jessthebaker

[jessthebaker]

‘Cause After Midnight…

A/N: this idea came to be randomly yesterday morning and thus the brain rot began! Idk about y’all, but I would do ANYTHING for slumber party!Dieter 🤭 big thank you to @chronically-ghosted for sharing the brain rot cell with me this week! 🫡

~word count: 8.5k~ yeaaaah idk what happened!

Summary: a slumber party with your bestie Dieter Bravo, after midnight! What could possibly happen between the two of you?

Pairing | slumber party!dieter x best friend female!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst, DUBIOUS CONSENT, mentions of alcohol and ouid smoking, infidelity (not by dieter) toxic relationship (Dieter’s ex) denial of feelings, secret pining, best friends to lovers?, pussy pronouns, domestic intimacy, mutual masturbation, masturbation with a shower head (iykyk), sexual tension, language, dirty talk, unprotected piv, aftercare, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is bug, +18 minors dni!

Being Dieter Bravo’s best friend since…well, forever, came with a long list of perks. Your favorite perk of all, you may ask? Getting to spend time with your best friend. Whether that was at his home, lounging side by side next to his inground pool, stumbling out of a DTLA nightclub, clammy hands entwined together as you head to the nearest street food cart ASAP (Dieter demands steak tacos when he’s wasted) or when you were his glittering gem on the red carpet, dodging the incessant questions from the red carpet wasps—I mean, interviewers asking you and Dieter if you were dating.

It was like clockwork, you and Dieter would look at one another, laugh and shake your heads in sync, “us, dating? No, you have it all wrong! We’re simply just two besties that do everything together, don’t get it twisted!” (So what if you and Dieter would sometimes get equally wasted in the club and drunkenly makeout…and sometimes, while making out, he would grope your ass beneath your dress—you were just friends! Best friends kiss like all the time…right?)

Of course, Hollywood didn’t buy it despite yours and Dieter’s repetitive denial, and the fact that Dieter was currently smitten with his girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now. The tabloids spewed their cheap gossip, but your friendship with Dieter never soured.

You frequently slept over on the weekends he was home. It was your shared routine from Friday-Sunday (sometimes even Mondays), you and Dieter would get higher than two kites, cross off a few movies on your watch lists, paint together, and order takeout for every meal. Truthfully, it was fucking bliss.

This weekend, in particular, Dieter decided he wanted to have a whole ass slumber party. (Not nearly as extravagant as the princess diaries slumber party, or the Barbie movie) but Dieter knew how to throw a killer intimate slumber party. He invited all of his close, niche friends including you. He already had a whole array of different foods to munch on throughout the night so that no one would go hungry.

As always, Dieter was nearly glued to your side and if it were anyone else, or any other man for that matter, you would be annoyed, but when it came to Dieter, you shared your small bubble of space happily with him.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Dieter’s ex showed up uninvited. Dieter was in the whirlpool, wearing the tiniest swim trunks known to man. He had a beer in one hand while his other arm was resting along the outside of the hot tub. He was mid conversation, laughing about something one of his friends said before his eyes met yours when you appeared from the kitchen, a nervous look plastered on your face as you approached the hot tub.

“Hey, Dee?..” you crouched down along the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah, bug?” He took a sip of his beer, brow cocking in curiosity. “What’s up? Why do ya look so worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dee. Just uh—well, your ex just sorta showed up uninvited. She’s in the kitchen—”

“What the fuck do you mean she just sorta showed up?! What the fuck.” He groaned, dragging his wet hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I reckon she just invited herself in, too?”

Your nod confirmed his suspicions. “Unfortunately she did. I told her she wasn’t welcome, but she essentially told me to fuck off.” You stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well, she’s never exactly been the type to respect boundaries.” He sighed and handed you his beer so that he could pull himself out of the hot tub. The swim trunks he was wearing quite literally left little to the imagination, and you swore that you caught a glimpse of his infamous package when he bent down and grabbed his towel to quickly dry off.

His hand gently brushed yours as he reached for his beer. “I’ll deal with her. Not gonna let it spoil my night.” He gruffed out and draped the towel around his shoulders. “Be back in a jiffy, bug.” He winked and headed towards the sliding doors leading to the kitchen.

When he didn’t return to the backyard in over 20 minutes, that’s when you made the executive decision to see if he was okay. When you neared the front door, you could hear the distinct tone of Dieter’s voice through the thin glass and you caught a glimpse of him throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You can’t just fucking show up here uninvited! You’re not only trespassing, but you’re crossing a boundary! This is exactly why we broke up in the first place because you’re just so fucking clingy!” He yelled.

“Oh, I’M THE CLINGY ONE?!” She laughed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger directly into his bare chest. “So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you spent more time with your best friend than with your girlfriend?! Don’t you think thats a bit fucking weird, Dieter?!”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! Here we go again! Don’t you dare go bring her into this when she’s done nothing wrong! So sorry that you felt like the attention I was giving you was inadequate! Guess that gave you just the right amount of ammo to cheat on me with MY fucking pilates instructor?! Dude, I can’t even look the guy in the face anymore without wanting to rip his dick off, balls and all!”

“YES, because you left me with no other choice, Dieter! He gave me more attention than you ever have!”

“Right, sure! So instead of oh—I don’t know, acting like a fucking normal person, you let your jealousy take front and center and cheat on me?! Why the fuck couldn’t you just be like hey, Dieter! I’m feeling under-appreciated in our relationship and I’d like to talk about it in a healthy, productive way because I love and respect you as a person! I would have never fucking cheated on you, don’t you get that?!”

“Okay—you’re right! I’m sorry that I wasn’t mature, and I’m sorry I cheated on you, Dieter. I’m so sorry! Can we please just—”

He laughed, throwing his head back with his hands carding through his damp curls in disbelief. “You have got to be shitting me! You just expect me to what—take you back after all of that?! Fuck you. I may be a stupid fucking actor, but I’m not that stupid. Please, can you just—leave? I don’t want to call the cops, but I will if I have to.”

“Dieter, come on! Baby, please. Let’s just talk—”

“I’m not your baby.” He muttered and turned on his heel and walked back towards the front door. He really just wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, but he was determined to not let her ruin his night. So, when he opened the door, and found you on the other side, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Well, that was a crapshoot. Did ya hear any of it, bug?” He closed the door softly and made sure to lock it for good measure.

“You okay, Dee? I heard the last bit of it…I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“S’okay. It’s done now and I’m gonna try and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Thank you for checking in on me, bug. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dee. Everyone is still in the backyard. Wanna join them? Otherwise I was thinking maybe you and I can get high?”

He grinned at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb, “say less.”

That’s how you found yourself in Dieter’s bedroom, sitting on the floor with his rolling tray in your lap while he was changing out of his too-tight swim trunks and into a pair of boxers that were…equally as tight. You loved the way that his little bit of tummy pudge hung over the side of the boxer's waistband. What you wouldn’t give to worship that tummy while he shoves his—You kept your eyes focused on plucking a few bud clusters and placing them in the grinder. His phone was charging next to yours on the nightstand. You had Spotify open on shuffle playing yours and Dieter’s favorite playlist. The song that was currently playing was After Midnight by Chappell Roan.

He plopped down beside you, gently grabbing the tray and placed it in his lap so that he could roll the actual joint. He used the front of his bed as a backrest as he opened up the grinder and carefully distributed the ground up herb into one of the papers.

“I seriously don’t know how your dick can breathe in those tight fucking shorts, Dee.” you said with a playful edge to your tone as you let your head rest in the crook of his neck. He leaned into you too, naturally.

“They are not that tight!” He scoffed and looked over at you with a playful grin on his lips. “My dick can breathe in these perfectly fine, bug.” he retorted.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

Comfortable silence washed over the two of you while he finished rolling up the joint, looking over at you expectantly as he sparked the end of it, inhaling with his cheeks slightly hollowed, “should we have a full slumber party moment and paint our nails and do each other's makeup?” He asked softly, blowing the smoke upwards towards the ceiling and held the joint out to you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you just brought that up because I was thinking the same exact thing!” You looked over at him In disbelief, reaching for the joint as your fingers briefly brushed against one another during the exchange. “I must have manifested this or something because I made sure to bring my nail polish this time!”

“Just start calling me Dieter the all knowing!” He chuckled, feeling the inhaled drug slowly send him into a relaxed state. He let his head comfortably rest against the back of the bed. “and I have my makeup that we can use! Think you can show me how to perfect the winged liner look? I’m shit at doing it on myself.” He huffed.

“I am not gonna start calling you Dieter that all knowing! There’s no way in hell I’m going to grant you all that power!” You nudged his shoulder gently with your own before you took a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling it. “Of course I can help you with your eyeliner, Dee! Only if you let me pick out your nail color this time.”

“Okay, deal!” He was quick to respond with zero hesitation in his chipper tone.

So, after you each took a few more drags from the joint and your minds began to go hazy, Dieter lazily got up and walked into the en-suite to grab his bag of makeup from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you had grabbed your overnight bag and already had all of your nail products laid out.

“Damn, did ya bring your entire collection from home with ya?” He teased as he plopped down next to you. His movements were uncoordinated due to the drug coursing through his veins. He nearly fell into your lap, giggling and quietly apologizing as he sat back up. This was a normal occurrence for you and Dieter. Whenever the two of you would get high together, (which was frequent), you both became naturally affectionate and extremely touchy with one another. It was second nature, and something that neither you or Dieter ever thought about as being ‘weird’ and not the norm for most platonic friendships.

“Go big or go home, right Dee?” You had already picked out a pretty sparkly blue polish for his nails and set it off to the side.

“Absolutely, bug. Hey, can you do my makeup first, please?” He had his hands clasped in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs as if he was a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents.

“Of course I can.” You said softly, and grabbed the makeup bag from his lap. “Hey, are you okay?…”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily and shook his head. “No, not really. I’m fucking pissed off about what happened down there with my ex.”

You nodded in understanding and stood up to grab one of his many pillows so that he would have something comfortable to lay against while you would do his makeup. “I gathered that.”

“That’s because you’re always reading the room, bug.” He chuckled, grabbing the pillow from you so that he could place it under his back. Once he was situated, he patted his thighs, beckoning you to come sit in his lap. (Doesn’t everyone straddle their best friend and do their makeup?)

“Am I?” You mused and wasted no time to straddle his hips, making yourself comfortable above him. He was looking up at you with that sparkle in his irises that only appeared around you. It was as if you were the reason why the sun shined, and the stars twinkled in the sky. You were too busy going through his bag of makeup to catch the look, and when your eyes did land upon his face, he looked like he was going through constricting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re really good at doing that, y’know?” He sighed, feeling his shoulders deflate and sink against the pillow.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Dee?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting his hands gently rest around your hips, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin visible under your shorts in a soothing figure eight motion. “I mean, who the fuck just shows up to someone’s slumber party uninvited?”

“Well, she’s never really respected your boundaries, has she? Remember when you forgot to leave your phone in your dressing room at the Oscars, and when you were reading out the nominees and she called you, despite knowing that you were at the Oscars?” You grabbed his little bottle of toner and a couple cotton rounds, softly telling him to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes, flinching slightly when the cool mist of the toner kissed his skin. He relaxed further into the pillows when you gently patted the toner into his skin with the cotton round. “Yeah, that was a fucking disaster! I just remember going all red in the face and fearing that my career with the rest of the Hollywood assholes was over at that point.”

“I’m pretty sure she made that move out of spite, Dee. Y’know, because you didn’t ask her to be your plus one?”

He peeked one eye open to look up at you, “that’s because you’ve attended every single red carpet event with me, bug. It’s…tradition.” (Yeah, sure it is, Dieter. Just tradition.)

“I’m not justifying her behavior by any means, but I can understand why she was upset that you invited your best friend over your girlfriend to the Oscars.” You set the bottle of toner down and grabbed his usual moisturizer and squirted a few pumps onto your fingers and rubbed it into his skin.

“Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty fucked up huh? But I don’t think I deserved to be cheated on.” His lips curved into a downwards pout, brows furrowed intently.

“Oh, of course not, hun. Cheating is never justifiable.” You reassured him, reaching into the makeup bag and pulled out his primer, foundation and concealer. “Do you wanna do a full look or something on the more no makeup/makeup side?”

“So then why did she try to justify her reason for cheating on me? Not only that, she tried to sweet talk her way back in towards the end of the conversation. Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry!” He scoffed, “she even pulled the baby card on me! I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent individual 99% of the time, and I’ve struggled my whole life taking much of anything serious, but I still have a fucking heart despite what the tabloids gossip about.” He paused mid-venting, remembering what you had asked him, “surprise me, bug.”

“She pulled the baby card on you? What a fucking cunt move, honestly.” you shook your head. “Dieter, you have one of the biggest hearts in all of Hollywood, hun. You just don’t share it with everyone and that’s okay. Those tabloids are a load of crap. I told you before that you have to stop feeding into their agenda. It’s not worth it, Dieter.”

“Exactly! It was a cunt move. And if I didn’t realize my worth sooner, I probably would have fallen right back into a relationship with her again! You know what I’m starting to believe? Maybe…I just have to accept the fact that no one is ever gonna love me.”

You let out a sigh, reaching back into the makeup bag and pulled out one of his glitter shadows to apply on his eyelids. He let out a content hum when your fingers began to gently card through his damp curls while your other fingers began to gently pat the shimmery shadow onto his closed eyelids. “Dieter, don’t you fucking start that shit and claiming that no one is ever going to love you.”

“Well, it’s true! I can’t fucking hold a healthy relationship down to save my life! I’m the laughing stock of Hollywood, days away from fucking relapsing, and no one is gonna give a shit!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” You fought the urge to laugh, not at him, of course, but at the situation at hand. “I love you, idiot. You are not the laughing stock of Hollywood, and you will not fucking relapse under my watch, Dieter.”

“Bug, I know you love me, and I love you too! But…that’s different. What I’m talking about is real, true love—ow!” He whimpered when you had accidentally poked his eye with your nail.

You weren’t even paying attention when he started rambling about true love and that the way he loved you was completely different…it stung and sent your heart straight through a shredder, and he had no idea!

“Shit, Dee! I’m so sorry—are you okay? My finger slipped.” Your palm came to rest around his scruffy jawline, leaning in close to make sure that you hadn’t accidentally poked his eye out with your fingernail. Your warm breath gently fanned his face as he blinked a few times to surpass the dull sting he felt on his cornea.

“I’m okay, bug. But damn, girl! Are you trying to poke my eye out or something?” He joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension growing between the two of you.

You were quick to change the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed that you allowed his words to affect you that much. You reached for the joint that was resting along the rolling tray and picked it up between your two fingers along with the lighter. “I’m going to take a couple more hits…you want any?” You asked while sparking the joint up, taking a deeper inhale this time to try and soothe your already scrambled brain.

He nodded, reaching his hand up to pluck the joint from between your lips after you were finished and placed it between his own and took a similarly deep drag. He looked so fucking pretty, laying there, joint hanging low between his lips, shimmering eyeshadow making his rich brown eyes stand out even more.

“Y’know…” he started, “if ya take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He mused, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke off to the side. When you didn’t immediately laugh at his weak attempt to ease the tension further, he frowned. “Hey, you okay? You’re never this quiet, bug. Even when you’re high.”

“I’m fine, Dieter.” You sighed, and went to slide off his lap, forgetting about doing his eyeliner when his hand resting around your hip tightened and you freezed under his touch.

“Hey, please don’t lie to me. Did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” He was always so genuine in his apologies to you. He could claim to not know how to read the room, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Dee, I’m fine.” You reassured him. “I was just having a moment.”

“Well…stop that! It’s not allowed when we’re having a sleepover.” He really just couldn’t stand to see you upset. It tore him up inside and made him feel like he was always the root cause for your mood change.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, giving his cheek a light pat while your other hand ruffled through his hair. “Do you still want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes please.” He grinned. “Just promise to not poke my eye out again?”

“I promise, Dee.”

While you carefully began to apply the eyeliner to his eyelids with careful precision, he continued to ramble on underneath you, careful to not move too much because he really didn’t want to accidentally get poked in the eye. Once you were finished, you expected him to immediately want to check how he looked in the mirror, but instead, he switched positions with you, straddling your hips now so that he could do your makeup.

You didn’t protest, of course. You’d take any excuse to admire his handsome features up close while he was zoned in on his work, his muse being you. Whenever he was painting, his focus was intense and it was as if he had tuned out everything else around him. He acted all the same while he was gently applying a shimmer shadow to your eyelids.

The intimacy simmering between the two of you was becoming too much for you to handle. You could feel him through his too-tight boxers, the weight of his cock pressing right against your clothed center. Despite knowing Dieter for as long as you have, you never had seen his cock, only just the outline of it. However, you heard the stories from his past partners, flings, and even some colleagues. They were all shocked to hear that you yourself had not seen Dieter Bravo’s package.

The walls in his spacious bedroom felt like they were closing in on you from how flustered you were feeling. Surely there was sweat beginning to bead and perspire along the column of your throat and behind your neck. Perhaps there was even an evident sign of your arousal between your thighs. You hoped to god that he hadn’t caught on. But when his hips shifted forward, his tongue poking out between his lips while he carefully applied a swipe of eyeliner across your right eyelid, it was too much.

“Hey—Dee? I’m not feeling too hot. Think the weed is messing with me. I—I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” You stuttered out, trying to focus on the words coming out of your mouth and not the images of his thick cock—

He frowned, looking deflated when you said that you wanted to go to bed. “Oh—okay, bug. I understand. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll get you some food and water, okay? Maybe you’re just having a bad trip?” He was genuinely concerned, feeling slightly nervous that his trusted dealer had laced his stash with something, but he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole just yet.

“No—I just…I want to shower and go to bed, Dieter. I’ll be fine. It probably is just a bad trip.” You reassured him and subtly tried to create any form of distance between the two of you to relieve the tension you were feeling.

The weed is only enhancing what I’m feeling right now. If he could see the thoughts going through my head right now—

“If you are having a bad trip, then I should stay with you, bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“Dieter.” You were on the edge of snapping and saying something you would inevitably regret, “I don’t want you to stay with me, okay? I just want to fucking shower and go to bed.”

Ouch.

He visibly recoiled, feeling like you had just stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. Maybe I am the clingy one…

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He wanted to snap right back at you, but he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, and when he didn’t immediately uncage your thighs from under his hips, you took matters into your own hands and placed your palm flat against his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you could quickly stand up.

He felt his heart twist even further when you disappeared into the en-suite, slamming the door behind you. He wasn’t sure if it was done maliciously or on accident, it still fucking hurt.

Seconds later he hears the sink turn on and the sound of water splashing against your face. It felt wrong to leave you in this state, so even after he heard the shower turn on while he was cleaning up the strewn about makeup on the floor, he sat down against the door, his back leaning against it as he waited. For what? He really didn’t know the answer to that.

You knew that Dieter was concerned about your well being, and if he could have it his own way, he would be in the bathroom with you right now, sitting with his back facing you so that you would feel comfortable to shower. You also were aware that he was sitting against the bathroom door and your heart lurched at the thought. You felt the guilt swim and swirl around you. Snapping at your best friend was not on your bingo card for the night, but maybe this was a sign that you and Dieter needed to set some serious boundaries between one another. Maybe you were beginning to realize that the two of you were…too close.

“Can you just…let me know you’re okay in there?” You heard him ask through the door as the scalding hot water streamed down over your bare body.

“Dieter, I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled under the stream.

“Yeah, sure you are, but I’d be a terrible fucking friend if I just left you to deal with this bad trip on your own, bug.”

God dammit, Dieter. Why can’t you just be an asshole like a normal person?! Is what you really wanted to say.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “I’m going to be in here for a while.”

“That’s okay. You can use up all of my hot water. I don’t care.” He reassured you.

When you didn’t immediately respond he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the door, closing his eyes. He remembered that your phone was still playing music from where it sat on his nightstand next to his own, and the familiar tune of Pink Pony Club started playing. It was yours and Dieter’s favorite song off of Chappell’s album.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA. And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.”

Dieter Bravo could not fucking sing, but everytime that he did for you, it was the most endearing gesture ever.

“You fucking asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee. Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me. Won't make my mama proud, It's gonna cause a scene. She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream…”

“God, what have you done! You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it’s where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!” You and Dieter sung the chorus in unison, completely out of tune, but neither of you could give a fuck about that.

You could practically picture his dopey, weed-stained grin plastered on his handsome, scruffy face behind the door when you sang the chorus together. The mental image sent your heart surging out of your chest, and your pussy pulsing in tandem.

Fuck me.

You truly had just planned to take a hot, relaxing, mind clearing shower and then go straight to bed, but you were feeling bothered by the weed, and your blatantly obvious attraction towards your best friend. Not to mention, the little rasp in Dieter’s voice was not helping you out in this predicament, either. That’s when you noticed his attached shower head and the lightbulb went off in your weed-induced brain.

You reached for the attached shower head, gently removing it from where it was mounted against the shower wall. Before turning it on, however, you quickly got familiar with the numerous spray settings and chose the medium spray before slowly dragging the shower head between your legs and—oh, fucck.

The pressure was just right and was directly spraying a stream of water onto your exposed clit. You held back a moan, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down as you slowly sank to your ass along the shower wall, your thighs spread fully, eyes rolling back into your skull from the intense feeling. That’s when a moan slipped past and Dieter initially thought he was just hearing things, but then he heard it again…and his cock twitched to life beneath the tight confinements.

“There’s no way. I’m just high as shit right now and hearing things. Yeah, that’s the logical explanation!” He muttered to himself, scrubbing one hand down his face. But then he heard you distinctively moan, and his face suddenly felt hot to the touch. He pressed his ear against the door, raising his fist and gently knocked on the wood, “you uh—you okay in there?”

You were so close to hitting that big ‘o’ that you didn’t even hear Dieter’s low rasp through the door.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You whimpered. “So fucking close, just a little more. Just a little more. C’mon, baby.”

Now that he could hear you more clearly, he knew exactly what was producing those little desperate sounds to slip past your pretty lips: his fucking shower head.

“Excuse me?? Are you getting yourself off with MY shower head, without me in there?!” It was a thought that he had meant to keep in his head, but now that it was out there, there was truly no going back.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, immediately dropping the shower head from your loose grasp and it clattered to the shower floor just as the bathroom door burst open.

“Dieter—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” You screeched, hair drenched, thighs spread and trembling.

He shut the door behind him, muttering under his breath as he approached, looking you right in the eyes, “more importantly, what are you doing?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Your little moans and whimpers made me rock fucking hard!” He gestured to the obvious tent in his boxers, his cock straining against the tight material. “Had I known it was gonna be that kind of sleepover, I would have joined you a heck of a lot sooner!”

Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening, is it?!

“Dieter, you can’t just fucking come in here when I’m masturbating! Dude—what the fuck!”

“Oh, heavens! Are we going back to the 1800’s or something? Just call it for what it is! You playing with your pussy, and using my shower head to get yourself off! By all means, please continue, but next time? I want a personal invite!”

You were appalled…and a little turned on? Okay, a lot turned on! In fact, your pussy was pulsing between your thighs, the edge of your interrupted orgasm was still simmering, waiting to fully bloom. To make matters worse, Dieter had crouched down outside of the shower, his brows furrowed when he noticed the setting you had set the shower head to. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head as he reached into the shower and picked up the shower head from where it had been dropped between your spread thighs.

“Dieter, what are you—”

“Hush and listen to the teacher, okay? For starters, you’re using it all wrong. You gotta build yourself up first, and then go full blast. Otherwise you’re just gonna overstimulate your poor little clit, and that just takes away from the experience.” He said in the most casual fashion, as if this wasn’t crossing a million different invisible boundaries all at once.

“Dieter, I don’t need your assistance on getting myself off, okay? Please just—”

“Bug, don’t make this weird, okay? We’re friends, and there’s nothing in the friends handbook that says that we can’t help one another get off! It’s totally not forbidden.” He retorted.

“I think you just made the whole friends handbook thing up. It totally doesn’t exist and we absolutely should not be doing this, Dieter! It’s wrong for a multitude of reasons!”

“The friends handbook totally exists! I’ll get you a copy, okay? I’m not going to touch you, unless you want me to. I’m just gonna use the shower head to show you the right way to get yourself off with it, and afterwards you will be thanking me!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this. I cannot fucking—”

“Best start believing it, baby! Now, spread your thighs for me a little more, okay?”

“Okay, I’m giving you my full consent, but if I start feeling weird, we’re stopping this whole thing, okay?” You looked him directly in the eyes as you spread your thighs further so he had a better view.

“Bug, if at any point you feel weird, uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m not gonna pressure you to continue doing this if you don’t want to. I’m leaving the ball completely in your court, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you change your mind, okay? I promise.” His words were sincere, and it was hard to look away when he was staring at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He leaned forward then, briefly getting caught under the stream when his lips brushed across your forehead, leaving you both feeling slightly stunned. He softly asked you if it was okay if he did touch you, to which you obliged, lower lip taken between your teeth when his hand that wasn’t holding the shower head slowly dipped between your thighs and his fingers spread your slick folds apart so he would have better access to your clit.

“I always knew that your pussy would be pretty, baby, but goddamn—she really is so fucking pretty.” He took a sharp inhale of breath, his cock twitching painfully in his boxers.

“Dieter Bravo, you’re going to be the death of me.” You breathed out, heat rising to your cheeks from the way he was gazing at the spot between your thighs, eyes glazed over the same way a dog looks at a delicious bone, or a plate of juicy, rare, steak.

“You’re already the death of me, bug.” He whispered, unable to help himself when his thumb gently brushed across your clit. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand but between you prettily spread out beneath him, and the weed still flowing through his system, he was fucked.

He changed the setting on the shower head without even having to look down at it. He was too focused on your face, particularly your eyes and how you both seemed to be drinking one another in, an invisible string tied between the two of you, reeling him in closer, and closer. You observe his face, and the way his eyeliner has now started to run and bleed under his eyes and down his cheeks from the water and steam. Your pussy clenches from the sight just as his thumb lightly presses against your clit, making slow, languid, figure eight motions.

He thinks he wants to kiss you—no, scratch that. He wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his eyes flicker from your face and down to your lips, and then back up again.

“Dieter…” you whisper, bringing your hand up to gently cradle his face in your palm, curling your pointer finger under his chin. “Do you want to kiss me?” Your warm breath fans his face as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, I do.” He rasped, slowly leaning in.

“So kiss me, you fool.”

And so he did, but instead of hesitating, and holding back, he dove right in, noses pressing into one another as he licked greedily into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours while his hand holding the shower head angled it right against your exposed pussy and between his fingers where he was keeping you spread open.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered into the kiss, keeping your one hand anchored around his jaw while the other came to rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangled through his drenched locks, tugging on them gently.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Told ya so.” He snickered into your lips, kissing you deeper. “Lower water pressure builds you up slower, drawing your orgasm out to last longer, and it’ll feel 10x more intense.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled into his lips, scooting your hips closer to the stream of water, and to him.

“Greedy little pussy, huh? Can’t get enough, can ya?” He teased.

“Dieter…” you warned him, playfully biting down on his lower lip and tugging it out gently before releasing it.

“I know, I know.” He chuckled and reluctantly detached himself from the kiss, pecking your lips once before he sat back on his thighs to give himself any form of relief. “You wanna give yourself a whirl while I go take care of this er—in privacy?”

Your cheeks were puffed out, lips swollen with his kisses as you stared up at him dumbfounded. “Are you insane? Just get in here with me, Dieter. Right now.”

He blushed, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly turning all bashful as if he wasn’t just talking about your greedy little pussy seconds ago. “Are you…sure? I really don’t mind! I can just go jerk off in my bed like a normal person—”

“Dieter.” Your tone sounded strained, “get in the fucking shower now. Take those ridiculously tight boxers off and get in here.”

Well, you certainly didn’t need to ask Dieter Bravo twice as he scrambled to peel his boxers down over his hips and thighs, tossing the damp fabric outside of the shower. His cock bobbed between his thighs, hard, heavy and the tip was swollen a painful red color. Poor guy.

He climbed over you, situating himself and his cute little tush right next to you with his shoulders gently brushing yours. He spit a glob of saliva into his palm and wrapped his fist around the veiny girth of his cock. “I’ll come fast, I promise. You won’t even have to do anything, okay? Just pretend I’m not here!” His tone was rushed as he squeezed the base of his cock, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you. His eyeliner was completely smudged now and his lips were swollen with your kisses.

All you could do was nod dumbly, your eyes transfixed by his fist wrapped around his cock. It was as if you were seeing a unicorn for the first time! The unicorn being er—Dieter’s cock.

He looked at your face, and then down at his cock, and then back up at your face. “Hello?” He waved with his freehand, “why are you looking at my cock like that, huh? Are you the only person in the whole state of California who hasn’t seen my cock before?” He was in disbelief, his mouth falling open when he realized that you never had seen his cock.

"I totally thought you'd seen his dick. Practically everyone else has." You remember his ex cruelly teasing you about it one day.

You shook your head, eyes glazed over as you watched his fist slowly twist and pump around his length. “Nope. First time, and it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn!” You exclaimed playfully.

Dieter snorted at your enthusiasm, feeling his heart lurch from his chest, “well, it is sorta like seeing a unicorn for the first time…I suppose?” He chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock for some form of relief. He felt like now was the best time to address the obvious elephant in the room, silly Dieter. “So uh—well, this doesn’t mean anything, right? Because we’re just friends and good friends masturbate together. It's cool, this is super casual!”

Sure, bud. You keep telling yourself that.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, spreading your thighs further so you could continue your ministrations with the shower head. “Sure, Dieter. This means absolutely nothing. Just two besties jerking it off, side by side. Totally casual!”

He let out a huff as he pumped his fist faster, “Well, we wouldn’t be in this predicament if those noises you were making didn’t make my cock as hard as a slab of concrete!”

“Dieter, shut up, and get yourself off! Or so help me—”

“Yes ma'am!” He squeaked out.

In tandem you placed the shower head close to your clit once more while he fisted his cock, and when your moans started to intermingle and become one, that’s when your glazed over eyes met once more. He had his lip harshly taken between his teeth, his cock was twisting and pulsing beneath his fist. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing your bare shoulder where he had dipped his head down to nuzzle you. His eyes flickered upwards towards your face, pupils darkening by the second, “I really want to fuck you right now, baby.” He rasped.

You met his gaze, thighs trembling and your eyes rolling slightly as your orgasm rippled through you, “yeah, you wanna fuck me, Dieter? How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“So fucking bad, baby. You’ve got no idea.” He mewled, “there’s that convenient bench right over there.” He gestured to the shower bench with a coy tilt of his chin, “you can sit right on my cock, if you’d like that…”

“Did you have that bench installed for convenience purposes or for your old man bad back?” You asked teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, glaring playfully before he chuckled, “a bit of both. More-so on the convenience side of things. And, it’s newly installed so you and I would be the first to use it.” He winked coyly.

“Really? Well, your offer is most tempting, Bravo. I’d like to take you up on it and sit on your big fucking cock.”

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned, loosening his fist around his cock so he could offer you a hand and helped you up. Now you were both directly under the stream of water, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. You kissed deeply, giggling in unison when you grabbed his ass and he grabbed yours. He could happily live in this moment forever with you, even if it meant that his skin would inevitably prune and probably fall off.

You backed him up against the shower bench, climbing into his lap as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position along the marble bench that could easily fit both of you.

You wrapped your own palm around the base of his cock for the first time as you slowly sank down around his girth till he was fully pressed inside of you, bottoming out with a low grunt against your lips. He let his arms loop firmly around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could so that your chests were pressed flushed together. He swore he saw heaven behind fluttered lashes when you started to slowly roll your hips into his, bouncing and grinding along his length.

If it wasn’t for his steadfast orgasm, he probably would have lasted longer before he was shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, but he was a man, after all. And while his cum leaked and dripped from your weeping little hole that was still stuffed full of his cock, he made sure that you got to come again, too. He pistoned his hips upwards at an unruly pace, loving the way that your nails clawed at his back and shoulders, leaving little red crescents in their wake. Maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me later. He briefly thought as you came undone around him, crying out his name.

You stayed seated on his cock for what felt like hours before he gently eased you off him, his cock now soft between his thighs and glistening in a thick, pearlescent ring of your combined releases.

You washed one another’s bodies under the lukewarm stream and he was the first to step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and when you emerged, he had a towel waiting for you. You kissed a few more times, gentle pecks of intimacy as you stood side by side in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

“Soo, where are you sleeping tonight?” He suddenly asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. His deep pools of brown boring into yours.

You hadn’t really thought that far if you were being honest…and now with that fresh ‘I just got fucked good’ glow illuminating your features, and the remainder of your high still sizzling, you suddenly feeling nervous all over again.

“Um, well, where do you want me to sleep?”

“I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for your response.

“Okay, fair, how about on the count of three we say it together?”

“Deal.” He nods.

“Okay—one, two, three—” you counted off in unison.

“Your bed—my bed.”

You both looked relieved at your answers, letting out breaths you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank fucking god.” You both laughed.

He kissed you then, mouthful of toothpaste and all. You made a funny squeaking sound when he had unexpectedly kissed you, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling back slowly.

When you left the en-suite, you found Dieter already in bed, sitting up with the rolling tray resting in his lap. He had a fresh pair of boxers on, this pair was made of cotton and was far less constricting. He was rolling another joint to smoke before bed when he looked up, smiling softly at your lingering presence in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Well, don’t be shy, bug. Ain’t the first time you’ve slept in my bed.” He winked, patting the empty spot beside him on his massive king sized bed.

You took a deep breath, remembering that this was Dieter Bravo, your best friend and partner in crime. He would always be your best friend.

You made your way over to the empty side of the bed and pulled the covers back so you could climb underneath them.

He finished rolling the joint, grabbing his lighter from the nightstand to spark it up before he paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hey, we don’t have to like—do anything, okay?” He reassured you.

“But Dieter, I wanna do stuff with you. It’s just—in your bed it feels…” you trailed off, scratching at the outside of your arm absentmindedly.

He tucked the joint behind his ear and rolled over into his side so he was facing you, using his elbow to prop himself up, “I understand, baby. This is…new for me as well. We can smoke this joint and then make out a little? See where it goes?…”

You nodded, lips curving up into a soft smile that sent his heartbeat racing, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He grinned.

He sparked the joint up between you, taking a few hits before he passed it off to you. This went on a few more times before your bodies just naturally gravitated towards one another, and when the joint died out, he set it down on the tray on his nightstand before his lips found yours.

You kissed like this for hours, simply just enjoying one another’s company and soft touch when the sun began to rise over the Los Angeles landscape. Dieter was uncharacteristically quiet, even for being stoned.

Your fingers were gently dragging through the patches in his beard, playing with his scruff in between kisses. “I can hear you overthinking, Dee.”

“Are you a wizard?” He chuckled, “you can hear my thoughts? That’s crazy!”

“Shh.” You giggled. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry.” He whispered, scooting his body closer to yours. He would absolutely crawl inside of your skin and never leave, but well—-he might go to prison if he did that.

“I’m gonna say something that might sound stupid, but I gotta get it off my chest, okay?” He started, his glazed over eyes met yours as he pressed a few kisses to the underside of your fingertips.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, so—well, this is just different for me because I don’t normally fuck my friends.”

You gave him a funny look at his admittance, unable to help yourself.

“I’m serious! I don’t fuck my friends—and well, I care about you a ton.Maybe even more than I care about myself? Anyway, I don’t want things to get weird between us tomorrow. Like if you wake up and regret everything that happened, I just want you to tell me, okay? My hopes is that maybe you felt the little spark that I did and if you did we can—”

“Dieter, I promise you I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and regret everything that happened tonight. No matter where this takes us, I’m always going to love you, and you’re always going to be my best friend.” Your words were sincere and directly from your heart and he knew you weren’t just saying shit just to say it.

“I think I just shat my heart out, that was so sweet.” He giggles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “In all seriousness, thank you. I was just afraid that this would ruin our friendship, and I would lose you forever.”

“Never, Dieter. You could never lose me.” You reassured him.

“Good, cause in the morning? I’m making waffles!”

Helen Mirren: Narrator for the Barbie Movie:

Dieter did not in fact make waffles the next morning. Instead, Dieter had his breakfast between your thighs, and then let you order whatever brunch you wanted on his black card

"You can be my sugar baby! I get to eat you out and you can order whatever you want on my card." He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of your pussy.

"That's not how that sort of thing really works, Dieter. But, yeah, okay."

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#fic: ‘cause after midnight #dieter bravo smut #slumber party dieter #tightjeansjavi

[jessthebaker]

Hold Fast - Series Master List [Ongoing]

Series Summary: Frankie gets picked up at Redfly's Bar by a powerlifting girlie.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader/powerlifting!reader Rating: Eventually Explicit (18+ ONLY, MDNI)

Hold Fast Chapter List Ch. 1 - Will Squat for Dinner Ch. 2 - SBD & Cinnamon Rolls Ch. 3 - Curdles Ch. 4 - Chicken Soup Ch. 5 - 5 Courses Ch. 6 - Coffee & Donuts (Upcoming) Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 -

Series Tags/Warnings (will update as fic progresses!): no y/n, gymbff!Benny, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short and has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alcohol, OCs, body insecurity

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal

@burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel @copperhalfcent

@triplefrontier-anniversary @iamskyereads

Tag list is open!

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #queue that shit

[jessthebaker]

I’m always down for a sweet Marcus M story 🥰🥰

Series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter moodboard

Afterword

Series summary: A story about hope and new chapters.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: 18+

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

Chapter 2

You spend the next few days unpacking, keeping busy. You’d closed the door to the small boxy room you’d earmarked as your office on your first night in your new place, but it was time to tackle it.

You tear open the parcel tape, peel it away, and open up the first of the cardboard boxes. A stack of copies of your first book, a detective novel printed in a few different languages and cover options, blink up at you. You heave them out and place them on the bare shelf above your writing desk.

In the bottom of the box is your pick-me-up folder. A carefully selected number of book reviews, magazine snippets, and online comments that you’d printed out. Alex had wanted to get them all mounted and framed, but you preferred to keep them tucked away and private.

He’d always supported your writing, but with his typical relentless pursuit of success. He’d helped shape the story, persuaded you to make it darker and grittier to hit the points that would sell, and his instincts had been right. It flew off the shelves, leaving behind a big cheque and the financial freedom to write whatever you wanted afterwards. But it had left you feeling a little hollow. You'd do things differently next time.

Next time.

You thought you’d start writing again right away, but after a celebratory holiday in Hawaii and a few weeks to let the dust settle, life got…uninspiring.

Was this now next time? Your plan and hope was that a new place and a new setup would kick start something.

Now that you have the chance to write anything, where should you start?

You work late into the night until you are left with a veritable fort of empty boxes and a sore back. You pick up the green paper bag from The Stationery Stop and set about arranging your new supplies on your desk. You line the pencils up perpendicular to your laptop and pile the notebooks up on the side.

As you rummage into the bottom of the bag for the last few trinkets, you remember the flyer you’d been given, which was now missing. What day did Marcus say the group met? Tuesdays? Thursdays? You needed to pop back into town again in the morning anyway. Maybe you’d nip in to double-check and see a friendly face.

---

You exit the florist struggling a little under the large bouquet of pink gerberas that you’d unwittingly purchased. You’d intended to pick up a small house plant for your desk, but the woman behind the counter was so enthusiastic and colourful that you were lucky you hadn’t left spending more.

When you’d told her you were a writer, still a term that you couldn't say without looking down at your shoes and waiting for the “Oh, anything I might have read?” question, she’d excitedly asked you if you knew about Pencils and Pals, and practically shoved you out of the door and into The Stationery Stop.

It’s quieter inside today without the Saturday throng of customers, but that feeling in the air is the same. There's something about this place. It has a calm kind of magnetism, like the peace of a library or the hush of an old museum.

Your eyes dart to the counter when you enter, but there’s no one behind it today. You take a walk to a display of birthday cards, shift the bunch of flowers under your arm, and leaf through a few, thinking you might actually send your mother’s on time this year.

“Back again?” Marcus comes out of the storeroom behind you, carrying a pile of small canvases all wrapped in plastic. You don't know where he buys his t-shirts from, but the man looks like a walking GAP advert. Today's is a crisp white with a shallow V-neck that draws your gaze as you spin around.

“If you thought that would make me jump, you should know I have three brothers and am immune to pretty much every form of practical joke.”

“I’m not the scaring sort.” He drops the pile onto a nearby table. “But I do like a challenge.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen one of these in years!” You take a few steps towards the counter and wind the handle of the vintage desktop pencil sharpener that sits there. “Why do I have an impulse to stick my finger in there?”

“Please don’t.” He shudders. “I thought it was a fun throwback too, until some kid nearly took a fingernail off.”

You grimace and pull your hand back.

“I actually came back to ask about your group, ‘Artists Rehab’ is it? I thought it was on Thursdays, but I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t want to offend the one person I know here.” You slide the birthday card across the counter and pick up a stack of post-its from the impulse buy section. “Although if I keep spending money every time I step foot in here, I might have to reconsider this friendship.”

He returns your smile, and you see a hint of blush creep up to his ears.

“Just call me your friendly neighbourhood pencil-man.”

You lean forward, your expression serious. “Do you shoot erasers out of your fingertips?”

He checks over his shoulder as if he were about to let you in on a state secret. “Only when surprised.”

You hand over a few bills, and as he drops your change into your palm, you spot his wedding ring. That warm feeling you had coming in here now has a slight chill to it.

“Does…Mrs Pencils come along on Thursdays too?” Your mouth is now a little dry. “It’d be nice to meet her.”

There’s a flicker of something across his face. It’s a look you recognise, one of a sore spot being poked.

“No, she’s….She died.” He twists the ring on his finger a tad self consciously. “It was a long time ago, but I’ve never- Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.”

You know this is the point you should politely share your story, but the W word had followed you everywhere for the last few years, and you just wanted to bask in being you for a while. Rather than the you that made people avert their eyes and cross the street through awkwardness.

“I’m really sorry.” The words tumble out before you remember how much you loathe them.

His eyes flash warmly again, and he slips another flyer into your carrier bag with your receipt. “Thank you. And I really hope I- we’ll- see you on Thursday.”

He steps out from behind the desk to hold the door open with his foot, your hands now full with today’s purchases.

You give him your name and another smile. “I’ll try to make it.” You say as you turn to leave, already knowing you’ll be there.

Marcus contemplates you as you walk away, the small bounce in your step and the swing of your bright coat. He leans into the window frame and watches until you disappear around the corner.

Talking to you feels easy. He likes that you just say whatever comes into your mind. Likes that you made him smile on this random Tuesday and that he might see you again in two days' time.

---

You shift nervously from one foot to the other in the doorway of the shop, wiping your feet more times than necessary on the rough coir mat.

Marcus is at the end of the room, unloading folding chairs from a stack and placing them next to several small round tables. The place is busy with people already. He looks up at you, and the expression on his face, the one that matches the warmth and welcome of this little place, makes you feel like you could melt into your boots.

He's wearing a button-down shirt in a dark navy brushed cotton, and you see him fiddle with the cuff button for a moment. You wonder if it's new, and perhaps if he chose it specifically for tonight.

He’s next to you in a few long strides, and for a breath, you think he’s about to pull you into a hug, your brain only registering this at the last second.

“Hello again,” he touches the top of your shoulder lightly and the skin beneath your shirt prickles, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You unwind your soft silky scarf from around your neck and stuff it into your backpack. “I’m glad too. Thanks again for the invite.”

He gestures towards the group. “Come on, they don’t bite.” He points to a young man with long dark bangs and a jet black floor-length coat who you see pull a ball of yarn and knitting needles out of his tote bag. “Not even him.”

“I’m so bad with names.” You confess. “I hope I can remember them all next week.”

Marcus smiles reassuringly at you. “I’m happy to hear you’re already coming back next week, but do you want to hear a secret?”

You lean in to him slightly. “Always.”

“I can’t remember all their names either.” He slides his hand into the pocket of his dark wash jeans and shrugs. “I gave them all nicknames at the start, and now I’m stuck with them.”

“Oh, really!” You laugh and your eyebrows shoot upwards. “Well, now you have to tell me what they all are, and I promise I’ll only bring it up weekly. Forever.”

He shakes his head at you but the dimple in his cheek tells you he likes your gentle prodding.

“Ok.” He runs his hand across his patchy, stubbled jaw. “See that tall guy over there?” You spot an older man with posture the army would be proud of. “That’s ‘Ruler’.”

“Figures.” You nod.

“The woman with the bright blonde cropped hair? ‘Highlighter’.”

He points out a few more people. There’s ‘Paperclip’ who wraps everyone in a tight embrace as they walk in. ‘Thumbtack’ who no-one seems to want to sit with. ‘Whiteout’ who is already crossing out everything they’ve written on their page and, finally, ‘Mole’, with her stack of Moleskin notebooks on her lap, each more dogeared and fuller than the last.

“How long until I get a themed nickname?” You joke.

“You already have one.” He grins as he walks back to the group, leaving you wondering.

You pick a seat next to ‘Mole’. She’s a writer too, and she has an infectious spark, a cute British accent, and an easy confidence that makes you want to read or listen to anything she has to say. She writes her phone number on an orange post-it and sticks it to the front of your notebook, a coffee date already a foregone conclusion at this point.

It’s a motley crew of creatives. Some are painting, others drawing, sewing, or writing. You’d been worried it would feel like the support groups you’d reluctantly attended, at other people’s insistence, after Alex was gone. All hard-backed chairs, harsh strip lighting, plastic cups of orange juice, and boxes of Kleenex. But this felt welcoming, fun, just what you didn’t know you needed.

You notice how Marcus takes time to talk to everyone in the group. He holds himself in a charismatic way, making every person light up when he shows an interest in what they’re working on. You could see him as a teacher or a boy scout leader.

When the last of the group pack up their things and leave, you find yourself hanging back and folding your papers away slowly. One by one, they leave the shop, and their cheery goodbyes fade away to leave a quiet stillness.

Marcus flicks the radio on low and starts putting the store to bed for the night. You like watching him from back here, the practised way he lets the roman blinds cascade down the windows, the soft taps of the keys of the cash register as he turns it off, the swish of the straw brush as he sweeps the floor.

His laptop is open on the counter, and you notice a pair of brown eyes that match his and a crown of chocolate ringlets radiating out from the screensaver.

“Your daughter?” You guess.

You like how his face glows at this. “Yeah, that’s her. Missy. She hates that photo now. It’s ancient. She’s grown up and is away at college.” His shoulders sag a little. “Great kid, calls her Dad every Sunday without fail.”

You’ve stalled as much as you can, so you wrap yourself up in your coat and sling your backpack onto your shoulders.

“I bet you’re a good Dad.”

He hums. “Depends which week you ask her.”

He pulls on his jacket and pats down the pockets for his keys.

“Is there anyone picking you up tonight, a partner or..?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m-. It's just me.”

After he switches off the lights and punches in the alarm code, you and Marcus step outside onto the street.

“So did you have a good time tonight?” He flips through his bunch of keys until he finds a brass coloured one and locks the door.

“I really did.” You nod. You’ve smiled so much tonight that you feel a little drunk off it. “I’ve always written alone, but it felt really good to be in a room full of other people being creative. Inspiring, I suppose.”

You feel him relax as he falls into step next to you. “That’s great! I’m so happy we get to keep you.”

There’s a tiny swoop in your stomach, and then the memory of something he said earlier comes back to you.

“Hey.” You prod him on the arm. “You never told me what my nickname is?”

There’s not even a beat before he says. “Parker.”

You think for a moment as the hells of your shoes click off the pavement in synchronised taps.

“Like the brand of fancy pens?”

“Exactly.”

You knit your brows together. “You’re a pencil guy, though, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiles but keeps his gaze forward, “your friend the pencil guy.”

Your friend. It feels nice and your cheeks are rising faster than you can stop them.

Later on, as you twist and turn in your bed and hear the pipes creaking as the heating comes on, you’re a little confused as you think back to why he chose ‘Parker’. Is it a compliment? Those pens are pretty high-end after all. Is it as simple as writer = pen?

Or are you reading way too much into this, and should you just be relieved you’re not ‘stapler’?

Next chapter

Taglist:

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@stevie75 @ranahx @darkheartgatita @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @titlee78

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #secretelephanttattoo

[jessthebaker]

Tender protective Pope, my heart (and my nethers) 🫠😮‍💨😮‍💨

Blocked By Snow ║ I

a/n: this series is directly inspired by @prolix-yuy 's absolutely gorgeous series something new I can't recommend this series enough 💕 thank you so much for allowing me once more to delve into this world. I appreciate you so much and so glad to have met you 💚

pairing: santiago "pope" garcia x fem!reader

genre: smut, romance, minors dni

word count: 5.8k

summary: With everyone out of town for the holidays, a lonely Santiago wanders the streets. His nightly walk leads him to your coffee shop.

warnings: sex worker!santi, a bit of insecure/shy reader, foodplay, piv, bdsm dynamics, messy oral (receiving), dirty talking

a/n: you don't necessarily have to read the first one shot to read this but it would make more sense if you did 💚

watercolor eyes'verse masterlist | A VERY PSYCHEDELIC WINTER '22

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Santiago never had enjoyed the cold. 

He hates the way cold pricks at his skin as he walks, a needle-like sensation that makes his body feel perpetually uncomfortable. The empty street echoes with the crunch of snow and every time he takes a step he slightly slips. Which keeps him in a purgatory of an almost falling feeling for the entire winter season. But of course that’s not all. He also sweats easily. He doesn’t have to do much. He could just be walking to the bus stop and he would break out in sweat. Which means that the inside of his coat is always sickly warm, his damp shirt clinging to his skin with his every move. He can’t take his coat off. Because sweat soaked skin combined with cold wind equals a runny nose and lungs full of germs. He just can’t win during these times. Everything’s a hassle. 

 However, he does enjoy the aesthetics of winter. 

Taking in a deep breath, Santiago takes in the sight of the empty streets. It’s late, but even if it wasn’t, it would still be deserted. The city resembles a dystopian wasteland with muddy snow and wet concrete, he loves it. A car passes by and the ground gleams with a yellow light. He takes another breath. There is no sun to force him to smile, to force him to be in a good mood. With weather like this, it was just mandatory to be somber and a little bit sad. He thinks better. He understands his emotions better. 

Santiago stops and pulls out a box of Marlboros. Frankie would’ve had his head if he’d seen, but thankfully —and maybe a bit unthankfully— his friend wasn’t in town. Him and Ms Jackson had gone away for the holiday season, wanting to spend it away from the city’s hustle and bustle. Still standing still, Santiago takes a deep huff of his cigarette and hisses out the smoke, watching it curl into the sky. Will and Benny were also away, beckoned to come back home by their mother. So that just left him. Alone to aimlessly wander the streets. 

He resumes his steps with nicotine filled lungs. Memories of you floods his mind, you were the last client he had for a while. No one really calls for him or the guys anymore, the calls are mostly for the girls, which he doesn’t mind but he just can’t stop thinking of you. Santiago was hopeful you would call again. But his hopes for it diminished after two weeks. Then he remembered you talking about your struggling shop and how it was getting harder and harder to make rent. 

So maybe that was why you hadn’t called. Or you just found someone else. The possibilities were endless, he could’ve also called, but just because it worked out fine for Frankie didn’t mean that it would work out for him. 

His teeth sink into the butt of the cigarette, half smoked now. Santiago still remembers how nervous you sounded when you first made the call. How nervous you were when he arrived. He doesn’t remember much about your home, he only remembers how you looked when you came on his tongue, fingers, and cock. 

Santiago takes another deep inhale of smoke. 

He still thinks of you sometimes, especially on nights where he’s bored or too lazy to hit the bars. Santiago often imagines his fist as your pretty pussy, fucking it until he’s oversensitive and whimpering from his own hand, cum drooling down his fingers—

A sudden shiver climbs up from the bottom of his spine and knocks the air right out of his lungs. The skin above his lower stomach tingles. Maybe he should head home, pour himself a glass of scotch and show himself  a good time. 

Then, with the corner of his eyes, he sees a bright neon light. He looks up and throws the half smoked cigarette to the ground, grinding it down with the tip of his shoe.  Cafe Watercolor the sign says, it’s bright and pink and doesn’t go with the cold winter aesthetic he had made for himself. Santiago peers inside with narrowed eyes. It looks cute enough, with lots of colorful and tasteful decor. He sees pastries gleaming behind glass and his lust is replaced with hunger. 

Santiago’s fingers hover an inch away from the glass door when he sees you; His eyes go wide, lips parting with a soft gasp. You’re struggling with the faucet. He watches you with unblinking eyes, you hit the tap a couple of times and soon water begins to pour from the nuzzle. Starting to wash your hands, you let out a breath of relief. 

Never one to back down from whatever life throws at him, he pushes the door and flinches as a soft chime announces his presence. 

Your face is priceless. 

You turn to him with a smile —presumably expecting a random customer — and your smile wavers with a subtle twitch of your lips. Your eyebrows go all the way to your hairline. Your gaze is somewhere between being astonished and fearful. At least, that’s what Santiago thinks he saw, but the emotion disappears just as quickly before he can pinpoint what it was.

“Santi,” you breathe out, the soft tone of your voice going straight to his cock. Between being hungry and cold, he was having the weirdest boner ever. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” he grins and takes a step inside. “I saw you through the window and thought I should come in and say hi.” 

“Hi,” you let out a nervous laugh. “You…You really came here just to say hi?” 

He grins, “Well to be completely honest I saw the pastries first, then I saw you. So, if we’re going to be technical about it, no.” 

“Oh,” your eyes drop to the display of baked goods. You’re still smiling which calms Santiago’s worries that he might’ve been accidentally rude. “Which one did you have your eyes on? It’s on the house.” 

“Really? I mean I can pay– In fact I want to pay,” 

“No no it’s completely fine!” you dismiss him with the wave of a hand. “Tell me, which one did you want?” 

He finds the sparkles in your eyes endearing. Never in his life had Santiago thought that him picking out a desert would be the source of such glee. He walks closer to the display; he sees pies, cinnamon rolls, eclairs, donuts and much much more. It’s surprising how such a small place can produce such a variety of deserts. He points to the eclairs with a soft smile. 

“Would you want coffee too?” 

“Sure, but bring one for you too. I would love to catch up if you’re not busy?” 

“Free as a bird.” your lips crack in a bittersweet smile. “I’ll be right there.” 

Picking a table near the large windows, Santiago shrugs off his coat and drapes it behind the wooden chair. It takes you a while until you join him. He can hear muttered curses and pleas coming from behind the coffee machine. The urge to go and help bubbles inside of him, blood pooling underneath his nails as he forces himself to sit. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s trying to undermine you, especially not in your own cafe. 

Instead, he takes this opportunity to examine his surroundings. It really is a nice place. The wall behind the counter consists of black marble that reaches all the way to the ceiling, a soft yellow light is attached to it, giving the whole cafe an eternal autumn feeling. The rest of the walls are a soft shade of beige. Santiago noticed wooden frames attached to the wall, painted over the same color to give it a more rustic feel. He wonders if you did all of this on your own or if you had help. He hopes that you did. Artwork of every kind was also scattered across the walls.    

After further inspection he realizes that he’s actually been here before —well not been, but more walked past— Your apartment must be close because he recognizes the crooked street sign. It starts to snow outside. His eyes flicker from one snowflake to another, watching them like a cat. 

“Here we go!” you say triumphantly as you place an eclair and a steaming hot mug in front of him. Sitting down, you take another mug off the tray and place the tray on top of the table next to you. “Sorry that took me a while, the coffee machine has been giving me trouble lately,” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes drop down to the mug, staring at it as if the dark liquid might have poison in it. 

“Is everything alright?” 

He doesn’t want to trouble you, “Sorry, yeah it’s just…uh–” 

“Come on, you can tell me.” 

“Can I have milk?” 

You stare at him a brief second before bursting out laughing. His cheeks warm up. Santiago clutches the mug, looking offensively at his reflection in the black coffee. Noticing his withdrawal, you place a hand on his wrist and give it a soft squeeze. Your gaze softens, your laughter only leaving a ghost-like smile on your lips. 

“Sorry sorry. I just didn’t think you would want milk in your coffee, in fact I had an eternal debate going on while I was making it. I thought to myself ‘should I ask him if he wants milk?’ then the other voice in my head said ‘No no he’s too cool for that.’” 

Santiago raises his gaze, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he cocks an eyebrow. 

“First of all, how can someone be too cool for milk?”  he shakes his head, his lips parting with a chuckle. “And second of all how on earth did you come to the conclusion that I was cool?” 

“Well, I think you’re cool.” You shrug, such a simple action, yet he’s entranced by the simplicity of it and your words. You actually believed in what you had said. “As for your first question, I don’t know. I feel like everyone has an issue with milk these days. I have, like, a million different types of milk. I miss it when it was just soy, almond and lactose free. Those were simpler times.” 

“Don’t worry whole milk is just fine with me,” 

You switch his mug with yours and his brows furrow with confusion. 

“I already put milk in mine and haven’t had a sip yet so you can have it instead.” 

“Are you sure? Don’t you want milk in yours?” 

“I’m fine with it, don’t worry.” you take a sip to demonstrate, but he can see the twitch of your eyes as the bitter liquid hits your tongue. “See. I love it. Anyway, how have you been?” 

Santiago allows you to live in bliss thinking that you fooled him. 

“I’ve been doing good, work is pretty much the same nothing new,”

“I’m glad.” 

Santiago hates the way you suddenly recoil, both emotionally and physically. You lean back into your chair, as if you’re trying to escape him, and warm your palms against the porcelain surface of the mug. He’s not sure what to make of this. Is this just a normal awkward pause or are you suddenly bothered about what he does for a living? He’s hoping the latter isn’t the case but anxiety rolls in his stomach anyway. 

“What about you? How’s the cafe running business going?” 

It’s a sad smile that you’re giving him. You trace the rim of the mug with your thumb, your gaze watching the snow. You begin to explain to him what’s been going on; the faucets are messed up but you don’t have the money to fix them, the coffee machine is on its last breath and the bills keep piling up— Santiago nods along, adding his two scents where it’s needed and finally bites into his eclair. 

He moans. “Holy shit—”

“What’s wrong?” 

Your voice is panicked and he would feel bad if the fucking eclair hadn’t tasted so good. The pastry melts in his mouth. The chocolate gave him a buzz of pleasure no desert ever had before. He lets out another muffled moan, his eyes falling shut without realizing. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out, swallowing. “This just tastes really good. Did you make this?” 

“I did, yeah,” then you quickly add. “You really like it?” 

“Of course I do. It’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” a mischievous smile curls at the corner of his lips, he moves his eyes across your slowly and licks the chocolate off his lips. “Well, maybe not the best thing.” 

You stare at him with blown wide pupils. Your mouth falls open and your fingers twitch around the mug. Santiago is ninety nine percent sure that if he looks under the table this very second your thighs would be rubbing against each other like two sticks trying to ignite a fire. Knowing this only makes his smile wider. There’s nothing he enjoys more than making an overworked woman fluster. However, teasing you is even more fun. You’re so expressive —something that he noticed the first time he came over— and he thrives in it.  

Santiago’s mind buzzes with a forming idea. With an unwavering smile, he turns the half bitten eclair towards you. Your eyes move between his face and the pastry, your confusion makes his cock twitch. 

“If you don’t believe me,” he says slowly, squeezing the side of the eclair so that more cream comes out. “Have a bite and see for yourself,” 

Santiago is convinced that he can hear your heartbeat. Raising his eyebrows, he inches the desert closer. Your lips open up for him. His world falls into slow motion. He sees the pink of your tongue and your taste hangs heavy on his tongue, you refuse to break eye contact as you bite into the fluffy pastry. Cream stains the corner of your lips, pulling away, you lick the sweet remains away. 

Now it was Santiago’s turn to become flustered. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the length of his cock catches against the rough surface of his zipper, his throat rattles with a choked moan. You think you’re sly with the way you smirk at him, but he’s never one to shy away, and seeing that you failed to properly lick the chocolate away, he swipes it away with the pad of his thumb then licks it clean. 

He convinces himself that he stepped out of line, as harmless as his flirting might be, he isn’t sure how you feel about it. 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to invite him upstairs to your apartment. 

He’s even more surprised when he realizes he’s actually been hoping for the invite.

Your apartment is the same as he remembers, the only exception being the Christmas decorations. 

With a shy smile tugging at your lips, Santiago allows you to guide him into the depths of your apartment. You’re definitely a lot more outgoing compared to when he first met you. He likes the change. 

He wonders if you’ve been with anyone else after him. Have you delved deeper into the BDSM pithole? Have you experimented more? 

The thought makes his head spin. 

“Would you like anything?” you ask politely. 

“Do you have any more of that cream filling?” 

“What?” 

He swallows down when a bubble of laughter surfaces. The look you’re giving him is priceless; Your eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and breathing uneven. It’s truly a sight to see. 

“I just wanted to try something out, if it’s alright with you,” 

“Yeah… yeah!” you rummage through the fridge. “I think I might have some leftovers,” And alas you pull away from the fridge with a nearly full piping bag. “Will this be enough?” 

“That’s plenty.” 

He stalks towards you similar to a predator nearing its prey, he slowly takes the piping bag from your hand, purposefully brushing his fingers over your knuckles. There’s a silent command in his eyes, and without voicing it out, he moves his lips; Open up. 

And, fuck, you actually do open your mouth. 

The pink of your tongue moves past your lips, Santiago’s eyes go wide, a smug smile etched into his face. He lifts the piping bag up and squeezes a dollop onto the flat of your tongue. Normally, if it was anyone else, they would’ve closed their lips and tasted the sweetness of the cream. But not you. You know better. You’ve been learning ever since that fateful night. You won’t do anything without his say so, and to have that control —that trust— it does something to him. Suddenly he wants to stop the game and ravish you right here in the kitchen. He wants to make a mark of himself. A mark that would linger even when he’s gone. 

But instead a growl rattles his chest, he leans forward and flattens his tongue against yours, tasting the cream. The moan you let out urges him to lick you clean, he sucks the tender muscles into his mouth. It marks the start of the most deprived kiss of his entire life. He inhales the air from your lungs, whenever you peel away from him, gasping for air, he squeezes more cream between your lips. You taste so sweet, so shamelessly you. 

His one hand grips your waist, forcing you to grind against him as he devours your mouth in a literal sense. Your moans bleed into one another, neither of you knowing from whom the lewd sounds are coming from. His hand slides up from your waist and settles on your breast, he squeezes hard. A whimper joins the sinful symphony. 

Your body trembles, your nostrils flare. He can’t help it as he squeezes a bit more cream into your mouth, the quick action serving as a moment for you to breathe. He closes the distance immediately after, some part of his brain —the one that still holds some awareness— reminds him of the time Will got really into Greek Mythology. Santiago always listened to him with half an ear, but a word echoes in his mind as he dives in for another kiss and another.

Ambrosia. The food of the Gods. 

That’s what you are. So sweet and tender and addicting.     

Santiago might’ve suffocated you if he hadn’t stopped, and deep down he knows that you’d allow him to.  

It’s more of a shove instead of a gentle push back. Both of them pant heavily, their chest rising and falling with strained breaths. He notices the piping bag is still half full, it’s a surprise really, he feels that he’s been piping cream into your mouth for hours. 

It’s you who breaks the silence. 

“That was…wow,” 

“You’re quite articulate, aren’t you?” he grins, licking his lips. Then his smile thins, a look of worry crossing his face. “Do you…want to do this? I definitely want to but I need to hear you say it. I don’t want you thinking I ambushed you.” 

“Oh I definitely want this,” your smile soothes him. “I actually wasn’t sure if you wanted to.” 

“Why wouldn’t I–” he clams his mouth shut, not really eager to dive into something that might make you uncomfortable (but he does take a mental note to address it later), he points at the both of you, poor finger frantically moving between bodies. “So we both want this then?” 

You nod but there’s something in your expression he quite doesn’t get. “What is it?” 

“It’s just…oh god, this is so awkward to ask but this— This isn’t— I’m a bit tight right now, as you probably guessed, and I can’t really—” frustrated, your hands suddenly shoot up into the air. “I’m such an idiot, sorry if I misread anything. I’m really shit at human interaction nowadays.” 

It takes him a moment to understand what you’re trying to ask him, the lingering taste of cream sours on his tongue as he’s not sure what to make of it. 

“Don’t worry, it’s completely free of charge.” he says, voice stale. Relief washes over you, which makes him realize that maybe you were just being insecure. A twinge of guilt flares in his heart. “I do like you, you know. It’s my fault if I hadn’t made that clear enough,” 

“No no, it’s just me being completely insecure. You were clear it’s just, I needed to ask or the thought would eat at me all night. It’s just…you’re really pretty,” 

Santiago snorts, his hand coming up to cover his mouth immediately. “I’m flattered, querida, but what does me being pretty have to do with me not wanting to be with you?”

When you struggle to find the words, he closes the distance and grabs your hand. You gasp as he presses your open palm against the outline of his erection. His mouth finds the crook of your neck, kissing the skin tenderly, he guides your hand up and down his length. His chest heaves. 

“Is this proof enough that this pretty man wants to be with you?” he murmurs, the breath accompanying his words wetting your skin. “If you need more proof I think we need to head to the bedroom.” 

“I definitely need more convincing,” you answer with a smile, a bit of playful nature hidden beneath your words. 

“Lead the way,” he says with a grin. 

However, before you move Santiago notices your eyes linger on the still half full piping bag. Your eyebrow raises with curiosity. Taking a step closer, Santiago wraps his arm around your waist and urges you to move, his lips touch your ear. Warm and soft. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not done decorating you yet.” 

Only ten minutes in and you’re already a sticky, whimpering mess. 

The empty piping bag is casted aside to the floor. He had kept his promise and decorated you. He’s encircled your pebbled nipples with cream, squeezed trails down your stomach and drew lines across your folds. You were a delight and he was going to savor every last bit of it. 

He starts from your nipples that seem like cherries with heaping amounts of cream. Santiago rewards himself with a taste, tongue moving in languid circles, he refuses to touch you where you really want him to. You grow needy, impatient. Your back arches with hope. Cream accidentally stains the corners of his lips but he doesn’t mind. He nips at the swell of your breast and looks up to you between heavy eyelashes. 

“Behave,” he murmurs, mouth full. 

“B-But…Santi, please. I need you so bad that it hurts,” 

He hums. He hides his amused smile by licking the cream off of your other breast. You let out a soft whimper and your fingers twitch against the sheets. You’re so responsive to him. He has been with his fair share of women, but none of them behaved the way that you did. You acted as if you would die without his touch, without his mouth and sinful tongue. It drives him mad, which leads him to drag his open palms up and down your thighs, goosebumps rise across your skin. 

“Tell me how much,” he purrs, the slow drag of his tongue making you moan. “I want to know exactly how you’re feeling and maybe then…” he inhales. One hand moves towards your sex, fingers ghosting over your folds. “I’ll fuck this pretty pussy until you’re stupid,” 

“I feel like I already am,” you confess with a weak smile, the words go straight to Santiago’s cock, a bead of precum dripping to the bed. “When you tease me, it feels as if a thousand needles are pricking into my skin. Ever since our first meeting I can’t stop thinking of you Santi. I think of your lips, your scent, your—” 

You cut yourself at the very last second, looking away with slight embarrassment. Santiago looks down, kisses your nipple and allows his tongue to circle it.

You sigh his name out like it’s a breath of something warm and sweet. 

“My cock?” he finishes for you. “Go on.” 

When you say nothing he stops, he purposefully exhales a warm breath against your wet skin. Your jaw goes slack, eyes fluttering, your hips spread for him without further prompt. The next breath you take is shaky but you manage to speak, voice laced with undeniable want. 

“I did some research, you know…about BDSM. And—” you swallow. “And I always think of how it would feel if it was you doing those things to me. Tying me up, whispering filth in my ear, using me however you please…” 

With minimal movement he ruts against the bed, the grind of his hips slow, the soft surface of the blankets providing excellent friction. He whimpers into your skin. 

“Have you tried any of it…with anyone?” he really didn’t want to ask but he needs to know, he’s not sure why though. A weak laughter drops from your lips, his gaze meets yours. 

“I chickened out,” you sigh. He feels your nails at your nape and it forces a shudder up your spine. “I got scared.” 

“Scared of what?” 

“Of being that vulnerable in front of someone, I didn’t want to accidentally get hurt or…say something to the wrong person,” 

The memory of the first night the two of you shared lights within his head; You’d said that you loved him. He didn’t think much of it to be honest, a lot of women said a lot of things when with him. He would never hold something like that above someone’s head, or make a big deal about it. But he also understands why you must’ve hesitated. 

Santiago has a million things he wants to say to soothe you. The words overwhelm him, dance and roll into a snowball on his tongue. Saliva fills his mouth, he rolls his tongue against your tit before answering. His tongue loosens at the feel of your skin. 

“What about me? Are you scared of being with me?” 

“No.” you chuckle at the look of surprise he gives you, you cover your face with the back of your hand. “This might sound stupid but for some reason I fully tursted you ever since the first time I heard your voice.” 

“That good, huh?” 

Santiago hides his smile by kissing —and licking— a slow trail down from the swell of your stomach to your left thigh. Your skin glistens at where there used to be cream. He kisses your folds nice and slow, tongue dipping in between, his eyes nearly roll back when he tastes you. The sweetness of the cream elevates the taste, he cleans you up and delves deeper, the tip of his tongue circles around your entrance. He feels your nails on his scalp. Your thighs shake when he moves up to your clit, closing his lips around the sensitive nub, he sucks and licks. His name falls from your lips again and again, moans and mewls becoming louder and louder. 

“Want you to come in my mouth,” he groans. “You think you can do that for me?” 

When nothing but a whimper leaves you, he digs his nails into your skin as a warning. 

“I–I want to. I can, please don’t stop—” 

“That’s my girl.” 

The way you shudder doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He pulls you against his face closer, a soft yelp tearing from your throat when he does. He throws your thighs over his shoulders and eats you out like a man starved. His cock throbs, begging for attention and friction, a wet patch steadily growing on the sheets. Slick drips out of you like nectar from a fruit, he groans into you, the reverberation making you twist and turn. Your body trembles under his palms, he knows your orgasm is within reach. 

Sucking on your clit, he lifts his gaze. Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted; Santiago truly believes that every person looks good when receiving pleasure —how could it not with the way stress dissolves from your body— But you, you look extraordinary. 

“Come on baby, give it to me. I want you flooding my mouth,” 

“Fuck— fuckfuckfuck— Santi—” a sharp gasp tears through the air, your hands frantically search anywhere they can cling on. Your body twitches and you finally give him what he wants. 

The taste overwhelmed him, his tongue moving along your slit over and over as you gush into his mouth. He swallows eagerly, drops of it drip down the corner of his lips but that doesn’t stop him. Santiago doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering for him to, your hands weakly tugging at his hair. 

“That was gorgeous,” he says, voice dripping with uncontrollable lust. Before speaking again he places a tender kiss on your pelvis. “Now do you want that cock you’ve been missing so much?” 

“You’re such a tease you know that, Santiago?” 

“So I have been told.” 

Santiago moves up your body, bringing your legs with him. He leans in as if he’s going to kiss you, a Cheshire cat-like grin spreading across his face. 

“Do you want to taste yourself on my tongue?” 

“God. Yes, please,” 

He licks the seam of your lips before pushing his tongue into your mouth. You groan at the taste of yourself and he swallows every bit of noise you make. He presses the head of his cock  inside, filling you up inch by inch. Your pussy hugs him so tight, it’s nearly suffocating. Santiago makes a choked out sound, his lips falling away from yours, he finds himself mouthing at the curve of your neck. He can feel how wet you are for him, your slick coating his cock. He hears the wet squelch as he buries himself into your warmth inch by inch.

Slowly, Santiago pulls back, his fingers curving around the back of your knees. Black dots dance across his vision. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. You’re squeezing me so tight,” he swallows, his voice dropping. “Tell me how it feels,” 

“So good,” you say, a choked out moan following. “So good. Please move.” 

Deciding that he’d teased you enough for one night, Santiago moves. His own chase of pleasure is prominent in his movements; Frantic, fast, rough. Your head falls back, eyes squeezed tight, you brace your hands against the headboard. 

“Yes…Santi—Yes, yes,” 

His gaze drops down to witness the mess. You have him completely soaked, a sheer ring circling the base of his cock, he pounds into you again and again. Pleasure rakes across his skin, his stomach drawing tight. 

“Thank you—” your voice is broken, shattered. He looks up, a slight worry to his gaze. Then you utter the words again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—” 

His balls throb and he nearly comes while inside. Shit shit shit. He quickly pulls out, the drag of his cock heavy between your folds, your eyes roll back, a whisper of his name sinfully falling from your lips.

“Why’d you stop?” you slur, hands searching for his skin. You let out a pleased hum when you managed to grip at his shoulders. “Did you come?” 

He chuckles, “Not yet but nearly did.” his thumb strokes the inside of your knee. “Can you come for me again, pretty girl? Want to feel it.” 

You breathe out a yes and he steadily slides back into you. It’s more difficult than he thought, you’re so warm and tight and wet. He was stupid for him to think that he would last. Without a word he lets go of your legs. He guides you so that you’ll stand on your hands and knees, his one hand moves between your legs as the other slowly slides up your back and rests on your shoulder. As he resumes his thrusts, he leans over you, his lips tracing shapes across your damp skin. He draws quick, short circles around your clit, you writhe underneath him, moaning and begging for release. It makes him dizzy. 

It doesn’t take you long after that. The tell tale signs of your nearing orgasm as clear as day. Your body locks up, thighs staggering uncontrollably as he fills you again and again. Your breathing is frantic, your chest heaving as your orgasm shatters through you, wetting his cock and thighs. Santiago is quick to pull out, his mind hazy with lust, he strokes himself over your ass. He comes with a groan, hot ropes of cum stains your skin. You call out to him when you feel it, thanking him again and again. His cock twitches. Honestly, if you didn’t look so worn out he might’ve gone for round two. 

But for now, he’ll stop. For your sake. 

And maybe a bit for his knees sake.

“I’ll be right back with something to clean us with,” he says, giving your ass a soft smack. “Don’t go anywhere,” 

“Does it look like I can move?” you answer with a lazy smile. You flop to your back and stretch. “Everything you need should be in the bathroom.” 

The Christmas lights that burn bright in the living room bathes the wall in a soft color. A rainbow illuminating the darkness. Santiago thinks of himself as lucky because there was no way he could’ve found his way to the bedroom, especially since his eye sight wasn’t what it used to be. Hints of cinnamon lingers in the air, he can also vaguely smell chocolate but he could have been imagining it. 

Santiago smiles when he finally spots the door of the bathroom. For the first time in a while he feels content, happy. The rain clouds above his head finally start to clear up a bit. 

Lost in thought, Santiago doesn’t see the small stand right next to the door. Shit! Fuck—Fuck! Pain spreads from his foot to his leg. His mouth clamps shut as he tries to keep the noise he makes to a minimum, his skin burning with the need to scream. He inhales deep, fast breaths, nostrils flaring everytime he fills his lungs. 

When the pain finally starts to subside a bit, he leans against the stand. His fingers twitch, the sound of paper crumpling reaches his ears. Raising an eyebrow, his gaze drops to the stand. He can barely see with the light now  shifting from red to blue, he waits for the yellow ones to come back and as it does, his breath gets stuck in his throat. 

“What the hell?” he whispers, eyes going wide. 

He spots at least five overdue notices, bills and notes for other made expenses. It doesn’t look like you can even last a month. 

The lights turn back to blue. 

His lips now a tight line, Santiago heads to the bathroom and picks up everything he needs to clean you up. He isn’t a fan of sticking his nose into other people’s business, but he can’t stand the idea of your dreams shattering like this. Especially not when you were so enthusiastic about every little thing you made.

He’ll have to make some calls tomorrow. 

Thank you all for reading! I'll probably post part two in either the end of december or january.

For some reason writing this was super duper hard??? Whenever I thought that I would finish it, I just didn't?? I've been struggling with this for a week, maybe even two, and I have no idea why. Actually, no, I think it had something to do with writing all of it from Santi's POV. Especially the smut since I'm so used to writing reader's pov but yeah, it was a challenge. However, I'm happy that I did it! Now that I know this weakness I can zero in on it sdcsdcs Thankfully, part 2 will be reader's pov so I can relax a bit

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! I appreciate each and one of you, thank you for sticking around 💚

#santiago garcia x reader #sw!santi x f!reader #psychelic-ink

[jessthebaker]

but now I’m your daisy

summary: It’s a random Thursday in the middle of spring, and Joel has a surprise for you—a surprise that’s an hour away from Jackson on horseback, that he insists on blindfolding you for.

pairing: Joel Miller/gn!reader (reader has smaller hands than Joel)

rating: T (No y/n, AGE GAP (unspecified, reader is an adult), Grumpy Joel Miller, a lil Possessive Joel Miller, FLUFF, it’s so fluffy, established relationship, kissing, purposely annoying Joel until he snaps at you, Joel being secretly romantic, MARRIAGE PROPOSAL (it’s so cute), cussing, did I mention fluff? Joel being so in love, Joel being the best dad to Ellie)

word count: 2.5k+

a/n: This can be read as a standalone or in the same universe as ‘but I would die for you in secret.’ An anon requested a ‘fluffy cute fic with an age gap (No smut)’ for Joel, and this extremely cute idea came to me that I wrote in one night. Shoutout to @littlemisspascal who loved the snippets I sent her, and thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

but I would die for you in secret - Masterlist

“Are we there yet?” you ask for the thirteenth time in the span of an hour.

It’s the perfect spring day with the temperature outside not too hot and not too cold, the air feeling a little crisp when it fills your nose. The sun’s warmth is hitting your back, and you’re sure that if you could see the sky, it’d be a beautiful, clear, cerulean blue—you can’t see, though, not with the bandana over your eyes as you sit astride a horse, Joel on his own next to you holding his reins and yours to lead you.

His sigh is long and loud, and you can picture perfectly without having to look at his annoyed expression.

“No,” he growls. “The same damn answer as the last dozen or so times you asked.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me—you haven’t spent an hour literally in the dark with no idea where the hell you’re going.”

“And I’ve told you it’s a surprise,” he rumbles.

“Well, are we close to this surprise?”

He sighs again, and you just know he’s got the fingers of his free hand pressed to his brow. “I swear, you’re just as bad as Ellie—neither of you seems to understand what a fuckin’ surprise is.” He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “Now,” he says calmly, “I don’t know why you’re purposely pushin’ my buttons—”

“You ate the last of the ice cream last night,” you interrupt. “The ice cream I worked hard to make that I was excited to eat as a late-night snack.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me—how many times do I have to apologize? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were savin’ it, and had I known, I wouldn’t have eaten it. Will you please forgive me?”

“Did I annoy you enough that the thought crossed your mind to take us back home?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t because you love me so much you’ll put up with my shit?”

“Yes.”

“Then I forgive you. Can I ask a question that has nothing to do with the distance we are from the surprise?”

He lets out a relieved breath, and his tone softens. “Of course, honey.”

Without fail, every time he calls you a sweet endearment, you melt a little, feeling so soft you might turn into a puddle.

You’re smiling. “What made you choose today to surprise me? It’s kinda random that it’s a Thursday, and you didn’t wait for the weekend when we’re usually off.” You taught at the school, and Joel did whatever he was assigned each day; lately, it’s been a lot of patrolling.

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

The question makes you think because you do know the date, and it’s not your, his, or Ellie’s birthday; it’s not a holiday that you’re aware of, either, and frankly, you’re not quite sure what the significance is.

“I do, but what’s so special about it?”

“What were you doin’ last year around this time?”

“Um, what was I doing? Wait, it’s around when I moved to Jackson.”

“That’s right, and who’d you meet a little after you arrived?”

“A lot of people.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes in exasperation. “Baby, when did you meet me?”

“Like two, three days after I moved into the house across the street from you.”

“And what happened when we met?”

The memory makes you smirk. “I seduced you—my sexy, way older, single dad neighbor.”

“That’s true—I was gone on you from the moment you batted those pretty eyes at me, and who were you romantically involved with from that day forward?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You.”

“Was there anyone else?” It’s a harmless question he knows the answer to and is honestly humorous even to be asked.

You snort. “Why would I have wanted to be with anyone else when I had you? No, of course not, and you were very clear that I was yours and only yours, even if nobody else knew for quite some time.”

Your relationship with him was a secret for many months because he didn’t want Ellie to know—he was worried she wouldn’t take it well, but she ended up being completely fine with it and had figured out the two of you were a thing, pretty much from the beginning.

“So, it’s a year from the day you became mine,” he says, “why would I be takin’ you somewhere special?”

The realization slams into so hard you gasp.

“Are we celebrating the anniversary of when we first met?!”

It’s clear in his voice he’s smiling. “We are—I know we did things ass-backward, and I wish I could’ve courted you properly from the beginnin’, but I consider that first time we met as the start of our unconventional relationship.”

Warmth is spreading through your body at how sweet this is.

“Oh my god, Joel—if I could, I’d kiss you right now!”

“Well, you’re in luck, my love, ‘cause we’re finally here.” Your horse comes to a stop, the animal snorting as its front hooves shuffle in place. “You can look.”

You lower the bandana, and your eyes widen at what’s in front of you: it’s a meadow of colorful wildflowers—the lush green grass overshadowed by the yellows, pinks, purples, whites, and blues blooming thickly everywhere, tall pine trees lining the edges, and snow-capped mountains towering high off in the distance.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful, and it takes your breath away.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye of Joel getting off his horse, and you’re too focused on taking in all of the scenery, seeing butterflies fluttering around and birds gliding through the air.

“Well?” he asks, and you jolt at his voice coming from the opposite side of where he was initially. “Sorry for spookin’ ya, baby.” He rubs a hand along your jean-covered thigh, and your head tilts down his way. Joel’s eyes look hopeful, and a small smile is on his lips—he’s wearing a red flannel and has a rifle on his back, the light breeze causing some of his gray strands of hair to dance atop his head. “What do you think?” he asks.

Your answer is to get off the horse, Joel’s hands immediately grabbing onto your waist to steady you as you swing your leg over the back of the animal, one foot landing on the ground, then the other—you spin around, throwing your arms around his neck, and crush your lips to his, swallowing his surprised sound. He’s automatically hugging you to him, and you never feel safer than when he holds you, knowing without a doubt he won’t let anything happen to you and will protect you with everything he has; you’d do the same for him and Ellie, the two most important people in your life.

When you break apart, your breaths come out a little heavier, and with the way he’s gazing into your eyes, you can clearly see his love for you shining through.

His hand caresses your cheek. “A good surprise?” he asks.

Your mouth is grinning as you nod. “The best surprise and worth an hour in the dark.” You hold his face as you lean in, placing loud, smacking kisses over his stubbled cheeks, along his jaw, on his chin, and lips. Joel chuckles at your enthusiasm, and you end with a peck to the tip of his nose.

“There’s more,” he says.

Your eyes go big. “What do you mean there’s more?”

“Let me tie up the horses, and I’ll show you.”

He moves away to do as he said, using ropes to tie around each of their two front legs to hobble them and keep them in place, allowing them to graze.

Joel isn’t kidding about there being more: he removes a blanket roll from his saddle that he spreads out on a patch of grass, and from his backpack, he takes out containers with strawberries, apples, cheese, some smoked meat and to drink, a bottle of apple juice made in Jackson.

He sits on the blanket, his long legs out in front of him, the food on one side of him, his rifle, and your shotgun that’d been holstered in a scabbard attached to your saddle within reach on the ground. He makes you giggle as he pulls you down into his lap, sitting sideways across it, his arms wrapping around your middle, while your hands go into the hair at the back of his head, his eyes locked on yours.

Something hard is poking you in the ass. “Is that a flashlight in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you ask with a wag of your eyebrows.

Joel huffs out an amused breath as he gets his hand under you and pulls his sheathed hunting knife off of his belt, tossing it next to the rifle and shotgun.

“Better?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek. “Much better—thank you.” You stare at his handsome face and brush his messy bangs off his forehead—Joel grabs your hand, keeping his gaze on yours as he kisses the skin on the inside of your wrist, leaving behind tingles where his lips touch.

“If Ellie knew how secretly romantic you are,” you say, “she’d give you even more shit than she already does.”

His eyes roll, and he holds your smaller hand in his bigger one, pressing it to his heart.

“Wanna know a secret?” he asks.

“Always.”

“She avoids teasin’ me about our relationship and how I am with you—I mean, if she sees us kiss, she’ll pretend to get sick, but that’s just how teenagers are.” He shrugs. “She slips up every once in a while, and that’s expected; I think her tryin’ her best not to shit on my happiness is her sweet way of bein’ supportive.” He’s smiling fondly. “She’s the one who suggested a picnic.”

Your face matches his. “You discussed your secret anniversary plans with her?”

“Yes.” He nods. “'cause Tommy’s idea of celebratin’ was stayin’ in bed all day naked, and it made me wonder for the millionth time why the fuck Maria married his ass.”

You laugh. “And that’s pretty much a regular Saturday for us when Ellie stays at Cat’s—” Her girlfriend’s. “—for the weekend.”

He’s got an arm around your back and lets go of your hand, reaching to pluck a dandelion from the grass at the edge of the blanket.

“Exactly,” he says, “needed to do somethin’ special, and I found this place a few weeks ago while on patrol and knew you’d love it.” His eyes squint a little as his attention turns to what’s in front of him.

“I do, I love it so much.” You look around at the flowers, trees, and mountains. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Yeah, it is.” You face him again, finding his gaze already on you.

He does this often, where when you seek him out—be it at the crowded bar on a Friday night, the busy mess hall at breakfast before work, while you’re cuddled on the couch watching a movie—he’s already looking at you before your eyes land on his. It’s like you’re the only thing that exists, and you find it both lovely and insane that he loves you that much.

The other person who steals his attention is Ellie—she’s his whole world, and that’s how it should be; she’s his kid, and if Joel’s one thing, he’s a fantastic father who loves his children more than anything.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, Joel Miller,” you tell him, clutching his shirt with your left hand. “I love you, I love your daughter, I love the life we have, and I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life—you’re mine, and I’ll fight anyone or anything that tries to take you from me.”

“Yeah?” He takes your hand from his shirt and presses your palms together between you, making your own look so tiny with how much longer and thicker his fingers are. “Well,” he starts, your eyes closing when he leans in to nudge his nose against yours, “you’ve sure ruined me for anyone else, too, and you’re it for me—I love you, I love that you really do care about my kid, and how you make our lives better,” he rasps softly. “No one else can have you ‘cause you belong to me as I belong to you, so I see this only goin’ one way.”

“And where’s that?” you whisper.

His hand leaves yours for a moment.

“With you marryin’ me,” he says and slips something onto your ring finger—your eyes fly open seeing he’s tied the dandelion stem to make a loop your finger can fit through, the vibrant yellow flower a pretty substitute for a real diamond ring that are hard to find these days; this is Joel doing something how it was done when he was younger because, to him, it’s the right way, even though nowadays engagements are simply a verbal agreement rarely accompanied by jewelry. Or this is Joel just being romantically old-fashioned; you love it when he’s romantically old-fashioned.

Your cheeks are hurting from smiling so big, and tears are brimming in your eyes.

“If you’ll have me, of course,” he adds, and you look at him. “I know I’ve been alive a long fuckin’ time and that you can do better than someone as old as me, but I promise I’ll give you my everythin’ and the best life I can because you’re the one I wanna spend whatever time I have left breathin’ with.” The truth is evident in his chocolate-colored gaze, seeing the glimmer of hope in the dark pools. “As long as it’s somethin’ you’d want. It’s fine if you prefer we keep doin’ things as we have been without you takin’ my last name—I’m lucky enough that you like me.”

“Ask me,” you say.

His eyebrows pull together. “Ask you what…?”

“To marry you—in all the sweet things you said, you didn’t ask the question.”

His cheeks pink up, and he scratches the back of his neck. “That’s fuckin’ embarrassin’. Not much of a proposal if you don’t ask the question—sorry—let me try this again.” He clears his throat and takes your hand, being careful of the dandelion ring, his eyes seeming to get bigger. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, and he rewards you with a smile big enough for his very seldom-seen dimple to make an appearance.

Then his large palms are cradling your face, and he’s kissing you like he’s just come home after being away for a while, and can’t believe he’s finally feeling your lips against his once more—he’s savoring every second and being so thorough it makes you go dizzy, your skin heating beneath your clothes.

This is one of those unforgettable kisses that will make you swoon each time it comes to mind in the years to come.

And this man asked you to marry him.

Settling down in Jackson was the best decision you’ve ever made.

but I would die for you in secret - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

#but i would die for you in secret #sequel fic #joel miller x reader #tlou Jackson #joel fucking miller

[jessthebaker]

since I'm spending my morning annoying my alma mater for sending cops to arrest students peacefully protesting on campus, I'm sharing resources again.

check out these posts from @the-bastard-king about donating to get people out of Gaza and to PCRF (Palestine Children's Relief Fund) - they walk you through it!

here's a post that walks you through eSIMS for Gaza

here's the doc linked in my masterlist -- they update it regularly with ways to help, donate, call your reps, and more!

[jessthebaker]

millie's poll {by the grit of sandpaper}

y'all have come for her blood (and marsha's) and it's been so interesting to see the reactions to her character. she's actually based off a mean girl from my early college days, though i've taken many liberties with the environment lol. @hiddenbabynyc raised some interesting theories in their ask and i'm curious...

come celebrate the last chapter with dev!

#dev talks #dev celebrates #fic: by the grit of sandpaper #last chapter celebration

[jessthebaker]

Is this gonna make me cry? I think so probably yes but I need it anyway 🥺

final chapter teaser {by the grit of sandpaper}

i've been tagged in a few WIP wednesday and last line posts and here's my contribution lol

taglist:

@joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal

@merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

@joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar

@honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh

@persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

@part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel

@blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog

[jessthebaker]

Tumblr links are being stupid again

So reblogging to remind myself to read ch 5 later on.

Down This Chain of Days - Dieter Bravo x reader time loop rom com [COMPLETED] - Masterlist

Title: Down This Chain of Days

Author: @ghotifishreads

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Series word count:

Summary: The thing is, when Dieter Bravo turns up at your sister’s semi-formal desert wedding wearing a fleece coat, tropical shirt, and swimming trunks instead of a tux, how are you meant to know it’s out-of-character time loop madness-induced behavior for him? You just thought he was a Hollywood eccentric. 

Which, as you’ll come to know intimately, he absolutely is when you get sucked into the time loop too.

An AU of the delightful and nihilistic time loop rom com Palm Springs.

Thank you to @ozarkthedog who transformed Pedro's Corona ad into Dieter in the desert:

Warnings: Includes suicidal ideation and discussion, plus actual suicides (that don’t stick because it’s a time loop) and really glib attitudes about them, on a par with the films Groundhog’s Day or Palm Springs. Drinking. Alcohol as a coping mechanism. Seriously, so much drinking. Drug use mentioned, and they take mushrooms. PinV sex. Violence never too gory or overtly described, but includes various characters experiencing the following (here be spoilers):  shot with a crossbow; falls and breaks teeth; hit by a car; commits or experiences vehicular manslaughter; tased by a cop.

Reader is mentioned as being older than her 20s, exact age is unspecified. Reader wears a long purple dress, and has hair but type and length are not mentioned. No other physical description is applied. 

Please do reach out and let me know if I’ve left anything out that should be included in the warnings. 

Unbeta’d. Title from the song At Last by Neko Case.

🔞Over 18s only, minors dni! 🔞 I do not give permission for my work to be republished, reposted, or translated.

Chapter 1 // Day 1

Chapter 2 // Day 7

Chapter 3 // Day 432

Chapter 4 // Day 585

Chapter 5 // Day Unknown

[COMPLETED]

#shameless self promotion #dieter bravo x reader #palm springs au #dieter x reader #ghotifish

[jessthebaker]

hey hey hey

Assigning you a song that makes white people go nuts (from experience)

#everybody wants to rule the world #tears for fears

[jessthebaker]

israeli protester in jerusalem, calling for a ceasefire. photo by yaheli gazit.

#free palestine

[jessthebaker]

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

[jessthebaker]

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

[jessthebaker]

A collection of Crowleys have slithered this way

#my art #good omens #good omens fanart #snake crowley #my comfort doodles #the original tempter everyone #digital art

[jessthebaker]

mta nyc bus

#free palestine

[jessthebaker]

[jessthebaker]

Ohhhhhhhh. I have read your Sage and thought it was clever and lovely. I’ll patiently look forward to when you complete Loml!

Em, I am seeing so many mentions of your Marcus fic “loml”, and I’m scrolling your posts going 👀 Marcus fic, where are you Marcus, I have to read this 👀

BUT somehow your Masterlist link ain’t linking so I am having trouble here! Can you do a linky please so I can acquaint myself with your Marcus?? 💋

Hi Jess!

So Loml is a current wip that’s a oneshot for @beskarandblasters’s TS challenge so it is not posted yet. I also have a Marcus series in the works that I think I’ve mentioned before as well.

The only Marcus P story I have post is a oneshot called Sage.

Thank you for being so invested!