Fuck Sebastian But Really, She Gets Joel And We All Know Hes The Better Choice

Fuck Sebastian but really, she gets Joel and we all know he’s the better choice 💁‍♀️

after the rain (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: when life as you know it comes crashing down around your ears, only joel can fix it.

warnings: ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel, age gap (28/56), infidelity (not by joel or reader), cursing, lots of kissing, mild smuttiness, this is not beta’d so sorry for any mistakes lmao, 18+ mdni.

notes: this is a drabble for @janaispunk’s milestone celebration! congrats, babe. there is nobody more deserving of this than you 🫶🏻 i had so much fun playing along. i really hope you like this 🤍

“Thanks, Mr Miller. You really didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Darlin’, it’s Joel. You know it is, and ain’t no way in hell I wasn’t bringin’ you home. It’s the least I can do.”

The cab of the truck falls silent; howling wind and thunderous rain filling the spaces where words should be.

Where they fail you.

You glance over at Joel, agonising over how much you’ll miss him. It’s not his fault his son decided you weren’t worth his time anymore: texting you to say you had a day to remove your belongings from the house, that he was actually in love with the receptionist at his office, and had been for some time now.

Fuck him.

Four years of your life. Over as fast as the lightning flashes above you, freezing you to the bone and splintering your heart in two. You’re almost thirty, and alone again.

Joel had found you on his return home from work.

You and Sebastian had lived with him for two years, hoping to save for a house of your own. Joel made you dinner, helped you fold laundry, let you win at poker. The fact he was disturbingly handsome was neither here nor there — Seb had told you he’d been alone for a long time since his mom left, and you knew Joel found comfort in the time he spent with you.

You knew, because you felt the same.

Joel became a friend to you, in a city where you didn’t have many others. Seb was popular, the two of you unevenly matched — you’d heard his friend’s girlfriends say it enough times to know it was true. Overlooked, underestimated, by everyone but him.

Joel.

He’d listen to talk about your career dreams when stacking the dishwasher, let you play your favourite songs on his record player and ride up front in the truck when you’d drop Seb off at another soirée you weren’t invited to.

You couldn’t truly believe he was single. He was a little gruff, sure. Reserved, speaking only when spoken to. But beyond all that: Joel was patient, with a soft heart. You saw the way the creases by his eyes deepened when you told him of your loneliness: dark brown gaze holding your own.

You were soaked when he discovered you, dragging out boxes and bags in the driving deluge. Joel had tried to reason with you, told you to wait till the morning. You repeated Seb’s ultimatum, watched Joel’s brows furrow and lips curl into a snarl when he learned of his son’s deceit.

“Let me take you, darlin’,” he’d insisted, and you’d relented. One last drive up front with Joel sounded better than any Uber ever would.

You round the bend towards your parent’s house, now, Joel’s hand finding yours in your lap. You try not to jolt at the contact: Seb hasn’t touched you in any which way for a few months now, and you’re surprised by how much you’ve missed the touch of another human.

It didn’t help matters that his father’s hand was warm, calloused, downright huge over yours.

“They home? Your folks?”

You shake your head. “No, luckily. In Florida visiting my Grandma.”

Joel tuts, runs the same hand through his damp hair. It’s slicked back against his head, and you take in the gray at his temples, silver streaked through the rest of his drenched curls. You note the curve of his nose, full lips, black lashes. The smooth skin of his throat, thick biceps, drenched flannel sticking to him.

Something simmers in your belly, hot as hell, and so very fucking wrong.

It’s Mr Miller. Sebastian’s dad. Joel, for fucks sake.

“I’ll help you in with your things,” he tells you, and you protest.

“Mr — Joel. It’s fine, I got it.”

He turns to face you: stern as ever, and you wilt under his glare, knowing his frustration isn’t aimed at you.

“I just — I can’t be there when he gets home. You’re my priority right now, and I wanna make this as easy as I can for ya,” he murmurs, and you feel your eyes begin to well with tears; a contrast to the way you were feeling mere seconds before.

You don’t know which emotion is worse.

Joel pulls up outside the house, rain still lashing at the windows. You wipe your eyes hastily, shoulders drooping in your wet shirt.

“Hey, baby, don’t cry now. Come on. I’ll make sure you’re okay,” Joel leans over the console, his arm around you, lips against your forehead.

Baby.

He’s never called you that before.

You’re sure it’s a slip of the tongue; an instant reaction to the state you’re in, influenced by his urge to take care of you.

Still. The heat returns, making you squirm, closing your eyes and sighing as Joel heads out into the storm, pulling your boxes from the back.

Ten minutes later, it’s like you never left home at all.

Joel insists on bringing your belongings to your old room, mercifully not transformed into a gym or library by your parents yet.

“I know there’s nothin’ I can say to make any of this better,” he tells you, following you up the stairs. “But believe me when I say I never wanted this day to come. I thought you’d be in my life forever.”

You turn, lump in your throat.

“Me too, Joel.”

Soon, the last bag of your clothes is dumped on your carpet, and he follows you to the door in silence.

“Well.. I guess this is goodbye, then,” you mutter, voice wobbling as you turn the handle. The sky is still an angry grey, passing cars spraying water as it continues to pour from above.

Joel heads out, rain bouncing off his shoulders. He turns back, face unreadable, eyes narrowing.

“You can never know how sorry I am, darlin’. I know Seb’s my boy, but he never deserved you. ‘n you.. Christ. Just know I’m here — ‘f ya need me.”

You fold your arms across your chest, sighing heavily. The pain of Sebastian’s betrayal pales in insignificance to the agony of letting Joel leave your life.

“You mean that?”

He holds his arms open in lieu of an answer, and you cross the threshold, barreling into his chest. You feel the downpour sluicing down your neck, roaring in your ears as his hand caresses your back slowly.

You look up at him, rain dripping off his nose, clinging to his lashes. Your eyes travel to his lips, and you’re certain you feel his grip on you tighten, a growl in his throat.

You kiss him.

You’re so certain Joel will push you away, tell you it’s wrong, that you’re not yourself right now. But, he doesn’t: his tongue finds its way into your mouth, and you groan into the swirling wind, hands scrambling to grip the scruff along his jaw.

He’s kissing you so deeply; ferociously, fingers digging into your ass, clambering up your spine. You’re not sure you’ve ever been kissed like this in your life: you feel like Joel’s everywhere, commanding every sense you own.

“Fuck,” you moan, pushing him back inside. You break apart, chests heaving, water cascading to the floor of the entryway. Joel looks guilty, but you’re past caring about what Seb would ever think.

“Joel, I —“

“Don’t,” he whispers, reaching for you. He pulls you close, fingers trailing across your bare arms, coming to rest beneath your chin. “Just, kiss me.”

So you do.

Joel’s hands wander beneath your shirt, and you tear it over your head, reaching for the buttons of his flannel. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinkin’ about you, like this,” he confesses, spinning you in his arms.

His hands — still so warm, despite the freezing rain outside — slide up your stomach, cupping you, squeezing you. It feels like you’ve always belonged here: feeling how hard he is against your back, how he knows your body so well already. You shiver, writhe in his grasp, and his lips find yours once more.

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

You open up to him, receiving his tongue so eagerly. He travels lower, pushing your jeans to the floor, thick fingers sliding inside your panties as you mould yourself to him. It’d never felt like this with Seb, or with anyone before him. Your blood is singing beneath your skin, and you wonder how it took so long for you to get here.

You have no idea the depth of Joel’s words: whether he means just for tonight, or for as long as he can.

You decide it doesn’t matter.

“Okay.”

I loved this so much! It was so sweet!!!

Headshots

Marcus Pike Masterlist

AO3 Link

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader. Reader has a nickname.

Summary: You're a photographer and you get a job working for the FBI, taking corporate headshots. On your first day, you run into a handsome Special Agent. The series follows their relationship.

Rating: Mature 18+ only

Warnings: Fluff. Implied smut. Rom-com vibes. Flirting. So much kissing. Non-stop nuzzling. Tiny bit of angst. Marcus in his plaid shirts. Marcus on a motorbike. Skiing. A cameo.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

{Series complete}

Extras

Confetti

Here I am. Midnight, just trying to eat some cheese as a bedtime snack and then I stumble across this 😭😭😭

WHY?! Now I’m gonna be up for hooooours just thinking about this video

oh fuck OFF DSJHKF

Ozzie! How dare you hit me with this wonderful filth on the lords day!

🥵

𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: dbf!joel video calls you during a meal with your parents.

warnings: 18+ mdni. toxic dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. unspecified age gap. daddy kink. tit play. dirty talk. male masturbation. no beta. w.c: 641

author's note: spawned from the "who's your daddy?" clip and @mrsmando mentioning toxic dbf!joel. 😘

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Doin' the right thing pickin' up," Joel praises with a velvety tone as he moves his phone to rest in front of his chest.

The video screen displays his tan, aging face, slicked-back gray hair, and trimmed silver whiskers. He's reclined in a chair wearing a white t-shirt under a gray flannel button-up like he just got home from a job. "Be a good girl 'n show me those pretty tits."

Your eyes bug at his command. Thank god you stepped out onto the deck and shut the slider.

"Joel, not now. Please." You'd been eating dinner with your parents, and now you're on a video call with your dad's best friend, who's asking to see your tits.  

Not that he hasn't already seen them and every other inch of you.

"C'mon now, show me wha's mine," he pesters with a clipped, unwavering command.

You nervously peer through the glass slider and into the kitchen, praying your parents don't come outside before lifting your top and showing the older man your bare breasts.

"Thatta girl." A deep, tinny groan spills from the tiny speakers and nestles in your lower belly. Your cunt throbs at the sound. Sticky arousal leaks into the gusset of your panties as you squeeze your breasts together between your arms, propping them up for him.

"Jus' what I needed," he praises with ravenous eyes locked on the lower part of the screen, shamelessly drinking in the image of your naked chest. "Wanna get my hands on those fuckin' pretty tits. Suck 'n bite 'em until you're cryin'."

A chilly gust blows through the trees and races up your spine, making your skin prickle under Joel's heated stare. He darkly hums as your nips pucker and stands at attention for him. "Looks like someone likes bein' a slut."

Your chest heaves, breasts lightly bouncing as an intense wave of lust sends shocks rippling through your system. His body shifts, and you hear the click of his belt before his left, flannel-clad arm begins moving up and down out of frame. A gravelly moan pours from his pouty lips and drips through the speakers straight into your quivering cunt.

"Go on, give 'em a pinch."

You acquiesce, giving into his demand and your own greedy perversion, and palm one of your breasts. Your flesh prickles as you playfully circle a pert bud and lightly pinch it, letting a soft mewl tumble into the night.

"Who's your Daddy?" He asks with a throaty groan; the muscles in his neck pulse under his freckled, tan skin as he jerks his cock.

Your cheeks flame at his words, and you can't help but pathetically whimper.

"C'mon, say it, or else I'm comin' over," he states, cocking his head with a deadly smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. "'N we both know it'd kill him to see what a lil' whore his daughter turned into."

A gasp tears from your parted lips. He wouldn't-

"Best do as you're told, pretty girl. Don' wanna disappoint me now, do ya?"

Your eyes flutter, and you nervously lick your bottom lip, making it shine under the deck light.

"Daddy."

Syrupy slick flows freely from your cunt, drenching your panties as you softly chant the word "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy" over and over to the older man. Your cunt pulses in time with his movements, wishing he was fucking his cock into you instead of his fist.

He jerks his length greedily, faster and faster, until his neck flushes like a golden sunset, his eyes pinch tight, and he comes with a hoarse growl between gritted teeth.

Ropes of white land on his heaving chest, staining his button-up. The sight makes you lightheaded, and you fall back against the side of the house, breathless.

"Next time, I'm leavin' my mark on 'em," he gruffly declares before abruptly ending the call, leaving you to stare at your pathetic, wanton reflection in the murky black screen.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

@artsy-girl-76 I WAS DOING THE SAME! 🤣😂

Gimme Tim with those donuts and aspirin though!

Scouts, Hikemaster Frankie has planned a nature walk for us, but we'll need snacks*. The other Pedro boys have prepped some options and would like to know:

*You may not nibble on the hikemaster until after the hike.

Oh that is the perfect GIF for this 🫠🫠🫠

brat

➔ Frankie "Catfish" Morales x fem!reader

➔ 695 words

➔ You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

➔ Rated MA // short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ this, babe.”

“Doing what?” You bat your eyes innocently, but you know exactly what Frankie’s referring to.

His dark eyes rake slowly up your naked form, jaw working around a swallow thick with lust. You’ve taken to jaunting around his place completely bare–what’s the point of clothes when he’s just going to rip them off anyway?–and it’s driving him insane.

“You know exactly what,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can’t even think with you flittin’ around the place like this.”

“What do you need to think for?” You ask with a practiced smirk, knowing exactly what it’ll elicit from him.

He growls again, somehow even more deep and menacing this time. You’ve pushed him to the exact precipice you were hoping for, and now it’s time to reap your reward.

The aforementioned reward comes springing out of his pants with a heady kind of energy as he shoves his pants down over his hips. He’s already harder and thicker than he should be just from watching you move.

He leans back in his armchair, an easy kind of arrogance about the smirk on his face and the way he sets his hands on his thighs. He can see the way you’re staring at his cock, practically drooling for it, and it only adds to his ego.

“Come get it then, if you’re so eager for it.”

He senses what comes next, and he stops you before you can move to your knees in front of him. “Huh-uh, baby. Only good girls get what they want. You’ve been nothin’ but a brat.”

This is a new development. He’s never turned down head before, especially not when you’re so willing.

“Frankie–”

A simple shake of his head silences whatever you were about to say. He leans further into the chair, arms draped over the rests with complete nonchalance. “This isn’t about you, baby. You’ve been tryin’ my patience. Get up here and make it up to me.”

If this is supposed to be a punishment, it’s the best you’ve ever had. You’re more than happy to climb into his lap, settling your bare chest against the soft fabric of his t-shirt as your mouth meets his.

He wastes no time pulling you down on him, smirk only widening at the little whine that escapes your lips as your cunt struggles to accommodate him with such little notice. It’s always been a bit of a struggle to take him–there’s no denying he’s big. Thankfully he’s completely tuned into your body–his fingers easily find your clit and set a vicious pace to help you out. You’re dripping down the length of him within minutes, and you’re starting to see why this is a punishment. You’re already so achingly close to the edge and you’ve hardly even found a rhythm thanks to his relentless fingers.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers low and deep. “Lemme have it.”

You think he might actually be trying to kill you. Still, what a way to go–you clench hard around him and delight in the groan it elicits from him through the fuzzy haze of your orgasm.

You’re not even conscious of your pace slowing, but his hands grip your hips and keep you working him as you come down.

“Don’t give up on me yet, my little brat,” he murmurs. “Haven’t made it up to me yet.”

This is definitely torture, albeit the most delicious kind you’ve ever endured. You’ve barely finished fluttering and clenching around him when he starts bucking his hips up, a relentless attack on the spot that he knows draws the most sinful sounds from you.

It’s barely minutes before you’re shuddering and shaking again, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught of heady pleasure.

“Learned your lesson yet, brat?” He purrs, voice deceptively sweet as he tilts his head down to litter kisses across your collarbone.

You’re shaking your head ‘no’ before you even process the consequences–you open your eyes to see the most wolfish grin that’s ever adorned his face.

“Don’t worry,” he growls as he pulls you down hard on him. “You will.”

➔ gif: @skyshipper (special credit to @bitchesuntitled for sending it to me <3) ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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