#PedroPascal

[honeyandruin]

Idle Hands - Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader : PART TWO

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Pairing: Auto Shop Teacher!Joel Miller x Reader (college AU)

Summary: Part two of Idle Hands as so many have requested. After the night in your car, you tried to believe it was a mistake (and failed). But back in class, the tension is impossible to ignore—and when jealousy gets the better of him, you both learn you were never going to stop.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Age gap, explicit sexual content, JEALOUS JOOOOEL BABY, unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, possessive Joel, teacher/student dynamic, praise & degradation, power imbalance, aftercare.

Word count: 3k (please don’t hate me that it’s a shorter one than the usuals)

A/N : I tried tagging everyone who asked to be tagged, and if it didn’t work, I’m so sorry!

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The shop smells like motor oil and old concrete.

You stand in the doorway a beat longer than you mean to, gripping the strap of your bag so hard your fingers ache.

Joel is already there, the hood of a rusted-out sedan propped open in front of him. He’s bent over the engine bay, forearms braced on the frame, jaw dark with stubble.

When he straightens, you swear he feels you watching him. His head turns—just slightly—and your eyes catch.

For a second, everything from last week floods back at once: the heat of his mouth, the low sound he made when you begged. The way he’d buried his face against your throat and whispered the filthiest things you’d ever heard.

He doesn’t look away.

His gaze drags down your front—like he just can’t help it—and when he drags it back up again, something in his expression flickers.

He’s trying to be neutral. Professional. But he isn’t ignoring you. And that almost makes it worse.

You take a slow breath, moving to your usual workbench. He watches you go, wiping his hands on a rag he keeps tucked in his back pocket.

“Morning,” he says, voice low. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since he left you in your car with your hands still shaking.

Your heart beats too fast. “Hi.”

He hesitates like he wants to say something else. But the classroom door bangs open behind you—other students filing in, heavy boots echoing across the concrete—and whatever he was going to say dies before it can reach you.

You drop your bag on the stool, pulling out your notes and trying not to fidget.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you a moment longer before he clears his throat and calls the class to order.

“Alright,” Joel says, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Listen up.”

He shifts his weight, bracing one hand on the edge of the workbench, the other still worrying that rag.

“For your final project, you’re gonna do a complete brake system overhaul. Pads, rotors, calipers—front and rear. You’ll bleed the lines, verify pressure, and log every step. If it doesn’t stop on the test drive, you fail.”

Someone groans behind you.

“Yeah,” Joel says flatly. “That’s the point. It’s meant to be hard.”

He sets the rag aside, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you have questions, you ask. Don’t guess. Don’t half-ass. And don’t touch anything you’re not ready to finish.”

His eyes flick to yours again—just for a beat—and your stomach flips.

“Get started,” he says, voice low. “I’ll be around.”

The group breaks apart in a shuffle of boots and muttered complaints. You exhale slowly and pick your way toward your assigned bay, heart thudding.

You spend the next half hour working in silence, carefully removing the first caliper. You can feel Joel nearby—hear the scrape of his boots, the low murmur of his voice as he checks on the others—but he doesn’t come over to you.

You’re trying to focus. Really. But the memory of his mouth on your skin keeps blurring the edges of everything.

That’s probably why you don’t notice Kyle until he’s too close.

“Careful,” he says, leaning an elbow on your bench. “You’re gonna strip the bolt if you keep wrenching it like that.”

You pause, glancing at the caliper bracket in your hands. “No, I’m not. I’m backing it off a half turn at a time so I don’t crack it.”

He smirks, ignoring you. “If you want, I could help you after class. Maybe go over it together? Over dinner?”

Heat crawls up your neck, part embarrassment, part annoyance. You set the part down carefully, wiping your hands on a rag.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, smile widening. “No offense, but it looks like you’re struggling. Wouldn’t want you to mess it up.”

“She’s not.”

You both turn.

Joel is standing a few feet away, arms folded tight across his chest. He’s not pretending to check the other bays anymore. He’s just watching.

Kyle shifts, trying for casual. “Yeah, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Joel cuts in, voice low. “She’s doing it right. Let her work.”

Something in his tone makes Kyle’s smile flicker. He glances at you like he expects you to jump in. When you don’t, he huffs a little laugh and backs away.

“Whatever you say.”

You don’t look up until Kyle’s gone. When you finally meet Joel’s eyes, they’re darker than before—something quiet and furious simmering underneath.

“You don’t need him,” he says, voice rough.

“I know.”

He holds your stare a second longer. Then he pushes off the beam, turns, and walks away—like he has to physically remove himself before he does something about it.

***

The rest of the afternoon drags.

You try to keep your head down, focused on reassembling the caliper and logging each step in your notes. But every time you glance up, Joel is there—never watching directly, but close enough you feel it anyway.

You can tell he’s making himself stay occupied. Finding excuses to check inventory, update paperwork, do anything that keeps him from looking too long.

And you hate how much you like it.

By the time the clock above the door clicks past six, the last of the class is packing up, slamming their lockers shut. Someone mutters a goodbye on the way out. Another kid laughs, cursing about how much his hands hurt.

You pretend to be absorbed in double-checking your torque specs, but your heart is hammering.

You don’t look up until the door closes behind them.

Then it’s just you. And him.

Joel is at the desk again, one hand braced on the top, his other rubbing slow over the back of his neck. He looks tired. Not the usual end-of-the-day tired—something deeper, heavier.

You wipe your hands on a clean rag and gather your notes, forcing yourself to move like nothing feels different. Like the room isn’t too quiet. Like the memory of his mouth on your skin isn’t still playing behind your eyes.

Your boots scuff over the concrete as you cross to his desk.

He doesn’t look up.

“I finished the checklist,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be.

He flips a page in the logbook, staring at it without reading. “Leave it there.”

Your pulse thuds in your throat. “Joel.”

Nothing. Just the tick of the old clock above the tool cabinet.

“I don’t—” You hesitate. “I don’t want this to feel like a mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. “It was a mistake.”

You swallow, fingers flexing on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t look like you thought that at the time.”

He drags a hand over his mouth, exhaling slow. “Don’t.”

You take a step closer. The air between you feels too thin.

“You don’t mean it,” you whisper.

He lifts his head then, finally meeting your eyes—and whatever you were braced for, it isn’t that look.

Wrecked.

His hand curls into a fist on the desk. “You think this is what you want?”

You don’t back down. “I know it is.”

He shakes his head, rough and disbelieving. “You don’t.”

Your voice drops, steady and soft. “Then show me.”

His breath shudders out. For a long second, he just looks at you—like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he’s hoping you will.

You don’t.

And that’s when he moves.

He comes around the desk in three slow steps. Stops just shy of touching you, so close you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

His hand lifts—hesitates—then finds your jaw. His thumb drags along the edge of your mouth, the touch so careful it makes your heart ache.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me for,” he says, voice low and ruined.

Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can hear it. His thumb drags across your lower lip, callused and warm, and you see the moment something in him fractures.

“I’m asking you to fuck me,” you breathe.

He goes still. Completely, utterly still.

A ragged sound tears out of his throat—half growl, half plea—and then his mouth crashes down onto yours.

The kiss isn’t careful. It isn’t soft. It’s all teeth and heat and desperation, the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been clawing at him for weeks. His hands find your hips, dragging you into him so hard you lose your breath.

“Jesus,” he mutters against your mouth, voice hoarse, like he hates himself for how good this feels. “Fuck—”

You don’t give him time to second-guess it. Your hands slide up under the hem of his work shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his stomach. He shudders when your nails scrape lightly over the trail of hair leading lower.

“Goddamn it,” he rasps, and without breaking the kiss, he reaches past you.

The heavy thunk of the deadbolt sliding home is deafening in the hush.

He keeps his mouth sealed on yours, like he can’t bear to stop touching you long enough to think about what he’s doing.

He walks you backward, slow but unrelenting, until your hips hit the edge of the nearest workbench. The cold metal bites through your coveralls. You gasp, and he swallows the sound, groaning into your mouth like it’s killing him.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing your hips, dragging up your ribs. When he finds the zipper at your chest, he hesitates for just a heartbeat.

“You sure?” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You fuckin’ sure?”

“Please,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He tugs the zipper down in one slow pull, the rasp of it loud in the quiet. His palm slides over your chest, thumb brushing the thin fabric of your bra. The contact makes your knees threaten to buckle.

“You have any idea,” he growls, mouth hot against your throat, “what you do to me?”

You try to answer, but he’s already dragging his mouth lower—nipping at the side of your neck, the curve where it meets your shoulder. His free hand rucks the coveralls down your hips, bunching them at your thighs. You feel the rough scrape of his calluses on bare skin, and the noise that slips out of you is embarrassingly needy.

“Look at you,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear. “All fuckin’ sweet now. All mine.”

You drag your hands up his chest, fisting the collar of his shirt to keep yourself steady. He catches your wrists, pins them to the workbench behind you, and holds you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You think that little shit had a chance with you?” His voice drops lower, almost a snarl. “You think I was gonna stand there and watch him touch what’s mine?”

The possessiveness in his tone makes your breath stutter. “Joel—”

“That what you want?” he demands, words hot and ragged against your mouth. “Some fuckin’ boy who doesn’t know what to do with you?”

“No,” you gasp, thighs clenching around his hips. “Want you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, like it’s breaking him to hear it. “You fuckin’ do.”

He lets your wrists go—only to shove your coveralls the rest of the way down. The cold air kisses your skin, and he palms your ass, dragging you flush against the thick line of his cock straining his jeans.

“Feel that?” He grinds against you, making you whimper. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you look at me like you want it.”

Your hips rock into his, chasing the friction. “Please.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough, “gonna give it to you, baby.”

He kisses you again, messy and deep, while his hand drags between your legs. When his fingers find how wet you are, he groans like he’s in pain.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re drippin’.”

His fingers slide through the slick heat, circling your clit just hard enough to make you bite your lip. He watches every reaction like he can’t look away.

“You want me to take my time,” he mutters, thumb pressing harder, “or you want it fast?”

“Fast,” you gasp. “Please—I—”

He cuts you off with a low, filthy laugh. “Course you do.”

He doesn’t waste another second. One hand fists in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you again while the other tugs at his belt, freeing himself. The blunt head of his cock bumps your thigh, hot and heavy, and your breath breaks.

He flips you before you can think, palms flattening between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cold workbench.

“Stay,” he growls, his voice so deep it scrapes something raw out of you.

You brace yourself, fingers curling around the metal edge, and look back over your shoulder.

His eyes meet yours—dark, starved—and something in them flickers.

“Gonna fuck you so good you forget about every other man,” he mutters. “Gonna fill you up so full you remember you’re mine.”

He drags the head of his cock through the slick between your thighs, teasing you just long enough that you whine.

“Say it,” he rasps, hips nudging forward, the stretch already making your vision blur. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choke out, voice breaking. “You—fuck—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking deeper. “All fuckin’ mine.”

When he bottoms out, his hand wraps around the front of your throat, tilting your head back so he can hear every gasp. His hips pull back—and when he slams forward again, the sound it makes is obscene.

Your fingers slip on the workbench. His grip tightens around your throat—just enough to hold you steady—and his other hand slides over your hip, guiding you back to meet each punishing thrust.

“Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. “So tight—so fuckin’ sweet for me.”

You whimper, every thrust sending sparks up your spine.

“That little shit,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Thought he could even touch you—”

He drags his hand lower, finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that make your knees buckle.

“Tell me,” he growls, breath hot in your ear. “Tell me who makes you come.”

“You,” you cry, voice splintering. “God—Joel—please—”

“That’s right,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Only me.”

The pressure builds so fast you can’t think. Can’t breathe. His cock drives into you, relentless, and you know you’re close—so close—

“Come on, baby,” he groans, thumb pressing harder, pace turning erratic. “Come for me.”

Your vision goes white. You shatter around him, hips jerking back into his as your orgasm crashes through you—hot, blinding, unstoppable.

He doesn’t stop. Keeps thrusting through it, hips snapping against your ass, low curses pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—”

You can feel every ragged breath, every shudder, right before he finally spills inside you with a rough, broken sound.

When it’s over, he stays there—forehead against your spine, breath gusting across your skin.

As the last tremor leaves your body, you collapse forward onto your elbows, cheek pressed against the cool metal.

Joel doesn’t move for a second. Just stays bent over you, his hand splayed wide across your stomach, breathing like he’s just run every mile he’s ever owed.

After a moment, he drags in a shaky breath. His palm slides up, brushing the underside of your breast, lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice wrecked.

You nod, your throat too tight to speak.

He slips free with a low groan and tugs your coveralls up enough to give you a shred of modesty. Then his hand cups the back of your neck, warm and heavy, like he can’t stop touching you even if he tried.

“C’mere,” he says softly.

You let him help you turn around. Your legs are unsteady, and he notices—his big hand bracing your hip until you’re upright. You can’t look at his face for a second. Not when you feel so wrung out. So full.

His thumb drags along your jaw. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes flick over your face, something complicated and unspoken in them. Guilt, maybe. Hunger that hasn’t faded. A tenderness you weren’t ready for.

“You wanna come by my place?” he asks, voice low. “Get cleaned up…maybe eat something?”

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Good.”

He steps back, adjusting himself and tucking himself away with one hand, moving like a man who knows he’s going to hell and still can’t bring himself to care. He re-zips your coveralls, slow and deliberate, his knuckles brushing the tender skin of your chest.

When he’s done, he smooths the zipper flat. His thumb grazes the little metal pull tab.

“You got a dorm room, right?” he says, trying for casual and failing. “Probably not a lot of privacy there.”

You huff a laugh, still a little dazed. “Tiny. Thin walls. You’d be…pretty hard to hide.”

He lifts a brow, mouth tugging at the corner. “Yeah? You think I’m worth hiding?”

“Think you’re worth a lot more than that,” you murmur.

A groan rumbles in his chest—soft but unmistakable. He dips his head, pressing his mouth to yours, slower this time. Not careful, exactly. But different.

When he finally pulls back, he nods toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll drive.”

You trail him toward the door, your heart still tripping over itself.

Just as he unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the handle, you clear your throat.

“So…” you say, voice small but teasing, “does this mean I pass?”

Joel goes still.

Then—very slowly—he looks back at you over his shoulder. His eyes are still dark, but there’s something softer there now.

“No,” he says, voice low. “Means you’re gonna need a lot more practice.”

And before you can think of something smart to say, he leans in and kisses you again—like he already can’t wait to fail you all over.

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Here is the second part that yall asked for! I hope I did yalls requests some justice. @boscogirlsworld, @pixieeee101, @glitterspark & @kaseynsfws 💚🫶🏻

[tagged-by-trauma]

Dreamt 'bout you

What if you are in the shower, and Joel comes in behind you, telling you that you were in his dreams? Well, you make sure that he feels you in real life too. Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), p in v sex, shower AND morning sex, soft aftercare, basically porn with no plot, no proofreading Word count: 1k

It wasn’t even past 7 a.m, but you were already standing under the shower in the bathroom. The water was cascading down your body, the glass fogged up by the steam. Your hands were braced against the cold tile, every sound muffled by the water droplets hitting the tile floor. The soft Jackson sun was beaming through the little window, bathing the whole bathroom in yellow streaks.

You thought about Joel still asleep in your shared bed, hair messy, the curls falling over his forehead, and the cotton pajama pants riding low on his hips. He was splayed out, legs spread, one arm over his face, the other resting on his soft stomach.

You heard the soft creak of the door as it was opened, and you saw Joel’s silhouette as he stepped inside. You didn’t think too much of it because it was usually your morning routine. You waking up before him, standing in the shower while he got up after you to use the toilet.

But it wasn’t like that today.

You heard the soft rustle of his cotton pajama pants falling to the ground, and you saw his form getting closer and closer to the shower. You turned back towards the falling water, letting it run over your body. Behind you, you heard the door of the shower opening, and you felt his strong presence without looking back at him.

His hands found your waist, his chest coming in contact with your back, and you felt him already pressing hard against your lower back. You gasped at the feeling, and his face came close to your neck, placing hungry kisses over the wet skin.

“I dreamt ‘bout you,” his voice was low and still filled with sleep, but his body was clearly awake. You threw your head back against his shoulder, giving him more access.

“Is that it?”

His hand slid over your body, resting on your left breast and giving it a soft squeeze, making you let out a soft sound, and melting more into his body. His mouth was traveling up to the place behind your ear, resting there, hot breath fanning across your skin.

“You felt so fucking good.”

Without warning he bent you forward, and you quickly braced yourself against the cold wall. His hand moved down the straight line of your spine, goosebumps raising all over your skin. You felt his palm on the curve of your ass as he grabbed a handful of you. Your body moved back towards his, and you felt his hard cock brush against your backside. He groaned as he grabbed your hips firmly to stop yourself from moving.

He pushed into you in one firm thrust, letting out a loud groan, and you yelped as your hand slipped on the wet tiles. His hand came to your front, keeping you in place, pulling you against his body, so now you were both standing upright.

“Jesus, darlin’. You’re so tight,” he slowly started to move his hips, his cock brushing your walls, and you grasped his arm that was resting across your stomach. “You feel so fucking good.”

He picked up his pace, his hands coming up to cup your breasts. He was groping them with every single thrust, his fingers grazing across your nipples. His mouth was on your shoulder, kissing, biting down softly, teeth grazing he soft skin.

“Joel—” his name left your lips like a prayer, and you heard him growl into your ear as he moved in you even faster, the sounds muffled by the falling water.

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

You were on the edge, holding onto his hand for dear life, cries of pleasure leaving your lips.

“I can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me, darlin’,” he pulled out of you almost completely before he slammed inside you again, burying himself to the hilt. You yelped at the sudden contact, and you could hear he was grinning behind you. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

His voice was strained, the water warm against your tangled bodies, the tile under your feet cold, the glass fogged, and you head was clouded by pleasure. You could only hear the muffled sound of your bodies, his heavy breathing against your neck, and you let go.

The pleasure rippled through your whole body, shutting everything out. Joel was grunting before he buried himself to the deepest part of your body, thick and hot ropes of his cum covering your walls. He was hugging you close, his head in the crook of your neck, and you were completely spent. Your legs were shaking so much, that if he wouldn’t hold you, you would have fallen to the ground, completely blissed.

Probably minutes went by like this. You wrapped in his arms, him holding onto you tightly. Neither of you moved, he just caressed your sides with his calloused hands, placing soft kisses on your shoulder.

“If you have a wet dream, you can come to me anytime,” you broke the silence with a whisper, voice barely heard through the falling water. He chuckled—a sound you rarely heard from him—and he slowly pulled out of you, his now soft cock slipping through your painted walls, and you gasped at the sudden emptiness.

“Oh, I will, darlin’. I will.”

When you felt like you could stand on your own legs, you turned around, facing him. His hair was falling over his eyes, warm water trickling down his broad chest and soft stomach, and if you weren’t so spent, you probably would have jumped on him again.

“So, you staying to shower or…” his gaze was hot against yours, his beautiful smile splaying across his face.

“I’m stayin’, darlin’. I’m stayin’ with you ‘till the rest of our lives.”

And you knew that he meant it, every single word. Because if he promised something, then he kept it, no matter what.

And if he said, he’s staying with you until death, then you didn’t have any doubts if he told you the truth.

[lle000n]

IM WEAK

[eroticallywritten]

Pedro Pascal posing for photo call in Paris, France for the film “The Fantastic Four: First Steps”

[pascalxp]

The curlsssss

[saturnyo]

Altitude Sickness

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You’ve been stuck working with Frankie Morales as a special forces operative for years. He’s arrogant, irritating, and constantly gets on your nerves. But like it or not, you didn’t have a choice. One day, after a mission, your return flight goes wrong and you’re forced to make an emergency landing. Stranded in the forest, trying to survive until rescue arrives, all the tension between you and Frankie finally explodes.

Warnings: Strong language, Graphic references to injuries sustained in a crash, Tension, Emotional Distress, p in v penetration, creampie

WC: 4.2k

Song Choice: After Hours by The Weeknd

"Morales... I swear, if you don't stop popping that damn gum..."

Your unwilling partner and unfortunate teammate sits across from you, popping that same damn piece of gum for the last twenty minutes. You swear everything he does, everything he says, is his only mission in life to annoy the hell out of you.

Frankie turns to look at you, a smug smirk on his face that you want to smack the hell off. He has this way of getting under your skin, and he knows you hate that with every fiber of your being. Which is why he makes sure to do it every chance he gets. At work, off duty, just every time he saw you—he took the opportunity.

He stares at you, still chewing that gum and—

POP.

The unmistakable sound of the bubblegum cuts through the air again, and every nerve in your body screams at you not to throw your partner out of the damn helicopter. You seriously consider whether a murder charge and a prison cell are worth the peace and quiet—and the submission of your freedom.

"I will throw you out of this fucking helicopter if you don't stop, Francisco," you mutter, words laced with venom and a smile. You know only real friends are allowed to call him by his actual name, and if the narrowing of his eyes is any indication, you clearly hit a nerve.

Frankie quickly recovers from your attempt to rattle him, that annoying smirk reappears so easily it’s almost unfair.

"Come on, sweetheart. It’s just gum. You’d really kill me just to get away from me?" he says, voice low as he leans forward as far as the seatbelt allows. "Damn, you must really like me."

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, clutching your stomach at the audacity of his words.

"Like you? No. I tolerate you, Morales. And that’s only because I was ordered to. Unfortunately, we work well together, despite my daily urge to shoot you in the face."

A flicker of something shifts behind his eyes as he leans back in his seat. It catches you off guard. Frankie always has a comeback, always tries to get a rise out of you. But something in what you said, something in the venom you meant half as a joke and half as the truth, hits harder than expected.

And for the first time, he lets the silence linger.

The thrum of the helicopter blades cuts through the tension like a knife. You watch him sit there, arms now crossed across his chest like a new brand of armor. Guilt spreads through your chest, warm with shame. You hadn't meant for your words to come out so harshly, but they did. And now a part of you wants to take it back.

You open your mouth to say something, but he speaks first, cutting you off.

"I'm not like that all the time, you know?" Frankie whispers, low but with a hint of regret. "Yet you are the only one who reacts that way to my jokes."

You blink, surprised at the sudden honesty coming from him. Frankie Morales, the man who once glued all your office supplies to the roof just because you said fuck off to him before breakfast. The man who filled your shampoo bottle with Nair hair remover(god knows how he knows what that is.) is suddenly looking at you like you had just gone too far.

And maybe you had.

Still, you couldn't help yourself.

"Maybe because your jokes aren't funny," you said flatly.

His eyes bore into yours like a hot needle cauterizing a wound. Painful, excruciating. Frankie looks at you like he's trying to tell you something, a secret that might send you running. It wasn't strange being in a confined space with him—it was normal because of your jobs—but being with him in the space while he's looking at you like you are the most beautiful thing he's seen is strange.

He scoffs, turns his head slightly, like he's considering whether to push it or let it go. Then he pushes and, of course, he does.

"No," he says, almost to himself. "You just don't like when I'm right."

You shoot him a glare. "About what, exactly?"

He leans close again, one hand on his thigh and the other on your knee. You stiffen—not because you are uncomfortable—but because his touch feels so damn good and you hated to admit it.

"That you don't really hate me." He whispers, making the whirring of the helicopter and the fact that you are 10,000 feet up in the air in a titanium and aluminum tube seem insignificant.

He's cocky, smug, and irritating as hell. But he's also the one who's willing to shield you from the most dangerous situations. The one who begrudgingly checks over your gear before missions. The one who remembers your favorite granola bars and trades rations with you on long ops.

The one you wanted to ignore but truly can never. You don't like how the things he does catch you off guard. How it disarms you, making you feel vulnerable. So riling him up, having swearing matches almost to where you swore you'll bite each other's heads off was the only way for you to distance yourself.

"I tolerate you," you repeat. But this time it comes out weaker. Quieter.

He watches you. More closely than before. You half expected another one of his usual remarks—another one liner to poke the wound deeper. But he stays silent.

Instead, he nods. Like that's enough for him right now.

"Good," he says. "I can work with that."

You look away before he could see the heat that has spread across your face. It prickles up your neck and to the very tip of your ears. The silence returns but it's different. Thick, expectant, like something has shifted between you before you could even attempt to protest it.

And then—

The helicopter shudders.

Not the usual type of turbulence. This was angrier.

You and Frankie both sit up straighter, instincts kicking up like muscle memory.

"That can't be good," he mutters, already glancing towards the pilot.

You turned to your side, leaning as much as you could. "Hey, Cap, is everything alright—"

The pilot's voice crackles through your headset, clearly panicked.

"We got an engine failure. Brace for impact!"

You don't even think. Your body jerks sideways as the pilot attempts to steer the helicopter, but it's no use. Instinctively, you reach for Frankie's arms, gripping them tightly, making fingernail dents.

He doesn't flinch. He just looks to you, fast, locking eyes with an intensity that cuts through the chaos.

"Hey—Hey. I got you."

He covers your hand with his, steady, like he's anchoring you in place.

You look out the window, and you see the ground is coming up fast. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that you will survive this. That he would survive this.

Then everything goes sideways. The crunching of metal, the horizon flips.

And everything goes dark.

The smell of smoke and gasoline filters through the haze of your memories as your brain tries to piece together what just happened.

Your dreams were of him...Frankie...the way his hand felt on your knee when he leaned forward. The way his breath fanned your face, as he whispered to you, the sound of the helicopter—

Helicopter...

Helicopter...

The crash...

Slowly, your eyes opened as you attempted to blink away the blurriness of your vision. The smell of the smoke and gasoline was stronger now, liquid dripping from above. You realized that, apparently, in the crash, the helicopter had flipped upside down as it landed on the ground—now you sit there still buckled in and the blood rushing to your head.

Your vision hasn't fully come into focus as you begin to notice a figure in front of you wrestling against their seatbelt before they fall onto the ground with a light thud. Suddenly, a pair of hands falls onto your hips, and before you can fight against them, a voice cuts through as your vision finally comes into focus.

Frankie...

"Hey—are you alright?" he said in a shaky breath. He begins to roam around, looking for any signs of bruises and cuts that could be life-threatening.

"Y—yeah, I'm fine," you stammered, feeling weak and tired. Your vision starts to go in and out of focus before he snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to earth.

"I'm gonna get you out alright? Just—just please stay with me," he says, voice dripping with desperation that made your chest tighten.

You see Frankie grab a pocketknife from his pants—it's one he always had, no matter where you went. The seatbelt around your waist snaps and you fall onto the ground beside him with a lighter thud—his arms were around you as you sat up.

Heat. Burning heat as a fire lit up the front of the helicopter. Without thinking, Frankie pulls you to your feet to follow him as you climb out of the wreckage. His grip on you was firm as you struggled to keep your balance. Your right ankle was in extreme pain—most likely sprained or worse—broken.

"Come on," he urges, voice strained. "We need to move. Fast."

Every step you take sends a wave of pain, making you stumble away from his grip. Frankie stands beside you once again, catching you as he leads you to a fallen tree trunk far away enough from the wreck. The fire has raged and engulfed the entire helicopter, leaving nothing in its wake. In a flash, your life had irrecoverably changed.

Frankie looks at your ankle, bringing it in his hands. His fingers caress the already bruised purple skin, trying to gauge how bad the injury was.

"How bad does it hurt now?" He asks, looking at you with tender care.

He's not being his usual smart-mouthed, arrogant self. Frankie is being compassionate, strangely so. He grabbed a pack you hadn't even noticed he was holding and took out a bandage. No words are exchanged between the both of you as the dust settles-attempting to come to terms with everything that has happened.

Then you remembered-

"Cap..." You began to say, your words getting caught in your throat. "Cap is dead isn't he?"

He stops bandaging your ankle and looks like the answer was already within his eyes. Unable to bring himself to say the words that you two lost a good friend is too much to bear.

Frankie finishes the wrap on your injury as the tears start to fall down your face. The noise of nature threatens to close in on you, unable to breathe as your chest tightens.

"Hey-Hey," Frankie whispers, soft and soothing as he hugs you. Wrapping his arms around your trembling frame. "It's ok cariño, I'm here. I'm here ok?"

You still cannot speak as the sobs wreck your body, finally allowing yourself to break down your walls in front of the man who for years had been a pain in your ass.

"Look," he began to speak, lifting up face to meet his gaze. "I know it hurts but we need to survive ok? Till rescue comes. So I need you, Can you do that?"

You look at him with renewed determination, nodding before getting up, wobbling before centering yourself. As both of you walked away trying to find some semblance of shelter, the fire slowly went out behind you, leaving you to wonder what else could possibly happen.

And what exactly would it involve?

It's nighttime now as the crickets sing their usual song adding a backdrop of serenity if it wasn't for the reason you were here. It wasn't too long after you left the helicopter crash site that you found a good place to shelter in a smaller clearing, somewhat closed in but still out in the open.

Frankie sits beside you as the fire he made crackles, warming you up against the unforgiving cold. You've tried to radio for help, but no such luck yet. Your hope has dwindled down in a few hours, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you going.

Suddenly your stomach rumbles cutting through the quiet hum of the forest causing him to look over at you, a small smile appears on his face. You hated to admit it but it was infectious, making you smile back.

"Here," he said, handing you his last granola bar. "You need your strength."

You had already eaten your share but still were hungry, even then you couldn't take it from him. The first time you had the feeling of not wanting him to fuck off and leave you alone.

"No I can't. It's yours-"

"Take it."

"Frankie-"

"Cariño please..."

His pleading weakens your resolve.

Cariño

That nickname alone does something to you, making the pain in your foot—the crash—just everything feels like white noise. The way he moves now is more careful and calculated—not like he does on missions where he has to be a cold and unfeeling person but now it's with compassion that unnerves you.

Frankie is ignorant of your torrent of emotions at the moment. You see him walk off—not too far from where you are—gathering more wood and other bits to keep the fire going as the chilly night is fast approaching.

You wanted to hate him. You wanted the old banter of you two being at each other's throats. Back before these feelings you've been trying so hard to bury beneath work have erupted into a blazing inferno—where you couldn't ignore it no longer.

He sits there now beside you, eyes trained directly onto the fire as the hum of the night begins to echo ominously—reminding you of the events of the last few hours. The pain in your foot is still throbbing but not as much as it was before Frankie wrapped it in a bandage. Ever so often you could see him glance over at your restless form silently checking on the injury but also you.

"Do you think they'll find us?" You said, your voice slicing through the growing silence. "What if they can't? How long will we survive?"

Your scared rambling at your unfortunate situation almost escalated to tears again—but then the feeling of Frankie's hand lands on yours, squeezing it lightly calming you down. If it wasn't for him, even though you both have been trained equally on the same level—you think that your panicking, your fear, would have ultimately killed you by now.

"Cariño...I'll make it. You'll make it. We'll both make it." He explains, whispering to you so low that you almost missed it. "I'm here and I won't let anything hurt you."

You aren't sure of the feeling growing in your chest—whether it's anger, fear, or even....love. No—no—it couldn't be. It wasn't that...could it?

Before these emotions spilled over like a hastily poured glass of wine, you got up quickly from your seat—ignoring the flash of pain from your still hurting foot and walked a few steps away from the man who is making your brain a muddled mess.

"Cariño—"

"No," you yelled, cutting him off. "Don't—don't fucking call me that. Please just...not that"

Frankie's brow annoyingly furrows in confusion. He takes a few steps forward as you take a few steps back, stumbling a bit before steadying yourself. His hand reached out before you shirked away from it, not wanting to feel his touch—knowing if you did, there was no amount of pleading to yourself that would stop you from leaning into it.

"What is going on?" He questions, but there is an underlying hint of something new. He knows—of course he does. And that angers you even further.

You turn to look at him, your face twisting in anger before stomping up to him—wanting to say nothing but everything all at once.

"You know exactly what's going on! Ever since I started working with you, you've been a pain in my ass. Always there teasing me, always there making my life just a bit more tough than it needed to be for no apparent reason other than to be an ass. And now you are here being sweet kind and compassionate—"

Stopping in the middle of your tirade, you see his stare darkened—his pupils dilated as his chest rises up and down as if he's straining himself against the thoughts running through his head. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to keep hold of what semblance of control he had left.

"Fuck—"

Before you could question him on what the hell he meant, Frankie's lips were on yours stealing your breath with an intensity that shocked you. You didn't think that Frankie Morales, the guy who made your blood pressure rise every day at work, is now the guy whose hands are roaming your body with such reverence like this will be your last night alive. And it very well might be.

His hands now cup your face, his thumb caressing your left cheek making goosebumps form on your skin. You wanted to stop—solely because being vulnerable is something you didn't like, but the feeling of being under his touch, of feeling like the most precious thing there was—is one you didn't want to give up. At least not right now.

One of Frankie's hands still cups your face while the other goes down your back and lands on your ass—squeezing it. You couldn't help but moan—his touch was an expert at bringing out a deep guttural sound that vibrated underneath your skin.

Suddenly, he pulls back enough to stare into your eyes—he's laid out bare before you, a puddle underneath your touch just as much as you were with him.

"I never hated you cariño," he murmured. "It just...scared me how much I started to—to have feelings for you. This job is dangerous, and being vulnerable makes it even more treacherous."

Frankie takes a deep breath, stepping up closer—his breath fanning your jaw.

"But after our brush with death, I realized hiding won't do me any good either. So I'd rather face rejection from you than never tell you at all"

His words make you blink at him, wondering if the man that is standing before you is a hallucination that your mind conjured up to deal with the crash. But as you move your fingers, tracing the lines in his skin, you see he's real—that everything he's saying isn't a figment of your imagination.

You say nothing. You just kiss him again, but this time with more urgency—pouring all of your unspoken thoughts into it. A low rumble of approval falls from Frankie's throat, understanding your silence as an answer.

On the forest floor, he lays you down gently onto a makeshift sleeping bag—one that was in the pack he grabbed before the helicopter wreckage was engulfed in flames. He nestles you both inside the sleeping bag before going back to kissing you again. The pain of your injury was forgotten again as he touched you, igniting a searing path of desire—warmth pooling in your lower belly.

Your pussy throbbed at his hard cock straining against his jeans—rubbing against your clothed center. Your hips rocked against him as lips trailed down your neck and onto your collarbone. You could feel his bulge grow more, almost bursting against the seam of his pants.

"Fuck...cariño," he whimpers, the sound of it undoing you in every way imaginable. "If you keep doing that, this is going to end early, and I want it to last as long as it can."

You could only manage a moan, unable to speak through the white-hot pleasure shooting through your veins. Your fingers grip his upper arms, pulling him closer to you—wanting to be skin-to-skin.

"Frankie...please. I need you."

That shattered through his resolve as he growled. He expertly moved his hands unbuttoning your pants—the rush of cold being immediately rushed away by the heat of his body. The fire beside you warms you both, still providing comfort against the harsh environment of the forest.

You tossed off his shirt as he took off yours and your bra. Frankie takes one look at you like he can't believe you are here with him—naked and waiting for him to consume you. He hooks one leg around his waist as much as he could in the tight space of the sleeping bag.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," he says, leaning down pressing his chest against yours. "Are you sure you want this? Say the word and I'll stop immediately."

"Francisco Morales, if you stop, I swear I'll kill you before any wild animal out here can get to you."

That earned a deep chuckle from him, shaking his head at your pleas. He captured your lips in a kiss, branding you as his. His cock teasing the entrance of your wet cunt. Frankie teases you, making your desire drip down your thighs—making a mess.

"Oh cariño..." He chides, a devious smirk plays on his lips. "Is this all for me? How long have you been like this?"

"For so goddamn long that sometimes I forgot why I was always upset with you."

Frankie pushes in, the feeling of his length filling you up in ways you didn't know were possible. You groan at the intrusion, a bit painful as you adjusted to his size. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, making you more dripping wet than to begin with.

"You feel so damn good."

"It's like you were made for me."

"God, if I died right now, I swear I could die happy being inside you."

He grips your hip as he starts to move again, thrusting into you like a starved man. Frankie was wild, untamed—the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberated throughout the clearing you two had settled in. The feeling of your hair gripped between the fingers of his left hand and your skin having marks on your hip with his right—it was an intoxicating combo that left you chasing that high feeling, the more it built as his cock pushed into your throbbing core.

You could feel a wave begin to rumble underneath your vibrating skin—it was too much to handle, and your senses were in overdrive. You need him to feel him collapse against you as spent and as delirious as you felt with him inside you.

"Oh fuck, Frankie....I'm close."

He picks up his pace at your words, wanting your release, your pleasure before his own.

"Yes, cariño..." He pleads. "Cum for me. I want to feel you finish on my cock"

Your legs trembled as you tightened them around his waist, pulling him in as close as you could. You came undone beneath him, body arching as fucked you through your orgasm—pushing you to a place you didn't even know you could go. The heat, the pleasure—all of it was so overwhelming that you didn't know where he began and you ended.

You could tell he was close. The way he trembled, how ragged his breath was, the way his words were no longer coherent—he was losing control, and neither one of you wanted to stop it.

"I'm about to cum cariño. Where do you want me to finish?" he gasped, his voice raw with need.

"Inside me. god please, I want you to cum inside me," you begged, your voice thick with desperation.

With one last thrust, you feel his hips stutter, as he loses the last bit of his control—filling you up with a force that makes your body quiver. The world seemed to stop, hinging on this moment as the air simmered down between you.

Frankie lowers himself down, laying chest to chest as he rests his forehead against your own. Both of your breaths start to sync together in tandem, his fingers pushing back the strings of hair that are now sticking to your forehead from your sweat.

Finally, he lifts himself up again—just enough to look into your eyes, smiling that annoying smirk like he usually does. It seems the Frankie you've always known is still there, but now with a hint of affection.

"You're glad that you didn't throw me out of the helicopter now, aren't you?" he says, recalling back to hours before.

You rolled your eyes, giggling a bit at his usual antics. "As much as I hate to admit it, Morales, but yes, I am glad I didn't throw you out."

He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him—placing a finger on his lips. a grumble of displeasure as he pouts, adorably so, as you deny him. You couldn't help but giggle again.

"But that doesn't mean the urge to shoot you is gone. I'm sure you'll find ways to annoy me still."

"You'll still like me, though, cariño. You can't help but be swayed by my charms."

You rolled your eyes again before kissing him—saying nothing but still somehow everything all at once. No words were needed. As you lie there on the ground underneath the night sky, the fire crackles beside you—creating serenity that comforts you as you drift off to sleep.

Forty-eight hours later, rescue arrived, carrying you and Frankie to safety. As the medics fussed over both of you, he refused to let go of your hand—caressing it as he comforted you amidst the chaos. There, you knew that from then on, whatever it was between you and Frankie has now forever changed.

And for the first time, that thought doesn't scare you.

[pascalisthepunkest]

HAPPY 50th BIRTHDAY, PEDRO!

[iamasaddie]

she should've said 'yes, dad, thanks. you're the best' btw

[tteotlma]

breathe you in

Dead,, needing to SMELL your lover to be okay????– GETTOUTTA HEREEEE

joel miller x reader imagine 2kwc

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, post-panic attack intimacy, intense emotional vulnerability, scent as grounding, emotionally driven sex, power dynamics (consensual), begging, praise kink, desperate and talkative!Joel, soft domination, slow grinding, unprotected sex, deep emotional dependency, cockwarming adjacent energy, physical clinging, overstimulation potential

a/n: Also i’m def trying to bring back the casuality of what used to be posting on here…. There are many layers to this, which i could talk abt all day, but for now  Bc i still love Joel, so very much 

Imagine it’s late at night, you and Joel have gone to bed. You’re wrapped in the heat of your shared duvet, blanket tucked under your chin just how you like it. Joel had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped tightly around you, but that was hours ago, and… a man’s gotta spread. He’s sprawled out on the bed beside you, both fast asleep. 

Suddenly, the bed creaks with an aggressive shake, and loud mumbling turned panic fills the room. You’re ripped from your sleep when the sounds of his gasps break through your dream barrier, and you realize Joel must’ve had another nightmare. 

Throwing the blanket off your body, you sit up and reach over to touch his face, soft shushes leaving your lips. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed, “Joel, Baby—” You tried to pacify his cries, warming your hand against the curve of his jaw as you leaned into his side of the bed. He was frantic as he looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. 

“Sweetheart,” getting on your knees, you move to straddle one of his legs, trying not to become frantic. “It was just a nightmare, look at me.” This had come out more stern than previous, and it seemed to break through whatever trance Joel seemed to find himself in. 

His sounds softened as you continued to coax his attention towards you. Soon, the only sound that left his lips turned into heavy breathing as his hand shakily grasped your wrist against his skin. His eyes widen as he finally turns to look at you. 

Cupping his face in both hands, you lean in, “Just Breathe—” his eyebrows curled, a hand on his ches,t “In and out,” your chest mimics your words. 

“I—I—I—” He tries to talk, but you gently hush him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk; just…” The hand on the center of his chest pressed deeper against the warmth of his shirt, silently reminding him where to focus. His hand came to rest atop yours, and he nodded. You locked eyes, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

You stay like that, still and close, for what feels like hours, though only minutes pass—as he slowly pulls himself from the fog of his nightmare.  Then, without a word, his eyes drop to his lap. One hand drifts to your hip, the other settling at the bend of your arm, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, voice rough and low. 

You hook a finger beneath his chin, gently guiding his face to yours. “For you,” you whisper, tucking a stray salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear, “anything.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, tender and steady as you hold his face in your hands. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The hand on your hip slides to your lower back, his palm warm and deliberate as he draws you into his chest. You go easily, folding into the hug, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He holds you there, solid, quiet—like the act of touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

His face finds the crook of your neck while your chin rests on his shoulder. You feel him breathe you in. At first, it’s subtle and slow, his nose brushing your skin, chest rising against yours as he inhales deeply. He sighs.

Then he does it again. Slower. Longer. His nose drags across the slope of your neck, and his breath leaves him shakier this time.

You feel the edge of his teeth when he speaks, his voice low against your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble trailing higher as he nuzzles along your jaw. You tilt instinctively, baring more of your neck. His hand slides up your spine, fingers splayed, holding you firmly against him.

His lips hover near your skin—not quite kissing, but close enough to make you shiver. The coarse drag of his stubble follows the curve of your jaw as his nose nudges higher. You tilt again, offering more without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds your pulse. One soft kiss. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear that lingers a little too long.

When you turn your face toward his, his eyes drop to your mouth.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow, careful, almost hesitant. His lips part against yours, and one hand moves higher on your back, holding you steady. The tension breaks when you sigh into him and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over yours like he’s hungry for it, like this is the only way he knows how to speak. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. His tongue brushes yours, coaxing, tasting. You whimper softly, and he groans into your mouth like the sound unravels him.

Like, he’s not just kissing you.

Like he’s trying to hold on to the only thing that, to him, feels real. 

“Every time I breathe you in, I want more.” He pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares at your now swollen lips.

“Please, baby… let me have more.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and warm, watching the way your chest heaves beneath him. He sees it—the way your breath catches, the flicker of doubt in your eyes—and he doesn’t wait.

“Only if you want it,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ll take my time. I’ll be gentle. Just… I need to be close. Closer than this.”

Another kiss, softer this time, pressed just below your ear.

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to feel. Want to be in your skin and know what it’s like to come home and mean it.”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in again like it’s the only thing that calms the storm in his chest.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping across the stubble at his cheeks. You nod slowly, silently, teeth caught between your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Joel exhales like he’s been underwater, like he’s just come up for air. He shifts his weight and turns you both over in one smooth motion, laying you gently beneath him. His hands don’t leave your body, not once, as your thighs part instinctively to cradle his hips. He settles there, warm and solid, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His chest hovers just above yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like he’s still asking for permission, even without the words.

He leans in, kisses you again—slower this time. His lips are warm and sure, his breath steadying against your cheek. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he looks away. His hips roll forward, a slow drag of pressure right against the heat between your legs, and your back arches to meet him.

Even through the layers, you can feel the thick weight of him, already hardening as he grinds against you. The pressure is deliberate, controlled, but needy. Like he’s not chasing pleasure, but grounding himself in it.

"That’s it," he murmurs into your mouth, voice thick. "Just wanna feel you, baby. That’s all I need."

He shifts again, just enough to work one hand down between your bodies, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. You feel the soft brush of his knuckles against your stomach as he pushes them low, and then you reach for him too, helping him slide them off. The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the space between your breaths. When his cock presses against your bare thigh—hot and heavy—you both shudder.

“Take these off for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You lift your hips, and he pulls them down slowly, carefully, like you’re something breakable. His hands linger on your thighs when he tosses them aside, calloused palms dragging back up the insides until you’re spread open for him again.

He settles between your legs and lines himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, already wet and aching. One hand rests at your waist, the other steadying himself against the mattress.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll stop if you need me to."

You shake your head immediately, breathing hard.

"Don’t stop, Joel. I need you."

He presses forward slowly, easing into you inch by inch. The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your fingers curling into the muscles at his back as he sinks deeper. His body shudders above you when he bottoms out, buried completely.

“Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, the words broken against your neck. “You feel like heaven. So warm… fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

He stays there for a moment, unmoving. His body presses flush to yours, his hand slides under your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he’s holding you there, grounding both of you. When he starts to move, it’s slow, deep, grinding strokes that have you gasping softly beneath him.

Each roll of his hips pulls a quiet sound from your throat. Your body clenches around him, clinging, wet, and pulsing as you fall into his rhythm.

“Needed this,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, raw. “Felt like I was gonna fuckin’ lose it tonight.”

His forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, languid, like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

He holds you so close. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider, deeper. His mouth grazes your temple, your jaw, and your lips between every breath.

“Only time I can breathe is when I’m buried in you.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heel digging into the curve of his ass as you pull him in harder. He groans, thrusts faltering for half a beat before he finds his rhythm again, slightly rougher now, more desperate.

His mouth drops to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin.

“Let me cum inside you,” he pants. “Wanna feel you wrapped around me when I cum.”

Your answer is a whimper, your nails dragging down his back. He kisses you again—messy and open-mouthed, tongue sweeping against yours like he needs to taste every part of you.

“Let me give it to you, baby—let me fuckin’ give it to you.” He thrusts hard with each syllable. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed, thighs shaking. His thrusts grow more frantic, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge with every desperate breath.

"That’s it," he groans. "That’s it, darlin’. You take me so fuckin’ well—always do. My good girl."

He spills inside you with a broken, guttural moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body trembles above you. You feel every twitch, every pulse of release, warm and deep and grounding.

"Thank you," he whispers into your skin, over and over, voice crumbling. "Thank you. Thank you. Didn’t know how much I needed this until you. Until you."

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move except to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek.

“Gonna hold you now, alright?” he murmurs. “Just wanna hold you for a while. That okay, baby?”

You nod, barely able to breathe.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he’s afraid to let you go. And for a long time, neither of you says anything at all.

--

a/n: pls don't let another one flop -- REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

[bweeeb]

HAWAII SOLUTIONS

Dbf Joel Miller × Reader

Summary: If your dad can fuck someone younger, so can you, maybe his hot best friend?

warnings: dirt, sex in public but without public, age gap, smut, I'm not fluent in English so I apologize for mistakes,

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Vacation. My dad said I needed a vacation when I decided to drop out of business school. That’s how I ended up here. In Hawaii.

The beach was stunning, the food was amazing, and nothing beats sleeping in hotel beds—but then there was them. My dad, his girlfriend—Addison, who was disgustingly just two years older than me—and, of course, his best friend, Joel. Fucking Joel Miller.

He was a problem, but not the kind that made me want to rip my hair out—or his.

Addison, now she was a problem. Everywhere. At home—loud, at college—loud, on the plane—loud. That bitch is loud everywhere, trust me. I was always sure she was with my dad for the money, the Gucci bags, and the tuition he paid for. Which was ridiculous. And yet, here she was in Hawaii.

‘You’re too tense.’

Joel said it as he lay back on the lounge chair next to mine on the beach.

He’d been my problem since I was fifteen. Seven years later, I was still here, looking at him like he was some Greek god. Well, I’d be damned if he wasn’t, lounging there while I sat stiffly, watching the way-too-happy couple by the water.

‘I’m not,’

I mumbled.

‘You should hate her less. And him too—he’s trying.’

‘Come on, Joel. Don’t do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Say that crap. He’s a hypocrite. I could never be with someone the way he’s with her.’

I huffed and rolled my eyes.

‘She makes him happy.’

He said, and I just stayed quiet. ‘Why’d you drop out of college?’

I shrugged without looking at him. That bastard reached over, his thick fingers pressing into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

‘Look at me and stop acting like a child.’

‘I’m not,’ I hissed through gritted teeth. He was shirtless under an open blue dress shirt, chest hair trailing down into those red swim trunks, and god, I could ride that nose for hours.

‘There she is, looking at me,’

he teased, and my cheeks flushed. He smiled.

‘Now tell me.’

‘She distracts me.’

I kept it short, especially since his hand was now grazing my collarbone and neck, back and forth in the sweetest little touch.

‘How does she distract you? I thought you liked men ’

' Shut up old man ' I teased him and saw his jaw tighten

' I'm fucking 45 you brat '

' Oh, so you can still get an erection to fuck me?'

' Continue where you were'

‘Everyone knows about him. They talk. She flaunts being with one of us and spending all our money. It bothers me.’

‘You should tell him.’

‘Like he’d believe me. You know him, you know exactly what he’d say.’

‘Unfortunately, I do, sweetheart.’

Joel looked down for a second, then back at me. ‘But you know… you could flip the script.’

‘What do you mean?’

Now it was him who shrugged. I laughed.

‘I mean, you’re 22. Want revenge? Take it. You’re in Hawaii.’

‘He’d kill me if I slept with someone.’

‘ Put the blame on daddy issues,’ Joel said playfully, and I laughed louder.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Watch your mouth, young lady.’

He scolded me, and I stuck out my tongue. He smiled at me.

Oh, I was seeing something all right—or maybe just fantasizing about him naked again.

‘Hey, you two! Come back to the room, let’s reserve dinner. You joining us?’

My dad called out as he walked toward us with his way-too-young girlfriend.

‘Sure,’ Joel answered, removing his hands from me and sitting up.

As they left the beach, I smiled at Joel and stood up, squinting down at him.

‘What?’

‘You shouldn’t wear a shirt at the beach.’ I put my hands on my hips.

‘I do what I want, I’m a grown man, doll.’

‘Well, so am I—grown, I mean.’

With that, I walked over and sat on his lap like I had no damn filter. Joel grunted, not touching me until I rolled my eyes and pulled his hands to my body.

‘You shouldn’t wear a dress to the beach either.’

‘It’s a cover-up,’ I muttered, but smiled right after. ‘But since you insist…’

I pulled it over my head, silently thanking myself for choosing my smallest bikini today. Joel’s eyes dropped to my chest, and I slowly unbuttoned his shirt until he was bare-chested.

‘We should go for a swim’

I suggested.

‘It’s getting dark.’

‘Even better.’

I stood, swaying my hips as I headed toward the water and the setting sun. I heard Joel mutter a fuck’s sake before he ran after me, grabbing me by the waist and tossing me over his shoulder.

‘Joel! Don’t you dare throw me, are you listening—'

‘Too late, sweetheart.’

The cold water shocked my skin, and I screamed. Then screamed again when strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

‘I think I want my revenge,’

I whispered, as Joel pressed wet kisses to my salty skin.His tongue circled my neck like I was some kind of delicious ice cream. As my body warmed up, I turned to face him, wrapping my legs around his waist and feeling his hard-on through my bikini.

‘I can’t fuck you. Fuck,’

he groaned, running his hands along my body.

‘Then why’d you say that?’

I whined, clinging to him.

‘Baby girl…’

‘Let’s just… do something. I just want to feel you.’

I pulled his cock out of his shorts, stroked him a few times, and then sank down on him.

‘What are you doing?’

His voice was low, breathless.

‘Mmm.’

I moaned with my eyes closed, clenching around him.

‘I just wanted to feel you inside me.’

‘Ah, baby. We can’t do this here.’

He shifted slightly, which made his cock slide deeper into my slick pussy. Fuck, I wanted him to wreck me right there.

‘Fuck, you’re so tight. Your sweet little pussy. Fuck my life.’

He groaned, eyes closed. Then a shout broke the spell.

‘Hey! What are you two still doing out there?’

My dad’s voice from the shore.

‘Why are you clinging to him?’

Because your best friend’s cock is buried in your little girl’s pussy.

‘I think there are crabs out here!’ I yelled.

‘She got scared,’ Joel added. And just then, a small wave hit us, and his hips bucked forward, driving his cock deeper inside me. The first wave of the night.

‘Alright, better come back, it’s getting dark.’

My dad called again. Joel thrust one more time, stealing my breath with a quiet moan.

‘Ahh…’

I moaned softly, and Joel smiled.

‘Add and I will be up on the deck!’

My dad pointed to the wooden deck overlooking the beach.

‘We’ll be right up!’ Joel shouted, and pulled out, hiding himself quickly. He dragged us out of the water before Dad could see. The cave-like spot beneath the deck was perfect—no view, just the sound of waves.Joel grabbed my ass again and slid inside me as he sat down. I bounced on his dick while he sucked on my nipples.

‘Riding my dick so good, baby.’

‘Oh Joel, I love your dick. Thank you,’

I whimpered, and he laughed in bliss.

‘Yeah, baby, you’re such a filthy little thing, always craving my dick.’

‘I am. Fuck me, Joel. I’m yours.’

He flipped me over, and I arched my ass up for him. Joel slammed back inside me. fucking my ass hard, the sound of his balls slapping against my skin made me shiver with the hard feeling of him.

‘Fuck, you feel so good.’ His hands pulled me to the air to rest my back against his chest and his hand massaged my swollen clitoris, rubbing my wet pussy for it.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

I moaned as my climax hit, and three more deep thrusts had his balls smacking my ass before he emptied himself inside me.

‘You think he heard us?’

‘Probably,’

Joel said, breathless.

‘Good.’

If this was what vacation meant, I had zero complaints.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

[doeeyezz]

bye y'all my ride is here

[tagged-by-trauma]

Hands behind your back

After a long day and a very relaxing shower Joel waits for you sitting on your bed. He shows you just how tough his day was between quiet groans and dirty glances. Pairing: jackson!Joel x f!reader Warnings: established realtionship, explicit sexual content (+18), dom!joel/sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), deep throating/throat fucking, hair pulling, boot riding (uhm... yeah), cum eating, soft aftercare and cuddles, but basically just full on porn without much plot Word count: 2.2k A/N: Hey everyone! I'm still new to fanfiction writing and this is my very first attempt at it. I would highly appreciate it if you left some feedbacks or your opinions about what should I improve! P.S: English is not my first language, so sorry if I made any mistake or typo! Also, if I left anything out from the warnings just yell!

Nighttime always came quickly and quietly in the little town that was Jackson. This small settlement that was hugged by mountains, forests, abandoned buildings and high walls that kept out every possible danger. This settlement where even though hell was raging outside the gates, the days were full of life and laughter. The town hall loud with the sound of cutlery clinking and people talking. The streets lively with children running around and playing with each other while their parents watched with careful and protective eyes.

You were getting out of the shower, the bathroom full of steam, the little house staying in quietness. Standing in front of the mirror you looked at your blurry reflection. Your body covered in scars earned by successful fights against clickers or aggressive and eager raiders along the road. You pulled a towel tight across your form and opened the room’s door but when you saw what was waiting outside—or more like who—you stopped in your tracks.

Joel Miller was there.

You met him first when you arrived in Jackson and instantly knew that he was the grumpiest, toughest, most insufferable man you’ve ever met in your whole life. With his broad shoulders, quiet intelligence and thick shell he was a very new and different face in town. But somewhere along the way you realized that he wasn’t that bad after all. Yes, he had bad days where he gave everyone the deadliest gazes, pretended to be tough when a word hit home too roughly but you saw right through him. And you couldn’t resist him anymore, but neither could he. And now, now he was sitting on the edge of the bed with the most unsettling calmness on his face you’ve ever received from him.

You took some steps forward and he was watching your every move with a hungry gaze. His usually brown eyes were so dark with desire now that they almost seemed black in the low light of the bedside lamp, jaw tight with restrained want and hands balled up into tight fists on his thighs.

“Joel—” you wanted to ask him something—anything—but he drowned the words into your throat with one lustful and sharp look.

“Come here,” his voice was low and gravelly, commanding in a way you couldn’t explain and before you could even think you were already moving and standing vulnerably in front of him, towel drawn even tighter around you, knees brushing against his flexed thighs.

“On your knees. Hands behind your back,” you obeyed him, slowly letting yourself to the ground and looking up at him with wide eyes. He reached for the edge of your towel and with a firm tug he let it fall to the ground exposing you to him. His eyes raked over every part of your body with lust, and you shivered—either from the want that built up in you from only this command or the slow vulnerability scratching at you from the inside—goosebumps covering your forearms. His sudden demeanour sent a rush of wetness between your legs making you squirm and squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

“You don’t get to touch unless I tell you to, understood?” you nodded, your own arousal building with every ticking second. He suddenly leaned forward and grabbed your jaw between his thumb and index finger keeping you in place.

“Use that pretty mouth of yours,” he whispered as he moved his head down the column of your neck, his rough beard scratching the skin and his mouth blowing slow kisses to your pulse, teeth scraping the warm and flushed flesh.

“Yes,” you breathed softly and couldn’t focus on anything else just his mouth on you. He pulled back and you let out a gasp at his sudden distance. He looked down at you with the smuggest smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl,” you felt yourself grow even wetter if that was possible and he leaned back on his hands, one coming to rest on the front of his jeans as he started to rub himself through the rough fabric of the denim, and you drooled at the sight of him, sprawled out on your bed, gaze fixed on you in front of him on your knees, hands behind your back.

He reaches for the leather of his belt and unbuckles it, the sound crawling up your spine and settling deep in your bones. Next the zipper came undone and you could see the huge bulge straining against the confines of his briefs. You noticed the wet patch of precum on the dark fabric and you couldn’t help but bite your lip and let out a small and needy whimper. He chuckled low at your reaction and stopped in his movements.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?”

He reached for the waistband of his briefs and freed himself, his cock springing free and slapping against his covered stomach, your gaze glued to it. He was big, bigger than your previous partners, his tip flushed an angry red—almost purple from the restrained need—precum leaking from the small slit at the top. His hand reached down and grasped himself, letting out a strangled groan that didn’t sound humanly spiced with a swear. His hand started moving with slow and languid strokes, his thumb spreading the precum all over his length, coating himself.

He was feeling on cloud nine. You looking at him hungrily, like he would be the best fucking feast you’ve ever had, mouths parted, pupils dilated. He let his head fall forward, a low groan escaping from the deepest parts of his body. His eyes squeezed shut, not daring to look at you, because if he did he might have come undone.

Meanwhile his other hand came up to your jaw and caressed it with soft tenderness. Full opposite from what his right was doing. Your eyes moved back and forth between his cock and his pleasured expression. You closed them and started to move your thighs together, somehow releasing the pent-up tension that settled deep down in your stomach.

“Fuck, darlin’. Look at you,” his thumb moved across your lower lip and caressing it. You felt light-headed and breathless. Spiked by a sudden idea you seductively opened your mouth and took his finger into your mouth. He looked at you taken aback but his right hand sped up and you could see his cock twitching in his fist. You just hummed and swirled your tongue around him, hollowing your cheek.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he stuttered with a shaky breath. You wanted to pull your hand in front of you by habit, but when he saw your intentions, he pulled his thumb from your mouth and grabbed your throat with a careful but firm strength that knocked all the air out of your lungs. “No touching, remember? Otherwise I’ll have to punish you, darlin’,” you saw that he was serious, but couldn’t help and be aroused by the idea of being spread over his thigh, ass up and angry red with his handprints as he spanks the obedience into you.

“Joel—”

“Nah-ah, darlin’. Now, open wide,” you looked in his eyes, parted your mouth and sticked out your tongue. His arousal could be evident by the dark fire that was burning behind his lashes, and his hand came to the back of your neck, collecting your hair in one swift motion.

“Fuck, darlin’. Let me feel those perfect fucking lips around me,” saliva was already pooling in your mouth when you leaned forward and licked a stripe up from the base of his length to the tip. He let out and animalistic growl, his hand that was holding your hair tightening. Your tongue traced the curves of the veins that were running up on the sides. When you arrived to his head, you placed soft kitten licks there and lapped up the precum that was leaking from his length. He suddenly tugged at your hair and pulled you back. “Don’t fucking tease me, darlin’. I’m not in the fucking mood tonight.”

His hand guided you back to his cock and this time you didn’t hesitate to take him in your mouth. Your eyes found his and you let yourself take up the eye contact while you were going up and down on his length. You could feel his feet shuffling and you felt the tip of his boots between your thighs. You pulled back and let out a soft gasp, head tipping forward.

“Did I say you could stop?”, he pulled your hair back, so you could see his face now covered in sweat. “You’re gonna ride my boots while I’m gonna fuck your mouth, darlin’,” he slowly moved his boots back and forth, and you dived back down on his cock with a breathy moan. You swirled your tongue around his length, hollowing your cheeks and taking him even deeper with every move. His boots were moving with slowness for the first few minutes but as you picked up the pace, he did the same. You were a mess at that moment, your only focus on making him come. The shoelaces were rubbing against your clit with every grind of your hips, your arousal soaking the rough material of the shoes, leaving behind a very prominent wet patch.

He also placed his other hand around the back of your head and carefully pushed you, making you take him deeper. You relaxed your throat, and when you could feel the tip of his cock at the back of your throat and the soft hair at the base, you looked up at him and studied his expression. Jaw slack, eyes squeezed, sweat collecting between his brows, threatening to spill down the line of his nose. You hummed around him, and the vibrations ran through his whole body settling at his brain.

He gripped your hair tighter and kept you in place as he pulled back his hips from your lips and thrusted forward once again. You were a writhing mess under his touch, eyes teary as his tip touched the back of your throat over and over again while his boots were continuing its movements against your swollen clit.

“Fuck, darlin’. I’m not gonna last long if you keep going like this,” his head fell back with a strangled groan, and you could feel his cock twitching in your mouth. Swirling your tongue around his length he moaned your name and exploded in your mouth, the salty taste of him hitting your tastebuds. You pulled back and swallowed every last drop of him, opening your mouth so he could see.

“Good girl. Now, you get off by just riding my boots,” you nodded and grinded down harder. “You can move your hands, darlin’,” he murmured, and you obeyed, pulling your hands forward and placing them on his thighs, steadying yourself.

“Joel, I—” you moaned his name as your orgasm shattered through you. You were clenching around nothing and your legs shaking as you softly bit down on his denim-covered thighs. He was caressing your hair, your cheeks, anything he could reach.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he cooed with a tender voice, complete opposite to what he showed you just a few minutes ago. “Let yourself go.”

As you came down from your high, you slowly raised to your feet and looked at the mess you made on his boots. It was now covered in your juices, glistening under the low lights of the room. He unbuttoned his flannel and took it off, now completely exposing himself to you. You saw the faint outlines of his scars over his body and you couldn’t help but want to trace them with your fingers.

He pulled you down on the bed and tugged you close to his form, your head resting on his chest. This side of him was the complete opposite of what he always showed to people outside your house, and you loved it. Loved how soft he could get with you but be dominant if he had a bad day on patrol or someone annoyed him with their mere presence. It was like he was a completely different person with you.

You snuggled closer into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your head and the faint smell of sweat on his skin. Your hand came up to his face and rested on the little patch between his beard.

“Tough day?” you breathed against his skin, looking into his eyes.

“Hm,” hummed eyes closing, hands tightening around you. “Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course,” you said, and you could feel as his breathing slowed and his heartbeat calmed down. You carefully reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off, coating the room in complete darkness. As you settled back beside him, you gave a soft kiss to his temple and closed your eyes.

The bedroom was quiet except the low sound of a distant owl filling the otherwise quiet space. And here, tangled in the sheets—hugged close by his arms—his chest rising and falling under your cheeks, you felt like the world outside didn’t exist, and it was only the two of you.

[ratpacman]

God we are so back

[liminaltourist]

Found this photo and it's totally Pedro Pascal coded. Am I wrong? 🤔 I'm afraid I've fallen down the rabbit hole 🐇

P.s. if you write something a fic about this please tag me. Would love to read it!

[javierpena-inatacvest]

His

Summary: Javi can't get enough of you (aka idk how to summarize this other than it's pwp whoops)

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

Warnings: ... again, this is straight up pwp, unprotected p in v sex, rough(er) sex, breeding kink (I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!! It's physically impossible to not!!), praise kink, big, nasty creampie, cum play, 1 use of daddy and papí (but like, that's the goal), an ass smack, prone bone and the one position from s2e3 of Narcos because I say so!!! also sweet, tooth rotting fluff because I don't know how to write any other way

A/N: She's nothing, if not consistent, your honor 🤠 You'll have to pry Javier Peña and his big, fat breeding kink out of my cold, dead hands before I stop writing about it!!!!!! Figured what better way to break a hiatus than letting the ovulation demons do the lords work for me to post some smut on tumblr dot com, hope y'all enjoy!!!

Never Too Late Masterlist

“Fuck, Javi!” 

The only thing that’s keeping you from waking up your neighbors with the volume of your moans is the way Javi has you pressed against the mattress, muffling the sound of you screaming his name as he pounds into you, over and over. 

You swear he could smell it on you from the second he walked through the door, how you had been craving him all day. Just the thought of him alone was enough to make you ache with unbearable need and want. From the moment he left for work this morning, you were counting down the hours until he got home so you could climb him like a goddamn tree. 

But then again, how can anyone blame you when he’s the one who instigated it in the first place? 

“I swear to god, when I get home, I’m not letting you out of the fucking bed tonight ‘till I knock you up.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise, Javi?” 

“Both.” 

Javi’s always been a man of his word, but with the way he’s fucking you right now, it makes you wonder if he’s ever planning on letting you out of the bed again. 

“That’s it baby girl, let me hear it.” 

You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest, pressed against your back as he fucks into you, deeper and harder with each thrust. The grip around your intertwined fingers tighten, practically melting you into the bed with the weight of his broad body is pinning you down, caging you beneath him. 

Heat is radiating off him, the tacky sheen of sweat pooling where your skin meets, Javi’s hips flushed against the meat of your ass. He’s already got you three orgasms deep, but there’s just something addictive about Javi that always has you begging for more, desperate to cum around his cock over and over again until you have nothing left to give. 

“Oh my god- fuck. Fuck, Javi, I want more baby, please. Fuck me harder- oh fuck-” 

You swear you can feel his smirk creeping into the corners of his cheeks as he kisses your shoulder, relishing in the mess he’s already made you, and yet, you still can’t seem to get enough of him. 

“You want more, hermosa? Let me hear you, baby.” Javi coos, purposely slowing his pace down just enough to make you whimper, quietly laughing to himself at the way he can feel you back your ass up against his hips, trying to keep yourself as full of him as you can. 

“I want it, I want more, baby, please.” You whine, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the devilish grin Javi has plastered across his face. 

“You gonna be a good girl and take everything I have to give you? Let me fill you up until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ stick?” He groans, the thought of fucking himself so deep inside you that nine months from now, he’ll be the reason for your growing family, igniting something indescribably primal in him. 

“Yes! Yes, please, fuck- I’ll take all of it!” 

It’s borderline pathetic how many octaves your voice has climbed as you beg him for more, a pitch and volume so loud and high you nearly startle yourself with your response. You can hear Javi sigh and curse under his breath. You’re not sure if it’s because having you like this drives him crazy, or if having you like this drives him so crazy, he’s worried he’ll bust right then and there if he doesn’t control himself. 

Your response has him shifting behind you, sitting back on his knees and gripping his fingers into the meat of your sides to force your bottom half up, one hand letting go to smack your ass just hard enough for your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. 

You’re not sure how, but the new position has him feeling even fuller, stretching you out to the point of pleasure filled sobs as he starts to pound against your g-spot, each thrust rougher than the last. 

You’re so wet that the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt is almost as loud as the noise of his skin slapping against yours. That, combined with the lewd panting and moaning heaving from each of your chests, has the room sounding like you could easily give any porno ever produced a run for its money. 

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Always so fucking wet and tight for me. Whose pussy is this, baby?” Javi asks, his once smug demeanor quickly dissipating as he chokes out his question through gritted teeth, so drunk on you he can barely think straight. 

“Yours! Fuck, fuck fuck- It’s yours, Javi.” You sob, fisting at your bedsheets so tightly, you’re convinced it won’t be long until your knuckles turn white. 

“Fucking right, it is. Fuck you so full of me that I knock you up, make sure- mierda- make sure everyone knows you’re all mine. That what you want, Mami?” 

“Yes, y-yes! Oh fuck- yes! ” 

Javi gets one more smack at your ass before he reaches around to scoop you up from your front, draping his arm across your chest to flush it with his back, never letting the pace of his hips falter. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’re positive you’d be limp, so all consumed by pleasure that it’s engulfed every inch of your body. to keep yourself upright. 

His free arm snakes around to find your clit, whimpering as the pads of his fingers rub tight circles around the bundle of nerves. The undeniable tingle at the base of your spine is beginning to build again, the all too familiar clamping of your cunt around Javi’s cock growing tighter by the second. 

You can all but feel him in your stomach, every inch of him sunk as deep as you can take him, backing your ass into him to counter every snap of his hips. You shoot your hand behind you, digging your nails into whatever part of his thigh you can find to brace yourself on as he fucks into relentlessly, only egged on by the fact he knows how close you are. 

“You got one more for me, baby?” Javi mewls, nipping at your neck while the hot words of his breath dance across your skin. “One more time before I cum so fucking deep inside you?” 

You’re not sure how you even have the capacity to form words, nodding your head in compliance as you try your best to string together something comprehensible as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. 

“Y-yes, oh fuck- want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me, please, papí.“ 

“Fuck me.” Javi huffs under his breath, furrowing his brow in an intense focus to keep from fulfilling your request preemptively. “Cum for me, Hermosa. Cum all over my cock, and I promise I will.” 

It only takes a few more frantic strokes before you’re collapsing around him, orgasm shooting through your body with such radiating pleasure, you’re not even sure you’re on this earth anymore. The way he’s pinning your nearly limp body to his, pounding into you relentlessly to chase his own high is almost too much, but you’ll take it. You’ll take everything he has to give because it means that you’re his. 

“That’s my girl.” Javi coos, sliding the hand that had been rubbing at your clit up your chest, stopping to wrap around your jaw, just firm enough to dip your head back to rest against his shoulder. “My good fucking girl.” 

His head is buried in the crook of your neck, pants and moans muffled against your skin, growing louder with each snap of his hips, each one more reckless and sloppy than the last. You can barely make out the words he’s mumbling into your ear, his brain just as jumbled as yours as he nears his finish line. 

“I have so much fucking cum for you. Gonna fuck it so deep in you, it’ll- oh fuck- it’ll fucking take. Fill up this pussy with every last- shit- every last fucking drop. Fuck!” 

It’s a low groan that rumbles in his chest first, followed by a strangled whimper that dies somewhere in the back of his throat as his hips stutter, hot ropes of his spend spilling inside of you while he cums. You know he doesn’t dare let a drop go to waste, that he’ll keep his cock stuffed inside your cunt until you’ve milked him of every ounce he has to give. 

And fuck, he wasn’t lying when he said plenty to give. 

You can’t even tell where your body ends and his begins, melded together as one, his length nestled so deep inside you, you can feel all of him pulsing while his seed overflows, leaking out pussy and dripping down your thighs. You know there’s nothing more Javi wants than to keep every last drop inside your cunt, but the best he can do with how much he has to give is to keep fucking it into you, forcing hips to thrust deeper in sync with the heavy heaves of his chest until you’re all but sobbing. 

“It’s- fuck- it’s so much, Javi, fuck-” You whimper, jaw slack at the slick, sticky mess pooling around the base of his cock. 

“Jesus, fuck- I know, baby. I know, but you’re taking me so fucking well.” He coos, softly kissing your neck and shoulder before shifting your body to lay you down, somehow remembering to grab a pillow from his side of the bed to prop under your hips before your back hits the mattress. 

You hiss at the loss of Javi inside you, the sharp breath quickly replaced by a gasp as you the next plop of cum dripping out of your hole caught by Javi’s fingers, sliding up your soaked folds to gently press back into your cunt. He uses the last bit of strength he has to part your legs just enough to make room for his head, leaning down just enough to pepper soft kisses to your clit, trailing up your stomach and chest until he collapses next to you. 

The both of you lay there for a moment in silence, nothing left to fill the room but the post-orgasmic haze you’ve left behind, catching your breath as you try to let your brain sync back up to your body. 

“Javi… Javi, holy fuck.” You huff, the corners of your cheeks turning upwards in a cheeky grin as you roll your head to face him, giggling at the wide eyed, fucked out expression his face still can’t seem to shake. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before running his hand through the sweat-dampened curls of his hair, prying them from the damp mat they’ve made on his forehead.  

“You came so hard, Jav.” You softly giggle, scooting close enough to lay your cheek against his chest, smiling as he drapes his arm across your back to pull you in closer. 

“Yeah, I know. Fuck, I haven’t cum that hard in a long time.” Javi smirks, fingers drawing gentle patterns on the warm skin of your back. 

“Trying to knock me up really turns you on that much, huh?” You tease, the two of you laughing like you didn’t already know the answer, or that he couldn’t say the same for you. “It’s hot.” 

“Yeah?” Javi asks, biting down on the plush of his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Mhmmm. You’re already about to be the hottest DILF known to man, makes it that much hotter how badly you want to be a daddy.” 

Even though Javi rolls his eyes at you, trying his best to hide the boyish grin stretched between his cheeks. You snicker at the pink flush of his face, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss on his lips, both your smiles meeting each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck me.” Javi sighs, quietly laughing to himself, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

“Again? Already? Hate to break it to ya, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got nothing left in the tank there, Jav.” 

This eye roll makes him grin even harder, supring on your giggles with the ticklish kisses he pecks across your body as payback for your awful joke. 

“You’re such a fucking dork. God, I love you.” 

“Love you more, idiot.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[pascalxp]

addicted to this song