#pedro pascal xf!reader

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.10

Chapter Ten: You Should Be Mine For Life

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking,

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I’m back from the dead! Sorry I took so long to come back— I’m actively in NYC right now for vacation tehe. Love you guys loads and see you in the next chapter! (It's gonna be a whole press tour mess lol)

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Gif Credits: @/a7estrellas

Song: Lover Girl by Laufey

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THREE MONTHS LATER…

Time, as it tends to do when life finally feels like it’s clicking into place, passed in a blur of golden leaves and steady laughter.

London in autumn was something out of a dream. The trees turned to fire—burnt orange, deep red, golden yellow—and every morning was painted with the kind of soft light that made even the greyest skies feel romantic. The air carried a permanent chill now, crisp enough to bite your cheeks when you walked to set, but not enough to take away the comfort of it all. You’d started wearing oversized scarves and Pedro had given you his favorite beanie after you forgot yours one morning—claiming it looked better on you anyway.

Work had become… fulfilling. Really, truly fulfilling.

The set felt like home now. No longer tiptoeing, no longer second-guessing every move or word. People smiled at you when you walked into the production tent. They asked for your opinion. You were no longer “that girl Pedro was protective of”—you were just you. And people had learned you were worth listening to.

Cecilia’s absence had changed the air. Lighter. Calmer. Safer.

There were still occasional whispers about her—especially when legal stuff flared up again—but it was like the storm had passed, and now everyone was just soaking in the quiet relief that followed.

Daisy and Omar had become your anchors. Your safe zone. The kind of friends who brought you your favorite coffee before you even asked, who forced you to take breaks when you looked too tense, who teased you about Pedro only in the kindest, most knowing ways.

And Pedro…

Pedro had somehow become your entire world without ever asking to be.

At first it was simple. Shared coffee in the mornings. Walks back to the hotel in the evenings. The occasional dinner out—nothing fancy, just quiet corners of hole-in-the-wall restaurants where he could slip his sunglasses on and just be yours for a little while.

But it had grown. Deepened.

He knew how you liked your tea now, and that you sometimes needed silence more than conversation after long days. He memorized the way your eyes scanned the room when you were nervous and started touching your arm whenever you needed grounding. He held your hand without needing a reason. He made you laugh when you were stressed and held you when the stress was too much to laugh through.

And you…

You were still a little shy. Still awkward sometimes. Still catching yourself looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was real. But you were getting better at letting him in. Better at leaning into the way he adored you.

It terrified you, how much he made you feel. How much you’d come to need the sound of his laugh, or the way he whispered “hey, it’s okay” when your chest got too tight. But it also felt… safe. Like maybe this was the kind of love that didn’t burn you alive. Maybe this was the kind of love that healed.

The wind bit at your face as you stepped out of set that evening, bundled in your thickest coat, Pedro’s scarf wrapped around your neck like a memory.

“Wait up,” his voice called out behind you.

You turned, smiling instinctively.

He was in his usual layers—hood pulled up, a soft beanie peeking out from underneath. His curls had grown longer, falling over his forehead in little waves. He looked cozy and tired and beautiful, the way only Pedro could look beautiful in forty layers of wool.

“Thought you had a meeting,” you said.

He caught up to you easily, his breath fogging in the cold. “It got moved to tomorrow. I’d rather walk with you anyway.”

You ducked your head, biting back a grin. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” His fingers brushed yours, not quite holding—asking. Waiting.

You gave him your hand without hesitation.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, boots crunching over fallen leaves, your linked hands swinging slightly between you. The city moved around you, busy and bright, but in your little bubble, it was all warmth.

“How are you feeling?” Pedro asked quietly, after a while.

You shrugged. “Tired. But okay.”

He looked at you sideways. “You sure?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. It’s been good lately. Really good. I think that scares me sometimes.”

Pedro nodded like he understood, and of course he did. “Good doesn’t mean the other shoe’s about to drop, you know.”

You looked up at him, cheeks pink from the cold and maybe something else. “I know. I just… I’ve never had this before.”

“This?” he echoed.

You nodded slowly. “Work feeling like it matters. Friends who actually care. And you.”

Pedro stopped walking.

You turned, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

He looked at you like you’d just said something earth-shattering.

Then, softly, “You have me. Okay? You really do.”

Your heart stuttered. “I know. I’m just still trying to believe it’s real sometimes.”

He stepped in closer, crowding into your space the way he always did when you got shy and started retreating inside yourself. He brought a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

“It’s real,” he said, firm but gentle. “You and me? This thing we’re building? It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked fast. “Okay.”

His lips twitched. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

“I’m still cold and awkward and trying not to cry in public.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours. “God, you’re cute.”

You groaned, cheeks burning. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You stayed there like that—foreheads touching, breaths mingling—until someone across the street shouted Pedro’s name and the moment broke.

But it lingered. In your chest. In the way his fingers didn’t let go of yours all the way back to the hotel.

Maybe you were finally allowed to be happy.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The hotel room was dimly lit, bathed in the amber glow of a single floor lamp tucked beside the bed. The rest of the suite was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace and the low hum of city sounds beyond the thick windows. Everything inside was warm—quiet, safe, untouched by the world outside.

You stood barefoot on the plush rug, having just changed into your coziest pajamas—Pedro’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts that barely peeked out beneath the hem. The hoodie still smelled like him—his cologne, faint and woodsy, mixed with something undeniably Pedro. You’d never admit it, but you’d worn it to bed more nights than not.

Pedro was already stretched out on the bed, still in his jeans but having shed his sweater, revealing a soft grey tee that clung to his chest in the nicest way. His arm rested behind his head as he looked over at you, eyes lazy and warm, his curls tousled from running his fingers through them.

“You look cozy,” he murmured.

You shuffled your feet, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s your hoodie.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “I know. Looks better on you.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” he teased, echoing what he told you earlier on your walk.

You ducked your head with a smile, biting your bottom lip. Your heart still fluttered around him in that annoyingly obvious way, no matter how many nights you’d spent like this lately—close, quiet, intimate in a way that was domestic more than anything else.

The kind of closeness that felt like home.

You padded over to the bed and climbed in beside him, crawling beneath the covers. Pedro immediately shifted, pulling you gently against his side. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucking naturally into the curve of his neck.

It felt easy. Like breathing.

“You okay?” he murmured, fingers brushing soft patterns up and down your arm.

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah. Just… a long day. I like ending it with you.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I like that too.”

For a few minutes, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in the hush of the moment. The way his hand stroked your arm. The way your breathing began to match. The way your fingers found the hem of his shirt and fiddled with the fabric without even thinking.

You tilted your head to look up at him, your voice quiet. “Can I…?”

His eyes flicked to yours, tender and patient. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed. “Can I kiss you?”

Pedro’s expression softened into something that made your stomach flutter. He reached up, cupping your cheek gently.

“You don’t ever have to ask,” he whispered.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, even as you nodded.

You leaned in first—tentative, shy—and he met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Lingering. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the pace of your breath, the warmth of your lips against his.

You pulled back only an inch, eyes fluttering open.

He smiled, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Again?”

You laughed softly, heart skipping. “Yeah.”

This time it was slower. A little deeper. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there gently as he kissed you like you were something fragile. Precious. Like he had all the time in the world.

And for a moment, it really did feel like time had stopped. Just you and him, wrapped up in warm sheets and soft affection, the world fading into nothing beyond this room.

When the kiss broke, he leaned his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours lightly.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he whispered.

You smiled, lips still tingling. “You did do that earlier.”

“Yeah, but this…” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “this feels different.”

“How?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Pedro pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, thumb grazing your jaw.

“Because it feels like love.”

You blinked slowly, breath catching.

And for once, you didn’t shy away.

You let the words settle into your chest like a promise. Like a future you were finally brave enough to want.

You reached up and touched his face, your voice trembling just slightly.

“It feels like that to me too.”

Pedro didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just kissed you again, slow and sure, and held you tighter.

Later that night, as you curled into him beneath the covers, your fingers linked together and your nose tucked into the crook of his neck, you thought—you could get used to this.

Not just the kissing. Not just the comfort.

But the him of it all.

The falling. The softness. The love.

Pedro thought to himself, as his hand curled a little tighter around your waist, that you were the kindest thing to ever happen to him. Not just kind in the way you smiled at strangers or the way you thanked every crew member even when they were only doing their jobs—but kind in the quiet ways. The gentle ways. The way you spoke to him. The way you let him in.

It terrified him sometimes, how easily he could lose himself in you. In this.

He pressed his nose into your hair, breathing you in. Warm skin, soft cotton, a faint trace of shampoo. He could’ve stayed like this forever.

There had been something inevitable about you from the start. A gravitational pull he hadn’t tried to fight. The slow burn of connection, of comfort, of knowing that one day he’d look over at you, and you’d be looking back at him like this—like the two of you were teetering on the edge of something. That threshold between friendship and something more.

Something bigger. Heavier. Real.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened. Maybe it had been the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. Or the way you always touched his arm when you laughed. Or that morning when you showed up to set, tired and coffee in hand, and smiled at him like he was the only person who mattered.

But now, with you curled into his side, with your breath soft and steady against his chest, he was sure of it.

You’d crossed that threshold together. Quietly. Gently. Like stepping through a door you both already knew was open.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Pedro huffed a soft laugh. “Am I?”

You nodded, nose brushing his throat. “Yeah. I can tell.”

He kissed your temple, slow and lingering. “I was just thinking… I really like this. I really like you.”

Your breath hitched—just slightly. “Oh.”

Pedro smiled. “Is that all you’re gonna say? ‘Oh’?”

You burrowed closer, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m shy, remember?”

He chuckled, a low, fond sound vibrating through his chest. “Yeah. I remember. I like that about you too.”

You sighed, soft and sleepy and content. “Feels like this shouldn’t be real. Like… it’s too good.”

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His gaze was tender, serious in a way that made your heart skip.

“It’s real,” he said quietly. “It’s so real it scares the shit out of me sometimes.”

You met his eyes, shy but steady. “Me too.”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You nodded.

“Good.” Another kiss, softer this time. Just a brush of lips. “Because I’m gonna take you on so many more dates. And I’m gonna keep holding you like this until you’re sick of me.”

You laughed, breathless. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Pedro smiled against your skin. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

The room settled into quiet again. His hand stroked lazy circles over your back, lulling you back toward sleep. But just before you drifted off, you whispered it—quiet and small.

“I like you too. A lot.”

Pedro didn’t say anything at first. He just held you closer. Kissed the top of your head. Let the words settle between you like a promise, and somewhere, deep in the softest part of his chest, something unfurled.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

It was nearing the end. The kind of end that felt soft at the edges, bittersweet in its finality. The sets were still standing, the cameras still rolling for a few final pick-ups here and there, but the weight of goodbye lingered just beneath the surface of every conversation, every laugh shared between takes.

The energy on set had shifted—relieved, yes, and light with the knowledge that soon everyone would return home to their own corners of the world. But there was a hum of sadness, too. The ache of closing a chapter you weren’t quite ready to leave behind.

You, Daisy, and Omar found yourselves tucked in a quiet corner of the lot, half-heartedly organizing equipment while swapping stories that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with squeezing out every last drop of this strange, perfect little bubble of time together.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Daisy sighed dramatically, slumping against a crate. “What am I gonna do without you two ruining my peace every day?”

Omar grinned. “You’re gonna cry. Loudly. Probably on Instagram Live.”

Daisy threw a marker at him. “Shut up, I will not.”

You laughed, soft and fond, because this was the rhythm of it now. The teasing, the inside jokes, the quiet comfort of people who had become more like family than colleagues.

“Well, I am gonna miss this,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not just the work. This… all of this.”

Omar nudged you with his elbow. “Hey, you’ll still have Pedro.”

Your face warmed immediately. “That’s… different.”

“Different good,” Daisy teased, wiggling her brows. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. Like you hung the stars or something.”

You groaned, hiding your face behind your clipboard. “Please don’t make it weird. It’s already terrifying enough.”

Omar chuckled. “He’s good for you. You’re good for him. It’s not weird—it’s kind of nice, actually. Watching you two make each other… softer.”

You chewed your lip, heart fluttering despite yourself. Because they weren’t wrong.

Pedro had become your safe place in a way you hadn’t expected. The hotel nights tangled in whispered conversations, soft kisses pressed to your forehead, quiet reassurances when the anxiety crept in and tried to convince you this was all too fragile to hold. He made you feel… steady. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the burden you’d convinced yourself you were.

And you were learning to let yourself believe it.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket—Pedro.

You smiled without even meaning to.

Pedro: You free? Need to steal you for a bit.

“Speak of the devil,” Daisy teased as you typed back a quick ‘coming now’.

You excused yourself with a wave, heart thudding a little too eagerly as you made your way across the lot. It didn’t take long to find him—leaning casually against one of the trailers, sunglasses perched on his nose, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets like he hadn’t just made your stomach flip with a single text.

“You stealing me again?” you teased, stopping a few feet away.

Pedro’s smile tugged slow and easy across his face. “Always.”

He closed the distance, fingertips brushing your wrist before they tangled with yours. His touch was familiar now, but it still made something in your chest ache in the best way.

“C’mere.” He guided you out of view, around the side of the trailer where no one would see. “Just needed a minute. With you.”

Your brows lifted, soft and curious. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Better now.”

There was a beat. One of those quiet moments where words didn’t matter, where his gaze on you said everything.

“This is all almost over,” he murmured, thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “And I know we’ll figure it out, you and me. Whatever comes next… I’m in.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

Pedro smiled, tilting his forehead to rest against yours. “Yeah. I don’t want this to end with the production. I don’t want you to think this was just some… on-set fling. I’m serious about you.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. “I know. I believe you.”

He kissed you then, slow and sweet. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or hunger, but about promise. About staying. About choosing.

“I love this stupid job for giving me you,” he whispered against your lips, and you laughed—soft, a little shy, but filled with something bright and hopeful.

“I’m really glad you stole me away today,” you whispered back.

Pedro grinned. “Like I said. Always.”

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EVENING

WRAP PARTY

The string lights flickered softly overhead like lazy fireflies strung between scaffolding and studio walls. Someone had dragged out a couple of tall heaters, but it wasn’t the warmth that made you feel safe—it was the people.

It was the way Omar had his arm slung dramatically over Daisy’s shoulders, both of them mid-laugh at some inside joke you’d probably heard a dozen times by now but would gladly hear again.

It was Vanessa holding up her phone, pouting as she took a selfie with Joseph, only for Ebon to photobomb them from behind with two peace signs and the world’s most exaggerated grin.

It was Pedro standing a few feet away, his gaze finding you in the crowd, soft and sure even from across the lot.

You made your way to him, weaving between half-empty champagne glasses and clusters of crew saying their goodbyes. He smiled when you reached him—tired, warm, familiar.

“You disappearing on me again?” he teased, his fingers finding yours with ease, pulling you just a little closer.

“Not disappearing. Just… observing,” you said, giving him a look. “Big difference.”

Pedro hummed. “Is there?”

You nodded. “One involves me wandering off. The other involves me staring at you like a creep from across the party.”

He laughed, the sound sinking into your bones like sunlight. “Good to know where we stand.”

Someone nearby popped open another bottle of champagne with a cheer. The music shifted into something a little slower, softer—Fleetwood Mac, of course. Always someone’s go-to.

Pedro’s thumb was drawing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles again. “You holding up okay?”

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ask me tomorrow. Right now… I’m just glad you’re here.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before he could say anything else, Joseph called out. “Oi! Group photo. Everyone—get your asses over here before Omar starts posing like he’s in a Vogue spread again.”

Omar gasped dramatically. “How dare you imply I’ve ever stopped.”

Laughter rippled through the group as everyone started gathering beneath the lights. Pedro’s hand settled comfortably at the small of your back, guiding you into the mess of arms and shoulders and grins.

Vanessa had appointed herself selfie queen and was demanding everyone squeeze in tighter. “Come on, come on—look like you like each other, for Christ’s sake!”

“Debatable,” Daisy joked, elbowing Omar playfully.

“Pretend it’s a Marvel premiere,” Ebon said with a grin.

“Say ‘Thank god it’s over!’” Joseph quipped.

“THANK GOD IT’S OVER!” everyone cheered in varying levels of enthusiasm as Vanessa snapped photo after photo, laughing between each one.

Someone handed Pedro a disposable camera for fun, and he held it up, eyebrows raised. “Alright, say ‘I survived stunt week!’”

You caught his eye right as he pressed the shutter.

“I survived stunt week,” you mouthed with a grin.

Click.

The moment caught forever.

When the photos were done, people began peeling off in smaller circles again—cigarettes lit, last drinks grabbed, plans made for karaoke bars and greasy breakfasts.

Pedro didn’t let go of your hand. He tugged you gently toward the quieter side of the lot, where the lights dipped lower and the noise faded into something background and soft.

You stopped beneath one of the overhead lamps, its light catching in his hair, brushing the edges of your features with gold.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said quietly, biting back the smile pulling at your mouth. “You really didn’t have to do all this for a date.”

His brows rose. “You think I planned the whole wrap party just to impress you?”

You laughed. “Admit it—it’d be very ‘Pedro Pascal’ of you.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he teased, then softened. “But I meant what I said. We’re not done, you and me.”

You met his gaze, heart thudding slow and steady. “I know.”

Silence settled between you—not heavy, not awkward. Just full of things unsaid that didn’t need to be said.

“I would’ve been happy if we’d just… stayed in bed, watched TV,” you admitted after a beat, your voice quieter now. “Could’ve saved yourself the trouble.”

Pedro’s smile curled slow and fond. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of nights ahead for that.”

You huffed a soft laugh, playful despite the warmth crawling up your neck. “God, I probably need to set all my socials to private. Or just delete them entirely. One photo of us holding hands, and it’s game over.”

He grinned. “Too late. Daisy posted you already.”

Your eyes widened. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did. Captioned it something sappy about family and wrap parties. Clever girl.”

You groaned. “I’m gonna have to deactivate.”

“You’re not,” Pedro said, tugging you a little closer until his nose brushed yours, soft and easy. “You’re just gonna let them talk. Let them guess.”

“And us?” you whispered, already leaning into him. “What are we doing?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “Whatever we want.”

And then—softly, sweetly—he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… certain.

A kiss is like the closing of a chapter and the start of something new.

A kiss that said: this is ours now.

Behind you, the others called out drunken goodbyes and promises for breakfast. Someone cheered. Someone groaned about cabs.

But here—beneath this quiet light, beneath his fingertips steady at your jaw—it felt like none of it touched you.

Only him. Only this.

Somewhere in both your pockets, your phones buzzed quietly with messages and notifications neither of you noticed.

For now, there was only this moment.

And the rest could wait.

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66 @bunniboo0015 @kneelforloki @sarcasticamentegiulia @joelmillerpascal @somedayheaven @vixorell @bunny-pancake @shadybell-3 @munsonsquinn @pinkcabinet @dotyoureyez @end-up-well @lottieellz101 @sinarainbows

[kittenlittle24]

Take My Vitals Masterlist

Masterlist

Pedro Pascal x Fem!reader

Summary: Pre-med perfectionist [Your Name] thought her gap year internship at The Late Night Hour would be a fun, low-stakes break before med school. Then she literally runs into Pedro Pascal backstage—and somehow becomes his secret lifeline in the chaos of live TV. Between cue cards, coffee runs, and chemistry that won’t quit, she starts to wonder: is this just a summer detour… or something more?

Wattpad link

Chapter 1: Wrong Turns & Right Angles

Chapter 2: The Wait and The Wine

Chapter 3: Off Script Moments

Chapter 4: Proof of Life

Chapter 5: Casual Abduction

Chapter 6: The Pen Theory of Relativity

Chapter 7: Study Session & Stolen Kisses

Chapter 8: The Taste of Goodbye

Chapter 9: A Charged Silence

Chapter 10:Sober Words & Drunk Silence

Chapter 11:The Hoodie Theorem

[stardustrebels]

This Love Will Carry- A Marcus Pike x f!reader One Shot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader New Year’s Eve/ Hogmanay One Shot Rating: T/ PG-13. WC: 1k

Tags: Fluffy fluff, Epic NYE kisses, No use of Y/N, No physical descriptions of reader. 

A/N: I had the urge to write something cute for New Year's Eve. I didn’t quite get round to my planned Marcus Pike- in- Edinburgh story I wanted to write this year, and following the news that the Hogmanay Street Party has been cancelled this year due to the weather, I wanted it to live on in spirit through the rose-tinted romanticisation it deserves. I hope you enjoy this hastily written fluffy fic set at Hogmanay! The title is from my favourite Dougie MacLean song, if you fancied a lovely song to accompany your reading! Happy New Year to you when it comes- Lang may yer lum reek! 

The air was crisp, tinged with the unmistakable scent of burnt out sparklers as the clock ticked ever-closer to midnight. The city of Edinburgh had outdone itself for Hogmanay. Thousands of revellers filled the streets, their laughter and cheers blending with the distant strains of music echoing from Princes Street Gardens. Above them, the imposing outline of Edinburgh Castle stood proud, bathed in a soft golden glow. 

Marcus Pike adjusted the scarf around his neck, a nervous habit as much as a shield against the biting cold. You stood beside him, soaking in all the excitement from the other people around you who’d climbed to the top of Salisbury Crags to get a better view of the fireworks, your breath misting in the air as you gazed across the city. 

“I always forget how beautiful it is up here,” you said, looking up at him. He didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes lingered on your profile, illuminated by the glow of torchlight around you from people who had been much more prepared than you two- you’d decided to climb up here impulsively an hour before the bells, encouraged by Marcus on a whim after you’d shared stories about watching the fireworks from there as a child. 

Your cheeks were flushed, whether from the climb in the cold or the whisky you’d shared earlier as you rushed up the hill, he wasn’t sure. 

Marcus managed a small smile, but any words he was about to say caught in his throat at the sight of you. Instead of speaking, he took a moment to let his gaze wander across the scene: the city sprawled below, its lights twinkling like scattered stars. The distant hum of celebration rose to meet the rocky outcrop of the hill. It was breathtaking, yes, but none of it compared to the way you looked right now- he was certain the moment would lose all of its magic if you weren’t in it. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice low and soft, “It’s beautiful.” 

Below, the crowd began to cheer as the countdown to the New Year began, their voices rising in unison, the crowd around you joining in as the sound reached the top of the hill. 

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Slightly out of sync in the most endearing way. You laughed at the sound; a carefree laugh, full of unbridled joy. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. You joined in with the count, glancing up at Marcus, the flickering torchlight bathing your face in a gold glow, your eyes reflecting the distant shimmer of the city lights. 

Seven. Six. Five. 

Marcus reached out silently and took your gloved hand in his; any sound would be lost in the swell of the crowd’s excitement. You looked back at him, brows lifting in question. 

Four. Three. 

His free hand cupped your cheek and you leaned in instinctively, breath catching as his thumb brushed against your skin. 

Two. 

Your eyes darted between his, taken aback by the adoration in his gaze. He closed the gap between you, trying to steady himself against the nervous flutter in his chest. You smiled, your breath hitching as you closed the gap. He was so close you could feel his breath, the warmth chasing away the cold against your cheek. 

One. 

Your lips met his as the fireworks burst in to life above you. The sky exploded in a riot of gold, red and green, the light cascading the hilltop in a bright wash of colour, illuminating the crowd that had gathered there. They faded in to the background as you leaned in to the kiss. All that mattered was the warmth of Marcus’ mouth on yours, soft and searching. 

His hand on your cheek steadied you, the scratchiness of his glove a sharp contrast to the tenderness of his touch. The other slid to your waist, tentative at first, then firm as you leaned against him. You could taste the lingering traces of whisky on his lips, the peat and honey mingling with the faint hint of peppermint from the gum he’d obviously been chewing moments before. 

Marcus exhaled against your mouth, although you couldn’t hear it over the sound erupting around you, it felt like a reverent sigh, like he couldn’t quite believe he was kissing you. You felt the tension in his arms ease, the weight of long-standing hesitant longing dissolving in to the kiss. He wasn’t rushing- he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like the moment could stretch forever if you let it. 

Your hands found their way to the lapels of his coat, clutching the fabric to anchor yourself. When you shifted slightly, deepening the kiss, you felt the faint hitch in his breath. A soft, unspoken plea for more. 

The fireworks above grew louder as the display reached its crescendo, their booming echoes providing the bass drum to the tenor beat of your heart thrumming in your ears. 

When you finally pulled apart, it was only because you needed air. Your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cold, both of you unsteady on your feet. Marcus’ eyes fluttered open, his dark brown eyes meeting yours as he pulled away to look at you properly. 

His gaze was soft, like you were the only other person in the world, the bustling crowd and fireworks forgotten. The torchlight around you flickered across his face, casting shadows over his strong jaw and highlighting the faint pink that dusted his cheeks. His lips were parted, flushed from the kiss. He looked at you like you were something precious, something fragile and irreplaceable, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire city had fallen silent, just for you two.

“Happy New Year!” You exclaimed, joy bubbling over as you kissed his cheek, looking up at him with a smile that was so wide your cheeks were starting to hurt. 

Marcus laughed, his hand still resting against your cheek. He showered your face with kisses until you squealed for him to stop, laughing as out-of-time choruses of Auld Lang Syne began around you. 

“Happy New Year,” he yelled over the singing, pulling you close.

As the fireworks continued to light up the sky around the city, Marcus tightened his hold on you, watching as the pops of colour reflected in your eyes as you smiled up at him. For the first time in a long time, it felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[blunailz]

I don't know who might see this but I'm desperate.

I'm looking for a mandalorian fanfic in which reader is force sensitive/user. I don't remember anything plot wise other than it starts with Din waking up from a dream, and the words "be with me".

Please help me find this, I'd really like to keep reading it.

[andy-15-07]

Hello, can I get a Pedro Pascal xf! Reader plus size, Pedro and Reader are best friends and secretly in love with each other, when Reader goes on a date Pedro gets jealous and declares his love for Reader.

Beyond Best Friends

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT:1090 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/n:I'm sorry I haven't been active in the last week, school kept me busy, now I have more free time and I will respond to all your requests.

It was a quiet evening in Los Angeles, and the soft hum of the city was barely heard through the windows of the cozy apartment you shared with your best friend, Pedro. He was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you were in the kitchen, putting together a simple dinner. You smiled to yourself, a quiet warmth spreading through your chest as you watched him, just like you always did.

Pedro was your best friend, and yet, sometimes, it felt like he was so much more than that. The way he laughed at your jokes, how he’d always offer a hand whenever you needed it, how he remembered the little things about you,like how you liked your coffee or how you preferred your pizza toppings. But you never told him, never showed him how deeply you felt about him, even though you knew it wasn’t just friendship anymore.

You loved him.

And he probably had no idea.

The sound of his voice cut through your thoughts. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

You froze. The question caught you off guard, and the spatula you were holding clattered against the counter. Slowly, you turned to face him, your heart dropping. You hadn’t even told him yet, but he knew. He always knew.

Pedro was sitting up now, his dark eyes fixed on you, a subtle curiosity in his gaze. He had been your best friend for years, but he had never asked about your dating life. That was until today, when you had casually mentioned you were going on a date.

You tried to smile, trying to hide the anxiety that gnawed at you. “Just some guy I met. We’ll see how it goes.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “What’s his name?”

“Luke,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. You winced internally, realizing you were trying too hard to sound casual.

Pedro didn’t miss the slight tremor in your voice. “Huh. Well, I hope he treats you right,” he said, his tone flat but with an edge of something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce a little too vigorously. “Thanks. I’m sure he will.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid that he’d see right through you. The truth was, the thought of going out with someone else felt so wrong. Every time you tried to picture your future, it was Pedro who was there, not some random guy.

But you had to let go. You’d kept your feelings for him hidden for too long. Maybe it was time to let someone else into your heart.

The dinner passed in awkward silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Pedro was quieter than usual, and you found yourself unable to eat, instead pushing the food around on your plate, lost in thought.

Eventually, after dinner, you went to your room to get ready for your date. As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit,an elegant dress that you’d picked out just for the occasion,you heard Pedro’s voice from the hallway.

“You look… beautiful.”

You froze, the words stirring something deep within you. He never used that word with you unless it was to describe something or someone else. The way he said it,so tenderly,made your chest ache.

You turned to face him as he entered your room. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face unreadable. His gaze lingered on you, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Thank you,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see whatever emotions he was hiding. “I should probably get going. He’ll be here soon.”

Pedro’s expression hardened slightly, but his voice remained calm, almost too calm. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

You turned to look at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “What do you mean?”

His jaw tightened. “I mean, you don’t have to go on this date. You don’t have to do something you’re not sure about.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I’m sure about it. It’s just a date, Pedro.”

A silence fell between you two, thick and heavy. Pedro looked like he wanted to say something but was holding himself back. He exhaled sharply before walking towards you. When he reached you, his eyes were filled with an intensity you didn’t know how to handle.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending shivers through your body. “I can’t stand the thought of someone else being with you. I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”

Your breath hitched. Was this really happening?

Pedro’s voice dropped lower, almost pleading. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been too afraid to say it. But I can’t watch you go out with someone else, pretending like this,whatever this is between us,doesn’t matter.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart racing as you realized the depth of what he was saying. It wasn’t just a confession; it was everything you had been feeling but never said aloud.

“You,Pedro,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ve felt the same way for so long. But I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought I was just… your friend.”

Pedro closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “You���re more than that. You’ve always been more than that to me.” He took a deep breath, his hand still resting on your cheek. “You’re my heart, Y/N. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the space between you, and kissed him,softly at first, but with all the feelings you had kept buried for so long.

Pedro kissed you back, slowly, tenderly, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His hands gently cupped your face as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer.

When you finally broke apart, you both stood there, breathless, gazing at each other as if seeing each other for the first time.

“I don’t need a date,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his. “I just need you.”

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Pedro Pascal Characters Masterlist

All fics are xf!reader

Worth The Risk: When you and your boss get stuck working late at the Embassy, a heated accident makes the two of you realize that maybe some things are worth the risk.

Coming Soon…

Sugar, Spice and Starlight: When you decided to move to Nevarro to open a bakery the last thing you expected was to fall in love with a grumpy Mandalorian. Takes place following Season 3, after Din moved to Nevarro and has been living there with Grogu. This is just a collection of one-shots that all take place in the same world. Listed in Chronological Order!

All Pictures On Moodboard Are From Pinterest

Last Updated: 07/07/2025

[juletheghoul]

A Weekend Away

AN: Real talk, the idea for this came to me in a dream. I have reached Stephanie Meyers levels of fandom lmao. None of you should be surprised that this is an au, this Dave never went down the path of The Equalizer, instead he made a decision that made him filthy rich. We're talking big wealth here so I hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent, soft, rich, devoted husband and father. Quick thanks to my girl @wheresarizona for beta-ing this and for the gorgeous moodboard / header, as well as @foli-vora, thank you both for generally being supportive and amazing. Hope you enjoy xox. (I might turn this into a 3 part series depending on the response.)

Pairing; Dave York x f!reader

Warnings;  daddy kink 🤡 piv sex (wrap it up), squirting, swearing, dirty talk, oral (f-receiving), let me know if I missed anything. (Should be completed blank-slate female reader, but if there is anything I missed - please let me know!)

Word count; 3K

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

----------------------------------

His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet in your shared bedroom, a clearing of his throat announcing his presence before his hands rest on your hips. His lips quickly descend to adorn your shoulders with kisses. 

“We’re taking off soon, baby. Is everything good to go?” Your last few words come out almost as a sigh - his lips have traveled from your shoulders to your neck and now to your ear, where he takes it between his teeth. He hums in the back of his throat in acknowledgment before he answers. 

“I’m sure everything is going smoothly. Let's sneak in a quickie before we leave, hm?” His voice is mischievous, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “Put that down - the housekeeper can pack for us.” His hand wraps around your middle and travels up, holding the weight of your breast in his hand and before you can say anything he’s turning you, spinning you in his hold to devour your mouth with his. 

Whatever argument you had in your head, whatever garment you had in your hand drops to the floor by his hunger for you, and then you’re falling, or rather being placed onto your back on your plush bed, and he's surrounding you. Your dress is up around your hips, and he's slotting his in their rightful place - his tongue is thick in your mouth, and you aren’t kissing, you’re being kissed. 

“I need you, baby.” He’s pulling down the straps of your dress with an urgency that makes you melt. His frown at the flesh on display for him has you pulling your swollen lower lip between your teeth, and it almost makes you light-headed how he can still make you this desperate this quickly. Your nipple is in his mouth, and your fingers curl into the short crop of his hair, the pained moan that escapes around the bud is almost lewd, but then the door to your room swings open, and she toddles in - your baby girl. 

“Is that my princess?” He lifts his head away from your saliva-slicked nipple to smile at her. She lifts her arms to him, and he lets out a resigned sigh - no quickie right now. “You, my lovely—” He speaks to her with a smile in his voice and in his heart, “Have impeccable timing.” He kisses her full cheeks, one then the other, over and over until she laughs. 

You lay in the bed, watching them as you right yourself, unable to be too disappointed when you see him like this - his face lit up with her laughs, her chubby little hands on his face in hopes of delaying a tickle attack. 

“I’ll finish packing up here. Why don’t you go check in on everything downstairs? Make sure the dogs are packed and see if Nana needs anything for the girls?” You stand up, fixing your skirts before reaching down to pick up the cardigan you’d dropped. 

“Fine,” he sighs, the baby laying her head on his shoulder, and he can't help but kiss her halo of hair. “Let's go check the hounds, princess. Mommy said so.” He gives you a quick peck before they’re both out of the room, and with him gone, you can focus on packing for the weekend. 

You look over what you’d already grabbed while trying to catch your breath, ignoring the way your underwear sticks to your skin, and with a shake of your head, you’re running through what you remember of your schedule for the next few days. 

Alma walks in as you’re coming out of your airy walk-in closet, one of David’s more casual suits in hand. 

“Let me do that.” She reaches for the garment bag in your hands, tutting at your momentary refusal. “The girls are packed and ready, the dogs are waiting in the mudroom, and we’re good to leave. Let me help you.” She took no nonsense, and you loved her for it. She’d been in your life since you met David; she’d been in his since childhood, and now she helped watch your girls. 

“Alma, this is a weekend away for you as much as it is for us. I don’t want you working, is Richard packed and ready?” Her husband was going to be joining you at your country house, a weekend of doing nothing but enjoying each other's company.

“Yes, he’s downstairs with David. They’re talking about sports or something, who knows.” She waved away your words and started packing things into the open suitcase. “The rest of the staff have already left to get the house ready. After this, we’ll be ready to leave.” She was the sweetest woman you’d ever met; it was obvious why David considered her a second mother. 

“Yes, I just need one more thing, something for date night tomorrow.” You spoke over your shoulder, a brisk walk back into the closet to grab something to wear. 

“That sounds great - Richard and I will watch the girls.” She called back, an amused sigh at her refusal to take a break. 

“You don’t need to!” You called back as your hands carded through the array of dresses that hung before you. David had well and truly spoiled you, and there were absolute confections hanging here, much too formal for a simple date with your husband. You settled on a slinky black number he’d yet to see you in. 

“Alma, I have told you, and so has David – this weekend is for rest. You do not have to watch the girls.” You spoke as she helped put your dress into its own garment bag. Once again waving away your concerns. 

“They aren’t work for me – they feel like family.” She zipped up the suitcase before turning to you. 

“They are. We are your family.” You pulled the heavy suitcase off the bed, smiling at her and meaning every word. 

-

His hand was gripping your thigh, his thumb making a steady pass over the skin in range, raising goosebumps in its wake. He smiles to himself, his other hand curled around the steering wheel, and he knows exactly what a tease he's being. You ignore it. 

“Daddy, are we almost there?” Charlotte calls from the backseat of the SUV, her little voice cutting through your tension. 

“Yes, baby, we’re almost there, just under an hour, I’d say.” He answers her, his kind eyes looking at her through the rearview. 

“Is Nana gonna be there?” She’s playing with a new doll, one he just bought her.

“Yes, baby, Nana is coming.” She smiles at his response. Evie was quiet in her seat beside her sister, her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. “Evie, honey, you okay?” His hand moved from your thigh, reaching behind to tug on her little foot. 

“She’s tired. Missed her nap today.” You turned to smile at her, her big brown eyes – her father’s eyes watching you both.

“Aw, well, at least you’ll sleep tonight.” He focused on the road. “Did you think of where you wanted to go for dinner tomorrow night, honey?” He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. 

“I didn’t. I’m happy to go anywhere.” You brought his hand back into your lap. “I packed you a nice suit.” He smiled. 

“I made a reservation in case you didn’t find a place. Supposed to be a nice place – hope you packed yourself a dress.” His hand gripped your thigh again. 

“You’re the best, you know that?” You meant it. He was. He was a wonderful husband and a loving, doting father. And if the way they treated you whenever you stopped by the office was anything to go by, he was a well-liked and respected business owner and boss. 

Before you knew it, he was pulling into the long driveway into your summer house. Every time you saw it, you thought about how your marriage had started, how you’d both lived out of a tiny studio apartment while you both worked and worked. He’d come back from his days in the military with a few scars and ideas of starting his own security company. 

Years later, you were all reaping the benefits of his discipline, of the hard work, and the lucky breaks he’d gotten. One government contract led to another, and soon his security company was the country's most used and most successful. 

“Okay, my lovely ladies, we’re here.” He parked in the gravel, a big smile on his face as one of the staff came out to take your bags and his. “Thank you, Jeffrey. In the room is fine and don’t worry about us this weekend. No hard work, okay?” He clapped the other man on the back before opening the backseat, where Charlie held her arms up. You were both holding onto your children when the dogs came bounding over. It was going to be a great weekend. 

-

The food was served at dusk on the patio, the large table set with a simple but delicious meal. Everyone ate together, you, David and the girls, Alma and Richard, along with the chef and the housekeeper, the driver as well. Everyone was welcome at your table, and they all knew it. There were no awkward smiles, no tentative words – the table was filled with laughter and conversation. The girls were passed from you to David to Alma when they weren’t chasing after the dogs. 

“Alma, stop – sit down.” He rose to stop her from chasing after Evie. “Here, have some more wine. I got the one you like. Relax, enjoy,” he said it with a smile, and she reluctantly sat with a slap to his arm. Richard smiled, pulling her in to place a kiss on her temple while the girls enjoyed the fresh air. 

Once the plates were cleared, most of the household had gone to bed, and the four of you were sitting in the cozy living room enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside. He had a book in his hands that he was reading with Charlie while you rocked Evie in your arms. Pretty soon, though, she was asleep.

“I’m going to put her to bed.” You got up slowly, cradling her head against your chest. “Bath time will have to wait until tomorrow.” Charlie was yawning as you walked past.

“Come on, Charlie, it’s bedtime.” He closed the book, following you up the stairs, him going into Charlie’s room while you went into Evies. 

By the time he’d finished with Charlie, you were getting out of the shower, laughing at his pout at not having waited for him.

“Go get clean, and then maybe we can finish what you started before we left.” You slid your hand down his stomach, relishing the groan he let out when you palmed the bulge of his crotch. “Go on, get clean for me, daddy.” You smacked his ass before moving towards the bed. You didn’t make it far before he pulled you back, both his hands cradling your face as he licked into your mouth. 

“Don’t bother getting dressed. Daddy wants you just like this.” He pulled the towel away, sending you to the bed naked, his palm landing a heavy crack to the meat of your ass. 

Your skin crackles with excitement as you wait for him, nestled in the crisp, clean sheets. The sound of the water running ramps up the arousal, a deep anticipation filling every inch of you for the way his cock would soon fill you - for the way he’d surround you, the way his goal always seemed to be to consume whenever he fucked you.

Your heart skipped a beat when the water shut off, kicking the sheets off so he’d find you just how he wanted you. 

He came out still dripping, his cock bobbing.

“You ready for me?” Cool water droplets fall from his hair onto your skin as he crawls up from the foot of your bed, a kiss dropped onto your shin, then your knee, your inner thigh before he’s spreading your legs open with the breadth of his shoulders. 

“I’m always ready for you.” You reach down, threading through his damp hair, your heartbeat pulsing in your cunt at the way his eyes rake over your pussy, all glossy and ready for him.

“I know, baby.” His molten mouth descends, pressing kisses to your mound before he curls his fingers around the tops of your thighs, pulling you towards him hard enough to pull a gasp from your mouth. “Spread your pretty little pussy open for daddy. I wanna hold you close to my face.” He bites at the meat of your thigh as you bite the plush of your lower lip, complying with an almost delirious ecstasy. 

The hand not threaded through his hair snakes down and does as he asks, spreading open the lips of your sex for his mouth. He groans, staring at the ripe berry of your clit. 

“That’s my good girl. Keep it nice and open for me.” He dives in, his tongue honing in just where you want it most, and it’s like your whole body is wired with a current only he produces, an electricity that lights up every inch of you with pure want. 

Your belly trembles as his tongue strokes at the very heart of you, ramping up higher and higher as he presses himself closer, his mouth surrounding your clit in a steady suck. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream - your eyes almost unfocused at the way he moans obscenely into your skin. 

It’s too quick, the way stars burst behind your eyes and at the center of your being, and through the haze of euphoria, you hear him laugh. 

“Already?” He places an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, a rumble in the back of his throat at the way your legs try to close around him. “Just a few licks and you’re getting me all wet?” He smiles, his tongue cruel and sweet all at once. 

“Fuck me already, David,” You push his hair back slightly, separating his face from your cunt, and his smile widens. “I want it.”

“What do you want? Tell me.” He kisses your thigh before kneeling between your legs. Your mouth almost waters at the sight of his cock, the tip sticky with his own arousal. 

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream.” You all but moan the words, sitting up slightly to rest on your elbows. He reaches for a couple of cushions and taps your hip. When you lift them, he positions them under, elevating you at the perfect angle. 

“Perfect, don’t worry, daddy’s got you.” He gets into position, the tops of his thighs pressed up tight against the backs of yours, and he lifts your legs up, so your calves press against his chest, your feet up by his shoulders. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He slides the fat head of his cock through your folds, soaking himself in you. “Bet I’m gonna just glide right in aren't I?” 

He notches himself, sliding in right to the hilt without resistance, a shared moan filling the air. 

“So fucking wet, you always feel so fucking good, baby.” He watches himself disappear into the clutch of your cunt, relishing the way he shines in your arousal. 

You can do nothing but pant at the way he’s hitting something sacred, something white-hot that blanks your brain every time he pushes against it. 

His hand shifts to your belly, and he presses down. Your brain short circuits, and you cry out almost involuntarily.

“There it is. That’s the spot, huh?” He speeds up, battering against the cosmos in your pussy. “You wanted to scream, so scream for daddy.” He’s railing now, focusing his energy on hitting the bullseye he knows he’s found, and the pressure is building - something that feels too good to breathe is creeping in, flooding your veins, your hands coming up and pressing against his chest. “Come on, goddamn it, give it to me.”  

His eyes are black with lust as your pussy leaks with the arousal he is ripping from you, and then it happens, a wet gush around where he keeps up his assault. A scream rips from your throat, and he laughs triumphantly. 

“There it fucking is, one more - I want you to do it again.”

Your brain is mush, and he’s soaked, but his thrusts don’t let up. He presses against your belly harder - his hips snapping quicker and quicker, and this time it happens faster. He doesn’t let your body curl in on itself like it wants to; instead, he spreads your legs, slotting his hips between them to kiss you as he chases his own high. One of his hands a reassuring press against your throat while the other palms your breast.

A handful of thrusts is all it takes for him to slow to a grind, coming with a deep groan, the pressure of it against your clit triggers a feather-soft orgasm as he fucks his come as deep as he can.

He collapses on top of you, breathing hard against your neck. Your brain floats in a haze of bliss as you both catch your breath. Your hands raise almost on their own to run along the smooth skin of his back, soothing yourself as much as soothing him.

“I love you, baby.” He lifts his head and presses a kiss to your mouth, sealing his words with it.

“I love you, too.” You run your fingers through his damp hair, pulling him tight against you for a few moments, enjoying the comforting weight of him for a little while longer.

Eventually, you both rise, and together you quickly change the sheets, giddy with laughter, and when you finish, he pulls you close. Whispers his words of devotion in the quiet darkness of your home, the both of you falling asleep-tangled in one another.

-

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @just-here-for-the-moment @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @kissasith @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @planetariumx @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @ichigodjarin @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita

[supernaturalgirl20]

It’s that time of year again!!! I’m using @absurdthirst template for kinktober this year and here is my schedule.

***These are gonna be very heavy on the smut and some will also be quite dark so please heed all warnings before you read.***

1: Shibari - Marc Spector x f!reader

2: Gagging - Pero Tovar x f!reader

3: Threesome - Frankie x f!reader x Santiago

5: A/B/O - Frankie Morales x f!reader

6: Underwear- Marcus Pike x f!reader

7: Bath/Shower sex - Pero Tovar x f!reader

12: Cock Warming - Joel Miller x f!reader

13: Monster Fucking - Werewolf!Ezra x f!reader

17: Hate Fucking - Joel Miller x f!reader

19: Somnophilia - Din Djarin x f!reader

21: Breeding - Pero Tovar x f!reader

22: Sex Pollen - Javier Pena x f!reader

23: Erotic Dancing - Marcus Pike x f!reader

25: Lactation - Din Djarin x f!reader

30: Public Sex - Frankie Morales x f!reader

[avastrasposts]

Hi there, I'm glad you made it here and I hope you'll enjoy my writing!

All my writing is 18+ so make sure you are. I love talking about my fics (who doesn't?) so asks and DM's, comments and reblogs are always welcome.

Need recommendations for long fics? Here is a list of recommendations that will get you through long travel hours or just a dull evening: Long fic recs

I crosspost on Ao3

Enjoy!

Master List

Pedro Pascal characters

A Baker's Dozen - Series Master List

(featuring pretty much all of the Pedro boys)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian

The Exiled Heart - Series Master List (complete)

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

First Taste (complete)

Frankie Morales x mbf!Reader

Almost; Always (complete)

Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia

Big Sky Country - Series Master List

Work in progress

The Pilot and his girl - Series Master List

TLoU/TF cross over - Completed. Long, full of fluff, angst and smut. Frankie x Reader)

Drabbles featuring Frankie

The Blind Date - A short, fluffy one shot about that one time your friend Benny set you up on a blind date, Frankie x Reader

Swimming lessons with Catfish - A smutty drabble set in an alternative, no outbreak, version of the The Pilot and his Girl universe, Frankie x Reader

The Accident - Angsty fluffy one shot that will probably be given a part two down the line, Frankie x Reader

Frankie & Din - A funny, I hope, one-shot with Frankie & Din at the air fair

Frankie to the rescue - A one shot drabble about Frankie welcoming you home after a long day of travelling, Frankie x Reader

Six and a half minutes - Frankie's version (a smutty one shot where Frankie interrupts your holiday baking, Frankie x Reader)

Come in, Atled Air, come in - a short and fluffy one shot about Pilot!Frankie and AirController!FemReader.

Not an Easy Man to Find - my first m/m fic featuring Pope x Frankie

First Taste - Young!Frankie and his mom's best friend. Totally not a reaction to all the "dad's best friend Joel fics....

General Marcus Acacius

Bona Dea - Complete Series Master List

Marcus Acacius x Reader. A one shot that's developed in to it's own little series. 4 out of 5 chapters are published.

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Fate Unbound - Work in Progress - Pero Tovar xF!Reader set in viking time Norway - Introducing the reader - Their first meeting

The Guard Dog - Groundskeeper!Pero x female reader written for Studioghibelli's writing challenge.

Rosemary & Lavender - Mercenary!Pero x female Reader one shot

Memories made, memories lost - Mercenary!Pero x female Reader one shot written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope challenge.

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Snowed In - Javier's version (a one night stand with Javier Peña as he's snowed in at a hotel. Javier x OFC)

Pickled Interruptions - Part of the Pickled Peña writing challenge @pickled-pena

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Gun Cleaning - Joel's version (a smutty one shot when Joel walks in on you cleaning the guns, Joel x Reader)

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

When was the last time you lived? - a short one shot for the Summer Lovin 24 challenge.

Karl Urban characters

Éomer (LotR)

The Tack Room (super fluffy but not complete)

Billy Butcher (The Boys)

The British Connection (slow burn with very little fluff, a chunk of smut and lots of plot)

Six and a half minutes (smut drabble)

Dear Reader (smut drabble in two parts)

Snowed in (smut drabble)

Gun cleaning (smut drabble)

Ellie just gets to have a lot of sex with Billy Butcher (4 part series, the title is pretty self-explanatory. No, it's not about TLoU Ellie... )

[andy-15-07]

Hey, I just watched Triple Frontier and I would like to read Pedro Pascal xf! Reader plus size, Pedro and Reader are dating, Reader is a CIA agent but works directly with the SEAL team, Pedro and Oscar Isaac ask Reader for tips on how to be a good team guy

Mission: Trust and Teamwork

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2226| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

“Y/N, you know you’re our secret weapon,” Pedro grinned, ruffling your hair as you walked into the briefing room at headquarters. The fluorescent lights cast a crisp glow over the room, highlighting the determined glimmer in your eyes. You, a plus-size CIA agent with a reputation for unparalleled skills in working with the SEAL team, had earned the respect of everyone here—not just for your expertise, but for your kindness and unwavering determination. And today was no different.

You took your seat at the large oval table, your well-worn tactical jacket draped over your shoulders. A mug of strong coffee steamed beside your laptop as you prepared for the briefing. Across from you, Pedro Pascal leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes watching you with affection and admiration. Just a few seats away, Oscar Isaac, the ever-curious strategist, tapped his pen against a notepad, clearly itching to learn from the best.

The agenda for the meeting was straightforward: Team integration tips for an upcoming joint operation involving CIA intelligence and Navy SEAL field expertise. But as soon as the introductions were over, it became evident that today’s session was less about procedure and more about learning the art of being a “good team guy”—a quality that both Pedro and Oscar were eager to master.

“Alright, team,” you began, a confident smile on your lips, “today we’re going to focus on what it means to be a solid, reliable teammate on and off the field. I know both of you have asked for some pointers, so let’s dive in.”

Pedro leaned forward, his voice warm and teasing. “So, Agent Y/N, as the resident CIA badass and my brilliant girlfriend, can you tell us: How do we become the kind of team players that make you swoon every time you watch us in action?”

Oscar chuckled. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been reading a lot about leadership and teamwork, but sometimes I feel like there’s an element you just can’t teach in books. Help us out, will you?”

You tapped a finger thoughtfully on the table. “Well, it starts with communication,” you explained, glancing between Pedro and Oscar. “No matter how skilled you are individually, if you don’t talk to each other, you’re setting yourselves up for failure. Whether it’s during a covert op or planning a strategy session, clear, honest dialogue is key.”

Pedro smirked. “I always thought I was pretty good at that, but I guess I could polish my listening skills a bit more.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “I’ve noticed that sometimes I jump in too quickly, assuming I know what everyone else is thinking. Maybe I should learn to hold back and really listen first.”

You smiled warmly at both of them. “Exactly. It’s about trust and understanding. You have to trust your team with your life—and in return, they’ll trust you to have their back. I remember when I first joined the SEAL team as a CIA consultant, I was terrified of not measuring up because of my background. But I learned that strength isn’t just about physical prowess—it’s about the courage to speak up, the willingness to ask for help, and the ability to give it when someone needs you.”

Pedro leaned in closer, his tone softening. “Y/N, I’ve seen you in action. You handle every situation with such grace, even under pressure. I want to know: How do you keep your cool when everything around you is chaos?”

You sighed, your gaze turning introspective. “I think it comes down to preparation and perspective. When you’re well-prepared, you can predict a lot of what might happen, and that gives you a foundation to stand on when things go awry. And perspective—knowing that mistakes are just opportunities to learn—helps you stay calm. I remind myself that every mission is a chance to grow, both as a professional and as a person.”

Oscar scribbled notes furiously. “So, preparation and perspective—got it. But what about moments when you have to make split-second decisions? How do you balance the need to act with the need to consult your team?”

You exchanged a quick look with Pedro, who raised his eyebrows playfully. “That’s where experience comes in,” you said. “And a lot of practice. You need to know your teammates so well that you can almost predict their moves. Sometimes, you have to trust your instincts. I rely on my training and on the fact that I know my team—each of you—inside out. And remember, sometimes the best decision is to take a step back, let the situation unfold, and then jump in with a well-timed intervention.”

Pedro laughed softly. “I guess that means I should probably work on my ‘jump in’ technique before our next op. Maybe even perfect that dramatic pause you always talk about.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Oh, you mean the ‘cool, calculated silence’? Trust me, it’s harder than it sounds.”

Oscar grinned. “And what about empathy? How do we make sure that we’re not just efficient, but also supportive to one another? I mean, sometimes the pressure can get to you, and having someone who understands can make all the difference.”

Your eyes softened. “Empathy is essential. Recognize that each of you brings a unique set of strengths and vulnerabilities to the table. It’s important to celebrate each other’s successes and support each other during failures. There was a time I doubted my abilities because I didn’t fit the typical mold. But I learned that being true to yourself—embracing your strengths, including your size and the confidence that comes with it—is what really matters. You both have your own insecurities, and by being open about them, you create an environment where everyone can thrive.”

Pedro’s expression grew sincere as he reached for your hand. “I’m proud to be with someone who isn’t afraid to show her true self. You’re proof that being strong comes in all shapes and sizes.”

Oscar leaned back, nodding in agreement. “I’m taking notes on everything you’re saying, Y/N. But I have to ask: What’s the most important quality you think a team member can have?”

You paused, considering the question carefully. “Honestly? It’s integrity. Trust is built on honesty. If you’re not willing to be honest with yourself and your team, nothing else matters. Whether you’re planning a covert mission or just debriefing after a long day, integrity is the foundation that keeps everything else in place.”

There was a moment of quiet as Pedro and Oscar absorbed your words. Then Pedro broke the silence with a teasing smile. “So, should we all start signing an oath to always be brutally honest with you?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Maybe not an oath, but a commitment to always be there for each other—even when it’s hard.”

The conversation continued, ebbing and flowing between serious strategy and playful banter. At one point, you recalled a recent mission where your quick thinking had saved the day. Pedro’s eyes shone with admiration as you recounted the story.

“It was just one of those moments,” you said, shrugging modestly. “We were deep in enemy territory, and everything seemed to be going wrong. I noticed a pattern in their communication that everyone else missed, and I knew it was our chance to act. It wasn’t about being the hero—it was about being a part of something bigger, about knowing that every single decision counts.”

Oscar leaned forward, his voice low with awe. “That’s incredible, Y/N. I mean, it takes guts to make those calls in the heat of the moment. I hope I can learn to trust my instincts like you do.”

Pedro’s expression turned serious for a moment. “And I hope I can learn to be a better listener, too. You’ve shown me that sometimes, the best leadership isn’t about taking charge—it’s about knowing when to step back and let someone else shine.”

You smiled, grateful for their openness. “Each of you has something unique to offer. Pedro, your ability to rally the team and keep spirits high is invaluable. And Oscar, your analytical mind helps us see patterns that others might miss. Remember, a successful team is one where everyone’s strengths complement each other.”

The room buzzed with the energy of shared purpose as you wrapped up the session with a few final words. “I know the upcoming operation is going to be challenging. But if we stick to these principles—communication, trust, empathy, and integrity—I have no doubt that we’ll come out stronger on the other side. And remember, we’re not just a team on the field—we’re a team in life.”

Pedro squeezed your hand. “I couldn’t agree more, love. You’re not only an incredible agent, but also an inspiration to us all.”

Oscar grinned broadly. “Yeah, Y/N, thanks for giving us a crash course in being awesome teammates. I think I’m going to need a refresher after every mission!”

Laughter filled the room, the camaraderie palpable. In that moment, it was clear that the bonds forged in the crucible of danger and duty extended far beyond the call of duty. They were the bonds of family—chosen and cherished.

Later that evening, after the formal briefing had ended and the team had dispersed to prepare for the mission, you and Pedro found a quiet moment together in your shared apartment. The soft hum of the city outside contrasted with the warm, secure atmosphere inside. Pedro moved closer, wrapping his arms around you as you sat on the worn leather sofa, a half-finished cup of tea in your hand.

“You know,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder, “today wasn’t just about teamwork. It was about how much I’ve learned from you—not just in the field, but in life.”

You smiled softly, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. “I learn from you, too, Pedro. Every day, you remind me that love and trust are the strongest forces we have.”

He chuckled, running a hand along your arm. “And here I was, thinking I’d be the one giving lessons. I guess I’m the lucky one to have a partner who’s as brilliant and fearless as you are.”

You leaned into his embrace, savoring the simple intimacy of the moment. “We’re lucky—lucky to have each other, to have a team that supports us, and to be part of something bigger than ourselves.”

Pedro’s eyes sparkled as he pulled away slightly, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “So, Agent Y/N, what do you say we celebrate tonight by practicing some more teamwork of our own? I have a few ideas for a debriefing… if you know what I mean.”

You laughed, a playful glint in your eye. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. And trust me, after today’s session, I’m more than ready for some hands-on training.”

The conversation turned to lighter, more flirtatious banter as you both planned a quiet, celebratory evening. You talked about everything from favorite movies to shared dreams, your dialogue filled with the ease of long-term love and mutual respect. In those moments, it was clear that your relationship was more than just a partnership in the field—it was a union built on shared values, trust, and an unyielding commitment to each other’s well-being.

As the night deepened, you found yourself lying together on the couch, the soft glow of a table lamp illuminating your contented smiles. Pedro’s hand rested on your stomach—a tender reminder that every part of you was cherished, celebrated, and integral to the life you were building together.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a tender murmur, “thank you for being the heart of this team—and for showing me that real strength comes in all forms. I love you.”

You reached up, tracing the lines of his face with gentle fingers. “I love you too, Pedro. And thank you for always being there, for listening, and for believing in us—both on the field and off.”

In that quiet moment, as the night wrapped around you like a protective cloak, you realized that every lesson, every bit of advice, and every shared laugh was weaving a tapestry of trust and love—a tapestry that would carry you through every mission, every challenge, and every moment of joy that lay ahead.

The next day, energized by your heartfelt conversation and the knowledge that your team was stronger than ever, you stepped back into the fray with renewed determination. Pedro and Oscar continued to seek your counsel, their questions now laced with genuine admiration and respect. And as each day unfolded, the bond between you grew deeper—both as colleagues in a high-stakes world and as partners in life.

In the end, it wasn’t just about being a good team guy or a brilliant CIA agent. It was about forging connections that transcended titles and ranks, about creating a family out of trust, humor, and endless support. And as you led your team into the next chapter of your journey, you knew that as long as you all communicated honestly, trusted each other implicitly, and never lost sight of what truly mattered, no mission was impossible.

Because when hearts and minds unite in the pursuit of a common goal, that unity becomes the most powerful weapon of all—and the promise of a better tomorrow was written in every shared laugh, every whispered word of encouragement, and every moment of unbreakable trust.

[supernaturalgirl20]

Gonna take part in Steph’s @toomanystoriessolittletime December writing challenge this year (🤘thanks Steph for putting it together 🥰)

Driving Home for Christmas - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Meet You There - Ezra x f!reader

Marry Me? - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Just Us - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Christmas market - Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warmth - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Lunch Date - Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Getaway- Dave York x f!reader

I Do - Marcus Pike x f!reader

This will bring me right up to new years and then I’m taking a long overdue hiatus. I promise I WILL have all my outstanding requests done and posted and my Frankie series will be finished. I will still be writing away (I have a mafia au series I’m working on for Oberyn (it’s super smutty 😈) and one or two other things, but I won’t be posting until at least February.

K, luv ya

Char xx 😘

[browneyes-issac]

Ahhh! I loved thisss! 😍🔥💞

Such a perfect set up/introduction!! 🤗 I love that she is nervous but hides it good/let's it go when she's talking to Jack. The banter is so cute!! Her internal thoughts are so perfect and priceless.

I can't wait for more of their journey! Already so amazing! 💞🤗😍

I ║ Palomino

Jack Daniels x f!reader

 { Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M (will be E in future chapters)

Summary: Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Warnings: Extremely self-indulgent solo travel romance, flirting, yearning, language, matchmaking themes, lots of horsey details, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: This story encompasses a lot of firsts for me - first new series since Consent, first time writing Jack, first time writing something so action-heavy and close to my heart. While I'm not 100% confident I got everything right, I am so excited about this fic. I hope you're ready for the ride (I apologise in advance for all the horsey puns incoming)!

I want to call out (affectionate) LJ @prolix-yuy for lighting a fire under my ass for cowboy Jack with her incredible Westworld AU Cognitive Dissonance. I also need to thank Ani @deadhumourist for the idea of a company retreat that I used in this chapter, and for sharing with us her amazing Jack fic Under Marula Trees. And of course, Ash @mandoblowmybackout for enduring my almost non-stop screeching about Jack ❤️

More notes in the Series Masterlist on horses and travel, etc!

Palomino: a pale golden or tan-coloured horse or pony with a white mane and tail, originally bred in the south-western US.

The door creaks long and loud on its hinges as it opens, barely letting through a bustling figure before slamming shut so hard it rattles on its heavy oak frame.

At the long-suffering frown sent his way from across the reception desk, Champ holds his hands up in apology and tip-toes in exaggerated fashion to his desk. Ginger shakes her head fondly - being quiet is not one of her employer’s strong suits.

She presently returns to the phone call she’s in the middle of, using her most placating tone on this customer. ‘Look, we have regulars coming in the same week as you. They come every year for a company retreat, and they are just the loveliest people you can meet. I promise you’ll have a great time.’

The vintage Chesterfield groans under his weight as Champ settles down, and with a practised flick of his wrist, his cowboy hat lands on its designated hook on the wall. He turns to the ledgers Harry left on his desk two days ago - he can’t keep putting them off much longer…

His mind quickly wanders. He’s a people person, and he’s always been more interested in the dude ranch holiday part of the business. However, Ginger is so good at her job that she’s made him redundant, banishing him to the whiskey distillery side of things. 

It doesn’t stop him from keeping half an ear on the ongoing phone conversation though.

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am, it’s not our policy to offer refunds. But I promise you’ll have the best birthday with us on the trip.’

Champ steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. Ah, a customer wanting to cancel. Always tricky.

‘Tell you what - since you’ve already paid a 40% deposit for two guests, why don’t I waive the 20% balance for your holiday for one party?’

Champ arches a grey eyebrow in curiosity.

‘Alright, perfect,’ chirps Ginger brightly. ‘We look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Bye now.’

‘What was that about?’ he asks as soon as she hangs up.

Bringing up the reservations system on her computer, she types busily as she replies, ‘A guest booked a holiday with her boyfriend, but they broke up, and she wanted a refund for both their places. I convinced her to come alone instead with the discount. She’s here the same week as the Kingsman so she definitely won’t be lonely.’

Champ gives her a double thumbs up. ‘Nicely done, Ginger. And did you say it’s her birthday while she’s here?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll give Poppy a heads up to bake a cake in advance.’

‘Do you have a photo of her?’

Ginger’s fingers pause and hover over the keyboard, a warning in her voice. ‘Champ.’

He blinks innocently. ‘What? I’m a nosy bastard.’

With a sigh, she pulls up a Whatsapp profile picture and holds up the phone to him.

He puts on his reading glasses to look at the screen, and proceeds to nod thoughtfully. Finally, they haven’t had any single guests at the ranch for months on end. Surely, she’s his type…

‘Champ?’ Ginger’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. ‘Stop meddling!’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

She rolls her eyes affectionately. ‘He’s a big boy, he doesn’t need your help.’

Champ barks in laughter. ‘Like hell he doesn’t. Call the Kingsman and reschedule them, Ginger. I have a plan.’

You’ve never travelled on your own before.

Now that you’re speeding down the empty country roads towards the Bighorn Mountains - windows down, dust flying, radio blaring - you honestly don’t know why you waited so long.

You’re glad that the woman at the Statesman stood firm when you called a month and a half ago, asking for a refund. The discount sweetens the deal too.

To be honest, the week-long dude ranch trip you booked months ago had completely slipped your mind in the aftermath of the breakup. There were more pressing matters, like - what were you going to do with the house you bought and remodelled together?

You’d just finished tiling the backsplash with the vintage Italian mosaic you found at a flea market when you were informed that he didn’t feel the same way about you anymore. In fact, he hadn’t for some time.

You were only reminded of the trip when you started clearing your stuff out of the attic, finally having found an apartment you could afford on your own that is also not a shithole. You found the riding gear that you’d stashed away, gathering dust since you two started dating.

You should be thankful that at least there’s no costly wedding venue deposit to forgo or a pet custody battle to muddle through. He’s always hated animals - you really should’ve known. 

But you can’t bring yourself to not be bitter about everything. Not yet.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re going on this trip. That lazy bastard can start pulling his weight and sort out the house viewings for potential buyers for this week. He’s been dragging his feet - just because he can afford to pay both the mortgage and rent at his new bachelor pad doesn’t mean you can too.

You shake yourself out of it and crank up the stereo. Fuck it. You’re not thinking about him or the house or anything this weekend. It’s your solo birthday getaway and you’re gonna enjoy the fuck out of it.

And who knows? If you’re lucky, you could be rebounding with a handsome cowboy, like one of those awful Unicorn Club novels you used to read over and over again when you were fifteen.

You laugh, the pull of the muscles in your cheeks unfamiliar after weeks of disuse. A girl can dream.

You switch off the ignition, hands gripping the driving wheel tightly, and you take a moment to compose yourself. 

‘You can do this,’ you murmur, giving yourself a reaffirming nod in the rear view mirror.

Hopping off your rental truck, you shut the door behind you and start towards the only building you can see, a rustic lodge with a red roof. Statesman is blazened in iron letters, nailed proudly above a wraparound porch with welcoming rocking chairs and armchairs scattered about.

The gravel beneath your sneakers crunches loudly. You can hear in the distance sounds that you haven’t heard for a long time - clip clop of hooves, the drag of a barn door on rusty hinges, the low whinny of horses. You breathe in the mountain air scented with a whiff of sweet hay. Things that were familiar once upon a time. Your chest constricts at something blooming between your ribs, and a small smile lifts the corner of your lips.

There’s a bark out of the blue, and a border collie comes zipping towards you, wagging his tail so hard that his whole bottom wriggles from side to side. You coo excitedly and crouch down to give him a cuddle when a man with grey hair emerges from the lodge. It’s a warm day, but he’s wearing a suit with a cowboy hat.

In a booming voice, he calls your name in greeting and makes his way over to you. ‘We’ve been expecting you, young lady! The name’s Champ. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

You stand and shake his proffered hand with a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Champ. It’s good to be here.’ You gesture to the empty parking lot. ‘Am I early or something?’

‘You’re our only guest this week, actually,’ he replies in a thick Southern accent.

You scratch the back of your neck, taken by surprise. ‘Umm, but the lady I spoke to on the phone - she said that there are regulars joining? A company retreat or something?’

‘Sadly, they rescheduled. It’s just you, my dear. You’re our VIP!’ he grins and claps you on the shoulder. ‘Come! Walk with me. I’ll have someone take your bags to your room. You can leave the keys in the car, it’s safe - but you keep any food to yourself or Jameson here will run away with it!’

The border collie barks at his name and Champ scratches him behind the ear, dispatching him with a wave of his hands.

Your host starts at a brisk walk. ‘So, how was your journey, young lady?’

You have to power walk to keep up with him as the gravel fades into firm sand. ‘Long, but glad to be here. I’ve been really looking forward to getting away.’

‘First time travelling alone, I assume?’ Champ smiles at you kindly.

You nod sheepishly. ‘I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.’

He laughs. ‘You’re entitled to nerves, but I promise you, you’ll forget all about that in three, two, one -’

Right on cue, you round the back of the lodge and you can’t help the gasp that slips out as you stumble to a stop.

The full landscape of the ranch comes into view beneath your feet. A picturesque river cuts through the green sweep of land, small lodges with matching red roofs are dotted all over one side of the bank, and bigger barn-like structures stand on the other. The Bighorn Mountains tower over the entirety of the property. You see horses grazing in a huge, fenced field, tails flicking lazily at flies.

Champ practically glows at your reaction. ‘It’s taken thirty years to get to where we are. I hope it will stand for many more decades to come.’

‘It’s - stunning,’ you say rather inadequately.

Champ winks at you. ‘Wait till you go into the mountains, my dear. Come along, now.’

You resume walking side by side, and he continues, ‘Now, since you’re our only guest this week, I can give you two options for your trip. We can do day-long rides with you, and you spend the nights here at the ranch. It’s more comfortable, but it does mean that you don’t get to go as deep into the mountains.’

Champ stops to take a breath. ‘Alternatively, you can go on a week-long pack ride with our cowboy and camp along the way, just the two of you. It's a magnificent journey, I can promise you.’

It’s a lot of information to take in so quickly, and you hesitate. ‘Um - ’

He holds up a hand at you and pauses abruptly, something catching his eye. ‘Ah, speak of the devil. Before you decide, you need to meet our cowboy. He'll be your guide for the week.’

You’re craning your neck to catch a glimpse when Champ bellows so loudly that you nearly have to take cover. ‘JACK! Son! Say hello to our guest for this week before you take the horses to pasture.’

Your ears still ringing, the silhouette of a man on horseback comes into view halfway across the yard. The dust seems to magically settle and part, and a handsome face framed by a cowboy hat, a tidy moustache and a wicked sharp jawline comes into focus.

‘Whoa.’

You belatedly realise that you said that out loud when Champ wriggles his eyebrows at you.

‘Howdy, ma’am,’ the cowboy calls back, tipping his hat politely. His voice rings brightly in the space between you, but the delicious lick of his Southern drawl makes goosebumps chase across your skin. You manage a weak smile and a wave, not trusting your power of speech at the moment.

‘Be back at four to take the lovely lady on her orientation ride, alright?’

Jack gives him a two-fingered salute. ‘Got it, boss. See you soon, ma’am.’

You watch unashamedly as the cowboy smoothly steers his horse around, and with a whistle, the dozen or so horses follow suit as he canters out of view.

‘So? What say you?’ Champ interrupts your thoughts with an expectant look.

You can’t help the stupid grin that breaks upon your face. ‘The pack trip sounds good.’

Champ claps his hands together so loudly that you jump. ‘Your wish is my command, ma’am. Or rather - Jack’s.' He winks. ‘He’ll pick out a horse for you and take you for a short ride to make sure you’re comfortable before the trip starts tomorrow. Sounds good?’

‘Perfect.’

Stopping outside one of the lodges near the river, Champ sweeps his arm in a flourish. ‘There we go, this is your lovely room for tonight, with the best views of the mountains. Poppy’s left some lemonade and sandwiches inside if you need a pick-me-up, and your bags will be with you shortly. Just make sure you’re ready by four. Got it?’ 

He holds up a hand to you, and you give him a high five. ‘Got it, Champ.’

‘Welcome to the Statesman, my dear.’ 

Watching you bound up the stairs with a spring in your step, Champ gives himself an imaginary pat on the shoulder. Well done, old chap. The plan is in motion.

You lay your outfits on the large bed as you chew on a delicious sandwich, weighing the options for your afternoon ride. You packed according to the list the ranch sent in your orientation email, but you wish you’d brought something nicer. They really should’ve included a hot cowboy warning.

You wanted to spend some time on the porch and enjoy the magnificent views of the mountains from your doorstep before the ride, but by the time you’re finally happy with your choice of clothes, you’re startled by rapping on the door.

Sucking in a steadying breath and smoothing back your hair, you turn the knob.

Fuck me sideways. This man is devastatingly good-looking on close inspection.

‘Hi, again,’ you smile, hoping your words didn’t come out as squeaky as it sounded in your head.

The cowboy returns your smile with teeth and tips his hat at you - black suede with a leather band - then offers you his hand. ‘Jack Daniels. Pleasure to meet you properly, ma’am.’

You give him your name and your hand. His grip is firm and assured, the slide of his palm against yours feels weathered and rope-worn. You cross your arms self-consciously, but the words that come out are bolder than you feel. ‘So, Champ says you’re my own personal cowboy for the week?’

He chuckles and plays along, giving you a small bow. ‘I’m at your beck and call, darlin’.’

His rich voice curls around every syllable, dipping and climbing with each inflection, but the languid cadence doesn’t waver. You decide here and then that this man can call you darlin' any time he wants.

He hooks one thumb through a belt loop, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He runs his eyes up and down your body, both professionally assessing and not, lingering on your breeches, riding boots and half chaps. He arches an eyebrow at you and says in a playful tone, ‘So, I see you’re one of those fancy English riders.’

You gesture at the flannel shirt you’re wearing, the ends tied in a knot to give it a cropped fit. You think you look cute - hopefully. You choose to crack a joke, ‘Give me some credit, cowboy, I’m trying to fit in.’

He holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself off the door. ‘My apologies, darlin’, where are my manners? The illusion is perfect. You ready to go?’

You grab your riding hat. ‘Absolutely.’

Jack takes one look at your helmet and tuts, plucking it from your fingers. ‘Oh no, that won’t do. That is one thing I don't allow on my rides. We’ll find you a real hat.’

It’s a short walk to the stables. You hang back with all the subtlety you can muster to quietly study the cowboy you’ll be sharing close quarters with for the next week. His walk is deliberate, he almost prowls, narrow hips undulating with the rhythm of his strut. When he reaches up to adjust his hat, his shirt strains over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up in the afternoon heat. Your eyes are about to dip a lot lower when he turns back to look at you, and you flush like you’ve been caught with your finger in the pie.

Are you imagining the touch of self-satisfaction that’s crept into his warm eyes?

‘So, how long have you been riding?’ he slows down so you can catch up with him. You’re relieved he doesn’t call you out on your very obvious appraisal of him.

You shrug. ‘Since I was a kid, but I haven’t been on a horse since - ’ You pause to rearrange your words. ‘- for almost five years. And I’ve always ridden the English way, so I don’t know how well I’ll do with Western riding.’

He brushes away your concern. ‘Western is easy, it’ll be a piece of cake for you, I’m sure.’

The stables are large and airy with rustic beams framing a vaulted ceiling. Utility barns are clustered outside in close vicinity, but all is still in the mid-afternoon hour. Your footsteps echo as you make your way down the concrete corridor, Jack’s sturdy cowboy boots treading heavier and louder than your riding boots. Large and tidy stalls line either side, some empty and some occupied.

‘The horses spend most of the summer outdoors,’ explains Jack. Stopping in front of a huge chalkboard nailed to the wall, he gestures at the daily schedule listed next to each name, written in a neat hand. ‘We keep them on a weekly roster to make sure their workload is evenly distributed.’

Resuming your slow course deeper into the stables, Jack asks conversationally, ‘What are you looking for in your horse for the week?’

It’s a broad question that you don’t quite know how to answer. You purse your lips. ‘To be honest? I don’t know, it’s been a while.’

‘Ok. Let’s put it this way - what’s important to you?’ He ticks off the options with his fingers. ‘Character? Temperament? Speed? Stamina?’

Is it just you or did his voice dip an octave on that last word?

Flustered, you struggle to come up with a reply. ‘Um - ’

Seeing that you’re overwhelmed, he wipes the slate clean with a wave of his hand. ‘I apologise, I didn’t express myself well.’ He changes tact. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your favourite horse?’

That you can do. You think about the last horse you really loved, before you met your ex, casting your mind back to long weekend afternoons at the local stables. The answer comes easily to you as your eyes fall to the tips of your black boots.

‘I like a horse that's forward-going but responsive to contact, and on the hot-blooded side with a bit of an attitude - I like a challenge.’ Feeling his eyes on you, you lift your gaze to his apologetically. ‘Sorry, was that way too vague or way too specific?’

‘Not at all. I appreciate a lady who knows what she wants,’ he reassures you, seemingly pleased at what he’s hearing. ‘I got just the horse for you.’

You must be in the middle of the stables structure now, when Jack makes a sharp right turn into a spacious room. Your eyes widen at the rows and rows of beautifully polished Western saddles, bridles and an assortment of other tack, some of which you don’t even recognise. Eyeing the signs above each saddle, you remark, ‘I see there’s a recurring theme in the names.’

Jack hoists a gorgeously embossed tan saddle off its rack on the wall, holding it against his side as if it weighs nothing, then grabs the bridle next to it and a saddle pad. ‘What do you expect from a ranch that also runs a distillery?’

Your eyebrows shoot up. ‘A distillery?’

‘Whiskey,’ he replies, making his way to the exit. ‘I’ll show you when we ride up the mountain, it’s on the other side of the ranch. Champ spends most of his time in the distillery nowadays.’

‘Can I help with anything?’ you ask, your hands feeling very empty as you trail behind him.

‘Not a chance, darlin’, you’re the guest. But you can watch if you want,’ he adds mischievously.

Lord have mercy. This man has gotten you more wound up in the last fifteen minutes with a few cheeky words than anyone has in a long time. Pull yourself together, woman.

You pass at least another dozen stalls - this is easiest the biggest stables you’ve ever seen - before Jack’s long strides ease, and at his whistle, the handsome face of a palomino pops up from behind a door. He nickers and nudges the cowboy familiarly on his arm, ears pricking up in alert when you come into view behind him.

‘Meet Scotch,’ Jack says in introduction, giving him a firm pat on the neck. With an easy swing, he rests the saddle on the top of the door and unlatches it, leaving it ajar for you to shuffle in behind him.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ you can’t help but coo, running your palm from his forehead - painted with a fetching white star - to his grey, velvety muzzle. ‘He’s sweet.’

‘Wait till you get him on the open road - he’s a speed demon.’ 

You must have let your nerves show, because Jack reassures you, ‘But only if you want him to be. He’s just as happy going steady.’

You lean against the wall as Jack makes quick work of tacking up. You admire the gentle way he fits the bridle over Scotch’s head and the bit in his mouth. Reaching out, you help untuck his white mane from the browband, etched with pretty flowery patterns, and brush out the tangles with your fingers as Jack fastens the clasps.

You can’t help but catch your bottom lip with your teeth when, with a soft grunt, the cowboy lifts the saddle over Scotch’s back. His shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans, stretches taut and you eye the hint of a soft belly underneath. It rests above an almost obnoxiously large belt buckle in the shape of - are you shitting me - a flask with Statesman spelled out in capital letters.

You quickly look away before you’re consumed by the want to reach out and check if it’s a real flask.

The Western saddle has far more bits and bobs than you’re used to, but you’re too far gone to pay attention to what Jack is doing with his nimble fingers anymore.

‘There.’ He straightens, dusts off his hands and places them on his hips, one dark eyebrow up. ‘I hope you were paying attention, ma’am, I might quiz you later.’

Oh shit. You stammer, ‘Um, I mean, you were quite quick -’

Jack crosses his arms and smirks. ‘I’m pullin’ your leg, darlin’. You’re so easy to rile up.’

Before you can restrain yourself, you take a step forward and give him a playful shove in rebuke. The joke’s on you though - the pectoral muscle underneath your palm is lean and hard, and your push makes no impact at all.

‘Employee of the year, ladies and gentlemen,’ you jest, retracting your hand reluctantly.

He leans in close and gives you an almost insolent smirk, voice dropping intimately. ‘Stop distracting me, darlin’, or we’ll never make it out of this stall.’

Fuck’s sake - your cheeks literally flame. You’re about as subtle as a bucking bronco.

Taking mercy on you, Jack herds you out of the stall with no further teasing, and Scotch follows obediently behind. You’ve barely scraped your brains back together when he stops by a doorway at the end of the stables, holding up a hand that brings the gelding to a smart square halt.

‘Stay,’ orders Jack in a stern voice as if Scotch was just a very large golden retriever - he has the colouring after all. He then nods at you. ‘Come on in, darlin’.’

Stepping into the small room, you gasp in delight - every conceivable surface is covered with cowboy hats of all colours and materials.

‘Let’s see what your size is,’ Jack mumbles to himself as he plucks some options off the wall. There’s no mirror, and you hold your breath when he steps into your space, putting one hat after the other on you as he narrows down the sizing. His face is set seriously, the bow of his upper lip drawn downward, brow wrinkled in concentration.

Eventually, you run out of oxygen and you breathe him in - summer grass, leather and smoke. Your tongue darts out and wets your suddenly dry lips.

In the minutest of glances, you catch his eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have spotted the fleeting stutter in his movements as he fits you with a cream suede hat with a brown leather braid. It sits snugly on your head without any pinch.

‘Try tipping your head forward and back,’ he instructs you, breaking the quiet tension. The hat doesn’t slip, and with a tap on the brim and a smile, he declares, ‘I think we’re good to go.’

Stepping into the open air, the bright afternoon sun makes you wince, and you pull your new hat a bit lower to shield from the light. You follow Jack across the yard, heading towards a chestnut with white stockings, fully tacked and waiting at a wooden post. Ruffling his thick mane, Jack says proudly, ‘Darlin’, meet my horse, Whiskey.’

‘How very fitting,’ you remark, smoothing a hand on his strong neck. ‘Hi, Whiskey.’

Scotch, who has been following you two dutifully, bumps noses with his friend in greeting. Reaching for his reins, Jack looks at you with a question in his eyes - all the tacking up, prepping and joking around is done. Suddenly, the likelihood of falling off your horse and flat on your bum in front of the cowboy seems extraordinarily high. Maybe you really didn’t think this through -

‘Hey,’ Jack cuts short your thoughts, chucking you gently under the chin. ‘Don’t be nervous. It’s all muscle memory - like riding a bike, you can’t forget. You do know how to ride a bike, don't you?’

Your shoulders quake with a laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood.

He tilts his head at you. ‘May I give you a leg up, darlin'?’

At your silent nod, Jack brings Scotch around, and you hope he doesn't see you wipe your sweaty palms on your breeches. One hand on the saddle horn, the other on the cantle you bend your left calf up and back by the hinge of your knee. 

Jack steps in right behind your heels, his frame dwarfing you even as he leans down at the ready. One strong hand closes around your ankle and the other just below your kneecap. His voice is deep and brushes against the shell of your ear. ‘On three, darlin’.’

He hoists you up so easily that you nearly go all the way over the other side of the saddle, but you grasp the horn just in time and land squarely in the seat, albeit a bit clumsily. You can’t help but wonder what else he can do with his easy strength - a whole lot of other things, you reckon -

Scotch shifts underneath you as he adjusts to your weight. The basic instincts of being on horseback kick in slowly but surely. You gather the reins in your non-dominant hand, put the tip of your toes through the stirrup irons, push your heels down and sit up tall. You inhale deeply and smile at Jack, who’s checking the tightness of the girth and the length of your stirrups.

‘All good?’ he asks you.

‘Yes,’ you reply, relieved that you feel less like a fish out of water than you’d feared.

Jack unties Whiskey from the post. Slotting his foot in the left stirrup, he effortlessly pushes off the ground and swings his leg over the saddle, settling gently into his seat. It’s really not fair that he’s able to do it so easily in jeans that tight.

Whiskey starts leading the way towards the back of the property and Scotch follows, obviously not pleased to be left behind. Jack holds Whiskey back so that you’re walking alongside him. ‘You’ve seen people ride Western?’ 

‘I get the general idea. Reins in my non-dominant hand. Leg aids are similar.’

‘If you want to turn to the right?’

‘Reins to the right and shift my weight the same way,’ you reply, recalling the research you did before the trip.

Jack nods approvingly. ‘Sounds like you’ve got it sorted, darlin’.’

Going up a gently sloping path, the ranch disappears behind you as you begin to climb above the property, and the landscape dramatically opens up. Your breath catches at the sight of the rolling plains that stretch too far for your eyes to see, towards the Bighorn Mountains. Scotch’s ears prick up in excitement at the space, nickering and chomping at the bit. You keep your contact on the reins light even as he prances underneath you, mindful not to pull on his mouth.

Jack smiles, and you hope you're making a good impression. ‘Wanna warm up with a little lope?’

‘Lope? You mean a canter?’ you retort jokingly.

He chuckles at your cheek. ‘Alright, ma’am, look at you with your fancy words.’

With a stern finger pointed his way, you warn him, ‘You’re not allowed to laugh if I fall off, deal?’

‘I know you won’t, but for your peace of mind, I’ll cross my heart,’ he jokes and traces the motion over his chest with his thumb. ‘After you, darlin’.’

With the lightest nudge of your heels, Scotch steps straight into a smooth canter. The sudden movement jolts you forward in the saddle and out of balance, but you quickly adjust, and your hips begin to follow the flow of the familiar four-beat motion. The wind sings in your ears over the steady rhythm of hooves hitting the earth, the mountainscape blurring into green and blue.

Jack is keeping pace next to you from a safe distance, meeting your eyes when you send the biggest grin his way.

For the first time in months, you feel joy.

The sun sets on a mild evening, so you agree to an al fresco dinner by the fire when Jack poses the question to you on your return from the afternoon ride. 

After a quick shower and changing into casual jeans and a sweater, you meet the rest of close-knit Statesman team at the dinner table, and Champ explains the logistics of the pack trip to you.

‘Since it’s just the two of you, you’ll only need one packhorse. You’ll sleep outside for the first two nights, then on the third, you’ll get to the Halfway House.’

The peculiar name piques your interest. ‘Halfway House?’

Champ chuckles. ‘Halfway as in halfway through the trip. We’ll drive out to stock up the house, bring you fresh clothes and anything you’d need for the second half of the trip back to the ranch. We’ll also collect your dirty clothes and have them laundered by the time you’re back. So make sure you pack two bags, we’ll sort them out tomorrow.’

Turning to Poppy, he starts discussing the provisions for the trip, and you take the chance to shuffle closer to Ginger. Jack is at the far end of the table, deep in conversation with a man introduced to you as Tequila (you didn’t ask), so you’re sure he can’t overhear you. You clear your throat. ‘So, I was wondering what the… lavatory arrangements are like out there?’

She gives you a encouraging smile. ‘It’s all au naturale, I’m afraid. But there are plenty of bushes so privacy won’t be an issue. We bring a portable shower for guests for the days you camp out, and there’s running water and electricity at the Halfway House. But at this time of the year, Jack usually just washes off in the river.’

Your jaw drops at that revelation, and before you can close your big mouth, you babble, ‘Wow… um, by wow I meant… bathing in the river must be… cold?’

Ginger gives you a knowing grin and clinks your glass. ‘I think you’ll have a great time on this trip, honey.’

It’s early, as the first day of a pack trip always is. The chill from daybreak still clings to the thin mountain air, but the glare of the sun is already strong, even from behind his sunglasses.

Jack runs through his usual checklists. Vetting the horses, triple checking the tack, bedding, food, supplies, first aid kit. He’s collected your bag from your doorstep and loaded it on the packhorse. You pack light, which he appreciates.

He spotted you at the breakfast table earlier, almost done with your toast, when he crossed the yard with the horses, so he reckons you’re on track to make a punctual start. With the heat forecast, he wants to make it to the cover of the forest path before midday. If you make good time, a sunset dip in the lake is on the cards.

As he double checks if all the straps on the saddle bags are properly buckled up, his routine is disrupted by a firm pat on his back.

Champ is a bundle of energy even at this early hour of the day, his suit on just the right side of presentable despite the wrinkles. ‘Have a good trip, son, and make sure you show our guest a good time. I like this one.’

‘You like everyone, Champ,’ retorts Jack, but there’s no real bite in his words. ‘Not sure it counts for much.’

‘I got a good feeling about her, I’m telling you.’ 

The younger man sighs, one hand on the rump of the packhorse and one on his hip as he braces himself for the usual spiel. ‘C’mon, boss - ’

‘You’re young, you’re single! If you insist on hiding away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere, you might as well at least try to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘Why don’t you bother Ginger about it? She’s young and single too,’ grumbles Jack as he resumes his checks.

‘Because I know she can take care of herself. But you?’ Champ makes a face.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss,’ he grumbles. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m not hiding from anything. I actually like this job, but half the time I think you’re just trying to get rid of me.’

Spotting you over Jack’s shoulder, Champ gives him one last clasp on the arm. He leans in and says in a low voice, eyes sincere. ‘You don’t have to punish yourself forever, son. Live a little.’

Jack shakes his head as Champ moves away and calls out to you, his boisterous voice carrying even further in the cold air. He knows Champ means well. It’s not the first time he’s tried to set him up with someone, and he can confidently wager it won’t be the last. 

He knows for a fact that his boss rescheduled the Kingsman’s annual trip to engineer this one-on-one pack trip - they’ve been coming to the ranch the same time every year without fail since he started this job. He has no doubt they were more than delighted to be in cahoots with Champ in a scheme like this. 

Jack huffs a dry laugh to himself. He must be coming off as really fucking sad for Champ to go to such lengths this time. 

He straightens his well-worn denim jacket as you approach, looking almost shy this morning. You’re wearing a light fleece over what appears to be the same outfit from yesterday, hands tucked into pockets, hat dangling from the chin strap looped around your wrist.

He gives you a smile. ‘Mornin’, darlin’. Sleep well?’

‘Morning. Probably not as well I should have, considering we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground for the next couple of nights,’ you answer with a yawn, leaning on the post where the horses are waiting. You rub their noses affectionately. ‘Morning boys, how are we this fine morning?’

Jack gestures at the third horse. ‘This is Bourbon, our packhorse.’

‘Hey Bourbon.’ You give the pinto a firm pat, smoothing out his matted forelock.

‘You ready?’ asks Jack.

You put on your hat and nod determinedly. ‘Now or never.’

‘It’s not too late to back out, you know, ’ he jokes as you both start untying your horses from the post.

‘Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy,’ you quip.

When you’re both mounted, Champ and Ginger make an appearance, waving and beaming from ear to ear as you ride by. Champ grins, ‘Have fun, we’ll see you in a week! Don't come back unless you have plenty of stories to tell!’

You retrace the same path you took yesterday, up the back of the ranch and into the mountains. As the orange sun crests the top of the Bighorn, it dawns on Jack that he hasn’t spent any amount of time alone with another person for a long while, let alone seven continuous days with someone like you. 

He shakes his head. You’re a guest, that’s all. One who hasn't lost your gentle hands and soft seat despite not having spent any time in the saddle for years; who is quick on your feet yet easy to fluster; who laughs at his jokes and poorly concealed innuendos - but a guest. It’s his job to keep you safe this week, and he’s good at it. He’s done this for years and years.

Sometimes, he thinks that it’s all he has. 

Something like anxiety gnaws at his chest. You’re quiet, and he picks up on the stiffness in your shoulders. He clears his throat. ‘Nervous?’

You turn to him at his question, sucking in your bottom lip. ‘I suppose. Not about the riding, but… I’m a bit nervous about spending the week with you, to be honest. No offence.’

Well, at least he’s not the only one.

‘None taken,’ he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘And don’t worry, darlin’. Ol’ Jack doesn’t bite.’

His pulse skips a beat when you send him an almost impertinent sidelong glance. ‘I hope you do a little bit, cowboy.’

It takes him a second to let out a bark of laughter, and your whole body relaxes at the throaty sound. ‘Maybe I’m the one who should be nervous, then. Shall we stretch our legs? Start the day with a lope?’

Scotch recognises the word and whinnies, tossing his head excitedly.

A gentleman at heart, Jack adds, ‘Or later, if you prefer. We can go as fast or as slow as you want, darlin’.’

A slow heat burns under your skin at his words. Surely he must know what that sounds like, especially in that raspy drawl of his.

It must be the altitude that’s throwing your judgement out of the metaphorical window. Brazenly, you drag your eyes over him. His left hand grips the reins loosely, resting casually on the saddle horn, thick fingers of his other are splayed on his firm thigh, hips rocking to the pace of his horse.

You meet his curious stare in a challenge, imbuing your words with as much meaning as you could, letting a coy smile stretch your lips.

‘Let’s go fast, cowboy.’

As soon as your heels touch his sides, Scotch takes off at a lively stride, and Jack watches you go with a chuckle to himself.

‘Careful what you wish for now, darlin’,’ he mutters under his breath, and then he comes after you - fast.

Notes: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first part! Comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated. If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please fill in my taglist.

If anyone is interested, there are some more horsey notes below (if it's boring, please let me know and I'll shut up lol):

About 'gentle hands' and 'soft seat': a kind rider uses 'quiet' aids to communicate with the horse (i.e. no pulling on the bit or flapping legs), and follows the horse's movements with their hips (i.e. their seat) to be gentle on the horse's back. It's a very subtle skill and you use a lot of core strength that is built over the years - sitting quietly on a horse is much harder than it looks!

If you can't tell, I ride the 'English' way and have never ridden Western. I've done as much research as I could, but if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know!

[deadhumourist]

Jules this is amazing and so indulgent, I LOVE your soft Dave 🥰🥰🥰🥰

A Weekend Away

AN: Real talk, the idea for this came to me in a dream. I have reached Stephanie Meyers levels of fandom lmao. None of you should be surprised that this is an au, this Dave never went down the path of The Equalizer, instead he made a decision that made him filthy rich. We're talking big wealth here so I hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent, soft, rich, devoted husband and father. Quick thanks to my girl @wheresarizona for beta-ing this and for the gorgeous moodboard / header, as well as @foli-vora, thank you both for generally being supportive and amazing. Hope you enjoy xox. (I might turn this into a 3 part series depending on the response.)

Pairing; Dave York x f!reader

Warnings;  daddy kink 🤡 piv sex (wrap it up), squirting, swearing, dirty talk, oral (f-receiving), let me know if I missed anything. (Should be completed blank-slate female reader, but if there is anything I missed - please let me know!)

Word count; 3K

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

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His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet in your shared bedroom, a clearing of his throat announcing his presence before his hands rest on your hips. His lips quickly descend to adorn your shoulders with kisses. 

“We’re taking off soon, baby. Is everything good to go?” Your last few words come out almost as a sigh - his lips have traveled from your shoulders to your neck and now to your ear, where he takes it between his teeth. He hums in the back of his throat in acknowledgment before he answers. 

“I’m sure everything is going smoothly. Let's sneak in a quickie before we leave, hm?” His voice is mischievous, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “Put that down - the housekeeper can pack for us.” His hand wraps around your middle and travels up, holding the weight of your breast in his hand and before you can say anything he’s turning you, spinning you in his hold to devour your mouth with his. 

Whatever argument you had in your head, whatever garment you had in your hand drops to the floor by his hunger for you, and then you’re falling, or rather being placed onto your back on your plush bed, and he's surrounding you. Your dress is up around your hips, and he's slotting his in their rightful place - his tongue is thick in your mouth, and you aren’t kissing, you’re being kissed. 

“I need you, baby.” He’s pulling down the straps of your dress with an urgency that makes you melt. His frown at the flesh on display for him has you pulling your swollen lower lip between your teeth, and it almost makes you light-headed how he can still make you this desperate this quickly. Your nipple is in his mouth, and your fingers curl into the short crop of his hair, the pained moan that escapes around the bud is almost lewd, but then the door to your room swings open, and she toddles in - your baby girl. 

“Is that my princess?” He lifts his head away from your saliva-slicked nipple to smile at her. She lifts her arms to him, and he lets out a resigned sigh - no quickie right now. “You, my lovely—” He speaks to her with a smile in his voice and in his heart, “Have impeccable timing.” He kisses her full cheeks, one then the other, over and over until she laughs. 

You lay in the bed, watching them as you right yourself, unable to be too disappointed when you see him like this - his face lit up with her laughs, her chubby little hands on his face in hopes of delaying a tickle attack. 

“I’ll finish packing up here. Why don’t you go check in on everything downstairs? Make sure the dogs are packed and see if Nana needs anything for the girls?” You stand up, fixing your skirts before reaching down to pick up the cardigan you’d dropped. 

“Fine,” he sighs, the baby laying her head on his shoulder, and he can't help but kiss her halo of hair. “Let's go check the hounds, princess. Mommy said so.” He gives you a quick peck before they’re both out of the room, and with him gone, you can focus on packing for the weekend. 

You look over what you’d already grabbed while trying to catch your breath, ignoring the way your underwear sticks to your skin, and with a shake of your head, you’re running through what you remember of your schedule for the next few days. 

Alma walks in as you’re coming out of your airy walk-in closet, one of David’s more casual suits in hand. 

“Let me do that.” She reaches for the garment bag in your hands, tutting at your momentary refusal. “The girls are packed and ready, the dogs are waiting in the mudroom, and we’re good to leave. Let me help you.” She took no nonsense, and you loved her for it. She’d been in your life since you met David; she’d been in his since childhood, and now she helped watch your girls. 

“Alma, this is a weekend away for you as much as it is for us. I don’t want you working, is Richard packed and ready?” Her husband was going to be joining you at your country house, a weekend of doing nothing but enjoying each other's company.

“Yes, he’s downstairs with David. They’re talking about sports or something, who knows.” She waved away your words and started packing things into the open suitcase. “The rest of the staff have already left to get the house ready. After this, we’ll be ready to leave.” She was the sweetest woman you’d ever met; it was obvious why David considered her a second mother. 

“Yes, I just need one more thing, something for date night tomorrow.” You spoke over your shoulder, a brisk walk back into the closet to grab something to wear. 

“That sounds great - Richard and I will watch the girls.” She called back, an amused sigh at her refusal to take a break. 

“You don’t need to!” You called back as your hands carded through the array of dresses that hung before you. David had well and truly spoiled you, and there were absolute confections hanging here, much too formal for a simple date with your husband. You settled on a slinky black number he’d yet to see you in. 

“Alma, I have told you, and so has David – this weekend is for rest. You do not have to watch the girls.” You spoke as she helped put your dress into its own garment bag. Once again waving away your concerns. 

“They aren’t work for me – they feel like family.” She zipped up the suitcase before turning to you. 

“They are. We are your family.” You pulled the heavy suitcase off the bed, smiling at her and meaning every word. 

-

His hand was gripping your thigh, his thumb making a steady pass over the skin in range, raising goosebumps in its wake. He smiles to himself, his other hand curled around the steering wheel, and he knows exactly what a tease he's being. You ignore it. 

“Daddy, are we almost there?” Charlotte calls from the backseat of the SUV, her little voice cutting through your tension. 

“Yes, baby, we’re almost there, just under an hour, I’d say.” He answers her, his kind eyes looking at her through the rearview. 

“Is Nana gonna be there?” She’s playing with a new doll, one he just bought her.

“Yes, baby, Nana is coming.” She smiles at his response. Evie was quiet in her seat beside her sister, her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. “Evie, honey, you okay?” His hand moved from your thigh, reaching behind to tug on her little foot. 

“She’s tired. Missed her nap today.” You turned to smile at her, her big brown eyes – her father’s eyes watching you both.

“Aw, well, at least you’ll sleep tonight.” He focused on the road. “Did you think of where you wanted to go for dinner tomorrow night, honey?” He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. 

“I didn’t. I’m happy to go anywhere.” You brought his hand back into your lap. “I packed you a nice suit.” He smiled. 

“I made a reservation in case you didn’t find a place. Supposed to be a nice place – hope you packed yourself a dress.” His hand gripped your thigh again. 

“You’re the best, you know that?” You meant it. He was. He was a wonderful husband and a loving, doting father. And if the way they treated you whenever you stopped by the office was anything to go by, he was a well-liked and respected business owner and boss. 

Before you knew it, he was pulling into the long driveway into your summer house. Every time you saw it, you thought about how your marriage had started, how you’d both lived out of a tiny studio apartment while you both worked and worked. He’d come back from his days in the military with a few scars and ideas of starting his own security company. 

Years later, you were all reaping the benefits of his discipline, of the hard work, and the lucky breaks he’d gotten. One government contract led to another, and soon his security company was the country's most used and most successful. 

“Okay, my lovely ladies, we’re here.” He parked in the gravel, a big smile on his face as one of the staff came out to take your bags and his. “Thank you, Jeffrey. In the room is fine and don’t worry about us this weekend. No hard work, okay?” He clapped the other man on the back before opening the backseat, where Charlie held her arms up. You were both holding onto your children when the dogs came bounding over. It was going to be a great weekend. 

-

The food was served at dusk on the patio, the large table set with a simple but delicious meal. Everyone ate together, you, David and the girls, Alma and Richard, along with the chef and the housekeeper, the driver as well. Everyone was welcome at your table, and they all knew it. There were no awkward smiles, no tentative words – the table was filled with laughter and conversation. The girls were passed from you to David to Alma when they weren’t chasing after the dogs. 

“Alma, stop – sit down.” He rose to stop her from chasing after Evie. “Here, have some more wine. I got the one you like. Relax, enjoy,” he said it with a smile, and she reluctantly sat with a slap to his arm. Richard smiled, pulling her in to place a kiss on her temple while the girls enjoyed the fresh air. 

Once the plates were cleared, most of the household had gone to bed, and the four of you were sitting in the cozy living room enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside. He had a book in his hands that he was reading with Charlie while you rocked Evie in your arms. Pretty soon, though, she was asleep.

“I’m going to put her to bed.” You got up slowly, cradling her head against your chest. “Bath time will have to wait until tomorrow.” Charlie was yawning as you walked past.

“Come on, Charlie, it’s bedtime.” He closed the book, following you up the stairs, him going into Charlie’s room while you went into Evies. 

By the time he’d finished with Charlie, you were getting out of the shower, laughing at his pout at not having waited for him.

“Go get clean, and then maybe we can finish what you started before we left.” You slid your hand down his stomach, relishing the groan he let out when you palmed the bulge of his crotch. “Go on, get clean for me, daddy.” You smacked his ass before moving towards the bed. You didn’t make it far before he pulled you back, both his hands cradling your face as he licked into your mouth. 

“Don’t bother getting dressed. Daddy wants you just like this.” He pulled the towel away, sending you to the bed naked, his palm landing a heavy crack to the meat of your ass. 

Your skin crackles with excitement as you wait for him, nestled in the crisp, clean sheets. The sound of the water running ramps up the arousal, a deep anticipation filling every inch of you for the way his cock would soon fill you - for the way he’d surround you, the way his goal always seemed to be to consume whenever he fucked you.

Your heart skipped a beat when the water shut off, kicking the sheets off so he’d find you just how he wanted you. 

He came out still dripping, his cock bobbing.

“You ready for me?” Cool water droplets fall from his hair onto your skin as he crawls up from the foot of your bed, a kiss dropped onto your shin, then your knee, your inner thigh before he’s spreading your legs open with the breadth of his shoulders. 

“I’m always ready for you.” You reach down, threading through his damp hair, your heartbeat pulsing in your cunt at the way his eyes rake over your pussy, all glossy and ready for him.

“I know, baby.” His molten mouth descends, pressing kisses to your mound before he curls his fingers around the tops of your thighs, pulling you towards him hard enough to pull a gasp from your mouth. “Spread your pretty little pussy open for daddy. I wanna hold you close to my face.” He bites at the meat of your thigh as you bite the plush of your lower lip, complying with an almost delirious ecstasy. 

The hand not threaded through his hair snakes down and does as he asks, spreading open the lips of your sex for his mouth. He groans, staring at the ripe berry of your clit. 

“That’s my good girl. Keep it nice and open for me.” He dives in, his tongue honing in just where you want it most, and it’s like your whole body is wired with a current only he produces, an electricity that lights up every inch of you with pure want. 

Your belly trembles as his tongue strokes at the very heart of you, ramping up higher and higher as he presses himself closer, his mouth surrounding your clit in a steady suck. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream - your eyes almost unfocused at the way he moans obscenely into your skin. 

It’s too quick, the way stars burst behind your eyes and at the center of your being, and through the haze of euphoria, you hear him laugh. 

“Already?” He places an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, a rumble in the back of his throat at the way your legs try to close around him. “Just a few licks and you’re getting me all wet?” He smiles, his tongue cruel and sweet all at once. 

“Fuck me already, David,” You push his hair back slightly, separating his face from your cunt, and his smile widens. “I want it.”

“What do you want? Tell me.” He kisses your thigh before kneeling between your legs. Your mouth almost waters at the sight of his cock, the tip sticky with his own arousal. 

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream.” You all but moan the words, sitting up slightly to rest on your elbows. He reaches for a couple of cushions and taps your hip. When you lift them, he positions them under, elevating you at the perfect angle. 

“Perfect, don’t worry, daddy’s got you.” He gets into position, the tops of his thighs pressed up tight against the backs of yours, and he lifts your legs up, so your calves press against his chest, your feet up by his shoulders. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He slides the fat head of his cock through your folds, soaking himself in you. “Bet I’m gonna just glide right in aren't I?” 

He notches himself, sliding in right to the hilt without resistance, a shared moan filling the air. 

“So fucking wet, you always feel so fucking good, baby.” He watches himself disappear into the clutch of your cunt, relishing the way he shines in your arousal. 

You can do nothing but pant at the way he’s hitting something sacred, something white-hot that blanks your brain every time he pushes against it. 

His hand shifts to your belly, and he presses down. Your brain short circuits, and you cry out almost involuntarily.

“There it is. That’s the spot, huh?” He speeds up, battering against the cosmos in your pussy. “You wanted to scream, so scream for daddy.” He’s railing now, focusing his energy on hitting the bullseye he knows he’s found, and the pressure is building - something that feels too good to breathe is creeping in, flooding your veins, your hands coming up and pressing against his chest. “Come on, goddamn it, give it to me.”  

His eyes are black with lust as your pussy leaks with the arousal he is ripping from you, and then it happens, a wet gush around where he keeps up his assault. A scream rips from your throat, and he laughs triumphantly. 

“There it fucking is, one more - I want you to do it again.”

Your brain is mush, and he’s soaked, but his thrusts don’t let up. He presses against your belly harder - his hips snapping quicker and quicker, and this time it happens faster. He doesn’t let your body curl in on itself like it wants to; instead, he spreads your legs, slotting his hips between them to kiss you as he chases his own high. One of his hands a reassuring press against your throat while the other palms your breast.

A handful of thrusts is all it takes for him to slow to a grind, coming with a deep groan, the pressure of it against your clit triggers a feather-soft orgasm as he fucks his come as deep as he can.

He collapses on top of you, breathing hard against your neck. Your brain floats in a haze of bliss as you both catch your breath. Your hands raise almost on their own to run along the smooth skin of his back, soothing yourself as much as soothing him.

“I love you, baby.” He lifts his head and presses a kiss to your mouth, sealing his words with it.

“I love you, too.” You run your fingers through his damp hair, pulling him tight against you for a few moments, enjoying the comforting weight of him for a little while longer.

Eventually, you both rise, and together you quickly change the sheets, giddy with laughter, and when you finish, he pulls you close. Whispers his words of devotion in the quiet darkness of your home, the both of you falling asleep-tangled in one another.

-

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[christinamadsen]

Welcome back and amazing chapter! 😍 Enjoy your vacation!! 🦋

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.10

Chapter Ten: You Should Be Mine For Life

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking,

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I’m back from the dead! Sorry I took so long to come back— I’m actively in NYC right now for vacation tehe. Love you guys loads and see you in the next chapter! (It's gonna be a whole press tour mess lol)

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Gif Credits: @/a7estrellas

Song: Lover Girl by Laufey

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THREE MONTHS LATER…

Time, as it tends to do when life finally feels like it’s clicking into place, passed in a blur of golden leaves and steady laughter.

London in autumn was something out of a dream. The trees turned to fire—burnt orange, deep red, golden yellow—and every morning was painted with the kind of soft light that made even the greyest skies feel romantic. The air carried a permanent chill now, crisp enough to bite your cheeks when you walked to set, but not enough to take away the comfort of it all. You’d started wearing oversized scarves and Pedro had given you his favorite beanie after you forgot yours one morning—claiming it looked better on you anyway.

Work had become… fulfilling. Really, truly fulfilling.

The set felt like home now. No longer tiptoeing, no longer second-guessing every move or word. People smiled at you when you walked into the production tent. They asked for your opinion. You were no longer “that girl Pedro was protective of”—you were just you. And people had learned you were worth listening to.

Cecilia’s absence had changed the air. Lighter. Calmer. Safer.

There were still occasional whispers about her—especially when legal stuff flared up again—but it was like the storm had passed, and now everyone was just soaking in the quiet relief that followed.

Daisy and Omar had become your anchors. Your safe zone. The kind of friends who brought you your favorite coffee before you even asked, who forced you to take breaks when you looked too tense, who teased you about Pedro only in the kindest, most knowing ways.

And Pedro…

Pedro had somehow become your entire world without ever asking to be.

At first it was simple. Shared coffee in the mornings. Walks back to the hotel in the evenings. The occasional dinner out—nothing fancy, just quiet corners of hole-in-the-wall restaurants where he could slip his sunglasses on and just be yours for a little while.

But it had grown. Deepened.

He knew how you liked your tea now, and that you sometimes needed silence more than conversation after long days. He memorized the way your eyes scanned the room when you were nervous and started touching your arm whenever you needed grounding. He held your hand without needing a reason. He made you laugh when you were stressed and held you when the stress was too much to laugh through.

And you…

You were still a little shy. Still awkward sometimes. Still catching yourself looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was real. But you were getting better at letting him in. Better at leaning into the way he adored you.

It terrified you, how much he made you feel. How much you’d come to need the sound of his laugh, or the way he whispered “hey, it’s okay” when your chest got too tight. But it also felt… safe. Like maybe this was the kind of love that didn’t burn you alive. Maybe this was the kind of love that healed.

The wind bit at your face as you stepped out of set that evening, bundled in your thickest coat, Pedro’s scarf wrapped around your neck like a memory.

“Wait up,” his voice called out behind you.

You turned, smiling instinctively.

He was in his usual layers—hood pulled up, a soft beanie peeking out from underneath. His curls had grown longer, falling over his forehead in little waves. He looked cozy and tired and beautiful, the way only Pedro could look beautiful in forty layers of wool.

“Thought you had a meeting,” you said.

He caught up to you easily, his breath fogging in the cold. “It got moved to tomorrow. I’d rather walk with you anyway.”

You ducked your head, biting back a grin. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” His fingers brushed yours, not quite holding—asking. Waiting.

You gave him your hand without hesitation.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, boots crunching over fallen leaves, your linked hands swinging slightly between you. The city moved around you, busy and bright, but in your little bubble, it was all warmth.

“How are you feeling?” Pedro asked quietly, after a while.

You shrugged. “Tired. But okay.”

He looked at you sideways. “You sure?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. It’s been good lately. Really good. I think that scares me sometimes.”

Pedro nodded like he understood, and of course he did. “Good doesn’t mean the other shoe’s about to drop, you know.”

You looked up at him, cheeks pink from the cold and maybe something else. “I know. I just… I’ve never had this before.”

“This?” he echoed.

You nodded slowly. “Work feeling like it matters. Friends who actually care. And you.”

Pedro stopped walking.

You turned, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

He looked at you like you’d just said something earth-shattering.

Then, softly, “You have me. Okay? You really do.”

Your heart stuttered. “I know. I’m just still trying to believe it’s real sometimes.”

He stepped in closer, crowding into your space the way he always did when you got shy and started retreating inside yourself. He brought a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

“It’s real,” he said, firm but gentle. “You and me? This thing we’re building? It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked fast. “Okay.”

His lips twitched. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

“I’m still cold and awkward and trying not to cry in public.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours. “God, you’re cute.”

You groaned, cheeks burning. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You stayed there like that—foreheads touching, breaths mingling—until someone across the street shouted Pedro’s name and the moment broke.

But it lingered. In your chest. In the way his fingers didn’t let go of yours all the way back to the hotel.

Maybe you were finally allowed to be happy.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The hotel room was dimly lit, bathed in the amber glow of a single floor lamp tucked beside the bed. The rest of the suite was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace and the low hum of city sounds beyond the thick windows. Everything inside was warm—quiet, safe, untouched by the world outside.

You stood barefoot on the plush rug, having just changed into your coziest pajamas—Pedro’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts that barely peeked out beneath the hem. The hoodie still smelled like him—his cologne, faint and woodsy, mixed with something undeniably Pedro. You’d never admit it, but you’d worn it to bed more nights than not.

Pedro was already stretched out on the bed, still in his jeans but having shed his sweater, revealing a soft grey tee that clung to his chest in the nicest way. His arm rested behind his head as he looked over at you, eyes lazy and warm, his curls tousled from running his fingers through them.

“You look cozy,” he murmured.

You shuffled your feet, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s your hoodie.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “I know. Looks better on you.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” he teased, echoing what he told you earlier on your walk.

You ducked your head with a smile, biting your bottom lip. Your heart still fluttered around him in that annoyingly obvious way, no matter how many nights you’d spent like this lately—close, quiet, intimate in a way that was domestic more than anything else.

The kind of closeness that felt like home.

You padded over to the bed and climbed in beside him, crawling beneath the covers. Pedro immediately shifted, pulling you gently against his side. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucking naturally into the curve of his neck.

It felt easy. Like breathing.

“You okay?” he murmured, fingers brushing soft patterns up and down your arm.

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah. Just… a long day. I like ending it with you.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I like that too.”

For a few minutes, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in the hush of the moment. The way his hand stroked your arm. The way your breathing began to match. The way your fingers found the hem of his shirt and fiddled with the fabric without even thinking.

You tilted your head to look up at him, your voice quiet. “Can I…?”

His eyes flicked to yours, tender and patient. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed. “Can I kiss you?”

Pedro’s expression softened into something that made your stomach flutter. He reached up, cupping your cheek gently.

“You don’t ever have to ask,” he whispered.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, even as you nodded.

You leaned in first—tentative, shy—and he met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Lingering. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the pace of your breath, the warmth of your lips against his.

You pulled back only an inch, eyes fluttering open.

He smiled, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Again?”

You laughed softly, heart skipping. “Yeah.”

This time it was slower. A little deeper. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there gently as he kissed you like you were something fragile. Precious. Like he had all the time in the world.

And for a moment, it really did feel like time had stopped. Just you and him, wrapped up in warm sheets and soft affection, the world fading into nothing beyond this room.

When the kiss broke, he leaned his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours lightly.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he whispered.

You smiled, lips still tingling. “You did do that earlier.”

“Yeah, but this…” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “this feels different.”

“How?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Pedro pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, thumb grazing your jaw.

“Because it feels like love.”

You blinked slowly, breath catching.

And for once, you didn’t shy away.

You let the words settle into your chest like a promise. Like a future you were finally brave enough to want.

You reached up and touched his face, your voice trembling just slightly.

“It feels like that to me too.”

Pedro didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just kissed you again, slow and sure, and held you tighter.

Later that night, as you curled into him beneath the covers, your fingers linked together and your nose tucked into the crook of his neck, you thought—you could get used to this.

Not just the kissing. Not just the comfort.

But the him of it all.

The falling. The softness. The love.

Pedro thought to himself, as his hand curled a little tighter around your waist, that you were the kindest thing to ever happen to him. Not just kind in the way you smiled at strangers or the way you thanked every crew member even when they were only doing their jobs—but kind in the quiet ways. The gentle ways. The way you spoke to him. The way you let him in.

It terrified him sometimes, how easily he could lose himself in you. In this.

He pressed his nose into your hair, breathing you in. Warm skin, soft cotton, a faint trace of shampoo. He could’ve stayed like this forever.

There had been something inevitable about you from the start. A gravitational pull he hadn’t tried to fight. The slow burn of connection, of comfort, of knowing that one day he’d look over at you, and you’d be looking back at him like this—like the two of you were teetering on the edge of something. That threshold between friendship and something more.

Something bigger. Heavier. Real.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened. Maybe it had been the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. Or the way you always touched his arm when you laughed. Or that morning when you showed up to set, tired and coffee in hand, and smiled at him like he was the only person who mattered.

But now, with you curled into his side, with your breath soft and steady against his chest, he was sure of it.

You’d crossed that threshold together. Quietly. Gently. Like stepping through a door you both already knew was open.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Pedro huffed a soft laugh. “Am I?”

You nodded, nose brushing his throat. “Yeah. I can tell.”

He kissed your temple, slow and lingering. “I was just thinking… I really like this. I really like you.”

Your breath hitched—just slightly. “Oh.”

Pedro smiled. “Is that all you’re gonna say? ‘Oh’?”

You burrowed closer, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m shy, remember?”

He chuckled, a low, fond sound vibrating through his chest. “Yeah. I remember. I like that about you too.”

You sighed, soft and sleepy and content. “Feels like this shouldn’t be real. Like… it’s too good.”

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His gaze was tender, serious in a way that made your heart skip.

“It’s real,” he said quietly. “It’s so real it scares the shit out of me sometimes.”

You met his eyes, shy but steady. “Me too.”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You nodded.

“Good.” Another kiss, softer this time. Just a brush of lips. “Because I’m gonna take you on so many more dates. And I’m gonna keep holding you like this until you’re sick of me.”

You laughed, breathless. ��I don’t think that’s possible.”

Pedro smiled against your skin. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

The room settled into quiet again. His hand stroked lazy circles over your back, lulling you back toward sleep. But just before you drifted off, you whispered it—quiet and small.

“I like you too. A lot.”

Pedro didn’t say anything at first. He just held you closer. Kissed the top of your head. Let the words settle between you like a promise, and somewhere, deep in the softest part of his chest, something unfurled.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

It was nearing the end. The kind of end that felt soft at the edges, bittersweet in its finality. The sets were still standing, the cameras still rolling for a few final pick-ups here and there, but the weight of goodbye lingered just beneath the surface of every conversation, every laugh shared between takes.

The energy on set had shifted—relieved, yes, and light with the knowledge that soon everyone would return home to their own corners of the world. But there was a hum of sadness, too. The ache of closing a chapter you weren’t quite ready to leave behind.

You, Daisy, and Omar found yourselves tucked in a quiet corner of the lot, half-heartedly organizing equipment while swapping stories that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with squeezing out every last drop of this strange, perfect little bubble of time together.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Daisy sighed dramatically, slumping against a crate. “What am I gonna do without you two ruining my peace every day?”

Omar grinned. “You’re gonna cry. Loudly. Probably on Instagram Live.”

Daisy threw a marker at him. “Shut up, I will not.”

You laughed, soft and fond, because this was the rhythm of it now. The teasing, the inside jokes, the quiet comfort of people who had become more like family than colleagues.

“Well, I am gonna miss this,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not just the work. This… all of this.”

Omar nudged you with his elbow. “Hey, you’ll still have Pedro.”

Your face warmed immediately. “That’s… different.”

“Different good,” Daisy teased, wiggling her brows. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. Like you hung the stars or something.”

You groaned, hiding your face behind your clipboard. “Please don’t make it weird. It’s already terrifying enough.”

Omar chuckled. “He’s good for you. You’re good for him. It’s not weird—it’s kind of nice, actually. Watching you two make each other… softer.”

You chewed your lip, heart fluttering despite yourself. Because they weren’t wrong.

Pedro had become your safe place in a way you hadn’t expected. The hotel nights tangled in whispered conversations, soft kisses pressed to your forehead, quiet reassurances when the anxiety crept in and tried to convince you this was all too fragile to hold. He made you feel… steady. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the burden you’d convinced yourself you were.

And you were learning to let yourself believe it.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket—Pedro.

You smiled without even meaning to.

Pedro: You free? Need to steal you for a bit.

“Speak of the devil,” Daisy teased as you typed back a quick ‘coming now’.

You excused yourself with a wave, heart thudding a little too eagerly as you made your way across the lot. It didn’t take long to find him—leaning casually against one of the trailers, sunglasses perched on his nose, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets like he hadn’t just made your stomach flip with a single text.

“You stealing me again?” you teased, stopping a few feet away.

Pedro’s smile tugged slow and easy across his face. “Always.”

He closed the distance, fingertips brushing your wrist before they tangled with yours. His touch was familiar now, but it still made something in your chest ache in the best way.

“C’mere.” He guided you out of view, around the side of the trailer where no one would see. “Just needed a minute. With you.”

Your brows lifted, soft and curious. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Better now.”

There was a beat. One of those quiet moments where words didn’t matter, where his gaze on you said everything.

“This is all almost over,” he murmured, thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “And I know we’ll figure it out, you and me. Whatever comes next… I’m in.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

Pedro smiled, tilting his forehead to rest against yours. “Yeah. I don’t want this to end with the production. I don’t want you to think this was just some… on-set fling. I’m serious about you.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. “I know. I believe you.”

He kissed you then, slow and sweet. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or hunger, but about promise. About staying. About choosing.

“I love this stupid job for giving me you,” he whispered against your lips, and you laughed—soft, a little shy, but filled with something bright and hopeful.

“I’m really glad you stole me away today,” you whispered back.

Pedro grinned. “Like I said. Always.”

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EVENING

WRAP PARTY

The string lights flickered softly overhead like lazy fireflies strung between scaffolding and studio walls. Someone had dragged out a couple of tall heaters, but it wasn’t the warmth that made you feel safe—it was the people.

It was the way Omar had his arm slung dramatically over Daisy’s shoulders, both of them mid-laugh at some inside joke you’d probably heard a dozen times by now but would gladly hear again.

It was Vanessa holding up her phone, pouting as she took a selfie with Joseph, only for Ebon to photobomb them from behind with two peace signs and the world’s most exaggerated grin.

It was Pedro standing a few feet away, his gaze finding you in the crowd, soft and sure even from across the lot.

You made your way to him, weaving between half-empty champagne glasses and clusters of crew saying their goodbyes. He smiled when you reached him—tired, warm, familiar.

“You disappearing on me again?” he teased, his fingers finding yours with ease, pulling you just a little closer.

“Not disappearing. Just… observing,” you said, giving him a look. “Big difference.”

Pedro hummed. “Is there?”

You nodded. “One involves me wandering off. The other involves me staring at you like a creep from across the party.”

He laughed, the sound sinking into your bones like sunlight. “Good to know where we stand.”

Someone nearby popped open another bottle of champagne with a cheer. The music shifted into something a little slower, softer—Fleetwood Mac, of course. Always someone’s go-to.

Pedro’s thumb was drawing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles again. “You holding up okay?”

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ask me tomorrow. Right now… I’m just glad you’re here.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before he could say anything else, Joseph called out. “Oi! Group photo. Everyone—get your asses over here before Omar starts posing like he’s in a Vogue spread again.”

Omar gasped dramatically. “How dare you imply I’ve ever stopped.”

Laughter rippled through the group as everyone started gathering beneath the lights. Pedro’s hand settled comfortably at the small of your back, guiding you into the mess of arms and shoulders and grins.

Vanessa had appointed herself selfie queen and was demanding everyone squeeze in tighter. “Come on, come on—look like you like each other, for Christ’s sake!”

“Debatable,” Daisy joked, elbowing Omar playfully.

“Pretend it’s a Marvel premiere,” Ebon said with a grin.

“Say ‘Thank god it’s over!’” Joseph quipped.

“THANK GOD IT’S OVER!” everyone cheered in varying levels of enthusiasm as Vanessa snapped photo after photo, laughing between each one.

Someone handed Pedro a disposable camera for fun, and he held it up, eyebrows raised. “Alright, say ‘I survived stunt week!’”

You caught his eye right as he pressed the shutter.

“I survived stunt week,” you mouthed with a grin.

Click.

The moment caught forever.

When the photos were done, people began peeling off in smaller circles again—cigarettes lit, last drinks grabbed, plans made for karaoke bars and greasy breakfasts.

Pedro didn’t let go of your hand. He tugged you gently toward the quieter side of the lot, where the lights dipped lower and the noise faded into something background and soft.

You stopped beneath one of the overhead lamps, its light catching in his hair, brushing the edges of your features with gold.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said quietly, biting back the smile pulling at your mouth. “You really didn’t have to do all this for a date.”

His brows rose. “You think I planned the whole wrap party just to impress you?”

You laughed. “Admit it—it’d be very ‘Pedro Pascal’ of you.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he teased, then softened. “But I meant what I said. We’re not done, you and me.”

You met his gaze, heart thudding slow and steady. “I know.”

Silence settled between you—not heavy, not awkward. Just full of things unsaid that didn’t need to be said.

“I would’ve been happy if we’d just… stayed in bed, watched TV,” you admitted after a beat, your voice quieter now. “Could’ve saved yourself the trouble.”

Pedro’s smile curled slow and fond. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of nights ahead for that.”

You huffed a soft laugh, playful despite the warmth crawling up your neck. “God, I probably need to set all my socials to private. Or just delete them entirely. One photo of us holding hands, and it’s game over.”

He grinned. “Too late. Daisy posted you already.”

Your eyes widened. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did. Captioned it something sappy about family and wrap parties. Clever girl.”

You groaned. “I’m gonna have to deactivate.”

“You’re not,” Pedro said, tugging you a little closer until his nose brushed yours, soft and easy. “You’re just gonna let them talk. Let them guess.”

“And us?” you whispered, already leaning into him. “What are we doing?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “Whatever we want.”

And then—softly, sweetly—he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… certain.

A kiss is like the closing of a chapter and the start of something new.

A kiss that said: this is ours now.

Behind you, the others called out drunken goodbyes and promises for breakfast. Someone cheered. Someone groaned about cabs.

But here—beneath this quiet light, beneath his fingertips steady at your jaw—it felt like none of it touched you.

Only him. Only this.

Somewhere in both your pockets, your phones buzzed quietly with messages and notifications neither of you noticed.

For now, there was only this moment.

And the rest could wait.

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66 @bunniboo0015 @kneelforloki @sarcasticamentegiulia @joelmillerpascal @somedayheaven @vixorell @bunny-pancake @shadybell-3 @munsonsquinn @pinkcabinet @dotyoureyez @end-up-well @lottieellz101 @sinarainbows

[juletheghoul]

Tag fixes;

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A Weekend Away

AN: Real talk, the idea for this came to me in a dream. I have reached Stephanie Meyers levels of fandom lmao. None of you should be surprised that this is an au, this Dave never went down the path of The Equalizer, instead he made a decision that made him filthy rich. We're talking big wealth here so I hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent, soft, rich, devoted husband and father. Quick thanks to my girl @wheresarizona for beta-ing this and for the gorgeous moodboard / header, as well as @foli-vora, thank you both for generally being supportive and amazing. Hope you enjoy xox. (I might turn this into a 3 part series depending on the response.)

Pairing; Dave York x f!reader

Warnings;  daddy kink 🤡 piv sex (wrap it up), squirting, swearing, dirty talk, oral (f-receiving), let me know if I missed anything. (Should be completed blank-slate female reader, but if there is anything I missed - please let me know!)

Word count; 3K

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

----------------------------------

His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet in your shared bedroom, a clearing of his throat announcing his presence before his hands rest on your hips. His lips quickly descend to adorn your shoulders with kisses. 

“We’re taking off soon, baby. Is everything good to go?” Your last few words come out almost as a sigh - his lips have traveled from your shoulders to your neck and now to your ear, where he takes it between his teeth. He hums in the back of his throat in acknowledgment before he answers. 

“I’m sure everything is going smoothly. Let's sneak in a quickie before we leave, hm?” His voice is mischievous, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “Put that down - the housekeeper can pack for us.” His hand wraps around your middle and travels up, holding the weight of your breast in his hand and before you can say anything he’s turning you, spinning you in his hold to devour your mouth with his. 

Whatever argument you had in your head, whatever garment you had in your hand drops to the floor by his hunger for you, and then you’re falling, or rather being placed onto your back on your plush bed, and he's surrounding you. Your dress is up around your hips, and he's slotting his in their rightful place - his tongue is thick in your mouth, and you aren’t kissing, you’re being kissed. 

“I need you, baby.” He’s pulling down the straps of your dress with an urgency that makes you melt. His frown at the flesh on display for him has you pulling your swollen lower lip between your teeth, and it almost makes you light-headed how he can still make you this desperate this quickly. Your nipple is in his mouth, and your fingers curl into the short crop of his hair, the pained moan that escapes around the bud is almost lewd, but then the door to your room swings open, and she toddles in - your baby girl. 

“Is that my princess?” He lifts his head away from your saliva-slicked nipple to smile at her. She lifts her arms to him, and he lets out a resigned sigh - no quickie right now. “You, my lovely—” He speaks to her with a smile in his voice and in his heart, “Have impeccable timing.” He kisses her full cheeks, one then the other, over and over until she laughs. 

You lay in the bed, watching them as you right yourself, unable to be too disappointed when you see him like this - his face lit up with her laughs, her chubby little hands on his face in hopes of delaying a tickle attack. 

“I’ll finish packing up here. Why don’t you go check in on everything downstairs? Make sure the dogs are packed and see if Nana needs anything for the girls?” You stand up, fixing your skirts before reaching down to pick up the cardigan you’d dropped. 

“Fine,” he sighs, the baby laying her head on his shoulder, and he can't help but kiss her halo of hair. “Let's go check the hounds, princess. Mommy said so.” He gives you a quick peck before they’re both out of the room, and with him gone, you can focus on packing for the weekend. 

You look over what you’d already grabbed while trying to catch your breath, ignoring the way your underwear sticks to your skin, and with a shake of your head, you’re running through what you remember of your schedule for the next few days. 

Alma walks in as you’re coming out of your airy walk-in closet, one of David’s more casual suits in hand. 

“Let me do that.” She reaches for the garment bag in your hands, tutting at your momentary refusal. “The girls are packed and ready, the dogs are waiting in the mudroom, and we’re good to leave. Let me help you.” She took no nonsense, and you loved her for it. She’d been in your life since you met David; she’d been in his since childhood, and now she helped watch your girls. 

“Alma, this is a weekend away for you as much as it is for us. I don’t want you working, is Richard packed and ready?” Her husband was going to be joining you at your country house, a weekend of doing nothing but enjoying each other's company.

“Yes, he’s downstairs with David. They’re talking about sports or something, who knows.” She waved away your words and started packing things into the open suitcase. “The rest of the staff have already left to get the house ready. After this, we’ll be ready to leave.” She was the sweetest woman you’d ever met; it was obvious why David considered her a second mother. 

“Yes, I just need one more thing, something for date night tomorrow.” You spoke over your shoulder, a brisk walk back into the closet to grab something to wear. 

“That sounds great - Richard and I will watch the girls.” She called back, an amused sigh at her refusal to take a break. 

“You don’t need to!” You called back as your hands carded through the array of dresses that hung before you. David had well and truly spoiled you, and there were absolute confections hanging here, much too formal for a simple date with your husband. You settled on a slinky black number he’d yet to see you in. 

“Alma, I have told you, and so has David – this weekend is for rest. You do not have to watch the girls.” You spoke as she helped put your dress into its own garment bag. Once again waving away your concerns. 

“They aren’t work for me – they feel like family.” She zipped up the suitcase before turning to you. 

“They are. We are your family.” You pulled the heavy suitcase off the bed, smiling at her and meaning every word. 

-

His hand was gripping your thigh, his thumb making a steady pass over the skin in range, raising goosebumps in its wake. He smiles to himself, his other hand curled around the steering wheel, and he knows exactly what a tease he's being. You ignore it. 

“Daddy, are we almost there?” Charlotte calls from the backseat of the SUV, her little voice cutting through your tension. 

“Yes, baby, we’re almost there, just under an hour, I’d say.” He answers her, his kind eyes looking at her through the rearview. 

“Is Nana gonna be there?” She’s playing with a new doll, one he just bought her.

“Yes, baby, Nana is coming.” She smiles at his response. Evie was quiet in her seat beside her sister, her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. “Evie, honey, you okay?” His hand moved from your thigh, reaching behind to tug on her little foot. 

“She’s tired. Missed her nap today.” You turned to smile at her, her big brown eyes – her father’s eyes watching you both.

“Aw, well, at least you’ll sleep tonight.” He focused on the road. “Did you think of where you wanted to go for dinner tomorrow night, honey?” He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. 

“I didn’t. I’m happy to go anywhere.” You brought his hand back into your lap. “I packed you a nice suit.” He smiled. 

“I made a reservation in case you didn’t find a place. Supposed to be a nice place – hope you packed yourself a dress.” His hand gripped your thigh again. 

“You’re the best, you know that?” You meant it. He was. He was a wonderful husband and a loving, doting father. And if the way they treated you whenever you stopped by the office was anything to go by, he was a well-liked and respected business owner and boss. 

Before you knew it, he was pulling into the long driveway into your summer house. Every time you saw it, you thought about how your marriage had started, how you’d both lived out of a tiny studio apartment while you both worked and worked. He’d come back from his days in the military with a few scars and ideas of starting his own security company. 

Years later, you were all reaping the benefits of his discipline, of the hard work, and the lucky breaks he’d gotten. One government contract led to another, and soon his security company was the country's most used and most successful. 

“Okay, my lovely ladies, we’re here.” He parked in the gravel, a big smile on his face as one of the staff came out to take your bags and his. “Thank you, Jeffrey. In the room is fine and don’t worry about us this weekend. No hard work, okay?” He clapped the other man on the back before opening the backseat, where Charlie held her arms up. You were both holding onto your children when the dogs came bounding over. It was going to be a great weekend. 

-

The food was served at dusk on the patio, the large table set with a simple but delicious meal. Everyone ate together, you, David and the girls, Alma and Richard, along with the chef and the housekeeper, the driver as well. Everyone was welcome at your table, and they all knew it. There were no awkward smiles, no tentative words – the table was filled with laughter and conversation. The girls were passed from you to David to Alma when they weren’t chasing after the dogs. 

“Alma, stop – sit down.” He rose to stop her from chasing after Evie. “Here, have some more wine. I got the one you like. Relax, enjoy,” he said it with a smile, and she reluctantly sat with a slap to his arm. Richard smiled, pulling her in to place a kiss on her temple while the girls enjoyed the fresh air. 

Once the plates were cleared, most of the household had gone to bed, and the four of you were sitting in the cozy living room enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside. He had a book in his hands that he was reading with Charlie while you rocked Evie in your arms. Pretty soon, though, she was asleep.

“I’m going to put her to bed.” You got up slowly, cradling her head against your chest. “Bath time will have to wait until tomorrow.” Charlie was yawning as you walked past.

“Come on, Charlie, it’s bedtime.” He closed the book, following you up the stairs, him going into Charlie’s room while you went into Evies. 

By the time he’d finished with Charlie, you were getting out of the shower, laughing at his pout at not having waited for him.

“Go get clean, and then maybe we can finish what you started before we left.” You slid your hand down his stomach, relishing the groan he let out when you palmed the bulge of his crotch. “Go on, get clean for me, daddy.” You smacked his ass before moving towards the bed. You didn’t make it far before he pulled you back, both his hands cradling your face as he licked into your mouth. 

“Don’t bother getting dressed. Daddy wants you just like this.” He pulled the towel away, sending you to the bed naked, his palm landing a heavy crack to the meat of your ass. 

Your skin crackles with excitement as you wait for him, nestled in the crisp, clean sheets. The sound of the water running ramps up the arousal, a deep anticipation filling every inch of you for the way his cock would soon fill you - for the way he’d surround you, the way his goal always seemed to be to consume whenever he fucked you.

Your heart skipped a beat when the water shut off, kicking the sheets off so he’d find you just how he wanted you. 

He came out still dripping, his cock bobbing.

“You ready for me?” Cool water droplets fall from his hair onto your skin as he crawls up from the foot of your bed, a kiss dropped onto your shin, then your knee, your inner thigh before he’s spreading your legs open with the breadth of his shoulders. 

“I’m always ready for you.” You reach down, threading through his damp hair, your heartbeat pulsing in your cunt at the way his eyes rake over your pussy, all glossy and ready for him.

“I know, baby.” His molten mouth descends, pressing kisses to your mound before he curls his fingers around the tops of your thighs, pulling you towards him hard enough to pull a gasp from your mouth. “Spread your pretty little pussy open for daddy. I wanna hold you close to my face.” He bites at the meat of your thigh as you bite the plush of your lower lip, complying with an almost delirious ecstasy. 

The hand not threaded through his hair snakes down and does as he asks, spreading open the lips of your sex for his mouth. He groans, staring at the ripe berry of your clit. 

“That’s my good girl. Keep it nice and open for me.” He dives in, his tongue honing in just where you want it most, and it’s like your whole body is wired with a current only he produces, an electricity that lights up every inch of you with pure want. 

Your belly trembles as his tongue strokes at the very heart of you, ramping up higher and higher as he presses himself closer, his mouth surrounding your clit in a steady suck. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream - your eyes almost unfocused at the way he moans obscenely into your skin. 

It’s too quick, the way stars burst behind your eyes and at the center of your being, and through the haze of euphoria, you hear him laugh. 

“Already?” He places an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, a rumble in the back of his throat at the way your legs try to close around him. “Just a few licks and you’re getting me all wet?” He smiles, his tongue cruel and sweet all at once. 

“Fuck me already, David,” You push his hair back slightly, separating his face from your cunt, and his smile widens. “I want it.”

“What do you want? Tell me.” He kisses your thigh before kneeling between your legs. Your mouth almost waters at the sight of his cock, the tip sticky with his own arousal. 

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream.” You all but moan the words, sitting up slightly to rest on your elbows. He reaches for a couple of cushions and taps your hip. When you lift them, he positions them under, elevating you at the perfect angle. 

“Perfect, don’t worry, daddy’s got you.” He gets into position, the tops of his thighs pressed up tight against the backs of yours, and he lifts your legs up, so your calves press against his chest, your feet up by his shoulders. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He slides the fat head of his cock through your folds, soaking himself in you. “Bet I’m gonna just glide right in aren't I?” 

He notches himself, sliding in right to the hilt without resistance, a shared moan filling the air. 

“So fucking wet, you always feel so fucking good, baby.” He watches himself disappear into the clutch of your cunt, relishing the way he shines in your arousal. 

You can do nothing but pant at the way he’s hitting something sacred, something white-hot that blanks your brain every time he pushes against it. 

His hand shifts to your belly, and he presses down. Your brain short circuits, and you cry out almost involuntarily.

“There it is. That’s the spot, huh?” He speeds up, battering against the cosmos in your pussy. “You wanted to scream, so scream for daddy.” He’s railing now, focusing his energy on hitting the bullseye he knows he’s found, and the pressure is building - something that feels too good to breathe is creeping in, flooding your veins, your hands coming up and pressing against his chest. “Come on, goddamn it, give it to me.”  

His eyes are black with lust as your pussy leaks with the arousal he is ripping from you, and then it happens, a wet gush around where he keeps up his assault. A scream rips from your throat, and he laughs triumphantly. 

“There it fucking is, one more - I want you to do it again.”

Your brain is mush, and he’s soaked, but his thrusts don’t let up. He presses against your belly harder - his hips snapping quicker and quicker, and this time it happens faster. He doesn’t let your body curl in on itself like it wants to; instead, he spreads your legs, slotting his hips between them to kiss you as he chases his own high. One of his hands a reassuring press against your throat while the other palms your breast.

A handful of thrusts is all it takes for him to slow to a grind, coming with a deep groan, the pressure of it against your clit triggers a feather-soft orgasm as he fucks his come as deep as he can.

He collapses on top of you, breathing hard against your neck. Your brain floats in a haze of bliss as you both catch your breath. Your hands raise almost on their own to run along the smooth skin of his back, soothing yourself as much as soothing him.

“I love you, baby.” He lifts his head and presses a kiss to your mouth, sealing his words with it.

“I love you, too.” You run your fingers through his damp hair, pulling him tight against you for a few moments, enjoying the comforting weight of him for a little while longer.

Eventually, you both rise, and together you quickly change the sheets, giddy with laughter, and when you finish, he pulls you close. Whispers his words of devotion in the quiet darkness of your home, the both of you falling asleep-tangled in one another.

-

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