#Pedro pascal

[userjoel]

PEDRO PASCAL HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE for Off The Cuff with VOGUE

[littledes1re]

What daddy wants, he gets

Pairing: Daddy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is insatiable when it comes to you. He has to have you, every damn hour and day. And you are always, desperately ready for him whenever that‘s the case. Aka Free Use!

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, Free use, cnc (I think?), somnophilia, daddy kink, fingering, pinv, unprotected sex, Joel is the horniest mf, breeding kink, praise kink, ddlg vibes, Dom!joel, soft!joel, sub!reader, age gap! (50s and 20s), teasing, oral m!receiving

A/N: phew. After that Angsty chapter of HtD, I needed something like this. Also I‘m ovulating so this is filthy😫 Enjoy!!

Saturdays were peaceful. And not because the world stood still, or because the birds hummed their quiet tune, or the freshly placed bread in the oven smelled extra nice—no. It was because your man was home, not working from seven to five like he always did.

No rushed goodbyes, no tired eyes, no annoying alarms in the morning—just the peaceful and warm feeling of having him beside you. Waking up to his groaning, him stretching his hands out, pulling you into his body, kissing the back of your neck as you anticipated to share that beautiful morning together. Just slow and easy. Coffee steaming out of the machine, laughter filling the space between conversations, the sun pouring into the room.

And while you try to wash the dishes after the breakfast you two just had, he suddenly comes from behind, caging you between his big arms, pulling your panties quickly down and filling you with his cock, in one swift move.

That‘s what you enjoyed most these days. Joel didn‘t need to ask, he didn‘t need to tease. He knows you are ready for him, any time he wants you. And while your home, you were only allowed to wear his big shirts, with nothing but panties underneath. Whether it‘s when you just read a book on your tummy, coming from behind and diving his face into your pussy or when you‘re fast sleep, softly pulling your panties down and filling you with his cock. Thrusting into you with a gentle rhythm—not wanting to wake you, stroking your face and hushing your sweet little whimpers. A small ‚daddy‘ slipping between your lips, cumming around his cock, creaming around him even while you‘re asleep. And then the next morning feeling the sticky sensation between your thighs, while noticing the smirk on Joel‘s face.

Or even in the car after having a shopping spree. Your face red and flushing, scared that people might see from the parking lot, but Joel doesn‘t care. He is too focused on fucking up to you, pinching your nipples under your dress and giving quick thrusts, until you forget that people are around you, feeling dizzy and the only thing you can do is cum around him.

Because what daddy wants, he gets.

„Can y‘blame me, baby? My sweet girl makin’ me breakfast, takin’ care of her man.“ he coos into your ear.

Your legs already beginning to shake, tummy clenching—you were getting used to the constant stimulation that Joel gave you. Every damn day. It was hard cumming around him in the beginning of your relationship. Now, he doesn‘t even need to touch your clit anymore. (Even though he does anyways—he loves to way the little nub throbs under his fingertips). And even when it‘s too much, there is no use telling him that. He will hush you, continue until your insides are filled with him, tugging your panties back on and giving you a kiss on your forehead.

„Daddy.“ your whimpers fill the otherwise quiet kitchen. Joel‘s hands are squeezing the very same place he always does—your hips. The marks he leaves are now a part of you, the bruises showing off where he grips you, whenever he fucks you. Your thighs red and always sticky, the cum he pumps you with is always spilling down the sides of your panties. You were a mess. And Joel knew that—and he loved everything about it.

„Yea, right here baby. Daddy‘s right here.“

The dishes were long forgotten as Joel bend your upper body down, now fucking into you in a hard speed. Groans and moans filled the room, his hands just squeezing your hips harder. And as his hand came down and pinched your clit, you cried out—cumming on his cock.

„There we go, pretty.“ Satisfied with his work, he thrusts a few times more and fills you up with his seed, as you try to come down from your high. He pulls out of you, pulling your panties up again—ignoring the cum that already starts to drip.

While you still try to catch your breath on the counter, he washes his hands, then starts cleaning the dishes, helping you.

But Joel rarely does it for his pleasure. See, Joel always notices whenever his girl is all over the place. Is it her period? Is it stress at work? Is it the insomnia or even just having a bad day. ‚Sorting you out’ that‘s what he calls it. Spreading you, filling you, giving you countless orgasms until you can‘t think straight is his way of sorting you out—making your head cloudy, dizzy and unable think about anything else then his cock. The cramps, worries, headaches all forgotten once he is in you, taking good care of his girl.

But in some days it‘s just his lust speaking, your pretty eyes, pretty plump lips, that beautiful body of yours. He would look at your thighs and get hard, peek at your ass whenever you bend down, to take something from the floor. And of course, the love for your man, the way you take care of him. Like on this day.

Soft rain pattered against the windowpane, turning the world outside into a watercolor blur of gray and green. After having breakfast and that little session with Joel, it started raining. And you two decided on a calm, cosy afternoon with a little movie. Curled up on the couch, you shared lazy smiles. No rush, no obligations. Just the soothing hush of the rain and each other’s presence.

You scrolled through an endless list of movies.

„How about this?” You asked, tilting the screen toward him.

He chuckled. „We always watch horror, huh?”

„Yeahhh,” you sighed dramatically, stretching your legs over his lap. „But it’s the only good thing.”

A knowing grin spread across Joel’s face. He wasn’t about to argue. „Alright, I’ll watch whatever you want, baby.”

With that, you nestled into his side, a blanket pulled over both of you. The opening credits rolled and you two intended to just enjoy the movie, for the remainder of the day.

But Joel had other plans.

It was the middle of the movie, when his mind drifted, his gaze landing on your face. Your soft cheeks, your little pout. All concentrated on the movie. So cute. And then his eyes drifted lower. The blanket was kicked away, your legs were open, showing off your panties and oh—there it was. His cum dripping slowly from the sides of your panites. A little pillow built up and soaking the fabric.

He didn‘t like horror movies, anyways.

His hands move slowly to your thigh, groping it and squeezing the flesh, like he always does. A familiar touch, you don‘t think much of it. Your body reacts though, when he suddenly presses two fingers at the center of your panties. Feeling around, seeing just more cum leaving the sides.

„S‘uncomfortable?“ he asks, gently laying his head on your shoulder and beginning to plant sweet little kisses on your neck.

You release a breath. „I got used to it.“

He smiles. Remembering the first time you called him ‚daddy‘, the first time you asked for a spanking. The day you felt comfortable enough the fully submit yourself to him, to trust him and to give him the power over you. Your sweet eyes lightening whenever he demands you something, your cunt getting wet at the way he manhandles you and your little smile whenever he says he needs to sort you out.

Your legs spreading wider, welcoming his hand on top of your pussy.

„There she is, ready for me again.“

And you were ready for him, always. Admittedly, you were a bit tense at the beginning. Not knowing when he is going to take you, practically waiting for that moment to happen. Joel made it a game for himself, touching you, teasing you making you think that now it‘s the time, where he pulls your panties down and fucks you without remorse. It took longer then expected. And once he started, he couldn‘t stop. Controlled by his lust and your pleasure, the shocked look on your face whenever he carries you on his shoulder, throwing you on to the couch and taking you from behind. Or not being afraid about getting caught. His hand finding your cunt even if you two sat on the family table, eating dinner with Tommy and Maria.

You thought he is going to break you one day. But what happened is—you got even more crazier for him. Your skin getting used to his markings, your cunt to his cock and your insides always aching for his touch, where with only one look of your eye he knew what you needed.

„Daddy.“ you whined out, your head lulling back as Joel pulled your panties down, once more. This time throwing it somewhere in the room, knowing at that point it‘s not wearable anymore.

The movie long forgotten as Joel played with your pussy. Spreading it with his fingers, blowing cool air on it and cooing out whenever you clenched around nothing.

„Haven‘t given any attention to this little button of yours didn‘t I? What a bad daddy I am.“ he murmurs, his middle finger landing on your clit, gently rubbing circles in a slow and agonising way. Smiling at you when he sees you getting more wet, nodding his head when you pout.

„C‘mon focus on the movie.“ and as much as you wanted to huff and puff, shake your head an say no—you obligated. You knew there was no use of fighting him, that would just land you on his lap, with ten spankings on your butt and a not so happy Joel.

So you did what he said, trying your best to focus on the movie, while his finger rubbed and teased your cunt. Sometimes slowly going to your hole, putting only the tip of his finger in and playing around with the cum from earlier. Sometimes, playing with your inner thighs. Pinching and groping them, appreciating the beauty. He was always mesmerised at the way your cunt reacted to his touch, the throbbing, the release of more wetness, the way it gets more puffy and swollen.

And as he continued, he suddenly felt you clenching— a breath releasing from your lips and your body slightly shaking. You just had an orgasm.

„Oh, my poor baby. Just cumming from teasing, huh? Did I train you this well?“

His head was spinning at the sheer thought of you releasing only with the slight touches of his fingers. Your face already looking fucked out and your eyes expecting more from him. Your lips bitten and plump, he needed to fuck you now.

Joel stood up, pulling his joggers down, releasing his cock—red and angry, twitching for some sort of stimulation.

A whine escaping your lips, as he gently spread your legs further on the couch, nestling between your thighs and filling you with one motion. He waited a little bit, trying to make you more desperate for him. His thumb landed on your clit, smiling when he heard you cry out for more. He gently began thrusting, his hips beginning to have a rhythm, his thumb never leaving your nub.

„Sensitive.“ but again—there was no use for telling him that. He didn‘t go slower, he didn‘t stop on your clit. He shook his head, a tsk leaving his lips as he pumped his shaft in and out of you. But you could feel the way your tummy tightened once again, being on the verge of an orgasm. It felt like too much, too much pleasure and too many orgasms.

„Don‘t look at me like that, angel. I know you can do it. C‘mon baby.“ he cooed to you, his hips starting to get a little bit faster, but his thrusts still gentle—he wanted you to cum and the best way to do that, was focusing on your spot. A sweet cry leaving your lips whenever he hit it, a gush releasing around his cock.

He loved how much of a mess you were.

And that he only had that for himself.

„Let it out, sweetheart.“ he coaxed you, his lips coming to your ear kissing you, looking into your eyes—giving you a nod, knowing you can cum, you can let go.

And as Joel pushes down your lower tummy, your legs shook, your body practically shaking as you clenched down his cock, moans and moans spilling from your lips. His thrusts not telling up, riding your orgasm and making you feel that pleasure you thought you are going to break on.

While you catch your breath he pulls out of you, jerking himself slowly, waiting for you to come back to your senses. He nears his cock into your mouth and at first, you don‘t realise it, making him chuckle.

„Open your mouth.“ he demands and as you do he gently brings his shaft in, making you close your lips around him and slowly bob your head up and down. Focusing on the head, lapping at the taste of your cunt, swirling around him and your hands landing on the rest of his dick—pumping him to his orgasm.

„There she is, that‘s my good girl.“ he whispers, his hips locking as you feel his tip pulsing on your tongue, releasing finally spurt after spurt onto your mouth. Joel groans into the air, thrusting slowly into you, riding the last bit of his orgasm.

He pulls out, cups your cheeks with his hands and looks at your glassy eyes, all fucked out, waiting for you to swallow. Another rule he has for you. You quickly catch up on it, keeping eye contact as you swallow, making him nod his head and kiss your forehead.

„Now you‘re all empty here, s‘a shame. Might as well take care of that when you go to sleep.“ he says, pointing at your cunt, making you flush and close your legs again.

And for the rest of the day, you anticipate the time where you go to sleep and he fills you back to the brim—like you are used to.

Ugh what I would give for this🫩🫩 as always!!! English isn‘t my first language and any Feedback or corrections are welcome!! (I tried to proofread everything as much as possible, but sometimes I don‘t catch on everything)

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @cuntyhunty22 @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner

[xbeababyx]

Pov: You are Pedro's girlfriend and this is your camera roll.

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

Baked and filled

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel comes back home from work.

Warnings: 18+. BREEDING KINK, unprotected sex, Oral (f!receiving). Age gap (50s,20s), eaten from behind, bent over to the counter, breeding kink, praise, pet names, talking about pregnancy, soft!joel, dom!joel, pinv.

words: 2.391

You carefully slide the tray of cookie dough balls into the warm oven, you lean in to close the door, You smile to yourself, feeling proud of the delicious treats you're about to make.

The comforting sound of the crackling fireplace fills the living room as the cold winter wind howls outside.

You move to the sink, humming softly to yourself as you begin cleaning the mess you left behind.

The warm water feels nice against your hands as you scrub the bowl and utensils clean.

The gruff sound of your husband's voice snaps you out of your thoughts as the front door clicks shut.

You hear the soft thud of his boots being scraped against the doormat, "Babe, I'm home," he calls out, his deep voice carrying through the house. He steps into the kitchen, his eyes immediately drawn to the sight of you in his old, well-worn t shirt.

The faded letters of his business name across your back make him smile, "What's cookin' sweetheart?" A warm smile spreading across his face at the mention of cookies. "You remembered how much I love 'em, huh?"

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. "You're too good to me, you know that?" You lean back into his embrace, the sponge pausing mid-scrub as you turn your head to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Someone's gotta take care of my big bad cookie monster," you tease lightly, your voice warm and affectionate.

He smirks down at you, watching as you continue washing the dishes. His calloused hands, still cold from being outside, slide slowly under the oversized shirt you're wearing - his shirt - feeling your warm, smooth skin.

"Damn," he mutters softly, enjoying your body's warmer h. His rough, calloused hands slowly move up, cupping your breasts possessively. He starts kneading the soft mounds.

A low hum of satisfaction rumbles in his chest as he warms his hands in your gentle curves. "Goddamn, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice growing huskier. "Your warm little titties are heating up my cold hands real nice."

He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and groaning as his hands continue to massage your sensitive flesh. You let out a soft giggle, your hands pausing mid-task as his rough hands continue their gentle assault on your breasts.

"Joel..." you warn playfully, trying to sound stern but failing as his warm breath tickles your neck. "I'm trying to do the dishes here..." He smirks against your neck, "And I'm just trying to warm my hands, baby," he says with mock innocence, his hands still gently kneading your breasts.

"You just keep doing those dishes, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and teasing. "I'll just keep warming my hands right here." Unable to resist the temptation of your smooth skin, Joel starts placing soft kisses along your neck.

He works his way up from your shoulder, his lips gently nibbling and sucking on your sensitive flesh. His hands never stop their slow, sensual massage of your breasts, his calloused thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples.

Your cheeks flush pink as his lips and hands work their magic on you. You bite down harder on your lip to keep the moan trapped inside you. The sponge in your hand continues to move mechanically over the plates as you try to focus on something other than Joel's touch.

One hand continues kneading your breast while the other slides up to gently grip your throat. His lips move to capture your earlobe, giving it a playful bite as he presses his already rock-hard erection firmly against your backside. "You're driving me crazy, sweetheart," he growls low in your ear. Unable to resist any longer, Joel's hands become more urgent.

He squeezes your breast harder, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple. With his other hand still on your throat, he starts grinding his hardness against your ass, letting you feel exactly how much he wants you. You bit down on your lip to suppres a moan as he smirked,

"but I'm not doing anything daddy..." You said with mock innconcence earning a groan from Joel as he hears you calling him 'daddy' "Not doin' anything, my ass," he mutters against your neck, a husky chuckle escaping his lips. Your innocent act just makes it hotter as you grind your ass against his cock, making him groan deeply.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses out as you grind against him, the heat and wetness between your legs becoming more apparent through his jeans. His hands tighten on your throat and your sensitive tit, his breathing growing heavier. "You're getting all wet and warm back there, aren't you?"

His hand trails down your soft stomach and beneath the hem of his shirt (that you're wearing as a dress), finding no barriers whatsoever. "Damn, baby..." he whispers, smirking smugly into your neck.

One large hand cups your bare pussy completely, feeling how slick and warm you are. "Already fucking drippin' wet for me," he growls approvingly, his fingers spreading your lips apart to feel just how ready you are for him.

He pulls back slightly to look down at his hand cupping your bare pussy, watching his fingers glisten with your arousal in the warm kitchen light.

You lean back slightly against him, your breath hitching as you whisper in mock innocence again, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmhmm," he hums disbelievingly, "Damn near coating my palm, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, his middle finger sliding back and forth slowly, gathering more of your wetness.

"So fucking tight," he whispers roughly against your ear as his thick finger slowly pushes inside you. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and he slides in easily thanks to how wet you are.

"Look at how perfectly you're taking my finger, baby," he growls, starting a slow rhythm.

His thumb begins to circle your clit in slow, firm movements as he continues pumping his finger in and out of your tight pussy. "You like that, sweetheart? You like it when I finger your little cunt like this?" he asks in a low, dominant tone, his breath hot against your neck.

You whimper softly, your hips starting to move involuntarily against his hand. He adds a second finger, stretching you more as he curls them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your knees weak.

"Answer me," he demands, his fingers pumping faster and deeper. "Mm-hmm," you moan softly as his fingers nail that sweet spot inside you.

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he watches his fingers disappear inside you, making your juices coat his palm. "Damn, baby."

He starts moving his fingers faster, scissoring them inside you to prepare you for his much larger cock. His thumb circles your clit relentlessly while his other hand squeezes your breast hard.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out with a wet sound, making you whine at the loss. You look up at him with disappointed eyes, biting your lip as his fingers slip out of your warmth.

Before you can protest though, he brings those fingers dripping with your juices up to his mouth and licks them clean with a satisfied moan. "Jesus," he mutters softly, tasting your sweet pussy juice.

He reaches down with his clean hand and uses his thumb to pull down your lower lip, his eyes locked onto your bare pussy. "You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you? You gotta have some patience if you want somethin' sweetheart."

Without warning, he drops to his knees in front of you, pushing your legs apart roughly. He buries his face between your thighs, his tongue delving deep inside you without any warning. You scream out in pleasure as he eats you out like a starving man, his hands gripping your thighs tightly.

You grab the kitchen counter with both hands, knuckles turning white as Joel's tongue aggressively explores your pussy. Leaning back, you grind desperately against his face, chasing the intense pleasure. His hands move to your ass, holding you firmly against his mouth as he devours you eagerly.

His tongue laps at your clit relentlessly before plunging deep inside you again. You can hear him moaning against your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

You grind harder against him, your hips moving in desperate circles as he eats you out like a man possessed. He pulls back for a moment, his chin and lips glistening with your juices.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, before diving back in. His tongue flicks over your clit rapidly, making your legs tremble as you grind harder against him. He slides a finger inside you again, curling it just right to hit that magical spot.

His tongue continues to assault your clit, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You throw your head back and let out a loud, uninhibited moan as your orgasm crashes over you. "That's it, baby. Fucking come on my face," he growls against your pussy, feeling your walls clench tightly around his finger.

He laps at your clit with long, firm strokes as your orgasm wrecks through you, not letting up until your legs threaten to give out completely. He stands up slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, still leaning heavily against the counter for support as joel watches you come down from your high.

You lean heavily against the counter, your legs weak and trembling. Joel scoops you up effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

Joel carries you to the dining table, gently laying you down on the cold wooden surface he then unbuckles his belt with shaking hands, desperate to be inside you.

"You've fuckin' ruined me," he mutters under his breath, unzipping his jeans and finally freeing his hard cock. It stands thick and proud, leaking pre-cum. He kicks off his jeans completely, stroking himself slowly while looking at you spread out on the table.

You smile seductively, biting down on your lower lip as you lean back on the table and spread your legs wide apart. Your pussy glistens wetly with desire as you stare at Joel with half lidded eyes.

"God, Joel," you whisper breathlessly, watching him stroke himself. "I've been waiting all day for that big, thick cock of yours to be inside of me," you said breathlessly.

"Please, Joel. I need you so fucking bad..." You whined, "Christ," he breathes out roughly, precum beading at the tip of his cock. "You dirty girl, talkin' like that..." His eyes darken with pure desire as he steps closer, lining himself up with your entrance. "You want this he? Want him to fill that tight little pussy?"

"Yes," you moan, Your breasts heave with your shallow breaths, your pussy pulsing with need.

He grabs your hips roughly, pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He wraps one hand around his length and slowly pushes the fat head inside you.

"Jesus fuck," he mutters, watching your pussy stretch around his thickness. He slides in another inch slowly, making you moan loudly.

He continues to slowly feed his massive cock inside you, inch by inch, until he's finally buried to the hilt. You feel stuffed full, stretched impossibly wide around his girth. Joel's fingers dig into your hips as he starts to move, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in deep and slow.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," he groans, picking up the pace slightly but still maintaining a slow, deep rhythm. He watches as his cock slides in and out of you, glistening with your wetness. "So tight and wet for me."

He leans over you, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to play with your clit. His thumb circles the sensitive bud as he starts to fuck you harder and faster.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room along with your moans and his grunts. "I'm gonna fill you up," he says, his voice low and gravelly as he fucks you harder and deeper.

"Gonna pump my hot cum inside this tight little cunt." His hand on your hip tightens as he starts to lose control, his thrusts becoming erratic and forceful.

"Fuck, I need to breed you," he growls, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force. "Need my seed to spill deep inside you and make this pussy pregnant." He leans down, biting your neck as he fucks you relentlessly, chasing his orgasm. "Gonna fill you up so much..."

"Mmm, you'd look so beautiful with my baby growing in your belly," he murmurs against your neck, sucking and biting the skin, hitting just the right spot inside you. "You'd make such a good mother..."

"mmm yes..." you moan loudly, your body trembling with need. " I want you to breed me and make me carry your child, Joel, please..." Your words send Joel over the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and explodes. He holds himself deep inside you, his thick cock pulsing as he fills your womb with his hot, sticky cum.

"Take it all," he growls, his teeth sinking into your neck as he continues to breed the fuck out of you, ensuring every drop of his seed is planted inside you.

He pants against your neck, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he continues to shoot his load.

"You're gonna be so fucking full of my cum, it's gonna leak out of this tight little pussy for days." You moan softly as your legs tremble beneath him, feeling his massive cock slowly pull out of you.

As he slips free, a thick rope of his cum follows, dripping down your swollen lips and onto the floor below.

He brings his fingers to your dripping pussy, collecting the mixture of his cum and your juices.

He pushes those cum-coated fingers back inside you, knuckles deep. "And we don't waste anything in this household," he murmurs, ensuring every last drop is pushed back into your needy hole.

"Jesus fuck," he mutters appreciatively, watching proudly his handiwork. He rubs your clit gently with his cum-covered thumb before pulling away completely, leaving you messy and well-used.

[ellies-enrichment]

[lazysoulwriter]

pedro pascal x pregnant!wife headcanons ── .✦

– the day you tell him you’re pregnant, he cries. like… tears-down-the-cheeks kind of cry. he’s sitting on the couch in sweatpants, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl, and he immediately puts it down just to kneel in front of you like you’re made of glass.

– “are you sure?” he asks, voice shaky and eyes wide, and then you show him the three (okay, five) positive tests. “mi amor,” he whispers, resting his forehead on your stomach. “there’s a baby in there. OUR baby.”

– from that moment on, he’s obsessed.

– talks to your belly constantly. he has full conversations. like: “hey, baby. it’s me, your daddy. just checking in. your mom is being mean to me today. she didn’t let me eat her fries. that’s okay, I still love her. and you. infinitely.” you: “pedro, stop trauma dumping on our fetus.”

– he reads every single parenting book. even the outdated ones. you fall asleep with your kindle on your chest while he’s on the couch highlighting What To Expect When You’re Expecting like he’s preparing for an exam.

– “this says babies can hear our voices by week 18. should I do accents when I talk to them? like, keep them entertained? a little Colombian cowboy maybe?” “…you’re unwell.” “yeah, well, I’m in love.”

– he spoils you rotten. you’re craving strawberries at 1am? he’s out the door. you want a foot massage? he’s already got lotion in hand. you’re crying over a cereal commercial? he’s crying too, just because you are.

– he adores your pregnant body. constantly kissing your belly, your hips, the curve of your back, your swollen feet, your boobs (which he compliments even more than usual, if that’s humanly possible).

– moody wife? no problem. he’s built for this. you’re crying in the bathroom because a button popped off your dress? he comes in with your robe, a snack, and a soft “you wanna cry into my shirt, baby? it’s fresh. no judgment.”

– but he teases you in the gentlest, most loving ways. “so… should I write a strongly worded letter to the baby for making you yell at me because we ran out of peanut butter?” “shut up, pedro.” “I love you.” “…I love you too. but I’m still mad.”

– calls the baby ridiculous nicknames based on their size from your pregnancy app. “today they’re a sweet potato. I’m gonna call them papitas.” “next week is coconut.” “my little coquito.”

– he starts nesting harder than you. you find him building furniture at 6am. “pedro. why are you putting together the crib in your robe?” “they need somewhere to sleep. we’re already behind.”

– sometimes you wake up and he’s just staring at your belly like it’s a miracle. “can’t believe I made this with you.” “you’re gazing again.” “you’re literally growing our child. you’re a goddess. I’m gonna get you a throne.” “pedro.” “okay okay. a comfy chair. but it looks like a throne.”

– when the baby kicks for the first time, he gasps like he’s in a drama. “THEY MOVED.” “they did.” “I FELT IT. YOU SAW ME FEEL IT, RIGHT?” tears. again.

– and when you find out it’s a girl? he throws his hands in the air like he just won an Oscar. “I knew it!” you squint at him. “you literally said ‘he’ yesterday.” “reverse psychology. I was tricking the universe.” “…you’re so full of shit.” “and full of love. for my little girl.” he’s glowing.

– he’s so soft at night, tucking your bump in under the blankets, spooning you from behind and resting a hand over your belly. whispering sweet things against your ear like: “you’re the love of my life. thank you for this. for them.” “you’re gonna be such a good mom, mi reina.” “we’ve got you, baby. we’re already your biggest fans.”

– he takes so many pictures of you. blurry ones. sleepy ones. glowy, radiant, barefoot-in-the-kitchen ones. you say you look puffy. he says you’ve never looked more powerful and divine in your life.

– and when you go into labor? he panics. then apologizes for panicking. then panics again. but he holds your hand, kisses your forehead, tells you over and over: “you’ve got this. you’ve got us. I love you.”

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✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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[firsttarotreader]

https://x.com/pascalcoded/status/1802591507574083737?s=46

I swear they are the same😭 this is just older pedro

The same mannerisms indeed, so cute! 😄😄

[musingsofheaven]

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,” he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I��m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[whannahbeyourss]

fuck.

[pinklemonadesociety]

Not him giggling while talking about this movie like it isn’t about to be the most fucked up shit.

[robinade]

Transcript:

Pedro Pascal Calls For Boycott of HBO's Upcoming $2 Billion 'Harry Potter' Series

As HBO/Warner Bros are locking up a cast for their 'Harry Potter' reboot, Pedro Pascal isn't making things any easier for them in terms of optics.

Pascal, who starred in HBO's "Last of Us," has called for a boycott of all Harry Potter-related content, including the upcoming Warner/Max series, in response to J.K. Rowling's support of a recent UK Supreme Court decision that legally defined "woman" and "sex" as referring exclusively to individuals born biologically female.

Rowling celebrated the ruling, and that seemed to have triggered Pascal, who condemned Rowling's stance as "awful disgusting SHIT" and "heinous LOSER behavior" in a post on Instagram. He also endorsed activist Tariq Ra'ouf's call to boycott Harry Potter-related projects.

4/25/25

WE LOVE YOU PEDRO

[lazysoulwriter]

not dude. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, domestic, husband!pedro, cute spanish pet names, lots of kisses ♡

---

You were halfway through an overly animated retelling of your grocery store adventure—hands flying, expression shifting every three seconds—as Pedro sat on the couch with a book resting on his thigh and his full attention glued to you.

“And then—dude, you won’t believe it—this woman tried to cut me in line even though I had like three things and she had a whole-ass cart of stuff!” you ranted, pointing an accusatory finger in the air as if she were still in the room. “So I looked at her like—”

Pedro blinked once. Twice. Slowly closed the book in his lap.

“Wait,” he said, voice soft, suspicious.

You stopped mid-gesture. “Huh?”

His eyebrows furrowed just enough to make him look five seconds away from a very serious sulk.

“Did you just call me… dude?”

You tilted your head, completely unaware. “What? No—”

“You did,” he nodded solemnly, lips already beginning to pout. “You said ‘dude.’ You were talking to me. You said it with emotion.”

Your brain rewound the moment and played it back like a home video.

“Oh, shit,” you gasped.

Pedro gave you a tiny, crushed little smile. “I thought I was your amorcito,” he said softly, like a man watching his whole identity get shattered in real time. “I’m not dude... I’m amorcito.”

You immediately tossed whatever was in your hands (probably your phone and half a granola bar) and climbed onto his lap, cradling his face with both hands. “OH MY GOD,” you whined, pressing your forehead to his. “You are! You are mi amorcito! You’re not ‘dude,’ you’re never ‘dude,’ you’re everything but dude!”

Pedro narrowed his eyes. “Mmhmm. Better sound convincing.”

“I swear!” you laughed, peppering kisses over his cheeks, lips, jaw. “Mi amorcito. Mi corazoncito. Mi pedacito de cielo. Mi osito caliente.”

That one made him crack a smile. “Hot teddy bear?”

“Sí,” you nodded solemnly. “Mi amorcito, el osito caliente.”

He hummed, kissing your nose. “I forgive you.”

“Thank god,” you breathed, dramatically flopping into his chest. “I’d die if I lost my rights to call you silly little nicknames.”

Pedro pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck.

“Good. Because amorcito sounds way better when you say it like that.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[missyorkswhore]

Alright… headphones on, volume max. Nighty night ✨❤️

[uncontrollablecraze]

need some pascal

Mr. Pascal, I’m kindly asking you to let us BREATHE

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Greek Getaway!

harry castillo x fashion intern fem!reader content warnings: fluff, a TINY bit of smut at the end, age gap (reader is in late twenties, harry is in forties) summary: a vacation with your billionaire boyfriend wc: 3.8k

masterlist.

You’re exhausted by the time you unlock the penthouse door.

Your shoes are already in your hand, one strap broken, and your makeup has melted somewhere between the subway and the elevator. Your bag slips off your shoulder the second you step inside.

And then, before you can even exhale, you smell something.

Something warm. Garlic. Herbs. Olive oil.

You barely have time to register it when...

“Mi vida,” Harry’s voice greets you from somewhere near the kitchen. “I was about two minutes away from coming to track you down.”

You blink. You must look absolutely wrecked because his brow creases the second he sees you.

You try to speak, some kind of apology for being late or not answering his last text, but then Harry is already walking over, sliding a hand around your waist and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“You’re tired,” he says softly.

“I look like a fashion intern who got sent to coffee duty in the rain.”

“You look like a goddess who’s overworked and underappreciated.” He kisses your temple again, then your cheek. “But lucky for you, I’m a very generous man.”

You laugh, head resting against his chest. “Did you order something?”

“I cooked. And I have a surprise for you.” His lips graze your ear, and he pulls back just enough to grin. “Come on. Close your eyes.”

“…Is it a new purse?”

“No purses, but if you want another I'll happily buy you it,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Promise. Just trust me.”

With your heels still dangling from your fingers and your shoulders sagging from the week you’ve had, you close your eyes. You hear him walk around you—there’s a soft rustle, the sound of a switch, and then his warm hands gently guide you forward.

"Okay," he says, stopping you at the edge of the living room. “You can open them now.”

You blink a few times.

And then your mouth drops open.

On the coffee table sits an itinerary, two first-class boarding passes, and a leather travel journal. A small bowl of olives and feta cheese rests beside a chilled bottle of wine. A book you’ve been eyeing—about ancient Greek fashion trends—is tucked under it all with a gold ribbon wrapped around the cover.

“We leave Friday,” Harry says, watching your reaction carefully.

You don’t respond at first.

You just stare. Then you look at him. Then the tickets. Then him again.

“Greece?” you ask quietly.

His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you in closer. “Ten days. No emails. No calls from your nightmare of a supervisor. Just us, the sea, and a suite with your name on it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

You throw your arms around his neck so fast he stumbles a little backward, laughing against your shoulder as you pepper his jaw with kisses.

“I love you,” you mumble into his neck.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But say it again when we're in Greece, sí?”

The sun isn’t even fully up yet when you shoot out of bed, chest tight, your brain already racing.

Okay. Passport. Toiletries. Swimsuits. Did I pack my black heels? Shit, I didn’t email my supervisor. Did I set my out-of-office?

You’re halfway to the closet in one of Harry’s old dress shirts, panic-walking, when a sleepy voice cuts through the quiet.

“Mi amor…what are you doing?”

You turn to find him still in bed, the sheets low on his hips, hair mussed, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I- sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just need to finish packing. And check the tickets. And my skincare is still in the bathroom. And I think I forgot to-”

“Stop,” he says gently, sitting up. “Come here.”

“I...Harry...”

“Come here.”

You grumble something under your breath but obey, climbing onto the bed reluctantly. He pulls you into his lap, strong arms wrapping around you, warm and slow and grounding.

“Baby,” he says, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I already packed your bags.”

You blink. “What?”

“Everything’s in the foyer. New luggage, cream leather, matches the shoes I got you. Your passport’s in your purse. Your skincare’s already packed. Out-of-office email sent.” Another kiss, this one to your jaw. “I even bought you new bathing suits. The red one with the gold ring you were eyeing? It’s folded between three pairs of sunglasses I had overnighted.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

“You bought me sunglasses?”

“I bought you Greece,” he says smugly. “The sunglasses were just a bonus.”

Despite the panic still simmering behind your eyes, a small laugh slips out. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m efficient. And madly in love with you.”

You let your forehead rest against his, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

“What about the airport?” you mumble. “Security? We’re going to hit traffic. What if we-”

“Car’s downstairs. The driver’s early. Don't worry about TSA or any airport stuff, let me worry about that.”

You blink again. “Who are you?”

He grins, leaning in for a soft, slow kiss. “Someone who hates seeing you stress. Now go brush your teeth, come back here for five more minutes of cuddling, and then we’ll go on the best vacation of your life.”

You sigh dramatically, draping yourself over him.

“Fine..."

He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. “Just let me take care of everything baby.”

You’ve never been in this part of JFK.

There are no long lines. No screaming toddlers. No buzz of flight numbers crackling over intercoms. Here, everything is quiet. Elegant. Every surface gleams. Every scent is subtle, fresh citrus, expensive cologne, and warm espresso drifting from the sleek lounge bar nearby.

Harry rests a hand on the small of your back as you step inside the private terminal, effortlessly guiding you past security with a nod to the staff. The agents don’t ask for your ID. They just smile at him like they know him. Like they’ve known him.

Because they do.

“This isn’t even the lounge,” you whisper, heels softly clicking against polished marble. “This is just the entrance?”

Harry laughs low, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You’re adorable when you’re shocked.”

“I’m not shocked,” you mumble, eyes glued to the towering floral arrangement near the check-in desk. “I’m…digesting.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Wait until you see the jet.”

You reach the private lounge and freeze. Plush velvet seating. Soft instrumental jazz. A breakfast spread that looks catered by a Michelin-star chef. There’s a Hermes throw draped casually over the arm of one of the couches. And a tray with your favorite pastry and a cappuccino already waiting, your name written in delicate script on a place card.

“You did not have that brought out for me,” you say, half-laughing.

“I did,” he says, already loosening the cuffs of his cream button-down and settling onto the couch like he owns the building.

You blink. “Harry, this is insane.”

He looks up from his phone and pats the seat beside him. “No, baby. This is standard.”

You sit beside him slowly, dazed, taking the cappuccino like it’s a fragile artifact. “So…this is what it’s like to fly with you?”

“This is what it’s like to date me.”

You look at him. His expression is unreadable for a beat, somewhere between teasing and completely serious.

He breaks the silence by tugging your legs gently across his lap, massaging your ankle with one hand. “I know you’re not used to this.”

“I really, really am not.”

He leans in, voice quiet. “But you’ll get used to it. If you let me take care of you.”

You study him. His sharp jawline. The steady confidence. The hint of concern in his eyes, like maybe he’s not sure if all of this is too much. If he’s too much.

You shift closer and rest your head on his shoulder. “I think I’m okay with that.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering.

A few minutes later, an attendant appears, polished and polite. “Mr. Castillo? We’re ready for boarding. Would you like to walk out now?”

He nods and glances down at you. “Ready for your chariot?”

“You mean the jet?”

“Yes the jet. One of three.”

You blink, slipping your hand into his as he helps you up. “Of course you have three jets...”

The tarmac is quiet.

You can hear the gentle hum of the engines in the distance, the warm wind brushing past your legs as you follow Harry across the runway. He walks like this is nothing—tailored, crisp linen shirt fluttering slightly, hand resting protectively on the small of your back. You, however, feel like you’ve just stepped into a scene from a dream you never let yourself have.

The jet comes into view, and your breath catches.

It’s not flashy. It’s stunning. Cream exterior, gleaming gold accents, the “Castillo” name discreetly painted near the steps. A flight attendant stands waiting at the base of the staircase, smiling warmly.

Harry gives you a look, half smug, half sweet.

You swat his arm. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely,” he murmurs, and offers his hand as you take the first step. “Watch your step, mi vida.”

Inside, the cabin is glowing in the early morning light.

Cream and beige leather seats, real wood paneling, soft gold light fixtures. A queen-sized bed tucked into the back with a cashmere blanket folded neatly at the edge. A built-in espresso machine, a small tray with chocolate-covered almonds and fresh fruit. The air smells like bergamot and something you can’t place—maybe Harry’s cologne, maybe just money.

You pause, completely still in the aisle, blinking.

“Is this real?”

Harry steps behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Very.”

You turn toward him, overwhelmed. “It has a bed.”

“Of course it has a bed. It’s a twelve-hour flight.”

“You bought me pajamas, didn’t you?”

He smirks. “Check the drawer next to the bed.”

You move, still barefoot from security, padding toward the bed and opening the drawer. Silk. The softest navy blue slip you’ve ever seen, your initials stitched discreetly into the hem.

You blink back at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs. “Comfort is important.”

You curl into one of the plush leather seats while Harry disappears into the back to speak with the pilot. When he returns, the plane is already taxiing. He sits beside you, tugs your legs into his lap, and hands you a glass of champagne.

“Are you sure I’m not dreaming?” you whisper, swirling the flute.

“Positive.”

The next few hours pass in a blur of luxury and warmth.

Harry shows you how to recline your seat back, you sip espresso while he reads a novel in Spanish beside you, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into your thigh. At one point, he feeds you strawberries dipped in honey. At another, you climb into bed and nap with your face pressed to his chest while the clouds pass outside the window.

You’re half-dozing, curled up in the silk pajamas he packed for you, and Harry has you lying across his lap again, this time on the jet’s bed. He’s gently combing his fingers through your hair, careful not to tug, careful not to wake you fully.

“You know,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, “when I bought this jet, I imagined using it for meetings, quick flights, boring things.”

You hum sleepily.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple.

“But now you’re in my bed, on my jet, wearing pajamas I had monogrammed for you, and I suddenly care a lot less about boardrooms.”

You smile into his chest. “So I’m your favorite investment?”

“The only one I’ll never want to cash out.”

You wake up later—disoriented, warm, and blinking in soft gold light. The silk pajamas are clinging gently to your skin. Harry’s fingers are still stroking your hair, slow and rhythmic.

“We’re somewhere over the Atlantic,” he says softly. “You’ve been out for three hours.”

You hum. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You looked peaceful.”

You glance up at him. “How much longer?”

“Seven hours.”

“Good. Plenty of time to make out on your fancy jet.”

Harry huffs a laugh, deep and warm. “Is that what you plan to do with the time I spent organizing a gourmet in-flight lunch?”

“Do I get both?”

He leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead. “You get everything.”

The jet door opens to a rush of warm, sun-kissed air.

It smells like salt and citrus and something earthy. The kind of air that makes you exhale without realizing you’ve been holding your breath.

Harry squeezes your hand gently as you descend the stairs. “Welcome to Greece, mi vida.”

A sleek black car is already waiting on the tarmac. The driver gives Harry a polite nod but hands him the keys. Of course. Harry prefers to drive.

He opens your door before you can touch the handle.

The roads wind gently away from the coast, olive groves on either side, small bursts of bougainvillea climbing over stone fences. You lean your head back against the leather seat.

Harry’s driving with one hand, sunglasses low on his nose, shirt collar open just enough to show the tan beginning to deepen on his skin.

He glances at you as you stare out the window, enchanted. “Tired?”

“Not anymore.”

You rest a hand on his thigh. His thumb brushes slow circles against the inside of your knee.

“Is the villa close?” you ask quietly.

Harry smiles, eyes back on the road. “You’ll know when you see it.”

And then, just like magic, it appears.

The gates are discreet but grand, vines curling around the stone pillars. A long gravel drive opens to a view that could break your heart: cliffs rolling down into the Aegean, sun spilling across pale terraces and tall cypress trees. The villa sits like a secret—modern but sunwashed, soft tan stone and white linen curtains fluttering from open windows.

It doesn’t look like a vacation rental.

It looks like a fantasy.

Harry parks the car with practiced ease and gets out, jogging around to open your door. He holds out a hand, and when you take it, he tugs you close for a kiss, warm and unhurried, right there in the driveway.

“I could get used to this,” you whisper against his lips.

“You should,” he says simply. “This place is ours for the week.”

You blink. “You mean we rented it?”

“I mean I own it.”

“…Harry.”

He laughs. “What? I bought it years ago. It’s underused.”

You shake your head and let him lead you up the stone steps. Inside, the air is cooler, touched by sea breeze. The walls are smooth, white stucco. A bowl of fresh figs sits on the kitchen counter. You spot a private pool through the glass doors and what looks like a private staircase leading straight to the beach below.

You turn to look at him—mouth parted, breath shallow.

He’s watching you carefully.

“Too much?” he asks softly.

“No,” you say, stepping into him, curling your fingers into the collar of his shirt. “It’s perfect.”

He kisses you again, slower this time.

“I want you to feel like you can breathe here,” he murmurs. “No expectations. No deadlines. Just rest. Me. This view.”

You nod against him.

You don’t need the view, though.

You’ve got Harry.

The villa feels like it was made just for the two of you.

You walk barefoot through each room, your fingers trailing over smooth stone countertops and pale wood beams, sun filtering through gauzy curtains. The living space opens into an airy kitchen and then to a hallway that leads to a bedroom so breathtaking it almost doesn’t feel real—arched windows, silk pillow cases, a bed big enough to lose yourselves in.

Harry walks behind you, occasionally pointing things out in his low, rich voice.

“That staircase leads straight down to a private beach,” he says, motioning toward a little stone path tucked into the side of the property. “And the guest house is through the olive trees over there. But we won’t need it.”

You glance back at him with a playful smile. “No guests?”

He raises a brow. “Not unless you’re planning on inviting someone.”

You shake your head, giggling. “Nope. I want you all to myself.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You spend the afternoon wandering in and out of rooms, discovering sun-warmed terraces, hidden lounge chairs, and little alcoves that smell like rosemary and fresh linen.

And then the sky starts to turn gold.

You slip into the pool just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The water is warm, glowing with the last remnants of daylight.

Harry joins you in navy swim trunks, lazy and relaxed, hair tousled by the breeze. He swims up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and pulls you gently against him.

You lean back into his chest. “This feels like a dream.”

“It’s real,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “All of it.”

The two of you float in silence, the water cradling you while the sky melts into shades of pink, orange, and lavender. His hands stay on your hips. His lips find the side of your neck. And for once, time doesn’t feel like it’s racing.

Later, Harry insists on cooking.

He opens a bottle of wine, rolls his sleeves up, and starts chopping fresh herbs like he’s done it a thousand times. The kitchen fills with the scent of garlic, tomatoes, lemon zest.

You sit at the island in one of his oversized button-downs, watching him.

“You know,” you tease, “I thought you would've just had a private chef on standby.”

“I am the private chef tonight,” he says, tossing you a wink. “And I only cook for you.”

The food is incredible—simple, fresh, perfect. Pasta tossed with olive oil and basil. Grilled shrimp with lemon. He pours you more wine before you can ask.

The sun’s fully set now. A few lanterns flicker around the terrace. The sound of the sea hums low in the background.

After dinner, you find yourself standing on the villa’s highest balcony, arms wrapped around your own waist, looking out at the dark horizon.

It’s quiet. Gentle. Magic.

You don’t even hear him step up behind you—but you feel him the second his hands touch your sides, gliding slowly around your waist until they meet at your stomach. His chin rests on your shoulder. His body curves into yours.

“You belong here,” Harry says softly, his voice deep and steady in your ear. “In this life. With me.”

You exhale shakily, your hands covering his.

“I don’t always feel like I do.”

“Well, you do now,” he says simply. “This villa. This view. The wine, the sea, the bed behind us. It’s all yours. Because you’re mine.”

You turn in his arms and press your forehead against his chest.

“You make me feel like I’m not pretending.”

He tilts your chin up, kissing you gently. “There’s nothing pretend about this.”

The stars begin to come out.

And in his arms, you believe it.

You don’t go back inside right away.

You stay on the balcony, wrapped in Harry’s arms, long after the stars appear—just swaying slightly, your bare feet against warm stone, the wind catching the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

Eventually, he kisses your cheek and murmurs, “Come swim with me again.”

The pool at night is even more breathtaking.

Lanterns glow from the corners of the terrace, casting a warm shimmer across the water. You strip down to your underwear and slip in without a word. Harry follows, slow and unhurried, the moonlight catching on his skin.

You float toward each other like it’s instinct.

His hands find your waist underwater, fingertips brushing your ribs as you hook your arms around his neck.

“Hi,” you whisper, smiling softly.

“Hi,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re glowing.”

You hum. “That’s just the villa lighting.”

“No, that’s you. You always do this to me.”

He kisses you, deeper, slower. The kind of kiss that makes your knees weak even in water. The kind that makes you forget the rest of the world exists.

His lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, his fingers gripping your thighs underwater before he lifts you, effortlessly, to sit on the edge of the pool. The cool night air brushes your damp skin, and he follows you up—mouth finding your stomach, your hip, the inside of your thigh.

“Let me take care of you,” he says against your skin. “Just relax for me, mi amor.”

You do.

And he does.

He takes his time, worshipping you slowly, thoroughly, until your back arches and your breath catches and your fingers knot in his damp curls. When you’re spent and trembling, he kisses your knee, then your lips, and lifts you into his arms.

“Bed,” he murmurs.

He lays you on the bed like you’re made of glass.

Your skin is still damp, your heart still fluttering, and you reach for him without hesitation.

Harry covers your body with his, kissing you again, this time deeper. His hands cup your face, his lips trailing down your jaw.

When he pushes into you, it’s slow, like a promise. He whispers things you can’t fully hear, too far gone, but you feel them in how he touches you. His hips move with a steady rhythm, one hand braced by your head, the other tangled with yours.

“You feel like heaven,” he breathes against your mouth.

You moan softly, legs tightening around him.

“You’re mine,” he says, almost reverent. “All of this. You.”

Your body trembles again, clinging to him as your breath shatters against his neck.

He follows with a groan, low, ragged, undone.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

Later, you’re tucked into his chest, fresh sheets under you, hair still damp, the sliding glass doors open just enough to let the sea breeze in.

Harry’s fingers are tracing lazy circles on your spine.

“You okay?” he asks, voice warm and quiet.

“More than.”

He kisses your forehead, lips lingering.

“You looked out at that view tonight like you were waiting for it to disappear,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “I guess part of me still doesn’t believe this is real.”

Harry cups your jaw and gently guides your face up to meet his.

“It is,” he says. “I’m real. This is real. And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

You nod softly, curling closer into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t let me wake up,” you whisper sleepily.

“I won’t,” he says. “Sleep, baby. You’re safe.”

The waves crash in the distance.

The moonlight spills across your skin.

And in Harry’s arms, you finally let yourself drift.

A/N: this is most likely gonna be a 2 part thing! but only if u guys want it to be ofc!!!