dev / pen || 30's || she / they || cat mom || mobility impaired || undergrad student || pastry goddess || pedro lover
i am an adult, writing about adult things even if there is no smut content (there is, don't worry) so my blog and little corner of the internet is strictly 18+ || angst royalty
current wips:
stages of devotion {younger! joel miller x baker! reader} *1 chapters left!
services requested {older! joel miller x sugar momma! reader} *2 chapters left!
acute adoration {jack abbot x f! reader} *1 chapter left!
on hiatus / now complete:
finding your place {din djarin x babysitter! reader}
gone to the dogs {qz! joel miller x reader} *complete
black hole sun {joel miller through the ages x f! reader}
burning miseries {victor frankenstein x housekeeper! reader}
upcoming fics:
steel doesn't burn {young dad! joel miller x firefighter! reader}
manners are important {clint flood x reader}
work conduct {dave york x coworker! reader}
-> main masterlist || joel miller masterlist || drabble masterlist || frankie morales masterlist || ao3 link || ko-fi
hopefully you find something that you enjoy and thank you for being here! hope the days are good to you and feel free to reach out to chat, my dms and inbox are always open for anything, loves ♡
dividers by the lovely @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics
A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.
Series Master List
Welcome back to the bakery!
The poll from last week was conclusive, a large majority of you wanted a certain relationship challenged man to visit the bakery. But Pedro has done so many wonderful new characters in the two and a half years it's been since I wrapped up this series, so I'm sure I'll return and bring some more visitors to, frankly, the luckiest baker girl in the world.
It was a lot of fun to re-visit this setting, the bakery was just where I left it (with Frankie, my love) and I really hope you'll enjoy this new chapter as much as I did.
Love you all!
It's funny, in the bakery, how you notice some customers more than others. It might be the busiest part of your Saturday afternoon rush, long line of customers, juggling questions from patrons about allergies, orders, requests and that really tasty treat their great aunt baked for them back in 1983 with cinnamon, could you make that please? For tomorrow?
But when the well dressed man stepped inside, you noticed, immediately.
He didn't make a scene, didn't even say anything, and his clothes were understated, muted colours and soft fabrics, but still; you noticed him, and how warm the colour of his eyes was as he smiled at you.
And ordinarily you wouldn't remember his order either, not from a customer who just came in once and bought two of your individual lemon meringue tarts. Just a guy buying a nice dessert for a date.
But when he came back a month later, you noticed him entering again, and you remembered exactly what he'd ordered.
"Hi, what can I get you?" you ask, smiling at him as he comes up to the counter, "The lemon meringue tarts, or something new this time?"
Those warm brown eyes widen in surprise first, and then he smiles back at you, "I'm impressed. Do you remember everyone's orders?"
"No, but I was extra proud of those tarts, and I remember thinking that I hoped you and your date enjoyed them," you reply, "Were they a success?"
He gives a small chuckle, shrugging, "Yeah, the tarts were great, but the date was a bust."
"I'm sorry," you say, wondering what woman would turn down a man with eyes like his. They're the same warm colour of the chocolate you melt into your ganache almost every day, a rich, dark brown that distracts you for a few moments as he smiles, "So, no second date, what can I get you instead?"
He looks almost embarrassed, and shrugs again, looking down at his hands before he glances over at the display case.
"I've actually got a new date tonight. She's making me dinner and told me to bring dessert, so; here I am."
"So you need my dessert to guarantee you a second date?" you joke, and he laughs.
"If you can guarantee that, I'll pay double."
"Might be a tough order to fill, but these passion fruit mousse cups are sure to help," you say, pointing to two delicate cups filled with a pale mousse, decorated with fresh raspberries and a dusting of powdered sugar, "The secret is the sweet caramel in the bottom."
"You have a deal," he nods, pulling out his phone, "I'll take both."
"Excellent choice, and come back and let me know how it went. I'll add it to my marketing if you got a second date."
He smiles again, tapping to pay while you pack up the dessert.
"Have a great date," you say, and he gives you a wave, still smiling as he leaves, the fine lines around his warm eyes crinkling as he does.
"Thanks, and thanks for the help."
He comes back again the very next Saturday, patiently waiting in line towards the end of the day. He's wearing a suit this time, a sharp cut model across his wide shoulders, and the curls around his ears are shorter this time, like he just had them cut. They still look silky soft to the touch, and you have to drag your eyes from them as he steps up to the counter.
"Hi," you greet him with a warm smile as you run your hands over your apron, dusting it off, "Welcome back, did you get a second date?"
He chuckles, and nods, "Yeah, actually. I've got a second date tonight, and this time I'm cooking."
"Was it the passion fruit dessert?" you ask, biting the back a twinge of disappointment, "I told you they were good."
"Might've been the dessert," he smiles, "It was stellar, really world class. I'm sure she was impressed by my impeccable dessert picking skills."
"So now you need to out do it?" you laugh, "How am I supposed to top myself?"
"I've only had two of your desserts, and both have been better than anything I've ever tasted," he says, smiling as you feel your cheeks heat up under his praise, "I'm in your hands, anything you recommend."
"Well, at least now you have a second date, less pressure on me," you joke, "It's all up to you now."
"Don't remind me," he grimaces, but he's smiling too, "First dates seem to be easy, it's all the ones afterwards where things get complicated."
"So we need a sure thing here?" you ask, looking at your selection, "How about we bring in the big guns? My absolute favourite?"
You point to the pudding cups on one of the shelves, "It requires a little bit of assembly from you, but I'm thinking that might impress her even further, what do you think?"
He tilts his head and crouches down to take a closer look, "Chocolate mousse?" he asks and you shake your head proudly.
"No, and that's part of the secret. It's chocolate pudding. So much richer, smoother and more indulgent than mousse. And they come with some candied almonds, preserved cherries and whipped amaretto cream. It's the most decadent dessert, and the perfect balance of textures and flavours."
"Sold," he says with a groan that makes your stomach flip, "It sounds incredible."
"Might even get you to fou-"
You bite your tongue before you finish the sentence, but you hear a chuckle from your handsome customer as you quickly bend down to retrieve the desserts. Covering up for the giant foot in your mouth, you spend extra time with your back to him, packing up the cups, the almonds, cherries and the double cream.
"There," you say, putting the take away bag on the counter without looking at him, hoping he can't feel the heat radiating from your cheeks, and tapping in the total in the machine. A mischievous smile is still making his lips curl up as he taps his phone to pay, you see it as you glance up, and it makes you grab a cloth and furiously begin wiping the counter as he continues to smile.
"Have a good night," he says, "Thanks again for the dessert advice."
"Bye," is the only reply you give, and when the door jingles shut, you bury your face in your hands. Never mind that he's the most handsome customer you've had in a long time, you had to go and put your foot in your mouth and suggest that he should have sex with his date.
Very professional.
Also not very professional to have a crush on your clearly not single customer.
He comes back the very next Saturday, a bit before the afternoon rush, and this time he's in a soft looking navy sweater that stretches across his shoulders even more than the previous week's suit. The sight makes you weak, slightly unsteady even, and you force air in through your nose.
Smiling when he reaches the counter, he taps the wood and grins.
"You're a genius, that was the best dessert I've ever had, and Camilla loved it too."
Camilla
Your least favourite name in the world from this moment on you realise, as an ugly feeling sinks to the pit of your stomach. You almost grimace, but school your face just in time as he gives you the look of a love sick puppy, all warm brown eyes and soft smile.
"She said it was delicious, really tasty."
"I'm so glad," you say, forcing a customer service smile to your face that doesn't reach your eyes, regretting your stupid decision to sell him that dessert. Should've sold him something bland, not that you have anything bland in your bakery.
"So what does Camilla want for dessert tonight?" you ask, the back of your jaw tight as you try to not fill the name with venom, but he frowns, just for a split second.
In all honesty, you don't even know his name, so why should you be jealous of this unknown woman? But the tone of your voice clearly said something else, and you bite back on the resentment that filled you at the thought of him with another woman.
"Well…" he replies, suddenly looking a bit shy, coy even, as he looks over your selection, "I said I'd get those chocolate mousse cups again, and-"
"Pudding," you cut him off, and he looks up at you.
"Pudding?"
"It's chocolate pudding, not mousse. That's part of why they're so good," you say, and it comes out harsher than you intend.
"Ok, chocolate pudding. I'll have two of those. And then four croissants, for tomorrow morning."
You've done it now, you see it. Your tone snapped, even though you tried to force down the green eyed monster.
And he's stiffer when he replies, the smile slipping from his face as he clearly catches on, just a regular customer now, and he doesn't say anything else when you pack up the pudding cups, the almonds, cherries, and cream. And the four croissants.
For tomorrow morning. After he and Camilla….
"46.98. Please," you say, cutting off your train of thought.
He taps to pay.
"Have a nice night."
And leaves.
He doesn't come back after that. Not for a couple of months. You guess he and Camilla are a thing now. The thought crosses your mind as you make another batch of the chocolate pudding. It's become a staple at the bakery, it turns out not only people trying to have successful dates like it. You don't enjoy it as much these days though, the uncomfortable memory of your handsome customer still sits attached to the flavour.
So it's with mixed feelings you look up when the door bell jingles late on a Saturday afternoon and spot him walking into the bakery again. Tampering down the warmth that spreads through your chest at the sight of him, you remind yourself that he's not single, and you have no business pining after a taken customer. Especially not one who clearly has money to spend on some of your most expensive desserts. Good business is good business after all.
But it's hard to not let your eyes linger over him as he waits in line, the way he stands with a simple confidence, a hand on one hip as he looks out through the big shop front window with a blank face. His hair is longer now. Not unkempt, just not recently trimmed like last time, and he's in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. He might even look a little bit tired, but he still smiles when he comes up to the counter, the lines around his eyes are deeper today.
"Hi, welcome back," you greet him, and you can't help the smile that you give him in return. He's still as handsome as before, and when his eyes soften and smile widens, you feel your resolve to be indifferent melt away.
"Hi," he says, "You still remember me?" His greeting is paired with a crooked smile as he makes an apologetic sound, clearing his throat, "It's been a while."
"I thought maybe the dessert was a flop," you reply, "Did I accidentally add salt instead of sugar?"
He chuckles a little at that, but shakes his head, "No, your dessert was perfect as always, I just…"
The pause is long as he shifts on his feet and looks down at the counter for a second, a slight hesitation in him before he continues.
"I just…haven't been buying desserts lately."
You wait for him to continue, as someone behind him clears their throat, impatient.
"Sorry, I'm holding up the line," he says, glancing over his shoulder as he straightens up, "What do you recommend today?"
"What are you in the mood for?" you ask, ignoring the rude customer stomping behind him.
"Something…simple," he replies, "Like something you'd serve your grandmother," the last thing he says with a breath of self-conscious laughter, "I just really loved the Victoria sponge cake she used to make."
You smile at him, "Victoria sponge is a classic for a reason, it's one of my favourites too."
His eyes are making you feel warm as the corners of them crinkle, and he puts his palms on the counter and leans forward, his body relaxing and coming a little bit closer to you.
"I knew you wouldn't judge me," he returns your smile, "I bet you make really good Victoria sponge too, everything of yours that I've tasted has been incredible."
You know you're a great baker, but his compliment still makes your cheeks heat up as you try to stop yourself from grinning too widely.
"Thanks, it's all about the ingredients, and finding a balance. Cakes like the Victoria seem simple, but if you don't get the balance right it will just be bland jam wedged between dry slices of cake."
"I love hearing you talk about your desserts," he replies, ignoring the shuffle of the waiting man behind him, "You're really passionate about it, I like that and-"
"Excuse me, can we skip the flirting, man? I'm on the clock here."
The man waiting seems to have run out of patience, and now he huffs, shuffling as he tries to push up to the counter.
You frown at him, opening your mouth to retort, but the handsome man shakes his head, ignoring the other one with barely a glance over his shoulder.
"Do you have any Victoria sponge?" he asks, and you have to shake your head, apologising.
"No, sorry, I don't have any today. But a coffee cake maybe? I have a really nice apple and cinnamon coffee cake with walnut crumble. It was my granny's favourite."
He nods slowly as he seems to think about the offer, and then pulls out his phone, "Sounds great, I'll have that."
Later, when you're cleaning up the kitchen, the thought of him comes back to you as you go through the tedious job of organizing all the clean dishes. The way he'd said that he hadn't been buying dessert lately; such an odd way of phrasing it. He hadn't been buying desserts from you, but why say he hadn't been buying desserts at all?
'Maybe Camilla is on a diet," you say out loud to the empty kitchen, snorting as you picture the woman who you dislike even though you've never met her. You give her a haughty look, the kind you sometimes get from bridezillas when you deliver their wedding cakes. Pinched, constricted and possibly constipated.
"Did you say something?"
The high schooler who's been cleaning the front of the bakery puts their head around the door frame, and you shake your head.
"Just thinking out loud."
The handsome dessert buying customer comes back a couple of weeks later, and you have to admit to yourself that seeing him makes your heart jump a little. Especially as this time he smiles at you as he steps inside. The shop is having a bit of a lull, and it gives you an unrestricted view of him as he closes the door. The dark brown curls are neater this week, trimmed around his ears and pushed back from his forehead.
"You got a haircut," you say as he comes up to the counter, and he grins, reaching up and carefully patting his hair.
"You sure pay attention to the details," he laughs, "Yeah, just this morning."
"It looks good, the curls suit you."
"Thanks," he smiles back, "I needed a clean up, I've got a date tonight."
Your stomach sinks, and you fight to keep the smile in place on your face, but you're sure he sees it slip for a second.
"Camilla, right?" you ask, just to have something to say as you try to not break the edge of the counter with how hard you're gripping it.
He looks surprised at first, then shakes his head, "No, no, that didn't work out. But I…uuh…got set up on a blind date, need to…get out there again. So I'm cooking for her tonight."
He shrugs, almost an embarrassed look on his face as he says it.
"Good for you," you reply, but you don't mean it, and you can hear the edge in your voice. He doesn't seem to notice it though. He's glancing over the display case, nodding at the chocolate pudding cups.
"Can I have two of the chocolate puddings? They were really great. And four croissants."
"Sure, coming right up," you say, and slide the glass door open. You want to say something, comment on his choice of dessert, but all you can think of is that he's buying four croissants too. Which means he's planning on letting his date spend the night. Croissants are for breakfast after all.
Neither of you fill the silence as you pack up his order and ring it up. It feels uncomfortable, and you want to say something, get back to that easy back and forth from his previous visit. But nothing comes to you, and he taps his phone to pay.
"Thanks, have a good night."
"Yeah, thanks, same to you, have a good date," you say finally, and he nods, just a small smile in return.
The high school kid jumps when you stomp into the kitchen as the front door closes.
"Please, can you handle the till for a while, I need some air."
They nod, and bee line to the front of the bakery as you make your way to the back door, sinking down on the small staircase.
You haven't even asked his name, he's a complete stranger, except that he's not. Or at least he doesn't feel like one. But except for his taste in desserts and expensive looking clothes, you know nothing about him. And yet the very idea of him having a date, a date that's not with you, where he'll serve your dessert, and feed her your croissants the next morning, fills you with nausea and jealousy.
Stomping your feet again, you march back into the kitchen and pull out ingredients for a brioche dough, slamming the ingredients together and forgoing the mixer for your own hands. When the high school kid looks into the kitchen again they've got a worried look on their face.
"You ok? You're kinda…grunting a lot."
Huffing, you slam the dough into the table again.
"Yeah, just seeing if this dough is better worked by hand," you lie and take a break, stepping back to glare at the dough. In reality, you're trying to not see his face as you punch your fists into it. The kid shrugs, and gives you another concerned look before the jingle of the bell pulls them back to the front of the bakery.
Stupid man, stupid desserts.
It takes you another fifteen minutes of kneading to work out whatever he ignites in your system, but eventually you give in and leave the dough to rest overnight. The only conclusion you've come to is that you won't be working front of house next Saturday.
Which is good, because he does come in the next Saturday, and he buys another dessert, and four croissants, from your high schooler while you hide in the back.
And then he comes again next Saturday, for more dessert and croissants. But this time he buys four pain au chocolate too, and through the bakery door you hear a woman tell him it's her favorite and she can't wait to try one 'when we get home'.
You can't help yourself. Slowly backing up, and holding on to the bowl you're mixing spices in, you glance through the door and catch a glimpse of them.
He's standing by the counter, getting ready to pay, as the woman he's with is looking at some of your more elaborate cakes on display. The dark green sweater on him looks both expensive and soft as feathers, but it stretches over his wide shoulders, tight around his biceps. His curls are a little bit longer now, and rumpled by the wind outside. With an absentminded smile at his date, he reaches up and pushes them back, and then he spots you.
Your face must be telling him something, because you lock eyes, and a grimace flashes over his face, or you think it's a grimace, he almost looks embarrassed for a split second, and you can't even move as he keeps looking at you. His eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown you've ever seen, and it's not like you haven't seen them before and noticed them, but now…the way the light catches them as he glances down at his hands, and then up at you again, the tiniest frown creasing his brow.
Why doesn't he look away?
"Excuse me, sir? That'll be $68.98."
"Harry, honey, you need to pay," the woman says, snaking her arm around his, and you jump back out of sight, almost dropping the bowl.
If he replies, you don't hear it over the pounding of your heart as you set the bowl down on the large kitchen counter. Your hands are trembling, and you take a deep breath. Heat is coursing through your limbs, your knees actually feel weak, like you're a damsel in a romance novel, and the image of the way his lips pulled up in a smile, just before she tucked her arm into his, burns your cheeks.
Closing your eyes, you take another deep breath and listen to the door close behind him. And the woman he was with.
Another date.
Someone he's been with long enough to bring here, to pick up things for 'when we get home'.
Whatever you imagined when he looked at you, it was just that; imagination.
Most Saturdays he doesn't come in after that. Just now and then, buying four pain au chocolate, but you make sure you never serve him. In fact, you hardly ever work front of house on Saturdays now. You just hear him come in, his voice so recognisable as he asks for the pastries. The tone of it makes you stop in your tracks every time, listening to hear if he's brought her with him again, or if he buys something different. But for weeks that's all he buys, pain au chocolate.
In your mind you see him and the woman tucked up in bed, feasting on them every Sunday morning, and you consider taking them off the menu. Make him buy her the damn pastries at another bakery.
But you don't. They stay on the menu. And so does Harry.
Weeks pass, and still even a glimpse of him makes you jump back into the kitchen. And you know he sees you, you just can't bring yourself to speak to him. How many words have you said to him in total? Barely a conversation to fill a napkin if you were to scribble it down. And yet, every glimpse of him reminds you of how his eyes soften when he smiles, the curls around his ears, the way every sweater seems to stretch across his shoulders, like he's buying them a size too small just to taunt you.
"Pain au chocolate guy wants to order an engagement cake."
The high school kid has stuck their head around the corner of the door, their eyebrows rising in surprise at the panicked look on your face.
"P-pain au chocolate guy?" you stutter, and they nod.
"Yeah, the rich guy who comes in and buys only pain au chocolate on Saturdays. He said he needs to talk to the baker about an engagement cake."
"Uuuhhh…" you stall, glancing around the kitchen as you beat back the panic in your chest, "Ok, send him in."
Fuck
You shake out your hands and quickly dry them on a towel before smoothing down your hair. The pulse of your heart beat must be showing on your neck, you can feel it beating as you hear Harry's shoes scuff over the floor of the bakery.
"Hi."
His voice is the same warm tone as always, and he's holding out his hand like you've never met, "I realised I never introduced myself properly all the other times I stopped by. I'm Harry Castillo."
"H-Hi Harry," you stutter out, "Engagement cake?"
You dive right in, small talk is the last thing you want with this man, especially not if he's going to gush about his…fuck…
Fiance.
Harry nods, and pulls out his phone, "Yeah, I've got some notes, but it's a surprise for Amanda so I couldn't ask her what she'd prefer."
There's another name you'll detest; Amanda.
"Yeah, ok," you reply, grabbing your notepad, "Tell me what you've got."
"So, I know she likes chocolate, and pain au chocolate. And…" he pauses and grimaces, "And that's it."
"I can work with just chocolate," you reply, keeping your eyes on the notepad, "Any colour preference? Decorations like flowers or patterns?"
"Ah…I'm…I'm not sure actually…" he hesitates, ending with a huffed sound that could be an embarrassed chuckle, and you glance up at him.
"I should know right?" he says, and his face is apologetic, like he's apologising to you for not knowing his soon-to-be-fiances cake preference.
"Why don't I just work with what you like? Like a version of a Victoria sponge cake maybe? I can do that with chocolate filling."
"You remembered that?" Harry smiles, his face softening, and you can't help but smile back.
"Yeah, I mean…of course? You said you liked something simple, like your grandmother's."
"I know, I just can't believe you'd remember that, with all the customers you have."
The way he's looking at you, that way his eyes are all warm and gentle, it makes your insides squirm, and you quickly look back down at the notepad.
"So, I can have the Victoria sponge as a base, and build a few layers on that, and maybe a chocolate ganache to cover it with? And I can keep the decorations clean and simple, to tie in with the classic style of the cake."
Harry doesn't reply for a few moments, and you look up at him again. He's frowning, rubbing a hand over his chin as he seems to think.
"If it was for me, I'd say yes. But Amanda, she's…she likes it a bit more decorated I think."
You nod, scrapping your notes about keeping it simple, and wait for him to continue.
"She…she's shown me the kind of engagement rings she likes, and they're all…very elaborate," Harry shrugs again, "Not really my style, but if it's what she wants."
"Why don't you bring her and you can decide on a cake that you both like," you suggest, biting back on the jealousy.
"She told me she wants the engagement to be a surprise,"
"But she knows you're proposing?"
It comes out with a surprised tone, and Harry makes a non-commital shrug.
"Yeah, we've discussed marriage, how we're going to set it up, merging our assets, the pre-nup obviously. But she told me to plan a surprise engagement party for her, and invite her friends."
"Sounds like a business deal," you reply before you can stop yourself, and you bite your tongue as you see the look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry, that was out of line, I didn't mean it like that, I just-"
"It's not a business deal," he cuts you off, "She's a good match for me. We're a good match."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…let me just look at the notes and I'll come up with some ideas for a more elaborate design, but keep your Victoria sponge as the base, with chocolate of course."
You're backtracking quickly, trying to smooth over your blunder as Harry frowns, looking past you, and then down at his hands.
He nods, looking up at you, and it stops your rambling.
"I'll leave my business card, e-mail me your thoughts and I'll get back to you," he says, and now it really does feel like a business deal.
You nod, not trusting your voice, and he leaves without another word.
The afternoon shifts into evening, but you can't stop berating yourself. Sketching ideas for the cake gets you nowhere, your usually so creative brain can't seem to merge the classic Victoria sponge with a more elaborate design. It all turns out gaudy and tasteless, and you can't see Harry in the cake at all. Scraping yet another failed design, you sigh and sink down on the low stepping stool, kicking your feet to make it go rolling across the kitchen floor. It comes to a slow stop against the heavy shelf of appliances, making it rattle slightly. Pushing yourself up with another deep sigh, you open the big walk in fridge and let your eyes drift across the space.
Your eyes land on a jar of raspberry jam from last summer. You'd gone with a friend to a farm that let you pick raspberries, and you'd returned sweaty, scratched and tired, but with two buckets of the sweet berries. The jar on the shelf is the last of it.
Maybe if you make a Victoria sponge to start with, just the classic, traditional one, some idea would come to you for Harry's engagement cake. But it's not like he's going to order the cake from you anyway. Not after you went and called his marriage a business deal. You'll never see him in this bakery again.
You begin picking up the ingredients anyway, if nothing else, you can sell it in slices tomorrow. And you suddenly feel like eating Victoria sponge cake, and not because it's Harry's favourite.
As usual the act of baking calms you, focusing you on the measurements and the manual steps, beating the eggs and sugar, folding in the dry, it all comes together as you try not to think of Harry. With steady hands you pour the batter into the cake tin and put it in the oven.
The door closes with a soft click as you set the timer.
A sharp knock on the bakery door makes you jump, the glass in the window pane rattling with the force of the rapping knuckles, and you drop the bowl you've been holding.
"What the fuck…" you hiss, looking at the dent in the metal as another knock rattles the door.
Putting the bowl on the counter you stride over through the door of the kitchen and into the long since closed bakery shop. It's raining outside, and the fat drops streak across the window, blurring the outlines of the man standing outside, and it stops you in your tracks.
Harry pauses his knocking, his hand hanging in the air in front of him, as he meets your eyes. The rain has plastered his hair to his skull, soaked through his sweater, and as you watch, he lowers his hand and wipes it across his face.
For a beat you wonder if you should tell him to go away, but before you've made your mind up, your feet move to the door, and your hands unlock it.
"Harry, what-"
"You had no right," he says, his voice tight as he looks at you through the falling rain, "I was happy. And you…" he stops, biting down on the sharp words, "You… It wasn't a business deal, we were a good match."
What he's saying sinks in as you feel the rain drops begin to collect on your own skin as the wind picks up.
"You…you broke up with Amanda?" you ask, and Harry winces, or shivers, and you grab his arm, pulling him through the door, and out of the rain.
"You're soaked," you say unnecessarily, looking around for a clean kitchen towel, but Harry doesn't seem to hear you. Suddenly he's crowding you, his hand firm on your cheek, his mouth a hair's breadth from yours, warm breath teasing your lips.
Time seems to freeze as your heart stops beating. He smells of rain, wet sidewalks and damp leaves, softened by the heat of his body.
He drops his hand and steps back, and for a split second you think he's going to rush out through the door again, back into the rain.
Instead he charges into the bakery, spinning on the spot as he shoves his hands through his wet hair and glares at you.
"Why did you have to be so…." he spits, "why did you say…all that, all that…that…"
He trails off, and he seems to shrink as your eyes meet across the kitchen floor. Air escapes him, a slow exhale as you wait for him to finish his outburst.
But nothing more comes, instead he slumps, burying his face in his hands with a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry."
The words are just a low mumble behind his palms.
"I'm sorry too," you say, slowly coming over to him, and holding out a clean towel, your hand trembling slightly, "I was out of line, I shouldn't have said anything."
Harry shakes his head, and takes the towel, "No, it's not on you, you just said what I already knew."
With another sigh that seems to come from his toes he straightens up, looking at the towel in his hand.
"I already knew, even before she started talking about engagement. You…you just put your finger on a sore spot."
Shrugging, he makes an effort at wiping his face, and then drops the towel on the edge of the sink.
"Thanks, I'll leave now. I'm sorry for barging in, and for…" he trails off again, and you don't miss the glance at your lips. They still carry the imprint of his breath, and you can feel his fingers on your chin.
"Stay," you blurt out, taking a step forward. "Stay, don't…go."
Harry's eyes are impossible to read as you look at each other across the kitchen, but you hope he can see how much you want him to stay.
"Please," you whisper, "I always…want you to stay when you come here."
This time he's less sudden, crossing the short space between you with a few long steps as you wait for him by the work bench. His hand is warm on your cheek, cupping your face gently as you tilt your head up to his, your lips parting. The shirt across his shoulders is damp under your hands, but already warming up from the heat that he seems to radiate as he crowds you again. When his nose brushes against yours, you exhale, his lips teasing yours before he lets himself properly kiss your open mouth. There's no rush, just a slow taste. Your mouth closes around his plump bottom lip, tasting the rain as his hands slowly move up your back, and he steps closer, making space for himself against your body.
You can't help the moan that escapes you, his body is warm and firm, even under his rain damp shirt, and the sound makes him groan in reply, a low rumble deep in his chest. He pries his lip from your mouth, and touches it with the tip of his tongue, gently tasting, making you open up for him. With a whine you slide your fingers into the curls at his neck, tugging him closer, and the effect is instant. Harry's large hands slide down your back, onto your thighs, and he lifts you up onto the bench, suddenly pressing up against your core as he yanks you closer to him. As if he's trying to eliminate every smidge of space between your bodies as he licks into your mouth, stealing your breath.
The metal bench is cool underneath you as he pushes you further back, your legs closing around his waist, and he nudges your head to the side, licking a wet trail beneath your ear. You can feel the beating of your heart in your finger tips as they wrap around his curls, Harry's scorching breath against your neck, teeth grazing across the thin skin.
"Harry," you moan into the empty kitchen, gasping for air when he moves his hands, his thumbs drawing sharp lines over your pebbled nipple, making your breath hitch.
"You taste so good," he mumbles, moving up to your lips again, "salt and sweet, chocolate and cream. Do you always taste this good?"
"You'll have to find out," you mumble against his mouth, and you can feel him smile into your lips.
"Happily," he replies, "Are you free tonight?"
The question makes you giggle, and Harry pulls back to look down at you, raising his eye brows.
"Look at where you've got me, Harry," you say, "And tell me you think I'm not free tonight?"
His face splits into a wide grin, and he drops his head down again, pressing a soft kiss on your lips, much more chaste this time.
"I got carried away," he smiles in reply, "You taste so good, and you smell more delicious than any of your desserts."
"You taste like rain," you tell him, and he laughs, shaking his head to make rain drops scatter across your face.
"I'm not sorry I barged in," he says when you've brushed back the curls from his forehead again, "I'm just sorry I didn't realise I should've been dating you all this time. Can I make you dinner tonight?"
"I'm not sure, what's for dessert?" you ask him, and the grin on your face makes him press his lips to your neck, smiling as you squeal under him when he nips at the delicious skin.
"You," he replies, "Only you."
Why would you trust anyone other than Mary Berry to make the perfect Victoria sponge cake? Light and fluffy and filled with jam, it's a Brit
I had to include Mary Berry's receipe because who else, right? And I hope you enjoyed this re-visit to the bakery, and wish Harry all the best for his future dating life. I'm sure baker girl will make him very happy...
Tagging some of you who I know read A Baker's Dozen back when I first posted it. You all gave it so much love and I hope you want to dip back into this cosy universe!
This post is brought to you by Pedro Pascal’s left side profile (idk why but every reference pic from that episode where from the same angle XD)
I don’t usually do portraits, especially not real people, but I guess procrastinating uni stuff does wonders to my art XD
Also I am so sorry for the person I’m gonna become in the next few weeks, I got back into my Clone Wars hyperfixation and I am gonna make it everyone else’s problem 😎✌️
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
good god i forgot what it was like to watch din djarin do his thing. he’s so capable, he’s so protective, he’s so smart…. he’s a good pilot, he can fight, he fixes things….. he speaks multiple languages… his voice……… he’s so strong….
hehe so i’m a lil toasty rn and writing kinda gruff awkward din cause he totally overly protectively invited you to live in his house but actually realizes that he doesn’t know how to live with another person that isn’t two feet tall and grogu 🫣🤭
Pairing: Jack Abbot x F! Reader, with a sprinkle of Michael "Robby" Robinavich x F! Reader
Summary: Being a doctor is a lot of work, especially when you've got your own slew of health issues. Luckily, you're surrounded by people who are more than happy to help, including your close friend who prefers to go by Robby and his enamoring friend Jack Abbot.
Word Count: ongoing
Warnings: canon language, canon gore, canon medical descriptions and scenarios, will keep it to a minimum, but there will be medical jargon a bit, medical situations, health issues, reader has hip problems cause i have hip problems, jack is an military vet, jack is an amputee, talk of phantom limb syndrome, talk of chronic pain, chronic illness, sexual undertones, flirting, mutual attraction, sexual themes, eventual smut, p in v, protected p in v, more to be added!
A/N: this totally snuck up on me, i woke up and just had to get this down somewhere hehe, should only be a few parts
part i
part ii
part iii
part iv
dividers and banners by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune
Pairing: Jack Abbot x F! Reader ; with more than a of sprinkle of Michael "Robby" Robinavich x F! Reader ; Jack Abbot x F! Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavich
Summary: Recovering from your fall is a little...different than you expected. But you aren't about to complain about the attention you're getting from the two men who are doting on you in more ways than anticipated...
Word Count: 5.7k
Warnings: canon language, canon gore, canon medical descriptions and scenarios, will keep it to a minimum, but there will be medical jargon a bit, medical situations, health issues, reader has hip problems cause i have hip problems, jack is an military vet, jack is an amputee, talk of phantom limb syndrome, talk of chronic pain, chronic illness, sexual undertones, flirting, mutual attraction, sexual themes, backshots, smut, jack talks reader through it, praise, soft jack, tender lovin', reader and robby have a few moments, lemme know if i missed any!
A/N: oh boy, i know this is on the longer side but i got more than a little excited to write for these two. i have no clue what's gotten in to me (but apparently we all know what i hope gets into me, ha okay i'm going now bye)
ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi
The door swings open before either of you have the chance to move- Robby walking through like he’s done countless times. Only now he’s greeted by the scene of you and Jack tangled in each other on the couch with mussed hair and blown out pupils.
“What the hell!” He shields his eyes with a hand, one hint of the slick and thatch of hair between your legs a breach of privacy he knows he’ll apologize for later. Even if the sight makes heat flare momentarily in his middle. The obvious arousal of his friend tenting the front of his sweatpants something more or less manageable but still shocking to discover after the day he’s had. “I asked you to watch over her not maul her!”
“Robby-“ You notice that Jack pulls the blanket from over the back of the couch over you both, shielding your exposed bottom half. The man’s concern and thoughtfulness makes your body thrum, even as your mutual friend stands just feet away.
“Why don’t you give us a moment and we’ll talk this through like the adults we are?” Jack shifts on his knees, eyes taking in the way you don’t shrink into yourself but you also don’t seem like the same person he’s been with the entire day. He doesn’t blame you, this certainly isn’t the best way for the three of you to first interact with each other outside of work. There is bound to be a bit of figuring out the dynamic, Jack picking up on the attraction his friend has toward you while having his own. But he certainly doesn’t expect the response from Robby that you both get.
“No, nope, not- not gonna happen.” Hands running through short cropped hair in a familiar, frustrated movement, shoulders hunching up close to his ears. The hush of his second jacket as he does so, the weather outside back to freezing cold now that the evening has set in. And then the man is turning his back to the room and walking out the door before you can even finish sitting up with a helping hand from Jack. The slam of the door shakes the windows, making you jump and heat bloom behind your eyes. Robby’s never walked away from you like that and it stings. Focused on where the man was just a moment ago, you startle at the feel of a palm cupping your face, Jack’s thumb rubbing the tears away that manage to slip out of the corner of your eye.
“It’s alright, baby, I got you.” The memory of Robby doing exactly this just hours ago hurts.
“You should probably be on your way to the hospital already.” You whisper, resting your head in his hand and looking up at him. Your lashes stick together from the tears and you try to blink them away but they just keep coming. The man shushes you, his other hand curling around your back and pulling you with him as he shifts to sit back against the couch. He carefully pulls your shorts back up to your waist and adjusts the blanket to cover you both. snuggling down and holding you tight to him.
“’M not going anywhere, especially after that.” He presses a kiss into your hair, using a hand to gently tuck your head beneath his chin. You rest a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart and let it calm you. Reaching down, you smooth your palm over his side, knowing that he’s got a bit of a bruise forming from his earlier fall in the garden.
You two sit in silence, eyes watching and minds half paying attention to the rest of the movie playing quietly on the screen still. As the credits begin to play and the sun fully sets, Jack begins rubbing his hand along your back to garner your attention.
“Alright, time for a dose and then we should get you to bed.”
Neither of you say much as he busies himself in the kitchen to make a simple pasta dish with the contents of your cabinets and fridge to help settle the day. The look on Robby’s face sticks in your mind even as Jack sits across from you at the small dining table, guilt making the food settle heavy. As if sensing where your thoughts are, Jack reaches a hand across the wood and takes your hand in his, utensils momentarily forgotten.
-
You wake to the sound of two muffled voices. Familiar voices, just outside your house. When you shrug on a robe over your sweatpants and tank top, you see the figures of Robby and Jack out on the porch through the blinds as you peek through them. Steaming cups of coffee held in hands and faces forward on the street, but they’re talking at least. You leave them be, opting to give them space and get your first mandated sick day started.
Bread goes into the toaster and eggs get cracked into a bowl while a pan heats on a burner. Simple, your stomach protesting the medicine even if you need to eat in order to keep taking it. A wretched dichotomy when in pain and needing relief on such a high scale, but you’ve learned some tricks to it over time.
That’s when you spot the time on the stove clock- four a.m.
Seems your internal alarm is still doing it’s job to get you to your shift on time, regardless if you actually have one today or not. You spy coffee still in the carafe of the machine and pour it into one of your ceramic mugs, cradling the hot sensation between your palms. Flashes of Jack’s skin beneath your wandering hands spark similar heat low between your legs, a faint tingling there as you recall the way he pulled pleasure from you so easily.
But then the betrayed tone of Robby’s voice and the way he cradled your face chases it away, too many emotions ebbing and flowing to make you feel like a ship riding waves you have no business being on. Sighing, you run away from them and hide away in your room.
Just as you settle back into bed, the front door creaks open and two sets of footsteps enter the house. Despite yourself, your heart thumps heavily as you look to the bedroom door.
Robby is the first to enter, the plate you left him in one hand and his coffee in the other. He offers you a smile that’s more akin to a grimace but you understand the apology in the action. He sets it on the other night stand and situates himself in his normal spot, but he crosses that invisible line that’s always existed and pulls you into his chest the exact moment you begin to reach for him.
His scrubs smell clean, like his laundry soap and your fabric softener, further showcasing just how much time you two spend together and how intertwined your lives are. Every day, mundane activities and actions spent side by side at work and out of work- friends in the basest of definitions.
“I’m so sorry, ziseh.” He presses the words into your hair, burying his face there to hide his tortured expression from Jack as the man enters with his own plate and coffee in hand. You don’t break apart even as you feel the weight of him rest at the foot of the bed, knowing they must’ve come to an understanding, otherwise they wouldn’t be in here together. All you can manage is a hiccup of his name as your breath stutters out.
“I’m gonna sit with you until my shift, Jack’s says he’s gotta run home and then he’ll be back.” A shift of his legs and loosening of his arms allows you to pull back a bit to glance over at said man. He’s calmly sipping at his coffee, eyes a little greener and a little less brown despite only a lamp being on in the room.
“Just need to grab a change of clothes and my work bag, shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He probably needs to grab his own medication, you think, recalling the way he rubbed at the end of his leg after removing his prosthetic the night before. It looked irritated but he assured you it didn’t bother him all that much, it was just the way it went with his weight resting in the cradle. Sleeping on the couch to ensure someone was in the house but not impeding on your privacy by being in your room, giving you the space you needed after a hectic and emotional day. He did sit with you in the bed until sleep and the medication worked its magic, which you’re thankful for.
“And then I’ll be here after he leaves, so you’re not alone at all.” Robby settles back against the headboard and begins to eat off his plate. He looks tired, well, more tired than usual. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his scruff is a bit less tamed that usual. They certainly don’t need to take up rounds after their shifts, they need rest too, if anything they need it more. It’s not like you’re a patient that needs constant observation.
“I can manage just fine.” You glance around the room, butterflies awakening at the realization that they’re both in your room and getting along like normal. Vulnerability and a bit of nervousness arises when you spot your robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door. They care and it’s a little overwhelming, if comforting.
“But you don’t have to.” Jack grips an ankle atop the bed, your skin tingling at the contact even despite the fabric of your socks and sweats. He ducks his gaze to catch your eyes and you can’t bring yourself to break the contact even as your heart begins to speed up. “We take care of our own.”
-
Robby averts his eyes as Jack leans over to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth, murmuring a quiet thank you for the breakfast before he leaves. His steps are quiet as he walks through the house, the door opening and closing- signaling that you and Robby are alone.
The quiet is comfortable, but there’s a hint of something in the air that’s new- a bit of hesitancy.
So you decide to break it the only way you know how.
“It was his boobs,” You take a sip from your mug, smile curling your lips as you do so. Robby coughs, thumping a fist to his chest as his bite of toast gets caught. His breath wheezes out, eyes wide as he looks at you across the bed. His eyes betray him as flit down to your own chest for the briefest of moments.
“Je-sus.”
Setting the mug back down, you turn to get the weight off your injured side but also to face the man more completely.
“Be honest with me, Michael.” You both know what you’re talking about, those moments where it seems like there might be more than friendship here. The late nights falling asleep against each other on the couch, the lingering touches that occur sometimes….there’s something.
It’s beyond the stresses of working together, the knowing each other for years, knowing each other’s darkest secrets born of drunken outbursts and admittance- it’s companionship and understanding in the based form, evolving over time similar to a rock being smoothed by a river’s flow.
The fact that you’re one of the very few people that he allows to call him by his first name means a whole lot more than either of you say aloud. Hell, even Dana and Jack call him Robby. At least, from your limited observation of them interacting at work but you’re sure it carries over into personal interactions. A wall put up that allows the man some semblance of privacy while still giving him that connection with them. Protection, sense of self identity he cradles close like the pendent on his necklace. It’s there for people to glimpse at, but not uttered.
“I’ve always had a soft spot for you, you know that.”
“Do I though?”
“Maybe the…context has changed over time.” The words are aimed more to the bedspread than to you, his eyes downcast and his hands fumbling with each other in his lap.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“When do I ever, really?”
“When it’s too much and you lash out in anger or frustration,” Palm up, a hand goes out in front of you as you casually explain.
“It was when you were fixing the strings of my hoodie one day during a shift.” The admittance is low, the gravel of his voice more pronounced, as if the weight of the words lend them the texture. Your eyes dance over his features, from the wrinkles around his eyes that flow up into his short hair to the grey streak tucked in his beard between his bottom lip and chin. “It was so busy, like aways, but you took that moment to focus on me and I nearly kissed you for it. It was only later that I spiraled over realizing that I wanted to.”
You think you recall the day, but you aren’t too sure. Shifts and moments blurring small actions like that almost instinctual at this point when it comes to one Michael Robinavich.
Contemplative silence envelopes you both again.
“Well I didn’t know you’ve been mooning over Jack.”
“That’s…girl talk.”
“You girl talk with me.”
“Yeah, sometimes. About most things. About bad dates and bad sex but this felt…silly.” Heat crops up below your skin at the memories of ogling Jack around the department. Trinity catching you and doing so along with you despite her preference for women. She admitted to the appeal of Jack’s demeanor and humor, which made your stomach flutter as he spared you two a glance at the mention of his name. Both of your dispersing rather quickly, causing your hip to creak and you to freeze and catalogue the feeling. A mouthed ‘you okay’ and a wink when you nodded signaled the end of your shift and a rather long session with your imagination.
“Why?”
“Because he’s your best friend.”
“You’re my best friend.”
“You can only have one best friend,” The childish regulation bursts from you lips with a slight pout, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket over your lap.
“You’re my…” His lips form your name and your thoughts all melt away. “You’re mine.”
Your breath hitches at the conviction in his voice, clear and striking. Desperate. He doesn’t mean best friend.
“You have me, Michael.” Assurance comes easy, even if your heart aches a little at the thought of Jack. Of course your friend chooses now to confess, right when you find a mutual interest and attraction with another man. With his best friend. Deep down, you know it’s not because of that, but because of the injury that took you down. Robby being the one to scream your name across the department with a startling volume tinged with fear. The glaring truth is that you want both of them, getting to know Jack was like a breath of fresh air but also felt like finding a piece of yourself you didn’t even realize you’d lost somewhere along the way. It’s not traditional, it’s not…“Everyone always says you can have one love.”
“Fuck everyone. We can do whatever we want. All three of us.”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer with words, instead closing the gap and capturing your lips with his. Pent up feelings and warm breath press heavily into you and you grasp at his face for balance, overwhelmed. The kiss isn’t hurried, it’s slow, it’s lingering. Like Robby is taking it all in, the moment, the shift, all of it. His lips are slightly chapped, his beard scraps gently against your skin, his hands find your arms and help you press closer to him.
His hands reach and guide, your legs moving to straddle him carefully. The new stretch is a little much but the feel of him wrapping around you completely dulls the faint ache in your hips. Palms flat, his fingers brush the bare skin of your shoulders and back, the tank top you’re wearing not hiding much from him.
-
“Knock, knock.” Jack calls out as he opens the front door with your borrowed spare key. He brings in a few trips of bags, not wanting to overload himself all in one go. Once he’s got them all in the house and the door is shut, you shift from underneath the pile of blankets you burrowed under atop the couch.
“Hmm, take out, please?” You pop out your bottom lip as you look over the back of the couch toward Jack in the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the groceries he just brought in, the bags set on the counters neatly. You imagine that the insides are organized and orderly, much like the contents of his personal and work bags.
“I specifically asked Robby what your favorite foods are and looked at your grocery list.” He points a thick finger at the list on the fridge, the notepad it’s on decorated with little sharks swimming around the edges of lined page.
“But a burger and fries sound so good right now. Like a big ole half pound burger,” You mime holding it up with two hands, “You can take a bite out of. With crispy, perfect fries and dipping sauce!”
“Not a fan of smash burgers?”
“No,” You deadpan, all excitement about food gone in the blink of an eye.
“Got it, no smashburgers.” A resolute nod, filing away the information like it’s a state sanctioned secret.
“Good.” You fold your arms over the back of the couch and rest your chin atop them. “So where are we getting burgers from?”
“I like it when you’re bossy,” He tosses you a little smirk as he begins to unpack the bags, the paper rustling loudly as he does so.
“I’m not bossy, I’m particular.” His muscles flex as he puts things away and all you can do is stare. The freckles along his arms standing out in the bright sunshine of the day. There’s a quiet domesticity about the whole thing, the same wandering thoughts Robby admitted to having play in your mind now. It would be…difficult to manage the relationship amidst all three of your schedules…
And while you don’t necessarily mind being the one who does a majority of the “traditional” things like keeping up with the errands and meals and plans, you know they would both do their best to contribute in those regards. The reality is that Robby works an extended two to four hours a day past the end of his shift- on average. And then there’s Jack. You know he does part time hours at the local police station and often times comes in to help during peak hours on his days off. You aren’t sure if…
If you’re worth it, them altering their habits just to spend time with you.
Even if they tell you straight to your face or with actions when their voice fails them as thoughts become overwhelming, you’ll always feel that little niggling feeling of doubt in the back of your mind that you’re enough for either of them, for both of them.
He’s walking over toward the back of the couch, leaning over so he’s level with you.
His hazel eyes assess your faraway look, before he leans in and pecks his lips to the corner of your mouth.
-
Lunch out at a local place with Jack was…endearing to say the least. His easy-going attitude, the way he kept close, his watchful eyes sparkling in the spotty cloud cover of the day. His truck is much like your own, an older model without all the new screens and connection possibilities, though way better kept up than yours.
He’s a gentleman, helping you into and out of the passenger side and making sure that you’re set on your feet with the aid of your cane before walking side by side with you. He’s goddamn magnetic, but you already knew that, it’s just interesting to see outside of work. It’s hard to remind yourself that you’ve never really interacted with him much because he feels so…familiar. You know himand he knows you- simple as that.
When you order a plum saison, he just tosses you a lopsided grin across the booth and orders the same. No lecture on the cons of mixing medication and alcohol, no lectures, no eye roll- just an easy acceptance that that’s the drink of choice alongside some ice-cold water.
A game of pool turned into a little stand and sway as one of your favorite songs plays over the speaker system.
You stumble a bit as a muffled crack sounds from your lower back, Jack using his prosthetic to steady you. You hang your head to focus on the next few steps, an odd feeling of foreignness in your own body creep up.
“One step backwards isn’t anything to worry about, baby,” Jack guides you backwards carefully, body pressing to yours. And then he’s gripping your waist and a hand, gently swaying your bodies in an easy motion to the low music. A wink, a tilt of his head, the curve of his smile- it’s all so him that it makes your heart thrum and your own smile crop up. “Just a part of the dance is all.”
A few more steps around the space, a few more have turns and a careful dip and then-
Suddenly there’s a tightening in your chest, the feel of this man wrapped around you- holding you and humming along to the song is so utterly surreal. He senses it the moment it happens, before your smile even has a chance to melt and your eyes lose that brightness he spurred in them with his attention.
The moment feels so important but also like it’s just the start of something that is to become a new normal, it’s…mystifying and thrilling but also terrifying all at the same time. Because you aren’t sure where it’s all coming from, where this person came from.
“Jack…” Your eyes find his, the captivating swirl of greens, blues, and brows of his hazel eyes stealing the words you weren’t even sure you knew how to form. Mouth a little dry and heart picking up like you’ve just run a mile, which is absurd, given the circumstances. His eyes soften, the wrinkles around them deepening as his expressions shifts to something more serious, more understanding.
“I know.” Is all he says, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, hands tightening around you. The flecks in his eyes are bright, pulling you in. You feel nervous without the haze of arousal swirling between you two, he must see the hesitancy because he closes the space.
He kisses you deeply, showing you how he feels. That he cares and recognizes what is blooming just as you do- the weight of it could be damning. It pairs so nicely with the red hot excitement that flares in your chest, lighting you up from the inside out.
-
“There she is! How ya feelin’, doll?” Dana greets loudly, her arms coming around you in a tight hug, though she keeps her hips from bumping into your own. The cane in your hand is gently steadied by the toe of Jack’s boot from where he stands beside you both. “God, that was such a scene the other day, I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Me too, it’s been rather nice being off to rest.”
“Not to mention running your two men in circles I bet, they doin’ everything you need them to?” She lowers her voice conspiratorially, one of her brows raising and her eyes glittering with a knowing look. “They been in and out on the dot, talking to each other as if giving status reports so I just figured.”
“Dana.” Heat blooms in your chest, not so much embarrassment but something at being caught so quickly.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” She winks, releasing you and checking the tablet in her hand. “Just don’t need to hear any details.”
Robby rounds a corner, jaw jumping as he contains some sort of emotion from his last patient. Just as his eyes scan the open area of the centra hub, he sees you both- his face relaxing just a bit.
A loud clang of metal has you ducking fully to hide behind the counter, heart racing and blood pumping. Your hands flying to the holster that you now longer where around your hip. It isn’t until a moment goes by that you realize Jack is using his body to shield yours, chest over your back and his arms covering your head.
“Easy, easy,” Jack soothes as you both move to stand, a nurse looking apologetic and like she’s gonna melt from the shame of clipping a machine on a doorway passing by with her head ducked low. Robby just sighs, pats her on the shoulder and then makes his way over to where you stand.
“You two are supposed to be resting.”
“We brought you a burger.” You hold up a bag and wiggle it at him, smile on your face as Jack’s hand’s move into his pockets. He eyes the grease stains on the paper bag, the content air you and Jack have about you, the slight sparkle in your eye.
“Drinking on your meds is a no no.” Robby takes the bag from you and sets it down on the counter, digging into it immediately. He pulls out the foil wrapped burger and opens it enough to take a huge bite, his nose scrunching as he takes a deep breath through it.
“Psh, okay Dr. Robinavich.” Jack does nothing to smother his chuckle at the roll of your eyes or the fact that Dana sneaks a hand into the open bag for a few fries before disappearing. Robby can only take a deep breath that scrunches his nose up in that unique way while his mouth it full of his bite and train wide eyes on you.
With a wave, you turn your back on him and haul Jack away by a small hand in his own. Over his shoulder, Jack just shrugs and overs Robby a half smile. Dana tries to keep her laughter quiet as she watches Robby swallow and stare after your figures as they disappear down a hallway. He just turns to look at her with a blank expression and she steals a few more fries before moving on like nothing happened.
-
As soon as you’re through the door, Jack’s thick hands are ushering you through your home and toward the rooms at the back. The guest room passes by in a blur of color and sunlight, your own a little darker a little more private, a little more secret. He’s gentle in the way he guides you, all silent direction and lingering touches that light you hotter than the summer sun.
Waves of it would be visible if it weren’t for the blackout curtains partially pulled closed over your windows, shielding you both from the daylight and the eyes of those who might happen to be walking along the side of their own house so close to yours. But it doesn’t matter, none of it does- only the two of you do, the skin slowly revealed to hungry, needy eyes.
Lips seeking each other, tongues tracing and licking and soothing, teeth biting and nipping, whines and whimper, grunts and moans loosing into the air of the room as you two explore each other fully for the first time. His skin is so hot to the touch, his freckles just light dark enough on his skin to look like a smattering of stars across the sky through your bleary eyes and it is a wonderful sight.
Your breath leaves you as he pushes against your shoulders through a kiss to get you to lay down completely, his teeth catching on your bottom lip to allow a hallowed-out sound through. He utters your name in a dangerously low, delicious tone that has pleasure racing up your spine to tingle right beneath your breastbone.
He’s so big, so broad, his body heavy atop yours as he presses to you. The heft of him ghosts your fluttering entrance, pulling a moan from you. You shift your hips, trying to get him to move just that little bit closer, your arms flex as you hold on to his neck, burying your face into his chest and grind against him. The swollen head of his cock sliding effortlessly through your wet lips.
Then he catches, just the barest hint breaches and your breath stalls in your throat, releasing in a guttural sound that has him twitching.
“You tell me if it’s too much, you hear me?” Jack murmurs, so fucking softly, as he brings your legs up around his waist and holds the weight of them with his hands around your thighs. Ensuring you don’t strain yourself, that you don’t agitate any soreness. Even as he’s about to rock his hips against yours in a sinful rhythm that’s sure to undo all of his careful consideration.
“D-don’t, just-“ You moan out at the teasing feel of his throbbing head just inside of you. You manage to keep your eyes open long enough, lashes fluttering, to meet his eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulders and the freckles there dance just outside the range of your vision. God, he’s so beautiful. “Just fuck me, Jack, please.”
And he does, slowly sheathing himself with a slow roll of his hips into the cradle of yours. You both throb, bodies reveling in the connection, in the easy glide of him through the wet smear you’ve made and into the dripping warmth you know must feel like almost too tight a hold around him if his tucked chin is any indication. But then his gaze knocks back up and his eyes are intense, focused, and catch yours.
All you get is huff of your name before he’s moving against you in a way that has your eyes rolling back and your lungs fighting for air. His chest brushes yours as he leans over to whisper utter filth close to your ear, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you fit around him, how he’s gonna stretch you out until you’re begging for him to fill you up.
And you’ll be damned, because that’s exactly what happens. He’s a man of his word after all.
-
Evening approaches as most things, quietly and inevitably.
You and Jack are lounging on the couch, a realty show playing. Something Jack is more amused by your chatter about than the show itself, but it’s a soft thing to be here like this. The edges of the day are like those of a water color painting, faded and not really outlined clearly. Things just are what they are, discernable at a glance, no need to dwell on them too much. Big things happened today, small things happened today. But today was still just another day in a long line of them.
Somewhere along the fourth and fifth episodes, Jack’s hands begin to rub at the exposed part of his leg he’s normally got pushed and secured into his prosthetic. Shorts that were once sweatpants low on his hips and chest bare as the heated blanket on the couch paired with the heating system of the house becomes too much for him as you try to combat it against the chill outside. His leg knows though, of course.
So you reach across from where you’ve got your feet in his lap, moving so your head is there now and shuffle to rest your cheek on a thick thigh. Hand cupping his over the end of his leg and gently nudging it away to take over in soft caresses. The hand you moved now settles over the dip of your waist, fingers sneaking to rest just under the band of your own sweatpants.
Another episode later, you’re in his lap while you two exchange languid kisses and reveling touches.
Two episodes later, his cock is out of his pants and your hand wraps around it as you grind against the flexed thigh of his good leg.
And then you two are in your room once again, his crutches clattering loudly against the nightstand where he leans them as you lay back on the bed and shimmy out of your clothing.
“Turn over for me, sweetheart, wanna see you this way, that okay?” You scramble up on your hands and knees atop the bed, moving your hips experimentally to see how things feel in this position. After a few moments of stretching, Jack’s hands land softly on your back and pull you toward him.
A tall shadow eclipses the entrance to the room. Jack’s hips don’t stop and your desperate sounds only get louder. The entire room is filled with the erotic sounds of soft thuds from the headboard, the wet slap of skin on skin, Jack’s gravely voice cooing at you and your answering whines. Certainly, something Robby can get used to being greeted with after every shift. Tangle of limbs and support pillows that you make up atop the bed shift only a little as you try and peer over at him, pupils blown wide and glazed over.
Summar: Sarah is excited. Joel is conflicted. And you just stand by for moral support as the two realize this will be the first summer they spend apart since her birth. They both need you, his wife and her mother figure- settled into life in such a good way that you never thought you'd find.
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: canon typical language, cussing, brief mention of anxiety, fluffiness, sexual content, adult content, piv, dirty talk, pet names- so many pet names, established relationship, vacation joel, soft joel, girl dad! joel, oof this is just so so soft and horny y'all, strained family dynamics (talk and feelings), not much else but lemme know if i missed anything!
A/N: these two mean so much to me. what started as a cheesy little one shot turned into such a lovely series that i'm not quite ready to say goodbye to. one more chapter to go, y'all
ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi
It’s finally the day.
The official start of the summer season and the first that Joel will be separate from his daughter for so long. Her soccer camp finally arriving and all approved of and squared away. Her hours at the bakery increased to evenings she didn’t have practice and the work light enough to not tire out her teenage body any more than her long hours at school and the strenuous training in order to qualify for the camp.
Joel is equal parts proud, excited, stressed, worried…you name it. Your fingers turn over the pendant around your neck as you watch the man pack the back of the truck and make sure the cooler has enough ice for the trip. The campgrounds hosting the program is a good four or so hours away, a long trip for the three of you. Akin to the cabin that was visited over the holiday to celebrate the rather surprise nuptials between you and Joel.
There is just something about being away from the city limits that does something to the two of you…
But then again, you crossed paths at a campsite up in the closest mountainous state park more than a year ago now. The fresh outdoors and the scent of pine allowing for the stressors of city life to fall away from your mind. Everything just seems so much more manageable out in nature, with something cooking over an open fire and a cozy tent to curl up in once night settles over the land.
It’s all so simple, it makes you feel human. It makes you feel like everything will be okay, like you can rise above the issues of your family and Joel can manage his anxiety. If there should ever be a time where people could return to simpler lives, without the restrictions of politics and capitalism, you’re sure it would allow for some who are burdened to flourish. Though you’re sure there are those who would turn into robbers and give in to immoral tendencies but that’s neither here nor there at the moment…
You watch him now, still, organizing the bed of the truck, the cab of the truck. His jeans hushing and his hips swaying as he makes trips back and forth from inside the open garage to further down the driveway where it’s parked. His shoulders taut as he carries things without so much as a glance over to you or Sarah, who is up in her room gathering the last of whatever she may need.
You’d reminded her to pack last night, as did Joel all week long, but she had yet to do it until after breakfast this morning. Her excitement a little overwhelming and making it hard to focus on what to include in her duffle bag. It was a late night, though Joel insisted she get a decent night’s sleep after dinner and a few episodes of reality tv that he indulged you both in. He says he’s not into it, says that it’s trash tv that will rot your brains but you see him hovering in the doorways when you two watch the new episodes every week. You patiently wait for the day that he joins you on the couch as the opening theme plays, but until then you’ll let him think you don’t know any better about his piqued interest.
The night was spent braiding Sarah’s hair in preparation for her time away. Her worries about girls wanting to touch her hair and getting it wet, small stresses that she admitted to you and her father both.
So you do what you could to help ease them.
Right now that meant giving them the space to do as they needed to this morning- each respectively pack to feel in control of the situation. Joel glances at you out of the corner of his eye and you see him do a double take at the flash of the pendent between your fingers, lifted from where it normally rests.
“Looka sight there, sweetheart.” He ambles over to you after loading what seems to be the last of the pile he’s deemed important. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you in close, lips pecking the tip of your nose to hear the giggle spring from your mouth before he captures it with his own.
You lean into him, back arching. His nose presses into yours and the scruff he’s let grow a little longer rasps against your skin in an almost ticklish way. The dark shade of it makes your stomach flutter and your head dip into dangerous territory, the honeymoon phase Maria calls it. But then again, she’s two years into twins and still admits to acting like you do most of the time when it comes to Tommy. His little experimental goatee of the summer doing things to her she couldn’t quite explain.
“She’s gonna be okay,” You whisper against his lips, foreheads resting and his eyes closed as he just takes a moment to breath. His fingers clench and he nods against you, knowing you’re right but still holding that paternal worry he will for all his days.
My wife, my wife, my wife…
Joel has no shame nor hesitation in saying the words, the sentiment, in introducing you that way to everyone that he can. It warms your heart and makes your stomach flutter. Rings catching attention just as much as his “sudden” relationship according to the gossip of some of the more jealous mothers tittering around the camp. But you pay them no mind, focus solely on Joel by your side and Sarah bouncing around completely in her element.
You’d think that with your increased attendance to games throughout the year and fundraisers, school pick up that they would realize you’re a permanent fixture in the man’s life. Especially after there being no one for as long as Sarah has been a part of his. But you don’t simmer on the details, choosing instead to revel in the attention and doting Joel does as he checks your family in for the weekend camping leading up to the Monday drop off for the summer camp.
Sarah is bouncing. The outdoors something she enjoys and soccer something she definitely enjoys. A small bubble of time with you and her dad before her first camp experience? It’s got her amped up like nothing you’ve ever seen before. It makes you happy to see her this way, it’s nearly infectious as you feel warmth bubble up in your chest and content in your own right.
A quick trek to the campgrounds to scope out your assigned spot was easy, Joel guiding the truck along the flagged path and right into the spot marked Miller.
Sarah bounces off, while you and Joe l begin to unload the truck bed. You’ve got a good view of the campground loop from your spot in the bed, standing up and handing things down to Joel’s waiting hands down on the ground. As you take in the lively scene of families doing much the same- setting up camp for the weekend, you still completely.
There’s an errant longing for such activities as a child, though everything was focused on your brother the moment he was born. Anything like this involved him and your parents, your sister and you left to your own devices. You frown, guess you found something new to talk about in therapy once back in Austin.
You startle when Joel’s hand closes around your ankle, the call of your name finally reaching your wandering mind.
“You okay, darlin’?” His brown eyes are concerned and you realize he’s been trying to get your attention for a few moments.
“Yeah, sorry,” Shaking your head, you focus on finishing up the campsite. Two tents, a hammock, chairs around the fire pit, coolers placed around the table and situated in the back of the truck for easy access.
And then you and Joel decide to wander the grounds, to see what all Sarah has to do during her summer here.
You’re talking to a group of nicer women at the entrance to the cafeteria building, one of your cards in each of their hands as you discuss the details of what you each do for a living. They’re nice, not fake like some of the mothers and you admit to how this is your first time doing anything like this- but that you’re all for the experience with your found family.
The only clue you get as to what’s going to happen next is the shift of their eyes from you to behind you, but you catch it too late.
Hands curl over your shoulders, spinning you around and then you find yourself looking at a rather enticing ass enclosed in dark green cargo pants as you’re hauled over a shoulder. A small sound of protest is all you can muster, not truly bothered by the antics of a happy Joel Miller but still caught off guard nonetheless. His smell is intoxicating mixed with the trees and fresh air, especially pressed up against you.
“Sorry ladies, need to borrow my wife for a moment. Excuse us,” Joel’s voice rumbles behind you, one of his hands curled securely around your waist while the other rests on your own ass. All you can do is offer them a wave and a dazed expression you hope doesn’t look too far gone as Joel carries you to wherever he’s got in mind. “She’ll be around later!”
“Joel Miller, what are you doing?” Laughter kind of takes the accusation out of your question, instead filling his chest with that innate feeling of ‘mine, mine, mine’ that he can’t seem to fight off seeing you interact with so many people in the new setting for the both of you. Sarah is off somewhere getting the supply pack provided for the weekend and said she would meet back up in time for supper.
“Takin’ you back to camp,” His voice is gruff and if you didn’t know him like you do, you’d think he was upset. But you do know him and he’s doing everything he can to tamp down on his protective streak, which sends a spark right down your back. All you can do is wave at the group of women who are staring open mouthed and giggling with a wide smile. In less than ten minutes, Joel’s got you on your back with your legs up on his shoulders as he thrusts into you with little grunts. His teeth skimming your neck as he bends over you completely.
Stars sparkle on the edges of your vision as your lashes flutter, his name passing quietly through your lips.
“Ain’t gonna let you outta my sight again, too many men gettin’ ideas in their heads when they look at ya," Joel’s voice is pure gravel, harsh words and low tone. He’s wound up, but you aren’t complaining if this is the result. His chest pressing to yours, his body rocking yours along with it, the feel of him thick and needy between your legs. Bare and hard, slick leaking from you both to create wonderful, intoxicating friction. “Boys too, eyein’ ya up and down, but you’re mine, ain’t ya darlin’?”
A hard thrust focuses your attention back on his words, on him and not just what he’s doing to you, wrecking you the way he knows how to do like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He knows you, in all the ways that count.
“Yes, yes, Joel, only yours,” The plea is pushed from your chest, heat prickling intensely behind your hips as you careen toward the edge. With one last thrust, he begins to grind, hitting that spot deep inside and pressing, pressing, pressing until you fall over the edge with a bite of your bottom lip and your hands twisting in his hair. His heavy panting lasts another second before a groan sounds in your ear. The hot feel of his release fills you, making you shudder.
Heavy breath circles around you both, chests expanding and brushing each other from how closely pressed together your bodies are. His head thumps heavily into yours, his lashes fanning against his flushed cheeks as he pants, your name leaving him in a reverent tone. He twitches, still buried deep inside you, making you whimper out his name in response and you see the curl of his lips as the satisfaction of the moment shows.
From that moment on, he keeps a hand on you at all times. Not out of possession but out of the need to feel close to you. Currently, his knee is knocked against yours as you both sit in front of the fire and enjoy the early evening, Sarah on the other side of the pit and doing her best to burn every marshmallow in the jumbo sized bag he purchased at the store.
“Bye dad! Bye mom!” Sarah hollers over her shoulder as she bounds off, arm in arm with another girl, happy as can be and so excited. You, however, are in a bit of shock as you turn wide eyes toward Joel, whose hand is frozen midair in the wave he was giving his daughter. He turns a similar expression to you, brows nearly up in his hairline as he regards you.
The moment is shattered by the call of your name but someone you never expected to run into here of all places.
Your sister.
The one who you’ve had no contact with for years at this point. The competition and comparison from your parents driving a wedge between you two and once she left the house for college that was the end of communication. But as you turn to the direction her voice came from, she’s walking up to you with a little girl at her side.
At about half of Sarah’s age, the little girl is doing her best to hide behind her mother’s legs. Your niece, someone whose birthday cakes you make annually but have never seen since her actual birth. It stings and while Joel may not know who this woman is, he must have hunch because one of his hands reaches for yours and squeezes.
An ache forms in your jaw from how hard you clench your teeth at the way her eyes rove up and down Joel’s form. No shame in the action whatsoever, her hand drumming over her daughter’s shoulder in almost an afterthought. She does the same to you, her eyes halting on the rings around your fingers.
The laugh that escapes her is tinged with bitterness.
Lighting you up in a rather unpleasant way.
“I don’t remember you, are you my uncle?” The little girl breaks the awkward standoff.
“Of course not, there’s no way my dear little sister would run off and get married without telling anyone, isn’t that right?” And her look is filled with a silent threat, to not undermine her, to not argue her words in front of her daughter, to just not.
You can’t find it in yourself to care about what she wants, not after her literally running away herself and then demanding things of you through your parents as the years continued with no concern for you personally.
“Actually, this is your uncle, honey.” You crouch down and reach for your niece, her shy expression immediately breaking and a gummy smile taking over her features. “His name is Joel and he’s super nice and has a daughter here too. Her name is Sarah Miller if you need a friend, okay?”
She detaches from her mother and runs into your waiting arms, her laughter doing the same thing Sarah’s does, warming you from the inside out.
“I missed you, aunty.” Glimpses and cards, photos and barely scribbled communications aren’t enough, she’s growing up in a household you’re sure she needs more from. It makes you feel guilty to have the though, but you know your sister.
“Missed you too, honey. You come by the shop any time you want, okay? We can have fun and spend some time together.”
“Don’t you think that’s my decision?” Snarky words, no real heat. You realize she’s just fighting to fight, because it’s all she knows. Something you’ve given up on long ago, before you even crossed paths with Joel. But you broke the pattern because of him, the strained contact with his help and support. But she’s right, you did up and get married without telling anyone. It…is one of the hardest decisions you ever had to make, but you think it’s the right one even now. Nothing about the day was ruined or made to be about someone else, no bit event that could’ve been usurped countless ways or miscommunication that undoubtably would’ve occurred should your family have been present.
Just a simple, spur of the moment day for you and Joel.
You want more moments like that, for yourself. For her.
“I think it’s worth talking about, yeah.” You look up at your sister, standing with your niece in your arms and she extends a hand to run it over Joel’s curls. He leans his head lower towards her and she giggles at his wink and whispered ‘hey there little lady’, his drawl so much thicker than the accents you and your family don’t have.
“If you ever need help with her in the afternoons or just want a night for you and Theo to yourselves, you can always call me. My phone number has been the same all these years, I’m willing if you are.”
Joel’s arm around your back makes you brave enough to say the words, not simply mull them over only to swallow them down. His quiet strength and support giving you the space to figure out what you want out of life and figure out how to go about making it a possibility.
She’s quiet for a long while, watching you and Joel fawn over her little girl. All of the fight and tension leaving her as she blows out a heavy breath. There’s not need for pretense here, in this beautiful state park surrounded by trees and the smell of pine in the air. Children’s laugher and the anticipatory sense of summer in floating all around.
Memories of brushing each other’s hair, of playing with easy bake ovens and keeping each other company, of giggling late into the night and shushing each other to avoid getting caught…they all swamp her, breaking the damn she’s built around herself the second your mother started comparing achievements and grades.
She doesn’t want to do that to her daughter, to you anymore, she just doesn’t have it in her anymore to put up with the expectations put into place by someone who only takes and takes and takes. She wants to give all she has to her daughter, to you maybe- if you’ll allow her to. Even if it might be too late…
“Theo is actually…out of the house.” She says, focus on your rings again. “It’s a long story.”
“Come by the house sometime, I’ll grill or cook and y’all can sit out on the back porch and catch up,” Joel offers, genuinely wanting to do what he can to help. The tough façade your sister holds onto cracks around the edges and her single nod is a good enough answer. The fight is no longer fueling her, the senseless need for it, knowing now that you will not rise to it. She ushers your niece toward the check in stand and then it’s just you and Joel standing side by side.
The glance she tosses over your shoulder is reassurance that she’s willing to try, it’s enough to make you take the interaction as something different from all the others you’ve shared before.
The skirt of your dress lays high around your thighs, the skin exposed to the low sun as the truck ambles down the last hundred miles toward home. Joel’s wedding band glistens on his finger as he grips the steering wheel, his sunglasses shielding his eyes from the strong rays though they do nothing to hide the glances he’s giving your side of the cab.
You ignore them for the most part, idly writing in your small work notebook. The string that holds your place while it’s shut and bound secure by an elastic band is trailing over the leg closest to Joel and his eyes trace the movement as if he’s a cat- completely enamored. The humming you’re doing isn’t helping, the low sounds coming from you striking like a match in the small space and electrifying his nerves.
It hadn’t been hard, per se, to refrain from being intimate with you during the trip. It was about Sarah, her first trip being so far away from him and for so long. But it had been something simmering just beneath his skin the moment the truck’s tires crossed over the city line from Austin. Being out beyond the limits always allows him a breath of fresh air, this he knows, he recognizes it and appreciates it in you. As a fellow business owner and hard worker for everything you’ve got, you appreciate time away, time that is well deserved and meant for something other.
Even if it was seldom something experienced- individually or together.
This will be the first time he’s sharing his space with you alone. Truly alone. He can wake in the morning and walk around in nothing but his boxer briefs. Hell, he could walk around in nothing should he want to, just to see your reaction. He knows you like the backside view just as much as the front, he’s seen the glint in your eye when he’s turned around and you reach for a handful of his ass afterwards.
It’s exciting, to feel so comfortable with someone, with you, to not feel self-conscious of his body or his aches from his line of work. He hopes you feel the same, though he notices the dim of your eyes when he lingers on your stomach too long or the space just below your shoulder blades, though he doesn’t dare speak anything about it. He praises you instead, both during times of passion and everyday moments.
He pictures you joining him in the kitchen in nothing but an apron, the ties tight to accentuate your frame and he shifts his hips. The truck roars as the gas pedal gets a little extra pressure.
“Woah there, Evil Kinevil.” You laugh, hands having reached out for the dashboard.
“Sorry, sorry.” Is all he can muster up, his thoughts racing, his blood pumping hot through his veins and almost buzzing, body so sensitive all of a sudden at the mere thought of you even as you sit serenely beside him with his ring on your finger.
Miles and miles go by, eaten up by the tread on the tires as the truck travels down the highway. But Joel’s focus is barely registering anything beyond the skin on display beside him, sure he’s paying attention as an errant car passes by or he shifts lanes to pass by a semi-truck himself but that’s about it to be quite frank.
The sign for a rest stop crops up, displaying it’s only a mile up ahead and Joel feels himself harden, his jeans not doing much to hide the way he fills out but you’re so into the book in your hands- switched to some smutty romance that is not helping the pull he feels towards you.
The small surprised sound you make as he takes the exit at too sudden a jerk shouldn’t excite him the way it does but he’s only a man. The breathy gasp as you’re pulled from the depths of your fictional world something to behold as it settles right between his legs and makes him twitch.
Your eyes rove over him and read him plan as day. Hands rushing to remove your seatbelt as the truck stops in the furthest spot away from the little building that makes up the rest stop. There’s a smattering of tables and benches under canopies for those who want fresh air and kitschy grills in the shape of the state that neither of you pay much mind to as you push from the truck cab.
Joel picked the spot with a protected table, some sort of stone alcove over it allowing for privacy even if the lot is empty. The highway is far away enough that it’s not an issue but Joel still stalks close behind you as you enter the alcove.
As soon as you’re close enough to the table, you lean over to place your palms on it, looking back over your shoulder at Joel- his chest already heaving and his jeans struggling to hold him with how worked up he’s managed to get himself. you barely get out a whisper of his name before he moves.
A teasing palm lands on your backside, skirt flipped up and exposing you to Joel’s hungry eyes. He makes a low sound as he watches the ripple of your skin then does it again, just a bit harder. You jerk forward slightly, the prickle of pleasure between your thighs intensifying and your arousal shines in the harsh sun for him to see. A thumb swipes through it, not quite delving between your swollen lips but simply petting, caressing, teasing.
“Always sit so pretty f’me, baby,” He croons as you lean over to put your palms on the top of the table in front of you, bending to allow him easier access. He doesn’t waste a moment, hands deftly undoing his belt and zipper, opening the fly up enough for you to feel the length of him against the back of your leg.
He’s wet, leaking from the tip as he drags himself up and down the back of your thigh. One and then the other, before crowding against you and rutting against seam of your weeping cunt. He whimpers at the contact, one of his hands fisting the band of your underwear and pulling it taut against your swollen lips, allowing him an intoxicating view. His other hand holds tight to your hip, blunt nails digging into the fabric of your dress.
“Fuck, darlin’, you feel so good,” He pants, voice dropping to such a low tone it scrapes like grave against your ears. His nose bumps along your ear, his moustache tickling the sensitive skin around it as he grinds and grunts. You’re about to open your mouth to beg when he pulls back suddenly and the sound of ripping fabric echoes around the small alcove.
Your underwear.
It falls to the ground in a pathetic heap.
You barely get to glance at it between your feet before Joel is feeding his cock into you.
Twin moans cover the wet sound of your bodies joining together. His hips unforgiving as he moves against you quickly and harshly, body taking over his mind completely. He’s making your body sing, little sounds leaving you when you manage to catch your breath.
But then-
“Get your knees on up, there you go, just like that, s’perfect,” You’re moving before he even finishes his first sentence, and getting up on top of the table.
Wiggling in your spot as he praises you, body humming, back arching. Joel’s arms reach to hook over your shoulders, his mouth pressing kisses against your temple, your ear, your neck- just as he slides back into you in a measured thrust. The angle allows him to hit deeper, to fill you in a way that is almost overwhelming with your legs tucked underneath your body the way that they are, folded atop the table and almost presented to him in a way that should make you question what you’re doing but all you know it Joel and how he feels as he moves against you, inside you, with you.
A wide palm comes down on the back of your neck, his body curling over yours, pressing against you impossibly hard, his hips slapping against your backside as he gives in to just feeling your body.
You only last a few moments before you’re locking up, tightening around him like a vice as pleasure courses hot through your veins.
His voice is so soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking into you so strong and steady through the tingling aftershocks. He bites into his bottom lip to keep in a deep growl as he pushes into you one last time before flooding you with his own release.
His gaze knocks up as a car takes the exit toward the rest stop.
The only evidence of you two being there is a piece of ripped fabric as Joel’s truck takes off back onto the highway.
Between the heat of the day, the lull of the moving car, and the soothing presence of Joel beside you, you begin to drift off along the ride. Body slumping back into the seat and eyes fluttering shut behind your sunglasses. You don’t even notice that the music is turned down to a lower volume, or that a palm faintly cups your knee as the hour progresses.
As the truck begins to slow down, you rouse from your sleep a fraction. Joel’s deep voice just shushes you, calming you back into that sleepy state as the truck’s engine cuts off. The click of his seatbelt and them yours cuts through the haze of your mind but you don’t stir, still pulled under enough to not really worry about it.
The jangle of keys, the thud of thick soles, the click of a lock- all sounds of coming home don’t even register as Joel moves through the house with you in his arms. He gently settles you down in the clean bed, something you insisted on before leaving for the trip, before leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead.
Chuckling to himself, he makes sure that the curtains are pulled tight before unloading the truck. He lingers in the doorway to Sarah’s room as he makes his way back toward his own, hand on the molding as he looks over all of her things. He misses her already but he’s grateful he has you to help fill the time she’ll be gone for the summer.
