#pedro across the street (calls)

[oonajaeadira]

i was rereading a GTTT chapter and Patricio has just been in my mind rent free, creeping in from daydreams in places i should not be daydreaming. So I’ve got a PATS question for you. How would Patricio and Reader navigate the issue of him being too drained sexually when Reader is needy?

Hello, lovely.

First of all, I want to apologize for the long hiatus I've taken on Pats and Pres. This ask--and many more--have been sitting in my inbox for far too long and I'd like to think that answering late is better than never. Thank you for your patience with me!!!

This is a very interesting question and it sparked some over-arching thoughts. I have half an answer for you here--from his point of view, and therefore the "drained" part of it. Pres may not seem too needy here, but look to the next installment for more on that.

Also, a non-apology here to everyone.

For so long I've made you believe that Patricio is confident, in control...or at least in denial about it when he's not. But he's growing. Changing. There may be more vulnerability here than you want and much less sexy times. Not everyone has a good day every day.

Kiss and Tell: Everyone's Allowed a Bad Day (GTTT PATS)

FANDOM: Calls - Apple TV (PATS is a character from ep. 3. “Pedro Across the Street.” This is not RPF.)

As with all of my PATS installments, warnings abound for explicit content. (This one's much tamer than most.)

(gif by cavill-henry)

It’s nights like these that he sometimes wished he smoked. He’ll pour himself a drink once the client wakes up and leaves, but he doesn’t want her to catch it on his breath.

Bourbon. Bath. Bed. Maybe something short and calm on streaming. There’s a new cowboy film just dropped by that Spanish director looks good. 

Leaning on the kitchen counter and staring out across the silent living room, he contemplates the novel you left on the coffee table. Wonders if you’re missing it.

It occurs to him that he could call you. He can do that now. He doesn’t need a reason anymore, but even if the reason is a rough day…actually, maybe that’s even more reason to call you. In fact, he really should ask you–

His phone vibrates on the countertop and he frowns. It’s your pattern and his heart races a little, not only because it’s you, but thinking he’s been lost in thought too long, that he’s missed the three-hour mark. But a flip of the phone shows him he’s got 20 minutes to go. 

Odd. It’s not like you to interrupt a session.

“Hey, muñeca, everything okay?” he mumbles, stepping barefoot out onto the front porch in nothing but his sweatpants.

Your voice sounds far away, “Oh shit,” before a riffling sound and then a clearer, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit dial. I didn’t know I did. I was going to call and then I saw the time…I know you’re in the middle of a session, oh loverboy I’m so sorry–”

Just the sound of your voice is an instant balm. “It’s okay, it’s okay, she’s sleeping. I was actually just thinking about calling you.”

“Oh, really?” There’s something there behind your fluster, hiding among the smile in your voice, something that he might not have noticed if you hadn’t said you meant to call.

“Something you wanted to call me about?”

There’s a sound in the background. An announcement. You’re in public. “Um, no, not really. I just had a lonely moment, that’s all.”

“Well that’s an ego boost. You wanna come spend the night?”

There’s a pause. Shocked, judging by your voice. “Really? On an appointment night?”

He scratches his head and focuses on his feet as he aimlessly paces the porch. “Sure. I mean, if like a quarter after ten isn’t too late for you to drive just to go to bed.”

“With the weather shifting and how warm you run? It’s never too late to say yes to a heated bed.”

He smiles. “Glad I can be of service.” There's silence from you and he cringes. “Shit. Not you– not– Was that a bad choice of word?”

“No. It’s just–”

“Hey. I want you here tonight. I wanna talk to you.” Another silence. He supposes that sounds ominous. It shouldn’t. “You know, here. Not…on a phone.” He’s still not good at this. 

“That sounds nice…. You, uh, need anything? I’m at the grocery store.”

“No. Just you.” It feels good to say. Right. It’s what’s needed to break what feels like an odd tension into a few comfortable, mutually smiling moments. “So. The grocery store. And you’re feeling lonely. At a grocery store.”

Your laughter--hushed but musical--is kept close to the phone. “Well I am standing in produce and they just got in some preeeeeetty nice looking eggplants.”

“Wow.”

Another laugh, less hushed, throatier. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’ll let you get back to your work. I assume you’ve got a sleeping beauty to wake up.”

Pulling the phone away from his face for a timecheck, he winces. “Yeah. I’ll see you in 20?”

“I’d say I can’t wait, but you know that I will.”

Wow. “I know and I…”Something sweet twists inside. “I know.”

After you hang up he stands a minute more on the porch in the dark. The leaves are almost all off the trees now, the crickets are gone. His feet are freezing and the skin on his torso is goosebumping; doing its best–and failing–to lift his fine hairs to shield him from the autumn chill. But it’s far from unpleasant and he finds that he’s awake for the sensation in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

He’s alive again in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

The last couple of months have been…nothing short of amazing.

He should tell you that. He should say it.

But he’s got to get to that point where…he accepts it. 

Not the relationship…the fact that there’s always a possibility it’s too good to be true, that he could lose it. He could lose you.

You’re handling everything so well, but for how long? How long until you make him choose?

Oh fuck, please don’t make me choose, preciosa, please.

The phone buzzes in his hand. Timer; no need to look, just thumbs the button to silence. On another night, he’d allow himself more time, let the client sleep while he mused. But he’s got a job to do. 

And someone special arriving soon.

So he packs these thoughts away and goes quietly inside to prepare.

________

He’s just poured the detergent in the washing machine when he hears the door open. “Hey, I’m just cleaning up, gimme a second.”

Out in the entry, your shoes clatter on the floor and then your keys jingle on the kitchen counter and before he knows it you’re on him, topless and crowding him against the washing machine, kissing him like he’s just come back from war. It’s jarring but pleasant and full of hungry sighs…until there’s a ping in his calf muscle.

“Ooh, hey, Pres, hey hey, hang on.” Taking your face in his hands he calms, he whispers, he soothes you in order to soothe himself, but you catch on instantly, concern splashing over you.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

A kiss to the tip of your nose, to your smart little nose. “No, no, I’m a little sore; just had a difficult session–a difficult day, actually. And I haven’t showered yet. So don’t get yourself too worked up here. You don’t want me like this.”

He expects you to recoil from this, to find the sex with someone else still lingering on his skin. You don’t.

You simply run your hands over his sides, lean in to kiss his chin. “Of course I do. I want you like whatever you are.”

You’re backlit from the kitchen and there’s something like a soft halo around you, bringing a glow to the roll of your cheeks, the swipe of your lip. Tracing these with a finger and finding himself reflected in your eyes, he trusts you, accepts this, tries to see himself like you do. How are you so effortless?

There’s nothing but surrender when you rake your fingers through his beard and push yourself up onto tiptoe to press a warm kiss to his forehead. “But if you really feel that way, beautiful, let me run you a bath.” 

Everytime he opens his eyes and you’re there, it's like a small miracle.

“Come on,” you smile, taking his hand and guiding him to the stairs, “let me take care of you and you can tell me about your day.”

You’re perfect. He’s so grateful he picked up the phone tonight when he did.

________

“Mmmmm, that’s good.” The sigh comes up from his bottom wells, like a contented creature crawling out of hidden caverns within. The back of his head rests in your palm, warm water spilling over his scalp. Your hands whisper and calm and soothe. He spends so much time using his touch to bring relaxation to others that he’d all but forgotten that it could go the other way. And your touch–

“So there was some heavy lifting tonight, huh?” Your finger lightly wipes away an errant rivulet from the corner of his eye. “Ness, right?”

The ghost of irritation looms. “Mmm. She has a pretty severe tailbone injury. Didn’t tell me about it before she showed up. Lot of full-body lifting on the table just to get her in the right positions for stretch.”

“I see. You’ll feel it tomorrow. And sore tailbone means no actual sex tonight.”

“Oh no, we had some fun. She’s got weeks of recovery ahead of her and she needed some practice re-routing some natural orgasm responses to different muscle groups when she ejaculates.”

“Ejaculates? She…? Ohhh.” A loving hand begins to wander lightly over his chest. “I assumed. My bad.”

“Sorry. Should have been more clear. But yeah.”

“No need to apologize. I don’t know why I hadn’t just assumed that you…took all forms of payment.”

He peeks an eye open to catch your reaction as you reach over the side of the tub toward him and finds your warm, curious smile. “Not to disparage the vaginal anatomy, but sometimes it’s nice to have my dick handled by someone who has a lifetime experience with their own.”

“Noted. Fair.”

Closing his eyes and sinking into the warm bath of your care a lifetime goes by with your hands running over his skin.

“You’re very accommodating.”

A kiss lands on his temple. “Wait until you realize I’m terribly selfish and am in it for the rewards points.” When his smile fades, your hands slow. “That was a joke.”

“I know.” Sensing a shift in tone coming when he turns to you, you instinctively pull back, but he catches your hand in his, pulling it in to place a wet kiss to your knuckles. “Would you mind if I don’t want to have sex tonight?”

“Of course. That’s okay.” A half-smile. Are you covering disappointment?

“I’m more than happy to go down on you if you–”

But a shake of your head stops him. “No, it's fine. I can tell you’re tired. You said you had a hard day. Wanna tell me about it while we get you dried off and into bed?”

He feels like a child as he simply nods, allows you to help him up, succumbs to you as you care for him. It’s easy to do, to melt under your attention, to crack open and spill. He does his best not to control the spread as he generalizes a failed report at work, a difficult project he’s fallen behind on. By the time you’re sliding into the sheets and curling up next to him, he’s breaching the topic he’s been deciding and undeciding and deciding again to tell you about–that his mother called without warning.

“She wants to meet you.”

Your breathing stills in the darkness. “You told your mom about me.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I..” you stutter, “I guess I didn’t… I’m flattered that you talk about me?”

There’s a pang of guilt that he’s let you believe you’re not important enough for him to tell the world that you’re in his life. But he sighs as you squeeze your arm around his middle. “You might feel differently if you met her.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to meet your…is it just your mom?”

“And my father. I have an older brother but he lives in Australia. Doesn’t go home much.”

“Home issssSantiago?”

“Just outside of it. Rancagua.”

Another squeeze. Perhaps that was a lie; your arm around him and the brush of your lips on his shoulder feels like his true home now. 

“So this call was stressful because she wants to meet me. And you’re nervous?”

“The call was stressful because…I don’t…want her to meet you.” Your squeeze lightens a bit and he slides his grip over your arm in case you decide he’s awful and want to pull away. He knows he should let you go if you want to but– “I wanted to ask you, Pres…I’m sorry I don’t know if I can ask this much from you but–”

It almost breaks his heart when your arm slides through his hand, when your warmth leaves his side, when you abandon him…

But it’s only for the time it takes to hear the click of the bedside lamp, register the bright sting and spill of light, and you’re back beside him, leaning over him, turning his face to yours with one patient hand on his cheek. “What’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Shit. Get it together.

“You’re going to think I’m a fucking jerk–”

“Don’t tell me what you think I’m going to think, sir. Tell me what you need from me. Just say it.”

This leaves him with depleted gambling chips, raises the stakes. But you’re right. He has to be honest.

“The relationship I have with my family is…strained. That’s why I live here and not there. I see them somewhat regularly, but the holidays are when the whole family gets together–all the cousins–and it’s just a lot. There’s a lot that’s expected, a lot of judgements…it’s overwhelming. I can barely make it through myself, but having you there? Watching you be scrutinized on top of it when we’re just figuring this out? I just…no.”

“You know I won’t tell them–”

“It’s not that, fuck, it’s not that.” He surges in for a kiss, taking you in deep, willing you to understand him by osmosis; if only… “Every time I’ve gone down for the holidays it’s stressful enough…it’s…it’s bad enough that I’m away from my clients, but–”

“But under stress the itch gets worse. And you don’t have your outlet. And you’re not in control.”

Oh god, you see him. You see him and he’s so…fucking pathetic.

The last thing he expects is for you to pepper kisses along his mouth and chin, to dot a lingering one on his cheek before pulling him into your chest, to cradle him, breathe into his hair.

But it’s exactly what you do.

“What do you need, beautiful boy? Anything you want.”

He breathes. Sighs. Curses himself for doubting you, for assuming you wouldn’t surprise him. Allows you to hold the weight of his heart on your own without a spotter.

“I need to…not do the ‘meet the family’ thing this year. I just want you to myself for a while.”

A hum of sympathy, of bittersweetness, one that stakes his heart into the ground at your feet. “Oh Patricio. Is that all?” Your breast moves under his cheek as you lean over to turn off the light, your soft curves and soft scent and soft hum whispering to him, calming him, soothing him into you. “I’ll admit that I’m a little sad that I don’t get to show you off to my family, but I definitely see the appeal of a quiet holiday season, just us hiding away from the world together. You want me to yourself? Did you really think I would find that anything but absolutely wonderful?”

All at once, the strains of the day overtake him, the need to say more is gone and took his energy to do so right along with it. A whole lifetime of relief in just an hour. That’s your secret power. Always has been. He cannot think of words more meaningful than, “Thank you.”

Your fingertips begin their pattern of affection along his jaw, tattooing a spell of sleep through him. “This really means a lot to you, huh.” He’s too gone to get his voice to work and it seems you assume he’s fallen asleep. “Well you mean the world to me. You don’t even know, mister.”

It’s not worth the effort to drag himself from the downward pull of dreams to ask you to say more about that. Not when he knows you’ll be right here in the morning and he can ask you then.

Or say the same thing right back to you.

Maybe this time he’ll find a way to do that.

______

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[firsttarotreader]

Pedro - 7 of Pentacles

The next character in our “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is Pedro, from “Pedro Across The Street”, an episode of the Apple TV show Calls. Pedro represents the 7 of Pentacles.

7 of Pentacles is a card about patience, perseverance, progress and investing in something to see the results over time. It’s about patiently working and building something. A person with this card’s evergy is patient, contemplative, methodical, someone who will carefully plan his actions and take the time to assess said actions and outcomes and evaluate their progress with the plan. This person is calm and composed, persistent and hardworking, and focused on long-term results.

Pedro is a character that we never see, we just hear. The episode consists of phone calls, and he calls his neighbor, Patrick, to ask for a favor. He’s heading to the airport and wants him to check if his front door is locked. Patrick hesitates, but he ends up deciding to do what Pedro is asking. When he goes to his place, he sees the door is wide open. Pedro continues with what seems to be a carefully thought plan, by asking him to open his wardrobe and see if some valuables that are supposed to be inside are still there. Then he asks Patrick to take the bag with the valuables to his place and keep it for him. Patrick reluctantly agrees, while also talking to his wife on the phone. Once they apparently discover the bag is full of robbed money and see the police is arriving at Pedro’s house, Alexis, the wife, tells Patrick to burn the money. All along, Pedro patiently and carefully builds his narrative step by step, and seems to evaluate his progress and readjust when he feels like he needs to. He tells Patrick he can’t trust his wife, then he seems to know everything she’s gonna say, he tells Patrick he got a call from himself from the future and that’s how he knows, and then he confesses he is sleeping with Patrick’s wife. Patrick finds Alexis’ earring by Pedro’s bed, along with extra large condoms (🫢). In the end, when Patrick runs away with the money, Pedro isn’t that bothered, even if he planned Patrick would only get half the money. During this episode, Pedro remains calm and composed, being patient and methodical, focused on something that he works step by step thinking of the long-term results. For these reasons, he is our 7 of Pentacles.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Also, as a second, optional thing for you to answer: Here's a list of six songs; which character do you think that they fit with the most... and why? Blinding Ghosts Light Of Love No Light, No Light Throwing Bricks Various Storms & Saints

OKAY I LOVE THIS QUESTION.

And *technically* I didn’t get any of these songs as requests, so none of them will overlap with any of the drabbles.

Under the cut because this got long.

Blinding: I’d go with Ezra for this one. It’s actually on my playlist for the Oracle series I started and then left sitting to collect dust haven’t worked on in a while. This line, which gets repeated, is what speaks to me most in regards to that AU: No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone I REALLY NEED TO GET BACK TO THAT ONE. THERE'S A HALF-WRITTEN CHAPTER FULL OF FANCY EZRA AND FANCY READER IN A FANCY LOUNGE THAT I NEED TO FINISH.

Ghosts: Okay here’s where the *technically* comes in. Ghosts is the demo version of I’m Not Calling You A Liar, which I did get a request for (for Din) and the lyrics are the same. BUT! The tempo and tone is slightly lighter and more carefree for Ghosts, so I’d set that one in my Long Con AU for Pedro Across the Street. It’s about not being sure that the other person won’t burn you in some way, but that not being enough of a deterrent to stay away. I’m not calling you a thief, just don’t steal from me and When you kiss me I’m happy enough to die. Stick out to me for PaTS. I’m excited to share the one I’m working on for the Din request, though!!

Light of Love: First of all, I love this song a whole lot. Secondly I could go two ways with it. I feel like it works best for Dieter, but I could also make a strong case for Frankie. It touches on drug use/addiction and depression but on coming out of it and realizing that there is light and there are people who care and about fighting even when you want to quit. For Dieter: Flashes appeared in the corners of my eyes, I saw the stars and I didn’t ask why. Heard the voices and caught my breath, so close and yet so far from death - it also came out during the height of pandemic closures and lockdowns, which tracks with the timeline of The Bubble and the theme of isolation. For Frankie: I’ve been up all night, let’s stay awake. Push it further, you know I’ll never break. He says at one point he doesn’t sleep much, and I HC that plays partly into him getting busted for cocaine - he uses it to stay up for work or simply to stay up and not have nightmares. And then the push it further refers to how easily Pope and Tom (and maybe others) talk him into things he probably knows aren’t the best idea but doesn’t trust his own judgement enough to say no.

No Light, No Light: Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. This one is Joel. Forget the mention of blue eyes (Or think of them as blue in sadness not color) There’s a theme of loss/things fading and of jarring violence. These lines specifically point to Joel for me: I never knew daylight could be so violent. A revelation in the light of day. You can't choose what stays and what fades away Along with Would you leave me if I told you what I've done? And would you leave me if I told you what I've become? There's also a line about wanting to make something right but not being ready for that conversation yet, and if that's not Joel & Ellie idk what is.

Throwing Bricks: This is the only one that made me really scratch my head. I like this one a lot, and it always cheers me up when it comes on because it's fun to sing along with. But if I had to match it to a character, I'm not sure who it would be. Maybe Nico? Since it's about building a man and bringing him to life and that man is a whole weird blank slate for writers to play with? (Me writing ACR: I built a man made out of bricks, and lived inside his chest. I beat my head against the wall to make a heart beat in his breast)

Various Storms & Saints: Hi, this one is for Aphelion Oberyn. It's about being caught in something overwhelming and powerful but in an "I chose this on purpose" sort of way, and about trying to keep finding a way forward. Lines that feel the most fitting: And I'm in the throes of it, somewhere in the belly of the beast. But you took your toll on me, so I gave myself over willingly. And also: I know it seems like forever, I know it seems like an age. But one day this will be over, I swear it's not so far away. It's definitely a more melancholy song, so I think it would be relevant to the time in his life between the last person he marked and meeting Reader.

Thank you so much for sending this alternate ask! This was fun to think about, and you chose some really good ones!

[ovaryacted]

TIME CRUNCH

PAIRING: DBF! Joel Miller x fem! reader || WC: 2.7k

SYNOPSIS: The Miller household is hosting a neighborhood barbecue for the 4th of July with your father on the grill. While you're there, you steal a couple of minutes to get much more than beer and cooked meat.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. [NO OUTBREAK] SMUT. Age gap implied (Joel is 36, Reader is 21+). Kissing. Oral & Fingering (f receiving). Panty stealing. Bathroom shenanigans. Beer drinking. Allusions to secret established relationship/messing around. Joel is down bad & calls reader several pet names. Descriptions of reader wearing a dress & mini skirt. No use of y/n.

A/N: Hi hi. I don't know how this happened, but it just did. The idea came to mind yesterday and I sat down and wrote the whole thing in one sitting lol. Anywho, it's just some fun silly smut with DBF! Joel being a simp cause I love him like that. I imagined HBO Joel specifically for this one so this is a win for Pedro Pascal fans. Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! Not-beta'd cause I'm just real like that. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

The sun scorched the streets of Arlington, and the heat wave warning issued across the state of Texas did little to reflect the overwhelming weather. Coincidentally, it was the 4th of July, a seemingly exciting day for most patriotic Texans and Americans nationwide. You didn’t care much for the holiday, but it was a great excuse to enjoy the day off.

Your father had other plans. He hoped to use most of the weekend to crack open a cold one and fire up the grill. His good friend and neighbor offered to host a celebratory cookout at his place with mutual buddies tagging along, and with the newly available free time, you didn’t have any excuse to reject the offer. 

You found yourself in the backyard of the Miller’s residence, a home you’ve grown quite familiar with over the past few years, and especially since coming back from the college semester in Chicago. Initially, you had travel plans for the summer with friends, but your luck struck out when you landed an internship opportunity in Dallas, and your father was more than glad to welcome you back home.

It has been a busy summer for you since the beginning of June, and the prospect of a four-day weekend was too generous to pass up. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to be a face you saw regularly when returning to Texas, but you didn’t complain. Actually, you were much more content than you should be, and his close friendship with your dad only served as a better excuse to have him around more often.

Nursing a bottle of beer, you brought the lukewarm tip to your lips, sipping away at the tangy beverage as it washed down the thirst settling in your throat. You watched from afar as your dad was in his element, operating the grill like a soldier would his post. He flipped the burgers and poked at the hotdogs with ease, the black smoke surrounding him as he continued to cook.

“Meat’s looking nice.” You told him affirmingly with a smile and a hand on his shoulder, passing him a fresh bottle of beer.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.” He said, graciously accepting the bottle and taking a drink, sucking his teeth at the bitter taste. Miller Lite, it wasn’t his preferred Budweiser, but it will do the job. “Sun’s beating down on my back, though. Not easy to grill in this heat.”

“You’re handling it well, bearing the burden for all of us.” He laughed at that, gently kissing the top of your head in paternal affection.

From your peripheral, you observed Joel coming into his driveway, returning from a pitstop at the grocery store for extra hot dog buns and more beer. His younger brother Tommy strode ahead, carrying the buns in one arm and a bag filled with chips and salsa in the other. Behind him, Joel carried a large box of beer in his grasp, your sight trailing down his forearms to peek at the veins that protruded his skin.

His long legs sauntered over to the coolers near the tables, decorated in red, white, and blue embellishments. Sarah Miller came scampering towards her father, dragging Tommy along to reiterate a joke he had mentioned, playfully teasing her uncle. The next time Joel raised his head, his brown eyes landed on you, prolonging his gaze for a second more and giving you a charming grin before you looked away.

By 2 pm, other residents in the neighborhood and long-time friends of the Miller household flooded through the backyard, busying themselves with eating your dad’s cooking and drinking more alcohol. Some of Sarah’s friends had stopped by, engaging in the girlhood tradition of exchanging gossip or whatever the young kids spoke about in this day and age.

Every few minutes, you’d glance over to Joel to see what he was doing. Whether he was refilling the cooler, jesting with his brother, setting up the stereo, or even reminiscing with your dad, your eyes followed him wherever he went. As elegantly as possible, you approached the pair, politely stopping your dad’s conversation with his friend.

“Going to the bathroom. I’ll be back, Dad.” You told him, darting to Joel and meeting his eyes again before turning your back and walking towards the kitchen.

Stepping through the yard door to reach the stairs, you quickly trekked up to the bathroom down the hall and locked the door. Freshening yourself up in the room, you glimpsed at your reflection to fix the cleavage of your dress, making your breasts more prominent. A minute goes by, and you find yourself waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

At the three-minute mark, you hear a knock at the door, two firm taps followed by three smaller ones. Before opening it, you hid behind the door, allowing Joel’s broad figure to enter the gap and step inside. The click of the lock broke the tense silence in the room, and your lower back was pinned against the edge of the bathroom sink with Joel’s rough hands on your hips.

“Took you long enough. Thought you wouldn’t come up.” You muttered to him, his lips quickly leaving a trail of kisses over the side of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry darlin’, your dad wanted to have a chat,” Joel said hastily, his mouth occupied with tasting the skin of your collarbone as your hand rubbed the hair on his nape. “Been thinkin’ about you since the other night.”

You beamed at Joel’s comment, the genuine tone of his voice brought comfort after hearing his confession. You didn’t know how this “relationship” with Joel happened if you were willing to call it a relationship to begin with. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to you, to know you so intimately, but the way you’ve inhabited his mind since returning to Texas was almost too much to bear.

He drove you home one late night from a club downtown, not wanting to bother calling your dad or worrying about taking an Uber alone. Ever the gentleman, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel, trying his hardest not to skim at your bare thighs when your mini skirt shifted higher up your leg.

You thanked him with a drunk kiss on the cheek, drawing away only to have his thumb caress your chin, luring you forward to mesh your lips against his own. The memories of that night were fuzzy, but what you remembered most was the feel of his hand curling around your neck and his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt, molding you to the length of him until you ached and woke up in his bed the next morning.

That happened a month ago. It was meant to be a one-time thing, an accident after too many tequila shots at the bar. But the convenience of having a capable man like Joel across the street was something you wouldn’t find back on campus. It couldn’t be so wrong to fuck your father’s best friend, not when it felt like reaching a high every time he made you cum.

“If you don’t say anything, I won’t either, and your old man never needs to find out. This stays between us.”

He told you that after the second time you “accidentally” slept with him, and since then, you have been around Joel whenever your father wasn’t paying attention. Having to dodge your dad along with Tommy and Sarah on Joel’s end wasn’t easy, but it was doable. You’d usually meet him late at night when you were free, opting to have fun in the backseat of his truck. When you both had the luxury of time, you’d spend the day at his house when Sarah was having sleepovers or when your dad was out of the house.

Any time you weren’t at work, or Joel wasn’t busy juggling his job and caring for Sarah, you spent it with him. So far, your summer has gone much better than you expected.

“You just saw me two days ago.” The smirk on Joel’s face was infectious, his signature dimples poking through as he feverishly kissed you again.

“Still not enough, and your dress ain’t helpin’ my case.”

“What’s wrong with my dress? Thought you liked it when I got dolled up for you.” The lightly colored sundress was a simple addition to your wardrobe, throwing it on for the barbecue. Despite the tame silhouette that hugged your figure, the low neckline sent all the blood in Joel’s body rushing south the minute he saw you on his front doorstep.

“Oh, I like it very much. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck you the way I want.” He pressed his hips into your lower stomach, the dark denim of his jeans doing nothing to conceal the bulge hidden underneath.

“How much time do you think we have before they send over the search party?” You asked him, gasping when you felt a soft nip behind your ear. 

“Five minutes, maybe eight. Your dad’s busy makin’ ribs, and everyone’s occupied downstairs for now.”

Joel maneuvered himself down to his knees, playing with the hem of your dress and raising it to your hips. His fingers grazed over the panties you wore, placing an affectionate kiss on your sensitive mound before tugging them down your smooth legs. He helped you step out of them, discreetly shoving the damp cotton into his back pocket to save for later. 

“You said we had five minutes.” Your breathless voice began to betray you, and you felt him grip your thigh with a large hand to set it over his shoulder.

“That’s all the time I need. Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, yeah?”

That was the last thing he said before he licked a languid stripe over your pussy, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to stifle the mewl that threatened to spill out. One of your hands reached down to clutch at his dark tresses, keeping him in place as he feasted on you like a man starved. 

“Fuck, Joel.” You moaned under your breath, huffing out an exhale and tossing your head back in pleasure. He hummed in reply, spreading you wider and nuzzling his face deeper between your legs, the hair on his jaw scraping your inner thighs.

Joel quickly learned what you liked, how you wanted your pussy to be treated, whether it was by his hand, his tongue, or his dick. Precise circles on your clit, diligent sucks around the sensitive nub, and two thick fingers curling inside to hit the textured spot tucked in the very roof of your entrance. He paid attention to all the signs that would signal the best way to make your body convulse under his touch and excelled in doing so.

Nudging the bridge of his nose against your bundle of nerves, he tilted his head up to wrap his plush lips around it, pulling a suppressed whimper from you with a roll of his tongue. Your hazy eyes opened to watch Joel, maintaining his ravenous gaze and bucking your hips, greedily seeking more friction. 

“That’s right, baby. Take what you need.” He mumbled against your folds, increasing the flicks of his tongue and dipping two thick fingers deep inside you, bending them just right.

The warmth that simmered deep in your belly intensified, coursing through your veins and rushing to the center of your body. Your knuckles turned white from tightly gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, and your throat bobbed to stop yourself from crying out Joel’s name. You were so close, so fucking close, whining as you quickly reached your climax. He didn’t need a warning, already familiar with the cue of your walls clenching around him when you were about to spill over his hand.

Joel gave you a blunt suck and drove the tips of his fingers further inside with practiced precision, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your legs shook from the force of it, his hand on your thigh holding you steady as he coaxed you to ride the wave all the way through. With a gentle yank of his head, he parted from you, placing one last wet kiss on your oversensitive clit before standing up straight with a grunt.

The dopey smile plastered on your face said all that needed to be said, and Joel took it in with appreciative eyes. He brought the two digits that he used on you to his mouth, cleaning off the remnants of your slick without shame. If you two weren’t on a time crunch, you would be on your knees repaying the favor.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?” You expressed with a laugh.

“It ain’t my fault you taste better than the cool beer downstairs, sweetheart.” He kissed you then, the leftover taste of your arousal on his lips made your head fuzzy and your body pulse. “You should go back before your old man wonders where you went.”

He dropped the hem of your dress back down, smoothing out any creases while you adjusted the neckline and fixed up the rest of your flush appearance. The plan was simple: you walked out first, and Joel followed a few minutes later with some eloquent excuse to use for cover. Surprisingly, it usually worked without a hitch, you two had this down to a science after all.

“I’m still seeing you later tonight, right?” You almost didn’t want to ask him that, afraid you’d seem too eager for his attention. But he was always there with the reassuring answer you wanted to hear.

“Yeah, baby, you will. I’ll come by and grab you. Now go, I gotta take care of this.” Joel gestured to the obvious tent in his jeans, your hand reaching for it to caress him with your palm. The rumble of a groan vibrated through his chest, kissing him once more and moving to the door. He spanked your ass before you slipped out of his grasp, turning back to catch his cheeky expression and leaving him in the bathroom to tend to his own needs.

You strolled back into the backyard with a pep in your step and found your dad setting aside a fresh round of cooked hot dogs and burgers for the crowd. He drenched the ribs in a concoction reminiscent of barbecue sauce, closed the grill to leave them to cook, and saw you closing near him.

“You alright, hun? Got worried the beer hit you the wrong way for a second.” Your father’s eyes were full of concern, soothing him with a shake of your head. If only he knew where his best friend’s mouth had been a few minutes ago.

“Nah, the beer is just fine, promise. How about a bite to eat? I’m hungry.”

Munching away at your burger, Joel returned to the yard just as you expected, with no hard-on and more charcoal he was allegedly looking for in the garage. You eyed him as he spoke to Tommy, accepting a new beer bottle and taking an ample sip. He knew you were paying attention to him despite his face remaining neutral, but his eyes told you another story, something only meant for the two of you to understand.

A calm breeze swept through the backyard and up your legs through your dress, forcing you to remember that you were bare underneath the flowy material. The culprit had the evidence safely tucked in one of the drawers of his dresser, away from sight and probably already stained with his release.

You didn’t need to worry, you know you’ll get them back later tonight.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[heartpascal]

hoping there’s somewhere to go

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader + tommy miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you try to navigate life after the rejection of the only family you’d ever had (part two of weight too heavy to hold alone)

▹— a/n: the song too much time in my house alone by leith ross inspired this <3 longer A/N at the end!

▹— warnings: angst (as always), isolation, and then self isolation, mention of christmas time but it’s not christmas, a winter’s dinner that isn’t christmas dinner, fears being proven correct, very little self worth, it has been a long while since i have written/posted/needed to put warnings so let me know if something is missing!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa  @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro) — please let me know if you want to be added/removed

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Jackson is cold in winter.

And it’s not just because of the weather.

There’s winter festivities, holidays that you had never really had any experience with. And because of the weather, patrols were undertaken by smaller groups, leaving crowds of people wandering the streets, or trying to find work within the small community. So, not only was it cold and miserable, but it was about ten times as crowded in the communal spaces, with everybody packing into every space possible in order to preserve their warmth.

That’s not even the worst part — there’s the whole focus on family, or whatever a person in the apocalypse might have that’s close enough to it.

Holidays bring people together, Tommy had told you once, about a year ago. It wasn’t long after you had first arrived in Jackson, traipsing through the gate alone, aside from the patrollers who escorted you there.

The thing was, though, that you didn’t have people.

And it wasn’t as if you were wanting them! That definitely wasn’t the case — you couldn’t bear getting close to anybody, after what had happened last time — but you couldn’t help the more prominent feeling of isolation. You knew you weren’t alone in your feelings, after all, there were plenty of Jackson residents who had nobody, or resented the holiday season for one reason or another, but you felt alone.

You’re allowed to feel bitter about it, even if you do want to stay that way. It’s not like you had always felt this way, there was a time when you had thought yourself close to having a family — whatever the hell that was. In spring, if somebody had told you that you might feel this way, you might have disbelieved them, might have had faith in Joel and Ellie, despite your reservations. But then everything there had fallen apart, and you were left like this.

Living on your own, halfway across town, closer to Tommy, but further away than ever.

It was like that gaping hole in your chest had reopened with a vengeance, sucking any amount of trust or affection you had for the man into a void where it couldn’t be found. If Tommy hadn’t stuck you with Joel and Ellie, you might not be feeling like this — feeling so cold, and alone, and frozen despite the world moving around you. If he had just minded his business, or even, maybe, if he had just looked after you himself, rather than passing you off as nothing more than a chore, you could’ve been something at least close to happy.

Instead, you’re here. Making the short trip back from the school he had forced you to start going to, heading back to the little space you were supposed to call home. It wasn’t home, though. You had never occupied a space that had felt anything even close to that before, other than Joel’s. You’re pretty sure you’ll never live anywhere like that again.

You’ll probably live here, in the shitty garage that Tommy had someone convert for you, for the rest of your life. Either that, or until they finally have enough of you, and kick you out. Whichever came first.

Really, you should be used to being on your own. To having to do everything yourself, be responsible for every aspect of your own life, but strangely, after Joel’s, you find it hard to go back to that. Balancing things has never been your strong suit, and this only goes to prove that. And it’s aggravating, feeling as though something within you had changed, feeling as though you’re no longer capable, when you had spent your whole life looking after yourself.

Feeling like this has had you thinking some incredibly stupid things, your mind at one point trying to convince you that the only way to prove that you were capable, was to go back out into the big open world. Luckily for you, your survival instincts are stronger than that, and you’re able to remind yourself that Jackson is the best possible place for you, regardless of whatever thoughts and feelings you were having.

Besides, you wouldn’t want to give any of them — them being Joel, Tommy and Ellie — the satisfaction of your leaving. If they wanted you gone, they’d have to tell you as much, this time.

It was clear to you now, that they hadn’t wanted you there in the first place. And given the distance between you and Ellie since Joel had gotten rid of you, you gathered that, despite what you believed to be a close bond, she had never wanted you around either. She seemed happy enough, gallivanting around the town with her few friends, friends she had never even bothered to introduce you to. At least that meant you weren’t missing anything. Maybe she had actually done you a favour. Although given the way she avoided your gaze like her life depended on it, every time you happened across her, you somehow doubted that.

You’re not sure which loss was worse. Despite how close you had grown to Joel, how attached you had become, Ellie was the first person your age who you had ever trusted. You had told her things that you had never spoken aloud to anyone before. And now, you were left with a constant weight of regret, of dread, in the pit of your stomach.

Selfishly, you wanted Ellie to be angry at Joel for getting rid of you. You wanted her to fight for you, wanted her to remain in your corner when everybody else opposed you. What you really wanted, though, was for somebody to choose you. You wanted to feel important to somebody.

Though, now, you think you’ve outgrown that childish desire. You don’t want anyone around you, anymore.

Not even Tommy.

“Kid, would you just open the damn door?” Tommy asked, speaking to the plain face of your front door. He had knocked three times before opening his mouth, growing exasperated by your cold shoulder. He knew you were in there — had seen you walk home after school, when he was finishing a job just around the corner. Besides, where else would you be?

You stayed silent, sitting on the unmade sheets of your bed, staring at the door as Tommy knocked once again.

“C’mon, open the door. Please?” He repeated, and you could practically picture his stance outside, one arm resting against the doorframe and one hand resting against his hip. “Just wanna talk, alright? Then I’ll be on my way.”

You heard the heaviness of his sigh from your space across the room. But it didn’t change anything for you. How could it? Tommy had sent you to his brother, he had known what his brother was like, and he had sat idly by while you were uprooted and sent across town like you didn’t matter. Just another inconvenience. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also forcing you to go to Jackson’s community school, run primarily by an almost 70 year old woman, who was meant to retire a year after the outbreak.

It was ridiculous and unfair.

Ellie didn’t have to go to school.

It just felt like another method of getting you out of the way. After all, what did you need with writing and reading? Mathematics and history? The world had ended before you were even born.

Besides, you knew for a fact that Tommy had volunteered to take Ellie out shooting soon. Despite her avoiding you, you could still hear her boasting about it in the canteen to her friends.

You couldn’t help but feel like it should’ve been you. After all, weren’t you the one without anybody? Weren’t you the one who would be alone, should Jackson fall apart? Ellie would have Tommy and Maria. She would have Joel. Who would you have? Nobody.

If Tommy Miller had ever actually cared about you, perhaps he would’ve helped you work on the issues you’d been facing when you went to him for help, rather than passing you off to his older brother. You had spent your entire life depending on only yourself. Tommy had no idea what it had taken for you to approach him, for you to want help. To have that thrown back in your face, you knew, had done damage. As if you weren’t already damaged enough.

It was something you had been aware of for a long time — that there was something wrong about you. Something rotten. Like something had crawled into your chest, into the gaping cavity between your ribs, and died in there. It had been decaying over the years, leaving an air about you that told everybody exactly what you had always known: you are unsalvageable. Nothing in this world could reverse the decomposition that had occurred inside of you, just like nothing could reverse the infection that had taken the family you had never known.

The whole thing made you feel foolish, really. Your whole life, a voice inside of your head had been telling you that nobody could help you. Nobody would help you. And when you had finally gathered the courage to prove that voice wrong? It was proven right instead. It was a kick in the teeth. A thorn underneath your fingernail. Something bothersome, painful.

Tommy Miller had proven that you were just as alone as you had always felt.

He knocked against your door again, apparently content to wait you out. You had nowhere to go, but the knocking was irritating, the knowledge of his presence outside of that door was grating.

Before you could think better of it, you made your way over, and opened the door.

He looked the same as he always had done. Dressed for the weather, his favourite pair of boots on, and hair pushed away from his face, which held a surprised expression.

“Hey, kid.” He said, finally, after a moment of just staring at you in shock. It had been a while since Tommy had seen you up close. You looked more tired than he remembered.

“What do you want?” You asked, forgoing any sort of greeting towards the man. Opening the door was about as generous as you were prepared to be towards him.

His face morphed slightly, shock ebbing away, regret flowing in at the creases by his eyes, the grimace of his mouth. “Right, uh,” He paused, looking into your converted garage through the gap between you and the door. You pulled the door closer, so only you fit into the gap. “Alright, so, I know things have been… tense, between everybody, but I was hopin’ that you might join us. Me ‘n Maria are doin’ a winter’s dinner, not exactly Christmas, but it’s a day to be with family, y’know?” Tommy rambled on a bit, trying to spit all of his words out before you could decline, or shut the door in his face.

“We’re not family, Tommy.”

You watched his expression fall, which provided you with a sting that you hadn’t expected. But the sentiment remained the same — you weren’t family. Your surname wasn’t Miller. And even if it were, with the state of things between you, Tommy and Joel? It definitely wasn’t something you’d call family.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why he was coming to you with this now. Maybe before Joel had rejected you, before Tommy had watched on as any trust you had was shattered, but now? Now, he was lucky you even opened the door. You didn’t have a family, and it wasn’t a big loss to you. You’d gone this long without one, so what did it matter?

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was at a loss for words.

“Go home, okay?” You said, when his words continued to fail him. He swallowed, jaw clenched as his teeth gritted together. He was frustrated, though you doubted that was directed at you. More likely, was that it was directed at Joel. You knew things had been tense between the two of them recently, too.

He paused just as he was about to turn away. “Will you think about it, at least?” Tommy asked, though he didn’t look like he wanted to hear your answer. It wasn’t much of a question anyway.

You nodded, with no real intention of thinking about it. Well — no intention of thinking about attending. Thinking about the offer was a different story.

His shoulders deflated as he turned away, hearing you shut the door as he followed the path away from your place.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Even a full twenty four hours after Tommy had approached you with his invitation, you couldn’t let it go.

It felt as though something within you had snapped, falling from a great height and landing in the pit of your stomach. For whatever reason, one that you couldn’t get into now, maybe ever, you were filled to the brim with dread. It bubbled over, pooling in your limbs and making everything feel far too heavy.

You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just let you be? Couldn’t he see that he had done more than enough, when it came to you?

Logically, you know it isn’t fair to blame him. Tommy wasn’t in control of anything his brother or pseudo-niece did. He had always tried to look out for you, and deep down, you know that he had truly believed that his brother would be good for you. He must have thought that, given Joel’s pre-outbreak experience, and now post-outbreak too, of being a father, he could’ve been that for you. Tommy couldn’t have known that Joel didn’t want another kid.

But that illogical part of you, the part that cowers away from everybody you meet, the part that was hurt, reminds you that it was his job to know. It was his responsibility to know what he was dumping you into. And more than that, Joel was his brother. How could he not have known?

You were the one who had ended up well and truly hurt from the encounter, not the other way around. So why did you feel guilty, every time Tommy’s expression at your scathing words popped into your mind? You hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, and you hadn’t said anything that he didn’t deserve to hear. So why? Why did you feel this unending twist of dread and guilt, eating away at your bones, your tissues, your organs?

Even now, as you worked a late night shift at the canteen, washing dishes, every time the water rippled, you could see his face. Distantly, you hoped Joel had felt like this, after what he had done to you. You hoped he remembered what he said, remembered your expression when you relayed his own message to him.

If you were honest with yourself, you think that if it had been Joel, you would’ve revelled in that expression. There’s a part of you, a part that is mean and bitter and full of resentment, that wants to hurt Joel, just like he had hurt you. You settle for staying as far away from him as you possibly can.

Joel had tried to see you a few times, back when it was fresh, with no luck from you. There was nobody in this world that you wanted to see less than him. At the very least, he got the message. Sometimes, you wonder if he had only shown up those few instances just for appearances. To make himself look better. It was no secret to the people of Jackson that Joel Miller was a questionable man, with an even more questionable past. But he did more for the town than most, so it wasn’t spoken about. Nothing more than whispers, anyway.

There had been a few whispers after your outburst at the Tipsy Bison, especially when somebody shared the news of your move across town. But it was chalked up to teenage dramatics, the youth, as if there really was such a thing.

Regardless, Tommy’s invitation to dinner was coming up in a mere two days. The knowledge of where and when it was happening made you uncomfortable, like an itch underneath your collar, it was stifling. Because that part of you, the one that wants to hurt Joel, also wants company. It craves a family, and that was a craving that had only ever come close to being fulfilled once. Still, it was a natural instinct within humans. Safety came in numbers, and there was comfort in having people you could trust. You wish that part of you could just be satisfied being solitary, because you’ll never go to that dinner. Not if you have anything to say about it.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Two hours until dinner, and the sun was beginning to set.

And here you were, axe in hand, staring down at the dwindling pile of wood that you needed to cleave into pieces. It wouldn’t last two hours. In reality, it wouldn’t even last one. Still, you stare as though the logs might multiply, hoping for the excuse out of a dinner you didn’t want to go to. And you know that you have no obligation to any of those people, you do know that, but it’s hard to believe it. Partly because you don’t want to. Because you’re torn between the satisfaction of succeeding on your own, and the fear of cutting off all ties to the only people you think you’ve truly cared about.

Being alone is a lot easier in theory.

In practice, it’s harder than you had thought. You were doing okay when they all left you to it, left you to live your own life. But an invitation means something, and that’s hard to ignore.

You bring the axe down, letting the severing of wood distract you from all thoughts of invitations and dinners and meanings.

It’s about the most physical task they’ll let you do — courtesy of Tommy, you’re sure — but you relish in it. Something about it is rewarding. Reminds you of your capabilities, your survival. The cold air burns your lungs, and each swing of the axe makes your muscles ache, but in a satisfying way. And doing it like this, alone, makes you feel unmistakably powerful.

You hear the crunch of footsteps behind you, not heavy enough to be Tommy’s or—God forbid—Joel’s. You paid them no mind, leaning down to move the chopped wood into the pile you had already assembled. You grabbed another log and placed it down, and just as you were preparing to swing the axe back up, you heard somebody clear their throat.

“Hey,” Ellie said, when you turned around. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet as you failed to reply, fiddling with the gloves on her hands. “So, uh, you having fun chopping wood?” She asked, apparently trying to clear some of the tension that surrounded the two of you, that clung. You leant the top of the axe blade on the ground, and sighed. Your breath clouded in front of your face.

“What do you want?” You asked, repeating the very same question you had asked Tommy, feeling all the more certain about your adamancy about not going to that dinner. Ellie’s brows furrowed slightly, but she quickly deflated as soon as you could see the defensive air starting to rise within her.

She shifted again, before speaking. “Just wondering if you’re coming to dinner? Tommy said he wasn’t sure.”

You did your best not to scoff, mostly succeeding, as you turned back to the wood awaiting your axe. With practiced ease, your axe rose, and swung down at the wood, separating it with a satisfying crack. “Wouldn’t count on it.” You said, as polite as you could say: no, no, I’m not fucking coming to dinner. You’re not my family. You don’t care about me. I don’t care about you. There’s nothing left here.

It was ridiculous for them to send Ellie to come and convince you to attend, of all people. Their best bet would have been Maria, who had never technically done anything that had hurt you. No, all of the fault laid with the Millers, and with Ellie.

The two of you could’ve remained friends, could’ve been something close to a family, but she didn’t want that. She chose to cut you out, to isolate you even further, to disappear from your life completely, despite being the only reason you had ever opened up to Joel. It was like she had taken a knife, and cut you open, let you warm, simmer, before leaving you out on the counter to cool. To rot.

“What happened to you?” Ellie asked, as if she didn’t know, as if she hadn’t been a part of it. Like there was no reason for your shift from being warm around her, to being ice cold. She had done this to you. At least, in part.

You didn’t say anything at first, choosing to finish chopping the wood in front of you, and piling it off to the side. Finally, you turned to her as she watched you, brows furrowed, lip curled defensively. “You people happened. You all fucking happened. Is that enough for you? Is that enough for why I don’t want to go to some stupid winter dinner?” You said, not raising your voice, but hearing more anger and irritation seep into your tone as you spoke.

She looked like she wanted to take a step back, but she stayed firm. “We all have our own problems,” Ellie told you, voice harsh and unrelenting as she spoke, and her expression hardened. “Everybody does! It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, okay?”

It would have been so easy to continue arguing with her, to descend into childish taunts and quips, to disguise genuine hurt with ridiculous arguments, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You said nothing, turning back to the depleting supply of unchopped wood.

Ellie seemed ready to burst. “Me and Joel have our own fucking problems! It’s not always good. But you can’t just give up on someone!” She said loudly, stepping towards you, ignoring the snow crunching underneath her shoes. It seemed to you that she was trying to convince herself, more than anything. Whatever she came to you with, now, wasn’t really about you. It was about her.

“I’m not the one who gave up, Ellie. You and Joel are more alike than you know. But at least he had the decency to tell me why he was giving up on me.” You told her, staying calm, despite the way your blood was rushing through your body, carrying so much adrenaline you felt like your heart may just burst.

She gaped at you, seeming more stuck on the concept of her and Joel being alike than on how she had hurt you. You figured it would go like this, though, if the two of you ever spoke again. It wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything in your life always turned out the way you expected it to. Even Joel and Ellie, in the end, had done as much, despite surprising you at first. It was inevitable. Your every worry, every fear, even the ones that Tommy had once labelled as irrational, had turned out to be true.

You wouldn’t go to the dinner.

Everything between you and the extended Miller family was in ruins, and like you, it couldn’t be salvaged. It was over with. Done.

Now, all that was left to do was wipe your hands clean of them.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

A/N: hello if you made it this far! it has been a WHILE. but in honour of ITDWS being posted a year ago today (!!!!!!!!!) i thought i’d give y’all SOMETHING!!! it’s not amazing but i hope you enjoy!!! life has been crazy + i haven’t been writing much but i still love and appreciate every single one of you <3 i think of you often.

[barcaatthemoon]

peer pressure || lucy bronze x teen!reader (platonic) ||

things don't go as planned when you sneak out for a party, so you call lucy to pick you up.

you knew better than to sneak out. you knew that it wasn't worth the consquences that would be coming from all sides of your life. however, you wanted to feel like a normal teenager for once in your life. for so long, you had been doing everything that you were told in the hopes that they'd all be proud of you.

if it wasn't for alexia chewing you out at practice, you probably wouldn't have gotten the bright idea of coming out. yelling back at your captain had not been the right move, and once your parents were notified of that, you were in for it at home. they had berated you about respect and how easy it would be for barcelona to decide that they didn't want you playing for them.

you had never been to a party before, and in all honesty, you had come with the hope that your neighbor would notice you. she was the most beautiful girl that you had ever seen in your entire life. the embarrassing crush you had developed on ingrid seemed like nothing whenever you first spoke to enya. she had been living across the street from you for some time, but the two of you hadn't spoken until recently.

"(y/n), you came!" enya seemed excited to see you. she grasped your hands in hers and leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek. your skin flushed at the contact, heating up at the fact that she had nearly kissed you on the lips. "come on, i've got someone i want you to meet."

"okay," you said as you followed her further into the party. immediately, you hated the atmosphere. it was loud, smelled like smoke and alcohol, and the flashing lights made your head hurt. you had never been in an environment like that before, and it wasn't one you could see yourself in often.

"who is this?" in front of you sat two guys. one of them you had caught glimpses of before, but you had never seen the other one before. the one that you had seen before was speaking, a slightly annoyed look on his face that told you he knew who you were.

"this is my neighbor, (y/n). she's the soccer player," enya said. the boy you didn't know perked up immediately. he smiled at you, and if you were into boys, he would have been your type. "(y/n), this is pedro, and my boyfriend, elias."

"nice to meet you." you forced a smile as you shook their hands. your months of media training came in handy, but not in the ways you thought it would.

"can i get you a drink?" pedro asked as he stood up. he towered over you quite a bit, but there was something unthreatening about him. you nodded, missing the way that enya excitedly nudged her boyfriend. the two of you weren't really friends, but you had spent a little bit of time together talking. enya seemed to be very interested in why you didn't go to school like everyone else.

pedro came back with your drink a few moments later, and you were grateful that it was in a sealed bottle. you hung around their little group having a few drinks until elias pulled out a bong. barcelona drug tested quite often, and if you didn't pass, you'd never hear the end of it. you moved to get up, but enya placed her hand on your thigh to keep you in your seat.

"come on, one hit won't hurt," enya said. if it wasn't for the way that she was looking at you, you probably would have been strong enough to walk away. instead, you sat there and let them pass it around. enya seemed to realize that you cared more about spending time with her than pedro because she slowly slipped into his place next to you. she helped you with hitting the bong and making sure that your hand was never without a drink.

"maybe let's slow down a bit," elias laughed uneasily. enya shot him a nasty glare, but he seemed persistent. he nodded towards pedro, who helped you up onto your feet to get some air outside. you couldn't walk on your own, and all of the movement had you throwing up outside of the house by the steps. "goddamn it en, i knew she couldn't hang."

"whatever, let's just get back inside," enya said. she pulled both her boyfriend and his friend back inside, leaving you outside on your own. you were terrified out there on your own, unsure of who you could call. your parents were out of the question because technically, you were still grounded. you couldn't call alexia because she would have killed you for sneaking out to go to a party. it was in the midseason, which meant that she expected everybody to be smart about their decisions. finally, your brain settled on calling lucy, who seemed most likely not to ask you too many questions.

"jesus christ kid, do you know what time it is?" lucy hadn't let the call ring more than twice. unbeknownst to you, your parents had come into your room to check on you, only to find you gone. they knew that you liked going out on walks to clear your head, so they hadn't panicked like they wanted to. if you did decide to go to a teammate's house, they'd find out about it in the morning.

"could you please come and get me? i'm not having fun, i don't want to be here anymore." lucy shot up in her head at the obvious slur of your words. she managed to find you pretty easily, but still stayed on the phone with you the whole time.

"hey kid, did they leave you out here by yourself?" lucy asked as she scooped you up off of the steps. you nodded, instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea washed over you. lucy held your head back as you threw up in the grass before you got into her car. the usual gests that she would have had driving home other drunk teammates died before they made it to her mouth. she was just concerned about taking care of you.

"thank you for getting me," you muttered as you leaned against lucy's body. she gave up with trying to help you up the stairs, opting instead to just carry you. lucy wasn't quite sure what you needed, so she helped you change into some shorts and a tank top before letting you take her bed for the night. "where's oni?"

"ona went home already," lucy told you as she tucked you in. she started to walk away, but was stopped when you let out a particularly pathetic little whine. "what's wrong?"

"i'm scared. will you stay with me? nobody's going to love me tomorrow," you told her. lucy sighed as she turned around and pulled the comforter back to lay next to you. "will you tickle my back like my mami does? it feels nice."

"i don't know how your mami does it," lucy pointed out. you were quick to grab her hand and place it on your back. lucy got the gist pretty quickly, and despite her awkwardness about it, you still found it very soothing. you quickly drifted off to sleep in lucy's arms, not even stirring a little when she called your parents to let them know where you were. she sighed heavily, knowing that she'd have to call alexia next because it seemed that your parents hadn't cared much that you were gone. she just had to hope that alexia didn't get too mad when she came to pick you up the next morning.

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Scenes of evidence left behind after Israeli occupation naval gunboats fired artillery shells at fishing boats on the Mediterranean coast of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip. Following the shelling, the gunboats waited until residents and first responders arrived to put out the flames before shelling them as well. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 229: HEALTHCARE SYSTEM COLLAPSING IN NORTHERN GAZA, NORWAY, IRELAND AND SPAIN RECOGNIZE PALESTINIAN STATE, ISRAELI MASSACRES IN GAZA CONTINUE

On 229th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 6 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 62 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 138 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

In move welcomed by Palestinians and Arabs across the world, Spain, Ireland and Norway have officially recognized Palestinian Statehood, to take effect on May 28th.

The Prime Ministers of all three countries announced their recognition of Palestine as an independent State on Wednesday, May 22nd, calling on more Western countries to follow suit.

In his announcement, Norwegian Prime Minister, Jonas Gahr, said the goal of recognition was to establish a cohesive Palestinian state based around the Palestinian Authority, further noting that a two-state solution is in the interest of the Israeli occupation authorities.

Reflecting on his own country's recognition of a Palestinian state, Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez said "We are a peaceful people, and this is what thousands of demonstrators show in the protests against the Gaza massacres."

Sanchez went on to accuse the Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, of working to destroy the Gaza Strip, further endangering a two-state solution.

Irish Prime Minister, Simon Harris, made a similar announcement regarding his country's recognition of Palestine, adding that he expected more nations to recognize Palestinian statehood in the coming weeks, adding that "there is no future for the extremist version of Zionism that fuels settler violence and land seizures."

He went on to add that "there can be no peace without equality, and it is important that our decision is not misinterpreted."

In response to the announcements, the Israeli occupation authorities summoned the ambassadors for Norway and Ireland in order to "conduct emergency consultations."

In other news, in an urgent warning issued by the World Health Organization (WHO), doctors with the international healthcare organization say the last two hospitals remaining in the northern Gaza Strip, Al-Awda Hospital in Jabalia and Kamal Adwan Hospital in Beit Lahiya, are barely functional after 8 months of non-stop bombardment, and the blockade of fuel and medical supplies by the Israeli occupation.

Doctors with the two hospitals told reporters that the Israeli occupation army continues to open fire on associated buildings, while occupation snipers have been posted on nearby rooftops at one of the hospitals.

According to Dr. Muhammad Saleh, the acting Director of Al-Awda Hospital, today marks the "third day of the siege of Al-Awda Hospital in northern Gaza," while the Israeli occupation forces continue "shooting at the hospital buildings" while Israeli "snipers" have taken positions in nearby homes.

Dr. Saleh went on tell journalists that the Israeli occupation has destroyed the southern wall of Al-Awda Hospital, while "all the medical staff and patients" remain inside the hospital's wings, which have become "very difficult to move between."

The doctor went on to add that hospital staff are forced to bring water from one hospital building to the other, a result of IOF soldiers having "struck the first building with a shell that targeted the fifth floor and destroyed the water tanks."

Speaking from a press conference in Geneva, Switzerland, the head of the World Health Organization (WHO), Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, told reporters that “148 hospital workers and 22 patients and their companions are trapped inside” the hospital.

Following several recent visits to Al-Awda Hospital by WHO staff to deliver medical supplies and fuel, Ghebreyesus says Israeli snipers targeted the hospital, while occupation artillery shelled the fifth floor of the building.

Similarly, the Emergency Relief Coordinator for Doctor's Without Borders, Donia Al-Dakheili, said that "nothing enters or exits" the Al-Awda Hospital for fear of the Israeli snipers who remain looming over the building from nearby rooftops.

Previously, the Israeli occupation army besieged Al-Awda Hospital for several days, during which, two staff members were killed while many others were arrested and detained.

Kamal Adwan Hospital is in similarly dire circumstances, coming under fire in recent days, forcing the evacuation of patients and staff, according to Dr. Hossam Abu Safia, the hospital's Director.

"Currently, the hospital is being evacuated of the wounded, patients, and medical staff... There are many patients that the medical teams were not able to evacuate," Dr. Safia said of the attacks, adding that "the reception and emergency gate at Kamal Adwan Hospital was subjected to artillery shelling" as the occupation army advanced towards the complex.

According to Rick Peppercorn, a representative with the WHO, the reception center in the Intensive Care Unit for Kamal Adwan Hospital was bombed by the IOF.

"At the moment, there are still 20 health staff members and 13 patients," Pepperkorn said, adding that Kamal Adwan and Al-Awda are "the only two hospitals that are still working, and we cannot afford for them to stop working."

Even while Gaza's healthcare system verges on collapse as supplies run thinner than ever before, the Israeli occupation forces continued the closure of the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings for the 16th consecutive day, blocking humanitarian and medical aid trucks, along with fuel, from entering Gaza.

According to press reporting, more than 3'000 aid trucks have been prevented from entering Gaza, along with preventing at least 700 sick and wounded Palestinians from leaving Gaza for treatment abroad during the period the two crossings have been closed.

Meanwhile, the bombardment of the Gaza Strip continues unabated as occupation bombing, shelling, drone and missile strikes continued to target civilian residences and infrastructure, resulting in dozens of casualties.

Local reporting stated that the Israeli occupation forces fired several artillery shells into civilian neighborhoods in the Tal al-Hawa area, southwest of Gaza City, while Israeli warplanes bombed a residential home belonging to the Abu Zaida family in the Al-Faluga neighborhood of Jabalia, in the northern Gaza Strip, killing 6 civilians and wounding 6 more.

In another atrocity, occupation fighter jets bombed a barracks in the vicinity of Terrence al-Baba, where displaced Palestinian families were sheltering from the war in the town of Al-Zawaida, in the central Gaza Strip, slaughtering at least 10 civilians, including an infant pulled from her mother's womb, and wounding a number of others.

Wounded civilians were transported to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in neighboring Deir al-Balah.

A similar assault targeted residential areas of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, martyring 2 Palestinians and wounding several others who were taken to the Baptist Hospital in the city.

Occupation artillery shelling also targeted the northern and southern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while neighborhoods east of the Nuseirat Camp also endured intense shelling.

At the same time, aircraft belonging to the Israeli occupation army bombed the Farhat family home in the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, wounding several people who were transported to the Kuwait Specialized Hospital.

Additionally, occupation artillery forces renewed their shelling of central and eastern Rafah, and Israeli quadcopters opened fire on several areas of the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood. Meanwhile, Israeli fighter jets bombed civilian targets in residential neighborhoods of central Rafah.

Occupation gunboats also shelled Palestinian fishing boats off the coast of Rafah, after which, the gunboats opened fire on civilians who rushed to put out fires resulting from the shelling.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the current death toll has risen once again, now exceeding 35'709 Palestinians killed, including upwards of 15'000 children and over 10'000 women, while another 79'990 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 22nd, 2024.

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#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Eleven**

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Hello!

The second to last visitor to the bakery is here and I can hardly believe it! Eleven weeks of Pedro boys have flown past and I've had so much fun with them!

So before we get started with number eleven, this series was meant to be all fluff, but then this Pedro boy arrived and just really got out of hand and I had nothing to do with it, he just took over!

So I had to ask my friend @morallyinept if I could use her very handy Scoville Smut Rating to issue some warnings. Thank you, Jett!

Series Master List

This chapter is rated:

🌶 - "Don't hurt me, cadejo." 

Scoville Level 15,000. The Donis Cadejo Hot Sauce. (Buy the sauce here) The story contains mildly spicy smut. Tingles left on your tongue.

The week’s been slower than usual, as it always is in February, post-holiday blues setting in, everyone trying to be extra healthy and save some money. No time to be indulging in sweet things. Your shop does fine though, planning and prepping for Valentine’s Day and the upcoming wedding season. 

But the slower hours in the shop makes you take note of the black car that’s been parked across the street all day. Nothing odd about that, but there’s also been someone sitting in the car all day. You’ve been glancing over as you go about your business, studying the man behind the wheel as he makes notes and phone calls, focused on something further down the street, out of your view. From the way he’s dressed, a crisp, well ironed, pale blue shirt, you’re guessing he’s an agent for some agency, or maybe a very well dressed private eye. He’s not doing a very good job though, he sticks out like a sore thumb on this street of small businesses. When he glances over at you just before noon, you give him a quick smile, to hide the fact that you’ve been staring at the way he’s been rubbing his large hand over his chin for the past five minutes. He locks eyes with you, surprise flitting across his face, before he gives you a crooked smile in return. 

This is the beginning of a dance; you glance over to find him looking at you rather than the street in front of him, you raise your eyebrows in challenge and he seems to chuckle, looking away. You study his strong nose, the dark curls brushing over his forehead as he makes more notes, and he catches you staring when he looks over, one eyebrow arching in a questioning look and you shrug with a smile, going back to the cake you’re decorating. 

It’s late in the afternoon when you notice movement in the street, a second car parking behind the first and a man getting out and walking over to the first car. Quick words are exchanged, you steal glances from the corner of your eye as you finish up an order for tomorrow. Bending down to put the order away, you hear the bell on your front door chime. 

“Hi, I thought I’d stop by and say hello properly,” the man from the car is standing in front of the counter with a small smile as you straighten up. 

“Hi,” you say, returning his smile as you take the chance to get a better look at him for the first time. He’s taller than you expected, and broad, so much broader than the side view you’ve had all day indicated. The light blue dress shirt is stretching over his shoulders and arms and you immediately decide that he must be an agent, no private eye is ever this fit, not that you have much experience, but still. 

“I just wanted to introduce myself and explain what I’m doing,” the man says, nodding over at his car on the other side of the street, “And I hope I can count on your discretion too.”

“Uuhmm, sure,” you say, looking at him as he pulls a badge from the pocket of his suit trousers, “I was kinda assuming that you’re on some sort of stake out.” 

“That obvious, huh?” the man chuckles, showing you his ID.

“Yeah, your sleek car and nice shirt gave it away a little,” you smile, “and the way you sat out there all day, I’m pretty sure every business owner on the street has spotted you.” 

“I’ll need to fix that for tomorrow then,” he smiles, “I’m special agent Dave York, I’m with the CIA, and we’ve got surveillance on an apartment further down the street. I can’t tell you what it’s about but you don’t have to worry, it’s nothing dangerous for the neighborhood.” 

“That’s good to know,” you reply, “And you’re welcome in for coffee or something to snack on whenever you want,” you thumb at the coffee machine behind you, “I’d offer delivery service but that might be a little bit too obvious.” 

He chuckles at that and you notice the dimple on his clean shaven cheek, a slight five o’clock shadow indicating that it’s been a while since he got up and shaved this morning. 

“I’d love a coffee right now, if you don’t mind,” he says and you point at the menu. 

“What’ll it be? 

“The dark roast, black, please,” he says, “You’ve got a good selection.”

“Thanks, people mainly buy bread and cakes, the coffee machine is mainly for me and a handful of regulars who like good coffee, we like trying different beans and roasts,” you throw him a smile over your shoulder as you prepare his coffee to go. 

“I’ll have to become a regular then, keep your coffee business going,” he taps his card on the machine as you hand him the cup. 

“I just realized I know who you are,” you say, the penny finally dropping, “One of my regulars, Mrs Levinson, knows your mom. Mrs Levinson bought a Lemon Meringue Pie for her a while back.” 

“Oh yeah, those two are as thick as thieves, always trying to set me up on blind dates,” he chuckles, taking a sip of the coffee, “I’ve been blaming my workload to avoid them." He raises the cup to you with a smile, “Great coffee, I’ll definitely come back."

“If I don’t spot you, I’ll know you’ve done a better job of hiding,” you tell him and he laughs, giving you a cheesy thumbs up as he leaves.

You watch him take long strides across the street to his car, the coffee still in his hand, and just as he gets in the car, he turns and looks back at you, a smile cracking across his face as he raises his hand in a wave. 

You do spot him the next day, but you are keeping an eye out for him, glancing out to see if he’s arrived. He parks a different car across the street this time, a beat up, rusty looking banger, and he’s in a ratty looking t-shirt and a beanie pulled low over his forehead. Much less ‘agent on a stakeout’ this time, but you still glance over at him from time to time, far too often in fact. And you bite back a smile when you catch him glancing over at you too, catching your eye on a few occasions as he winks. 

Half way through the day he’s relieved, and he steps out of his car, coming over to the bakery again. 

“Hi,” he says, giving you a dimpled smile as he pulls off his beanie, “Did I blend in better today?” 

“Yeah, better,” you smile back at him as he comes up to the counter, “The distressed t-shirt was a good choice.” 

“I had to dig it out from the bottom of some box left over from when I moved,” he holds up the front of it and studies the suspicious looking stain on the front, “I swear this is not my usual casual look.” 

Holding up the front has resulted in the hem of the t-shirt lifting up over the edge of his pants and you can’t help but glance down as he flashes a few inches of skin, his sweat pants sitting low on his hips. The trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband has you momentarily distracted as you follow it down to- 

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, snapping your eyes back up to his, but not before he notices, giving you a small smirk, “NIce sweatpants.” 

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “not as old as the t-shirt, but still not my best look, I promise.”

“I don’t mind that much,” you smirk back and he flashes a crooked grin, his eyebrow cocked, before he looks up at the coffee menu behind you and tilts his head to the side.

“What do you recommend today? I’m feeling adventurous,” he says, looking down at you again with a smile, “blame the sweatpants.” 

“A single espresso shot vanilla hazelnut latte with salted caramel and whipped cream on top? I usually add some cookie crumbles too,” you say and Dave’s face falls, his eyebrows pulling together in a concerned look. 

“Ah…uhh…” he stutters, rubbing his hand over his jaw, clearly looking for a polite way to decline your suggestion and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at his panic, but he catches the mirth in your eyes. 

“Holy shit, you’re kidding,” he gasps out, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow as you start giggling. 

“Sorry, I had to check if you’re serious about your coffee,” you wink at him as he shakes his head and puffs a relieved breath. 

“Had me worried,” he says, “I thought I’d have to drink one of those to be allowed to stay a regular.” 

“No, I think I’d have to kick you out if you did order one of those,” you smile, picking up the bag of new beans that just arrived, “Here, smell these, I just got them so I haven’t even tried them yet.” 

Dave takes a deep breath and nods with a satisfied look, “That’s nice, can I try that?” 

“Sure, I’ll make us one each. Single or double?” 

“Double, please, this stake out thing is kicking my ass,” he says, leaning against the counter as you start the process of grinding the beans. 

“Do you want some cake or something else too?” you ask, nodding at your selection. 

“No, I’m good,” he says, “It all looks really good, but not today.” He does let his eyes drift over the cakes on display though and you smile to yourself, you know the type, sooner or later he’ll cave and get something as a treat no matter how strong his resolve it. 

“Here you go,” you say, passing him his espresso, in a cup this time, “let me know what you think, if it’s good I might give it a permanent spot on the menu.” 

You both take a few sips of the coffee in silence, humming at the flavors. 

“It’s good,” Dave finally says, “Really good, I wouldn’t complain if it was a regular on the menu.” 

“I agree, I’m going to order more,” you reply, draining the cup as he pulls his wallet out of his pants. 

“Let me pay for both coffees,” he says, holding out his card, “as a thank you, for letting me come in and disturb you.” 

“You’re not disturbing, Dave,” you smile, “you can come in whenever you want.” 

“Even if I’m not on a stake out?” he asks, a small smile playing around his mouth and you feel your cheeks heat up. 

“Especially when you’re not on a stake out,” you smile back and his dimple makes an appearance as his smile widens. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, tapping his card to pay for both coffees, “I’ll see you tomorrow though, more stake out.” 

“See you tomorrow,” you say, returning the wave he gives you as he leaves. 

He’s back the next morning, already sitting in the car as you come out into the shop to open up for the day. He looks tired, yawning big and rubbing his hand over his eyes as he leans his head against the headrest. You glance over at him while you work and serve the small morning crowd, but he doesn’t look back at you. Saying goodbye to the last customer you look over at the car again, Dave’s head is flopped to the side, mouth hanging open and eyes closed, sound asleep. The sight is adorable, the big CIA agent clearly exhausted if he’s passed out on the job. You grab your travel mug, the one you keep filled with coffee through the morning, and give it a quick clean. Filling it up with a triple espresso shot from the beans you’d had with him yesterday, you screw on the top and exit the shop. He stirs as your shoes scuff over the asphalt, jerking up as you lightly tap the window. 

“Hey, want some coffee?” you ask, holding up the travel mug and he gives you such a look of relief and gratitude that it melts your heart. 

“Thanks,” he says once he’s cranked down the window in the old car, “I’m dead here, can’t keep my eyes open.” 

“Doesn’t do you much good on a stake out,” you say, “drop off the mug when you leave, and just wave at me if you want more coffee, I’ll come over with a refill.” 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he smiles, and you smile back, giving him a wave as you cross the street to the bakery. 

Dave stays a bit more alert through the rest of the day, and gets relieved earlier than usual. You smile when he comes into the shop. 

“Any luck with whatever you’re waiting for?” you ask as he hands you the travel mug. 

“No, and we’re running out of time, this might be a waste of resources,” he says, shaking his head and yawning widely, “I’m sorry, I was up late last night, working on this and then I couldn’t fall asleep, too much stuff on my mind.” 

“Go home, Dave,” you say, shooing him out of your shop with a smile, “You’re no good to anyone when you’re like this.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, “But I like our chats, makes this stake out more enjoyable than any other I’ve been on,” he suddenly looks a little bit shy as he’s half turned towards the door, a small smile as he looks back at you. 

“I like our chats too,” you say, butterflies erupting in the pit of your belly, and for a few seconds you’re just ogling each other like a couple of fools, both too shy to say anything else. Dave clears his throat, a small chuckling sound, and looks at his shoes before he glances up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“See you tomorrow, Dave,” you give him a wave and a small smile, biting your lip to hold back the bigger one that’s being pushed up by the butterflies as he returns your smile and leaves. 

But the next morning you don’t see his car, or any other car that might be a covert CIA operation and you wonder if the stake out got canceled. The day passes slowly, the usual February slump slower than usual without Dave outside your window. Realizing you don’t have his number, you can only hope he’ll come back even though he’s not on a stake out. And when you finally see him the next afternoon, crossing the street at a slight jog to avoid a car, you feel yourself smiling before he’s even spotted you. When he pushes open the door he gives you a wide grin. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, coming up to the counter as you put away your phone. 

“Hi,” you smile at him, thanking your past self for changing the stained t-shirt and apron into something cuter, “I’m good, but things are slow today so I’m glad you’re here, it’s been kinda boring without the stake out to distract me.” 

He chuckles at that, looking out onto the spot where his car had been for the past three days. 

“Yeah, orders came yesterday to can it, another team has picked up a hotter lead so we’ve been working on that. But that place doesn't have any nice bakeries nearby, so it's a complete loss,” he says with a smile that makes your insides liquid. 

“So you’re actually here when not on a stake out?” you tease him and he laughs. 

“Told you I’d be back,” he says, pushing the sleeves of the sweatshirt he’s wearing up over his thick forearms and crossing his arms, scanning the coffee menu. “Should I go for another one of those nice beans, or should I be adventurous?” he asks. 

You give him a crooked smile, tilting your head like you’re assessing him and he raises an eyebrow in question at you. 

“What do you have in mind? That look is making me nervous.” 

“I’m thinking….” you begin, “the regular coffee, but…you get a snack too, one of the cakes.” 

Dave gives you a grin in response and begins to scan the cakes, “The carrot cake,” he says, pointing to one of the smallest slices covered in white cream cheese frosting.

“Good choice,” you smile, “it’s a best seller and I made it this morning.” You plate the slice and start making the coffee for him.

“It’s kinda healthy, right?” he asks, eyeing the carrot cake with suspicion, “It’s got carrots and all?” 

“I mean, it’s still got sugar and fat in it,” you chuckle, “but it’s made with vegetable oil and not butter, so there is that.” 

You bring the coffee to the counter and start making a coffee for yourself as Dave picks up the plate. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” you sputter out as you watch him scrape the frosting off the cake with the spoon, “That’s the best part!” 

“It’s just fat and sugar,” he says, putting the dollop of frosting on the side of the plate, “I’m trying to stay healthy.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dave,” you smirk, “if you don’t eat that frosting on the cake like the baker intended, I don’t think this friendship is going to last.” You point to yourself and raise your eyebrows in a challenge. 

 “You know, I usually don’t eat sweet stuff, it’s the job,” he says, “I need to stay fit for it.” He’s toying with the cake, the intonation heavy on the 'eat'. He's not looking at you, but there’s a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. 

“So indulge a little, it’ll be worth it,” you smile and he looks up at you, his smirk suddenly changing into something more challenging as he seems to evaluate you in silence for several long seconds.

“Only if you’re on the menu,” he says, his dark eyes pinning you in place while he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “Are you on the menu?” 

The question is direct as he slowly raises his eyebrows, the intention clear.

You feel your brain grind to a halt, Dave’s dark brown eyes are boring into you as you slowly inhale, you feel like he’s flicked a switch and turned on his professional side, but he’s not using it to interrogate you. Instead he’s using it to put pressure on you, to get you to tell him what you want. 

What he wants. 

Glancing down at the plate still in his hand, he swipes his finger through the frosting and slowly rounds the counter, coming up to where you’re still standing frozen by the coffee machine. 

“Are you?” he says, repeating his question and slowly bringing his finger to his mouth, sucking the frosting off with a pop. 

The tip of your tongue comes out to lick across your top lip and Dave glances down at your mouth, following the movement. Taking a step closer, he’s almost touching you now, you can feel the scent of his cologne wash over you as his eyes come back up to yours. 

“I’d really like it, if you were on the menu,” he says, his voice low and dark, “but if you’re not, tell me, and I’ll leave.” 

You swallow, still transfixed by his dark eyes on you, the way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to read you and succeeding. You slowly nod your head yes. 

Dave inhales softly, putting down the plate, “Use your words. Tell me I can kiss you,” he says, the frustration clearly thrumming just below the surface of his low tones as his breath skates across your cheek, his hands hovering just inches from your body, ready to grab as soon as you give him permission, “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy all week but I couldn’t do anything.” 

A shiver runs through your body, your hand shaking as you put your coffee cup down, slowly putting both your hands on the front of his gray t-shirt, feeling the bunched up muscles flex under your palms as you slide them up to his shoulders. Dave is watching you intently, a small crease between his eyebrows, his fingers twitching by your waist. 

“Not here,” you say, dropping your hands to your sides, and side stepping him. He turns as you slip out past him, quickly walking the front door and locking it, flipping the ‘Back in five minutes’ sign. When you turn back, he’s still standing by the coffee machine and you pass him. 

“Less nosy neighbors in here,” you say, holding out your hand to him. 

He reacts in a heartbeat, taking your hand and crowding you as he pushes you further into the kitchen, out of sight. He lets go of your hand and grabs your waist, the other landing on your neck, his large hand easily spanning across it and up, cupping your cheek as he walks you backwards. The cool metal of the walk-in fridge hits your back and Dave’s towering over you, bending his face down so that his strong nose brushes against yours, his eyes almost black under his eyebrows, pulled together tight, and the hand at your waist bunching up your shirt. 

“Now?” he husks and you nod. 

“Yes, now.” 

His mouth is hot when it reaches yours in a flash, he’s pushing you further up against the fridge as he angles his head to have more. There’s an edge of desperation to the way he holds you. The hand on your cheek keeps you where he needs you as he licks the seam of your lips. When you part them, his tongue is eager and needy, a groan escaping from somewhere deep inside of him and you pant into his mouth as his sounds fire up your brain. Heat shoots through your body like rocket fuel ignited, the cool metal behind you a sharp contrast to the solid warmth of Dave’s body in front when he pulls you closer with his hand on your waist, tugging you into him. 

It’s messy, tongues and teeth fighting for control, your hands in his hair, his thick fingers grabbing your neck, his thigh between your legs. There’s no hiding the arousal coursing through you both as you moan at the way he rubs over your core, his low groans mixed in when he rolls his hard length into your hip. 

He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling back your head and trailing wet kisses across your throat, sucking a mark into where shoulder meets neck, moving up again, his teeth gently tugging on your earlobe before you gasp when he nips at the soft skin just underneath. 

“I’ve been fucking dreaming about how you’d sound when I did this,” he growls when you moan loudly into the silent kitchen, “sound so pretty, so fucking sweet.” His hand on your waist tightens, he’s pulling you down onto his leg, rocking into you as you clamor for a grip, tugging at his hair, loud, satisfied groan coming from Dave. 

“I wanna hear what you sound like when you come,” he mutters, moving his mouth up to yours again, biting your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, tongue coming out to caress it, taste it, before he lets go.

Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. You meet his dark eyes, lust clouding them as you gasp at the way his thick thigh creates just enough friction to make you convulse under his firm grip. 

“So fucking sweet,” he mumbles, a tone to his voice like he’s been craving this, “always looking at me from the bakery, always smelling so good, so tempting. Been wanting to do this since the first day, just get you in here and make you come all over my leg, hear you say my name.” 

You try to unscramble your brain, it’s hazy with arousal, the coil that he’s wound so tightly about to snap. But all you can feel is the tell tale tingling that’s started in your core and you close your eyes, the feeling radiating out from where his thigh rubs against you. 

“No, keep them open for me, baby,” Dave growls, “keep your eyes on me,” his voice forcing you to look up at him as it hits. 

“Dave…” you gasp, “Pl-please, Dave…” 

It shoots through your system like electricity, your legs closing around his, your skin burning as he kisses you, swallowing down your cries of his name as he keeps moving his leg, working you through the high until your muscles finally relax. 

He holds you up, his arm around your waist now, as his kisses soften. Soft movements across your lips, his tongue gently teasing yours until he pulls back a little, pressing his lips against yours, foreheads touching as you take a deep breath and you can feel him smile against you.

He moves his leg back, bending down and grabbing hold of your thighs, picking you up like you weigh nothing. With your arms around his neck, you hold on until he sets you down on the workbench, his hard erection is pressed tight between you but he seems to ignore it. 

“You ok?” he asks quietly, bending down and pressing a small kiss to the side of your neck, “seemed like you needed that.” His chuckle is low and amused as you sigh deeply. 

“That’s how you indulge?” you ask, caressing the back of his head, raking your fingers through his thick hair. 

“Better for your body than that carrot cake,” he smirks, pulling back a bit so that he can look at you while he cups your jaw and strokes his thumb over cheek. 

“I told you, this friendship won’t last if you don’t eat the frosting,” you give him a small smile, your body still humming. 

Dave gives you a smug look, “I don’t want your friendship, I want your frosting,” he says with a grin, tugging gently at your chin so that he can press his lips to yours and slip his tongue inside before your addled brain can come up with a comeback. 

The kiss is languid and slow, Dave takes his time, holding you back as you try to pull him closer, your hands still in his hair. After several long minutes he reaches up and untangles your fingers and pulls them down to your sides. 

“I’m leaving now,” he says against your mouth, his lips brushing over yours, “And I want you to be good. I have to go take care of something on that case. Close the shop when you’re done, go home, I’ll come by later.” There’s a promise in his low tone, in the way he nips at your bottom lip one last time and his fingers dig into your hips as he moves around your neck.

“Listen,” he whispers, his mouth close to your ear, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Part Twelve

Series Master List

Ok, so that got spicier then intended right? I don't know what to say, Dave just stepped in and took over.... blame him or thank him!

For the cake, this recipe uses pecans but I prefer walnuts but you can also leave them out if you want too. But it really is a very good cake...

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

[oonajaeadira]

FLUFFBRUARY 2: engagement | scent | jam (PATS)

ADIRA'S SELF-IMPOSED FLUFFBRUARY RULES:

Six sentences.

Must be fluffy.

All 29 ficlets must feature a different Pedro.

All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).

Use the words in order.

I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.

Eggs, pastries, coffee, tea…just waiting on the toast.

Standing in the kitchen, Patricio’s mind wanders–beyond the breakfast he’s working on, beyond the apron covering his bare bits and pieces, beyond the butter melting on the waffles–to you, asleep in his bed upstairs.

And he finds himself staring at his hands.

He wouldn’t be able to wear a ring if he had an engagement…er…a client, but maybe there could be an alternative…maybe on a chain around his neck?

There’s a squeak from above, the bathroom door he needs to oil–the scent of the coffee must have woken you–and he’s back to the task at hand, plenty of time to think about the little details later.

When the toast pops up he adds it to the tray next to your favorite jam and takes the whole production upstairs, apron included…he knows getting to take it off him is your favorite part....

___

@fluffbruary

FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hey, Cee!💗Congrats on your amazing milestone!👏I’m rather new to the family, still making my way through your master list and I enjoy it a lot😊 For the sleepover I’d like to request a micro drabble if you’d be so kind - Roommates Au with Dieter Bravo 🙌 What a nightmare!😅

Hi lovely! I'm so glad you're here and I hope you're having a good time with my Pedro boys 😘 So this one ran away from me, I'm very sorry if this wasn't what you were hoping for, but I've been itching to write for a younger Dieter, and this is what came out.

Dieter Bravo x Roommates AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1000ish words (sorry) | warnings: mature themes but not explicit, mentions of drug use, angst, hopeful ending

You're not sure how you ended up sharing an apartment with Dieter Bravo.

Honestly, calling this dumpster fire of a studio above a laundromat/dealer's den an apartment is a kindness it does not deserve.

You tried in the beginning. You painted the walls a soothing buttercup that has long peeled off in patches. You fixed the table with the crooked leg so it doesn't wobble when you eat discounted sandwiches on it. You even bought potted plants, dotting trellises of green throughout the small space to give it some semblance of life (that quickly expired from lack of daylight).

But then one day, your college boyfriend, your supposed ride-or-die, left for an audition and never came back.

The next morning, Dieter Bravo showed up on your doorstep, a beat-up weekender bag at his feet. He looked bored even then, wearing an unaffected nonchalance like he does his favourite green robe. 'Some dude I met an an audition yesterday said there's a cheap room for rent?'

Except there's not really a room. There's a bed in the corner with a privacy curtain around it like a fucking hospital ward, and there's a fold-out couch on the other side of the tiny space.

Dieter lets you take the bed.

You don't bother getting to know your new roommate, too wrapped up in the cotton wool of your heartbreak and a blind determination to make it. Honestly, you'd struggle to pick him out from a lineup.

All you know is that he's messy, but he consciously contains that mess to his side of the studio. It's like there's a glass wall holding back his dirty clothes and mismatched shoes from spilling into the shared kitchen. He's also bad at clearing out the fridge, always forgetting the discounted Cheddar he seems to have a fondness for, but always leaves rotting at the back of the dairy shelf.

He doesn't complain when you throw his shit out though, and you don't mind cleaning up after him.

You're ships in the night, each pulling as many shifts as possible in between auditions to stay alive in this money-guzzling, soul-crushing city.

By the time you come home well after midnight, the only sign that another person lives with you is the occasional Chinese takeout he leaves out on the (still wobbly) table if the buffet place he works at gives him leftovers.

In your rush to leave for your first shift one morning, you accidentally make too much coffee, which you leave on the counter for when he returns from his graveyard stint. A few more accidents later, you start making enough for two out of habit.

The first time you actually share space in the studio is maybe five months into your not-quite-cohabitation. It's been a tough day - two rejections after third-round auditions, and a drunk customer spilled Jack and Coke onto your favourite white top, which will definitely leave a stain.

You let yourself into the studio quietly, not bothering with the lights. Stripping down to your underwear, you're about to head into the bathroom when you hear it.

Just above the thumping bass of the illicit nightclub across the street, and the whirr of the industrial-sized washing machines under your feet, is the unmistakable squeak squeak squeak of old springs in the fold-out couch.

You freeze. Someone else is in the apartment with you.

A breathy, distinctly female moan reaches your ear, but a vicious blare of a car horn promptly drowns it out.

Holy fuck. Dieter is fucking some girl not ten steps across the studio, with nothing but the flimsy curtain around your bed separating you.

Suddenly hyperaware, you hear everything. The heavy, loaded slap of skin on skin. Shallow breaths muted in the curve of a neck. The low timbre of his voice, whispers of words that you can't make out - but you know that it's filthy by the way the fold-out creaks under the motion of quickening thrusts, and the desperate cry from the woman, quickly muffled.

You know exactly the moment he cums - there's a sudden stillness, a suspension of time, like everything is on tiptoes - and then three long, drawn-out thumps of the couch hitting the wall.

Then all goes quiet.

You can barely open your eyes the next morning when you trudge to the bathroom in just a threadbare sleep shirt and underwear. The door opens without you noticing, and you walk nose first into a broad, wet chest.

You open your mouth to apologise, but no words come out as you tip your chin upwards.

Dieter Bravo has brown eyes, hooded by deep set lids. He will change a lot in the years to come, as fame and drugs take hold - but one thing that does not is the way your breath hitches when he looks at you. Really looks at you.

His curls are long and unruly when dry, but wet and slicked back, the contours of his profile are more pronounced, and your eyes slide down the strong bridge of his nose and linger on the plush lips under a moustache that seems almost fastidiously tidy compared to the rest of him. It's the one constant when everything else in his life is anything but.

Dieter Bravo will be many things to you over the next fifteen years. Lover, boyfriend, ex, stranger, co-star, friend, friend with benefits, fiancé, ex, fiancé once again -

But he was your roommate first. And that morning, in the doorway to the tiny shower, your tits inadvertently pressed up against his bare chest, the wet towel wrapped around his narrow hips brushing your bare thighs, he smiles at you for the first time.

And when things get difficult down the line, because by god, do they get difficult - you hold on to that smile.

You hold onto him. Sometimes you have to, literally, wrapping your whole body around his through withdrawal shakes, and you whisper in his ear to remind him of how far you've both come from that dumpster fire of a studio above the laundromat/dealer's den -

Which you're kind enough to call an apartment.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hello!! I'm very curious about two of them, the two firsts of your list actually: Lattice and Don't Turn Around? … if you don'tmind me asking for two of them! 👀

Hi Angie!! Of course I don't mind you asking about two of them! I'm happy that you're intrigued!!

Both of these are actually responses to a prompt list that I posted a few nights ago, and since they're the only ones I got, they're going to be longer than quick drabbles.

Lattice corresponds with your request for "ruffling the other's hair" + Ezra, and I decided that it's going to take place in the Point of No Return universe, featuring Ezra and Cee. (and cats.) I'm going back and forth between Lattice and Trellis as the title, but a hint? They're working on a surprise for Clara. ;)

Don't Turn Around corresponds to the request I got from @something-tofightfor for "hugging the other from behind" + PATS which is going to fit into the Long Con universe that I started for that character. This one is going to be a very vulnerable moment for that pair of grifters, lemme tell ya.

[pascaloverx]

Rewrite The Stars

Chapter Two

Summary: One photo changes your whole life, when you accidentally bump into a celebrity and the world starts to believe that you are a couple.

chapter one. chapter three

The next day you woke up with a sore body, feeling as if life had shaken you. You lost your job and your dignity in the same night. But at least he met Pedro Pascal and spoke to him. Unfortunately this won't pay your bills but it will be a good story to tell your future children. You slowly get up feeling the daylight hitting your face. You woke up to your cell phone ringing like crazy. Damn charges that don't let an unemployed woman sleep in peace. But there's something different today, a strange noise outside of people almost whispering. None of your neighbors whisper. Everyone either shouts or speaks very loudly, which in your ears is the same thing. Will someone be arrested or caught cheating in an apartment near yours?

Your curiosity takes over you and you peek out the window while watching countless messages from your best friend. She first asks if you have anything to tell her, then tells you to turn on the tv. You don't understand anything, and on the street there are people hiding near your apartment like vultures. Then you turn on the television and come across photos of you and Pedro Pascal last night. Photos taken out of context.

Without context, what was him stopping me from falling to the ground turned into him holding me romantically. And him giving you the check as a tip became him paying for the "time" you spent together. What the hell is that?

You take out your cell phone and search for the mysterious woman who is having an affair with Pedro Pascal and several pages appear with those photos you saw on television. But you were still feeling safe until you saw a post written by your old boss telling the world who this mysterious woman was. And you started to understand who the people outside your apartment were. You began to feel the world around you becoming suffocating. On the internet, there are people wondering what you are to Pedro Pascal: a lover, girlfriend or stalker?

It was when an unknown number called you that you focused on something else, regardless of how confused you were.

"Can you leave your apartment through the back and go to the corner? There's a car waiting." A woman speaks with a serious and assertive tone. You wonder if this isn't some prank or parallel universe where you get screwed every day of your life.

"If you tell me who you are, I can get out the building's fire exit and be in that car in five minutes." You speak with distrust of whoever is on the other side of the call.

"Mr. Pascal's agent. Now be discreet and don't be funny." She says seconds before hanging up on your face. Kind of rude but if she's offering you a way out, that's what you're going to do. It takes no more than two minutes for you to put on a sweatshirt before heading down the fire escape. Yes, you're wearing pajamas but you didn't think you'd have time to take a shower.

"You walk too slowly for a person who's running away, you know?" The same voice on the phone says this to you as you get into the car.

"And you're very rude for someone who makes a living managing famous people, since we're being inconvenient." You say as you sit in the car, putting on your seatbelt then. Only then do you notice that Mr. Pascal is in the car too. In fact, you're sitting next to him. Which is unusual to say the least.

"The girl is right. Sorry for the commotion but we're out of time, which isn't an excuse." Pedro Pascal speaks the first part, addressing the woman in the passenger seat and then speaks looking at you. He extends his hands towards you and you greet him, shaking hands.

"I imagine you're aware that the world thinks you two are having an affair. And while it's not true, it's gotten the media's attention." Pascal's agent doesn't even introduce herself and starts talking about the topic of the moment.

"Let me guess, you think I faked everything and you want me to disappear with the photos?" In today's world, you know that people rarely trust each other.

"I know it wasn't you. Not to mention that anyone wouldn't risk hitting their head on the floor to create a scandal. But we need to resolve this, for the good of both." Pedro Pascal says, looking in your direction deftly. It even seems like he trusts your good intentions.

"For an older man, you trust people easily. But I didn't really publish the photos, or force any of those moments with you." You speak thinking you just accused one of your favorite actors of being naive.

"I don't know what offended me more, being called old or naive. You seemed kinder yesterday." Mr. Pascal speaks pretending to be hurt, which is kind of cute in your opinion.

"Look at them, already tuned in as a couple. It's going to be perfect." The agent speaks in a genuine tone of happiness, which you find strange.

"I'm sorry, what's going to be perfect?" You ask, confused about what she meant.

"You two will be the next Cinderella couple of this generation. The internet is already highly mobilized to know what you are to each other, what you do together. Of course, there are haters but there are many supporters of this couple." She speaks so seriously that you have to laugh. No one will ever believe that you are dating.

"Sorry, but have you gone crazy? Who's going to believe I'm dating him?" You say in total disbelief that this will work.

"We'll leave the details for later, but don't worry. All you have to do is take this relationship contract with you and read it. If you agree, you and Pedro have started a fake relationship as soon as possible. If you refuse, let's pretend this proposal never existed and you can move on with your life." The agent speaks and then asks the car driver to stop near your building.

"And you agreed to all of this?" That's all you say, holding the contract in your hands and getting ready to get out of the car. The question was clearly directed at Mr. Pascal, who seemed surprised.

"I decided to give you a chance, I hope you give me the same opportunity to be your fake boyfriend." That's all he says, opening the car door for you. And then you got out of the car feeling like you were trapped in a very crazy dream.

[patdkoala]

Meant To Be Yours

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Warnings: smut, riding, bottom!Pedro, nicknames

I am not an actress. I am not a model. I am not famous in any way shape or form.

I met Pedro at a Mexican restaurant. Not at a convention, not at a concert, not even at some premiere. We met by accident.

I was at the bar ordering drinks for me and my friends who were all seated at the table close by. It was my best friend's bachelorette party.

"Hi, can I get 8 shots of your cheapest tequila? We have got a group of horny women that need to drink," I said as the bartender smiled at me and then he started pouring the drinks as I handed him the cash.

I dropped one of my dollars and so I went to pick it up off the floor but instead this handsome man bent down on the floor and picked up my money and handed it back to me.

"Here you dropped this, sweetheart," He said as I rolled my eyes and took the money from him, and handed it to the bartender.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong?" The man asked as I just stood there and ignored him. "I'm not your sweetheart," I said as he chuckled to himself and then he ordered his drink and walked away.

I took the shots that were on a tray and walked back over to my group of friends.

"Who was that hot guy talking to you?" My best friend asked as I looked back at the bar but the man was gone. "I don't know. He gave me the ick," I said as they all groaned.

"No! Gross, what did he do?"

"He called me sweetheart," I said as a couple of friends groaned and a couple made cute faces. "What? I think it's kind of nice. How old is he? He probably just was talking to you like you are a daughter," One of the friends said as I laughed.

"Yeah, or granddaughter," I said as they all laughed and then we downed our shots and made small talk or had conversations about the upcoming wedding.

The night went on. The restaurant got more crowded and we were all getting overwhelmed.

Ubers were called, boyfriends came to pick them up ( as well as fiancés), and I was the last one standing outside the restaurant.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself as I watched my phone die in my hands.

I looked across the street and saw that there was a pay phone. As I was about to leave the restaurant parking lot, the man from inside the bar stepped outside into the moonlight.

He looked well over 40 but not really 50 yet. No wedding ring meant either divorced or single which was sketchy because of his age.

His hair was dark brown with light grey pieces popping through in the light. His dark brown eyes glistened when he looked at me.

He was tall. Well, tall compared to me. And well dressed. He wore a nice pair of trousers and a nice button-up shirt with a t-shirt underneath. He looked clean and well kept so either this man is gay or the world is finally sending me a message about my impending doom with being an old maid.

"Hey, I'm sorry for calling you sweetheart back in there. I meant it as just a thing to say to a young lady, not something creepy to hit on a lady with," He said as I just stood there and I realized that I had been staring at him.

"No, it's ok. I'm sorry for seeming rude. I thought you were some ugly guy," I said and then I quickly turned red for saying that. Not because I was blushing but because I felt like such an idiot for saying that.

"So it would have been ok to be rude to me if I was an ugly guy?"

"Yes?" I responded now even redder than before.

He laughed it off as I searched my purse for loose change so I could use the payphone.

"I hate to ask but do you have some quarters I could use for the pay phone? My phone died and I need to call a taxi," I said as he just straight up handed me his phone.

"I would offer to drive you home but I don't want you to think I'm a creep."

"I wouldn't think you were a creep," I lied. I totally would. If he was an ugly guy.

"Right. Only if I was an ugly guy," He added.

"So, where is your car?" I asked as I stepped closer toward him and handed him his phone back.

He smirked and then offered his arm for me to take since I was a little wobbly in my heels at the moment.

We walked to this nice big black SUV.

"Damn, either you are a drug dealer or a pimp because I don't know anyone with a badass car like this," I said as I got in the passenger seat.

"You really don't know who I am?" He asked as he got in the driver's seat.

"No? Am I supposed to?"

"You ever see the Mandalorian?"

"No."

"The Last of Us?"

"No."

"Game of Thrones?"

"No."

"Law and Order?"

"No."

"Damn, What do you even watch?"

"I don't have time for tv," I said as I smiled at him.

"Oh. That's cool I guess."

"So, what's your name?" I asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. But, you can just call me Pedro. That's what everyone else calls me," He said as I smiled.

"Well, I want to call you something that no one calls you. So I'm going to call you José. Or brown eyes," I said as he smiled at me as he stopped at a stop sign.

"Well funny enough, someone does call me both of those things," He said as I turned to him. "My mother," He added as I laughed at him.

"What's your name? Because as far as I'm concerned, it's giggles," He said as I laughed again.

No one has ever made me laugh this much.

"(Y/N) (L/N), but you can call me giggles. No one has ever called me that before," I said as he nodded.

We talked the whole drive. He drove for two hours. All over LA.

It wasn't until we noticed that it was 3am.

"Oh my god, I never told you where my house was," I said as he and I laughed so hard.

"Well, are you hungry?" He asked as I shook my head. "Always," I said as he then pulled into a drive-thru.

We ordered the food and laughed at each other the whole ride up to the window.

"Oh my god, you're Pedro Pascal!" The woman at the window screamed as we drove up.

"See? I told you," He said as he took a selfie with the sweet girl.

We ate in the dark parking lot.

We laughed. Talked some more. Ate some more. Laughed some more.

Before we knew it, the sun was rising.

"I wish this night would last forever," I said as he rested his head back on the headrest.

"Yeah, me too," He said as we then just looked at each other.

"I mean, it can. Where do you want to go now? I'll take you anywhere you want to go," He said as I smiled and laughed at him again.

"Home, José. I have to go to work in a few hours," I said as he nodded then I told him my address and he took me home.

The car came to a complete stop in front of my house and I turned to smile at him.

"Thank you for hanging out with me, José," I said as he smiled back at me. "My pleasure, giggles," He said with a wink.

I got out of the car and then as I walked up the front steps to my house, I realized that he was staring at me as I walked up the steps.

I never told him where I work. I hate to sound clique but I work at a coffee shop in downtown LA.

I clocked into work and started my day with 0 hours of sleep. My boss was annoying per usual. Customers were mean per usual.

Except for the one customer that walked in and made my day 100 times better.

"What are you doing here, giggles?" He asked as he walked up to my register. "I could ask you the same thing, José," I said as he smiled and then ordered his INSANE coffee order.

"How are you not dead?" I asked as I handed him the cup. "Dude, I have no idea. My brain is so fried right now."

I laughed at him again and this time he just stood there smiling at me.

"I don't mean to sound so forward but we did spend all night together so, can I get your phone number?" He asked as I continued to laugh.

"Well, then I should probably tell you the truth."

"What are you talking about? Oh no. Are you married or something?" He asked as I shook my head.

"No, but I lied when I said I didn't know who you were. I wanted to humble you." I laughed as he then laughed.

"The truth is that I was late to the bachelorette party because I was sitting in the parking lot watching your hot ones episode and then last night I watched your SNL skits. I also binged all of The Last of Us last week," I said as he stood there and then he nodded.

"Right, well. I won't ask again."

"Ask for what? Do you still want my number? Are you sure? Even though I lied to you?"

"Everyone deserves to be humbled every once in a while," He said as I smiled.

I then turned toward my coworker. "Hey, can you cover me? I'll be back in 30 minutes," I said as she nodded and then I handed her my apron.

I took Pedro by the hand and dragged him outside toward his car.

We go in the back seat.

I pushed him into the car so it was only fitting that he be on the bottom.

"What are we doing here exactly?" He asked as he held onto my hips.

"I am going to ride you before I have to go back to my shift and then you are going to pick me up from my house tonight and take me out on a proper date," I said as I undid his belt. "Is that okay with you?"

He just nodded and then shimmied out of his jeans just enough for me to sit on his dick.

He felt so good.

"God, you feel so good," He said as I moaned and felt my whole body clench around him.

He held onto my hips as if I was filled with helium.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," I said as he bucked his hips up and moved further into me. "Good, because I won't let you," He said as I screamed out in ecstasy.

I felt him jolt inside of me which was a sign that he was close.

I got off of him and I went back to work.

I just fucked José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal.

Like a girlboss.

[beefrobeefcal]

my fellow Pedro Scout 🫡

Beefro, i must know. what is each Chubby P-Boy’s post-full belly ritual/routine? when they simple cannot stuff themselves anymore (impossible, i know)?

THIS WHOLE EXERCISE IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME, SCOUT STATY!

Alright... are we ready? There are 11 - yes, E L E V E N - P-boys in the Bistro and I'm not going to leave a single one out!

Thanks for the ask, @hellfire-state-of-mind - I hope this helps sate your insatiable need for knowledge!

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

Frankie [The Catfish & The Mouse]

He's only hit his absolute, stuffed-to-the-gills threshold a handful of times and at the end of each one, Frankie has found himself on the couch. Mouse is cuddled up with him, offering soothing belly rubs and maybe a lazy hand job to get his mind off of how full he truly is. He can't say he hates the feeling and he likes the fact that Mouse is all over him when he's in this state.

Joel [Joel Miler & his Darlin']

This man doesn't have the willpower to not hit that limit at least once a week. He's obsessed with Darlin's cooking, and he cannot hold himself back for very long. So the routine is this: Darlin' listens to Joel exclaim his regrets while also praising her cooking skills; they go home and Joel complains about how many steps there are to their home and then again to their bedroom; Darlin' gets him a glass of water and piles the pillows so he can lay back but not flat on the bed; Joel complains about how much harder it is to get his pants off and Darlin' helps him get undressed; Joel usually lets out a gunshot sneeze or two before falling into a food coma while Darlin' gives him a foot or belly rub. Joel does not learn his lesson.

Pena [Javier Pena & his Sweetheart]

Much like Joel, Pena doesn't like to admit he can't control himself when the food is just that banging. Unlike Joel though, Pena is completely in denial that his eating habits are the culprit of his over stuffed and uncomfortable belly. HIs lovely Sweetheart can just roll her eyes and and offer a soothing shoulder rub while he grumbles over paperwork while sucking on a hard candy. Until Pena admits this is all his doing, this is how he's gonna handle being too full.

Dave [Dave York & Kitten]

We saw what Dave's ritual is when he has one too many Little Debbie's snackcakes in Play Nice. The man literally just wants to be coddled but still call the shots. Luckily for Kitten, Dave is a creature of habit and that isn't about to change any time soon.

Dieter [Dieter Bravo & Cookie]

Sex. He just wants to bump uglies when he's overly full. He once mentioned to Cookie that the increased heart rate and body heat makes the food digest quicker... or something scientifically inaccurate, but she's not going to complain. If Cookie isn't around to get on all fours for him (or ride his face, dick, where ever...), he's completely fine with putting on a b-grade porno version of one of his own movies and beat off into a pocket pussy. Dieter enjoys this too much to ever take on anther role that has a weight limit.

Joel [the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller]

Why are you here? So what if he ate a whole box of Wal-Mart brand waffles and several pizza pockets? What do you want? Oh you want to... to help Joel? No. He's busy trying to keep his mind off how full he is by watching the garage sale across the street through his blinds. No matter what, this man is not going to admit he's too full and he's gonna double down on who ever asks - even Sarah - and say to GET OFF HIS LAWN.

Ezra [Ezra & Cricket]

Much like Dieter, Ezra is acutely aware of how much more sensitive he is when he's in a heightened state - like being overly full. He knows the inflated and loquacious string of words to coo at Cricket to signal he's ready to put his serpentine rocket to good use in her winking eye of Kevva. He's not going to change this method, even when he feels over exerted and almost nauseous - it's all part of the thrill for him.

Tim [HeftyThrowaway - And eat it, too]

Unlike the rest of the P-boys. Tim is an enigma. So far, we only know he really enjoys cake. I guess we'll have to see what he's like when he officially joins the Bistro in Some Like it Hot.

Frankie [HeftyThrowaway - Being Neighbourly]

This version of Frankie really enjoys the feeling of being overly full - he just loves food too dang much to not get his kicks from sitting back after a few plates of spaghetti and meatballs to not revel in it.

Marcus [Marcus Pike & Dex]

Marcus is a stats man and he's competitive. He can tell you almost down to the bite of food - before he eats, mind you - how much it'll take to get that full, and if he pushes that limit? all the better. His post stuffing rituals include cuddles and tummy rubs courtesy of Dex, with lots and lots of praise.

BigFish Morales [On the Waterfront]

The chokehold this man has on me... If he found his limit, he'd want to get the upper hand on someone else (considering the shepherd's pie got it on him), and a good old fashioned blow job would be in order. He wants relief without having to do a damn thing, so y'all better get on your knees.

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 3.9k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: you wish marcus a happy thirty-sixth birthday. the sequel to two lonely people.

warnings: social isolation, self doubt, anxiety, themes of alienation, light angst, fluff, marcus has the cutest stretch marks and freckles, reader is described as same height and/or shorter than marcus, smut - mentions of intercrural sex, cum eating, grinding, handjob, sex toys, praise kink, exhibitionism, nipple play, vibrator play, cuddling(!!!).

notes: wrote this sporadically throughout my weekend away, shout-out to sima for letting me blab on and on about pedro boy porn. truly in my marcus era, i am a man possessed. these sex toys [x] [x] are also real! in case you were curious.

Bender stretches out on the couch beside you, his long and lanky body bowing low. His hairy belly brushes against the fabric of the cushion when you scratch beneath his chin. The mission of an early afternoon nap has been well accomplished. You push yourself into a sitting position, letting Bender jump to the carpet and stroll away. The grey-white of the cushions contrasts the red of the walls perfectly; in another life, Marcus must have been an interior designer.

You watch your cat—yes, yours—settle atop the orange loveseat across from you, dotted with crimson and tangerine throw pillows. Everything inside Marcus’ place is so rich and vibrant, a constant splash of colour no matter where you look. It makes you feel good to be here, like you belong. Every night spent across the street from your own home feels like a glorious field trip.

You've been coming around for four months, and Marcus has never turned you away. He's your boyfriend now, a label and structure that hasn't existed in your life for what felt like aeons. You've had to modify your habits a little bit—boyfriends get worried when you don't text or show for four days. They show up at your front door ready to call someone—a hospital or an ambulance, or your mother, god forbid.

It has been more difficult to adjust than you thought it would be. As it turns out, once you live a life of solitude, incorporating people back into it is a little like pulling teeth. It’s not that you don't like it, crave that contact. You simply don't think of it. You don't take into consideration whether or not Marcus is missing you because that feels like a little too much. Too much thought from another thrown your way, too much care about you as a person.

You're finding that Marcus almost strictly operates in the realm of too much. Too much time, too much attention dedicated to you. It's a seed of guilt that you've swallowed. The feeling has rooted itself in your chest, stringy vines encircling your lungs. Surely he has something better to do: work, maybe, or visit family and friends. But he seems to want to spend almost every night with you.

You watch movies, chat dinner plans, fuck—though it doesn't really feel like fucking. Marcus brings sweetness to your tender care, delivering praise to each of your soft touches. You love learning his body. The glow in his eyes when he makes you feel good could light the night sky, you're sure of it.

Time with him injects a new type of levity into your life that animals can't bring. Even with Bender as your own now, after Anne-Marie admitted to you his care was too much for her to handle, Marcus brings a presence to your life that makes you feel a little more assured. It's cliché, but it's true.

Tonight, you're waiting for him to come home from a late shift at work. No pet clients this week, you’ve been making yourself comfortable at Pike’s place for the past few days—since that fateful evening he knocked on your door, presuming you dead or worse.

Earlier, you texted him asking when he'd be home and almost dropped your phone. Home. Marcus hadn’t seemed to notice, but the message stopped you short. Maybe you’re a little too comfortable.

Later than I’d like, he’d replied.

His guesstimate was closer to bedtime than dinner. You told him not to worry; you’d still be here waiting. It's his birthday, after all. You are determined to celebrate, even if it's after a long day of catching criminals.

You’ve got a whole thing prepared. A silver birthday banner hanging above the kitchen entryway, his gift on the coffee table. And dinner, of course: chupe and warm bread for dipping, along with sopapillas and ice cream cake for dessert. You've never put so much effort into something like this for another person—never gotten the chance to.

Picking his gift was probably the hardest part of the process. You'd bugged Marcus over and over about an online wishlist. Anything that he needed for his place, any wants. His answer was always the same, eliciting an eye roll every time: you.

“You can't gift a person,” is always your counter, to which the man wholeheartedly disagrees. He has everything he wants; a feeling you cannot understand. Everything he wants and all he seems to want is you.

When Marcus makes it through his front door, the sky is dark. You’re asleep again, body laid across the couch as Bender sits in a comfy loaf across your ribs and diaphragm. His purring moves through your chest, keeping you warm without a blanket. The peaceful scene is disrupted when Marcus drops his bag to the floor a little too loud, waking you. It’s less of a slow, sleepy roll and more of a sharp gasp. The intake scares the cat, Bender leaping from you. He lands on the floor easily.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

“It’s me!” he smiles, his tone one of mock celebration.

“I fell asleep.” An astute observation on your part, you rub the sleep from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Marcus approaches the couch, holding a hand out to help you stand. You take it, pulling yourself up with his weight as an anchor. He manages to get you into the hold of his arms before you realize, giving you a warm hug. He’s a little sweaty today, salt mixing in with natural sweetness at the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t be sorry,” Marcus says.

You start to move, readjusting the huddle of two so he’s at least facing the strung up banner. “Happy birthday,” you whisper. “I made dinner.”

He hums against your cheek. “All this for little ol’ me?”

“Yes,” you say. “And dessert. And a gift.” You nod at the coffee table, like he can even see you with his chin over your shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Marcus says.

“I already did. And I wanted to, so it’s done. Come on.” You squeeze your arms around him. “Let’s eat.”

You sit him down at the table, not letting Marcus lift a finger as you bring out two bowls. The shrimp stew has been on the stove, simmering at a low temperature since you finished cooking. You bring the pot out of the kitchen and set it on a cork trivet. When he looks past the lip of the pot, Marcus’ face splits into a disbelieving smile.

“I could kiss you right now,” he says, ass hovering from his chair.

“Sit. You can kiss me later.” You ladle chupe into Marcus’ bowl, then your own. “Shit, spoons. Just a second.” Getting up again, Marcus catches your wrist as you pass the side of the table.

“Honey,” he says.

“I’ll just be a second.”

“You’re doing too much.”

“I’m not,” you insist. “I—can I…”

Your eyes tell it better than your words can, staring down at him. Please let me do this for you. Marcus lets you go, and you return a minute later with a pair of spoons.

You sit down at the table. Marcus simply stares at you. You start to smile before twisting your lips, looking down at your bowl.

“What?” you ask. When he doesn’t say anything, you repeat yourself.

“Nothing.” Marcus shakes his head.

“There’s something.”

“You. You’re just…incredible.”

You shrug. “I wanted to do something a little bit special. I know it’s not a super big deal—”

“The woman who has a freezer stocked with heat-and-eat lasagna made me chupe.”

“Sopapillas, too. They’re in the microwave.”

“And sopapillas. This is such a big deal,” Marcus says.

You hate to admit it, but your heart swells. This is such a big deal. God, you really do lo—

Marcus watches you expectantly, like he's just asked a question. You have no idea what he said. Instead you smile and nod. Then you dip your spoon into the food.

Watching him eat is the best part. Every bite is a reaction, seeing the flavours splash over his tongue turning into something of a spectator sport. Marcus takes seconds but declines a third helping, obediently letting you clean up from dinner and bring out the aforementioned fried dough pouches.

In central Chile, they make sopapillas with pumpkin—in the north, that's not so much the case. Marcus has told you where his family is from, Arica, right near the border with Peru. Part of your disappearing act last week had to do with the last round of research and planning for tonight. By the time you’d nailed the recipe, you’d gotten caught up in looking at maps and learning the country’s history.

“I know it's not one hundred percent,” you say, referring to the food. “Not too sure if I cooked the sauce long enough.”

The cinnamon syrup was the difficult part of the cooking operation. Unsure if Marcus would like a thicker or thinner consistency, you spooned in corn syrup ‘til the liquid took on a half-runny, half-gloopy viscosity.

Marcus speaks with his mouth still full. “It's fucking delicious.” He cuts himself off at three, promising to finish the rest for breakfast.

You scoot away to the kitchen for the final time tonight, taking the ice cream cake out of the fridge. Admittedly, you got a little carried away with it. Ninety dollars on a cake sounds like highway robbery, but it's worth it for the look on his face.

As you set the cake down on the table before him, Marcus looks at a perfectly printed image of his own dopey grin. Jutting out from his mouth is a speech bubble made of icing and carefully placed fondant. He's wishing himself a happy birthday.

You stand by his shoulder, watching his expression. He seems to be stuck halfway between amazement and amusement; just what you wanted. When he joins you on his feet, it's to kiss you—long, deep, and slow. You lean into it, into him, his soft strength supporting you as Marcus caresses your upper arm. Then he grabs your elbow, gently placing each forearm at his sides to cage him in. You hear Bender more than see him, feeling him rub his head against your shin.

“This is the best birthday ever,” Marcus says.

“Including or ignoring that you’re four years out from fourty?” you ask.

His nose brushes against yours. “Don't be a smartass,” he breathes, voice all play.

You both only take a small slice of the cake, bellies full of your homemade dinner. You won't be telling Marcus about the trial batches of shrimp stew that were ultimately fed to the dogs in your care, woefully forgotten as you added another bag of the fresh shellfish to your grocery order.

When you're finished, you start to clear the table. Marcus insists on helping at this part, leaving no room for discussion when he plucks the stack of bowls and spoons from your hands. You wrap the cake and put it back in the fridge, along with the chupe and sopapillas, both in airtight containers. Marcus washes as you dry, navigating his kitchen like an expert when you go to put things away. Well, not like an expert—you are one. After today, you can run this room blindfolded.

When all is said and done, Marcus leans you against the kitchen counter. He plants a kiss to your cheek, slowly heading southbound to your jaw, then your neck.

You giggle as he reaches the soft skin of your throat. “Still got your present waiting for you.”

“You're right here,” he says.

“Hardy har,” you intone. Pushing at his shoulders, Marcus lets up. “On the coffee table.”

He takes the lead back to the living room, sitting on his couch to eye the sleek black box that awaits him. You can't sit, running a thumb over your lips as Marcus takes the gift in his hands. He shakes it, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You're killing me here, Pike.”

“I'm appreciating the fine cardboard craftsmanship,” he says of the box. As much artisanal handiwork as the dollar store gift aisle can grant you, anyway.

Finally, Marcus lifts the lid from the box. On a soft pillow of red and white tissue paper lies the three things you got him, as well as a small card. You watch him take one of the gifts from the box, squeezing it. Nerves claw at your stomach. He takes his time to analyze it, flip it over and flip it again in his hand.

“This is cool,” he says, almost absentmindedly. Then to you, “These stress toys?”

That anxious cord inside snaps, taking you down with it. You're in free fall as your skin goes warm with embarrassment, your palms the only thing shielding you from the world.

“No,” you sigh softly.

It's a shitty gift. That much is clear when he can't even tell what it is. You should have stuck with something simple, like a bookstore gift card. But no, you had to go out on a whim.

Marcus asks if you're okay, words laced with tender concern. You take three seconds to recompose yourself and prepare for what comes next. Pulling a mask together, your hands come away from your face.

“They're, um—well. They're sex toys. Grinding toys made of silicone to…” You clear your throat. “Those are soft... The other one is sort of a vibrator.” Marcus follows your words, looking down at the small green device. “It was a bad gift idea. I thought you would like ‘em.”

If you click your heels three times, will the universe grant you mercy and travel you home? Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, you swallow the knot in your throat. Opening them again, your boyfriend is still here. No dice.

He stands, bringing the box with him. You take a seat on the loveseat, letting him join you. As much as you want to curl inwards and die, for a lack of better words, Marcus will want to talk about it. Understand.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you return. Looking at him makes it hard to retreat into yourself.

“It's a great gift.”

“You don't have to say that.”

“I mean it,” he insists. “This is good.”

Watching his thick fingers rub over the meat of the toy should not turn you on as much as it does, a low simmer between your legs. The soft ridges of the floppy one in his hand look a little Georgia O’Keefe; the lines of an abstract vulva. You stop yourself from picturing that hand by your thighs, cupping you where you want Marcus the most.

“I figured because you like to grind on me, this might add something more to it. Just for fun,” you shrug.

Like to is an understatement. If observing Marcus Pike is a competitive display, when it comes to grinding, you're going pro. In bed, he rubs his cock against you—your thighs, your ass, your chest—and against the sheets. He's very into intercrural, first showing you a video of the act on the night of your two month anniversary before putting yourselves to the test.

His favourite, though, is to rub against the top of your thigh as you make out and watch him. He likes the attention, and you love giving it to him. When Marcus finishes, he lets you feed him his cum with the pads of your fingers.

He kisses you softly now, hand at your cheek as he rubs the skin close to your ear.

“It's a great fuckin’ gift,” Marcus assures you. “Just needed the clue in.”

“You don't have to reassure me,” you say, shaking your head. You hate when this happens. Tonight is about him, and suddenly it's your emotions taking centre stage. Sometimes it feels like you take up all the air in the room.

“I want to,” Marcus says.

He wants to. You could melt.

“Did you want to try them?” you ask. “The toys?”

“Please.” He nods in the direction of the stairs, prompting you to lead the way.

You take Marcus by the hand, leading the way as he follows you up to his bedroom. In the months of being together, the rush to the bed has dissipated. Neither of you are any less eager, but you know now that Marcus isn't going anywhere. There is a sense of security here that you haven't ever felt before.

When you cross the threshold of the room, you take your time with undressing him. It's an unwrapping of sorts. The buttons of his shirt come away easily, sliding off Marcus’ shoulders to the floor. Next is his belt, clinking lightly as you reach down and pull the leather strap from his waist. He takes his pants and boxers off for you, leaving the man in the nude.

You leave yourself a moment to simply look. Taking him in with your eyes, you smile. Who has blessed you with such a beautiful, understanding man and how can you ever repay them? The heat of his body pressed against the skin bared by your rolled up sleeves makes you shiver. You want forever to hold him. Have him be yours.

Cool fingers run across Marcus’ bare hip. You trace the marks of thinned skin near his waist. He watches you carefully, breath held. You blow air against his lips before kissing him hungrily. Like this, you can taste him: vanilla ice cream and butterscotch.

Pulling him to the bed, you let him get comfortable. Marcus has left the box of toys on the nightstand. You leave them for now, straddling his thighs before you take his dick in your hand. He’s all warm and smooth against your palm, the ridge of a vein pressing against your thumb.

Marcus sucks in a small gasp as you start to move your hand. He gently takes hold of the base of your skull, resting your forehead to his. He looks at you, unblinking. The two of you are caught in a bit of a staring contest; you never want to pull your eyes away from his beautiful face. Those full lips pout for you, forming something like your name in precious whispers.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” you say. “I love you.” Marcus’ eyes roll to the back of his skull, his hips tilting further up into your touch.

This man is the sun to your stars. You don’t quite orbit each other, but he makes you feel that much brighter. You two are cut from the same cloth; scorching infernos no one ever truly gets to see, not quite within the grasp of others. But here, it’s different. A focused fire meets an exploding astral scatter.

“You’re always so good to me, Marcus,” you whisper. “I’m so lucky.”

“Fuck, you’re so—god.” He doesn’t get much more coherent.

You reach for the toys with your free hand, distracting him with gentle kisses across the constellations that dot his chest. A thousand tiny sun spots beneath the plush of your lips. You could stay here forever, feeling his skin against you.

First, you start with the soft silicone toy without the vibe. You squeeze it in your hand to warm it up, then bring it close to Marcus.

“Can I touch you with this?”

“Please,” he nods.

You take it into the hand already in contact with his cock, sliding the toy against him slowly. Marcus groans, tipping his head back. His eyes close briefly before flying back open.

Immediately, you stop what you are doing. “You alright?”

“You’re still fully dressed.” He speaks as if he’s just realized the situation at hand.

You simply nod. “Yeah.”

“Would you wanna…” Marcus glances down at his naked body.

“Tonight is about you,” you say.

“Well, I want you to. If you want to.”

You’ve been ignoring the tacky feeling in your underwear, letting the seam of your pants do the work for you as you watch Marcus.

“Okay.”

You let Marcus undress you, pressing pause on sex. His hands rove over you as he peels the shirt from your skin, making quick work of everything below the waist. He settles your cunt over his cock, gliding you forward and back with his hands. You take in a breath, reveling in the slide against your clit. When Marcus lifts his hips just so, you moan. You use his shoulders as a hold, balancing to stay upright.

Taking the silicone toy, you place it between his pelvis and the length of his dick. Then you hover over the underside of him once again. When you sit down, pussy slick against his length, Marcus huffs out a desperate groan. You grind against him, giving him friction at either side.

“Feels so fucking good,” Marcus says. “I…you’re so fucking warm. Wet.”

“Yeah? That’s what you do to me. So sweet, such a good man,” you say. His hands come to rest at your hips again. “Wanna flip me over?”

Marcus nods, readjusting so that he’s overtop of you now. He slots the toy between the crux of skin at your thigh, grinding against it as he presses light touches to your clit. Focused on his pleasure, he keeps his eyes closed as he ruts into you. Marcus kisses you as he cums, stickiness painting your skin.

He travels down your body with his mouth, trailing lips and tongue across your collarbone. Marcus licks at your left nipple before he latches onto it. Your spine pulls taut as you cup his head to your breast, petting his hair in encouragement. When he leaves your chest, he moves straight to the cum against your skin. As you watch him lick it off the front of your hip, you’re sure that you have died and gone to heaven.

Marcus laves his tongue over the skin between your belly and pelvis, watching for your reaction. He leaves your body for only a moment. When he comes into focus again, he’s holding the green vibrating toy in his hand.

Turning it on, he asks, “Is this okay?” as he presses it to your pubic bone.

You nod, an mhm coming out more like a slight whine.

He moves it lower and lower, tracing the tip of the pear-shaped device around your wetness.

“Where do you want it?” The question is playfully facetious; he knows exactly where you want it.

“Marcus, please,” you sigh.

He hums, nose inches above your soft and swollen cunt. “You know I’ll always give you what you want.”

Marcus presses the toy against you, the round and squishy body subtly buzzing against your cunt as the tip delivers a direct point of pressure to your clit. He shifts it every few moments, the readjustments pushing you further and faster towards the edge. It’s the kiss that does it for you, tender as he cradles the side of your face with his large hand. The caress of his ring finger against your cheek cuts the cord, your orgasm rocking your body like volts of electricity.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” he murmurs. Marcus turns the toy off, releasing you from the overwhelming waves of pleasure. Cradling your back to his front, he kisses the crown of your head.

“I love you too, y’know,” Marcus says.

“Hm?” You shift in his arms, looking at him now. “What did you say?”

The way you bat your eyes at him tells Marcus that you heard him perfectly fine. He shakes his head with a light chuckle. “I said—”

“I love you.” You steal the words from him the same way he’s taken your heart.

Marcus Pike is many things: your neighbour, your boyfriend. A lover and a thief. He’s offered up his guts to you so easily, your prize for taking a chance. This man is a gift. A teacher. You're re-learning what it's like to have someone be there. To live and feel the art of giving.

[exquisiteserotonin]

Stargazin'

I'm just gonna go out and say it: it's Friday and we're feral

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: ~1.9K

Summary: An unexpected suprise is waiting for you when you get home. Will these two crazy kids ever admit that they're crazy for each other?

Warnings: Oral sex (m!receiving) PiV sex, riding, cheesy jokes (it's Dieter, come on!) --- like I've said before, my fic is not for youngsters, please do not engage if you are not 18+

A/N: This all came about after seeing a certain person with a sparkly accessory.

Divider by @cafekitsune

And as always so much love for my magical sluts at the Juice Collective! @basicoccult @imalrightllama @legendary-pink-dot @pink-whiskey-woman @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207

“You’ve been over at that guy’s house almost every day last week,” Alex said through the Bluetooth speaker in your car. “What was his name again? The one who lives across the street from El Rey.”  

“Pedro,” you responded with a giggle, thinking about how his thick cock filled you, “I mean he’s a good fuck.” 

“Sounds like it’s getting pretty serious.”

“Eh,” you replied, suddenly feeling almost guilty at having anything negative to say about getting fucked on a regular basis. 

“Uh oh, did your red flag radar go off?” 

“There’s just something a little shady there,” you added as you clicked your tongue against your teeth, “and called me old fashioned, but I like my fuck buddies to be transparent.”

“You mean like Di---,” she started as you took a right turn uphill towards your street.

“Don’t start!” you said, your voice darting out like an arrow. “Hey, I’m almost by my house, I’ll call you later.” 

You ended the call as you turned into the driveway of your beachy bungalow. The bright afternoon sun danced against the rhythmic sway of the shade trees in your front yard. An instant feeling of calm met you once you unlocked and walked through the front door of your home. The mix of the golden light, the warm neutrals of your decor, and your beloved plants placed with intention alongside windows and in the corners of each room all came together as your personal sanctuary. 

Muscle memory led you to your bedroom and your feeling of peace left you with a gasp at the sight before you. 

“Howdy.” 

Dieter greeted you with a low, flirty growl as he affected a Texas drawl. He lay in your king size bed, naked, with his legs sprawled out, a sparkly, silver cowboy hat covered his cock, like a glimmering bow atop a present. His hands were resting behind his head as he looked at you with a libidinous smirk shining through his stubble which had grown longer since last you saw him. As much as you fought against it, you found yourself biting your bottom lip.

“What do you have under that hat, cowboy?” 

Dieter pushed himself up by the elbows, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. The sunlight that floated in through the blinds lit his golden skin with a perfect combination of light and shadow. A heat grew inside you as you marveled at how it defined the obvious muscles that had emerged since you had last seen him. 

Fuck, he’s been working out. 

“Well ma’am,” Dieter continued, his accent was so sweet it was as though he’d dipped his tongue in tupelo honey, “why don’t you mosey on over here and find out?”

It was like he was pulling you into some kind of metaphysical trance as he leaned up one inch more, emphasizing his belly. Though noticeably slimmer, it remained endearingly soft.

With wicked intentionality, he adjusted the shimmering hat and bucked his hips. Every movement he made had your skin tingling from each strand of hair on your head through every inch of your body to your toes. The worst thing about him knowing you so well was that he knew exactly what to do to drive you absolutely insane. And with one more wink and a scrunch of his nose, he beckoned you to him. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” you said, trying to hide your smile. 

“C’mere and I’ll show you just how much of a menace I can be,” he hissed, his tongue taking a small peek from behind his smile.

It was hard for you to imagine who might deny Dieter, knowing that there was an 8-inch cock waiting for you underneath that obnoxiously loud, silver cowboy hat. Whoever that might be, it certainly wasn’t you. 

You had discarded all but your bralette and panties as you began to crawl on the bed towards him. The muscles in his calves were solid and defined, you noticed, as you knelt between his spread legs massaging your hands up their length. The hairs on them tingled with a wave of raised goosebumps at your touch. With one hand you removed the only physical accessory that prevented him from being bare and unfurled for you. 

“You know what they say,” Dieter tempted you with a roll of his tongue, “save a horse, ride a cowboy.” 

A loud, warm laugh echoed from the depths of your belly. Any other man would have been threatened and immediately lost his hard on from your laughter, but not Dieter. You took the hat off his dick placing atop your head as he laughed with you. His chest and belly rumbled, his laugh echoing out wildly and boisterously with yours while his cock still twitched. Reaching for his forearms and pulling him towards you, you interlaced your fingers in his. The smile you wore on your face before you kissed him was so big that your cheeks hurt. 

“Well cowboy, I’m going to ride this cock,” you hushed him as you lowered your lips to his glistening cock, “but first…”

Gripping him first with a gentle hold of your right hand, you pulled back his foreskin and caressed your lips and circled your tongue against the smooth skin of his cock. A gasp escaped him at your initial touch. A smile slowly formed on your lips before you wrapped them around the tip, pressing a broad stroke of your tongue to the center of the head of his cock. His body shuddered with a few strong pulls of him into your mouth.

“Shit, you’re…so good,” he groaned, placing a hand gently to your hair. 

At that motion you moved your lips down the length of his shaft. Your lips savored each ridge and vein as he throbbed against you. You took as much of him as you could into your mouth to the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks to take more of him in, at least, as much you could before finding the perfect rhythm of your lips moving up and down to fuck him with your mouth. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he said with the tiniest whimper. 

A low, muffled moan vibrated from the back of your throat to his cock, making him moan out for you again and again. The feeling of him shaking for you and the way he sighed and moaned in desperation as you sucked him off had a special way of making you want him even more. As you delighted in the taste of him, your pussy clenched as your sex slipped from you to coat your panties. As you massaged his balls, you focused your mouth back to the head of his delectable cock, sucking until he gripped the sheets. 

“Stop, stop---don’t want to come yet!” He groaned through sighs and gasps. “Need to fuck you.” 

“No…,” you purred as you slipped off your panties and pulled your bralette off over your head, “I need to fuck you.”

“Well come on then,” Dieter tempted, scrunching his nose with a playful snarl, “ride it like you stole it.” 

You hadn’t even sunk over him, and your pussy was already pulsing with need. The anticipation coursed through you as you crawled over his defined thighs, feeling the muscles in his quads flex as you lowered yourself onto him with an unrestrained moan. With a slow, deep roll of your hips you began to grind yourself on his cock. With each wave of movement, you felt how hard you kept him and how every controlled gesticulation you made stirred the most intense delight in your folds. Your sex glided from your pussy onto his cock as you swayed your hips into him faster and faster. He clutched at the pillow beneath his head, bouncing his hips up for you as you rode him. His herculean hands reached for your waist, massaging your hips as you continued to bounce on him, feeling every inch as he thrust up into you. The head of his cock hit you in the most exquisite way, leaving you shuddering against his hips. Your approaching climax began to light up nearly every nerve in your body like a switchboard. His hands journeyed to your breasts, grasping them, kneading them until his fingers found your nipples to pinch and flick at them like the strings on a fiddle. 

“Ahh, Dieter, fuck!” you cried, your nipples tingling at his touch.

Holding the silver cowboy hat to your head with one hand, you leaned back against his left thigh until you began to gently massage his balls with the other. A long, low moan left his pouty lips, and he gave one strong thrust upwards, making you yelp out in ecstasy. As Dieter propped himself up towards you, you leaned forward to grind your pelvis into the base of his cock. Every nerve ending in your clit simmered with electricity from the motion. Perspiration glistened over your skin as you began rocking into one another. You knew each other’s bodies so well that you moved in unison. With them, you created the perfect rhythm until your hearts raced faster and faster and your breaths became ragged at your approaching climax. 

“Shit---I’m---I’m gonna come this way,” he moaned, his hips thrust deeper into you as you continued to grind onto him. 

“Me too!” Your words came out like a blur as you felt the perfection of your pussy starting to quake around his cock.

His pace was unbridled and rough as he began to lose himself in you, his large hands gripping your ass. The way your pussy vibrated against him sent waves of pleasure that rippled over every inch of your body until you felt them all the way to your head while you cried out his name in exaltation. 

The cowboy hat fell from your head as he gave you one, last powerful thrust. He stilled and then emptied himself into you, letting out a raspy moan that melted into ardent whimpers. For a few moments you let your breath come down to a natural pace while you held each other in ethereal bliss. Your lips pressed against his forehead as he nuzzled against you, his lips and nose kissing and caressing your neck and shoulders.

Both of you sighed as you climbed off him to collapse next to him in bed.

“Jesus, that was amazing!” You exclaimed as you kissed him. 

Your fingers played with the brim of the glittery cowboy hat before looking up at him to see the goofiest, post-coital grin spreading onto his handsome face. 

“I’m taking it, you got this on set as a joke?” you asked in reference to the Western movie he’d been away filming. 

Dieter confirmed it with a nod, unable to get rid of the smile beneath his mustache. Rolling over to his side, he propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes traversed the curves of your body followed closely by his fingers. The caress so soon after your orgasm sent shivers straight to your still throbbing pussy. 

“Just think, now you can tell everyone you’ve rode a stallion and a cowboy.” 

His cheeks were rosy and tight with stifled laughter. You rolled your eyes as you turned to face him, shaking your head with a low chuckle. Everything in that perfect moment - the silly cowboy hat, the bad jokes, and goofy smiles were so classically Dieter. 

“You’re a dork,” you teased, pressing a small peck to his aquiline nose. “Welcome home.”