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[pedro-pascal-love]

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I Don't Want To Miss A Thing

Chapter Eleven of Blast From The Past

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Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: Din spends some time with Dinah, and she gets to know him a little more.

Warnings: ANGST angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Song: I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing by Aerosmith

Author's Note: Wow, it’s been a longggggggg time since I’ve posted an update. Life has gotten pretty crazy for me lately, and I’m sure you’ve been waiting for an update to this story for a while! Don’t worry, I haven’t abandoned this fic!

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Din’s POV

After his conversation with you, Din was lost and unsure what to do.

He had told you the truth of why he had left.

He had apologized.

And he had shown you his face, yet it was not enough.

Din knew that it would take time for you to come to terms with everything. After all, you had every right to be upset with him. But how long that would last was a different matter entirely.

Start small, he thought to himself. Din resolved to start with little things, gifts to show you that he was serious about staying and winning your affection back.

Maybe find a way to spend some time with her and Dinah.

He scrounged through his brain to remember the little things you liked, and he smiled at one of the first memories he had regarding your interests.

―FLASHBACK―

Din had been off tracking his latest quarry but had no luck that day, and he begrudgingly made the trek back to the Crest. As he lowered the ramp, he spotted you polishing his pulse rifle, and he felt a warmth bubble in his chest. He liked the way you looked at handling his weapon, and he inwardly chuckled at himself at his statement, and he willed his mind to crawl out of the gutter.

“No luck?” you spoke, and he felt your eyes trail after him as he began to climb the ladder to the cockpit.

“No,” he replied, slightly grumpy at the lack of progress with the bounty.

“I’m sure you’ll find them soon,” you reassured him, following him up the ladder. He took a seat in the passenger’s chair, thankful that you knew how to pilot the Crest, as he wanted a few moments to decompress as much as possible, although your presence sometimes made that difficult. He knew he had budding feelings for you but knew he would never act on them, though that did not prevent his mind from wandering. As you took a seat in the pilot’s chair, you looked at him questioningly, and he motioned for you to go to a different location on the planet. You nodded and quickly began to guide the Crest to another part of the sphere, and as the ship flew over a waterfall, Din heard you let out a sigh.

“What is it?” he inquired, curious at your reaction to the sight of the waterfall.

“Nothing,” came your reply, and he saw through your attempt at sounding nonchalant. He hummed in response, waiting for you to continue just like he knew you would.

“I just,” you spoke, pausing to release a sigh, “I used to draw as a child back on Corellia.” Your words caught Din off guard, and he looked at you through his visor, wanting to hear more.

“Whenever I had a chance, I could scribble down the image of a waterfall, sometimes imagining that I was sitting at the edge of a lake and just watching the water ripple over each other.” Din saw the faraway look in your eyes and closed his eyes, picturing the waterfall you had just flown over, a soft smile gracing his lips as he listened to your voice.

She wants to draw waterfalls and probably sunsets.

Interesting.

The sweet melody of your words gently pulled him to sleep, and he was shortly pulled into a light slumber before he could hear the rest of what you were saying.

―END FLASHBACK―

Din’s lip quirked as the memory, recalling how your eyes sparkled every time you would speak of waterfalls or sunsets, shamelessly telling him of your dream to sit on the shore of a lake and capture the beauty of the world around you. The thought of giving you what you had dreamed of came to him, and he instantly knew what his first gift to you would be.

A sketchbook.

Tracking down a vendor that sold sketchbooks was not a simple task, but Din managed to find one. He had taken his time studying the unique designs on each cover until one caught his eye. A leather-bound sketchpad sat on the corner of a table, an elaborate pattern of a forest and flowers on the front cover and a waterfall flowing into a lake on the back.

It’s perfect.

He hastily bought the sketchbook and several other items and made his way back to his ship. Once aboard the vessel, he took a seat in the cargo hold and began to write a list of other gifts to give you before composing a note to include with the sketchpad. Din sat and thought long and hard about what to say, wanting to make it as heartfelt as possible. After a few moments, he finally put pen to paper and began to scribble down his love letter.

That should be enough, he thought, looking down at his handiwork. Din started to assemble the present, gently slipping his note inside the book and placing both into a box with a small sigh.

Now the question is, when do I give it to her?

―THREE DAYS LATER―

Three days came and went when Din finally decided to drop off the first of several gifts to you. Just as the hues of the sun began to peek over the horizon, he found himself awkwardly standing at your doorstep, clad in his armor, box in hand. He could hear you getting Dinah ready for the day, your voice sleepily ringing throughout your home, and a small smile crept onto his face.

It’s now or never.

Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and made to knock on your door but stopped.

Kriff, should I hand it to her or just leave it here?

No, she would probably throw it at me if I gave it to her.

Din let out a sigh, set the package down, and straightened himself back up. He stared at your door for another moment, contemplating if he was making a huge mistake, but then made up his mind and softly knocked. Not wanting to risk the chance of you opening the door to find him still positioned there, he quickly walked away and posted himself far enough away to see you but hidden from your sight. He watched the entrance slide open and his breath caught in his throat as you appeared and spotted his gift on the ground. Din’s heart loudly beat in his chest at the way your hair swept across your face with the light breeze, and your eyes darted around the street, trying to find the source of the mysterious package outside your home. He patiently waited for you to pick up the box and retreat inside before making his exit, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t throw it into the trash.

That would make tomorrow’s peace offering completely useless.

As Din walked through the town, a vendor stand caught his attention, and he changed course for it. He studied the assortment of objects and, after some deliberation, decided on one in particular. Din bought the new surprise and continued on his way through the village, stopping by now and then to buy supplies and a few more gifts he knew you would appreciate. At least he hoped you would appreciate them.

This next week is going to be a busy one.

He dropped off a brand-new set of colored pencils and charcoal the next day and a bouquet the day after that. However, this time he included a gift for Dinah, a plushie of a porg, with a floral arrangement. His heart warmed as he imagined her reaction to seeing the new toy, and he wanted nothing more than to be there to witness it.

Maybe someday.

The day after the flowers and plushie, he left a bag of apples and oranges, chuckling to himself, knowing there was no way in you would toss your favorite fruits away. The day after that, a package of your favorite sweets. Din always included a note with each gift, and he made sure to mention a memory or the reasoning behind the gift.

Several days after leaving you the candy, he was making his way through the market when he felt a tug on his glove. He gazed down and saw his daughter standing next to him, shyly clutching the tip of his gloved finger.

“Hello, little one,” he greeted, and Dinah grinned.

“Hi, Din!”

“What are you doing out and about?” he asked, crouching down to her level.

“I was looking for you,” she exclaimed but suddenly turned shy. “I wanted to say thank you for the plushie.”

“You’re welcome,” he kindly spoke, his tone laced with a smile.

“Why are you wearing your armor?” she inquired, tilting her head in curiosity.

Blunt and to the point.

As always.

“I have a few jobs to do, and it’s safer if I wear it,” he answered.

“A job? Like catching bad guys?”

“Not quite,” he said with a chuckle. “Just keeping an eye on some people.”

It’s not exactly a lie.

In reality, Din had felt uneasy the last few days, as if someone were watching him, so he had decided to don his armor again, ensuring his helmet sat securely on his head every time he left his ship.

“Oh, okay,” Dinah acknowledged, eyes cast downward. “I was wondering….”

“Yes?”

“Um – would I – um – do you – um – could I spend the day with you?” The little girl shuffled her feet nervously, unsure how the man would respond to such a request. Din was surprised at her question and did not know how to answer it.

Does she know who I am to her?

“Is your mother alright with that?” he finally asked, not wanting to give you yet another reason to hate him.

“Mhm!” Dinah stated, arms now behind her back as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Of course, it was a blatant lie, but Din did not want to cause any more strife between the two of you.

I’ll bring her by in a bit.

“Well then,” he began, “I don’t see why not. What would you like to do?” Din watched in amusement as his daughter twisted her mouth here and there.

“Um – I – I want to know about your adventures!” she finally proclaimed. Din raised his eyebrows beneath the helmet, not expecting that.

“Uh – sure,” he responded as he stood up. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. What do you think?” She nodded and laced her tiny fingers with his, and Din’s throat grew tight.

Was this what things could be like one day?

The two of them navigated through the streets toward his ship, and once they arrived, Dinah’s eyes grew wide with awe.

“Is this yours?!” she excitedly asked, releasing his hand, and running up the now open ramp. He trailed behind her with a chuckle and nodded.

“It sure is.”

“Wow. We have one too, but it doesn’t look like this!” Din leaned against the wall, eyes following her little figure as she walked around and examined every detail of the small cargo hold. It was a sight to behold, one that he committed to memory in case he did not get another opportunity to spend time with his child.

My daughter.

Dinah continued to scurry around the ship, taking everything in as Din took a seat on a box.

“It’s so pretty,” she said, taking a seat beside him. Then, after a moment, she pointed to something in the corner. “What’s that?”

“What?” he asked, looking to where she pointed. “That’s the refresher.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed that it wasn’t anything interesting. As she looked at Din, she noticed the assortment of weapons he carried and stretched out a hand to poke his blaster. Din flinched at the action, unsure how he felt about his daughter touching something so dangerous.

“I don’t think you should be touching that,” he spoke. “It’s dangerous.” Dinah giggled and withdrew her hand.

“Mommy has a big one like this,” she retorted, rolling her eyes, “And I’ve seen her use it.” Din sighed at her statement.

For a six-year-old, she sure is sassy.

“Well, you should still be careful, little one,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Okay,” she answered, looking around the ship some more. It was silent for a moment before she spoke again. “So, you do you catch bad guys and send them to jail?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you catch bad guys, right?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do with them?”

“I – uh – I take them to – well, I guess you could say that I take them to a jail of sorts.”

“That’s so cool!” Din awkwardly scratched the back of his neck at her enthusiasm.

“I suppose.”

“What’s that?” Dinah asked, pointing to something else on his waist. He looked down and saw her pointing at the Darksaber.

Of all things to ask about it.

He let out a long breath, composing his thoughts before answering the little girl’s question.

“It’s – um – it’s called a Darksaber,” he responded.

“Like a lightsaber?”

“Of sorts.”

“Why does it look like that? Aren’t lightsabers supposed to be pretty colors?”

“It’s not a regular one.”

“How come?”

“I’m – I’m not quite sure,” Din said.

“How did you get it?” Din’s eyes widened at her question. He was already uncomfortable talking about his weapons, and the painful memories of the Child came to mind with her inquiry.

“Uh – well,” he began, “I had to rescue someone very important to me.”

“Really?! Like an adventure?!” Dinah exclaimed, eyes teeming with excitement.

“I’m not sure I’d call it that, but sure,” he replied.

“Will you tell me about it?” the little girl pressed, “Momma always tells me stories before bed, and rescues are always so cool!” Din let out a heavy sigh, a quiet hiss breaking the silence as he removed his helmet and nodded at her plea. Within the confines of the ship, Din felt comfortable enough in its absence, especially when in the company of his daughter, who had already seen his face.

“Well, it started when…,” Din began.

―FLASHBACK―

Din stepped off the ship, blaster raised in preparation for an attack as he scanned the hanger for any threats. He stealthily snuck through the quiet halls of the base when he heard voices and hid in the shadows as two stormtroopers ran by.

“We’re heading to the bridge now.” Once they had passed, Din continued to make his way up the corridor until he reached the entrance to the chamber with the Darktroopers but found that the door was already open.

Dank farrik.

He quickly inserted the cylinder that began to override the door and make it shut, but one Darktrooper managed to catch it and throw him back, his body hitting the wall with a thud. Din fired at the machine as it marched toward him, but it was no use. The droid caught his arm, knocking the blaster out of his hand, and lifted him to his feet as it pulled its arm back and punched his helmet. Din shut his eyes in panic, bracing himself for the possible end at the hands of a droid, but as metal met Beskar, he opened his eyes and saw that his helmet had done its job, stopping the impact and protecting his face.

Unfortunately, the armor did nothing to prevent the machine’s relentless assault from pushing his head into the wall, and he yelped in pain as the pipe behind him burst, sending steam out, blocking part of the droid’s view. Din saw his opening and turned on his flamethrower, but it proved ineffective as the droid turned its head and flung him across the hallway. Din looked up, and his eyes widened, seeing the glass windows of the door that stopped the rest of the Darktroopers beginning to crack under the pounding of their fists. Din attempted to reach the lever that would blow the robots into space but was too slow. The droid grabbed his leg and slid him away from the panel across the floor. He tried to get up but was swiftly kicked in the stomach, sending him flying back, and felt the familiar pings of blaster shots landing on his armor.

The whispering birds!

With a flip of his wrist, Din launched little projectiles at the approaching machine before spinning around, gracefully grabbing his Beskar spear and piercing the Darktrooper through its neck. Sparks flew from the robot as it began to shut down, and with a final twist of the spear, Din pulled its head off, its body falling onto the floor with a metallic thud. He hastily walked up to the panel, glancing at the window as the cracks grew, and finally pulled the lever, sending the red-eyed figures into space. He breathed a sigh of relief as he continued down the hallways searching for the Child.

To his luck, it did not take long as he spotted two stormtroopers standing guard in front of a door.

Bingo.

He silently snuck up to the two, hitting one on the arm with his spear before impaling the other through the stomach in one fluid motion. Wasting no time, he placed the first stormtrooper in a hold, wedging the rod against the man’s neck and began to choke him, the soldier’s feet no longer on the ground as he struggled before a loud snap ended his thrashing. Din dropped the body and placed the pointed weapon on his back before opening the door and drawing his blaster. The sight that greeted him made the man abruptly stop, his blood running cold as he saw Moff Gideon threateningly holding a dark, whirring blade over Grogu’s head.

Is that the Darksaber Bo-Katan spoke of?

The Child looked up at Din with a sad coo and slightly lifted his bound hands. Din stepped forward but stopped as Moff Gideon spoke.

“Drop the blaster. Slowly.”

Din narrowed his eyes at the men through his visor as he slowly set it down.

“Now kick it over to me.” Din followed as instructed, the gun sliding across the floor away from him as Moff Gideon watched. “Very nice.”

“Give me the kid,” Din said.

“The kid is just fine where he is,” the Moff responded and waved the blade around Grogu’s head, the foundling turning his head away at the action. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan.”

Din looked on in silence, surprised that the man knew who Bo-Katan was.

“Yes. I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything. Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo.”

Dank farrik, he’s good.

“Where is this going?” Din asked, beginning to grow agitated at the man.

“This is where it’s going. I’m guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me, or more accurately, this,” Gideon answered, holding up the sword. “But I’m not there. And I imagine that they’ve killed everyone on the bridge, being the murderous savages that they are. And now, they’re beginning to panic.”

Din’s gaze drifted to the Child as he cooed and looked down.

“You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne.”

“You keep it. I just want the kid,” Din replied, growing more annoyed with each passing moment.

“Very well,” the Moff said as he pressed a button on the hilt and the blade retracted, “I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood. This Child is extremely gifted and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.”

Din glanced down at the Child, knowing his words were true. Grogu was indeed gifted.

“I see your bond with him,” Moff Gideon spoke, his tone slightly changing, as if the man cared, “Take him, but you will leave my ship immediately, and we will go our separate ways.”

Din approached Grogu and began to pick him up, but the sudden sound of the Darksaber powering up and a blow landing on his jetpack threw him slightly off balance as he turned to shield the Child. The Moff came at him, swipe after swipe, the pings of the sword meeting steel filling the air, as Din held his arms up to block the impact of his assailant’s blade. Din backed away with each hit, drawing Gideon into the hallway and away from Grogu, and spun around the man to escape his reach. Din took a moment and then remembered that he had the spear, drawing it from his back, and prepared himself.

The two men lunged at each other, blade and metal meeting with a clang. Moff Gideon continuously swung the sword at Din, but he blocked each attack and managed to land a kick before throwing an attack of his own. They exchanged several more blows before Din launched his cable at the Moff, wrapping him in the wire that was easily cut through by the Darksaber.

Each strike Gideon tried to land was easily blocked, but Din saw a small opening and used his forearm to stop the next attack before thrusting the spear toward Gideon’s chest. The man caught it, but Din pushed him back, kicking him in the leg and knocking him against the wall. Din went for the kill, charging at the man, but he stopped again. However, this time Gideon made the mistake of pushing the tip away from him and toward the wall, placing it in the perfect position for Din to disarm him. The Darksaber flew across the air and landed with a thud, the blade disappearing with a whiz. With the man now disarmed, Din landed a hit to his face and knocked him down, and as he tried to get up, Din pointed the end of his spear at the man’s neck.

“You’re sparing my life?” Gideon asked with a smirk, “Well, this should be interesting.”

“Get up,” Din commanded, pulling the man to his feet and placing cuffs around his wrists. Knowing the man was too tired to try and escape, Din walked into the room and fetched Grogu, gingerly removing the cuffs and tossing them aside before picking him up and cradling him. Upon exiting the room, Din’s eye fell on the discarded weapon on the other end of the hall, and he strode over to pick it up carefully. Pressing the button to reveal the dark blade as it whooshed to life, he curiously waved the blade around, listening to the gentle hum as it cut through the air. A grunt from the Moff cut off his thoughts, and Din, not wanting to waste any time, nudged the man’s side with his foot.

“Let’s go,” Din commanded. Moff Gideon put up no resistance, and the two began to make their way toward the bridge.

After walking down several corridors, they finally arrived at the blast doors that led to the bridge, and with a final shove to Gideon’s back, the door opened, and the man stumbled through. As they walked in, Bo-Katan greeted them, but she did not look pleased.

“What happened?” the woman asked.

“He brought him in alive, that’s what happened,” Cara answered, greeting the Child tenderly, “And now the New Republic’s gonna have to double the payment.”

“That’s not what she’s talking about,” Moff Gideon cut in, drawing everyone’s attention, “Why don’t you kill him now and take it?”

Not liking what he was implying, Cara pushed the man to the ground, and he grinned as he looked up at Din.

“It’s yours now.”

“What is?” Din questioned.

“The Darksaber. It belongs to you,” came his reply. Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed at the man’s words, and Din turned the weapon off and approached.

“Now,” he said, holding it out for her to take, “it belongs to her.”

“She can’t take it,” the Moff continued with glee at the predicament the woman was facing, “It must be won in battle. In order for her to wield the Darksaber again, she would need to defeat you in combat.”

“I yield,” Din stated, still holding the weapon out to her, “It’s yours.”

“Oh, no,” Gideon chuckled as he stood up to face Din, “It doesn’t work that way. The Darksaber doesn’t have power. The story does. Without that blade, she’s a pretender to the throne.”

“He’s right,” Bo-Katan finally said, conflict shining in her eyes at the desire to take the Darksaber and reclaim her throne and the defeat knowing that she had not earned it.

“Come on, just take it,” Din pushed. The woman looked down at the blade and back at him, but the shrill tone of the alarms cut them off.

―END FLASHBACK―

“So, you got the Darksaber and rescued Grogu, but then the Jedi took him away?” Dinah asked, legs swinging from the excitement of the story.

“Yeah,” Din answered, “He needed to be with his own people.”

“That’s too bad,” she spoke, “But at least you rescued him!”

“Yeah.”

“Would you rescue me if I was kidnapped?” Her words caught him by surprise.

“Of course, little one,” Din replied, “Your mother and I would come to save you no matter where you were.”

“I’m glad,” his daughter replied with a smile, “Mommy can get scary when she’s mad.”

“Yes, she can be,” Din agreed with a chuckle before realizing how much time had passed, “Well, I think it’s about time we get you home, don’t you think?” Dinah hopped off the crate and nodded.

“Thank you for today,” she said with a smile, and Din sent her one in return.

As they walked back to your home, Din could not remove the smile that graced his face. The afternoon he had spent with his daughter was one that he would cherish, as painful as it was to bring up memories of his foundling. Din had yet to tell her that he was her father and was unsure how to bring that up but knew he would do anything to protect her, just like he had done with Grogu.

  Unknown POV

For weeks they had tried to track down the illusive man, having managed to catch his scent when he arrived on Nevarro, but they had lost him again when they landed on Sacorria. They had scoured the planet for the Mandalorian, but his ship was too common looking to find, and so he disappeared from their radar. However, as luck would have it, after a month of searching for him, they spotted his armor in a busy bazaar. To their surprise, they saw him approach a little girl and they were even more stunned to see him remove his helmet.

Unfortunately, they only saw the back of his head from their vantage point, but it was enough to pique their interest and decide to watch the two more closely. They tailed the man for several days, seeing him go to the same house and leave gifts on the doorstep, further increasing their curiosity, but they knew that they could not directly confront him there, so they decided to focus on the little girl. Clearly, she was important to him if he was willing to remove his helmet around her, and as they observed the armored man interact with the little girl, a plan began to formulate in their mind, a sinister smile spreading across their face as pieces began to fall into place.

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[uuuhshiny]

[bittercoldbrew]

Well, geeze, this got outta hand... I blame @silverwolf319​ for being so kind and encouraging and joining me in the little spoon!Ezra club even though he’s technically a big spoon in this one, but I think it still qualifies. Thank you, darling 💕

In theory this is a follow-up to my earlier Ezra/OC oneshot (which is, in theory, a follow-up to my finished story, To Build Something New), but I think they can be read independently, or in any order you please. Here we’ve got about 5k words of just the softest fluff I think I’ve ever written, Cee and Ezra and his unnamed partner with she/her pronouns, building a blanket fort together when the rain keeps them all up at night. This briefly gets a teensy bit saucier than the other one did, so I’m asking to keep this one 18+ only, please and thanks, friends. No other warnings, just an absurd amount of established relationship sweetness here. Enjoy!

Most nights, she loves the skylight above their bed, loves the view of the vast and glorious expanse of space beyond the meager atmosphere of this dwarf planet that has become so dear to her—loves, too, the occasional brush of willowy branches against the glass from the big tree outside, when the wind is up. After so very many years spent floating through the galaxy aboard slingbacks and freighters, she needs this glimpse of the heavens just as much as she needs the reminder of the solid ground beneath her feet. Even now, more than two years spent as a resident of Aphelia, she still has horrid dreams of hull breaches and micrometeoroids and hairline cracks, and often it helps to wake and watch for lazy clouds drifting by or those familiar leaves or the rare nightbird, proof that there is a sky here, hugging her close to the crust of the planet she’s made her own and promising to never let her be sucked out into the void.

Tonight, however, and the storm it has brought, offer far more proof than she would ever need. The wind howls; branches thrash and snap into the air; rain pelts harsh rhythms against the glass; and the sky is so full up with clouds that she can’t find a single soothing glimmer of any stars beyond.

The man in bed beside her, with his steady breaths and radiant warmth, the gentle weight of his arm across her belly, should be more than comfort enough. Ezra is not often an easy sleeper, but he can be a deep one under the right circumstances, and if she were a sensible woman she'd cuddle up against his chest and let the sweet thrumming of his tender heart lull her back to sleep.

She puts on a good show, she'll admit; but she is not often as sensible as people seem to believe.

Feeling guilty, yet restless, she creeps out from under his loose hold and to the edge of the bed. Light flashes overhead, followed closely by a deep groan of thunder, and she freezes halfway to her feet and glances over her shoulder to make sure it hasn’t woken him. But no, his eyes are still closed, those pretty dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, though a slight frown now creases his brow. He buries his face deeper into the pillow with a soft grumble, and she releases her held breath and stands and creeps around the bed and out into the hall—taking one of the spare blankets with her, of course.

She has some vague thoughts of decaffeinated tea and chocolate bars, maybe a dip into that carton of ripe berries in the refrigeration unit if Ezra hasn’t eaten them all by now, but her weary feet can’t seem to carry her that long way to the kitchen and she all but collapses onto the couch, instead. Ridiculous, she thinks, that she can feel this exhausted and this wired simultaneously. There’s been a stomach bug getting passed around at work, one she’s somehow managed to dodge thus far—both a blessing and a curse, because it’s meant that she’s been picking up extra shifts left and right. Tomorrow—technically today, she confirms after a quick glance at the time—is supposed to be her first day off in a tenday and a half, and she’s been so looking forward to finally having time to unwind and spend with her little family. Given the way her pulse keeps jumping with every crash of lightning and rattle of windows, she’s going to spend the day catching up on lost sleep, instead.

Cursing herself, her anxiety, and the weather—not necessarily in that order—she curls up against the arm of the couch and tucks the blanket under her chin, contents herself to a night spent merely hoping for sleep to come.

The storm is...beautiful, she has to admit, viewed through the front room’s wide windows. Dark as it is, there’s enough sheet lightning to paint the sky in grayish purples and greens, and the ribbons of rain seem to dance in the wind. They do have a DTV in here, but the signal isn’t great even on the clearest of days, and the serials streaming in the overnight public blocks are nothing but trash. The storm, for all its insolence, is likely to be far more entertaining.

She loses track of how long she sits there, knees pulled up to her chest, head resting against the back of the couch, until she hears the low rasp of her name and turns to find Ezra shuffling into the room. His hair is mussed, his chest bare, patched and tattered sleep pants riding tantalizingly low on lean hips; but his eyes are only half-open, hand and attention occupied as he hitches his prosthesis up over the liner that insulates his limb remnant, and seals it into place. There’s a soft hiss, and then a gentle whirr as the delicate machinery twitches synthetic finger and wrist and elbow joints, cycling through its startup flexibility test.

While it’s busy, Ezra rests his left arm on the back of the couch, and leans over to place a slow and sleepy kiss to her lips. “Hey, you,” he sighs.

“Hey, you,” she answers, mouth spreading up into a smile as she lifts a hand to smooth along his jaw. “I’m sorry; did I wake you?”

“Nah, the storm did,” he tells her, and though he’s not the sort of man to lie to her, she’s not entirely sure she believes him. “Mind if I sit with you a while?”

“I’d love that.” Kevva only knows why they’re whispering, with the storm crashing so loudly around them, but it feels right, here in the dark—especially when he comes around and settles in close beside her. She unwinds the blanket and drapes it over them both, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his warmth. He smells a bit like derma-cream, but she’s grown so accustomed to the tangy blend of menthol and citrus that it mostly just smells like home, and she all but melts into him.

“How long you been awake, starlight?” he asks, keeping his voice low and gentle, and she sighs and shakes her head.

“Never fell asleep in the first place. I got up, oh...” She lifts her gaze, checking the time that floats into view, courtesy of her optical implant. “An hour ago, maybe?”

He squeezes her tight, and she can hear the frown in his voice as he asks, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

She kisses his shoulder—there’s a little cream there, too, and it makes her lips tingle for a brief moment. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

He huffs, dipping his head to meet her eyes. “You know you’re more important, babygirl. Besides...” he trails off, lifting an unsubtle eyebrow, “you know how much I love sendin’ you to sleep.”

She snorts a laugh, shakes her head. “You’re a selfless man.”

“I’m just eager to help,” he says, grinning, and she laughs again.

“You’re eager for something, I’ll grant you that.” The grin broadens, his cheek dimpling, and she considers the offer. It’s tempting, that’s for sure—she’s been working so much, hasn’t had much time or energy to indulge in the pleasure he’s always so willing to give her. She’s missed him, missed the sweet words that fall from his lips as he comes undone for her, missed the way he fills her just right, as though his body was made for hers, and hers for his.

But the idea of just the walk from the couch to the bedroom seems a little insurmountable right now, even for such a delectable reward. She doesn’t think her body can get any more exhausted than it already is, with or without his best efforts, and sleep hasn’t blessed her yet; and he’d put his arm on which means he’d expected to be awake for a while, hadn’t really planned on taking her back to bed so soon. With a sigh, she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and shakes her head softly. “Thank you...but I think I’d just like to listen to the rain a little longer.”

He nods, hugging her close and resting his cheek against her hair. “That sounds just fine to me.”

Ezra gives her so many reasons to love him, and this is no exception—how willing he is to set aside his own desires for hers, how he always seems to know when she wants to be wooed and persuaded into bed versus when she just wants to be close to him without interference, even of the pleasurable kind.

She’s never been as skilled with words as he is, has no idea how to really verbalize such a feeling, but she breathes against his neck, “I love you so much, Ez,” and hopes it might suffice, for now.

He rubs her back, presses a kiss to the top of her head, murmurs, “I love you too, baby,” into her hair, his soft voice full of so much tenderness that she thinks he understands everything she’s ever left unsaid.

A boom of thunder splits the night, so close it seems to happen before the blinding flash, and they both jump. Ezra pulls away, squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna...go check that out,” he tells her, and she nods as he heaves himself to his feet and crosses the room to peer through the window.

She twists around to try and watch as he moves away from the glass and heads into the kitchen, beyond her view. An instant later, she hears the back door slide open, a strong draft and sharp whistle of wind blowing into the house before it closes again. “Ezra?” she calls, but there’s no response, so she assumes he’s gone outside to investigate, and waits with bated breath for him to return.

A minute later, he does, with another rush of wind; then he comes striding back around the corner, rubbing at his wet hair with a dish towel and looking far more awake and alert than he had before. “Looks like there’s a tree down in the back,” he announces, shaking his head. “Not one of ours, though, and I didn’t see a lick of flame. Too wet out there, I reckon.”

She puffs out a breath, and nods her head. “That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hm,” he agrees, dragging the towel over his face and down his neck and across his broad, glistening chest. Her hands suddenly itch to grab the towel from him and finish the job herself (possibly with her tongue, perhaps, fuck the towel, why do they even have towels?), the sight of him enough to cause her mind and libido to make a stark course correction from where she’d just said she wanted this night to lead, and she opens her mouth to make those intentions clear.

Before she can, another voice speaks up. “Did you guys hear that?”

Twisting back the other way, she turns and spots Cee stepping into the room, one hand rubbing at her tired eyes, the other holding her beloved plush Puzu doll against her stomach. “Aww, not you, too,” she calls, propping her chin on the back of the couch and offering the girl a sympathetic smile.

“We didn’t wake you, did we, little bird?” Ezra asks, slinging the towel over his shoulder with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Pretty sure it was the sky exploding that did it,” the teenager says dryly, shaking her head. “Planets are weird.”

“They are indeed,” he agrees, glancing from his daughter to his partner with a broad grin. Of the three of them, she is the de facto expert on planets, having resided on one for the longest and most recent stretch of time—but that was almost twenty years ago, now, so she isn’t entirely convinced it should count.

Shaking her head, she hauls herself up off the couch and stretches her arms up above her head, feeling something pop along her spine. “Well,” she sighs, turning to face them with her hands on her hips. “Why don’t I make us some cocoa, then, before we lose power or something?”

They both seem thrilled by the prospect, and she makes her way into the kitchen with a smile, taking only a slight detour to trail her fingers along the cooled, damp skin of Ezra’s back as she passes him by. There will be opportunity enough, later, for her hands to have their fill of him. They might all end up sleeping the day away after this storm finally passes, so for now she’s going to make the most of this time to spend with them.

Her hot chocolate recipe, perfected over the course of many years of sleepless nights, has become something of a ritual now that she has these two beloved people to make it for; she falls into it without conscious thought, toasting cardamom pods and a cinnamon stick in the saucepan before adding milk, then chopping up a bar of the good chocolate to stir in once it’s warm enough. The storm still rages loudly, and she can only just make out the cadence and timbre of Cee’s and Ezra’s voices as they discuss something in the other room, and she lets the sounds wash over her as she grabs a foil-wrapped parcel of popcorn and sets it on the other burner to pop, marveling at how surreal yet mundane it feels, to have a family—something she’d never even dreamed of for herself, before she met these two.

She’s poking around in the pantry, checking to see if there are any other tasty treats to munch on, when the sound of heavy furniture creaking along the floor—and their resulting laughter—reaches her ears and makes her question all those warm and fuzzy feelings. She leans back, trying to catch sight of what’s going on over there, and calls, “What’re you two up to?”

“Nothin’!” Ezra answers, far too quickly for her comfort, and she frowns and takes a step that way.

But then Cee calls back, “It’s a surprise! No peeking!”

“Fine! Fine,” she mutters, shaking her head but turning back. She’s pretty sure, now, what they’re doing, but resolves not to interfere in the creative process unless they ask for it.

Besides, she has snacks to prepare.

She whips up a few peanut butter sandwiches, crusts on and sliced into triangles, in case anyone’s really hungry—they’ll make for a quick lunch tomorrow, if not—and grabs the last few handfuls of berries out of the fridge as well. Tossing one into her mouth, the sweet, sharp juice bursts along her tongue as she dumps the popcorn into a big bowl and pointedly ignores the sounds of bedroom doors opening and something heavy being dragged down the hall. She fills the kettle with water and heats that, too, just in case they do lose power tonight and someone decides they want tea or something before it comes back; with a couple towels draped on top, it should stay warm enough until morning.

The milk is ready, so she scoops out the spices and whisks in the chocolate and ladles up three mugs, then arranges them and all the food into one of the fruit crates Ez brings home from Kikur, and calls, “Can I come in yet?”

“Just—hang on a tick,” he grunts, and she can hear a bit of scuffling. Then, Cee’s voice, “Okay, it’s ready!”

Already smiling, she hefts up the crate and heads over to see what they’ve made of the front room.

The coffee table has disappeared entirely; the couch has been moved back against the wall, its seats and pillows removed to serve as cushions atop Cee’s mattress, relocated from her bedroom to the floor. The floor lamp was taken from its usual corner to stand at the foot of the mattress, and two big bedsheets have been clothespinned together and draped over its lampshade and tucked behind the back of the couch, forming a canopy to cover their heads while still giving them a view of the windows and the rain beyond.

Ezra has changed into a dry pair of sweatpants and one of the soft sweaters she tends to steal from his wardrobe when he’s away. He clicks on the lamp, bathing the space inside in a warm, cloth-dampened glow; then he takes a step back and surveys their work with his hands on his hips and a serious expression, as though it were something far more architecturally complex than a cozy blanket fort. “You know, I think this is our best one yet.”

She sets the crate down gently, careful not to spill anything, and crosses her arms with an appraising air. “You know, I think you might be right...” she says, nodding her head slowly. “We better get in it, just to be sure.”

Laughing, Cee tosses her stuffed animal inside and clambers in first. She follows after the girl, settling in among the soft cushions and warm blankets with a sigh, amazed at how well the lightweight sheets muffle the harsh noise of the raging storm.

Ezra doesn’t join them just yet, instead crouching down to investigate the contents of the crate. “What is all this, starlight?” he asks, lifting up and passing over the mugs of chocolate and bowl of popcorn. “You made us a feast.”

“Just some snacks, to tide us over. Hey, no, you give that to us,” she reprimands, seeing him prying open the carton of berries. “Don’t even think about it.”

The man is a berry-eating fiend, just inhales the things like some sort of confused anteater gone frugivore. If she takes her eyes off him for one second with that carton in his possession, they’ll all be gone before she and Cee ever get a chance.

Even with her staring him down, he pops three into his mouth at once; but then he does, begrudgingly, hand the rest over, so she allows this transgression and snatches them up and passes the carton into Cee’s hands for safekeeping.

“You’re so mean to me,” he grumbles, even as he rests the plate of sandwiches she made on top of the mattress and stuffs one wedge into his mouth, finally moving past the lamp and under the canopy to settle against the cushions beside her.

“You need to learn how to share,” she scolds, taking the bitten-off piece of sandwich from his mouth and biting into it herself.

“Ew, no,” Cee groans. “If you two are gonna be gross, you’ll be banished from the fort.”

"Sorry, boss," she tells her, genuinely chastened.

Ezra nods his head, settling his expression into something solemn. "She's harsh, but fair."

Then, in a flash, he snatches back the last corner of bread and peanut butter and shoves it in his mouth, shattering the moment and sending them all into fits of laughter, too giddy from the lateness of the hour and the lack of sleep and the spontaneity of finding themselves all huddled together like this to ever be able (or willing) to reign in their shared mirth.

They giggle and tease each other and snack, mouths going sticky with peanut butter and chocolate, fingertips smeared with butter and salt and berry juice, even as the wind howls and the rain beats down on the roof. Here, under their makeshift tent, the three of them are warm and content and safe, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy to have found herself unable to fall asleep.

Cee is not often very physically affectionate, but she turns into a real cuddlebug when tired, and tonight is no exception. The older woman wraps her arms around the teenager’s shoulders and hugs her close, the Puzu plush tucked between them.

Beside her, Ezra tosses the last of the berries into his mouth and heaves a slow, satisfied sigh. “Did I ever tell you two about the time I met a ghost? Was a night just like this one.”

The girls look at each other, sharing matching dubious glances. “No, you haven’t,” Cee says, voice dry as bone. “And no, you definitely didn’t.”

“Swear it on my good arm!” he proclaims, laying his prosthetic hand over his heart, and it is utterly impossible to tell if the expression on his face is genuine or not. “Even know whose specter it was; I described his face to my crew after they found me, and one of the old timers said, ‘Why, that was Long Richard Johnson!’”

His captive audience squawk similar, wordless sounds of protest—she’s certain there’s never been such a man with such a name, let alone a spirit of the same.

But Ezra’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to gape at them. “What? You never heard the legend of Ol’ Long Dick?”

“Stop,” Cee groans, tossing a handful of popcorn at his face, but he shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face as he really starts to delve into the role of storyteller.

“No, no, I’m not— This is not just a me thing, this an honest-to-Kevva prospector’s legend. He was one of the greats, the first independent contractor to ever set foot on the Green.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, still disbelieving, but resting her cheek atop Cee’s head to listen. With or without any kernel of truth, this is bound to be an interesting tale, at least.

“I mean it! He was the first to reject allegiance to any of the corps; and they let ‘im, too, because no one else, before or since, could suss out those gems like he could. He was a master of the Green Moon; they say he was the first to locate the Queen’s Lair, but he refused to mark it on any map or tell anyone where it was, knew the corps were too greedy and bloodthirsty to ever be trusted with such knowledge. They say he hired a private ship to sneak him out there without their purview, determined to harvest it all his own self, but there was some engine trouble and he never did make it. They say he’s buried up at the top of the Green’s highest peak, with a headstone that reads, ‘Here lies Long Dick Johnson, who earned every inch of his name’.”

“You’re a menace,” she gasps, pelting him with more popcorn, because she’d almost started believing him until that last bit.

But he only laughs and shakes his head, plucking popcorn out of his own hair and tossing it in his mouth. “I’m only relaying what I myself have been told, any deviations from the truth are someone else’s doing.”

“And this ‘ghost’ you saw?” Cee asks, making exaggerated air quotes with a skeptical look on her face.

“Ah, now, that is my tale to tell.” He leans in and props his chin in his hand, voice lowering to a whisper as he begins, “It was a night just like this one...”

He weaves a tapestry with his words, painting a picture for them of himself as a (somewhat) fresher-faced kip, new to the moon above Bakhroma, having contracted out his able body and his rundown ship to a crew of grizzled prospectors, in exchange for training on how to harvest the dazzling gems and a reasonable cut of their earnings. All had gone accordingly, until they found themselves caught in one of the moon’s rare, but devastating, rainstorms, and had to stay cooped up inside the ship, unable to harvest and unable to relocate lest the ship get struck by lightning midair and leave them stranded there permanently. So instead he spent his days learning complicated board games with made-up rules using bits and pieces of supplies they had lying around, letting his ears be filled with raucous stories of days and prospectors gone by.

And then, late one night, he’d been shaken awake by a man he’d thought to be one of the crew, dragged from his bunk and shuffled into his suit and helmet and filter and pack. He’d only briefly tried to hesitate, to wake the others, but the man had grabbed him and growled, “There’s no time, boy—move, or you’ll miss it.” So, only half awake and unable to think straight, he’d obeyed without question and followed him out the airlock.

He had stumbled in the dark, in the mud, in the rain and wind, still relatively new to this and unaccustomed to the bulky suit, and by the time he realized that the only reason he could follow at all was because the man leading him was glowing—luminous and stark and visible even through the sheeting rain and dust and muck that clouded his helmet—they were too far from the ship for him to ever have any hope of making it back on his own. He’d had no choice but to plod along after the ghost, for hours, maybe, until finally the figure stopped and pointed at his feet and commanded, “Dig.”

And then, without a whole lotta options otherwise, he had obeyed.

Eventually, the storm passed, and the light dawned, and his crew must’ve noticed his empty bunk and followed the single track of stumbling footprints until they found him where he’d fallen asleep in the shallow gouge he’d carved in the dirt, still clutching his shovel.

They accused him of sleepwalking, of cabin fever, of dipping into the good hooch behind their backs—all without malice, really, but certainly refusing to believe any claim of spectral visions. At least, that was, until one of the men looked down, and realized that the thing at his feet wasn’t, in fact, a large clump of dirt, but an aurelac root nodule the size of a small child.

“To this day, that was my finest single harvest,” he admits, shaking his head slowly. “The crew gave me a heartier cut than promised, and still all had enough to retire off of. Not me, though; from that day on, I was hooked. Sunk my savings in a newer ship and sought out another crew and kept goin’ back, always hoping to see him again, to pull another fabled haul.”

She nods her head, unsure of what she could possibly have to say to that, but she can so vividly imagine how such an experience would inspire a man like him, would spur him on to the sort of life he’s led. So she says nothing, simply lays a hand against his cheek, letting the edge of her thumb rest in the dimple that creases his cheek as he blinks and tears his gaze away from the past to smile at her instead.

He turns his head, presses his lips to her palm with a sweet kiss, and nods toward the teenager resting against her shoulder. “How long’s she been out?”

“Hm?” she asks, surprised, and looks down to find that he’s right, that the girl’s eyes are firmly closed, her chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. “Oh,” she whispers, scared to wake her, “I didn’t even notice.”

His breathy laugh is quiet, a chuckle kept mostly inside his chest, and he nods his head and says, “Let’s not wake her. She can sleep out here, don’t you think?”

“I—” she tries, but the words are stifled by a deep yawn that causes tears to prick at the corners of her eyes; she brushes them away, offers him a sheepish smile. “I think I might join her.”

His grin is brilliant as he nods again, leans in for a quick kiss, then pulls back and starts gathering up the empty mugs and half-eaten popcorn and sandwiches. “How about we all stay, hm? I’ll put these away.”

“Here, I can help—” she starts, but he catches her reaching hand in his and shakes his head.

“I got it, baby. You stay here with her, yeah? I’ll be back soon.”

She nods, rubbing at her eye again, the exhaustion of the past two weeks finally catching up with her. “You promise?”

Ezra kisses her again, warm, soft lips lingering in a way that steals her breath away, leaves her lightheaded and a little dazed when he pulls back and whispers, “I promise.”

She settles deeper into the cushions as he quietly gathers up the dishes and food and the few errant popcorn kernels they’d thrown at him, and slips out from the blanket fort. It’s immediately colder in there without his warmth, emptier without his familiar weight beside her, and she hugs Cee a little tighter as she listens to the fridge opening and closing, the faucet turning on and off, his footsteps drawing near then moving past and away down the hall to the bedroom. Above it all, the sound of the rain against the roof has settled into a steadier, gentler thrum, the booming thunder and frightful wind moving on to rattle someone else’s windows.

When Ezra returns, clicking off the lamp and crawling under the canopy to slide in beside her, he has removed his prosthetic arm—never fond of sleeping with it on—and brought the heavy quilt from atop their bed along with him. She helps him spread it out over all three of them, making sure Cee is tucked in snug while he settles in and wraps his arm around her waist.

He rests his chin on her available shoulder, his whispered words a warm brush of breath on her skin as he asks, “What’d you think of my story?”

“I think it was...effective at making us all sleepy.”

He huffs a laugh, rubs his nose against her cheek. “Alright, sure, but did you believe it?”

She grins in the dark, even though she knows he can’t see it. “I believe that you believe it,” she allows.

His lips, pressing against her skin, curl up into a smile, and the warmth of it works its way deep into her heart and radiates from there to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. His hand slips beneath her shirt, palm spreading along her belly—not teasing, not suggesting anything more than a blatant desire to touch as much of her as he can. “That’s more than enough for me,” he sighs, achingly content.

She nods her head in agreement; and in these last few instants of consciousness before sleep finally claims her, she thinks that this moment, snuggled close between the two best people in the known universe, safe and warm from any storm, is more than enough for her, too.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Ok so I just got caught up on “What’s the Use of Wonderin’” and I’ve had a lot of favorite parts up until the point, but oh my dog, chapters 26 & 27 have to be my favorites to date. Not just parts of the chapters, but the whole darn enchilada. The way you’ve written Javi has just allowed the story to naturally progress to these moment between him & Abejita and it was just so masterfully done. I’m in awe of your writing.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Javi’s head when he unpacked the sunflower and made the decision to keep it in his desk? And how he felt about Abejita finding it? His comment about Abejita being able to have sunflowers on their desk? All I could of was Abejita coming into the office one morning and finding a vase of them already waiting there. And don’t get me started on the bee magnet.

I’m so in love with this story. Thank you for blessing us with it💗💗

omggggg thank you thank you thank you thank you

So I actually wrote a very very very long post about Javier and that sunflower and you can find it here! Thank you so much for reading 🥰🥰🥰

[highsviolets]

World you rather write a “there’s only one bed” trope fic or a “fuck or does” trope fic?

Thank you for the ask!

Hm....while I love reading sex pollen and the like, I’m much more likely to write “there was only one bed.” Something about the subtle shift (or...not so subtle) in the relationship that occurs when that happens is so fun to me 🥰

[ohnopoe]

Jack Daniels + taste

It’s queued! Thanks!

[brandyllyn]

Taglist

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This Time

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader [no use of y/n. 3POV]

Sequel to Next Time - but I think it works as a stand alone

Words: 2.8k

My Masterlist

Rated: Teen. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt, Jack frowned at his reflection in the Bronco’s side mirror. The material was a soft grey, short-sleeved with pearl snap buttons. It was one of his favorites, good for a casual day out, having a beer with friends - a utilitarian shirt.

His frown deepened.

Making an effort to look away, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to make the lean against the truck as casual as possible. Wear the same thing as last time, she’d said.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t like surprises, he enjoyed them as much as the next person. He just liked to be informed, that was all. How could he protect people, do his job, if he didn’t have full information?

“Hey Jack.”

Her soft voice startled him out of his musings and he jerked his head up to see her. His mouth froze on his greetings, the words garbling in his throat. 

Lord have mercy, she was wearing jeans. Jeans that looked like they had been painted on her, framing soft thighs and an ass he felt a sudden irresistible urge to bite. She had on a loose blouse with one of those camisoles with the thin straps underneath. 

And she was smiling. At him. 

The beauty of her knocked him on his ass and he completely missed his opportunity to meet her, to walk with her and open the car door like a gentleman. Instead he scrambled inside and flung himself across the bench seat, grabbing at the passenger door handle and giving her a sheepish smile as she slid inside.

“Lord, you’re pretty as a speckled pup.” She raised an eyebrow and he gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

Damn it to hell, how was he messing this up already? Again.

“It is,” he turned the key in the Bronco and set it to drive. 

When she had offered to plan their second date, the old school gentleman in Jack had balked. He’d been raised to believe it was a man’s  job to do the romancing. To plan the outings, pay for dinner, make the moves.

Then again, their first date had gone so poorly he hadn’t objected when she’d offered to plan their second. Only some of it had been his fault, in his defense. He couldn’t have done anything about the tornado. 

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Head into town, then north on New Circle Road”

They chit chatted on the drive into Lexington, a little over an hour with light traffic. Plenty of time for Jack to learn more about her. She wanted a pet, but worried her job at Statesman would interfere. Never been married, although she made passing mention of a proposal that perked his ears. She asked him questions about his hobbies, and then made appropriate follow-up noises of appreciation about the Bronco when he said it was refurbishing older vehicles.

“It’s very shiny,” she smiled and he choked back a laugh. Maybe he should have mentioned his ever so slight obsession with World War II documentaries instead.

She gave no clues to where they were going, nodding slightly when he got off the highway onto Route 4 but aside from that remaining mum. When they turned on to the city streets north of town Jack almost asked but held his tongue. Stadium signs rose to their right as she directed him into a half empty parking lot. Even as they approached the stadium, he didn’t ask the question that bubbled in him.  Not until she handed two construction paper tickets to an older lady and led him inside.

“Baseball?”

“The Lexington Legends,” she chirped back, slipping into the sparse crowd and looking back to see if he followed.

He did, his gait slipping into an easy saunter. Earlier, he’d have laid all his money they were going to a museum for the day. Maybe some kind of art gallery.

“Never figured you for a baseball fan.”

“I’m not really,” she shrugged, eyeing something over his shoulder as she came to a stop. “But this isn’t baseball. It’s minor league baseball.”

“Other than the obvious, what’s the difference?”

“Baseball is about the sport. It’s about winning and all that.” A soft aha noise left her and she grabbed his hand, slipping her fingers between his and dragging him to a vendor. “But minor league is about having fun. It’s a carnival with baseball as an excuse.”

Glancing up at the sign he smiled, “Funnel cake?”

“To start,” she answered with a decisive nod. “After that they have one of those things set up where you hit baseballs and win prizes.”

“A batting cage?” His interest was piqued.

“Yeah, that,” she said distractedly.

He didn’t have her attention. She was practically salivating as she gave her order, not just the cake but deep fried Coca Cola and a lemonade to go with it.

“Shouldn’t be possible to fry a liquid,” Jack mumbled, licking powdered sugar from his fingertips. “But damn if it ain’t good.”

She beamed back at him, reaching up and using her thumb to wipe at the corner of his mustache. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” He managed not to shiver at her touch - barely. “But I have to admit it’s not what I expected.”

“Well,” she turned her back to him, leading him to a nearly empty set of bleachers. “One of the times you were asking me out you mentioned going to the state fair. If I remember right you tried to lure me with fried Oreos.”

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I know you play on the distillery’s softball team so I figured it wouldn’t be the most boring venue.”

Staring at the first baseman, Jack tapped the heel of his boot on the steel bleacher. “That was pretty astute of you.” Ducking her head she concentrated on their food and Jack eyed the field. “You rootin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t even know who the teams are.”

Shutting his eyes for a moment Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me, sugar, that you brought me to a baseball game solely for the food?”

“Well, I brought me solely for the food. But I thought you might like the game.”

“You are…” he searched for the word. Finally he settled on a huff of laughter, sliding the funnel cake from her hands and ignoring her protests. He leaned over and pressed his nose to her shoulder, “… somethin’ else.”

“Is that good?” She asked, one hand snaking over to his lap and the fried strings of dough. He picked one up instead, straightening and holding it out to her.

“Is to me.”

The Legends were playing a good game - relying a bit too much on a strong pitcher in Jack’s opinion, half the team couldn’t bat for shit - but he didn’t protest when his companion tugged on his arm in the third inning with a pleading look in her eye. 

“Pickles?”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Fried?”

 “Of course.”

“Lead the way.”

It was probably coincidence that the vendor was right next to the batting cage. And Jack couldn’t resist those pretty eyes when she bit her lip and glanced over at the stuffed animals hanging from the fence.

“Want me to win you one, sugar?”

“You think you can?” she asked with a tease on her voice.

He hummed an affirmative, rolling his shoulder under his shirt. It ached sometimes after the distillery league games, but it had been fine lately, certainly fine enough to knock out a couple homers and get the purple dog looking thing she was staring at.

“What do I get?”

She tapped her lip thoughtfully at the question. “Third date?”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling out a five and handing it to the guy without preamble. Her giggle followed him and he gave the bat a trial swing before setting his stance. 

Crack.

The first ball was a foul, sailing almost straight up and into the tarp. Jack jumped back to avoid being brained and grunted. He’d gotten used to the underhand throws of the softball league. He’d need to re-evaluate.

Whiff.

Fuck, he hadn’t even touched the second. He felt the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and took a swing at the third. It felt solid as it connected, a low hit midway down the far tarp. A solid hit in a real game, but not enough to read as a home run in the cage.

He had another five in his hand before the ball stopped rolling “Again.”

Another foul.

And another.

A low drive to a non-existent third baseman.

“Again.”

“Jack,” her voice sounded too soft and he didn’t look at her.

Two hits and a miss, one that should have been a home run but the damn game clocked it as a triple and Jack gritted his teeth against the argument that rose in his throat.

“Jack, come here.”

Shoulders sagging he turned to the fence, taking a step to it and frowning. “Sugar I-“

“A kiss.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Win me the dragon and you get a kiss.”

He blinked again and darted his eyes to the purple stuffed animal. Is that what it was? A dragon?

Wait.

Wait.

A teasing smile pulled the corners of her lips up, a touch of powdered sugar still dusting the lower one. She’d be sweet, he knew that. And soft.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered, thumbing another bill at the kid running the cage. The prize wasn’t worth twenty bucks but that wasn’t the point.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Three home runs, a light and siren going off each time. 

She looked skeptical. “Did you batting cage shark me?”

“Did I what?” he spluttered, pointing at the largest version of the dragon for the worker.

“Batting cage shark, like a pool shark. Pretend to be bad so I’d offer you something?”

“Yes…?” he said slowly, drawling the word out and squinting slightly. It was a better explanation than anything he had. He handed the stuffed animal over, taking the nearly gone pile of fried food from her.

She frowned as she wrapped her arms around the ridiculously large toy. After a moment her face broke into a grin. “Liar.”

“I simply lacked proper motivation.”

Shifting the toy in her embrace she leaned towards him. “Are you going to collect?”

He traced his eyes over her face and settled a hand at the base of her spine. “Later.”

The spluttering sound she made at that warmed his heart.

“I’m assuming we don’t have dinner plans?” Jack asked as he held open the Bronco door for her. He took the dragon from her with one hand, patting her thigh slightly as she buckled in.

“Are you still hungry?” she responded incredulously.

Grinning, he leaned into the back of the truck, setting the plush down and pulling one of the lap belts across it. “Not a bit, I was just checking.” Dragon secured, he slipped into the front seat. “Where next?”

He didn’t expect it to be a bar, a dive bar at that. She was a fancy gal - she’d shown for their first date in a pencil skirt and heels for Christ’s sake. Then again, the last time he’d told her he was going to ‘Show her the town,’ so maybe that was just a miscommunication.

“You dance?” he asked after they got their drinks, leaning in a dark corner a little away from the speakers.

“A little,” she shrugged. “Never had much of a chance to learn.”

“Not interested?”

“Two left feet.” She laughed and he shifted closer. “It’s also a lot to keep track of. Counting, which direction to go…”

“You ever have a good partner?”

Without giving her a chance to answer, Jack swung her into an easy two-step, the live band doing a passable cover of an old George Strait song. She stumbled at first, but he kept a steady hand on her shoulder blade, giving the direction she needed to match his movements.

“Quick, quick, slow slow,” he muttered down to her helpfully and she glared back up at him.

Despite his teasing, she followed him like a dream, letting him guide her in a large circle around the floor. There was no looking behind her, no fighting him. With the gentlest pressure from him she turned slightly, keeping the rhythm and facing forward by his side, their interlinked arms ahead of them. 

“You’re a natural,” he smiled, guiding her into a turn so she was facing him again.

“You’re a good teacher,” she smiled back. He kept an eye on their drinks, making sure no one messed with them, but that only took about 5% of his concentration. The rest he could focus on the woman in his arms. She was settled into his embrace like they’d done this a hundred times before, his fingers spread behind one shoulder while he traced his thumb over her other hand. He knew the song was ending soon and he gave a silent prayer for another two-step.

Instead, a car engine revved and a twangy guitar intro followed. One any cowboy worth his salt would recognize, and he smiled. “Ever line danced?”

A shake of her head and his smile turned into a grin. “I’ll show you.”

It should have been easy, this one was a classic for a reason. A simple grapevine, a toe tap or two, some clapping and a booty shake.

She was hopeless at it.

“No that way,” he huffed, turning her waist with one hand. 

“One, one-two, one, one-two” he tried to help out as she double tapped and looked lost.

The third time she spun into him he gave up, pulling her close. “You weren’t kidding about those two left feet.”

“I told you-“

He shushed with her a turn, swinging her out of the way of the other dancers and back to their waiting drinks. “I thought that was modesty.”

She snorted, stirring her drink with a straw.

He did eventually manage to get her through the electric slide, but they did much better in the partner dances. Jack didn’t mind, any excuse to get his hands on her was welcome. 

It was raining by the time they left, rushing to the Bronco while Jack tried to hold his hat over her head. They were laughing when the doors shut and he did his best to ignore how the water made her blouse stick to her skin.

“Home then?”

A nod and he shifted into gear. He jumped in surprise when her hand slipped into his, drifting up to cradle his forearm when he needed it to change gears. He liked it, even though her fingers were cold, and once they got on the highway he entangled their fingers together and chatted about absolutely nothing.

She was sleepy by the time they got back to the compound, leaning back in her sleep and fighting to keep her eyes open. He shut the truck off, frowning when her hand slipped away after he was forced to let it go.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“You’re not going to claim that kiss?” she asked with a small frown and pout.

“Nah.” With one hand he swept his hat off, turning and settling it in the backseat. “I figure I’ll save it.”

“Save it for what?”

“Third date,” he informed her with a grin. “And my second chance.”

A soft smile came over her face and Jack couldn’t help but press his fingertips to her jaw, rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “But Lord you do make a man think twice about his convictions.”

“Oh do I?” A sly, sultry look replaced the shy one. “Maybe your convictions are in the wrong place.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumb slipping down to trace her lips. “You’re enough to tempt a saint to sin.”

Her laughter warmed him, and his focus was so pinpointed on her smile that he missed that it was moving closer until it was almost a surprise when those smiling lips were pressed to his.

Lord he was right, she was sweet. And soft. Her mouth brushing over his with the barest of pressure. A groan escaped him, one hand clenching in the hair behind her neck. He wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t. But if she wanted to rub that body of hers against his and lick at the seam of his mouth who was he to deny her?

They were both panting when she broke away, and Jack’s jeans were fitting a bit tighter than normal.

“Next Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.” The word choked out of him and he winced. “Don’t make me wait a week to see you again, sugar.”

“Brunch?”

Yeah. Yeah he could do brunch.

“My place?”

In her house? Where her bed was?

Ain’t no way he would survive that.

“How bout we go out somewhere? You got any pretty Sunday dresses?”

The smile she gave him was dazzling, and a little mischievous. “I think I have something.”

Lord have mercy, what had he gotten himself into now?

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Songs from the saloon: George Strait - I Just Wanna Dance With You Brooks and Dunn - Boot Scootin' Boogie

[just-here-for-the-moment]

It’s my 1 year blogiversary today! 💖

I don’t have any fic celebrations or giveaways planned (I’m working on a WIP backlog at the moment), but I did want to make a post just to say “thank you” and “I love you” to some of the incredible mutuals, friends, authors, readers, and artists that I’ve met during my year here.

I have somehow written and posted over 200,000 words of fanfic since I started, made dozens of new friends, screamed incoherently at writers about hundreds of fics, collected 900+ followers (only 800 of which are Russian spambots), made over 7000 posts, beta-read dozens of pieces, and received countless lovely and kind and thoughtful comments on my fics.

Tagged below: my enablers, my unhinged besties, my favorite writers, my lovely readers, my beloved mutuals, and others who have made my time here so great! 💖💖💖

@quica-quica-quica @1800-fight-me @driedgreentomatoes @deadhumourist @writeforfandoms @katareyoudrilling @silverwolf319 @honestly-shite @hopeamarsu @green-socks @justanotherblonde23 @nolanell @javierpinme @yespolkadotkitty @littlepadika-main @babiiface95 @juletheghoul-main @clydesducktape @mswarriorbabe80 @softpedropascal @absurdthirst @ezrasbirdie @starlightmornings @castleamc @whataperfectwasteoftime @axshadows @furious-rogue-stuff @beskarprincessjenny @ellenmunn @mourningbirds1 @silksaddle @eri16 @nicolethered @anaaaispunk @gracie7209 @dihra-vesa @kesskirata @the-queen-of-fools @the-ginger-hedge-witch @pilothusband @greeneyedblondie44 @sherala007 @mandoblowmybackout @toomanystoriessolittletime @prettylilhalforc @wildemaven @bunniesofsteel @missredherring @nobedofroses @boliv-jenta

[lordabovehelpme]

Wait no!!! This gif is perfect!!! Please I’m crying!!! Just pushing our Javi into the bed just to crawl up and smother him in cuddles! 😭😭😭

But thank you for reading and reblogging! It means so much to me. You literally made my little writer heart so happy!

Grounded- Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: After a long tiring day at work, Javier comes back home to you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can hear the door open and close as you stir from your sleep. A deep long sigh echoes through the apartment and you can hear various clothing fall onto the floor.

Peeking one eye open, the harsh red numbers of 3:23 stare back at you. The blanket lifts and a strong body slides in next to yours. Warm hands instantly wrap around you and pull you as close as they can. Like the last piece to a puzzle, your back fits against his chest. Your hand moves to rest over his and idly scratch the golden skin.

“Javi?” Your eyes stay closed as his name falls from your lips.

A kiss is pressed to the back of your head. “Hermosa…”

His voice breaks, overfilled with sadness. His arms squeeze you and once again that deep sigh graces the world. The tone he holds is something you’ve only heard a few times.

“I just need to hold you.”

And so he does.

The harsh smell of smoke from too many cigarettes lingers on his skin. It floods and mixes with the whiskey on his breath. It’s the scent that you’ve come to love. To crave. To need.

Slowly, you turn around in his arms to face him, bringing your hand to reach up and scratch at his scalp. He groans and his hands flex on your back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Keep reading

[yespolkadotkitty]

🥺🌼💕 get to know your mutuals!! when you get this, it means i want to know more about you, so list 5 things about yourself you want your followers to know. they can be as simple as your age or as complex as your deepest fear, as long as it’s something you’re comfortable with sharing. when you’re done, send this to 10 people you want to get to know better 🥺🌼💕 Right back at you my love <3

Friend! <3

******

1. I once high-fived Michael Douglas, for those of you old enough to know who he is.

2. I broke my back when I was 16.

3. If I eat cheese I come out in hives.

4. My first ever publication was a story in Smash Hits! magazine about meeting Nicky From Westlife. I was 14.

5. I got married in the second largest castle in Europe.

No pressure tags: @silverwolf319 @pascalisthepunkest @librariantothejedi @songsformonkeys @skvatnavle @grogusmum

[highsviolets]

Congratulations on completing your thesis! I’m so proud of you!

Thank you so much!!! 🥰🥰🥰

[paisley-print]

Epilogue

After fleeing your abusive husband and changing your name, you find yourself in the small coastal town of July, North Carolina. Soon you meet Frankie Morales, Air Force Veteran and single dad. As the two of you grow closer, you begin to let go of your past and learn to love again. That is until a strange man shows up in town, and you ’re forced to choose between your safety or the safety of the people that you love.

SERIES MASTER LIST

TAG LIST GOOGLE FORM CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED OR TAKEN OFF A LIST.

Rating: 18+

Notes:  THAT’S ALL KIDS!! Thanks!!

Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, PTSD, anxiety, injury, police brutality, alcoholism, homicide, drug use, guns.

NTWE: @reaanddin @kotemorons @kenbechillin @qytyy @abzidabzy @livcamryn @heythere-mel @winter-fox-queen @sherala007 @inkededucatednnerdy @quica-quica-quica @hnt-escape @toomanystoriessolittletime @whataperfectwasteoftime @headinthestarz @casssiopeia  @day-off-inkyoto @librariantothejedi  @dobbyjen @goblinsimp @kiizhikehn-cedar @chook007 @thirddeadlysin @lawfulgranola @thetypewriterimproviser @darnitdraco @quietpainter  @pinkrosethorne  @mummifymecaptain @hellovanessax@notagamersdey @punkremus@hopeamarsu @what-iwish-you-knew @djjarins @hoff-mommy @punkerthanpascal @absurdthirst @i-ship-it-ironically @tobealostwanderer @seececerun @ezzieu2  @littlemissoblivious @lowlights @tintinn16 @withakindheartx @1andthesame @thedeviltohisangel @dihra-vesa @maryfanson @ahsokathearcher @itllpassby​ @ohyeasam​ @athalien​ @silverwolf319​ @pjkimrn​ @a-few-fandoms-too-many​ @mando-amando​ @fictitious-little-stitious​ @elinedjarin​ @deadhumourist​ @i-love-movies​ @mishasminion360​ @mishasminion360​ @the-rambling-nerd​ @sweet-heartbadmouth​  @kissing-stars​ @mylittlesenaar​ @alberta-sunrise​ @zetasaturno99​ @thatpinkshirt​ @voteforpedro09​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @feel-it-on-the-way-home13​ @galaxyofmando​ @kravitzwhore​ @solemnlyswearss​ @gooddaykate​  @sherala007​ @aliwritesfic​ @athalien​ 

The gentle spring breeze sent the smell of flowers down the corridor of the grand marble building. There were hundreds of them, Ben's wife had done an amazing job putting this all together. The ceremony took place in the courtyard of the banquet hall and now you stood watching as people filtered into another room for the cocktail hour. 

Lucy had looked absolutely adorable as the flower girl; the big frilly blue dress appealing to her sense of style. 

You were happy for them, Ben and his wife, but you couldn’t help but feel a little sad as well.It had been a year now but the aftershocks were still strong as ever. You had been seeing a therapist, but you knew a grieving cycle as complex as this one took time. 

David’s death had lifted a huge burden off your shoulders, you didn't even realize just how big until someone came in and told you the news. You cried in the hospital bed, weeped like a child, for hours. Santiago was there, he stayed by your side the whole time, sitting silently and allowing you to move through all these emotions. 

“Champagne for the pretty lady,” a voice said, snapping you out of your daydream.

You turned to see Frankie striding up to you with a glass in hand, looking as handsome as ever in his suit and tie. 

“Aren't you supposed to be taking photos right now” you asked, smiling and allowing him to pass you the champagne flute. 

Frankie had been the one to save your life that day. Even with two bullet wounds, one to the shoulder and the other to the abdomen, he had been the person who fired the shot that brought David down. The surgery took hours, but Frankie managed to pull through and make a really substantial recovery. He had a few minor issues still, but nothing life threatening. 

The story ended up making headline news. Some other evidence of David’s misdoings came out in the weeks after as well. Frankie and the others were never charged with anything related to the incident. You weren't either. The best of all however, was that Summer had gotten her name back. Summer’s family reached out to you via letter, they did not hold any ill will towards you at all. They were glad that their daughters' last doings on this earth was helping a woman in a similar situation. They said they would continue to pray for you, and keep you in their thoughts. 

Frankie looped his arm around your waist and pulled you in. “They don’t need us right now, besides I haven't seen you all day. I wanted to get a good look at you in that dress” he smiled.

You rolled your eyes, setting the flute down the little foyer table next to you then reaching up to adjust his tie.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, lowering his voice a little. 

You let out an amused huff but didn’t look up at him “about the wedding, and how nice it is.”

He nodded, knowing you had more to say. 

“I think” you went on, “maybe we could bring it up next week in couples counseling. I feel like I might be coming around to the idea of marriage again. With you, at least. ….What do you think?” You asked, giving him a little grin as you looked up at him.

“I think that it definitely sounds like something worth bringing up… and I would have to look into the legality of it all, but even if it never happens, as long as I am with you I'm happy.” He leaned forward and gave you a soft kiss. 

Santi’s voice came bellowing through the corridor. “Fish - make out with your girlfriend later we have shit to do.” 

“I’m being summoned” Frankie laughed, “I’m glad you feel that way though.”

You smiled and patted him on the chest “me too, now go, I’ll see you in a bit. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, turning on his heels.

You watched him go, smiling and picking up your glass.  You drew in a slow and steady breath feeling the breeze from outside shuffle the fabric of your dress a little. Lucy’s bright  laughter came floating through the hallway. There was a time in your life where you never thought any of this would be possible, that you would be happy again, but you were… and for that you were so proud. 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Awww. Thank you! I'm so happy I managed to make something worthwhile out of this failed Frankie fic!

Fic: Wicked

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Equalizer 2

Ships: Dave York x you (established cishet relationship, no kids, no mention of marriage but bitch you could be his wifey)

Additions tags/warnings: DaddyDom!Dave, pet names, spanking, sort of half-public sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, PiV sex (unprotected but they're good, don't count on it yourself so wrap it up).

Summary: Dave comes home to find you washing the car dressed in pretty much nothing so of course he has to establish dominance.

Note: This honestly started as a cute Frankie Morales story and then it took an interesting turn and Frankie noped the fuck out of it so I had to try my hand at Dave. So here you have it: my first Dave York fic. Porn it is, plot it has none. (We didn't really get along so I don't know if I'll ever revisit him.)

Dave sees you at a distance as he drives along the suburban residential road towards the house he shares with you.

“Sweet Jesus,” he mutters under his breath as he slows down and hits the turn signal. Coming to a smooth stop behind your car, he checks the rear view mirror and sees the neighbor across the street sitting on their porch with a beer in hand.

Asshole.

He gets out of the car, tie loosened and jacket over his arm, and eyes you as you smile brightly at him. Like you're completely unaware of the fact that you're washing your car in tiny cut-offs and an unwired bikini top, and that half the neighborhood is ogling you.

“Hey baby,” you beam and lift your hand to bring a damp lock of hair behind your ear. You're holding the sponge, and it drips soap onto your chest, a white bubbly smear that slowly runs down between your breasts. His eyes widen a little.

Jesus FUCKING Christ.

“Good day? Did your job fix the AC yet?”

“They did after lunch,” he says dismissively before frowning unapprovingly at you. “And are you aware that you’ve got an audience? Might as well put up a pole in the driveway and have people pay.”

You frown and wipe another lock of hair that's come loose from your ponytail.

“Don’t be such a prude,” you sigh. “You don’t get to tell me how to dress in my own yard.”

“’Course I don’t, but I get to tell you that I don’t like it,” Dave mutters darkly. The last few days of working with no AC during a heatwave have made him grouchy and even if he wasn't, you're his.

“You can, but I won’t listen," you shrug indifferently. He loves you for your resistance, your independence. You can do anything and everything without him, yet you choose to lean on him, to share everything with him. And despite all your competence: the way you fall apart for his hands, his mouth, his cock, and hand yourself over to him...

"Dave, it’s a million degrees out here and the car needs to be washed.” Your neutral expression is changed into a flirty grin. “I can wash your car, too… and you can watch.”

You lean in for a kiss and fuck, how could he ever resist your charm? You smell of sweat, car wash soap, and sunscreen and you taste of homemade lemonade and sweat from your upper lip. He sucks it into his mouth and savours the saltiness of it as his hand slides down your warm, naked side and settles on your denim hip where one of his fingers finds a belt hoop, goes through it and pulls you closer.

“Now who’s putting on a show for the neighbors?” you mumble, breaking the kiss, and he feels himself unravel at your words, how you look, just how you are with him: so clearly secure, trusting, playful. You're pushing all his buttons and you know it.

"Better stop before someone calls the cops on us for indecent exposure," he murmurs. "I want you in the house. Now.”

“Sorry,” you smile innocently. “Not done with the car. In fact, that soap’s drying on it now, it’ll make stripes.”

You turn around and pick up the hose, teasing him with the view of your ass. Dave slaps your right buttock, making you yelp.

“Be quick,” he tells you and goes towards the front door. His cocky stride change into a run when cold water hits him square in the back, and your laughter chases him indoors.

He takes off his wet shirt and changes into shorts before taking a cold can of beer from the fridge and going back out. Donning his sunglasses, he makes himself comfortable in a recliner on the porch, pops open the beer, and settles to watch you work. You shoot him a smirk but don't pay him much attention – although you do lean over the hood more than necessary, displaying cleavage or denim-covered ass to him. He’s half hard inside his shorts and if the front of the house had been more secluded he would definitely have whipped out his dick and rubbed one out.

Or had you on your back on the hood of your wet sedan.

Bent you over it and fucked you from behind.

Made you squirt all over the clean, shining surface of your car.

Fuck. He takes a long swig of the beer.

You give the car one last rinse and dry off the wipers with a piece of cotton waste. Straightening your back, you once again wipe your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand, satisfied at a job well done. As you start to roll up the garden hose, Dave loses his patience. He puts two fingers to his mouth and gives a shrill whistle that makes you look over to him. You can read his eyes despite his sunglasses and, with raised brows, you saunter over to him, taking your time. Your flipflops are slapping against your bare feet and despite hating flipflops more than anything else, it doesn’t make Dave cringe this time.

“Really?” you purr when you reach him. Dave gives you a toothy smirk.

“Humor me,” he asks you. “Neighbor's still watching and I want him to still be looking for his jaw when his family gets home.”

“You’re such a gorilla,” you sigh, but of course you love it. You know how Dave is and you wouldn't be with him if you couldn't handle it. Obediently, you bend down to kiss him. When you bite his lower lip, he gives a little growl.

“Inside,” he commands you in a low voice. “Now.”

“Not so fast,” you smile and reach for his beer. He stares at you through the dark lenses of his sunglasses as you knock back what’s left in the can and burp discreetly behind your hand.

“Okay, now we can go in.” He throws the sunglasses on the small table next to the recliner and gets up smoothly.

"Move that ass for me." Another order, not a wish. A small smile playing on your lips, you turn around and slowly walk to the front door, swaying your hips, looking over your shoulder in a most coquettish fashion.

"Like what you see... daddy?"

"You'll find out soon, baby girl."

Your skin and nipples knit over and it's not just because you've stepped into the house where the air conditioning immediately hits your warm, sweaty skin. You turn around just as Dave closes the door behind him. The feracity in his face makes your cunt bottom out as he grabs you by the arm and maneuvers you around. He presses you against the front door, into the vertical crevice with the fogged window glass. It's just wide enough to fit your frame. You hold your breath as he leans in, his breath hot on your skin.

"Have you been good?" he asks in a low voice. You shake your head only to give him a reason to prompt you, maybe give you a little slap.

"Words, baby girl, use them."

"I haven't been good at all, daddy." You look at him from under your eyelashes.

"You say that with such pride," he sighs, as if he's deeply disappointed in you. "Why do you enjoy being bad?"

"I don't, daddy," you assure him breathlessly, "I just am. I can't help it."

"Like fuck you can't. You do this to spite me, don't you?" His fingers ghost over your cheek, delicately. "You parade your half-naked self around in front of everyone just to rile me up, don't you?"

His hand closes around your throat and your heart skips a beat.

"Answer me, baby girl."

"Yes, daddy," you moan, your lips hungry for him. "I do it so that you'll punish me. I... I need your mouth, daddy, please."

"You can do better than that." He's relentless, so you beg, both your hands coming up to hold the wrist of his hand that's choking you. Not to try to let him release you, but because you know he likes it when you pretend to struggle a little.

"Please, daddy, kiss me. I'll be good for you if you just let me have one kiss," you whine, moving your body against his. "Nobody kisses me like you do, daddy, kiss me to remind me that I belong to you."

Dave humours you sooner than you expected. His kiss is searing and he loosens his hold of your throat slightly to allow for better breathing.

"Safeword?" he asks you quietly when he finally withdraws and you're breathless, trembling, soaked through.

"Pentagon," you answer immediately, locking eyes with him to show him that you're fully capable of consent. He touches your lips with his, softly, in reply. The kiss is sweet and holds no power play.

"Good girl." Your two favorite words that make you feel flushed, time and time again. Your face follows his when he draws back from the kiss, but he steps back, smiling wickedly.

"You stay right there. You have to earn it."

"Yes, daddy," you answer obediantly, keeping your back against the door, feeling the warm glass of the vertical frosted window against your back. Dave lets his dark gaze wander over your body, taking all of you in. You could swear that he can smell your wet cunt and hear your hearbeats.

"Undress, baby girl," he tells you. "And tell me what a fucking tease you are."

You hold back on the confident smile that threatens to spread on your lips. Dave wants you seemingly helpless. But there's no reason why you can't torture him a little, as well.

You reach around to pull on the bikini string on your back and the cups of your bikini loosen.

"I am - "

you pull the string around your neck and the top falls to the floor.

" - such - "

slowly, you unzip your shorts and slide them down your hips, the bikini bottoms coming off at the same time.

" - a fucking - "

you kick off your pants and flip-flops and stand naked before him, meeting his hungry eyes innocently.

" - tease, daddy."

"And what do teases get?" Dave breathes. You can see from the tightness of his neck muscles, the way he closes his fistr, and the outline of his hard dick in his pants that he's having a hard time holding it together. He's usually very patient but it seems that the heatwave has taken its toll on his nerves.

"They get punished."

"That's right, baby girl. Now, turn around and stick your ass out."

Lower lip caught between your teeth, you obey as slowly as you can. You even give him a little shake of your ass when you lean forward against the door.

"No, sweet girl," Dave tuts behind you. "You wanted to show yourself. Press your tits against the glass."

"What?" you gasp, not sure you heard correctly.

"You heard me. Press your tits against the window. Don't make me repeat myself."

This is new. You step a little closer to the door where the glass of the window is warm against your skin. Hands on either side of the window, you lean your chest against it. Even if the glass is fogged, something crammed up against it like this will be visible on the outside and you can only imagine what your tits look like from the other side of the door. There is a front lawn between the door and the sidewalk, there shouldn't be an risk of anyone coming over, or looking, why would anyone stand on the sidewalk and stare at your front door?

"Is my little princess okay?" You startle when you feel Dave's hand tenderly curving over your ass cheek, and you decide that you are okay with this.

"Yes, daddy." You brace yourself against the door.

"Good. Now, count them out, baby girl." His hand leaves your skin and not a breath later, lands on it again with a sharp slap. You yelp in surprise and gasp out One. He's building up to it, you can tell because this wasn't so bad, he's capable of much more force.

The second slap comes on your other cheek and is a little harder.

"Two," you moan.

"Good girl," Dave praises you in a low voice as he moves his hand over to your other buttock before raising it. This time, the slap stings and you squeeze out the right number. Alternating between your buttocks, he adds more force to each spank and when you reach eight, your buttocks are burning as much as your pussy.

"Is that enough, baby girl?" His hands are warm on your sensitive, glowing ass. You're breathing heavily and a part of you wants him to go on, find out how far he can take you, but you need to be able to sit tomorrow.

"Yes," you whine. "Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome, my girl," he soothes you. "You took that like such a good girl. Daddy's very proud of you."

"Please," you keen, now desperate for him to touch you where you need him the most. He has spanked all the confidence out of you and now you're just a simpering fool for him. "I'm so wet for you, daddy, I need you."

"Oh, my pretty little girl." Dave shoves his tented shorts against your ass and it stings in the most delicious way. "You took your spanking so well, you deserve a reward."

You almost sob when his fingers reach your dripping cunt.

"My wet, filthy girl," he growls and presses down on your clit. Instinctively, you buck against him and your tits come loose from the window. You gripe insolently at the loss of his touch when he withdraws his hand and instead pushes you back against the glass.

"Remember why you're here, my pet."

"Yes, daddy."

"Tell me."

"Because... I paraded my half-naked self in front of the whole neighborhood." You squirm when he slides his wet fingers over your ass.

"That's right. So now you get to show everyone what it is that I own."

"Yes, daddy. But please..."

"I got you, my pet."

You moan loudly when his fingers push into your slickness and moan again even louder when he starts to work your clit.

"Such a wet little cunt for me," he murmurs into your ear as he crowds you against the door. "Go ahead, baby girl, you can cum whenever you wish, you have my permission."

"Thank you, daddy," you hiss as you let the pleasure take over you. "You're so... so good to me... I love you, daddy."

"And daddy loves his baby girl." Dave presses a kiss to your shoulder, then bites it and growls. "Cum for daddy, baby girl, cum all over my hand."

His thick fingers are hitting you just right and you feel the pressure build up like clouds before a storm and you know it's going to blow you apart, you want it to blow you apart, you need it to, you have to -

"Daddyyyy...!" Your scream is helpless and pitiful as the orgasm tears through you in a release that manifests itself in a spray of liquid that splashes over Dave's hand and spreads in drops around both of you. You hear Dave's excited Fuck, baby girl, that's it but you barely recognize it as a sound coming from the same room because he's still fucking you with two fingers and his thumb on your clit and GOD you squirt again, your feet are soaked in it and you're sobbing, daddy, daddy, please -

"One more, baby girl."

No, you can't, not another one, no, you'll burst, you'll break, you'll die, yes, yes, do it, fucking do it, and he does it and your shaking legs are glistening with the wetness.

"Good girl," Dave gasps. "Such a good girl, I've never fucked such a good girl before." Your cunt clenches at his words, god, how can you want more? He pulls you upright and turns you around before slamming you back against the window. Pulling down his shorts just enough to free his cock, he lifts one of your legs and hooks his arm around the thigh before sliding into your hot wet mess of a pussy. You wrap your arms around his neck tightly, afraid you'll lose your balance and fall, but his strong arms keep you where you should be.

"I got you, baby girl," he grunts and lets you draw him in for a sloppy kiss. Your arms going under his armpits and around his shoulders as Dave starts to fuck you with furious intent, like his vigorous effort is to make a dent shaped like your ass in the front door window. You break the kiss to let out your moans of Own that pussy, daddy, show me who owns that pussy and he buries his face against your neck, biting it, all the while fucking that wonderful wet, tight little pussy of yours. You tighten around him rhythmically and it’s fucking fantastic, he can’t have enough of it and he knows that he’ll blow soon, he’ll come so hard into that pussy that he fucking owns, he owns all of you and you can parade yourself around the yard and in the grocery store and wherever you fucking want to but only he gets to fuck you, only he get to be with you and sleep next to you and only he can make you make those sounds that you're making now when you're tensing up with another impending orgasm and jesus fucking christ –

He spills himself into you with a loud grunt just as you yell something unintelligible right next to his ear. He fucks into you a couple of extra times for good measure before slipping out and letting your leg down, but keeping his arms around your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

You blink your eyes open, not sure when you closed them in the first place. Dave's looking at you with that tender gaze that he saves for you only.

"My good, filthy girl," he smiles. You smile back, exhausted, hot and cold at the same time, soaked, dirty.

"Is that... how you keep me to yourself?" you manage, "by putting my tits and ass on display in the front door window?"

"You know it, baby girl." He puts a hand on your hip, beckoning you to turn around. "How is said ass? You need some aftercare, my love?"

You turn your behind for him to see and try to peek over your shoulder. "What's it look like?"

"Gloriously red."

"Mm, feels like it, too. I'm good. You were good to me." You look at the front door and see the round, oily tell-tale shapes on the window glass, and running drops of your release. Turning back to Dave, you grin sheepishly.

"I'll clean up," Dave volunteers, pressing a kiss to your neck. "You go grab a shower."

"Thanks, baby." Gingerly, you crouch to pick up your clothes and make your way to the stairs. As you ascend them, you hear him muttering.

"Who the hell washes their car on a hot sunny day anyway?"

You can't help yourself.

"Bad girls who want a spanking and know their daddies are on their way home from work, that's who!" you let him know. A second passes before you hear him curse low and then he comes running after you. Shrieking with laughter, you try to escape into the bathroom but Dave catches up to you in the bedroom and tackles you onto the bed.

"You wicked, wicked girl," he berates you before devouring your mouth with his.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Tell me about Reader who’s only dated assholes (arrogant tech bros, flaky politicians, unfaithful artists, ghosting athletes, etc…) from different walks of life until she meets Frankie 👀 maybe pure FILTH ensues after a while, maybe… 👀 like. Pure fucking nasty filth. Also, beaches. 😊 maybe not at the same time tho sounds painful tbh

Ok this may have ended up softer than "filthy" but not by much!! Hope you enjoy Frankie and his magic hands, dude. Those Hands

Word count: 1200+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Frankie Morales x “You” (cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: coffee shop meet-cute; beach vacation; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; P/V sex; shower scene; mentions of food and alcohol

It was the hands you noticed first. Work-worn and calloused, but somehow also soft-looking. Big hands, nice hands, they held the door of the coffee shop open for you to enter as he left, and you almost tripped over the threshold with how distracted you were. You didn’t know you could be attracted to hands until you saw his, but somehow they were different from the soft, manicured hands of all the men you had dated before. Guys who only worked at keyboards in nice offices, who played golf or maybe drew sketches for upscale galleries, guys who didn’t mow their own lawns. Guys who got bored and left you after five days or seven weeks or four months. You hoped you would see him again.

And a week later you did, and then a few days after that, and then again the next day. And then one day you timed it just right, or he did, and you actually ended up in line together. And when you both picked up your orders, you ended up sort of fighting to give the other person the last open seats, a little two-top table, until you both just laughed and decided to sit with a stranger. Well, a nice stranger anyway. And there’s no way to sit at a tiny 2-person table like that without talking, and so it was very nice to find out that the pair of nice hands belonged to a nice man who finally gave you his name, and by the end of the conversation, his number. And so that’s how you ended up with ‘Frankie Morales’ listed in your phone and a date for the following Saturday.

And oh, wow, what those hands could do. Over the next few weeks you found out how warm they felt holding your hand, how well they fit around the side of your hip as you walked, how good they felt cupping your jaw for a kiss, and how thick they were when he slid them inside of you while he worked magic with his talented tongue.

Weeks turned into months turned into a year, and then suddenly there was an anniversary weekend to plan and a beach vacation to arrange, and you found yourself laying on a white sand beach holding one of those big hands in yours as you napped under an umbrella. You were just drifting off when Frankie’s big hand gave yours a squeeze. You cracked your eyes to watch him walk away, because you never got tired of that particular view, the broad shoulders and the golden skin and the easy confidence he carried himself with. Your Frankie.

And then he came back and offered you a cold drink and you sat up and brushed his fingers with yours as you took the cup and smiled at him over your sunglasses. And when he smiled back little stars burst behind your navel, better than butterflies because the starbursts were backed up by 365 days of knowing what those hands and lips and body could do, to you and with you and for you.

And the afternoon passed in lazy naps on the beach blanket interspersed with squealing moments in the water, Frankie splashing you or carrying you piggyback into the waves. And one big wave knocking your sunglasses loose into the water, lost forever until Frankie gives you his to wear, and tells you how cute you look with his big aviators on. And then the sun sets and it’s time to go wash up, have a romantic dinner, take a bottle of wine back to your beach view room. And when it’s dark you turn off all the lights and let the moon stream in through your open balcony door.

Frankie takes his time with you that first night, working you open with his lovely soft lips and tongue, licking and swirling you up into knots of desire until his fingers push you over the edge and you burst into pieces, moaning wordless sounds into the salt-scented night air that’s rolling through the room. And then he does it again, one more time just to feel you squeeze his fingers hard before he strokes himself and slides into you with hardly any friction at all. You cling to him with your arms and legs wrapped as tight as you can until he chases his own high and pins it down inside of you, thrusting into you and releasing his own deep groans, then making you sigh with contentment as he tucks you under his big arm to sleep.

The second day passes in a blur of laughter and a boat trip, sightseeing and catching a few precious glimpses of dolphins, and then more beach time and dinner. And another long night of lovemaking in your room, but this time with Frankie taking you on your hands and knees, feeling him pound deep inside of you, hitting that ticklish spot over and over as you gaze out the balcony door over the moonlit ocean. And then again at 1:00 a.m. when you wake up and feel Frankie’s cock hard against you as you snuggle, and you shift your hips back into him, and bump him playfully until he wakes up. And then you straddle him and he cups your breasts with those big hands as you grind against him and make him moan in the near dark.

And you wake up the next morning and he’s absent from the bed, but you hear him in the shower and you sneak in to join him. And Frankie puts those hands to good use one more time, scrubbing your back and rubbing suds all over you, tip to toe, and then rinsing you off before he makes you come on his fingers. He wraps you tight with your back to his broad chest, one big hand under your ribs and the other rubbing tight circles into your clit and dipping up inside of you by turns until you collapse and shatter for him and then come back to yourself. And then you kiss him and tell him you love him and he says it back, and you know he means it.

And you wonder how you did this before, without Frankie. How you put up with the arrogance and the dullness of the disinterested men that you dated. How you ever believed that they were worth your time. Because now you see it, the way that Frankie uses his hands and his whole heart to love you. How he listens to you and sees you, how you won’t ever be alone as long as he’s there.

And you dress and go down to breakfast and intertwine your fingers with his beside your orange juice, and you lift his hand to yours and kiss his magic fingers one by one. And he just looks at you, glowing at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’ll ever see. And then he tells you how soft your lips are, and how much he’s looking forward to tonight. And you tuck into your breakfast and you swear nothing has ever tasted this good in your life, because you’re finally with the right person, and that makes all the difference in the world.

--- Frankie "Catfish" Morales character masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s main masterlist

The only tag list I have for fics: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 because Frankie!!

[bittercoldbrew]

omg thank you so much!!! Please, please join me in the little spoon!Ezra zone because I literally cannot stop thinking about it and now i need everyone in here with me 🙆🏽‍♀️

Okay, so technically To Build Something New is complete and finished and I’m totally not even supposed to be working on it anymore, but this has been a shitty week and I decided to write a little something sweet and then I sort of got….carried away…….. So yeah anyway, here’s a little over 4k of Ezra x f!OC, a sorta kinda epilogue to Build Something but I tried to leave things vague so it could also just be read as a standalone. No warnings, just an embarrassing amount of fluff. Enjoy!

Sleep has never come easily to him. Even as a child, Ezra remembers being plagued with nightmares so often and for so long that he wouldn’t even bother waking his worn and weary parents, would simply fetch himself a cup of water from the kitchen and flip through his favorite books, gazing at the pictures and tracing fingers over words he couldn’t yet read, until sleep finally returned to him.

The woman in bed beside him is no stranger to such restlessness, and certainly is no distant, frightful parent best left unbothered. If he were to reach out a hand to her shoulder, if he were to call her name, he knows that she would wake willingly, eager to help him talk his way out of whatever trouble his overactive mind has conjured, or to simply sit with him in silence until the tension passed; she would give him whatever he needs, even if he himself doesn’t know what that is just yet. It is no lack of love, given or received, that stills his hand and shuts his mouth, but rather an abundance.

Keep reading

[writeforfandoms]

Birthday ficlets!

Okay I'm making this post so that everybody knows what to expect. Info below the cut.

On Nov. 11 starting at about 8am PST, I'll be posting the birthday ficlets. I will have individual relationships/ratings/warnings per ficlet!

I WILL NOT be tagging people per ficlet because you'd all murder me. I think I'm putting up 14 or 15 ficlets in that one day. Nobody needs to get tagged that many times.

That being said, I will create a master post for the birthday ficlets, and either late Nov. 11 or Nov. 12 I will post the master post and tag everybody on that.

Ficlets are 1k or less each. They are not properly titled bc I am too lazy.

Taglist:

@saradika @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric @cannedsoupsucks @shoopidly @beskarprincessjenny @sarahjkl82-blog @liviiii98 @adriiibell @seasonschange-butpeopledont @sunnydunnydays @princessxkenobi @thirddeadlysin @pbeatriz @oonajaeadira @kiizhikehn-cedar @green-socks @withakindheartx @linkpk88 @janebby @anditsmywholeheart @evyiione @ohheyitsokay @amneris21 @recklessworry @the-feckless-wonder @kotemorons @myguiltypleasures21 @javierpinme @grogusmum @eri16 @idreamofboobear @pintsizemama @pedrostories @agent-jack-d @stevie75 @luxmundee @kirsteng42 @horton-hears-a-honk @reader-without-a-story @5pectre @alexxavicry @elegantduckturtle @litakino @soltaasbruxas @pjkimrn @jaime1110 @trash-dino-5000 @theanothersherlockian @mandalwhorean @dindjarinsloverx @mswarriorbabe80 @anaaaispunk @miraclesabound @theredwritingwitch @spideysimpossiblegirl @quica-quica-quica @queridopascal​ @fisforfulcrum​ @revna-qasst @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms​ @kesskirata​ @brandyllyn​ @silverwolf319​ @blueeyesatnight​ @justnat15​ @freyjasamael​ @herb-welch​ @clydesducktape​