Me Oh My! This Is So HOT!!!

Me oh my! This is so HOT!!!

Mutual | Lucien Flores x f!Reader

summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. smoking, drinking. idk, hate fucking essentially. misuse of a champagne bottle, edging?, sexual tension, f!masturbation, unprotected p in v (you know what to do, and it's not this), oral (f!receiving). reader wears a dress and is implied to be shorter than lucien, but is otherwise undescribed.

wc: 4.8k

an: i succumbed.

The only thing you and Lucien Flores have in common is the need for a cigarette after dinner. 

Nothing else.

You stand on opposite sides of the patio outside the open glass doors which lead back into Anna and Alex’s house, and you know that Anna, at the very least, will be watching you. Making sure you play nice.

Something you’d vowed to do when she’d called to invite you to this dinner party. Lucien will be there, she’d said, it’d be great for me, for us, if you two just tried to get along. 

So far, you’ve succeeded. You’d listened politely to his stories at the table, hadn't even rolled your eyes when he laughed and joked and flirted with your fellow guests. You’d drunk your wine and stayed quiet through it all, offering your own contributions to the equal delight of the friends who'd gathered. You’d been surprised when Lucien had smiled along with them, even going so far as to chuckle at your story about the dog next door.

And now, outside, the rule still stands. You eye each other as you smoke, finding yourself amazed again by the way he doesn’t speak. Not a snide thing to say, no quip to make, just him watching you. Eyes flitting from your legs, to your hips, to your chest, to your face. And you’d tell him to quit it if you weren’t doing the same thing. If you weren’t enjoying the way his silk shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, the way his curls flop over his forehead, the way his chains catch the light, the way his stupid, pretty eyes glitter across from you. You hate yourself for it, want to crack some nasty sentiment across the stone, but you don’t. 

You’re on your best behaviour, after all.

Something which Lucien has clearly forgotten as he pushes himself off from the wall he’s leaned against, stepping closer, closer to you by the bush with the red flowers. You brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, for whatever smoke he’s about to blow in your face, gearing up for the taunt you’ll throw back. 

He stops before you, barely an arms length away. You tense, waiting.

He holds out the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the table on his way out. You blink at him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m playing nice.’

You stare at him, sceptical. This is not Lucien. This is not something you’re used to.

But maybe he’s trying, too. 

You take the bottle from him, and he lets it go easily. You watch him as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up until the bright fizz of the bubbles meets your tongue. He watches your mouth, pink slip of his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he drops the butt of his finished cigarette to the floor, not looking where it lands. You swallow, take another gulp for good measure, and hand it back to him. His fingers graze yours as you do. 

You freeze at the jolt of electricity his touch brings, hand remaining outstretched as he brings the bottle back to his side. You watch, aloof, as he plucks your cigarette from your fingers and flicks it into the darkness before slotting your hands together, mind swirling as he pulls you closer.

‘Come on. Want to show you something.’ 

Maybe it’s the wine, but you can’t find the words to protest as he tugs you away to a deeper part of the garden. 

Lucien turns you to face him at the furthest wall he can find, and you finally find your words as your back hits the concrete.

‘What did you want to show me?’

You glance around behind him at the flowers that burst from the ground, bright even in the darkening half light. The water feature Alex had installed last year trickles musically somewhere to your left, though you can't see it.

His answering grin is dirty, something fluttering in your tummy as you grind your teeth, nostrils flaring. You do not have the patience for this man, or the butterflies churning in your stomach.

‘Lucien.’

His hands find your waist and the curve of your ass in a flurry of movement, his grip strong, the bottle cold through the material of your dress. The air leaves your lungs. He hums as he draws himself close to your lips.

‘How beautiful you look tonight.’

You snort at him, disbelieving. He can’t be fucking serious.

‘Lucien, what the fuck -’

He cuts you off quickly, dipping to fit his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, hand moving from your ass to your jaw as he licks into your mouth. Your blood roars in your ears as your own hands scrabble to find purchase on his chest, slipping against the silk. You mean to push him away, but somehow you pull him closer, your body doing the opposite of what it’s told as you open your mouth further to him, groaning softly. He tastes like champagne and cigarettes, and you grip his neck to bring him further in, your other hand smoothing over his bunched shoulder, his strong bicep, down to his waist, fisting his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, and sharp anger surges in your gut. Shit. This is Lucien.

You use the hand at his middle to push him roughly away from you.

‘Get the fuck off me.’

He smirks, one hand still on your hip as he takes a swig from the bottle of champagne. You watch him, breathing heavily, stare as his lips close around the mouth of the bottle, and you're betrayed by what you’ve only pictured in your most secret moments. Your eyelids flutter, fingers twitch for him, cunt clenches around something that isn't there. He comes towards you again, and this time you close the gap, leaning forward to crash your mouth against his. You lick at the seam of his lips but he keeps them obstinately shut, and with irritation flashing through you, you drag your nails hard down his forearm in retaliation. He grips the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, and taking advantage of your open lips, spills the champagne off his tongue and onto yours. It's warm, still sparkling. Tastes like him. You swallow it down greedily, reminding yourself that you should be disgusted, certainly shouldn’t be pulling him in to kiss him again, shouldn’t moan so loud when he grinds his hips against yours as he rumbles how you drive him fucking insane against your neck. Shouldn’t be so wet, pinned up against this wall by a man you have long held such disdain for, shouldn’t grind back against him, shouldn’t be panting into his mouth like some kind of dog, shouldn't be forgetting where you are, who you’re with -

This time, you’re more forceful. Lucien stumbles back with hooded eyes and shining, swollen lips, his own breathing coming fast and deep. You stare back at him, still stunned, and without meaning to, your eyes drop down to his crotch, finding the fabric there tight with his arousal. He’s big, must be with the way his zipper is straining. Your mouth runs dry, your stomach swoops. Fuck.

You watch with as much disgust as you can manage as he palms himself roughly to relieve some of the ache, your own hands itching to do the same.

‘So pretty, baby,’ he teases, stepping forwards, head falling towards yours again. Why won’t he stay away? ‘So pretty, wanting me like this -’

‘Stop,’ you hiss. It’s unconvincing even to your ears, and he smirks like he knows. He knows. ‘I don’t - I don’t want you like this -’

He presses his forehead to yours, not touching you this time, instead letting his nose trace your cheekbone, your jaw, down to your neck.

‘You don’t want me like this?’ He purrs. You manage to shake your head. You can feel his smile as he laves a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you whimper, hot all over, so wet, so needy for him. He chuckles again. ‘No,’ he confirms. ‘Then maybe… like this.’

He sinks to his knees in front of you, curls mussed, lips parted, eyes blown. He stares up at you, reverent, taunting, as he skates his broad palms over the tops of your thighs, stroking the skin, murmuring how soft you are. Oh, and you are so fucking angry. So fucking angry as he grips and soothes your flesh, as he squeezes and kneads your ass, as you hold onto his strong shoulders and breathe his name. Even more pissed when he doesn’t have some kind of asshole comment to make, furious as he leans into you and presses kisses to where his hands have been, mouthing at your skin, leaving it wet with his spit, with champagne, so fucking mad as he sips from the bottle again and spills the liquid from his mouth onto your thighs, as he kneels back to watch it trickle over your knees, down your shins, to your feet, to drip onto the floor. You are on fire.

‘See? Beautiful.’ He murmurs. And oh, what you’d do. What you’d do to him. You’d pull at his hair and scratch at his chest and bite into his neck and you’d make him suffer, make him ache, make him feel the same heat you’re feeling. You just can’t seem to move.

Can’t seem to move as he brings his mouth closer to your cunt, splitting the folds of your wrap dress further, pushing his hands up to your hips, holding you still as he takes in your lace panties, the only thing covering you from him. He looks up to you again, burning with desire. Your cunt pulses painfully, and you hiss his name.

He smiles, cruelly.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, ‘We’re playing nice, remember?’

Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his face to your clothed cunt and breathes in deeply. He moans loudly, and you whimper in response, hands flying to his hair at the feeling of his hot breath on you, tugging as he mouths at your pussy through the material. You feel his tongue, warm and strong, drag over the lace covering your clit and you groan, going slack against the wall. He nudges the swollen nub with his nose, his free hand coming between your legs to touch you.

‘So wet,’ he breathes, ‘That what I’m doing to you?’

You shake your head no even though he can’t see you, still playing with your pussy through your underwear. A plea bubbles up your throat, and you swallow it down. You will not beg Lucien Flores to touch you. You don’t even know how you got here in the first place.

But that’s forgotten as he moves again, kissing your clit through the fabric as he brings his other hand, still holding the bottle, between your legs. You hiss as he presses the lip of it to your hole, all protests forgotten as he grinds it against you, the pressure easing a small amount of the ache you feel.

You forget that it’s wrong as he uses it to push your panties to the side. Forget as he runs the cold glass through your wetness, almost do beg him to touch you, to lick you, to do something before he settles it against your slit, right where you think you might need it most.

‘Still don’t want me?’ he breathes against your skin.

A shallow breath escapes you.

‘Fuck you.’ You whisper, no conviction behind your words. He rests his forehead against your hip, and begins to press, begins to relieve some of that ache, that want -

‘Luce?’ Anna calls out from the direction of the house. You freeze, fist tightening around his curls, but Lucien is unphased, working the mouth of the bottle past the tight opening of your pussy. You gasp brokenly at the cool feel of it, fingers constricting even further. Lucien moans beneath you, moving to nose at the crease between your thigh and your cunt, pushing the neck of the bottle further in. You moan loudly, knees giving a little, and he clutches your hip tighter to keep you from falling.

‘Luce?’ Anna calls again, a little closer this time. You groan his name in response, torn between wanting more and wanting this to end before disaster.

The next Lucien? comes even closer, and you use your grip on his hair to pull his face away from you, tipping his head back so that he meets your eye.

‘Stop.’ You bite out. He grins and gives one more pump of the neck of the bottle. You whimper, head falling back to the concrete behind you as he removes it completely, rising to his feet with a groan. You watch, bleary eyed, leaking, chest heaving, as he dusts off his pants and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He steps back and away, eyes raking over your body as he raises the bottle to his mouth, licking around the neck before taking a deep drink and disappearing back up the path.

He’s sick. You hate him.

You return to the house on shaky legs through the backdoor, hoping to make it to the bathroom, only to be intercepted by Alex. He’s scraping leftover food into the bin, and smiles as you enter before double taking at your appearance. You must look wrecked.

‘Are you alright?’ He asks, brow creasing with concern.

You hum, clearing your throat before answering.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at you.

‘Did he say something to you?’ he asks.

‘Did he - what?’

‘Lucien. Did he upset you?’

You blink at him. Right. Play nice.

‘I - no. He didn’t. He was actually quite pleasant.’

Alex stares at you.

‘Pleasant?’

‘Yeah.’

You hold his gaze for a little longer, feel a guilty little heat crawl its way through your belly. 

You’re warm, so unbearably warm.

‘Is it alright if I go and lay down upstairs for a bit?’ You ask. ‘I feel kind of funny.’

Alex frowns, placing the plate he was holding on the counter.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘Do you need anything?’

You smile weakly, shaking your head.

‘No,’ you reassure him, ‘That’s okay, thank you. I just need a moment.’

The guest room on the top floor is cool, and the curtains are open. Warm, orange light floods in from the street outside, and you settle yourself on the middle of the bed, ready to get this over with. There’s no way you can go back downstairs with this need, this coil wound so tight in your belly. You swoop your palms over your body, nipples tightening beneath your dress, feeling the swirl, the drip of yourself between your legs. You grind the heel of your palm against your mound and moan softly, rucking your dress up to your hips so you can slip your fingers beneath the lace.

Fuck, you are so wet. So goddamn turned on by that stupid man that you may as well throw your underwear away. You sweep a finger over your clit, hips twitching at the contact, eyes falling shut as you dip the digit to your entrance to collect your arousal, working the nub in tight circles. 

Your legs fall slack as you build yourself up, moans falling from your mouth in quick succession as you imagine what it would have been like to have him take you there, against the wall. What it would have been like to be fucked with the bottle, to have his tongue really on you, mimicking your movements now, to fall apart against his mouth, see him pull away with your slick covering his face. You rock your hips against your hand, quickening your movements, fingers dipping in and out of your slit between working your clit as the coil tightens and tightens, as the hot, heavy feeling grows and grows, as sweat beads at your temples and the valley between your breasts, as you try not to moan his name -

Like you’ve summoned him, Lucien clears his throat in the doorway. 

You snap your legs shut, heart hammering in your chest, heat blooming through your cheeks.

‘You fucking - asshole -’ you seethe, and he laughs, eyes roving over your sweaty body. ‘Get out.’

‘Wanted to check you were alright.’

You gape at him.

‘Fucking bullshit, Lucien,’ you grit, snatching your hand out of your soaked cunt. You bundle it in the silk of your dress as you try to cover yourself, but his eyes follow, tracing the glint of your slick in the dim light. 

‘Seems like you’re okay, though,’ he continues, slouching against the doorframe. ‘Just look like you could do with some help.’

You choke on a laugh, frozen, glaring at him from the bed. He bites his lip.

‘You’re fucking insane.’

‘Insane enough to fuck you.’

You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the flash of arousal that shoots through you, clenching your jaw.

‘You are not going to fuck me.’

Lucien steps away from the doorframe, moving into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Without looking, he reaches out with one hand and twists the lock with a click. 

He comes towards you slowly, eyes hungry. Your heart is in your mouth as you watch him, adrenaline kicking in so hard even you’re not sure what you want. Aren’t sure whether you can admit what you want. 

He reaches the end of the bed before dropping a knee onto the mattress, reaching out to grab an ankle, pulling your leg flat. You burn at the feel of him holding you, preventing you from moving, from hiding.

‘Then stop me.’

You don’t. You can’t as he crawls his way up your body, as he touches every inch of skin he can so gently, so delicately. Fresh slick pools out of you at the feeling, at the sight - 

His stupid puppy dog eyes and floppy curls and broad shoulders beneath his silk shirt, silk shirt that looks like sin as it drapes over him, moves with him like water, and his chains, his chains, how they’d look swinging over you as he buries himself inside you, raw and hungry and -

You can’t stop the moan that slips from your lips as his hand cups your cunt, as his mouth finds your neck. Body quickly liquid, molten beneath his touch, legs falling open.

‘Please -’ it slips from your mouth before you can stop it, but it feels good, finally, to have him give you what you need.

‘Good girl,’ he says, ‘Playing so nice.’

He slips his hand beneath the lace of your panties, trailing two fingers through your arousal, mirroring your moan as he does. He circles your clit, dragging you back to where you were, drinking down your noises with his mouth close enough to swallow your breath, but not close enough to kiss. You stare up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, a line forming between your brows. You gasp, so pretty, and he hums, slowing his movements to an agonising pace before slipping them from your heat entirely. You whine at the loss, huffing against the mattress, pouting at him pathetically as he smiles down at you.

‘Let’s get these off.’

He kneels back to pull your underwear away from you, and you wriggle at the cool air that comes into contact with your cunt. You watch, breathless, as he bundles them up and slips them into his back pocket, irritated, but not irritated enough to demand them back. They were expensive.

He drinks in the sight of your bare pussy with ravenous eyes, resting his cheek against the flesh of your thigh. The scruff of his beard tickles and scratches, the feel of it so Lucien, but you can't find it within yourself to care. He brings a single finger up to trace through your folds, and you whine desperately, embarrassingly at the sensation.

‘Pretty enough to make a grown man cry, baby,’ he hums, nuzzling your thigh as he blinks up at you with burning eyes. ‘You ever made a man cry before?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Wanna see if I can make you cry, too?’

He grins, a dirty little thing, before closing his teeth over the soft skin at your hip. You moan again, and he leans in closer, licking a long, hot, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You shudder, a broken sound escaping your mouth. God, what is wrong with you?

‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, ‘You always this wet when someone teases you?’

You arch your back against him, head turning in the sheets.

‘No,’ you groan, ‘Get this wet when I’m about to make myself come.’

He huffs a laugh against you before driving his tongue against your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. He is hot and wet against you, so strong and soft like velvet as he tastes you, holds your thighs apart with his strong hands, fingers pressing in so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. You writhe beneath him, hands flying to his hair, grinding up into his face. He licks and licks, devouring you, moving his head from side to side, gripping your hips to keep you moving against him as he quickly builds you again back to your high, sliding two fingers inside easily, curling them up into the spot deep inside you. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from him, the strong curves of his body, the sweat on his forehead, the way his eyelids flutter at your noises, those deep brown eyes watching you with something carnal, something possessive in them.

You whine and moan above him, keening as he reaches his other hand up to swipe a thumb over your nipple, pinching it as you plead for more, as you tighten around his fingers, as you flood his mouth, as the toil tightens again, as you teeter on the edge -

Lucien pulls his mouth from you with a wet sound, withdrawing his fingers at the same time. 

You cry out.

‘No,’ you whimper, ‘No, Lucien, please -’

‘Atta girl,’ he says, ‘I knew you could ask nicely. Knew you’d beg.’

Your back flies off the mattress as you reach to claw at him, ready to rip him to shreds, but he’s too quick, kneeling back again to undo his belt, unzip his fly, pull himself out, and oh -

Oh. Fuck. He’s big. The heavy weight of him held in his fist as he pumps himself slowly over you turns your clawing into gentler hands, and he moves so you can wrap yourself around his cock. He feels like silk, so close to his shirt, rock-hard and twitching as you move your hand languidly up and down his length, squeezing, swiping your thumb over his tip as it drips precum. It's hard not to admire him like this, hard to remember why you hate him so much. The ache between your legs borders on unbearable.

He groans loudly, rocking his hips before wrapping his hand around yours, untangling your fingers to hold himself again, guiding his cock towards your entrance. He runs his length back and forth between your folds, covering himself in your slick, feeling your clit twitch beneath him until you beg again - ‘Please, Lucien, please - fuck me -’ before he’s sliding home in one long stroke.

The air is knocked from you at the feeling, at how full you are. He hinges to cage you with his arms, and you clutch at his shirt as he begins to move, slow, so slow. He licks his lips as he watches your face, your mouth in a little ‘o’, neck straining against the pillow, and you move a hand to the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him, taste him taste of you. You want to take his plush bottom lip between your teeth and hold it there, hold it there until you taste blood. Bu he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and faster, and you lose your grip, back arching as the delicious burn returns yet again.

‘Fuck -’ you gasp, ‘Holy fuck, Lucien, oh my god -’

‘I know, baby,’ he whispers, fucked out and broken as you already. ‘I know.’

He groans from somewhere deep in his throat, head thrown back to expose his neck, and you want to kiss him again, swallow him down, consume him whole.

You close your teeth over the chain that’s swinging in your face so he can't pull away, and he moans, forehead knocking against yours. You bite down harder, wanting it to break, wanting to shatter it, shatter him. As if he can feel it, he grinds deeper, harder inside of you. You feel yourself clench, feel it begin to spiral. You spit the jewellery out to whimper, scratch down the length of his back over his shirt. He feels so good. Feels so fucking good, and it’s infuriating.

‘I hate you,’ you whine breathlessly. He moans into your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ he gasps, ‘Feeling’s mutual, baby.’

He marks the sentiment with a particularly dirty kiss to your throat, and with that, you see stars. You clench and break and stutter around him, splintering and bursting around his cock, crying out so loudly that he secures his large palm over your mouth.

‘Yeah, good girl,’ he pants, ‘Good fucking girl.’

You moan again, and he can feel your body twitch with the aftershocks, contracting and leaking around him. He takes both your legs in his hands and places them on his shoulders, folding you into yourself, fucking into you deeper, harder than before, hitting another angle even more intense than the last. You cry desperately into the pillow, wincing as you tighten again, impossibly fast, too intense, too far away to warn him. But he knows. He can feel it. Tries to hold himself back a little longer to fuck you through it, reaching down to thumb your clit, swiping through the mess you’ve made, he’s made, entranced by the sounds you’re making, the slick sound of him moving in and out of your cunt, the lightheaded feeling he’s got, the desperation, the urge, the need -

He breathes in the scent of your skin as his thrusts get sloppier, inhaling deeply through his nose. He wishes he could kiss you again. Wants to feel the press of your mouth against his, the breaths you take, your tongue against his.

But if he does, it’ll be over. The game will be up, because he won’t be able to hold back the real want he feels, where all this anger stems from. He’s so nasty, so mean because he wants you so bad. So bad, from the moment you met. From the moment you looked him up and down and listened to his arrogant introduction with a little sneer. He wants that attitude - wants to fuck it right out of you.

Your ankle smells sweet against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss and bite the bone there, feeling you tense and pulse around him at the scrape of his teeth. You twist in the sheets, breathing ragged, eyes scrunched shut, fists clenching the cotton as you moan his name, as you try and bite back the gasps and cries of your second orgasm.

‘Again,’ he grits out, ‘Again.’

‘Lucien -' you cry, reaching for him, ‘Lucien, fuck -'

He comes at the first flutter as you clamp down around him. Buries himself right down to the hilt as he spills inside you, coming with a pained moan and a murmur of your name, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks in and out of your pulsing cunt, fucking his spend deep. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders as he catches his breath, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he watches you come down, staring at the rise and fall of your chest beneath your dress, nipples still straining against the fabric. He wants to take them in his mouth, wants to work you up to take you again, but he slips out instead, brushes his hair back from his forehead, watches his cum begin to dribble out of your puffy cunt. You catch him and reach down to run your fingers through the mess of you both, and Lucien looses a strangled groan as you feed it to yourself, tongue working over your digits. You remove them with a pop, sliding your legs closed and settling yourself on your elbows.

He kneels back on the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to focus on something that’s not you for just a moment as you rearrange your dress and swing your legs off the bed. He feels like he should say something, something to cut across what you've just done. Something appropriately callous, but he can't bring himself to. Can't find it within him.

He hasn’t even finished buttoning his pants before you swan out of the room, dress as perfect as it was before, clinging to your curves, moving with your steps. You don’t look back at him as you leave, don’t utter a word.

That familiar flare of anger rises in his chest again. A muscle ticks in his cheek, and he sits down heavily on the bed, clasping his hands together over his knees. He takes a deep breath, exhales through his nose. He soothes himself with the thought of your cunt leaking his cum all over your seat downstairs, thinks about how it’ll ruin your pretty little dress. Tries not to think about how he won’t be tearing you out of it later, won’t be able to taste himself mixing with you like he wants to.

Tries not to think about the perfume you had applied to your ankles.

Tries not to think about how maybe, just maybe, you’ve thought about this, too.

I’ve missed them so much 😭😭😭

Baby Love | Joel Miller

A Trial & Error One Shot

Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.

Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.

With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.

It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.

“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”

But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.

So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.

Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.

“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.

The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.

“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”

She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.

Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.

But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.

“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”

And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.

“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”

Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?

“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”

You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.

“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”

He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.

“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.

“Did she do okay?”

“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”

Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”

He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.

“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.

“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”

“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”

Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.

He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.

“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”

It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.

He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.

Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.

“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.

He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.

Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.

He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.

“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”

There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.

He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.

The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.

Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.

“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”

You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”

So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.

“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”

Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.

He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.

“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.

He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”

He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”

“Still turns you on though.”

“Go on, get outta here.”

This is so good! ❤️

Farmhand!Joel-Part 2-Too Sweet for Me

Summary: Almost getting caught by your dad is exciting. Having dinner with your parents and him is always awkward. And going to his place for the first time is just as fun as you’d hoped. Although Joel is seemingly catching feelings pretty hard, he’ll still put you in your place. You’re just too sweet. This may or may not be inspired by the new Hozier song coming out.

Warnings: PIV sex, almost getting caught, age gap, oral sex female receiving, oral sex male receiving, lots of talking you through it, Joel catching feelings he wasn’t expecting, fingering, unprotected sex

It’s only been a week since you and Joel fucked in his truck for the first time, yet you guys have fucked at least a dozen times since then.

Hiding in the barn, on your late night “thinking” drives, even out in the field a couple times. Pretty much anytime your dad wasn’t around, you’d find yourself bent over the hood of Joel’s truck taking his cock from behind or being pushed up against the backside of the chicken coop and having your insides rearranged.

That leads you to where you are right now.

“We gotta hurry, your dad’ll be back soon.” Joel says in a rushed, quiet voice.

“Don’t worry I know what I’m doing here.” You say slyly as you kneel in front of him, unzipping his pants and freeing his already hard cock.

“Mmm looks like someone was waiting for me.” You coo, looking up and smiling at him.

“Fuck yeah. You walkin round here in a fuckin bikini top and shorts makes my head spin and my cock hard.” He says, gripping the back of your head and shoving his hard length in your mouth.

“Such a dirty little whore. Tryna make me hard when you’re not supposed to.” He says through gritted teeth, “Think ya need punishment for that baby, now you’re gonna choke on me.”

He puts both hands on the back of your head and shoves himself all the way in your mouth. His balls smacking your chin. He’s practically going down your throat completely when he abruptly pulls all the way out and leans over the side of his truck.

“Hey Bill! How was town? You find what you needed to fix the fence?” Joel says, subtly trying to get you to put his still hard shaft back in his pants.

“Ah no, those young cashiers never know how to find stuff anymore.” Your dad huffs from what you can tell is the entrance to the barn. Luckily you’re hidden from his vision by the tire of the truck.

So instead of helping Joel by putting his cock away for him, you decide to have a little fun.

As your dad and Joel continue to chat about work, you begin to softly lick Joel’s balls. He rests one arm on the truck casually and lets the other one hang down by your face. Trying to swat you away.

Instead you take his hand and make him grip your hair as you lick up the seam of his balls, then up the shaft, then the tip.

He roughly grips your hair and continues talking with your dad. Casually clears his throat whenever you take him back down your throat.

His hips pump ever so slightly, as to not give him away. You hear your dad clanking around just on the other side of the barn door obviously paying no attention.

You feel him twitch in your mouth and start to go a little deeper and faster. His hand still gripping your hair, he pushes himself all the way down your throat as he coats you with his hot, salty cum. Which you gladly swallow and show him your empty mouth with pride.

“Alright I gotta go take a shit I’ll be back out in a little while. Go ahead and get the chickens fed.” Your dad says, slowly exiting the barn.

“I’ll get right on that.” Joel says.

“Oh by the way, my wife asked if you want to stay for dinner tonight? It’s steak and baked potatoes.” Your dad asks.

“Ah, well how could I say no to that?” Joel laughs.

“Alright I’ll let her know. I’m sure my daughter will be happy. Between me and you, I think she has a little crush on ya.” Your dad says with a chuckle.

“Oh really? Never woulda guessed that.” Joel laughs, subtly patting your head.

“Yeah, just don’t play into it though. She gets attached too easily.” Your dad says, walking away “alright I’ll be back.”

“Fucking Christ are you tryna get me killed?” Joel scolds, once your dad is fully in the house.

“Nah, just havin some fun.” You say, standing up. “See you at dinner tonight.”

“When were you going to tell me you had a little crush on me?” Joel asks, teasingly

“As soon as you took your cock out of my mouth. I was going to say ‘hey by the way I think you’re cute.’” You say sarcastically

—

“This looks delicious ma’am, thank you for inviting me for dinner.” Joel politely says to your mom.

“Well thank you for staying Joel. Lord knows we don’t ever have guests over for dinner so this is nice.” Your mom says, passing you the salad. “Once this one here goes back to school, it’ll be back to just me and Bill at home, so it’ll be nice if you’d come for dinner every now and then.”

Joel looks over at you curiously, “when do ya head back?” He asks.

“In about 6 weeks.” You say, suddenly becoming very interested in the little flowers painted on your plate.

You don’t want to think about leaving yet. You and Joel have had so much fun, that the thought of leaving in less than two months makes a pit form in your stomach.

“Yep, she’s our little genius.” Your mom declares proudly, “she’s majoring in biology and minoring in animal science.”

“Oh really? What do you want to do with those degrees?” Joel asks you.

“Well eventually I’d like to be a veterinarian.” You say, smiling at your mom.

“Growing up on a farm she was bound to love animals. I never got the chance to go to college, but if I had, I would have chosen the same path.” Your mom says, pouring your dad another glass of tea.

“Sounds like you really do have a genius on your hands” Joel says to your dad.

“I prefer the term smartass.” Your dad laughs.

—

“I’m heading out with some friends, don’t wait up.” You tell your parents, exiting the house before they have time for questions.

Your phone dings, it’s Joel. He sent you his address.

When you arrive, his place looks almost exactly how you’d imagined. He lives in a studio apartment. Minimal furniture, meaning a lawn chair in front of a 72 inch tv with a PlayStation hooked up in the living room. A stack of movies on a shelf next to the tv. And a bed in the corner of the room.

“Nice of you to clean up the place.” You laugh, looking at the empty beer bottles on the counter.

“Hey, I made the bed.” Joel defensively jokes.

“I’m just happy you have sheets.”

“I’m an old bachelor. Not a monster.” Joel says, holding his hand to his chest as if he were offended.

“Old? No, no, no, experienced.” You say, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

“I know I’m no genius like you, but I think these gray hairs in my beard suggest that I am old.” He says, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in.

“I think it makes you look sophisticated.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You’re too sweet for me.” He says, smiling almost sadly.

You can’t help but smile at how nice this feels. To just be together, holding each other, not hiding behind a barn or sitting in a cramped cab of a truck.

Joel puts his hand on the back of your head and kisses you softly. You let out a soft moan as he pulls you in just a little harder, slipping his tongue in your mouth and gently walking you back until you’re at the edge of his bed.

He travels his kisses to your neck, gently caressing your thigh before unbuttoning your shorts, pushing them down your hips. He lifts your t-shirt over your head, exposing your red lace bra and begins to kiss you again, this time more intensely.

“Lay back, baby.” He says, slipping his shirt over his head. This is your favorite look of his. Shirtless, with tight jeans, and a hunger in his eyes.

You gladly listen and lay back, stretching your arms out and feeling the sheets beneath you.

His hand comes to your mouth and he slips his index and middle finger in. “Get ‘em wet for me, sweetheart.”

You suck on his fingers until he’s satisfied. He takes those two fingers and slips them down to your already dripping cunt and slides them in.

“Oooh baby, already so wet for me, huh? Such a good girl, coming to my house already wet for daddy.” He says as he curls his fingers in you. You arch your back up, silently begging for him to give your tits attention.

“Use your words, baby.” He pulls your bra down and leans over to take your nipple in his mouth, “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, daddy. F-fuck I love when you suck on my tits.” You shakily say.

He speeds his fingers up in you, pumping them in and out, curling them, playing with your clit with his thumb. He continues sucking on your pebbled nipples, giving them equal attention, licking them with the tip of his tongue and lightly biting.

He knows how to push you over the edge so quickly it almost seems like magic. You can already feel your climax building and he can see it.

“Just like that baby. Fuck you look so pretty like this. I want you to look at me while you cum. Let me see your face”

His words send you spiraling. Eyes on him, your body spasms around his fingers as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

As you come down from your high, he ushers you to scoot farther up on the bed. As you rest your head down on the pillow, he crawls up between your legs and parts your knees.

“God you’re pretty cunt just absolutely dripping. I need a taste.” He says, dipping his face down and licking up your wet seam. “Fuck, you taste so sweet.”

He flattens his tongue and laps at your folds. Making you clench your thighs around his head.

“Fuck daddy, that feels so good.!” You cry out, digging your fingers into his hair as he digs his into your thighs.

He can sense that another climax is building in you. “Uh uh uh.” He tisks, “Not yet baby. I want to feel it on my cock this time. Hold off just a little while longer while I finish my dessert.” He says, continuing to dig his fingers in your thighs and suck at your clit.

You are so close, that you have to actively focus on not cumming, when he finally stops and comes up face to face with you. Kissing you hard this time. Biting at your lip, probably drawing blood but you don’t care.

He spits on his hand and gets his throbbing shaft positioned at your entrance, stopping at just the tip.

“Who’s hole is this, baby?” He says darkly.

“Fuck, it’s yours daddy. I’m all yours.”

“Good girl.” He says as he thrusts all the way in with one sharp snap of his hips. “This pussy is all mine.”

He’s rough, so rough it almost hurts. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re actually his and only his.

His cock is much bigger than anybody else’s you’ve ever been with. When he goes full force like this, it feels as if he’s going to break you.

You try to scoot yourself up a little so that his cock doesn’t go fully in you. But he wraps his arms under your shoulders and pulls you back down. “Don’t run from it baby, I’m not done, you can take it. A good little whore like you can take my cock.”

Slamming into your cunt, his tip hitting your cervix with each thrust. “This is what you wanted all day isn’t it? My cock splitting you open?”

You let out an exasperated moan, hoping that answers his question.

“No baby. Use. Your. Words.” He says, accentuating each word with another rough thrust of his cock.

“Yes, Daddy! I’ve wanted your cock in me all day.” You scream, “Fuck, can I cum again?”

“Go ahead baby, cum for daddy.”

You immediately cum on command. Practically seeing stars when he says “Fuck baby. You choke my cock so good. I’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up.”

A few more rough thrusts and he lays his full body weight on you and growls as he fills your cunt.

You both lie there for a few minutes with his cock twitching, still in you.

“We should make this using the bed a more regular thing.” He says, rolling over on his side.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You say as you lay back.

“Can you stay the night?” He asks hopefully

“Yeah, I told my parents not to wait up so I can stay.” You say, cuddling up to him.

You both lay there in comfortable silence until you both drift off to sleep.

Thank you to @bitchesuntitled for helping with editing and ideas!

Holy shit! Apparently I woke up today just wanting alllll the angst 🤣 This was such a good read! Imma go in further detail…

The way she finds them together! Oh my heart! But good for her! Her telling him off at the end had me smiling like an idiot! Also, fuck Joel! I don’t think he deserves another chance!

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breath.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret mend to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

Count me in! This sounds fun! 🤩

April Showers Challenge 

[noun: in parts of the northern hemi, an april shower is rain during the month of april]

for this little challenge, we want it to rain! so, all you have to do is write a story (minimum word count 500), create a moodboard, gif or art where it is raining / rain is present (that is a must!). 

below, i've found some prompts if you want or need, but creativity is all up to you. the only condition for the story is that it must be raining and must include at least ONE pedro pascal character (no rpf pls). how you interpret that is up to you <winks>  

[I’ve wanted to do this for an impossibly long time (and we all know how much i love writing about the rain) but the most important thing here is to have fun. if it becomes stressful, please don't force yourself to post!]

SO, THE CHALLENGE? 

It must include raining in some capacity.

The challenge is open from 1st April to 30th April (ideally 👀, but i'm never going to stop people from posting late)

Your story must include ONE pedro pascal character (or more, if you so wish)

Add appropriate warnings if needed (dubcon/noncon etc) 

Please use hashtag: #UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge (so I can find it for the masterlist) 

OTHER INFO:

⇶ There is no maximum word count. ⇶ You can share MORE THAN ONE creation, but it has to have different characters (muahahhaa) ⇶ A masterlist will be put together at the end.  ⇶ You post your story on your own blog, using your own banner (I’m just kickstarting some fun). 

PROMPTS:

some prompts you can use, but don't feel you must (you can amend to fit your story if you use, also)

⤬ Person gets caught in a rainstorm and gets sick.  ⤬ Both/all parties get caught in the rain.  ⤬ "Kiss me in the rain. Please?" ⤬ First kiss in the rain/forgiving kiss in the rain.  ⤬ Driving in the rain. ⤬ Having a lazy day at home.  ⤬ Childhood friends reunite after years apart, reminiscing about their shared memories while taking a nostalgic walk in the rain. ⤬ Two strangers take shelter together under the same umbrella. ⤬ A couple escapes to a cosy cabin in the woods during a weekend getaway, as the rain drums on the roof.

npt for moots: @thetriumphantpanda @psychedelic-ink @swiftispunk @goodwithcheese @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @hellishjoel @morallyinept @perotovar @fuckyeahdindjarin @janaispunk @mrsmando @5oh5 @joelsgreenflannel @joelscruff @joelscurls @ezrasbirdie

AHHH!!!!! Just AHH!!! This was amazing! I absolutely loved every part of it! 😍🫠

Purple Haze: Dieter Bravo One Shot

1960's photographer Dieter Bravo x f!model reader

Part of the Dieter Brainrot Club Server Challenge

Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni

Word count: 5,000

Summary: That boy put a spell on you

Content: 1960’s London Dieter Bravo AU, heavy on the British slang, explicit alcohol and drug references, reader is a model but no physical descriptions, outfit descriptions, swearing, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, smut; protected PIV, light bondage, reader is in control and Dieter is a subby puddle, pet names (angel, doll, darling), light dirty talk, playful slaps. Just a note we’re always very Fleabag coded here. Let me know if I missed anything.  

A/N: I did not expect the Dieter Brainrot Club challenge prompts to whisk me away to 1960’s London, but here we are! I’ve combined the two tropes Only One Bed with Forced Proximity, and look out for the ‘Oh I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs’ prompt. I took lots of inspiration from our chats in the Brainrot but I feel I should shoutout @freelancearsonist & @fhatbhabie for some specific *thoughts*.

Big love to the Brainrot team; clever, talented, brilliant and always hilarious Dieter Bravo (and Rahul Kohli) lovers. Special shout out to @sp00kymulderr & @chronically-ghosted for bringing us all together.

Please Join us in the Dieter Bravo Brainrot club

Kisses to my darlings @pascalssbabyy @luxurychristmaspudding & @toomanytookas for their wonderful support and encouragement, so much love to you. Dividers by the talented @saradika / @saradika-graphics All images for Pinterest and do not feature reader, just vibes.

PURPLE HAZE

London, 1967

You don’t say no to Vogue. Even when the photographer is famously difficult to work with. And has shagged three of your flatmates. They had all fallen equally, wildly, in love with him and were consequently left emotionally devastated as he continued to work his way, seemingly fairly indiscriminately, through London’s fashion set.

Dieter Bravo. The American actor, slash photographer, slash artist, made his name in the UK taking photos of his famous pals in the early sixties and now he was a firm favourite with the Vogue team. You couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. Definitely wasn’t the big brown eyes, golden skin and penchant for afternoon cocktails with the fashion director.

You’d never actually modelled for him before, but having mopped up the tears of Caroline, Olivia and Peter in your flat, you didn’t much care for him. His reputation, one of hedonism and shoots lasting until midnight because he was high as a kite and decided they HAD to be done only under moonlight and with everyone naked, very much preceded him.

Such a shame he was so good at taking photos. Infuriating of him.

You arrive straight from your appointment with the hairdresser Daniel Galvin, rocking a fresh cut and colour as prescribed by the Vogue beauty director, and pull up at the location in your beloved little Mini Cooper. You find Lucia, the Vogue fashion editor, with her long suffering assistant Patricia, standing outside the decrepit East London warehouse. They are both dressed head to toe in Mary Quant, with matching Paige boy haircuts. Achingly trendy. The lads strolling past give Lucia an appreciative whistle, but she studiously ignores them.

“Doll, I am so sorry but Cecil’s shooting our new gal Twiggy for the first time and it’s all turning into something of a do, so I thought it would be ok if Patricia and I dash over to Kensington for a bit. I’ll aim to get back here for the end of the day.” These are very much statements, not questions.

You can’t help the scowl that has taken over your face, Lucia is supposed to be your friend and she is very aware that you’re not Bravo’s biggest fan. This is absolutely Lucia to a T, brazen as anything and with skin as thick as a rhinoceros hide. Well, you had to be to survive at Vogue you suppose. She doesn’t flinch at your scrunched up brows.

“Super, super, knew I could rely on you and Dieter. You’re both such pros darling! I’ve hung up the outfits on the rail in order, accessories labelled next to the mirror and Dieter’s got the plan of which area to shoot each outfit in.” She lights a thin Parliament cigarette, looks you directly in the eyes and deadpans, “I trust you both implicitly….”

A nod of her head, almost a challenge, “Have fun.”

For fuck’s sake.

You shout out to them as Lucia snips away at Patricia to ‘get them a bloody cab’.

“Stylist? Make-up artist?”

“Oh no darling, you don’t need them, this is all about natural, natural, natural, we want bare skin! Just whack on the false lashes I’ve left you and you’ll be good to go. Top and bottom darling, top and bottom!”

You watch them disappear into a black cab, take a deep, steadying breath and walk into the warehouse. It’s huge, obviously used as some kind of furniture storage place, filled with random handsome, antique pieces.

Fuck, it’s actually really cool. Light streams in from the huge windows in the flat roof, catching the specks of dust that fill the air. You spend a few minutes wondering around, pondering if you could strap a bit of that Georgian looking dresser to the roof of your Mini… or if that delightful ancient trunk would be noticed if it went walkies. There’s even a giant Victorian taxidermy polar bear.

“Pretty groovy, huh?”

You almost jump out of your skin, Dieter Bravo has draped himself around the Polar bear’s neck and is giving you a very studied gaze, Ray Ban Wayfarers perched on the end of his nose as he peers over them.

Your mouth falls open in shock and he pushes the sunglasses to the top of his head, taking the opportunity to snap a picture of you quickly with the camera hanging around his neck.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry about that, I was enjoying watching you creeping about the place like a cat burglar in your sexy black mini dress. You’ve got great face doll; I’m looking forward to working with you today.”

Oh no, he’s going to be appallingly charming, isn’t he?

Dieter’s every inch the louche Vogue photographer, dressed in merino wool black polo with black velvet dinner jacket and navy tailored pinstripe trousers, then pointed, patent leather boots. He has a purple, psychedelic Pucci print women’s silk scarf threaded through his belt loops in place of the usual leather belt.

His rich brown hair is longish and thick, fluffy almost curls adding an air of chaos, complimenting the patchy beard that’s just the right side of scruffy. It’s unusual, most of the fashion boys you know are still rocking a clean-shaven, mod look, but it suits his defined features, softens him. You try not to be too admiring of him, firstly in case he can tell and secondly, because you’re well aware he’s the kind of man that needs to be kept at arm’s length or you might just accidentally trip and fall into those heavenly eyes, like so many before you.

Dieter Bravo is a walking cautionary tale.

“Thanks…. Can you point me to where Lucia set up the clothes rack?”

Dieter chats away as you look through the clothes. You get the impression he’s not a man comfortable with silence, so you let him fill it. He talks about the bands he’s worked with, the designers who send him clothes and you can tell he’s watching your reactions, waiting for a flicker of excitement so he can be reassured just how tremendously cool he is. For that very reason you give him absolutely nothing.

You’re a model, you can make your expression go completely neutral if needs be. You let your eyes sort of deaden, mouth set in a firm, but not harsh, line. Feeding this man’s already giant ego is not on your agenda for today. If you can get through it without smacking him around the head for being so sure of himself, it will be one of your greatest achievements.

He watches you intently as you expertly apply the false lashes, two sets for the top row and another for the bottom. Natural my arse. Does look cool though, you’ll give Lucia that. You find yourself giving a little pout into the mirror and Dieter snaps another picture quickly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You know how to work your angles baby.”

You gift him a half smile and still it’s more than he deserves. You whip back straight into business mode.

“I’m going to use that poor excuse for a bathroom as a makeshift changing room. Where shall we do the first shots?”

“Our benign dictator wants the first outfit to be down by the chintzy 50’s sofas on the left hand side. See you down there? Unless…” He tilts his head, gives you a Cheshire Cat grin, “You wanted some help?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Man, I love the way you English girls swear. Drives me wild.” The grin is still there, never faltering; he lets his eyes flick up and down you, as if that was going to the magic key that unlocks your knickers.

“Off you fuck then.”

He sighs. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything to drink in here.”

You’re artfully positioned across one of the sofas; you’ve both decided this tiny pink flower print one clashes with the Biba mini dress perfectly, so you get to work showing the way the dress falls just above what would be deemed appropriate. Your favourite type of fashion.

Dieter has found a bottle of gin in a section up the precarious stairs which is currently being used as a rough and ready artist’s studio. He’s inexplicably pulled out two bottles of ginger ale from his kit bag, so he’s made you a gin & ginger ale. It’s actually quite yummy

“So… Are you going to cheer up any time soon? I heard you were fun?” He’s jumping deftly from ancient chair to broken sideboard, trying to get the best shot.

“I heard you like to collect models and assistants like they’re going out of fashion?”

“Oh shit, I haven’t shagged you already have I?” There is genuine panic in his eyes, and you can’t help but let out a musical laugh.

“Trust me Dieter,” you stare directly into the lens of the camera, “You wouldn’t have forgotten.”

He likes that, gives you a wolfish chuckle.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about angel. Give me more of that energy please! Fuck me, that was a good shot.”

You tip your head back and laugh, you don’t want to, but his enthusiasm is infectious, and the gin is helping to improve the mood considerably.

“I’ve got an idea.” He steps onto the sofa, takes your hand, so much more gently that you would have guessed, leads you over a ratty looking pouf to the bare, unmade, iron framed bed next to the sofa

“Dieter!” You let go of his hand immediately. You hate to admit it, but something in the warmth of his fingers against yours, the softness with which he held onto you, it has already sent a heat to your cheeks and a feeling in your belly you don’t care to acknowledge.

“Not yet baby…” He smirks at you, the light in those mischievous eyes shining bright. “I was thinking you could jump for me first. Show me those pins in action.”

You purse your lips, give him a hard stare.

“Fine…. But I promise you that will be the most action this bed will see today.”

You can tell Dieter’s happy with the shots, he keeps raining praises on you as you bounce on the bed and you find your smiles aren’t fake model smiles any longer.

Bollocks, you’re actually enjoying his company.

“Oh, these are going to be far out angel. You wanna get into the next fit, we’re up in the studio bit for this one and I’ll make us another gin.”

You’re in the most fabulous Thea Porter deep green, velvet military style jacket (and very little else), when Dieter appears in the studio with another round of g&g. You’ve got bare thighs, with tiny satin shorts hidden by the length of the jacket and then knee-high socks pulled up tight. It’s no exaggeration to say the man almost trips over his feet.

“Shit, you look divine angel. Velvet is your thing.”

“Oh it’s all Thea, she’s a genius. I tried to steal one of Jimi’s jackets of hers, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Jimi….”

“Oh, you know, the big one. Hendrix. We were seeing each other for a little bit.” You shrug your shoulders, well aware of the effect this little nugget often has on men.

It’s not the usual jealously that pours out of Dieter, it’s pure adulation, he’s almost blushing, a roundness to his cheeks that’s particularly endearing.

“He’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in real life. That voice, oh, when he talks! I just melted. I could barely string a sentence together when I met him. All too brief, unfortunately.” Dieter’s genuine smile is causing an exquisite single dimple to appear and it’s making you come over all unnecessary. You look away.

“Yes, I was a bit the same, but he’s a pussycat really, such a sweetie. I could listen to him play guitar forever.” You smile at Dieter and you know it has real softness behind it, he returns it in kind, angelic crinkles appearing around those teasing, dark brown eyes. You decide to bend, just a little, “I’ll introduce you properly if I ever get the chance.”

“Well, now I’m in love with you.”

You cackle, a proper guttural laugh, and Dieter clicks away on the shutter, delighted to catch your genuine mirth on film and at the way he can see just a sliver of your boob and hint of a nipple exposed as the velvet jacket hangs open. Tantalisingly close. You gaze up at him through all those lashes, let you mouth fall open so there’s a hint a teeth and tongue. A smidge of excitement spiralling up your spine.

“Fucking magnificent angel.”

You hear an unreasonably loud clanking noise coming from the front of the warehouse and you both frown. Dieter doesn’t miss snapping a picture of your confused face, before going to investigate.

When he doesn’t reappear five minutes later, you reverentially remove the Thea Porter Jacket, pop it on a hanger and pull on the long, crocheted jumper dress that is supposed to be for the next shot. The big gaps in the material don’t do much to protect your modesty to be honest.

You call down to Dieter as you descend the rickety stairs and into the vast space of the warehouse below.

“Dieter, is everything ok?”

He actually looks a bit sweaty, pushing at the imposing metal door and meeting with absolute resistance. There’s a clanking sound that you can’t help for think sounds like a padlock.

“Erm… I don’t want to alarm you… but we appear to be locked in? Someone’s slid that giant bolt over the front of the door.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Lucia, as you suspected, does not make it back from Kensington.  

There’s no phone in the building, it’s getting increasingly dark and you are growing impatient. You’ve worked your way through most of the outfits, but it doesn’t feel quite so fun any longer. You’ve consumed all of the gin, so you’re both a bit squiffy, but it’s made you somewhat taciturn and Dieter a bit grumpy.

Luckily Dieter packed some sausage rolls in his seemingly bottomless kit bag, so you both sit and eat them in silence.

Dieter lets out a long sigh, “Fuck it, I’ve got some hash with me, if that would help pass the time?”

“Oh, thank god!” You huff out dramatically.

He fishes out a little tin from the charmed kit bag and joins you again on the slightly wonky chaise lounge you’re sat on. You watch as he expertly skins up, warming the hash with a lighter and crumbling it in with the tobacco.

“A mate of Keith’s brought this back from Morocco for me, it’s super mellow, slightly trippy.” He gives you a big grin, “Bit like me.”

You roll your eyes. The drink has loosened your tongue.

“Dieter I don’t think I’d describe you as mellow? Chaotic maybe? A fucking nightmare perhaps?”

He looks so utterly devastated, like a kicked puppy, that you just have to soothe him. You can feel the shift in your behaviour and you’re not sure there’s anything you can do to stop it. Boy certainly has a bit of magic about him.  

“But that’s what makes you so astonishing, isn’t it darling? Why everyone adores your photos so much? Your flamboyance and energy are always there but you also allow your subjects to shine. You can always feel the emotion in them darling.”

“You really think so?”

Is he, is he actually desperate for your praise?

Is the Dieter Bravo, literally infamous for his bravado and untouchable ego, in need of you effectively telling him he’s pretty and stroking his hair? Those eyes, they’re so beseeching, so soft and looking at you so eagerly, it’s making you feel uniquely powerful. You could make this man putty in your hands if you wish. And maybe you do.

“Of course, darling.” He keens at the praise and you marvel at what you now hold in the palm of your hands.

You watch him as he lights the spliff, there’s something magnetic about the way this man smokes, cheekbones more prominent as he inhales, strong profile just fucking delicious, soft brown eyes dipped down as he gazes at the brief flames that ignite the tip before turning to ash. You find you’ve let your finger trace along the contour of his jaw and his eyes meet yours, as he exhales a thick plume of smoke with those pouty lips.

“I’m sorry angel, I think this is all my fault.” His hand reaches out to hold into your face as well, you mirror each other, leaning into the other’s warmth and delicate touch. You both let your fingertips rest against the other’s chin, thumbs rubbing tiny circles.

“Dieter as much as I’d like to blame you, I don’t see how someone locking us in here is your fault?”

His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and you dart your tongue out to lick at it, slowly, feeling the wetness seep into Dieter’s skin and watching the way it makes a lopsided smile curl up onto his face.

He passes you the joint and you try with all your might to ignore the jolt of electricity as your fingers graze, as if you’re not already almost sucking at his skin. His hand falls from your face and you turn away from him, letting your own hand drop down to your shoulder, running your fingers against the silken material there instead.

“The thing is… I’ve fancied you rotten since I saw you in that Harper’s editorial. The one on the beach with the shells… I’ve got it up in my studio. I specifically requested you when Lucia suggested this shoot. So, it’s entirely my fault you’re stuck here with me.” He has the grace to look a little bit sheepish.

“I’d love to take that as a compliment, but it appears to me that you fancy everyone rotten?”

He laughs, but immediately looks sincere again, “Well, yes that’s true, I love all beautiful things; man, woman, inanimate object… but you really got under my skin angel. I’ve been trying to wangle a shoot with you for months. Couldn’t believe my luck when this was finally confirmed.”

It’s fun to toy with him. You take a long drag of the joint, beckon him forward and tap on his lips so he opens them, shotgunning the smoke into his mouth. You pull back, satisfied with the look of intense pleasure on his face, as he tries not to choke. Dieter seems to like it when you’re in control.

“I’m not here to be part of your collection of beautiful things Dieter.” You rest backwards on your outstretched arms, let the hash seep into you and soften out your edges.

“You’d be my most prized piece angel, my Mona Lisa.

You snort a laugh, take another long drag of the joint before you pass it back to him. You disappear into a plume of thick smoke as you exhale and Dieter stands quickly, joint hanging out of his mouth, so he can capture the moment on film.

“Shit angel, that was hot.” You don’t miss his not so subtle rearranging of his trousers, the thick outline straining against the tightness of the material, showing you just how hot he found it.

You smoke together until you reach the roach, slowly sinking into each other’s laps as you become more stoned. Bliss.

Dieter suddenly sits up straight and blurts out, “Angel, I’m getting some divine inspiration! I’ve got an idea for the last shot… The dress, it kind of looks like a painter’s smock? Let’s go get you messy.”

He takes your hands once again and pulls you gently up, you’re both a bit fluffy round the corners, a giggle on the tip of your tongue as you take the lead and slip your fingers through his. He slides the smock off the rail as you trail past with light feet and a dreamlike, hash haze clouding both your vision in the best way.

There’s an area with paint splattered dust sheets that Dieter had set up with lights and you place yourself in the middle of it, letting your focus fall entirely on Dieter as he fiddles with the switches and gets it exactly how he wants.

You fear he’s simply not paying you enough attention.

So, you whistle at him, his reaction slightly slowed by the dope, but he pings back into life instantly as you pull off the dress you’re wearing, wiggle out of your knickers and jut your chin in the air.

“Do you need any more inspiration?”

You think you might have broken him. He’s shaking his head slowly, walking towards you and clicking away on his camera as he does, barely breathing as he edges closer.

“Baby I am going to have quite the private collection after tonight.” He drops to his knees, presses his nose against your belly and kisses at the flesh there, as if he simply must have you in his mouth right now.

Your card your hands through that luscious hair, but pull him back, so those puppy dog eyes are staring reverently up at you.

“Hold tight darling, let’s get this final shot done.”

He sighs, reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a wrap and taps a little coke onto the bullseye tattoo between his thumb and forefinger, before holding it up to your nose.

“Just a little something to keep us awake for our final flourish angel.”

He knocks a little onto the softness of your breast and as he inhales, his teeth purposefully scrape your nipple, sending a current of energy running through you, as both the coke and Dieter invade your system. You fleck your fingers against him to try and ground yourself.

You’re enjoying being naked and the effect it’s having on Dieter, so it’s with reluctance that you pull on the smock and Dieter sets to work covering you both in great daubs of paint, kissing at your exposed skin before painting it with his fingers. Fuck, it feels heavenly, a shiver of desire at each touch, making you feel fizzy.  

You’re a beautiful mess by the time he takes the final shots.

You’re back at the one bed in the whole warehouse, Dieter has laid down a pretty paisley print Victorian eiderdown on the mattress. A tangle of limbs as you kiss furiously, hands in each other’s hair and hot, naked, paint flecked bodies pressed together.

“Do you need me to…”

“No, no, I’m on the pill darling. It’s very liberating.”

So as to demonstrate what a modern, liberated woman you are, you push Dieter back down against the eiderdown, hooking your thigh over his deliciously soft belly that’s dappled with hair and climbing on top of him. Nestling his hard cock against your sex, moving in such tiny increments that it’s almost nothing, but sends a tingle of anticipation and want through you both.

“You’re just a bit of a messy slut, aren’t you Dieter?”

The groan he lets out is obscene, you tilt your head and find a smirk has settled on your lips. You bite down against your pout, let your thumb and forefinger give his nipple a rough pinch, before leaning your whole body against his and whispering softly into the shell of his ear, “But you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, yes, please… please…” He whimpers and it is doing something unholy to you, there’s a fire raging in your core and you have to fight with every ounce of your willpower to not lift your hips and fuck him to oblivion, right this second.

“Please, what?”

“Please do whatever you want with me baby.”

“Good boy. Let me use you, I want to come against your cock.”

You reward him by holding his cock against your soaking folds, coating him in your slick, pressing him just the right side of firm so you can move up and down and enjoy the friction. He’s so hard, it feels divine, a pulsingpleasure warming your skin as you slowly move against him. It’s too much for poor Dieter, his hands are clutching at you, hips beginning to buck as he chases more.

You stop immediately, “No, no, Dieter, I didn’t tell you that you could move, did I?” You give him a short ‘tsk’, a light tap on his balls that makes him whine, as you lean back and unthread the silk scarf from the trousers in a heap by his ankles. “I’m going to need to help you be good, aren’t I darling?”

“Fuck yes, yes please.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he practically begs you. Fucking enchanting.

Your thighs are tight around him still as you lean up over him, breasts rubbing against his open mouth, knotting his hands to the iron frame of the bed.

“Not an inch unless I tell you to Dieter.” You slide back down, hold your pussy just a little above his groin, take his cock back in your hand and rub his now throbbing head against yourself.

“Making me feel so fucking good darling, such a good boy. You know you need to make me come before I fuck you, you’re just too big otherwise aren’t you?”

It’s a whelp that leaves his lips, “Fuck! Careful angel, I’ll come if you keep talking like that and… shit… I need you to fuck me, please?”

You let him ramble, he’s becoming incoherent but as you slide his cock against your clit, your slick slippery and hot, you tip closer to oblivion and you watch him powerless beneath you, biting at his lips, twisting at your silken shackles. The velvet of his cock perfect as you pump him against you, no better feeling. Except maybe, maybe, how hard you can feel him trying not to rip him arms free and slam you onto the bed.

“Wish I could take a picture of your face right now angel, never going to forget how pretty you look using me.”

You look into his eyes as you feel your orgasm rising in your belly, warmth flooding you and making your fingers tingle. Your mouth goes slack and you call out his name like a prayer, your cunt gushing over his cock. He moans in absolute ecstasy.

Still pulsing, you lower yourself slowly onto him and he hisses with the sensation. You still, your face now just a breath away from his, “Would you like me to fuck your pretty cock Dieter?”

“Yes, yes, fuck it feels so good. So tight angel, I don’t know how I can last.”

“There’s a word missing darling?”

You give him a warning with a clench of your pussy, the feeling of him so hard and desperate inside you making you feel wildly powerful.

“Please, angel, please.”

You nip at his bottom lip, palms flat against his hard chest and continue to roll your hips at a pace that makes him groan with delight.

As you feel your orgasm begin to build once more, you take pity on Dieter, pull him into a deep kiss.

Just a gentle tug at the scarf and it comes undone; “You can touch me now.”

He’s all over you all at once, hands at your face, slapping at your arse, fingers at your clit, seemingly at the same time. A wave of Dieter that’s crashing against you with teeth, lips and want. You fuck him harder, squeezing his cock and rocking your hips feverishly, your legs are trembling; your release almost drowns you,

“Come with me Dieter darling.”

At your command, he spills into you with a groan, gripping onto your hips and pulling you hard against him, fucking up into you one last time. You let him stay there for a few moments, before you collapse down next to him, both panting but outrageously happy.

Dieter rolls over, kisses you again and again, now free to do what he wants, he needs to devour you whole.

“Fuck me angel, that was good… I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’m now dreadfully in love with you.”

You fall asleep together, naked, entwined, wrapped in the eiderdown.

You are absolutely fucking ravenous when you wake up in the morning. Dieter pulls out a couple of Kit Kats from his bag, which you guzzle with tepid water from the dripping tap in the bathroom as a chaser.

The front door is still padlocked shut.

“I have an idea.”

You groan, you’re now fully versed in how Dieter’s plans go and quite frankly, you’re a little bit sore after last night’s exploits.

“Not that kind of plan. Well, actually, yes, I do have some thoughts along those lines, but this is more immediate, not die of starvation in an East London warehouse type of plan.”

“Fine. Hit me.”

“There’s a skylight in the studio which I think we’ll be able to reach, the roof is flat… maybe we can shimmy along and drop down onto the next building. I think I remember seeing it’s lower and there was some kind of fire escape.”

“So… we’re going to climb over the roof, dressed almost entirely in black and covered in paint?”

He nods at you eagerly, “Fuck’s sake Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested.”

“Oh, I’ve always like the idea of you in handcuffs.”

“You know that’s not how we work darling.”

So, that’s how you and Dieter end up clambering up onto the roof and haphazardly climbing down onto the next building. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulders, full of his most prized possession; rolls and rolls of film - all of you. The majority of which Vogue is never going to see.

The expletives flowing out of both of you is bordering on the indecent, and more often than not, it’s Dieter grabbing at your hand in a squeaking panic as you teeter dangerously near the edge. Finally, after what feels like an hour, you lower yourself onto the fire escape next door and can see your route back down to earth.

With your feet back on solid ground, Dieter envelopes you in a survivors hug.

You know you really, really fucking shouldn’t, but you risk a kiss on the lips of the deviant who told you he loved you.

Tagging in some Dieter fans: @katareyoudrilling @magpiepillsjunior @morallyinept @mothandpidgeon @gwendibleywrites @survivingandenduring @ghotifishreads @rulexofxnines @readingiskeepingmegoing @amyispxnk @theywhowriteandknowthings @rosellarecommends @lowlights