you hear a small crash come from the front of the apartment, waking you up from the half-asleep state you’d fallen back into. You sigh and slide out of bed, pulling on one of Javi’s tees that had been piled on the floor since he seems to have stripped you to your underwear when he tucked you in bed last night. You quickly move to the kitchen, a bit worried about whatever that sound had been.

“Javi?” You call his name as you reach the doorway and find him crouched over what looks like a broken tile. He pops up quickly and holds a hand out to stop you. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” he gently warns. “Dropped a damn tile.” 

You nod and take a step back after reaching to hand him the broom that was propped in the corner closest to you. He thanks you and begins gathering the pieces into the dustpan. He’s quick to get it all and dump it into the trash can, doing one more scan of the floor before turning back to you. A smile spreads across his face as he crosses back to you. 

“Well don’t you look gorgeous in my shirt,” he marvels as he embraces you. You giggle into his chest and let him gently sway you as you bask in his warmth. 

“What would you like to do today, bebita?” 

You shrug. “Whatever you want.” 

He chuckles quietly and plants a kiss on your head. “Well, I mostly just planned on getting some stuff done around the apartment today.” 

So that’s what you do. It’s honestly the best day you’ve had in weeks. You didn’t do much but sit and talk with Javi while he hung cabinets and put tile down, but you couldn’t have been happier. It was like everything clicked back into place and nothing had ever gone wrong. 

By the time the two of you were getting ready for bed, you were brimming with contentment. You cooked one of your favorite dishes for dinner, and the two of you laughed over a bottle of wine before snuggling up together in bed and going to sleep to buzzed conversation. 

You’d fallen asleep to Javi’s strong arms wrapped around you, but when you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re alone in bed. You jump awake, startled by a crash from the kitchen. It’s louder than the one from this morning. Or maybe yesterday morning. You’re not sure what time it is. You’re more concerned about what the hell Javi might be doing and if he may have hurt himself. 

You pull yourself out of bed and slip on a shirt before padding out to the hallway. You get an odd sense of deja-vu as you creep into the kitchen the same way you had this morning. This time, though, there’s a strange feeling rolling through your stomach. You’re not sure why, but it’s enough to make you almost nauseous. 

“Javi?” You meekly call his name as you round the corner to find him sitting at the small table. There’s an ashtray in front of him as well as a glass of whiskey. You know it’s whiskey because of the empty and shattered bottle laying carelessly on the ground by his chair. He doesn’t have the lights on, the only bit of light coming from the streetlamps beneath the small window. 

He doesn’t even look at you as you walk toward him, taking slow and careful steps. There’s panic already starting to rise within you. You’ve never seen him act this way—like he’s not really there with you. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, just as unbothered with you as he is the broken bottle on the floor. 

As you reach the table, you can almost smell the stench of the alcohol emanating from him. Ignoring your dry mouth, you gently place your hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, but he still doesn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he raises his glass to his lips and downs the last bit of whiskey at the bottom. 

“J-Javi?” 

This time, he turns his head just slightly, not exactly looking at you, but at least letting you know that he knows you’re there and speaking. 

“Why don’ you grab me another bottle, sweetheart,” Javi slurs lazily as he lets his head loll to rest on your hand. Your heart squeezes at the sound of his voice. As long as you’ve known him, he’s never drunk this heavily. Sure, he’s been picking up more beer as of late, but this is a whole new level for him. 

“No, Javi, I think you’ve had enough.” You mean for it to sound assertive, but it comes out quiet and sounds more like a suggestion. 

He spins fully now to look into your eyes, though his stare is much less imposing than usual. There’s instead a glassy and distant look to them. 

“An’ did I fuckin’ ask you?” 

You flinch back slightly at the ferocity of his words. He ignores it and pushes out of his chair and then passes you to get to the alcohol cabinet. He throws open the cupboard door, letting it slam against the back of another, and snatches another full bottle of whiskey as you jump again at the sound. You take a step back this time as he brushes past and sits back down. He starts to pry the top off of the bottle and you spring into action. You can’t let him have more. It’s on you now if he drinks too much. 

You wrap both of your hands around it and try to take it from him, but he only holds on tighter. You’re so tired and disoriented already, you really don’t want this to be an issue. 

“Javi, please let go, you’ve had enough.” It comes out a bit stronger this time, and it gives you a bit of confidence to see something flash in his eyes. In an instant, he lets go of the bottle. 

You sigh as he stands back up. “Thank you—” 

Your eyes widen in terror as you watch raise his hand and rear it back. It almost happens in slow motion, the twist of your stomach and the way your breathing shallows. Everything in your head empties and is instead replaced by fear and confusion. Your heart drops and you try to get out of the way, but he brings his palm down across your cheek before you can. You yelp and stagger back, dropping the whiskey in the process. 

There’s a loud thunk at your feet as you cradle your cheek and drop yourself to the floor, shuffling away from Javi as quickly as you can. You’re not even crying yet, just shaking uncontrollably. You get all the way to the wall before you stop and look up at Javi, who has already taken a seat again and popped open the dropped whiskey. You feel the tears fall now, letting you see him clearly instead of through the blur. Faintly, you think you hear him murmur something along the lines of “shut you up last time”, and it causes a sharp twinge from somewhere deep inside of you.

You think you might be hyperventilating, because you feel light and everything still seems to happen too slow. You don’t understand. You didn’t do anything. Why would he do that? 

“Don’ look at me like that,” Javi’s too-casual voice comes from in front of you. You realize you zoned out as you let your eyes focus again to see him looking down at you from the table. “‘S your fuckin’ fault.” 

Your head shakes. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything. 

“N-no—” 

“Got a call from Steve today,” he goes on, ignoring you. “Told me his wife was concerned about a bruise she thought she saw on your face,” he motions to his own face with a lazy finger before grabbing the bottle again.

You think you might throw up. 

“Told him it was a shadow. Don’t think he believed me.” He stands back up now, walking toward you. You heave an audible sob as you back as far as you can into the wall, and you come to an awful realization. You’re fucking terrified of him right now. He has a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one that can’t guarantee anything good. He’s watching you like you’re prey, like you’re something he wants to inflict pain upon. 

“Please stop,” you breathe. You can barely even hear it, so you know that he can’t. Your eyes screw shut, unable to watch this nightmare as he gets closer. You want to bolt, but you’re glued to your spot on the floor. Even though you can’t see it, you can sense him crouch down in front of you. 

“Look at me.” 

You shake your head, ignoring the tremble of your lips as your tears trail over them. 

“Look at me!” 

Your eyes snap open to find his face only about an inch from yours. You stare into his eyes, trying your best to keep them from closing again. His breath reeks of whiskey as it fans across your wet face. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s waiting for you to speak first. You know you should choose your words carefully, but you can’t. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, because you have no idea what else to say. 

The corners of his lips tug down as his eyes narrow. “Are you?” 

You let your eyelids flutter as you try to breathe normally. You can’t. So you nod, your head feeling heavy as you do so. You just want to lay down. The stinging on your cheek has climbed up your temple and is making your head pound.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, the words not really yours. They just spill from your tongue. They feel too heavy and too light at the same time, just like the rest of you. 

“Yeah? You want to kiss and make up? Make everything okay again?” His words are so taunting, dripping with condescension.

You just watch him, wishing the ground would swallow you up and let you go back to sleep in a quiet place. His hand comes up slowly to grab your chin in a manner so gentle that it makes you sob again even as you let your chin rest in his palm. You don’t dare take it away, and you honestly don’t think you really want to. The touch is comforting even if it is coming from him—or rather, this version of him. You refuse to acknowledge the fact that this man is still your husband. No, this is someone else. Some other person trapped inside of him that will go away eventually. Your Javi wouldn’t be so cruel. 

But you do nothing as that other person leans forward and slots your tear-soaked lips with his. You do nothing as he deepens it and slips his foul tongue into your mouth. Nothing as he grabs you and pulls you to him, nothing as he lowers you down to the floor and lets his body drape over yours, nothing as he carefully holds you and defiles your mouth with his. 

You focus on the fact that you can check out, not having to pay attention to the tears that keep crawling down your cheeks or the fact that the weight of your husband’s body suddenly feels so wrong. You can just focus on the numbness surrounding you, offering you an escape from the pain in your heart and mind. Just until this is over, until he’s had his fill of your lips against his.

You let him kiss you until your lips are swollen and all you can taste is him. Until you hear the unbuckling of his belt. 

You come back to reality, heart pounding as you squeal and struggle against him, pushing his chest and kicking your legs as his touch turns aggressive. He keeps his mouth over yours, muffling your cries and pleas as he holds you down, not caring about the force that is bound to set bruises upon your flesh. You’re trying to scream, trying to scramble away from him. Pure terror throbs in your veins, your heart aching with the rate of which it pumps it through your body. 

No, he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt you in this way. This is too much, even for whatever stranger is on top of you right now. Thinning tears streak down your face and get caught where Javi is smothering your lips in a rough show of dominance, letting you taste the panic and fear that cause them.

You feel like you can’t breathe, everything is too much. You scream so hard that your throat burns along with your eyes and lungs, but it’s a feeble attempt because Javi’s mouth catches it the second it breaches your swollen lips. You want to hurt him. You want to fucking kick him and claw him and hold him down and make him feel helpless and useless and scared. 

You’ve never in your life had a thought like that, but right now, there is not a single regret as the evil thoughts race through your brain. With every fiber of your being, you want him to feel the way you feel right now. 

But you can’t. So you just cry. And shake. And let your body go limp in defeat as he shoves your panties down your thighs. And hate yourself so damn much that you wish you could die. You don’t know where the hate comes from, but it completely envelops you and you feel a tug deep inside you that tells you that you deserve it. So you listen. 

You let yourself brew on that as he uncovers your mouth and kisses your chin and neck, as he brings his hand down to shove two fingers inside of you. You can’t make any sound. You wish you could. Inside you’re screaming, you’re crying for help and yelling at yourself to just fucking do something, but you can’t, and you don’t know why. You hate yourself for it. You’ve never felt so fucking helpless as you do now, breathing shallow breaths instead of using your voice while you have the chance. 

Tears scald your cheeks as breathless whimpers tumble from your bruised lips with every pump of his fingers. He chuckles against your neck as your eyes squeeze shut. You try not to think at all as he pulls his fingers back and clumsily lines his cock up with your entrance a few seconds later. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

You repeat it like a silent mantra as he pushes in, the stretch painful with no prep. He doesn’t even hesitate as you try one more time to get away, weakly pushing at his chest and using your feet to scramble back. He holds you in place and thrusts in, grunting into your ear as he fully sheaths himself. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe…

“Stop,” you hear yourself softly protest. It’s so weak, though. Like everything else. You don’t even know how you said it. 

“Jus’ fucking shut up for a second,” Javi breathes. “You’re fine, you want this, slut. ‘S what you were so damn desperate for.” 

You might nod. You’re not sure, but your head moves, so you think that’s what it might be doing. Another betrayal from your own body.

Javi finds a good pace to keep up and continues to nip at your jaw. And you let him. Your stomach churns with every grunt and groan that lands on your skin, but you let him, because there’s nothing else you can do. You let him take you for what feels like hours, until he spills inside of you and lifts himself from your numb body. 

He walks away for a while, and you stare at the ceiling until he comes back. Your lips are dry. It’s an odd thing to notice out of everything, but your lips are dry despite your tears coating them. You don’t lick them, though, because you don’t want to taste the whiskey on your skin or the salty taste of your vulnerability. 

You close your eyes as he stands over you, not able to bear looking him in the eye. He walks away again, and you keep your eyes shut like you’re trying to go to sleep. You know you can’t, but you feel better focusing on that than letting your brain wander anywhere else. You keep crying and trembling, because there’s nothing you can do about that either. Nothing feels real, but you’re not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. 

You flinch hard when Javi comes back later to pick you up and take you to bed. Again, you let him. You know he knows you’re not asleep, but you pretend anyway. You let him lay you down, scared and torn apart from the inside, and this time, you do try to sleep. But it doesn’t come for a long, miserable time.

*****

Alright, where are we at on this?

Taglist:  @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff  @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-b @solarecI1spe

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[creedslove]

🌹Anon here! Sadly things with my step sister hasn't gotten any better, she has blocked my step Dad and everyone on his side, so we cannot contact her whatsover. It has been really difficult to navigate, she is only 11, and we can only pray she comes back to us eventually. Sob story aside, could I get some sweet Dave fluff? Him just being a great dad to his newborn baby. A mercernary with a newborn just making pancakes shirtless while carring the baby in one of those fabric wrap slings. Please and thank you ♥️

Dave York x f!reader

A/N: hi my darling 🌹 anon, it's good seeing you here, although the news aren't the best! I'm so sad to know your step dad's and his daughter's situation isn't great that way! It really sucks, she's so young she doesn't even have a clue about how devastating her behavior towards him is, but hopefully things will work out! I hope they can settle things down and work on their father-daughter relationship properly! I'll be rooting for them, and keep us updated whenever you can, alright?! Love you!

• when you woke up, the first thing was to look for Dave on his side of the bed, but it was empty and cold, meaning he had been up for a while; you checked on the clock and of course he's been up for ages, he still follows his military old habits, so you decided to get up

• but before doing anything else, you went over to your baby's room, wanting to check on little Davie, the little miracle that come over to give Dave's life a new meaning, along with you, and of course he couldn't pass up the opportunity to name his baby boy after himself when you offered it, and from that day on, you had your Dave, soon-to-be husband, and your sweet little Davie

• but Davie wasn't really in his crib, so you paid attention to your surroundings and of course you could hear soft giggles and a delicious smell of pancakes coming from downstairs, so you took the opportunity to freshen up in the bathroom and take some time to wake up before going to your family

• and once you got to the kitchen, of course you found Dave still shirtless, messy bed hair, working on his pancakes as Davie watched everything curiously from his comfortable carrier sling that made him look like the cutest kangaroo baby you'd ever seen

• Davie cooed and giggled, amazed at what his daddy was doing, he didn't actually understand, but he liked the sound of it and once you got closer and greeted your boys, you were welcomed by the sweetest smile you'd ever seen

"here honey, let me handle him, so you can make your pancakes"

• you offered carefully, knowing Dave was handy but still worried to have his son so close to the stove, you quickly helped him untangle your baby from the sling and held him into his arms

"are you hungry for daddy's pancakes, baby? Pancakes are his thing, he makes the best ones in the world!"

• and it was true; Dave's pancakes were delicious and he was great at it, there was a time he would make his daughters from his first marriage some every single Saturday morning, and they'd cheer up and talk about how daddy was the best! Unfortunately, that stopped after his and Carol's traumatic divorce and things took a downhill turn and Dave lost that connection once they got too old for that or just didn't seem so interested in spending time with him

• but things changed again when he began dating you: first of all, you liked his pancakes, and you loved watching him make them. He was always so attentive and focused and god, he looked too handsome doing the most domestic things

• and once you got pregnant, Dave noticed you enjoyed his domestic presence even more: unlike Carol who always complained about how his cologne or aftershave made her nauseous, you just craved his presence, you wanted to be all over him the entire time, and Dave loved that, you two bonded during a time he honestly thought couples drifted apart from his experience, it was magical, and luckily to him, that bond didn't break once little David was born, quite the opposite, the three of you became a stronger little family together

• and he couldn't express how much he loved that, how important it was, he still went out, did his dangerous job and went back home with his pocket full of money, but if there was something he would always do for his family, was definitely making pancakes for his beautiful family 💗

____