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#the grey patchy beard
rosepascal · 9 months
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crave || Joel Miller Smut
summary: After the mysterious man you now know as Joel Miller leaves you his address and a message to find him, you do just that. How will the man who ruined you be in person?
warnings: MINORS DNI, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, afab!reader, dirty talk, swearing, blowjobs, minor face fucking, choking on dick, spanking, prone bone positon/weighted blanket Joel, unprotected sex, creampie, crying during sex.
a/n: The highly anticipated part 2 to desire is here! Honestly im so nervous that this doesn't live up to peoples expectations so if it doesn't then im sorry. I really do hope you like this even a fraction as much as you loved desire. Speaking of which the reaction to desire has been so so amazing and I want to thank you all for it. Its really motivated me and it makes me so happy. Also the wifi here sucks and i cant add a gif sooo mb
part one: desire || Can be read standalone
Why were you so Nervous, It’s just sex. Just sex with a man who absolutely rocked your fucking world. You had no idea who he is or what he looks like, and he doesn’t even know your name. But if the s. is that good, then who cares.
It's just before dusk that you finally head over to his place. Easily sneaking past FEDRA guards as their schedules have become predictable at this point. As you walk up the steps you start to get nervous. You triple check the address and the apartment number scribbled on the piece of paper he left you.
Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door. There’s shuffling behind the door and before you’re ready it swings open. Your eyes widen as you take in the man in front of you.
Is this Joel? You sure hope it is because fuck. Is he hot. His hair is slicked back and peppered with streaks of grey. His beard is patchy but full enough to fill his face. His eyes, oh god his eyes. Despite what appears to be a permanent glare etched onto his face, it doesn’t scare you. Your eyes drift down to his body and you’re practically ready to climb him like a tree.
His shoulders are broad and his button up shirt stretches around his arms and chest. He’s got a bit of a tummy, but you like it that way. It doesn’t take away from how strong he is. You already know how big it is, if lingering soreness is any indication. He puts his arm on the door frame and leans against it.
“Joel?” He looks confused for a moment before realization flashes in his eyes. He smirks and he looks you up and down.
“Well, hey there baby. Glad to see you got my message.” His voice is low and sexy as he already feels himself getting hard in his pants. Joel didn’t indulge in places like that very often, but your pussy was quite memorable. Putting on your best flirty look you press your hands to his chest.
“You glad to see me? Because I’m glad to see you.” You purr as you drag your hands down to his belt. Tugging on it lightly.  His eyes darken as he grabs your wrists and pulls them back up.
“Careful baby, if you look at me like that for much longer, I’ll have you on your knees right here.” He growls in your ear. Smirking you lean over and gently bite the lobe of his ear.
“Promise?” The door slams behind you as his arms wrap around your waist.
His lips crash into your own, his tongue shoving itself into your mouth as he groans loudly. You messily unbutton his shirt as he practically rips your undone.
“Fuck.” You look at your now ruined shirt and scowl, but Joel can’t seem to care.
“Sorry baby, couldn’t help myself.” He has a mattress in the corner of the room, and it looks clean enough.
“Lay down old man.” You tease and he chuckles.
“Old man? You weren’t calling me old when I was pounding my cock into this pussy.” He cups your cunt and runs his fingers along until he rubs against your clit making you whimper.
He smirks but he does lay down on the mattress. He props his back against the wall and waits. Discarding your ruined clothes, he watches hungrily as you strip each piece away, revealing your naked body.
“So beautiful baby.” He mumbles as you throw your last piece of clothing off.
“Not too bad yourself handsome.”
You straddle his waist and kiss him. Your hands cupping his face as you slowly grind your hips. His cock is already hard underneath you. The rough material of his jeans creating a delicious friction against your clit.
“Fuckin’ dirty.” He slaps your ass and grabs your hips.
It was pure torture for Joel. An incredibly pleasurable torture. Joel raises his hips and helps you take off his jeans. With a wicked smirk you lean down and lick the tip of his cock.
Ever since that night with Joel you’ve dreamed of getting down on your knees and sucking his cock. Taking as much as you can in your mouth you use your hand to pump the rest of it. Joel's hands fly to your head, guiding your mouth up and down.
The sounds of your choking only making him harder, making him hornier. He can’t help but thrust his hips up and shove his dick down your throat.
“S’okay baby, you can take it.” His thumb runs along your cheek and despite the tears falling down your face you nod.
You’re incredibly turned on from the force Joel uses and his sweet but filthy words. His groans fill the room as you happily choke on his cock. You can feel him twitching in your mouth but before he can blow his load, he pulls you off. Taking deep breaths, you look at him confused.
“Don’t wanna finish in your mouth, rather fill you up again.” He grabs your waist and together you move until you’re pinned on your stomach.
“Been thinkin’ about you baby, hoped you would show up soon.” He gropes your ass unashamedly.
Admiring it and squeezing it with his hands. He lightly slaps it making you jump. Slowly he reaches down and admires your cunt. It’s already wet and ready for him. Just how he likes it. He sticks two fingers into his mouth before sliding them into your cunt. Fucking you slowly on them to open you up.
“Joelll” You whine, wanting more than just his fingers. He tuts and slaps your ass again.
“So fuckin’ needy.” Despite his words he grants your wish and pulls his fingers out and lines his cock up with your cunt. With a loud grunt he slams his hips forward, burying himself deep inside of you in one thrust.
“Oh Joel!” You moan loudly, clenching around him tightly.
“I can’t…Fuck.” Your face falls into the mattress. Every single one of your senses are overwhelmed. All you can feel is Joel, all you can hear are the small sounds he’s making.
“You didn’t have a problem taking me last time baby…Let this old man fuck you real nice.” He practically falls on top of you.
Trapping you under his weight and forcing you to take him even deeper. His hands cover yours and pin them next to your head. His nose nudging against your cheek as he pulls back his hips and fucks into you roughly.
His thrusts are slow but hard. Sending shocks through your body with each one. His grunts sound like thunder in your ear as he starts to lose his composure.
Your skin is so warm, so soft. Your moans aren’t muffled this time, he can hear them loud and clear. Every little whimper, every little gasp for air. All his doing.
He growls like a fucking animal as he pounds his hips faster. His cock is driving deep into you. So much deeper than you thought possible. Over and over again.
Hitting a spot inside you that sends tears running down your face. Good tears. Fucking great tears. You dreamed of being fucked like this. You feel safe under him. Even if he’s rearranging your guts right now.
“Joel..Need you..Please.” You tilt your head up, your face wet with tears as you beg him to send you over the edge. Your orgasm has been building and you need a little more to make you come. Though truthfully you could come just from his cock at this point.
“I got you, don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.” He truly means it.
Now that he’s seen your face, held your body, made you scream his name. There’s no way in hell he’s letting you walk out that door. You let out a shocked cry as he pulls his dick out. He gets onto his knees and flips you on your stomach.
“I wanna look at your pretty face while you come on my cock baby.” Pushing your legs apart he fucks into you again.
At this angle he can see everything. Just as he wants it. Your eyes had been screwed shut due to the pleasure, but you force them open, wanting to see Joel.
Any ounce of resolve you once had is gone when you meet his eyes. His mouth hangs open, sweat glistens on his face and chest. He’s perfect. He’s everything you want. They way he looks at you, the intensity burning in his eyes, paired with his cock buried deep in your pussy. It’s enough to send shockwaves through your body. Your orgasm crashes through your body and leaves you shaking and moaning under Joel.
He watches in awe as you thrash and squeeze his cock. It doesn’t take long for him to come hard, how could he hold back while your cunt milks him for all he’s got. He comes hard and for a long time. Squirting into you until his cum is dripping out of you.
“Stay here. I’ll take care of you I promise.” Joel spills out. His head is in the clouds, but he means every word. This isn’t just a meaningless fuck. He feels something. Something deep inside that he won’t let go.
“Doesn’t that sound nice hm? I know how to get things. I’ll teach ya and in return you can let me fuck you senseless every night.” He buries his face in your neck.
Biting and sucking roughly as he comes down from his high. Moaning softly, you wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t have to think about it. Not for a second. You want this, you want him. You need him in your life, in your bed, and especially in between your legs.
“Yes,” You cup his face and bring him to meet your eyes.
Admiring every little thing about him that you can. Capturing his lips in a passionate kiss he groans, hands wandering your body, bringing you as close to him as he can.
“I’ll stay."
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citrine-elephant · 2 years
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i keep having beard dreams and then i wake up, hnghhh 
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jksprincess10 · 1 year
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Lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge || Joel Miller x reader
A/N: I was horny after watching Joel get so violent in last night’s episode. That’s all. 
CW: This is darker than everything I wrote before, reader beware. Reader does SW in exchange of supplies. Enemies to lovers. Rough hate fuck. Daddy kink. A bit of knife play. Consent unclear. 
Part 2 here 
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“Do you have what I asked for?”
“Yes, sweetheart, but don’t forget your part of the deal. Y’know Joel will come after us or after you.”
“Of course, show me what you have first.” You said as you looked at him through your long lashes.
The bearded man opened the box he had brought with him. It had guns, munitions. Enough for you and your group. You felt your mouth salivating at the thought of everything you could do with these guns. But you weren’t done.
You dropped to your knees in front of the man and pleasured him. It was your part of the deal. It always was. You give a man what he wants, and he gives you the world, even if it would put dangerous people against him. Men were so fragile and predictable.
***
When the man finally left, you washed yourself. Even if you took your precautions, you always felt dirty afterwards. It was the price to pay. You spat in the sink after rinsing your mouth, still feeling the taste of him lingering on your tongue.
Suddenly, you heard a loud bang on the door. Your crew wasn’t supposed to come back this early, so you grabbed your knife from your leather chest harness and waited in front of the door.
“Open up, I know you’re here.”
Miller. That was fast. You sighed and opened the door, before backing away, hands in the air and knife in your mouth. As usual, he was pointing a gun at you. You liked his silly little games.
“Drop the knife.”
You spat the knife on the ground, and he bent down to take it from you. You sighed and dropped to the couch in what served as your group’s lounge room. He finally put his gun down as he saw you were unarmed and he slowly approached you, like he was approaching a hurt animal. You put your hands down and relaxed.
His body was towering over you, big and strong.
“You fucked up my deal. Again.”
You looked at him with innocent eyes, like you didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Oh no. Really? Which one?” You cooed.
“Stop fucking with me, girl.”
You laughed and got up to show him the box of guns and munitions.
“Oh, what, this?” You gestured at the box with a smile. “Sorry, big guy.”
He groaned between his teeth and pointed his gun at you again. You simply laughed. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. It was always a dangerous dance, but he never crossed the line.
“What do you have that I don’t? Food, clothes, more supplies? Cars?”
“Oh… Joel…” You approached him and put a hand on his gun to lower it, your other hand coming up to his cheek, scratching his patchy greying beard. “You simply wouldn’t understand.”  He flinched against your touch. You dropped the gun to the ground when he lost his concentration and placed your hand on his belt to bring him closer to you. “I have a mouth. An ass.”
He looked at you in disbelief and pushed you away.
“You’re selling yourself to these men? You’re fucking crazy.”
For a second, his words seemed to hurt you, but you regained your amused grin.
“I’ll do anything to make you mad, big guy.”
In reality, you did this to survive like anyone else. Men were more violent than ever, so if you didn’t give them what they wanted in exchange for some essentials, they would take it either way.
“So, are you here to negotiate? Or just to talk? Because I can make you a drink if you’re here to talk.” You finally asked. You went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine that dated from before the outbreak. Another deal you got behind Miller’s back.
When you came back, Joel was sitting comfortably on the couch, thighs spread. You looked at him for a few seconds, admiring the way his jeans tightened around his strong thighs. You bent in front of him to put the two glasses down. He followed you with his hardened gaze.
“So, what d’you want? Hm?”
“Half. It was my deal.”
You laughed and sat beside him.
“What do I get in exchange?”
He turned to look at you.
“Any drug you want.”
“I’m not interested in drugs, big guy.”
“So, what do you fucking want, girl?” He became aggressive, annoyed as he grabbed you by your hair to bring you closer to him. You kept a whine in your throat. You spat on his face so he would let you go, and he did.
“I’ll take some of you. For 3 guns and 5 packs of bullets.” You licked a stipe up the older man’s cheek, cleaning the unsightly shiny stain you previously left. He groaned and pushed you away once again, trying to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. But you saw right through him.
“Give me a sign when you’re actually serious, girl.” He said as he got up, before drinking the wine in one go.
“But I am.”
He sighed and left you, leaving your knife on the ground and banging the door closed behind him.
That night, he would fuck his fist while thinking about you, while you were celebrating your small victory.
***
The next night, after working on some deals all day, you found a note under your bedroom door. You had no idea how it got there.
Meet me at my place with the stuff. Be silent and discreet. Don’t tell anyone and don’t try to trick me.
-JM.
So, men were really all the same. You took what you had proposed to him from a secret compartment you hid from the others. You strapped a spare gun and a knife to your harness, before leaving silently in the night. It was a short walk. You knew the way around the creaking stairs, up to his place.
You opened the unlocked door, and he trapped you, strong arms grabbing you and strapping you to a chair. You let Joel do anything he wanted. You were simply amused by the situation and watched him as he went through your bag.
“Didn’t know you were into kinky shit, Miller.”
He rolled his eyes. He counted silently what you owed him.
“It’s just a precaution so you don’t try to rob me or attack me.”
“I would never.”
He put his knees on the creaking floor in front of you as he undid your harness, hands brushing against you and making you shiver.  He was incredibly soft even though you he had just tied you to a chair. His calloused hands patted down your body to make sure you didn’t have anything else on you. You wanted his hands all over you. The thought made your thighs close together, which he tried to ignore.
“You’re clear.” He said.
“Are you gonna untie me or you’re just going to watch like a pervert?”
He stopped for a second, before a hand grabbed your hair and pulled your head back. You couldn’t help but moan in his touch.
“Tell me if your offer was serious.”
“I-It was, Miller. And I know you thought about it all night and all day.” You smiled as you looked up at his serious face.
“Why would you sacrifice munitions for sex?”
“Because you wanting me is my ultimate revenge.” You smiled.
He groaned and went behind you to untie you.
“Get up.” He ordered.
You obliged even though your knees felt weak. He grabbed a knife and put it against your neck as he guided you to the couch. You laid down for him, eyes looking up at him as he straddled your hips with his strong thighs.
“You don’t have to force me, you know. I want this as much as you do.”
You slowly took the knife from his hands and threw it to the ground, your eyes still locked with him. Finally, he caved in and crashed his lips against yours. It was unlike anything you experienced before. It was sloppy, yes, but it only made you feel how much he really wanted you. Your hands trailed down his shirt to unbutton it. He broke the kiss to take his shirt off and your t-shirt with it. You barely had time to look at his chest covered in scars.
“I fucking hate you.” He groaned as he went down to kiss your breasts covered by your bra.
You put your fingers into the man’s greying hair, pushing his head closer to you.
“You don’t.” You breathed. “You wanted this.”
Your fingers undid his belt and freed him from his jeans and his briefs in one swipe. He was way bigger than any man you had been with. You were equally terrified and aroused. He bit down on the sensitive skin of your breasts, before sucking a dark bruise. You whined softly and helped him undo your bra, before kissing him again. You felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, and you allowed him any access he wanted.
He undid your pants and left them somewhere on the ground with the mess of your other clothes. Your hand found its way to his member, stroking him slowly and collecting his pre-cum. He was ridiculously hard already. He seemed to let go of his control for a moment, groaning softly against your soft mouth, before you reminded him:
“It’s my deal, Miller. You have to please me too.”
Without a warning, big fingers ripped your panties before inserting themselves into your hole, without any preparations. You stretched slowly around the two fingers as you bit down his shoulder to silence yourself. His free hand pulled on your hair to see your face and keep you in place as his fingers fucked roughly into you.
“Wanna see you. Wanna hear you.”
God. This man would be the death of you. You tightened against him as you moaned softly. His thumb pressed against your swollen bud, while two fingers became three. It was painful, yes, but you didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure started.
“Relax, sweet girl… I know you’ve done this many times before.”  His thumbed circled deliciously your clit as you squirmed against him.
“Y…Your fingers are so…so big.” You whined.
“I know, sweet girl. I know. You can take it.” He said softly as he fucked you recklessly with three fingers.
You tried to relax, fighting the urge to close your legs as the pleasure was washing over your body.
“There you go. Good girl.” He praised in a low voice as you melted into his touch, your orgasm making your legs shake, your mouth opened in a silent scream. He kept playing with your clit, only to tease you as you were already sensitive.
Finally, you felt emptiness as he pulled his fingers away from you. You looked up to him. He looked beautiful like this, forehead glistening with sweat and his hand stroking himself softly.
“I thought about you all night while I was fucking my fist.” He groaned.
“I think about you every night, Miller.” You admitted.
“Fuck. Open your dirty little mouth for daddy, hm?”
You happily obliged; lips parted as your eyes sparkling with lust looked up at him. Without a warning, he spat in your mouth.
“Keep it here. Be a good girl.”
You nodded softly. His thighs met with the top of your body as he inserted his throbbing member between your lips. Every part of him was heavy. Joel kept stroking himself in a mixture of both of your saliva, before you closed your lips against him and took the lead. Your hand covered what your mouth couldn’t reach, stroking him in your mouth as you sucked in your cheeks. Joel was a mess on top of you. He didn’t look so strong after all with all his moans.
“Fuck. Won’t last long if you keep going. I’m too old for this shit. And I want to fuck you, so bad.” He groaned between lewd moans.
You gave him a few more strokes, before letting him go with a soft “pop”. He groaned as the soft air caressed his cock. Finally, you swallowed both of your spit as he positioned himself at your entrance after using a condom that was laying on the table. Strong arms lifted you up so you would sit on his lap, while he was also resting on his knees. He held you against him, before slipping you down on his throbbing member. You whined and scratched his back as he was stretching you deliciously and painfully.
“F… Joel…”
“Shh. It’s okay sweet girl, I got you. I know it hurts. I’ll be slow.”
Fucking liar. You almost gave in to him and believed him, until he started moving into you at a fast space. You almost lost foot, but your hand held the couch behind you as he was fucking you roughly.
“I fucking hate you.” You said between moans.
He buried his face in your tits as his hands kept pushing your ass up and down to meet his throbbing cock, going down to the base before making you empty. When the pain finally left you, you moved your hips against his to accelerate.
“You needy dirty little thing.” He said as he bit softly on your neck.
“Please, Joel.” You whined and your back fell on the couch, changing the angle for both of you. He held down your hips as he came out of you completely, before going back in roughly, making you scream every time. Your hand came down to your heat to pleasure yourself even more. You were drunk in pleasure, taking every drop of it you could get. Your fingers circled your clit lazily as he fucked you dumb, rough and fast paced.
Finally, you felt the man’s hips stutter roughly in a few last thrusts, before he came heavily. He kept moving with you to let you have another orgasm – how nice of him.
Finally, a heavy body dropped on you and you put your arms around him to hold him close.
“I think we can learn to work together.” He finally said as he planted a kiss to your forehead.
“I think so too.” You agreed with a smile. “Now, give me more.” You pulled on his hair to kiss him. “Please.”
“You’re gonna kill me, girl.” He smiled as he gave you another kiss.
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saintbleeding · 8 months
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[ID: Four digital drawings of Basira, Martin, and Jon from S5 of TMA. Basira is a tall, fat woman with brown skin and curly dark brown hair. Martin is a short, fat white man with greying brown hair, a scraggly beard, and glasses. Jon is tallest and thin with silver, curly hair in a bun, a patchy beard, glasses, and scars across his body. All three are caked in dried blood and miscellaneous grime. In the first drawing, Basira stands with a gun pointed at Martin, with Jon standing nonchalantly behind him with a red glowing halo above him. Basira says “Prove you’re really Martin Blackwood”, Martin asks “How?” and Jon says “You could do a poem. >:3c” In the second, Basira looks on judgmentally as Jon and Martin embrace. Basira says “You done?” with a scribbly aromantic flag below her speech text, and Jon replies “Can we not have a moment?” In the third drawing, the three are walking side by side, Martin and Jon holding hands. Martin says “He needs to do it, and if he doesn’t…”, Basira offers “He gets constipated?” which Jon interrupts “Hardly.” Martin concedes “… actually yeah basically.” In the last, the three of them are seemingly asleep sitting up. Martin has one arm around Jon’s shoulder, his cheek smooshed against the top of Jon’s head. Basira leans against Martin’s other side. Both Martin and Basira look restless. Jon’s eyes are open, bloodshot, and leaking a suspiciously bloody substance as they glow red in the darkness. There is a red glow around all three of them. End ID.]
mlm/wlw hostility my beloved
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orderforbrian · 1 year
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Day 6 - Time Travel for @jonmartinweek!
im late again but only bc i drew waayyy too much for this lol - i couldnt help it tho i really love those kid-centric aus where jon and martin's future kids come visit their s1 selves - they're just full of so many cute moments and little jokes 🤭 i'm also just a sucker for anything jmart kid related. plus watching s1 jon and martin, who have budged hardly an inch past absolute loathing, grapple with the fact they not only get married in the future but have KIDS too is soooooooo good 😆they get to talking and realize "oh god you really are my ideal partner ohno OHHH NOO"
[Start ID: Multiple images of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives as well as their future children for an AU. Jon is a thin Persian man with dark, curly hair streaked with grey and rectangular glasses. Martin is a fat, mixed Polish/Korean man with dark brown, wavy hair, browline glasses, and a beauty mark by his lip. 1st image: Jon and Martin are sitting at a wedding table decorated with flowers, a plate with half eaten cake, and a green napkin. Jon is wearing a white shirt with a dark green bowtie, his hair is slicked back into a low bun with some styled stray hairs. His black suit jacket covers the chair behind him. He has light beard and a gold column earring. Martin is wearing a white shirt with a dark blue bowtie, his hair is styled back as well and he wears a gold diamond drop earring. They sit side by side, noses almost touching - Jon smiles wholesomely at Martin, holding up a coupe glass of champagne, and Martin smiles back with his eyes closed, left hand resting around the base of his own coupe glass. Jon's left hand sits on top of Martin's, each hand has a gold band on the ring finger. The drawing looks like a polaroid, Jon's handwriting at the bottom says "Jonathan and Martin Blackwood-Sims. June 27th, 2023." Martin has placed a red heart sticker and written "J+M" in blue marker on the photo. 2nd image: Jon and Martin are older and pose with their children on their backs. Their children, Mina and Jules, have dark, curly hair like Jon's, Mina has a beauty mark by his right eye and Jules has one on her left lower cheek. In this image Mina has her hair tied back into two pigtails and is smiling with one tooth gone. She wears overalls with a scalloped shirt, a sensory bracelet on her right wrist, and sneakers. She is riding on Martin's back, gripping his shirt with one hand and lifting up the other one behind his head, laughing loudly. Martin side eyes her with mirth, his hair is more choppy and down past his shoulders, he has a patchy beard, and wears a simple lined shirt. In this image, Jules has her hair tied back into a ponytail and is wearing a t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers with a star on them. She sticks her tongue out towards the camera and winks one eye, both her arms are laced around Jon's neck. Jon's hair is past his ears and he has a fully grown mustache and beard, he wears a collared short sleeve shirt. Underneath ths photo Jon writes "Picnic after 2nd year primary. Mina (7) Jules (8)." Martin has drawn a yellow sun and written in blue marker "too old!!" and a crying face. 3rd image: Mina and Jules (off frame) hold up multiple photographs to younger Jon and Martin (season 1). Martin is wearing a collared shirt and his hair is side parted, cut just past his ears. Jon has his hair slicked back aside from a couple large curls at the front and wears a suit jacket, collared shirt, tie, and vest. Martin and Jon stare down at the photos with flustered surprise, confusion, and disbelief, both blushing. Martin pinches one of the photos with his right hand. Jon holds his glasses in his right hand.
4th image is a 7 panel comic. Mina and Jules both wear glasses and school uniforms with a backpack, Mina wearing a tie and vest, her hair done in two braids, and Jules wearing a collared shirt and tie, her hair in a bob with two clips. 1st panel: Jules outstretches her hand while looking angry at Mina who is looking away with a huff. "We would've gotten here way sooner if you didn't have to stop and pet that dumb dog!!". 2nd panel: Jon crosses his arms and sneers at Martin, who is looking unimpressed and annoyed and holding a tea mug. "They get that from you...". 3rd panel: Mina points at Jules and retorts "Well if you weren't so impatient we wouldn't have gotten caught, stupid!!". 4th panel: Martin lifts up the tea mug to take a sip and shoots back to Jon, who frowns, "They get that from you...". 5th panel: Mina and Jules yell at each other with closed eyes and hunched shoulders, "UGH!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ARGUING WITH ME!!!". 6th panel: A simplified drawing of Jon and Martin, one speech bubble connecting both of them saying "They get that from you". 7th panel: Jon and Martin whip around and stare at each other with offended anger, saying "ME?!".
5th image is of Mina and Jules in full color. They have the same descriptions as in the comic, the school uniform is a purple gray, the skirts plaid. Mina wears a green colored sensory bracelet and Jules wears a blue colored one. Mina has a nervous frown, a couple sweat marks coming off her head, while Jules smiles with quiet confidence, a couple gold sparkles by her head. They hold hands in the middle, Jules is slightly taller than Mina. Above Mina are the following words: Mina (Mia) *younger sibling *a bit shy *fave color is green *loves when Dad does her hair. Above Jules are the following words: Julia (Jules) *older (by 11 months) *more adventurous *fave color is blue *loves when Baba buys her ice cream. End ID.]
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frenchiereading · 5 months
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Part I
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Summary: After South America, Frankie needs a fresh new start and moves north to New England. While looking for a furry companion, he meets you at the animal shelter. This is the story of your firsts together. First drink, first dates. First time Frankie invites you over.
Part I warnings: +18MDNI, mentions of grief and death, references to movie events. For more story warnings and info, please check the masterlist.
Word count: 8.2k
A/N: Maybe a bit of a plot twist in there from what you were expecting, but expect lots of cute animals and fluff!! Huge thanks to @avastrasposts for helping me with some vocab. I'm not a native speaker!
Main masterlist | Story masterlist
Prologue - Part II
The new visitor gravitates instantly to the pictures of the rescue dogs, like they almost all do. From where you're standing at the counter trying to wrap up your phone call, you've got the perfect spot to observe the stranger.
The curly brown locks which peak from everywhere under his blue hat, brushing his neck and his ears and flopping on his forehead. The large hands on his hips as he studies the pictures and the poster with the adoption rules. The one you can see that comes up to rub at his forehead and then lower to scratch at his jaw, patchy beard peppered with grey.
You can only see his profile but when his hand comes back to his waist, resuming his wide stance, you can guess how snug his shoulders must be in his jacket and how the muscles have strained under the move. The grey tee-shirt he's wearing stretches a bit on his stomach.
Less when he has to take a step forward after he catches himself squint. Then two steps back before he pats his jacket, a look of realisation on his face.
He grinds his teeth with a loud huff and you think you can hear a muffled Fucking glasses before he storms out of the building.
Not enough time for you to worry that he's gone altogether, but enough time to hang up and wait for him by the posters once he strides back in, fucking glasses in his hand that he props on his face after he's stopped by your side.
"I only just got them," Frankie feels like he has to explain. "I'm still not used to them."
There was a mandatory physical exam before he started his new job where the doctor had concluded that his eyesight had changed since he'd last gotten it checked. At least as far as reading was concerned. Frankie would have made do without, except he kept squinting at work and ended up with the worst headaches in the evening so he's had to cave in. At least the optician assured him those glasses were made for him.
Without knowing this, you have to agree. They fit his face, with the big brown frame. They make brown eyes pop behind them and they let brown curls brush the side of his face. Handsome stranger.
"I can be your eyes if need be. I know lots about these guys. And gals! What can I help you with today? Were you looking into adopting a dog?"
"I had one just like that growing up," Frankie says, pointing to one particular picture on the wall. Somehow, it looks smaller than what he remembers.
"Ah, yes. Oscar. Thinks he's a lap dog. Bit of a high-energy one."
"Is he? I-and also I-I was thinking I could adopt a dog to have a bit of company at home, to walk, but I read your rules, at least I think I've read them right, about the maximum time they should be left alone and I'm starting to realize, with my schedule and all it-?"
"Is it just you at home?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't want him to be lonely."
"Mmmmh, nope, we can't have that, props to you for thinking about that. So. A dog may not be the right fit for you. But hey," you add quickly, one finger propped on your chin as you think, when you realize his face has dropped quite tremendously, "we'll find you someone. We've got lots of souls waiting for a home back there." One jerk of your thumb behind your back. "Have you looked at the cats?"
The same hand points behind Frankie, to the other wall with rescue pictures that he has not so much as glanced at since he's come in.
"They're a bit lower maintenance in the sense that you don't have to wal-hey, now!" You chide gently and Frankie realizes he must have made a face at the suggestion, with the way his jaw has locked. He tries to relax, but really, a cat?
"Don't knock it till you've tried it! Isn't that what they say?"
"No, right, sorry. I just never thought about that." You can't really walk a cat. Or can you?
"No worries." Still the same bright smile and sparkling eyes as the moment you've greeted him, not an ounce of upset in your voice. More like a playful edge that puts Frankie at ease. "At least come and meet them. You never know who might steal your heart."
A wink and you've already started walking backwards to the door that Frankie can't help but agree. Some sort of pull in your enthusiasm.
"All right."
"Great! I'll come with you, it's quiet enough here. You made the right call coming now, we had quite a crowd this morning, we were swamped!"
You still haven't had time to eat more than a couple of cookies you and the team had put out for visitors. The time was spent introducing animals to their families and you can delay your lunch for a while longer if it means making a perfect match and making another animal happy again.
"Ok, here we are! Let's see if you're a cat person."
It's noisy behind the door, even more when you swing it open. Meowing and so many curious little heads turning toward you and Frankie. One eager young cat jumping over the gate between their quarters and the door, making sure no one wanders off. It's a bit overwhelming, the dozen or so of cats suddenly interested in Frankie that he hardly knows where to look. Where to put his foot down when he's followed you inside, the little wannabe runaway kitten in your arms.
"They do seem to believe you are a cat person indeed."
You grab a toy to distract the little cat from chewing on your hair, one braid back on your chest, swinging from side to side. Frankie has to agree with the observation. There are cats rubbing on his legs, trying to fit their way between them and when he makes the tentative move to crouch a little, there are two already fighting for his attention and the large warm palm he offers them. In spite of the noise, there's something soothing in feeling the purr that starts underneath his hand as he pets one.
Except Frankie can't quite see how much lower maintenance they are, when there are some zooming past, climbing the furniture, one getting his claw stuck in your sock and then one trying to climb up your back when you crouch to rescue the first unfortunate one.
"What about this one?" Frankie jerks his chin towards the ginger cat which has hardly bothered acknowledging the human presence in the room. It's curled high in the structure that seems to be their sleeping quarters, cozy in the ball it's made of itself in its bed.
"Ah, this is Chuckles."
You both stand up at the same time, there's a knee or two that pop and crack but no idea if it's yours or the visitor's. With the way he winces, probably his but there's so dull ache in yours as well. You both share an understanding little smile and Frankie is relieved it's not only his body that betrays him.
"He's only been here a couple of months or so."
"Me, too."
The big cat raises a sleepy head at the voices growing closer, the shadow that falls on his drowsy eyes when you both stop in front of him. You have to stretch a little on your tip-toes to reach him and let him smell your hand and pet him but Frankie can do it with no problem. Chuckles seems content that neither of you poses a threat when he goes back to sleeping, little ear and whiskers closer to where Frankie has let the tips of his fingers rest on the bed.
"What's his story?"
"His owner passed away and there was no family willing to take him in so he's been here ever since," you sigh. Long hours on your feet that make the back of your legs ache so you have to fall back down on the soles of your feet, petting stopped that Chuckles makes a discontented noise at. Until Frankie tries it, straying clear of the white of his stomach.
"He's one of the senior residents here at the shelter. Tends to keep to himself as you can see. I think he's still grieving."
Me too, Frankie thinks, and it's been more than a couple of months or so for him. It's still there, like a gaping hole in his chest that is shrinking with every passing day but every time he thinks of his mom, he has to make the conscious effort to remember happy memories instead of the last days of her life.
"He's so gentle," you continue, "loves scratches, right there." You point to a particular spot behind the cat's ear and Frankie obliges, rewarded by deeper purring and the cat tilting his head to provide better access. "Yes, you do, Chuckles. Awww, he likes you."
Frankie can see that, would never have expected it.
Music comes from the phone you've slipped in the back pocket of your jeans then, somehow breaking the moment. Frankie glances as you answer, chirpy voice, sunshine in your voice.
"Fur Ball Rescue, hi! How can I help you? Can I leave you in here a sec'? Let you get better acquainted," you add for him, already walking back to the gate and the front desk and the pencil and notepad you've left there.
"Uh, sure."
A bit at a loss, Frankie watches the little swarm of kittens making it hard for you to walk properly as you tell whoever's on the other side that you're listening. As soon as the door has closed on you, they redirect their attention to him, the only other human in the room to entertain them, but his focus is entirely on the big ginger cat that clearly doesn't deserve to end his life in this shelter. Not that any of them do, but somehow, he believes people are more inclined to adopt younger, more energetic pets than those who'd rather stay curled up in deep sleep and be smothered in pets and affection.
And Frankie rather enjoys it. The quiet he can feel settle in his heart and his guts even though there's still incessant meowing around him. It calms his thoughts, to be focused on the warmth that Chuckles provides. Metaphorically and literally.
It's longer than you expected, the time it took to provide all the information needed, the question another visitor had for you, before you can make your way back to the cats. You're almost expecting to see the visitor walk out the door by the time you're free again. He doesn't.
He's still with the cats, a sight to behold and quite a surprising one when you open the door. To find him sitting on a bench, large ginger cat curled on his lap, head resting gently on the man's wrist. Frankie gives you a sheepish shrug in response to the pleased skip in your step. Smile so wide it reaches your ears.
"Sorry it took so long. But I see he's made himself quite at home."
"I sat down and he came down by himself."
A pair of green eyes flutter open at the feeling of your fingers in his fur, only to lean back further into Frankie.
"I think you've been adopted."
"Looks like it. I-you said senior? Does he not need meds or stuff?"
You shake your head, knowing what the question means. How wrong he was to scowl at the idea of a cat as a pet when you first mentioned it.
"Lots of loving is what he needs. His check-up when he first came in was near perfect. Should I draw the paperwork then?"
Frankie closes his eyes, another second to think about it but truly, his heart clenches at the idea of leaving the animal behind, even for one more night. His house will be more silent, more peaceful for him. He won't be as disturbed by the younger cats as he is here. So long for the dog. Chuckles will still be a great companion. A fantastic lap warmer, Frankie is starting to immensely enjoy the feeling.
"I think yes," he decides. Only to realize he's not at all prepared. He didn't even think he'd find a dog on his first visit. "But I-shit. I mean, sorry, I wasn't planning on that, I've got nothing for him, I-." He checks his watch then, jerking the cat to look at his wrist. "I could run to the store real quick? I swear I'll come back for him."
You'd be surprised if it was all an act, that's for sure. Not with the honest panic you've glimpsed in his eyes, free from the glasses he's now got hooked to the collar of his tee-shirt. The shelter could let him borrow some things at least for a day, but he seems so eager.
"I'll have everything ready when you come back then. I just need your ID to make a copy if that's all right."
"Sure."
"Great. Come on, Chuckles, let me have you before you go, too."
You take the cat from him, letting him fish his wallet. Frankie catches you snuzzling your nose in the ginger fur, the sight endearing but then he supposes anyone who works at an animal shelter should love them as much as you seem to.
"We've found you a home, Chuckles! Isn't that great? You're going home with this fine gentleman. Don't worry, he's coming back."
For once, Chuckles lingers by the gate that you carefully close after you, a rare meowing at being left alone. Not very long, though.
Frankie practically raids the closest pet store his GPS guides him to. A bed and a blanket. Some dishes for food and water. One little collar with a belt, not that he supposes he'll let the cat out much, at least not at the beginning. The healthiest food for senior cats. Toys. So many toys. Even if he has no idea whether that's something the pet will want. He'll have options. A litter box. A scratching post that the cashier suggests. Also a book about raising cats. Even if Chuckles is past the raising stage.
The shelter is a bit busier when Frankie makes his way back inside, truck brimming with goods. People milling about. You that excuses yourself when you spot him to gesture to the table where the family was filling in papers when he'd first entered the place.
"I've filed out some info for you already. I'll let you look it over," you explain as he sits down, remembering to put on his glasses the second he starts squinting and starts to hold the paper farther away from his face. It's so much clearer with the glasses. And they do compliment him so well, you can't help thinking. Again. But that's not why you're here. You're here to make sure animals find their forever home. You're not here to check out prospective forever families. Even when they're easy on the eye.
"And also," you add, pointing to the second form on the table, "that might be of interest to you."
"What's that?" Frankie frowns.
"Volunteering form."
A set of puzzled eyes snap up to you, eyebrows furrowed under his cap.
"We're always looking for help, especially to walk the dogs and since that's something you seemed to be looking for, that could be your chance, even if you can't adopt one. But no pressure, like I said, it's volunteering so there's no pay...or yes, you'll be paid in scratches. Not to you," you add quickly when you see how he tilts his head and smirks ever so slightly, making the blood heat up under your cheeks.
"Scratches for the dogs," you stress, only to scrunch up your nose and there's something endearing about you, Frankie suddenly realizes. Your enthusiasm, your joy, all those cute facial expressions. The way you keep on rambling, hardly catching your breath, so much information dumped on Frankie that he has to concentrate really hard to follow your train of thoughts and yet, it's a nice rhythm that doesn't make his heart quicken or send him into a panic. It's a breeze. Unrelenting. Small but steady and pleasing.
"So no real pay for you, like I said. You'll be paid in wagging tails and endless love. Yeah, that's better. But no pressure. Just if you have some free time and feel like it."
Walking dogs without owning one? That's half of what he was looking for. A companion and a reason to go out and maybe meet more people. That'd be nice. Frankie is already reaching for that form before checking if everything is in order with Chuckles. Except...
"I'm new here, like I said. I don't know any place to walk them."
"Oh, that's all right. You wouldn't be on your own. I'll show you around."
"Do you work here then?"
"Nope. I'm a volunteer, too. One of the most senior ones for that matter."
You point to one of the photos on the wall, one of a mini-you surrounded by a couple. Maybe your parents. Or your grandparents, Frankie can't tell, he's too far away to make out the finest details on the fading photograph. There's no mistaking that smile. The same one gracing your face as you're hoping to convince him and add one to the team.
"So it's almost like I do wo-"
"Ruby? Question for you."
Interrupted again, an apologetic side smile you cast at him before you leave him to be. Again.
"I'll be right back. Just look it over. No hard feelings if you can't or don't want to."
Frankie can. He's got some free time like you said. And he does, kind of want to. He'd like to see that dog that looks like his childhood pet. Unless that dog is adopted in the meantime, which would be even better. He'd like to play fetch and get that joy people often have after interacting with animals. He'll get that at home.
So many new ideas forming this afternoon. Never in his wildest dreams a pet would have meant a cat for him. He doesn't live on a farm, there are no mice to hunt.
If he can get that joy outside of home, too, and fill in his time, lots to spare when he's not at work, that's a better prospect than being stuck inside studying new flying regulations. At least he'll have support for that, another presence in the house.
"Mr Morales here is taking Chuckles home," you announce as you walk back to him with your colleague. Another volunteer? Frankie has no idea if the shelter only runs on volunteering. He supposes he'll have plenty of time to find out soon.
"Oh, lucky guy!" The other woman exclaims, and he can't tell if she means him or the cat.
"Frankie's fine," he corrects instead, taps the form on the table. "If we're going to walk the dogs together."
"Oh, we are? Oh, that's great!" You clap your hands twice, clearly excited at the news and Frankie hears himself chuckle. "Welcome aboard then, Frankie. This is Judith," you introduce your fellow volunteer, and Frankie reaches for her hand. For yours when you tell him your name and you feel him falter in your loose grip. His is so much sturdier.
"I thought your name was..." He swears he heard Judith call you something else. Unless his ears are also going but he rather hopes not. You're already waving it off, the ghost feeling of how smooth your palm was against his.
"That's a silly nickname I got when I was younger and it stuck. Everybody calls me that. Sometimes I think I should even change my legal name, now that's an idea, isn't it?" You laugh at your own joke, grabbing the form Frankie is handing you, Judith agreeing that when she first met you, it took her days if not weeks to realize that was just a nickname.
"So yeah, call me whatever you like, Frankie. Now, let's see. Ah, you're free on Saturdays, so am I usually, barring emergency surgery but that's rather quite rare."
"You a doctor?"
"Better."
Frankie watches you pause from scanning what he's scribbled down, to put both hands on your hips, quite a proud almost superhero pose with your chest puffed out and chin jutting out, making you look way taller than what you actually are, he realizes as you're towering a little over him since he's sitting down. Rather the opposite from when he was standing next to you and you had to crane your head a bit to talk to him.
Cheeky pose and tone.
"I'm a vet! I'll give you a card if you ever need to swing by with Chuckles. But point is, I'm usually always here on Saturdays so if you wanna start next week, if that works for you, swing by at let's say 10 and I'll show you the ropes and all that jazz. Oh! I'll add you to the group chat, too! You've got Whatsapp?"
Frankie can barely nod, hardly any time left for him to actually reply, so excited that you seem.
"We've got a groupchat with all of us volunteers if someone's sick, to arrange times and stuff. Do you mind me adding you to it?"
You do it later that evening, the busiest Frankie's phone has been in a while. The handful of other volunteers welcoming him when the newest addition is explained. The messages to congratulate him on giving Chuckles a home are even quicker to arrive, the cat clearly beloved by all.
It's a while after Frankie brings him back to his place for Chuckles to venture out of the carrier box but you've warned him that it might happen. Hours after he's set it down in the living room, door open, that the cat finally decides to inspect his new house, smelling the food, investigating every piece of furniture.
Frankie's sleep has been light for years. He's awoken several times that first night by soft paws on wooden floors, some meowing and in the morning, he finds the cat curled up on the couch. The same spot he finds him every morning afterwards, the new bed especially bought for him shamelessly scorned.
Chuckles is sleeping there on the next Saturday as well, ginger head on a cushion that barely raises when Frankie pets him before he leaves, one faint inconvenienced meow when he stops so he can drive back to the shelter.
The same outfit on your back that Frankie remembers from a week ago, black tee-shirt which looks to be the same size as the one you find in the break room for him, even though he doesn't have to wear it if he doesn't feel like it. Next week, Frankie promises and you're quite pleased that he appears to want to make his visits regular before even having finished his first day of volunteering.
You show him more than the ropes, giving him a complete tour of the premises, introducing him to the other person there as well. Not Judith this time. One of the two who are actually employed and keep the place running when volunteers have to be at their regular jobs.
There's a mandatory stop to explain how the coffee maker works before you show him where the shelter keeps food and meds, if he'd ever want to help with more than walks. Frankie takes it all in, how much you speak, how much you drink from the water bottle you carry until you get to the dogs and need both hands.
No hindrance needed so the long hair that was flooding down your back gets tied in a tight ponytail, swinging on your back as you introduce all of them to Frankie, barking so loud and excited that he's sure he misses a few names.
The dogs are so excited at seeing the humans, at noticing the leashes. At sniffing Frankie when he gets close enough. You give him the two biggest dogs, Oscar included after all, who almost rips your arm off in his enthusiasm to go on a walk. Frankie looks mildly horrified at how you roll your shoulder to lessen the sharp pain, not really reassured by how you laugh it off, it happens all the time, no worries.
It's impossible to bring all the dogs, sadly, but the five you take along, three for you and two for Frankie, they're already enough.
There's a large green space by the main building of the shelter where the other dogs can roam while you show Frankie one of the trails nearby. No real sun on that Saturday, fall creeping around the corner while the late summer hangs on tight to September, but you build up quite a sweat, Frankie a picture when he has to hold all the leashes for the few seconds it takes you to tie your fleece jacket around your waist.
It's not quiet at all, those hours and walks and all that it involves, helping at the shelter but that's exactly what Frankie needed to fill his weekends. It's not quiet, loud noises and all that you have to teach him about a place, a town, you've clearly lived in all your life. All the tidbits of information about this or that particular spot of interest, where to go to get the best popcorn at the cinema, which diner will have the fluffiest pancakes and how he should never buy lightbulbs from the supermarket but go to the hardware store instead. Although as you say it, you realize he may be more proficient in all things electric than you are and he may be all right with the supermarket. Better safe than sorry.
It's not quiet, with the barking and the meowing and the pawing and the ache in his shoulder after he's thrown one too many balls before driving home on his second Saturday spent at the shelter. This time remembering to bring his own lunch after you'd kindly shared yours that first time, when he hadn't realized he'd be staying that long and he was famished.
It's not quiet but it's peaceful and Frankie feels better, feels like he's settling down, he's meeting people from all sides, from work to his group meetings to volunteering, to shopping for Chuckles after that senior cat develops a great fondness for the wet food Frankie bought him when he first adopted him and now, with such stubborness, the cat won't eat anything else and so regular trips are to be made to the pet store. How the employees working there are starting to recognize him, too. A teenager who's the son of another volunteer at the shelter, Frankie finds out when he goes to help out on his free Wednesday, a couple of weeks after adopting Chuckles.
One Wednesday a month, he gets the day off, the first few he'd spent furbishing his house, fixing what needed it to be, booking all the needed appointments to have everything in order. Now if he can use the time to help at the shelter, that's even better. Even if you're not there on Wednesdays. Everyone else is nice, warm, welcoming. Frankie would be lying if he said he didn't have a soft spot for you, though.
Pure delight that radiates from every single one of your actions, whenever you get to talk or hang out with animals, whenever you are outside in nature. Whenever you spot people that you know, short wave of your hand to the bartender before you reach the bar, then one to Frankie's table with the other two volunteers that same Wednesday.
An invitation thrown out as they were cleaning some of the pens earlier in the afternoon, that Howard's wife was at choir practise until later that evening so would Frankie and Carl (Frankie is getting pretty good at remembering all the new names he's been introduced too in the past three months he's moved up north), would they like to get a beer before going home.
One quick text sent to the groupchat if anybody would like to join them, you did mention you usually always had a little get together to welcome new volunteers, officially, but there has been no time to set it up, yet. So a drink at the bar is one way to start rectifying this.
One small wave of your hand to the bartender that you greet by name, one to the guys once you spot them, drink in hand, walking towards them. Forever a bright smile crinkling around tired eyes, Frankie can't help but notice. Beer placed down on the table, backpack dropped on the floor, jacket draped on the back of the booth as you greet them all.
"What was the hold-up today, Ruby? Cat or dog?"
You're still wearing your scrubs under the large brown cardigan, large black buttons on your chest, little flower designs embroidered all over.
It's not unusual for the guys to meet for drinks and to shoot out an invitation in the groupchat but it's rather rare for you to join them. Not on week nights, after a long day at work, long hours spent on your feet so in the evening you'd rather go home, take a bath and put your feet up.
With the inclusion of Frankie's name in the message you've read right before your last patient, the first time he's ever joining the others at the bar, it was too enticing to turn down. Only a handful of hours you've spent with him since the open-house, but you enjoy his company. Even if you had to stress that you might join them later, you were pretty tied up right now.
They're almost finished with their drinks indeed, as you slide in the booth next to Frankie, the last available spot at the table yet you can think of worse places to sit than next to the small, polite smile he gives you, shuffling to make more room for you.
"It was a chicken actually, if you wanna know everything, Howard!" you answer cheerfully.
"Mr Andrews'?"
"You know it!"
"A chicken?" Frankie has to ask, almost choking on his beer in his surprise. "....Really?"
"Yep! Wanna see?" You're reaching for your phone before he even answers, looking for photos that you show just to him, the guys clearly not surprised by the piece of information, apparently it's routine for you. "Mr Andrews's got this rooster that believes its wings really are made for flying and every once in a while it'll get stuck in the wire fence of his chicken coop. But isn't it gorgeous?"
Flaming colors in its feathers when Frankie squints at the screen, he will not put on glasses to look at pictures. The rooster looks rather angry, though.
"Good thing I was wearing thick gloves, that's for sure," you agree when he points it out. "And look at the beautiful boy we got before!" A picture of a happy-looking dog as you swipe through. To a cat stretching with all its might on a bed. "And that's Pumpkin this morning!"
"Is he yours?"
"Yeah, we adopted him a few years ago. Came as a kitten with a few others at the shelter. We fostered him first and then couldn't let him go. Isn't he the cutest?"
Frankie does a double-take, looks at your pet hard and then back at you, your unmistakable love for the cat.
"And, did...you name him?"
"I did!"
"You named your....black cat Pumpkin?"
"Yeah, funny, isn't it? Black cat, pumpkins, Halloween, witches, yada yada yada."
One vague motion rolling your wrist as Frankie gazes on, disbelief still flickering in big brown eyes. There are loose locks of hair coming out of your braid as your shoulders shake with your giggles and Frankie purses his lips at the sounds, shakes his head, too. A bigger, as earnest smile on the brim of his glass as he takes another sip of his beer, has to give it to you.
"It's pretty clever, that's for sure."
You're still laughing in your drink, the smoothness of it on your tongue even as you recline in the booth. Finally some time to relax. You deserve it.
Another little sip, taking in the surroundings, the bar which isn't too crowded. The vintage lights and the old-fashioned counter. All those rows of bottles behind it. The empty tables by the door leading to the kitchen. The TV that's playing some sort of sport channel you don't really care for, sound turned off. The people playing pool, but no one playing darts as you scan the large room. Echoes of conversation behind, in front of you.
Close to you, your fingers drumming on the table, vague bits of discussion going on between the guys about some sports, either what's being showed on TV or something else. You can't quite tell, it's all a buzz in your ears. It's been a long day.
Not all three guys sound animated, though. Frankie is mostly silent, drinking from his tall glass, hardly taking part in the conversation. Listening intently, you're sure. You haven't spent much time with him yet, but if there's something you've noticed, is that he doesn't seem to be the talkative type. Always observing, always taking in information. Always answering when addressed but hardly ever contributing if he doesn't have something valuable to say. Perhaps that's because he doesn't know you all well yet.
Almost always the same outfit, with the hat forever on his head, even inside, low on his forehead. The brown curls which bounce a little when he agrees with something one of the others must have said. The patch in his beard that stretches as he comments something and goes back to looking like a small heart, if you let your imagination run, when he closes his mouth again. The way his throat bobs when he chugs down more of his beer, arm flexing under the leather jacket that you're seeing on his for the first time.
His hand looks so much larger than yours around the glass, like it could hold both of yours in its palm and there'd still be soom room left. No, now that's ridiculous, you chuckle to yourself and he tilts his head towards you, thinking you must have said something to him he hasn't heard.
"You any good at darts, Frankie?" you ask instead because you're not about to admit the silly image your exhausted brain has conjured up.
"Uh?"
"Darts," you repeat, pointing to the tattoo on his hand. "You any good at them?"
"Oh, uhm," he clears his throat, flexes his hand. "That's not-that's not what that means. I got it when I was serving."
"King of shooting practise, were you, then?"
"Hardly."
Frankie can't help but scowl, deeply, guts and mind thrust back to the absolute shit show that it turned out to be, the last time he's handled firearms. Shouts and crashing, blood and freezing mountains, rain and the jungle, steep cliffs and gunshots echoing in his ears. He sucks in a sharp breath.
There's a darkness that clouds shifting eyes before Frankie closes them abruptly. Tightly by your side. The slight tremor you can discern with how close you're sitting that courses through his arms all the way to how he clenches his fist on the table.
You want to kick yourself. That loud and running mouth that some people often say will get you in trouble. You never meant to cause any distress with your stupid joke. Perhaps some times it would be better to talk less. Your own fist clenches on your thigh.
One, two, three deep breaths for Frankie to remind himself where he is. To focus on the sounds of the guys arguing about football. The cue hitting balls on the pool table. One rowdy bout of laughter a couple of tables over. He's not in the past. He's right here, he's safe, making acquaintances, leaving remorses and regrets and what ifs behind. What good do they do anyway?
Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, desperate to backtrack. You never meant to ruin his night out. But just as you make to speak up, Frankie beats you to it.
"Are you any good at darts?"
Not a trace of what must have upset him visible on his face. Maybe a bit in his voice. Soft, kind eyes that peer at you, fingers that loosen to grab his beer, one long sip to quench his suddenly dry throat and you relax, let it go for now.
"Can't complain."
You give a dismissive shrug, gaze flicking to the dart board, trying hard not to let your face betray you, nails tapping on wood instead and there's a good distraction, Frankie decides. Especially since he could see how conflicted you were after your honest mistake, no way you could have known.
He puts both hand flat on the table, resolute.
"All right. Let's have it."
"What?"
"Show me what you got." One vague gesture towards the wall and whatever tiredness you'd been feeling sorts of evaporates. Even the fact that you were looking forward to sitting down doesn't feel that important, you realize, shuffling back out of the booth. You definitely made the right call joining them at the bar.
"You guys wanna play?" Frankie asks the guys, only to be met by excuses. One who has to pick up his wife soon and the other who's gotta get home soon, it's almost dinnertime.
"Ooooh, dinner! I think I'll have something here," you decide, skipping by his side to the bar to ask for the darts. "I can't remember when lunch was and I'm starving. Do you wanna have something, too? The chicken wings are to die for. Can we have the darts, please, Mike? Also, we're gonna get some food."
You pluck a menu from the bar to let Frankie check the options.
Why not, there's only a frozen pizza waiting for Frankie back home. The cat is probably sleeping, warming up Frankie's prefered spot on the couch, if he ever manages to claim it back from the pet.
"Do you wanna make it interesting?" you ask, to distract yourself from how adorable he looks when he's deep in thought, rubbing his jaw, thinking it over. Forehead creased in concentration under his cap. He glances up at you, how you've resting your jaw on your open palm, studying him. He raises a curious eyebrow.
"How so?"
"Uhm, let's see. Let's say loser has to pay for dinner?"
"Oh, really?" He pauses for a second, looking straight at you behind the brown frame of his glasses, gauging how serious you are. Very. "Well, in that case, I almost feel like I should also order some dessert," Frankie has to tease, how at ease he feels and you can't even be offended when there are more urgent matters to settle.
"You should always order dessert, Frankie. Regardless of the circumstances. You an apple pie kind of guy? It's really good, the apples are from right down the road."
As far as food is concerned, Frankie is starting to realize he can trust you. So you get two orders of those chicken wings you were raving about. French fries, two slices of apple pie, another beer for Frankie, yours barely touched.
"Loser's paying for the food," you inform the older gentleman who bartends and owns the place Frankie learns when you introduce him. "So just put it all on Frankie's tab," you tease right back, making the bartender, Mike, laugh out loud.
One loud, offended scoff at your assurance comes from behind you, the glance you take to catch Frankie taking off his glasses, no longer needed now that he's gotten the food he'd like. He places them gently on the new table you've taken over. Leather jacket on the back of a chair that reveals the dark green shirt he's been wearing underneath. A new purchase because this colder weather is making him re-adjust his wardrobe, not that Frankie expected otherwise. Regardless, he moved up not really prepared to handle how cold fall already is, and how much colder winter is bound to be.
The seams of the shirt strain on his shoulders as he flexes his arms, stretches and rolls his shoulders to warm himself up. All the muscles that look close to actually ripping the material to shreds with every one of his moves. Only a distraction from the goal that you have to get a free dinner. Also, to have fun. Definitely the right call to have such an unexpected break in the middle of the week.
"You seem awfully sure of yourself," Frankie mumbles and he tries not to squeeze your hand too hard when you shake hands on the little friendly wager. He wouldn't want to be accused of injuring the competition. "You're not hustling me, are you?"
He frowns suddenly, not at all reassured by the sly smile you give him. The dismissive shrug once again.
"I don't know how good you are so I don't think I could possibly do that. Right?"
The wink above your still joined hands makes Frankie realize he should not underestimate you. He sizes you up once again, taking over your tiny frame, the hint of mischief in your eyes and because it's ladies first, you're the one who starts. That's one gentlemanly attention you won't deny him, not if it's to your advantage, and Frankie sees first-hand that you aren't so bad at darts at all after all. Or maybe he's just rusty, he can't remember when's the last time he's played the game.
All the teasing isn't helping, how you're trying to rile him up and at one point, Frankie even has to huff loudly, to cock his head at you because seriously, you're doing it on purpose to make him lose his focus.
Except you're a picture of innocence when he glares at you, legs swinging merrily from the table you've hopped on, waiting for your turn to go again. He's the one who delights in your offended gasp when he does score high, and maybe it won't be as easy of a free dinner for you to get in the end.
"Here you go, kids. Enjoy!"
You're both interrupted, mouth-watering smells joining half-empty drinks and the food make you both take a short break. So Frankie can let his arm and his shoulder rest, you giggle. But also so that he can try the food you've praised so highly.
"Kids," he mutters back around delicious, hot chicken he chews on and he was hungry, too, he realizes, dipping homemade fries into the sauce.
His eyebrows furrow at the description which he clearly doesn't see applying to him, it's been forever since he's felt like one.
"Aren't we all, though?" You ponder, swallowing loudly, reaching for more chicken, burning your fingertips a bit. Careful, you wouldn't want to blame your loss on poor Mike's food, and you glare at Frankie and his smirk. "Kids at heart," you choose to ignore him instead.
Even that, Frankie isn't sure that he qualifies for. He's been feeling weary for years, bones and joints aching and creaking and shadows corrupting in his memories. But what he's doing right now, it is fun actually. Playing, having a good time, hanging out, eating with his fingers. It does lift his spirits. That and your next joke.
"I mean, age is just a number, isn't it? It's what you believe in here that counts." You tap your temple. "Look at me. I've only just turned 21 and this is my first beer ever. Can you believe it?"
You wink again, taking a large sip of it and Frankie has to laugh out loud in his fries. At the way you snigger in your drink, that first beer seems like forever ago, and it's not like you waited for your 21st birthday to get a taste of it anyway. Frankie has to laugh out loud at the cute way you scrunch up your nose at too much alcohol at once. Eyes prickling a tiny bit.
He's caught himself thinking it from time to time throughout the game. Or even at the table earlier. Or even last Saturday at the shelter. How cute you are.
Whenever you're so full of joy you have to share it with the rest of the world. Enough optimism in your heart to power a whole town. When your brain runs away from you and you've got to pause to remember where you were going with the story you were telling. When you rock on your heels to aim, how your tongue stick out just a bit in concentration. How you clap whenever the dart hits where you were aiming (or better) and how you huff and pout when it doesn't.
The way you insist on apologizing for your earlier blunder as Frankie lets you have the last of the fries and he does appreciate it. Even if you couldn't have known.
You're cute, there's no other word to better describe you.
Except that's a thought Frankie can't have or entertain too much since every time he looks at you, glances at your left hand, whenever he does, the light overhead hits the red stone on the gorgeous, intricate, golden ring you've been sporting on your ring finger all evening. Every time Frankie has been in your company, even the first Saturday at the open-house, if he thinks back on it real hard.
So Frankie may find you cute, he has to reel in any further development he could hope and wish for under other circumstances. If he gets to hang out with you as a friend, that'll be enough. He hasn't really made any since moving.
"Great game, solid skills," you approve seriously, after a match that has kept you on your toes, Frankie is not so bad either after all, and you can't wait for the rematch, already thinking about it as you shake greasy hands on the outcome of the first one.
Some serious competition which doesn't change the fact that the food does get added to Frankie's tab. A real sport about it, because the food and the company definitely were worth it. A much more interesting evening than he could have imagined, Frankie finds, fixing the collar of his jacket and ruffling his hair before putting his hat back on. Walking out of the bar with you, some time since the others have bid you both a good evening.
"I'll walk you to your car," he decides, stepping outside, looking up at the darker sky, night falling.
"No need, thanks. I rode my bike here." You fish the key out of one of the numerous pockets of our backpack before swinging it on your back and Frankie watches you fiddle with the lock at the post where you've secured the bike when you arrived.
"Oh. Well, uh, at least let me give you a ride back home then. It's getting kind of dark. We can put it in the bed of my truck, it'll fit."
"That's very nice but no need for that either. This is a very safe town, Frankie, I'll be fine."
A kind smile as you put on the helmet you had clasped around the handlebars and which is still there even an hour or so afterwards. It wouldn't be if the town wasn't safe, if everyone didn't know what your bike looked like, if everyone didn't know each other in this town, even. There's almost no need for the lock to secure the bike, but it's more to keep it upright so it doesn't get damaged.
"I can see that bu-"
"I've been doing this for years, don't worry about me. But thank you. I appreciate it!"
"Ok," Frankie relents with a sigh, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. "If you ever need one, a ride, you know where to find me."
"That's super nice of you, too. Thank you! I had a fun night, thanks for dinner!"
One last cheeky comment with a little wave before you start pedaling, both hands needed.
"You're welcome! Get home safe!"
"You, too! Say hi to Chuckles for me!"
You're rounding the corner, disappearing, Frankie's reply that he will probably lost on you and he sighs. Again. To himself.
It's been a fun night indeed, apart from his little panic moment. He's grateful for knowing how to handle those and he supposes that's his story to share sorted out for his next group meeting. But apart from that, he's had fun and you're great to hang out with.
Frankie has no idea who put that stunning, vintage-looking, visibly a family heirloom of a ring on your finger, but whoever it is, he can tell they're lucky.
Part II
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Fall divider by the fantastic @firefly-graphics
Comments, reblogs and thoughts are wildly encouraged!
I no longer use a taglist, please follow @frenchiereading-notifs if you would like to know when I post new stories and/or chapters.
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crit20art · 1 year
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[ID: two black and white digital drawings of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood from The Magnus Archives. Jon is depicted as a short, thin, British-Pakistani man with dark, scar-covered skin. He has long greying hair and a short beard. Martin is depicted as a tall, fat, Vietnamese-Polish man with freckles and a medium skin tone. He has short dark hair and patchy stubble.
In the first drawing, they kneel on a nondescript surface, and Martin has both arms wrapped around Jon, gathering him close. Martin’s expression is content and slightly determined as he presses a kiss to the back of Jon’s neck. Jon looks somewhat overwhelmed, as if he is so pleased that he almost can’t stand it, his eyebrows looking distressed even as he smiles slightly. He grips his own shoulder with one hand, and the other has fallen limply into his lap.
In the second drawing, Martin is shown from the shoulders up, presumably seated, and Jon bends down from behind to kiss Martin’s forehead. Martin’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, and he blushes profusely as small exclamation points and a question mark float around his head. A book of John Keats poems is partially visible at the bottom of the frame, as if Martin was reading but the forehead kiss rendered him unable to hold up the book. End ID]
area man menaces boyfriend with endless affection, then gets utterly obliterated by one (1) forehead kiss
More kissing/touch prompts!! @roatmeal suggested a forehead kiss, anon suggested Martin hugging Jon while kissing the back of his neck, and the galaxy-brained @babyyodablackwood suggested Martin being overwhelmed by small displays of affection 😭😭😭 my king WILL learn to be loved i stg
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doctor-freakshow · 5 months
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(ID in caption and alt text)
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> domestic husbands in scotland :']
[Image Description: A traditional pencil drawing of Jon Sims and Martin Blackwood from The Magnus Archives. It cuts off at the top of their thighs, showing Jon's front, Martin's back and their side profiles. They are standing in a doorway to the kitchen, kissing. Image 2 is a closeup of the kiss.
Jon has dark, freckled skin and worm-scars, with a knife scar across his throat. He has a beard and mustache and a short, greying afro. He is wearing rectangular glasses, a light jumper with rolled-up sleeves and dark sweatpants. One hand is hidden apart from his thumb, holding the doorframe, and the other is resting on Martin's shoulder.
Martin has light, freckled skin. He has a patchy beard and mustache and shoulder-length, tied back hair. He is wearing semicircular glasses, a black jumper with leather elbows, tucked into a light pair of jeans with a belt. his arm is wrapped around Jon's waist, pulling him into the kiss, eith his other arm hidden.
In the background is the kitchen. there are two sets of cupboard doors and handles visible, one below the counter and one on the wall, along with a painting of a cottage in a field with a fence. End ID.]
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Frankie isn't afraid of growing old [Frankie x gn!reader]
My Frankie Morales masterlist
Read on Ao3
Fandom: Triple Frontier
Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (I think it’s gn!reader, correct me if I’m wrong).
Warnings: Implied sex at the end, but this is just short and sweet and sfw.
Summary: You like Frankie's hair and beard and body? Idek.
Words: 788
You stop on the threshold to the bathroom, and lean on the door frame, admiring the view before you.
Frankie’s just out of the shower, towel hanging low on his narrow hips, his pudgy belly protruding over the edge of the cotton. Long, strong legs, thick thighs (now hidden by the towel), broad shoulders, arms muscular by physical labor, not lifting weights. A bit of a double chin forming, round cheeks when he smiles – which he does often. Facial hair growing out of order, silver scattered among the dark bristles. His hair echoes that salt and pepper, and newly washed, towel-dried… Good lord, those curls.
Your man is a hot piece of ass, there’s no other way of putting it.
He glances over at you, a little smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he reaches for the shaving cream.
”What?”
”You know what,” you smile back.
”I don’t.”
”Yes you do, stud. You’re so fucking sexy.”
His ears turn pink, and he hurries to lather his face with shaving cream.
”Thanks.” His voice is demure, but warm, and his long lashes are cast down as he picks up his razor, before looking up in the mirror.
”Why the shaving?” you ask, now entering the bathroom. He raises a brow at you, razor at the ready.
”Honey, I look like Hugh Jackman in X-Men.”
”You say that like it’s a bad thing…”
”It’s beginning to look unkempt.”
You grab a towel from the rack, and dab a little at his face. ”Just a little touch-up? I like your facial hair.”
”It’s getting itchy.”
”That’s because you’re not using the products I got you,” you roll your eyes and give Frankie a ”told you so” look. He smiles back, sheepishly, and puts down the razor. You take that as an invitation to wet the towel, and start to wipe the cream off his face. A lock of hair falls down his forehead, and you brush it to the side, letting your fingers run through the damp curls. Frankie releases a small sigh, as do you.
God, how you love that he’s just who he is. He’s not ashamed of his body, doesn’t sweat it that he’s going grey (you almost spit out your drink the first time you saw Benjamin with his newly colored hair – there’s a guy who refuses to grow old), and doesn’t care if you shave your body hair or not.
Frankie just isn’t afraid of growing old. He welcomes it with open arms, now that he’s out of the military, alive and spending the rest of his life with you.
”Just a little trim?” you now suggest, and Frankie agrees. You take the electric razor from its dock, check the setting, then go over your man’s mustache and patchy beard. When you’re done, you change the setting again, and touch up the edges. Finally, you take out the beard oil, and carefully massage it onto his face. All the time, Frankie’s eyes are fixed on yours, half closed like those of a cat enjoying itself in a patch of sunlight.
”There,” you finally nod, patting his cheek. ”Pretty as a pony.”
Frankie chuckles, now tearing his gaze from you, and checking himself in the mirror. He runs his palms over his cheeks, turns his face this way and that to check all the angles.
”Thanks,” he finally says, looking happy. He may not be that interested in trying to look young, but he does want to look good with what he has. ”It’s much better.”
”You’re very welcome,” you smile, equally happy with the result. Frankie draws his fingers through his hair.
”I think I’ll see if the barber has an opening tomorrow.”
”Noooo,” you protest, taking his hands away from his hair, and running your own fingers through the curls that you love so much. ”No touchy!”
”Honestly, baby, I’m beginning to think that you won’t love me anymore if I were to turn bald!”
”I wouldn’t,” you tell him cruelly. ”You wouldn’t be the same without the hair.”
”You’re breaking my heart,” he mock sobs dramatically. ”You’re only with me because I look good.”
”Well, duh.”
You lean in, smelling the beard oil and body wash on him. Tentatively, your lips brush over his.
”I’ll tell you a secret,” you whisper, your hands sneaking around his waist, pulling him in close, his big warm belly pressing up against you.
”Yeah?” He nips at your lips, hands coming to just above your ass.
”I don’t like the idea of someone else touching your hair.”
”Jealousy is a good look on you…”
”Everything looks good on me.”
”True.”
You untie the towel around his hips, and Frankie presses his grinning lips to yours.
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dionysusinparis · 3 months
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Mechanic Joel
TW- smoking, catcalling, slight violence (pushing), verbal threats, age difference Joel in his 50s and no age but younger reader (at least I had in my mind). LMK if I missed any.
Summary- Joel notices you being catcalled by a guy and comes over to help
A/N- This whole photoshoot had me screaming, crying and throwing up lmaoo and needed to use this pic for something. Used it more as inspo but oh well hahaha. I apologise this isn't longer and not more detailed ,currently dying in my bed but needed to get this off my chest lmao
W/C- 1.1k
Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appriciated and result in forehead kisses <33
TAGS and GORGEOUS MOOTS <;3 @creedslove @morallyinept @lumoverheaven @vabeachazn @pedroswife69 @yourlocalmerchgirl @yorksgirl @jokersfangirl84 @tuquoquebrute @planet-marz1 @cool-iguana @dilfspitdrinker @theplumsoldier @pedrit0-pascalit0 @joelswritingmistress @studioghibelli @chibimosa @jennaispunk @pascalscoffin @mermaidgirl30 @phatghettorat
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‘-That will be a hundred for you’, one of the mechanics, who were changing the oil in your car shouted over his shoulder.
You looked through your purse to see that you were 10 dollars short and sighed in frustration. ‘Hey man, look I’m 10 dollars short. Is there anything I can do to repay or maybe we can discuss the price?’
‘We all know what you can do sweet cheeks’, a guy, around your age cut you off and smirked, looking you up and down, just stopping his sight on your short top which showed some of your clevage. You knew that this would fucking happen. Even before the mechanic started to look at your car the guy was sitting on one of the stools and noticed you coming in, winking and adjusting how he sat when he saw that you were wearing some shorts and a short tank top, a classic summer outfit men just could not stop themselves from making weird comments. You didn’t notice the guy when there was another man just a few feet away from him, pumping air into some tire and screwing it onto the car. He was older than you. Much much older. Probably in his 50’s considering the sunspots around his body, but especially his shoulders that flexed and broad chest that heaved when he picked up heavy equipment. Oh, and those salt and pepper curls that stuck to his forehead, leaving them to stick up at the front, giving him a slight boyish look. You noticed how the grey tank top, now drenched in sweat and oil clung onto his muscles, showing off the biceps and the veiny arms covered in grease that you so longed for to hold you at night. That moustache definitely added to the rugged charm, making you slightly close your legs tighter when you noticed the little specks of grey on it and the patchy beard. When he noticed you gawking at him, he flashed you a pearly white smile that made his crows feet crinkle even more around his eyes and went back to fixing the car for that guy that was now busy on his phone, probably texting a bunch of girls.
‘HEY YOU!’ a voice boomed from somewhere and you noticed the vest guy, now you know as Joel from the tag on his vest.
He strode towards the guy, a snarl on his face and eyes full of fury ‘the fuck did you just say to her?’. His voice definitely showed that he wasn’t playing any games with anyone.
The guy stood quiet, a smirk quickly falling off his lips as his eyes slightly widened ‘i-‘
‘I won’t fucking repeat myself again, the fuck did you say to her? Come on, let me hear. Let all of us hear it.’ You knew that this was the wrong time to admire how the veins on his flushed neck bulged out and the way his hands curled into fists. You cursed yourself mentally as you noticed your breathing slightly hitching as Joel threw aggressive words at the guy. However, the next thing you didn’t expect at all. When the guy didn’t say anything but SLIGHTLY TREMBLED, Joel looked away for a split second in anger as he pushed the guy towards the work bench, towering the guy’s figure and taking some money from his pocket before spitting.
‘Take that piece of shit and get out. I swear if I see you again it won’t end well for you. You’re lucky you even have fucking teeth right now’.
The guy quickly walked away from his broad frame and turned his car on before speeding off, leaving his bag on the seat he sat on which Joel didn’t take a double look and thew it across the garage into the trash can before swaying towards you. ‘sorry about that sweetheart. Didn’t meant to get that aggressive. Hope I didn’t scare ya or anythin’ like that’.
You shook your head and smiled ‘definitely deserved it, what an asshole. Should’ve punched a few teeth out’.
Joel laughed at that ‘well I would’ve loved to protect a pretty lady like you that way but I could see he was trembling even when he came in a bit before you. Are you okay though? Need anythin’ to drink?’
You shook your head and pointed to your purse ‘got some here but thanks, and also of course thanks for this. I’m sure you get a lot of guys like that here, with fancy cars and all of that junk’.
‘Sure do’, he purses his lips. ‘All of them are the same. Some fancy car, a designer bag but no balls in their pants if you get where I’m headin’ with this. That’s the third one this month I swear, talking up some chick and being so fucking gross’ he laughs as he takes out a cigarette and lights it up ‘want one?’
‘You nod as you take one from the pack and put it between your lips and taking a drag when Joel lights it up for you’.
‘name’s Joel, and yours, honey?’
You slightly blush at the pet name which he notices and smirks to himself ‘(Insert your name)’
‘What a lovely name for a lovely girl like yourself, pretty as a peach as well’ Joel smiles and puts out the cigarette, throwing the butt somewhere on the floor and looking down on the floor for a split second before meeting your eyes again, a pool of warm brown eyes searching yours.
‘so how much did you say you were short?’
‘10’
‘I won’t charge you today sweets. Not after that asshole, hell maybe I’ll scramble through that bag of his and use it to pay for your oil change’ he winked and grinned.
‘oh-um-you don’t have to do that’ You looked in your purse again, hoping that a 10 dollar bill will magically appear somewhere between the Camel Lights and gum.
‘no no I insist. I mean if you really wanna repay me though you’ll let this redneck take you out somewhere nice, it’ll be worth your time I can guarantee you that’.
You smiled with a grateful look at Joel ‘shit man thanks, and damn what an offer from a guy like you’
He chuckled, ‘a guy like me probably has more game than any of those younger hotshot losers you’ve been out with, am I wrong?’
‘well’ she takes out a pen and writes her number on his wrist ‘convince me then’.
He smiled to himself as he looked at the number as you got into your car and shouted ‘guess ill see you around Joel’ you winked and waved as you drove off and noticed him waving back with a sheepish smile.
‘what a lass’ he muttered to himself as he went back to work, smiling to himself for the rest of his shift and replying the conversation in his mind.
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thefrogdalorian · 3 months
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Dincember Day 25: Holiday
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Word Count: 1498 Rating: General Summary: Waking up before Din on Life Day gives you the opportunity to admire all the little details and features of the man you love so much. Content Warnings: Just some smooching :) Author's Note: This was so soft and I loved writing this for the last entry. Just reader simping for Din Djarin, what a mood. It also leads into Day 6 - Gifts. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed my contribution to Dincember I'm a little stunned I managed to make it through but very proud of myself. Thanks to anyone who has engaged with my entries, it really means the world! Merry Christmas everyone!🎄♡
Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist
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The cabin was entirely silent, except for the soft snores coming from the man whose arms you were lying in. You could tell from the light drifting underneath the blinds that it was early morning; the light was pale and weak and still a bright white, which indicated that the deep frost that the surface of Nevarro had been covered in had not entirely thawed yet. It would make the holiday all the more exciting.
Life Day was finally here. It was the first time you would celebrate it with Din and Grogu in your little cabin here on Nevarro, and the first time that Din would celebrate it altogether. You were so excited for the day that lay ahead for many reasons, but mostly you were excited to witness Din's reaction to the carefully-selected gift that you had secured for him.
Your gift was from his home world and you knew that it would mean a great deal to him. It was a cut of fabric called Aq Vetina Carmine that an incredible vendor at the market had been able to source for you. You were excited to see what gifts Din had for you, but you were even more excited to see his reaction to the red fabric that was sure to bring back so many memories for him.
But that was all to come later in the day. For now, you were simply enjoying the stillness and tranquillity of the moment, cuddled up to the man you loved, in your little home together. Din’s arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you, his large hands splayed out across your stomach. You felt so protected and warm in his arms, when Din held you like this you had never felt safer. His rhythmic breathing as he slept was tickling the back of your neck slightly, not in an unpleasant way, but it was a funny sensation. Mostly, it was a pleasant reminder that he was something tangible, not a figment of your imagination. Din was such a wonderful partner that sometimes you wondered if in your loneliness on your home planet, you had dreamt him up. But no, he was really here, holding you tightly in his arms.
Mercifully, Grogu was seemingly still sleeping peacefully, giving you the opportunity to enjoy this moment. He had not burst into the room with excitement and hauled you and Din out of bed so he could tear into the mountain of gifts that you had carefully wrapped for him. You and Din had both vowed not to spoil Grogu too much. After all, wherever he went in the galaxy he was spoiled by everyone he encountered, even without you and Din. People just found him too adorable to resist; you couldn’t blame any of them, you also thought that Grogu was the cutest baby in the galaxy. Plus, it was Life Day. He was allowed to be a little extra spoiled for one day.
You sighed and shifted in Din’s embrace carefully, turning over to face him, your head on the pillow next to his so you could admire his handsome features while he slept. His hair was tousled from sleep, the dark brown curls sticking up at odd angles. You noticed the flecks of grey that were beginning to appear more prominently in his curls. Rather than making him look older, you thought about how distinguished he looked. His tan skin was practically glowing in the pale light of the morning. Your eyes travelled down towards his facial hair, the grey flecks mixed in with the darker brown that most of his moustache and patchy beard was in colour. The wrinkles around his eyes and that lined his forehead were evidence of both the stressful life he had led and the many times he had smiled or laughed in joy. An emotion that had been so rare for him until he had found you and Grogu. Now, those same wrinkles were relaxed and smoothed out in slumber. All except for the permanent wrinkle that rested on Din’s forehead, just above his nose between Din’s dark brown eyebrows. It was a feature that you found particularly adorable, another stunning detail of the expressive face you loved so much. 
Your gaze stayed admiring that part of Din’s face, around his eyes. You noticed his dark, impossibly long eyelashes were touching on his closed eyes. You were enthralled by him, so many details that comprised the man you loved. Even asleep, Din Djarin was mesmerising. Your heart constricted briefly as you noticed the small scab near his temple, evidence of the tumble he had taken while ice skating the previous day. He had given you such a fright afterwards as you were worried that he would not be able to enjoy Life Day. But fortunately, it seemed after Din had made it back to the cabin and had lain down for a while, he was not too badly affected, just a little shaken. Which was understandable, the apologetic man had hurtled into him at quite a speed. Although Din had complained of a headache last night, you hoped that a good night’s sleep would have alleviated the pain. It certainly seemed as though that was the case, given how restful he appeared in slumber. 
You weren't sure for how long you remained lying there in your quiet reverence, admiring every inch, every crevice and tiny detail of Din’s face. It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, but but however long: it was never enough. You could easily spend the rest of your life admiring Din Djarin like this. 
Your appreciative glances at the man you loved came to an abrupt end, when the eyelashes that you had just been admiring moved as Din's eyes flickered open. You smiled as the brown eyes you loved to gaze into so much were right there, sparkling in the early morning light. Din blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings and the light. But eventually his gaze locked with yours. The eye contact took your breath away. How lucky were you that this thoroughly gorgeous man looked at you in this way, with so much love in his eyes?
“Good morning,” You whispered, your hand coming up to cup Din’s chin and stroke his cheek with your thumb, the grey and brown stubble there was scratchy underneath your touch. 
“Good morning, cyare,” Din replied, leaning in to kiss you softly. Din hummed happily at the contact, then added “Happy Life Day.”
“Happy Life Day, Din,” You murmured. “I hope you enjoy your first time celebrating it. I can’t wait to exchange gifts and eat some good food with you.”
“Me neither,” Din smiled happily. “And I’m sure I will. You’ve introduced me to so many traditions and we’ve had so much fun already together… I can’t believe we still get to celebrate the actual holiday.” 
“Well, now you’ll get to see what everything was building up to,” You grinned. “How are you feeling now?” You asked, in reference to the ice skating catastrophe of the previous day. 
“My head feels much better, thank you,” Din reassured you. You had been pretty upset the previous night, worrying that he would not be in a fit condition to fully celebrate Life Day in the way you had planned. 
“Oh, Din. I’m so glad to hear that,” You breathed, before you pressed a soft kiss to the little scab on his temple. “Probably need to keep kissing you, though. Just to make sure your head heals.”
“Oh yeah?” Din said, raising one eyebrow questioningly.
“Yeah,” You breathed, closing the gap between you. You pressed a small kiss to the spot where his tumble onto the ice had left a physical mark. Then you aimed for his lips, kissing him softly.
The kisses started off gentle, but something between you shifted and the gentle kisses gradually became more and more needy. Din captured your lips desperately, one hand held the back of your head and the other the side of your jaw as his teeth grazed against your bottom lip. It was as though he suddenly had an overwhelming need for you, he was totally overcome with want. You grinned into the kiss, your lips curling into a smile against his facial hair. Din pulled away and buried his face against your shoulder.
“Love you so much, mesh’la,” Din growled into your neck.
“I love you too, Din,” Your reply was cut short, you gasped as Din began kissing the side of your neck.
You were stunned by Din’s sudden desperation, but you weren't going to complain. It seemed that perhaps the festive spirit had manifested in a somewhat surprising way for Din: it had ignited a need for you that you were more than happy to oblige. You sighed happily as Din continued pressing hot kisses onto your neck, now adding teeth to the equation. 
It was the perfect way to start the holiday.
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sofiaispunk · 10 months
Note
Hot priest Morales. Thats it. that's the request
btw love your dbf series!
Sacred Temptations
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pairings: priest!Francisco Morales x Reader AU
a/n: Thank you so much, beautiful! fuck YESSS hot priest Morales is making me feel all kind of things rn. I immediately pictured him as Pedro at the Oscars with his white slutty little buttonup. Thank you for your request! I really appreciate you and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think and if I should make a part 2 maybe?
words: 2k
warnings: religion, smut, flirting, forbidden romance, bratty reader, blasphemy, inappropriate behavior, 18+
You reluctantly followed your parents' lead as they made their way to the local church for Sunday mass. Your outfit for the day reflected your style and individuality, a short blush dress, which barely covered your body. The dress had delicate ruffles along the hemline, adding a touch of femininity to your attire. You paired it with a light cardigan, casually draped over your shoulders, providing at least a bit modesty.
Throughout your life, you had never been particularly fond of churches. The rigid traditions, the solemn rituals - they had always felt foreign to your free-spirited nature. Sunday mornings were often spent indulging in your own pursuits, watching Netflix, brunching with friends or lazily laying in bed, far removed from the pews and hymns.
However, as you returned from college for the summer, something within you had shifted.
Perhaps it was the newfound sense of maturity or maybe it was the desire to reconnect with your roots and understand your own beliefs better. Whatever the reason, you made a conscious decision to join your parents on their weekly visit to church.
As you entered the church, your eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the ornate stained glass windows, the flickering candlelight, and the peaceful atmosphere. Amidst the congregation, your gaze fell upon the priest, who stood at the pulpit, preparing to deliver the sermon.
You found yourself momentarily drawn to his presence, observing how he engaged with the congregation, his gestures emphasizing his words, and his voice carrying a soothing tone. His light brown hair, sleekly gelled back, added a touch of refinement to his overall look. However, scattered throughout his hair were subtle streaks of grey, hinting at the wisdom and experience he possessed.
A neatly trimmed, patchy beard adorned his face, accentuating his rugged charm. It framed his jawline, which was sharp and defined, lending him an air of strength and determination. His broad shoulders hinted at physical presence, giving him a commanding stance as he stood before the congregation.
Curiosity gnawing at you, you turned to your mother, who sat beside you , and leaned in to whisper a question. "Mom, who is the new priest? I don't think I've seen him before."
Your mother, engrossed in the beginning of the service, momentarily glanced at you and then followed your gaze toward the young priest. With a warm smile, she whispered back, "That's Father Francisco. He recently joined our parish. He is a lovely man. Father Francisco has been a guiding light for our community. He's been instrumental in organizing outreach programs, helping the less fortunate, and supporting charitable initiatives. The impact he's made on our community is truly inspiring and a true blessing.”
You nodded, taking in your mother's words. The intrigue surrounding Francisco only intensified as you listened to your mother's description.
As the Sunday service progressed, you couldn't help but feel a peculiar sensation, as if you were being watched. You shifted your gaze and found yourself locking eyes with Father Francisco. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as your gazes met, and an unspoken connection seemed to form.
Surprised by the intensity of the eye contact, a familiar heat rose in your core. However, instead of looking away, you felt an unexpected surge of boldness within you. Perhaps it was the curiosity sparked by your doubts, or the desire to seek answers, but you decided to seize the opportunity and act upon this newfound courage.
Determined to engage in a conversation with Father Francisco, you waited until the end of the service when the parishioners started dispersing. As people began to leave the pews, you approached the young priest, your steps deliberate and your mind racing with desire.
With a deep breath, you stood before Father Francisco, and mustered the courage to initiate a conversation.
"Father Francisco," you began, your voice steady and lower as usual. “I was hoping you could spare a moment of your time.”
“Of course, my child. What can I do for you? I believe we have never met before.”
Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you challenged Father Francisco's claim of not seeing you before.
“Father, are you truly suggesting that you haven't laid eyes on me in this sacred space until now? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps I simply didn't catch your attention until today.” you laid it on thick, making sure to flutter your eyelashes innocently.
“My apologies for not giving you the attention you deserve. It seems I'll have to make amends for that oversight. But I assure you, I am honored to make your acquaintance now.” The corners of his mouth curved into a gentle smile, his eyes mirroring the twinkle of your own.
You leaned in in slightly, the playful tone never leaving your voice. “Well, Father, it appears that divine intervention has finally led you to notice my presence. I must say, it's quite flattering to have captured the attention of such a captivating priest.”
“Ah, I don‘t think flattery will get you anywhere. But what is it you wanted to talk to me about, my child?“ he smiled at you, the corner of his eyes crinkling.
“There’s something plaquing my mind lately, something I haven't experienced in a long time. I'm not familiar with the process of confession. And I was wondering if you could help me, confess my sins?“ you asked innocently, your teeth grazing your bottom lip while your fingers played with the hem of your dress.
“I see. Come to the confessional after next week's mass. We can sit down and discuss the things that weigh heavily on your heart.” As he began to respond, your conversation was unexpectedly interrupted by a line of people forming, seeking his guidance and counsel. You, understanding the demands on the priest's time, gracefully stepped back.
“Well, Father, it seems you are a man in demand. I won't keep you from attending to the needs of your flock. I’ll see you next week, then.”
You offered a playful wink before making your way out of the church, subtly swaying your hips.
-
Surprising your parents, who had grown accustomed to your reluctance to attend church voluntarily, you made your way to the church the following Sunday. Feeling bold and sexy you opted for a green two-piece lingerie set adorned with subtle lace details, which flattered your skin tone perfectly. You threw on a modest high neck white dress on top which made you appear extra innocent. 
Seating yourself in the front row, like a diligent Christian, you eagerly awaited the arrival of Father Francisco.
The Sunday mass took place as usual, without any noteworthy incidents.
Midway through the service, though, you uncrossed your legs, inadvertently capturing Father Francisco's attention, causing a faint blush to color his cheeks. His words momentarily faltered, a subtle indication that your presence had made an impact.
Father Francisco regained his composure, seamlessly continuing the service with his priestly duties. Though his gaze occasionally drifted towards you, he maintained his professionalism, determined to carry out his responsibilities.
You, too, were aware of the effect you had on the priest. A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you observed his momentary distraction.
After the last strains of the closing hymn faded away, and the majority of the parishioners left the church, you seized the opportunity to approach the confessional. With each step, your heart beat a little faster, a mix of nervousness and anticipation filling you.
The confessional stood at the back of the church, tucked away in a quiet corner. Its wooden structure, weathered with time, carried an air of solemnity and reverence.
You approached the confessional, noticing the ornately carved wooden door adorned with intricate religious symbols. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly, and gently pushing it open. The door creaked softly, as if welcoming you into its sacred confines.
Inside, the confessional revealed two compartments separated by a latticed screen—a space for the penitent and a space for the priest. Soft, golden light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns onto the wooden panels.
Taking a seat on the worn cushioned bench, you found yourself enveloped in a sense of hushed tranquility.
In the dimly lit space, you could make out the faint silhouette of the priest's side. 
“Forgive me father for I have sinned. That’s what I am supposed to say, right?” you said, your voice hushed, almost sensual. 
“Lately, my thoughts have wandered to someone who is unattainable. Someone who is meant to inspire and guide, yet remains just out of reach. But I can’t help it, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him at night, think about his big hands and how they would feel on me. About how his big cock would feel deep inside of me. These impure thoughts plague me at night, but they plaque you too, don’t they, daddy?“
Your breathing became heavier as you continue. “Tell me, do you think about me? About your big dick filling up my tight little cunt. Putting your big hands in to my little panties, working me open with those thick fingers of yours. Tell me, Frankie, how badly you want to fuck me. “You shifted on your seat, your thighs rubbing together relieving some of the tension, your own words riling you up. “I can be your little good girl, you know. Just say the words.”
You sank deeper into the plush cushions, Slick arousal pooling in your panties at the thought of him being only a few inches away from you. The tension and the longing became too strong, and you slipped your hand under your already soaked panties. You let out a small whimper as you dragged your wetness up to your clit, rubbing small circles on it. “Oh, fuck Frankie. I am so wet for you. “ you let head fall back, moaning his name loudly. “Can you hear how wet I am? Just let me sit on your face, Frankie. I want to make your whole face wet with my juices. “ You pant, unable to believe that you are so close to cumming after such little time of playing with yourself.
In an act of playful audacity, you reached down and slid your now ruined panties down your legs. With a sly grin, you slipped the fabric through the narrow slit, allowing it to dangle enticingly between the little gate that separated you from the priest.
You held your breath, anticipation mingling with a hint of nervous excitement, hoping you didn’t go too far this time. Moments stretched into eternity as you waited for a response, your heart beat thundering louder with every passing second. Then, amidst the silence, you watched as the priest's hand reached through the small slit and carefully retrieved the green lacy piece you offered. A faint rustle accompanied the movement, and then, silence enveloped the confessional once more .
But it was not the quiet that captured your attention; it was the deep, audible inhale that followed, that made another flood of arousal coat your fingers.
Then, only mere moments later you could hear his sounds. Lustful groans filled the small space.
The furious slapping of his fist as he worked his cock made the tension coil in your own stomach. “Tell me what you want Frankie, you want me on my knees, huh, worshipping your cock?” another loud grunt. “Ahhh, yah that’s it. I wish my mouth was on that dick too, baby. I want to swirl my tongue around it. I bet your cock tastes fucking amazing. I’m going to drain every last ounce of cum out of you.” 
“Oh, God,” he let out one final strangled sound that almost sounded like he was in pain, reaching his climax. You followed soon after, clenching down on your fingers hard, shouting out his his name.
As you both came down from your high, only your breaths were audible.
“I'm not quite familiar with how this whole confession thing works. Do I need to say a dozen "Hail Marys" or perform a few extra penances to make up for that?” you asked innocently, awaiting his answer, but you were only met with, once again, silence.
Suddenly the heavy wooden door separating you swung open, revealing Father Francisco standing before you. His gaze intense and focused solely on you, “No.” he growled, letting out a low, almost predatory laugh, “that’s only reserved for good girls.”
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jksprincess10 · 11 months
Note
Meeting Pedro at the Oscar’s after party 👀 maybe he invites you back for drunk food hehe, a dream.
Hope this fits your vision !! I loved writing more Pedro, being a CONSENT KING here.
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CW: Age gap, drinking, making out, sexual tension.
The night had felt like a fever dream, especially when you got to the after party and you got even closer to all these celebrities. Your movie hadn’t won, but you were still thankful to be there as a young and upcoming actress. You felt loved.
The lights were colorful, the music was loud. The bodies danced, the glitter of their dresses and the striking white of their shirts shining through the dim lighting. You had come with your costar, but had somehow lost her in the crowd.
A man you didn’t recognize at first waved at you. He had greying curly hair, a patchy beard and wore thick black glasses. When your vision finally adjusted, you recognized Pedro Pascal. You had talked to him a few times, as you had found yourselves in the same parties in the last months.
You went up to him with a smile and pulled him for a tight hug. His big hands rested on your shoulders; he was always so respectful.
“Congrats on the nomination, you must be so proud.” He had to talk pretty close to your ear and pretty loud for you to hear it.
“I still can’t believe it. You did great when you presented tonight!”
“I was so fucking nervous…” He admitted, stroking the back of his head. “Can I get you a drink? Do you need to sit down?”
“Yes and yes. Those heels are killing me. And I can’t wait to take off that dress.”
You were wearing a beautiful black dress. The long skirt was made of fluffy tulle and the top was a corset, the bottom of it made of mesh with beautiful embroidery. You had gold heels that matched your jewelry.
He laughed. “Go sit there, darling, I’ll get you a drink.”
You took a seat and took off your heels to massage your red feet as you waited for Pedro. He was such a gentleman, you didn’t mind spending more time with him. He came back with two red wine glasses, that you drank over a conversation.
**
Maybe the third glass was too much for you to handle. Pedro was also tispy, but you were far worse than him. Maybe you had danced close to him. Maybe you had shaken your butt against him. You weren’t sure if you had dreamed it in your drunken state.
“Was thinking of heading home and ordering food, you in?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” You winked clumsily, which made him laugh.
**
Once at his place, you two ordered junk food and waited in his living room.
“Take off your dress, I’ll give you spare clothes.”
“Jeez, take me to dinner first, Pedro.”
He laughed, cheeks red, before he held your hand and brought you to his room. He pulled out an oversized t-shirt from his drawers and gave it to you.  You turned around to let him help you undo your corset that was crushing your ribs. You felt his fingers brush the skin of your back lightly as he pushed your hair out of the way, which made you shiver.
“I’ll give you some space and change elsewhere.”
Your blurred mind wanted to tell him to stay, but you managed to keep your mouth shut.
You stepped off your dress when he closed the door behind him and replaced it with an oversized Lakers shirt. It stopped at your thighs.
When you went back to the living room, Pedro was already sitting on the couch, wearing more laid-back clothes. He managed not to stare at your thighs and your body, but all failed when you climbed on his lap. There was barely any fabric between your two bodies.
He put his strong hands on your shoulders, like to keep you away. You pouted.
“You’re very drunk. And I’m very old.”
“Also very hot. ”
Maybe the strength of his arm had gave in or maybe his willpower to push you away disappeared. He wanted this; he couldn’t lie to himself. His body was reacting to the attention you were giving him.
Your mouth met his in a hungry kiss. His hands rested on your waist, resisting the urge to pull at the fabric you were wearing. You rested your hands on his rough cheeks as you deepened the kiss. You were heating up, and you clearly felt his arousal through the thin pajama pants he was wearing.
“Okay okay, let’s calm down, food’s coming…” He said between kisses and drunken giggles.
You let go of his mouth finally, but instead, your red painted lips found his throat, where tension was making a vein pop out more. You felt him breathe heavily under you.
His phone rang, indicating that your food was at the front. You finally had to let go, letting your clumsy body slump on his couch. You weren’t hungry for food anymore.
You watched as Pedro got out to get the pizza you ordered. When he came back, he laid the pizza on the table in the kitchen and joined you at your initial spot, sitting beside you when you gave him some space.
“You want pizza?”
“M’not really hungry for food anymore.”
He was trying really hard to be good about this.
“Look, honey… Let’s wait until you’re not drunk and see if you still want this.” The actor spoke softly, not trying to look like he was rejecting you.
“Okay…”
“We’ll eat and get you to sleep.”
**
The next morning, you had woken up in Pedro’s bed, still all dressed up in his clothes. When he felt you move, he turned around to look at you with a sleepy smile and tired, soft eyes.
“You still want this?” He asked, voice raspy from sleep.
As an answer, you threw one of your legs around him to bring him closer, your lips trapping his in a passionate kiss.
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saintbleeding · 1 year
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[ID: Digital art of Martin and Jon from TMA. Martin is a short, fat, white man with slightly greying ginger hair and round glasses. He wears grey sweatpants and a pink, oversized jumper with the text “CEO of gay shit” in capital letters on the chest. His sleeves are rolled up, and he holds a smartphone to his ear, looking down sheepishly as he speaks, seated on a light-brown sofa. Jon is a tall, thin, British-Indian man with shoulder length, salt-and-pepper hair tied back, a patchy beard, and several scars across his face, neck, and arms. He wears rectangular glasses, dark, loose trousers, and a grey t-shirt, with “got abducted from a fuckin Greyhound and all I got was this shitty t-shirt” scrawled amateurishly across the front, also in all-caps. He holds a corded phone receiver to his ear, the base of which is resting on the table beside which he is seated. On the table are a few papers with handwriting scribbled illegibly on them. Between Jon and Martin is the coiled cord of a telephone, separating them. Both appear to have the other’s translucent, grey-toned, ghostly arm wrapped around them. Jon appears to be smiling fondly at Martin as he speaks. Above them is written the text “I shouldn’t have talked to you over the phone/It’s your voice, almost made me feel like I was home”. The background is a gradient of pink tones. End ID.]
season four is probably legitimately my favourite of all of them, but honestly tbh to be honest season three is a close second, because YEARNING, but not the kind that makes me need to get on the FLOOR
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alltheirdamn · 2 days
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Dark!Preacher!Joel x f!reader
Summary: You indulge in the voice of the Devil for one fateful night. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Caution/TW: DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: NONCON ELEMENTS, no outbreak AU, undisclosed age gap (joel is 56 and reader is in her late 20's), infidelity, religion!kink, degredation!kink, humiliation!kink, praise!kink, choking, slapping, forced oral (m receiving), deepthroating, rough hair pulling, boot licking, light fingering, pain!kink, noncon unprotected piv sex, pet names (little one, good girl), degrading terms (bitch, whore, slut), dirty/filthy language, rough sex, forced orgasm, noncon creampie, no aftercare A/N: this is WAYYY out of my comfort zone to write, but something about the idea of Preacher!Joel just did it for me. I figured I'd test out the waters & see where it gets me... anyway, enjoy and PLEASE READ THE TAGS/WARNINGS
Masterlist
You weren’t oblivious to Preacher Joel's sidelong glances and lingering stares. Every Sunday, you sat in the second row of the church, watching him preach the Lord’s gospel with a baleful smile only meant for you, while your husband, Adam, sat beside you blissfully unaware. So, when you proposed the idea of taking a pie over to his home—alone—Adam didn’t even bat an eye. 
“Are you taking over a cherry pie?” Adam had asked from the living room. 
You were bent over the oven, pulling the hot pie dish onto a trivet with shaky hands. Sunday service that morning had been your breaking point; the communion dish made its rounds through the pews, and you found Joel’s eyes tracking your mouth as you brought the grape wine to your lips. Your resolve snapped, and the desire to feed into temptation blurred any and all judgment you had since maintained. 
“Do you think he’ll like it?” You hollered back at Adam, wrapping the pie in a terrycloth. 
“I’m sure he will, honey.”
Untieing the canvas apron from around your waist, you smoothed down your white church dress and shuffled the pie dish into your arms. Crossing into the living room, you kissed the crown of Adam’s head softly before saying goodbye. He didn’t look up once. 
The benefit of living in a small town was that all the homes were fairly close together, meaning it was a short walk to the preacher’s home, which resided behind the town’s church. It was far past supper time, and most of the town had tucked into bed by now, leaving you alone with the wind between the trees and a man who could be your undoing. The only sounds echoing around you were your feet crunching along the dirt road and the howls of stray dogs in the distance. Clutching the pie closer to your chest, you continued walking toward his home with the Devil on your shoulder. 
Preacher Joel’s home was modest and small; the white paint on the wood structure chipped away from years of weathering. His black pickup truck was parked on the side of the house, the wheels dirty and the paint smeared with mud. The closer you got to his front porch steps, the more rapidly your heart pounded inside your chest. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew every muscle drawing your body closer to his home was being fueled by the Devil. Under the flickering front porch light, you brushed your knuckles against the door and held your breath. 
Heavy footfall sounded on the other side of the door before it opened, revealing the man that plagued every thought in your mind. Joel stood before you with his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing the dark chest hair that spattered across his tan chest. His patchy grey beard was well-trimmed as if he had just refreshed it, and a lascivious grin broke across his face as his eyes raked over you. 
“This is a mighty nice surprise,” he whistled. 
“I—I wanted to bring over a pie,” you stuttered. “As a thank you.”
“For what?” He quirked a thick eyebrow, his piercing brown eyes staring down at you. 
“It was just on my heart to do something nice,” you lied. 
Joel reached out for the pie dish, his warm hands brushing over yours as he took it. You weren’t sure what to do with your empty hands, so you found yourself fidgeting with the gold cross dangling around your neck. 
“Come in,” he said, sidestepping to welcome you in. 
The second your feet walked over the threshold, you knew temptation had sunk its teeth into you. 
“This is a lovely home,” you commented, following him to the kitchen. 
The living room was surrounded by dark wooden walls, with a beige loveseat in the center and a TV box pressed against the opposite wall. There were remnants of him in every corner of the room: a half-drank glass of whiskey, a newspaper folded on the coffee table, and his black leather Bible resting on the arm of the sofa. The kitchen was just as simple, with a gas stove and small white fridge nestled against wooden cabinetry. 
Joel set the pie dish on the granite countertop, turning to the cabinets to retrieve a small plate, a fork, and a knife. You fixated on the way he worked at rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the veins in his forearms flexing with each fold of the fabric. He let out a small chuckle, forcing your eyes to tear away from his hands and back to his deep brown eyes. 
“Y’make this yourself?” He asked, cutting himself a slice. 
“I did,” you nodded. “It’s cherry.”
“Mmhm, my favorite,” he hummed. 
He dug his fork into the pie, the crust crumbling onto the plate as he lifted it to his mouth. You watched as his mouth wrapped around the utensil, a low groan escaping his throat as he tasted the cherry filling you had made by scratch. Under thick eyebrows, his eyes closed while he savored the taste, and you felt the swell of pride stirring inside you. 
“It’s good?” You asked. 
“S’delicious,” he mumbled, digging into it for a second bite. 
Instead of bringing the next bite to his lips, he offered it to you, urging you to lean over the countertop and meet him halfway. How were you to deny the preacher of something he wanted? Opening your mouth, you welcomed the sweet taste onto your tongue, meeting his eyes as you wrapped your lips around the fork. 
“Delicious, ain’t it?” 
“Yes,” you whispered as he pulled the fork from your mouth. 
Joel’s eyes dilated with a surge of lust. You never saw that look on your husband, but it was unmistakable when you looked into those dark eyes now. A sudden thrum of warmth ran through your body the longer studied you, forcing you to squirm in place. He must have taken notice of it when he decided to round the countertop and swarm you with his broad frame. His finger curled under the chain of your necklace, tugging at it until you lifted your eyes to his. 
“You’re a temptation, little one,” he drawled. “Just look at you.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me during your sermons,” you confessed.
He cocked his head to the side in amusement; his plush lips quirked up in a smile. His finger coiled around the chain tighter, pulling you a step closer. You inhaled the scent of whiskey and smoke that lingered on his shirt as it brushed against your chest. The thin fabric of your dress wasn’t enough to hide the shiver that ran over your spine. Joel tucked a stray hair behind your ear, bending down to brush his lips over the shell of your ear. 
“Y’sure you ain’t seein’ the Devil?”
His hand released your necklace, only to wrap around your throat in a tight grasp. You struggled for air under his grip, your nails raking down his bare forearms. There was an uncanny wildness lighting up his eyes as he watched you gasping under the forceful pressure of his fingers.
“Just a naughty thing lookin’ for corruption.”
“Please,” you choked.
“Ain’t this what you wanted, little one? Look at you, just drippin’ in sin,” he whispered.
“I—I can’t breathe,” you thrashed against him, tears pooling in your eyes.
He shoved you backward until you were doubled over and heaving for air. There was a deep laugh swirling through your fogged mind, and you blinked back tears before you attempted to make eye contact again. Something about this felt wrong. 
Joel stood with his arms folded over his chest, waiting for you to recompose yourself. You staggered back, your body hitting the wall of the kitchen, and you coughed violently, trying to grasp back onto reality. He curled a finger to beckon you forward, and despite your reluctance, your body moved on its own accord. With a fist full of your hair, he forced you to your knees, making you cry out at the impact of your knees hitting the tile floor. 
“I should make you pray for forgiveness before I ruin you,” he growled. 
You whimpered, humiliated at the way arousal pooled between your legs with every word he said. Adam never spoke to you in such a vile way; he only ever took you in the marital way, with you on your back and him above you. But something told you that the preacher would be far from that familiarity, and it electrified you. You wanted to know how far you could take it and how rough he could be. If the Devil was beckoning you, who were you to deny him the pleasure?
With defiance in your eyes and a proud grin on your face, you started to mouth a prayer to the Lord, knowing He wouldn’t be listening. Whatever you did in this small home was between you and the preacher. 
“Louder,” he ordered. 
You repeated the prayer, never breaking eye contact with him as his jaw clenched with each word you spoke. His hand was still twisted into your hair at the roots, holding you firmly in place. Your eyes traveled down his broad torso, settling on the growing bulge beneath his trousers. You wet your lips, imagining what his cock looked like and how it feel inside of you. Joel must have taken notice of your fixation and brought his other hand down to deliver a sharp slap against your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, the sting of his hand lingering on your face as you gathered your bearings. 
“Filthy lil thing just beggin’ to be fucked, huh?” 
You worked your jaw open and closed, trying to relieve the pain that radiated down your neck. 
“Answer me, little one,” he snapped. 
“Y–Yes,” you muttered.
Another jarring hit came across your face, your ears ringing from the impact. 
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir,” you whispered.
Satisfied with your answer, he worked at undoing his belt buckle, tugging his trousers and underwear down his hips. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his cock; the thickness of it was enough to wrack your already shaking nerves. Adam never asked you to pleasure him this way, but your body reacted differently when you were kneeling at the feet of a corrupt preacher. 
His fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock, his hand pumping it slowly as it grazed over your parted lips. You wanted to take the plunge and wrap your lips around it; you wanted to savor every inch of it and watch him fall apart. 
“Droolin’ like a bitch in heat, fucking pathetic,” he taunted. 
He smacked the weeping head of his cock against your lips, precum smearing across your mouth and chin. You obediently opened your mouth for him, the immediate salty taste falling against your tongue. He gave you a moment to stretch your jaw to adjust to the girth of his cock before rocking deeper into your mouth. The tip of his cock tapped the back of your throat, forcing you to sputter around him. Tears soaked your cheeks as he picked up a steady pace, each thrust reaching your soft palate. 
“That’s it, little one,” he groaned. “Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Can’t cry out for God when you're full of me.”
You moaned around him, the vibration sending him into a frenzy as he brutalized your throat. You could only bare your weight against the floor and take every inch he gave, the drool and tears mixing together as they rolled down your chin. Joel’s head tilted back, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock. Your gag reflex kicked in as he struck the back of your throat before he pulled out and leveled you with a heavy stare. 
“Such a good girl,” he praised, tapping your cheek lightly before unwinding his fingers from your scalp. 
He gathered the drool dripping from your chin and smeared it over your face, the taste of him invading your nostrils with each swipe of his hand. It was dehumanizing and disgusting…but some fucked up part of you loved it. 
“Thank you, sir,” you preened, smiling through the mess he had made of you. 
“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, little one. Better clean your drool off my fuckin’ boots.”
Your smile faded as your eyes flicked between him and his shoes, which were visibly covered in a pool of your saliva. You shook your head in protest, but he was quick to shove you down toward the floor. You thrashed against his grip on the back of your neck, your nose brushing against the worn work boots adorning his feet. 
“Lick,” he demanded. “Clean your fuckin’ mess.”
You swallowed thickly before you allowed your tongue to dart out and lap up the remnants of your saliva. You held back a retch as your tongue grazed over the leather material, the dryness under your mess painful against your throbbing tongue. You peered up at him in hopes that he was satisfied, but you were only met with a cocked brow and an unamused stare. 
“Missed a spot,” he huffed, toeing his boot against your mouth. 
You cringed as you continued working your tongue over his other shoe, the taste of it unbearable. He was shamelessly minimizing you down into the worst version of yourself, and there was no one to blame but you and your naivety. 
Joel slammed his shoe back against the tile with pursed lips, and he tsked at you. 
“Pathetic,” he mumbled.  “Bedroom s’down the hall. I want you in there and spread out on my bed.”
You nodded and wiped away the tears bursting from your eyes. A firm hand gripped your shoulder as you tried to rise to your feet, forcing you back down. You gave him a weary look, waiting for his next command. Crouching down to eye level, Joel took your chin into his hand with a forceful grip. 
“Crawl,” he ordered. “Go on.”
He straightened to his full height and loomed over you as you planted yourself on all fours. Turning toward the walkway of the kitchen, you started crawling, the heat of his stare on your backside enough to ignite another wave of pleasure inside your stomach. You could feel your dress hiking up over your thighs, putting your cotton underwear on display for him with each progressive move you made. The heat of his stare lingered on you as you scrapped your knees across the carpet, the bedroom door at the end of the hallway calling out to you through the voice of the Devil. He reached over your body to open the door, guiding you into the dark room. There was a wooden wardrobe propped against the wall and a matching side table next to the large bed that sat in the center. Flipping on the overhead light, he pointed to the bed, silently instructing you to climb onto the flannel bedspread. 
You laid back on the bed, your white dress pooled around your body as he crawled over you. Caging you between his muscular biceps, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and dragged his tongue against the pulse throbbing under your skin. The need growing between your legs was becoming too unbearable to handle, but you were afraid to beg him for release. He had made it apparent he controlled every second of this interaction, from how much you breathed to the way you moved. 
“Let’s see how soaked these pretty lil panties are,” he whispered, snaking his hand down your abdomen. 
Flipping your dress up, his fingers delved under the waistband of your cotton underwear, a hum of approval rumbling his chest as he found your thighs slick with arousal. Thick fingers worked their way through your wet folds, teasing your entrance before he plunged two fingers in without warning. You arched into his touch, the curl of his fingers against the soft spot inside you jolting you upwards. 
“Fuck!” You cried, your fingers digging into his arms. 
His free hand shot out to cover your mouth as he pressed his forehead to yours, rage simmering in his brown eyes as he stared you down. 
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, little one,” he warned. “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ peep, you understand?”
Your response was muffled under his hand, and he shifted his weight so that his fingers dug further inside you. You swallowed back pitiful moans as he worked his fingers in and out of you. A slow-burning sensation rolled through your stomach, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your climax. You were fluttering around him as it bubbled to the surface, only to be met by the absence of his fingers as he pulled them away at the last second. You wailed in protest, feeling a hollowness inside of you without them there. 
Ripping your underwear down your legs, Joel hauled you onto your stomach, positioning your hips upward in the way he desired. You had no choice but to take anything he gave you. The clanking sound of the belt around his pants was the only warning you were granted before wedged between your thinks and sunk into you. Your vision faded out at the blinding pain of him stretching you open, every inch of him tearing you apart beyond compare. 
“It’s too much. I—I can’t. It hurts!” you cried. 
His only response was to grind his hips harder against yours, the pain radiating up your spine. 
“Shut up,” he bit out, pulling out and driving back into you. “You’re gonna take my cock like the filthy lil slut I know you are, and you’re gonna thank me. Understand?”
Your face fell into the pillows as you muffled a scream. His hand wound around your neck, yanking you from the bed and forcing you to bend back and meet his vicious stare. With his teeth barred and cock buried inside you, there was nothing to do but give yourself fully to him. 
“Yes, sir!" You wailed. “ Thank you, sir.”
“Good fuckin’ girl,” he crooned. 
He set a steady pace, the lewd sound of his hips smacking against yours echoing throughout the room. He was brutalizing you, defiling you, completely ruining you into oblivion. The voice of temptation had led you here, and now you were paying the price for your sins. No amount of prayer or forgiveness could wash you clean. 
“Such a perfect and obedient whore,” he grunted with his fingers bruising your hipbones. “You fuckin’ love havin’ this tight cunt wrecked by the preacher—shit—just dyin’ to have my cum inside you.”
The sobs wracked through your body as the need to climax tore you apart. He yanked your hips even higher, pistoning his cock into you at an angle that set your body alight. You had no control over the pleasure burning deep within you, and suddenly you were tensing around his cock with the name of God falling off your lips. 
“God can’t save you now, little one. This unholy cunt is mine.”
Fizzles of your ebbing climax simmered through your body, carrying you back down to the present, only to be met by another onslaught of violent thrusts from the man behind you. He was relentless as he took…and took…and took. By the time he was done with you, there would be nothing left. 
“Please—stop!” The words left your mouth broken and strained. 
You were clawing at the bedsheets, begging for him to release you. He only laughed at each one of your protests, his pace unrelenting and forceful with every drive of his cock inside you. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you felt the shift in his rhythm, alerting you that he was about to climax. 
“Don’t—God—please don’t!” You begged. 
“Quiet,” he snarled, pulling you by the throat so that you were flush against his chest. 
“Please,” you sobbed, barely choking out the word. 
“Gonna send you back to your husband with my cum leakin’ out of you,” he snarled. 
Before you could even attempt to escape his hold, Joel was slamming into you one final time, a carnal groan deafening your ears as he filled you with his release. He tossed you back onto the bed carelessly, leaving you aching and stretched open on the ruined sheets. You lay there motionless, staring at the chipping paint along the doors of his wardrobe. Joel rolled off the bed, muttering a slew of derogatory words your way, before vanishing into the bathroom down the hall. The silence swirling around you was the only comfort in the aftermath, the pain radiating inside you fading away the longer you sunk into the mattress. 
The sound of footsteps flooded the room, and you flinched away as Joel’s hand roamed up your bare thigh. His fingers prodded against your throbbing entrance, teasing you until you squirmed out of reach. 
“Take yourself home, little one,” he instructed. 
You winced as you rose from the bed, not daring to make eye contact as you gathered your underwear and fled down the hallway. The slap of the cross necklace against your chest was a burning reminder of the sins you had committed. You staggered out the front door, barely making it down the first step of the porch before you burst into tears. Joel’s presence loomed behind you, and you looked back one final time to see him watching you leave with a sinister smile breaking across his face. With scuffed knees and his cum trickling down your thighs, you barreled home, knowing you had just met the Devil.
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lynxindisguise · 2 months
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Chapter Two: Universe 338: Pagan Cults
“Black.” A long arm wraps across his chest as the edge of a blade presses against his throat.
Sirius can’t help but laugh, causing the blade to nick his Adam’s apple. “It’s like that, is it?”
Unamused, Remus presses harder until he gags. 
Right. Not an ideal situation, but at least this one recognises him . “I surrender,” he rasps. “Take me prisoner.”
Remus’s hold falters. He whips Sirius around and pushes the tip of the dagger beneath his chin. “What trick is this?”  
Sirius can't help but smile at the sight of him: wild and lovely with a grey-streaked mess of hair flowing freely past his shoulders, long wiry limbs draped in furs, and those pretty eyes flecked with amber. Not to mention the patchy scruff on his face—the poor man can’t grow a proper beard in any universe.
“No trick,” he replies. “I’ve run away. I no longer wish to be a part of my family’s misdeeds. There’s nowhere else for me to go.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Doesn’t matter if you believe me. We both know I’ll be much more valuable to you alive than dead.” He has no idea if that’s true. “And you don’t really want to kill me, do you?” That's true. It’s always true, no matter what.  
Remus snarls, “I would happily drain every drop of that blood you deem so pure, mix it in with this dirt, and use it as warpaint.”
He’s adorable like this, really.
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