#he needs pascal though too

[clockworkreapers]

[windor-truffle]

Ok enough boring things like "work" or "sleep," time for a BerZesty AU 😤 I don't think I'll ever actually write it because it'd take a while but I'd love to hear others' thoughts on how you'd do one! Here's my VERY long take (outline) on it:

In this World of Graces But With BerZesty Mechanics, resonance is something highly sought after among nobility as it puts them "closer to the gods." Thus many marriages are arranged in order to produce heirs with high resonance, supposedly, but since resonance is becoming rarer and rarer (probably due to inbreeding affecting life span 😅) many nobles actually lie about their abilities.

Lord Aston of Lhant, who has little to no resonance but comes from a family that did, similarly sought out an heir with high resonance so he married Lady Kerri who possesses it. She is a widow of a previous marriage, with her own son Hubert having high resonance. But when Asbel, Aston's biological heir, is born with high resonance, Aston goes full villain mode (sorry I'm sabotaging his character 😅) and has Hubert killed in what appears to be an accident so there will be no dispute over who will inherit his title. Thus Asbel grows up with the seraph of his dead half-brother Hubert, who does know their relation but not the truth behind his death. Hubert is a water seraph (of course) and despite being older than Asbel, appears younger due to aging more slowly as a seraph.

Kid Asbel is also friends with Cheria, a friendly fire seraph kid who reincarnated after her tragic demise from illness, but otherwise Asbel's social life is quite limited and sheltered, protected fiercely by his father who sees Asbel as a chance to develop ties with the royal family. Eventually Aston gets his wish and Prince Richard is sent to Lhant for a visit. Asbel and Richard immediately hit it off as they both aspire to be Shepherds, figures of legend who brought peace and purity to the world by forming pacts with the Empyreans themselves. Asbel swears to be Richard's squire someday, and together they'll travel the world and purify it.

During Richard's visit the kids also meet and befriend Sophie, an orphan of Lhant with surprisingly high resonance. They protect her from hellions, since hellions tend to target those that can perceive them, and bring her with them to Barona when Richard's stay is over. Once there, Richard invites them all to help him investigate a shrine he has uncovered beneath the castle to an unknown Empyrean (very Innominat-like 😅).

Unfortunately they discover too late that the summoning ritual they're attempting requires a human sacrifice, and as they are attempting to abort, a "monster" shows up and kills Sophie. The gruesome event causes a falling out between the royal family and Lhant, and Asbel and Richard are no longer permitted to see each other.

7 years later, armies of hellions begin to invade Lhant and Aston dies in battle. Asbel is sent to Barona to petition the king for help, as there are far more people there with the resonance needed to combat the hellions, but then Asbel learns that Archduke Cedric has killed the king and is leading a coup with said armies of hellions. He himself is a hellion of Lord of Calamity status that had secretly lived among the royal family, though Richard always knew and thus was targeted frequently.

The capital seems to be overrun with malevolence so Asbel and his two seraph friends take cover in the sanctuary where they find Richard currently fleeing for his life. When they venture further down the same path they followed as kids that led them to the abandoned shrine, they're surprised to hear the voice of an Empyrean asking if they will aid him in purifying this world as a Shepherd. Richard agrees, Asbel swearing to be his squire, and Richard becomes the vessel to the forgotten Empyrean Lambda. As they complete the ritual, the spirit of their old friend reincarnates before their eyes as the void seraph Sophie, though she has no recollection of her former life.

With their powers greatly improved by the blessing of an Empyrean and an additional seraph on their side, Richard and Asbel vow to take down the Lord of Calamity reigning over Windor, Asbel hoping to purify him, while Richard is more prepared to do what's necessary. They encounter Malik, an earth seraph who challenges them to test both his own strength and the strength of their wills as a new Shepherd and squire. He is fine with killing hellions, mainly because he knows someday he'll have to return to his homeland and kill his friend Kurt who became a dragon (very Zaveid coded), but the pair (mainly Asbel) promise they will try to purify him, and Malik tags along to see if they're up for it or not (very Edna coded).

They succeed in taking down the Lord of Calamity Cedric thanks to Lambda's power. With peace in Windor restored, Richard the Shepherd-King and his squire Asbel set off to awaken and receive the blessings of the four Empyreans throughout the land, starting with Gloandi here in Windor. However, the ritual seems to be less of awakening and embracing their powers as it is Richard and Lambda subjugating and devouring them, much to Asbel and the other's disturbance. His seraph friends are beginning to feel some malevolence from the pair, but Asbel's pure belief in Richard keeps them from feeling its effects.

They travel next to Strahta, who initially refuse to recognize Richard as a Shepherd, believing this to be a political takeover. They prove Richard's validity by taking down an enormous hellion that had been terrorizing Yu Liberte, though Asbel and the citizens are dismayed that they couldn't purify it as it used to be a beloved gentle mascot (RIP Rockgagong). As a reward for their success, Richard is granted access to the shrine of the water Empyrean, Duplemar.

But the same process happens again of Lambda devouring its power, and this time the boosted force of his will enables him to suppress that of seraphim across the entire world, including all of Asbel's friends except Sophie. Richard reveals that his and Lambda's plan for peace actually involves exterminating humanity, the source of the malevolence, and will do so by using seraphim as tools. Asbel can no longer deny what they've become: a fallen Shepherd led by a fallen Empyrean, able to command both seraphim and hellions alike. Heartbroken, Asbel is forced to break his pact as Richard's squire before Richard's overflowing malevolence can corrupt both him and his enslaved friends. Richard is furious at his betrayal but despite having Asbel at his mercy does not kill him, and Asbel runs away, bitterly hoping he can save both his suppressed friends and his fallen one somehow.

Asbel is at a loss on how to help his friends until he encounters the wind seraph Pascal, who besides Sophie is the only unaffected seraph (because no one can hope to control her lol). Her tribe has knowledge of a sacred land in the heavens far beyond, where the Empyrean of Void, Fodra, ascended to long ago. She and Fourier are able to take Asbel and his friends there, and since Fodra's domain is far apart from Lambda's, his friends have free will for as long as they remain there.

In order to make a pact with Fodra that could free the seraphim, Asbel has to clear 4 elemental trials, and each one forces the corresponding seraph to come to terms with their past (Hubert's cruel murder, Cheria's unfair demise, Malik's bitter regrets, and even Pascal's jealous sister, who envies Pascal's higher standing among their tribe so much she almost becomes a dragon). Completing each one not only ensures their free will but also allows Asbel to armatize with them. But before Asbel can take the final step of becoming a Shepherd under Fodra, he hears from her that Richard has located the fire shrine of Forbranir, and so he returns to Ephinea with his freed friends in order to try and stop him.

Unfortunately, Asbel's armatuses are no match for Richard's armatus with the Empyrean Lambda, taking on a form far more demonic than angelic (aka Richard's final boss form from canon, roughly). Richard succeeds in stealing Forbranir's power and this time seems to be suppressing the will of humanity, though Asbel is protected from its effects by the blessings of his friends. Asbel returns to Fodra in the hopes finishing his pact with her will free the humans, too.

The last step of Fodra's trial tests Asbel and the others' belief in humanity. They learn that Lambda was an artificially created Empyrean who lost faith in humans after those of supposedly divine blood murdered his Shepherd vessel Cornell and sealed Lambda away. Humans created their own god then turned on it when it failed to please them, they always tear down goodness for their own selfish ends. That is why he decided they were truly evil.

They also learn that Sophie, as the soul that was sacrificed to release Lambda, is now a part of him (like Laphicet), hence why she was unaffected by and can even decently match his powers. But even after learning of these origins, Asbel and the others still believe that humanity has a future that they wish to protect. With this Fodra gives him her blessing, and Asbel becomes a true Shepherd like he'd always dreamed. Now he just needs to reach his other friend and get him to believe in that dream again, too.

The humans and seraphim on Ephinea have regained their free will thanks to Asbel's Empyrean pact countering Lambda's domain, and they offer Asbel and his seraphic friends their prayers as Asbel chases after Richard into the planet's core, where the final Empyrean of Earth, Lastalia, dwells. They confront him at the core and battle again. Richard has the power of his Lambda armatus AND 3 devoured Empyreans, while Asbel has the power of 5 seraphim 1 Empyrean and the prayers of basically every human so it's one HELL of a fight 😅 But Asbel is able to win by pulling a fucking 5 way armatus (like the noncanonical ending of the Zesty anime I know it's silly but c'mon Asbel would TOTALLY do that if he could 😂 it's the power of friendship, literally.)

With Richard and Lambda defeated, Asbel is able to appeal to Richard and get him to believe again in the humans that he once wanted to save. But Lambda refuses to trust humanity again, and thus cannot be purified. Sophie offers to sacrifice herself to seal Lambda away again, since she can match his powers with her own, but Asbel opts to become Lambda's vessel instead despite his malevolence--- as long as Asbel believes in both himself and Lambda, it won't corrupt him, and he can attempt to purify it as he shows Lambda the world. Lambda accepts his terms, and Richard and Asbel renew their pact, this time with Richard as his squire since he no longer trusts himself and besides Asbel has proven himself a worthy Shepherd twice over.

...The end? 😅

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

part: prev | masterlist | next

It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

We don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To live without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose awkward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can only warm your bed but not your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs / dts: @ann-gell; ángel de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

[lazysoulwriter]

until the end. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending.

---

Pedro hadn't wanted you there at first.

"It’s gonna be ugly," he'd said, tugging you close in bed the night before. "Brutal. You don’t need to see it."

But the moment his voice cracked — the smallest tremor — you knew he needed you far more than he realized. So you went.

The set was colder than you expected — not just physically, but emotionally, too. Everyone was professional, respectful, quiet. There was a certain heaviness in the air, a collective understanding: this was the scene.

Joel's end.

You found a corner near the monitors, out of the way but within Pedro's line of sight. He spotted you instantly, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

You offered him a small smile, your fingers curling into a heart across your chest. Pedro smirked — a soft, private thing — before disappearing into character.

Watching him die was harder than you thought it would be.

Even though you knew the script. Even though you knew it was fake. Even though you knew Pedro was right there, breathing, alive. It didn’t matter.

The first take, you had to clamp your hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound. The second, you had tears streaming down your face.

By the third, you were practically vibrating with the need to just hold him.

Pedro was too good — too real — and seeing him broken, bloodied, gasping for air... it shattered something inside you. And it broke him, too.

Between takes, he'd shuffle off the set, still half in character, his face caked in horrifying makeup — bruises, cuts, blood. You could see it: the way his shoulders curled inward, the way he struggled to shake off the sadness clinging to him.

Without thinking, you rushed to him.

Someone must've snapped a picture right then — you wrapping your arms around Pedro, burying your face in his chest like you could protect him from the script itself. Pedro clinging back just as tightly, his hands trembling slightly against your spine.

In full dead-Joel makeup, he looked terrifying. But to you, he was just Pedro. Your Pedro.

You kissed his jaw, whispered, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," like a mantra only he was meant to hear.

He breathed out a shaky laugh, squeezing you harder. "You shouldn’t have come," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "You needed me," you murmured back, pulling away just enough to cup his battered-looking face in your hands.

Another picture captured the moment his forehead pressed to yours, his fake blood smearing across your skin, neither of you caring.

You stayed like that for a long time — just holding each other, grounding each other — until the director gently called him back.

Pedro kissed your forehead once, lingering. "Stay where I can see you," he whispered.

You nodded, your heart in pieces.

The rest of the day blurred into a series of heartbreaking takes, whispered reassurances, and moments where Pedro would glance over, find your eyes, and remember he wasn't really alone in all this.

At one point, between scenes, you climbed into his lap in a quiet corner, wrapping yourself around him like armor. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

Someone took a picture of that too.

And another, later, when it was all over — when Pedro, still painted like a corpse, cradled you as you cried silently into his shoulder, overwhelmed by everything you'd seen. He rocked you gently, whispering soothing nonsense into your hair.

"I'm okay, cariño. It's just pretend. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The BTS pictures dropped a week later.

The fandom imploded.

There you were, in shot after shot — holding Pedro like your life depended on it, him holding you back, both of you wearing your hearts on your sleeves.

#protectpedropascal trended within minutes. #protecthisgirl wasn't far behind.

Tweets poured in:

"They’re literally saving each other." "How am I supposed to survive knowing Pedro Pascal cuddled his wife through fake death?" "Someone write fanfic about THEM, they’re the real love story." "This is the most devastating and healing thing I’ve ever seen."

Pedro reposted one of the pictures on his Instagram story — the one where you were cradling his battered face, forehead to forehead. No caption. Just a heart.

You, watching from the couch, sniffled pathetically.

Pedro grinned, pulling you into his arms.

"You saved me that day," he said softly.

"You saved me too," you whispered back.

And you would — over and over again, for the rest of your lives.

Until the end. And beyond.

-----

[pagesfromthevoid]

Sea Otters & Hand Holding | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

4 times the team tries to get Bob to go out + 1 time he goes out himself

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Can be read independent of Honey & Glass. Bob's fit is essentially this from Pedro Pascal's red carpet look. Inspired by @lives-in-midgard and their moodboard!

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Yelena’s Mission Impossible

Bob is trying to read, though he’s been reading the same page over and over again, distracted. He’s trying to figure out how to ask their PR manager to go out with him. Not that they aren’t already going out, but like actually going out and doing something.

Yelena plops down beside Bob, holding her phone out to him. “Wanna see this with me today?”

He glances up from his book, eying the trailer playing silently on her phone. Bob takes it carefully, restarting it so he can actually understand it. His brows knit together, flinching some as shots are fired in the video. Maybe Mission Impossible wasn’t the right movie to invite him to, in hindsight.

“I’m…I appreciate it, but I think I’ll pass.” He gives her a polite smile, handing her phone back. “I’m gonna do something here, though –there’s a new show streaming that I wanna watch.”

Yelena hums some, laying her head on his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to go out and do something? I hate that you’re always stuck here.”

He grins down at her, lifting his other shoulder in response. “I don’t mind,” he admits as he sets his book down. “The Tower is nice, and it’s better than risking anything happening.”

Yelena nods in agreement, though she’s determined to get him out of the tower sooner rather than later.

Bucky and John’s 10K Race

“C’mon,” Walker orders, banging on Bob’s door. “You gotta start training sometime!”

“Stop banging on the walls,” Bucky snaps, pushing Walker out of the way as he opens the door. 

Bob is covering his face with his arms, groaning. When he glances at the alarm clock next to him, it’s flashing 4:00 AM. He groans, running his hands over his face, shaking his head. She shifts next to him, sitting up in the bed. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” she hisses, moving to get out of the bed.

Bob wraps an arm around her middle, pulling her back into the bed. “Don’t go,” he sighs into her side. 

“Fuck off, Walker,” she yells at the two super soldiers. “You too, Barnes. It’s too goddamn early.”

“It’s not too early,” Walker argues, but his voice is so damn loud and Bob wants to bang his head into the wall. “Get up, Bobby –we got training to do. Starts with an early morning run.”

When neither of them move, Walker starts banging on the walls, trying to get Bob up. Bucky is yelling at Walker to stop, which only makes him hit the walls harder. Bob covers his head with a pillow, trying to drown out the banging as he buries his head under the blankets.

Then she’s pulling away and he whines, trying to get her to come back to bed.  

There’s silence, then Bucky and Walker are apologizing, and she’s crawling back into bed.

“Go back to sleep,” she yawns, taking the pillow off his head and curling up next to him again.

Alexei’s Friday Night Karaoke

“Bob!” Alexei yells, grabbing his shoulders from behind. Bob flinches, dropping the tablet he was looking at. “We are going to karaoke tonight –you will join us!”

“O-oh,” Bob stammers out, shrugging Alexei’s hands off his shoulders. “I’m not…I’m not much of a singer –,”

“Nonsense! No one needs to be perfect!” The Russian beams, but he’s still shaking Bob’s shoulders in excitement. “Come! We will be glorious!”

Bob just makes a face, wincing from how loud Alexei is in his ear. “I really don’t –,”

“Alexei,” she warns, rounding the corner as she unwraps her hands from training. “He doesn’t want to go –you can’t force him.”

Alexei wants to argue, Bob can tell, but she waves the Russian away and sits down next to him. Without hesitation, he lays his head on top of hers. He thinks he’s willing to go if she goes with him. But then he decides that he absolutely does not want to go to karaoke. Between being in public with alcohol and singing, he thinks it’s not a good idea. Even if he was in better control –absolutely not. 

“I’ll hang back with you tonight,” she offers, taking his hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I can’t sing worth shit anyway.”

He presses a kiss into her hair, closing his eyes. He’s gotta figure out what he’s going to do for her.

Valentina’s PR Nightmare

“Get him into a tux,” Valentina orders, pointing at Bob. “He cannot wear his pajamas to this charity event.”

He shifts uncomfortably, probably looking like a deer in headlights. “I really don’t want to go to this –,”

“No arguments,” Valentina warns, then she turns to the mind reader in the room. “He’s your boy toy –figure that out by Friday.”

Without allowing an argument, the director leaves and they both are staring after her. Bob is picking at his nails, trying to calm himself down. She’s glaring daggers at the elevator door, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I hate her,” she complains, looking over at Bob now. “But she’s not technically wrong –you do have to go with us. And we’re all dressing up.”

“I really hate dressing up,” he reminds her, thinking back to the last time he managed to put something on that wasn’t his usual comfort outfit.

“I know,” she reassures. “But the great thing about fashion is that there’s always a way around the traditional.”

By the night of the event, Bob is still very uncomfortable –but not because of his clothes. Actually, he doesn’t really mind the outfit she picked out for him. It’s not a tux, and it’s not super tight. But it’s still nice enough looking that he can get away with it, much to Valentina’s dismay.

No, no he’s uncomfortable because people keep asking what his role is on the New Avengers. What his powers are. Why does he look so familiar? Is he the Sentry? Are the rumors true?

It’s overwhelming, and he’s trying to stick close to her as she mingles, but at some point, he gets lost in a crowd. He can definitely hear Alexei, but he can’t see him, and Bob feels like the walls are caving in on him as he tries to get to the edge of the room. The Void is in his ear –he can hear him, just barely there. You don’t belong here. They’re all good at this –you can’t even talk without stuttering. How could you be anything more than an embarrassment?

He gets out onto the balcony attached to the event space, trying to breathe. Trying to get his bearings. Void is still whispering, and he can feel the shadows trying to creep over him but then her hand is on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she promises as he jumps. Her hand is on his chest, the other holding his hand. “I’m right here. What’s going on?”

He just shakes his head, clutching the hand that’s on his chest tight. “I’m just…I can’t…,”

“I get it,” she promises, and her voice is soft and reassuring. “We can stay out here, or we can go back to the Tower. Your choice –I’ll handle Valentina.”

“Can we…can we just go home?”

 Bob’s Testing the Waters

“I want to take you out,” he announces, bright and early, on a Tuesday. 

She’s laying on his chest, half asleep, and he’s running his fingers up and down her spine. Resting her chin on her hand, she looks up at him with a soft smile.

“Last time you wanted to take me out, you were having a bad day –is that what this is?”

“I promise it’s not,” he insists, sitting up in bed. She sits up too, pulling a knee to her chest as she looks him over. There’s a pin prick at the base of his head, and he flinches some, but he understands why she does it. But it's gone as quick as it’s there, and she seems satisfied that he’s serious. “I wanna take you to the aquarium.”

He’s done his research. Tuesdays are the least busy days, and are especially quiet in the mornings. Even if there are people there, it’s big enough that it shouldn’t be overwhelming and he really wants to see the sea otters. 

“I do love aquariums, and I haven’t been to the one here yet,” she admits, then she nods with a smile. “When do you want to go?”

“I –well, I’d like to go now. Or soon, at least.”

“Let’s get ready then,” she says, standing up and extending her hand to him to get him out of bed. “I need to shower anyway.”

Bob decides this was the best idea he’s ever had about an hour into their date.

Everything about the aquarium is calm; the lighting, the exhibits, the sounds. Everything. For the first time in a long time, Bob doesn’t feel overwhelmed from just being somewhere. It helps that she’s there, holding his hand, and reading each and every exhibit explanation like she’s determined to learn everything. 

He’s distracted most of the time –except when they go see the sea otters. Then he’s hyper focused on how they’re holding hands and floating around. “That’s us,” he insists. She buys them little sea otter plushies whose paws connect at the gift shop. 

The aquarium has a soft blue tint to the lights, especially when they find themselves sitting in front of a wall of glass, washed in the lighting. And it bathes her in the soft blues, like she’s part of the exhibit herself. He can’t help himself as he stares at her, even when she’s pointing at the different creatures behind the glass.

Bob thinks, briefly, that he’s not sure he got this lucky. 

He has a team –a family, really –that insists on including him in things, even when he refuses. He has friends who care about his well being and are constantly checking in on him. And he has her, who's been nothing but supportive and loving since the moment he met her in that stupid vault six months ago.

“I love you,” he blurts out. And it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels very real suddenly. Like all the fears he’s had about her loving him –he suddenly knows they’re irrational. And it’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest a little more.

She turns and smiles up at him, eyes shining in the dim lights of the exhibit. He takes her hand and she immediately wraps his arm around her shoulders, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you too.”

And he believes her this time. 

____

Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme

[starlitscars]

Made of ice

Jackson era! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you.

Word count: 5.2k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, implied age gap, canon-typical violence, Joel Miller needs his own warning, protective! Joel, soft! Joel, angst, fluff, smut, finger sucking, fingering, pet names, praise kink, language, no use of y/n, soft dom! Joel, negative thoughts, dea*h wish, self-doubt, self-confidence issues, Joel is a sweetheart here (but he doesn't think he's worthy of peace), rain, lots of rain, lightning, stormy weather, kinda established relationship, let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: This is my very first attempt at writing for Joel Miller. I've had the idea in my mind for a few weeks now and it's hard to resist when it comes to him (did I say Pedro Pascal?) So I hope the details are accurate and if you decide to read this one shot, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it. If you want to be mutuals, I'll be more than glad <3

Divider by: saradika-graphics

Made of ice

You should've seen what you made of him.

The calm, slow beats in his chest are strikingly different from how he remembers them. In fact, he vaguely recalls the way those racing, dreadful patterns had carved themselves into his memory. With a rigid heart made of ice, it was nearly impossible to find the pulse in him, even at his most frightened, disappointed state. 

Joel used to walk into the face of danger with a rifle clutched in his dying grip, a life to save and thousands to destroy, and in all those moments any sign of life was nonexistent in him. There used to be rage, hatred, regret, and frustration... Oh lots of frustration, running through the veins in his body. He used to walk, talk, and breathe. But he wasn't alive.

Now he doesn't find it in himself to call it miracle. But somewhere between the lines, you happened. You happened and fuelled the dying fire in the far corner of his heart. He used to keep it empty and dark, like a deserted house with no furniture, a perfect place for the noises in his head to become loud and maybe help him stand the never-ending days of what everyone called life. 

You entered his life and now most of what he feels in these old veins is warmth, safety and attachment. Yes, he doesn't call it miracle, because his past doings are too  stained and unforgivable to deserve a miracle. To deserve you. The real miracle. The fathomable idea of what it feels to be alive.

Joel feels alive.

Some days, it feels like his wretched past is clawing its way back into his mind, calling those demons to end his days of peace with you. Some nights, he's restless... So terribly restless. What if you get injured on your next patrol? What if the Raiders attack you when you're out of the gates of Jackson? What if something bad happens to you the moment his eyes close? What if these damn what ifs come to life? This old mind tricks him into seeing pictures of what has never happened and probably never will. You always assure him that you'll be careful. He trusts you and your abilities, but he does not trust his fears. Because if life is too good, it scares him. 

It scares Joel Miller, way more than it would if he was trapped in a dark room with all of his fears and demons creeping on the cold hard floor towards him. He'd rather spend every day fighting off the Clickers and Raiders and every nasty threat out there, instead of pacing around the room and waiting to see if your patrols end well or not.

So he has no choice but to either convince Tommy to pick him as your patrol partner every damn time you have to do it – which he makes sure is as limited as possible – or occasionally keep an eye on you from a distance and let his thoughts consume him at the same time. Just like what he's doing now. 

His persistence in being close to you tends to earn him annoyed eye rolls and "She's more capable than that, Joel." comments from his brother... almost all the time. But he simply can't help it, and he thinks that you know it. Because you never complain nor haul him over the coals for his instincts and worries and the immense amount of care his rigid heart feels for you. He's silently thankful for that understanding.

You are safe here, he thinks. Even though he feels restless, his heartbeat has never been this calm. He sits and watches you on nights like this and there's only one thought ringing in his head. All the scolding is worth it. You're sprawled out peacefully on the bed. His bed. It must be straight out of a fucking impossible dream. You're here, in his atmosphere, in his menacing, guilty, dark presence... And you have chosen it knowingly. It's all he can ever ask for. 

The dim moonlight is swimming in through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery shadow over your face. Your hair is falling all around you like you're knowingly doing it... Posing for an artist just to paint this delicate beauty on a canva. 

Despite his bitter mood, a content smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tearing his gaze from you, he downs the remaining whiskey and silently places the empty glass on the table, deciding that he needs a short walk to free his troubled mind. One morning, Maria woke up and decided that Joel needs to stay behind and help Tommy in fixing the issues in the town's only library. So you should have another partner for your patrol days for god knows how long. He fucking hates being told what to do. He fought tooth and nail to prevent that, and if you weren't there to stop him, he would as well turn the mess hall into another ruin that needed to be fixed – which only meant more time away from you. 

So it's going to take only two weeks, at worst. Only a terrible fortnight before things go back to normal. It's almost unbelievable how you have managed to awaken a sense of normalcy in him that he hasn't known in decades. Your absence is an instant threat to this normal life.

Maybe it's about time he gets used to it. He's not that weak. He shouldn't let his angers and worries run him. More importantly, he shouldn't ruin your much needed sleep with his usual problems right now. You've still got the weekend. He'll take a walk and be back here before you as much as stir in your deep slumber.

Oh. The damn library.

...

Jackson is eerily quiet in the middle of the night, enveloped by darkness and as isolated as it can be in this corner of the world. It's a stark contrast to how busy the whole community is during the daylight – bustling with happy greetings, careless jokes, movie days, small parties, and lots of work to do. It all asks for social interaction and he deeply hates it.

He hates when every passer-by's attention turns to you every time you step out in the open. He hates how prying eyes rove up and down your frame every time you walk into the bar. He hates how... He shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes at the loudness of these thoughts. Joel has to remind himself that he is the one you hold onto and introduce to everyone in every social gathering. The proud gleam in your eyes always placates him. There's no need to break a jaw in this town... Perhaps.

Lights flicker by the porches and the sound of his boots on the ground is the only sound that disturbs the silence. The sky is clouding over, distantly promising another stormy night in its gloomy wake. Occasional flashes of lightning light up the road and before Joel knows it, he's passing by the Tipsy Bison. It's 3 past midnight, no wonder why its doors are locked and closed. Either way he comes to a halt, letting the gears turn in his head as he opts for a very familiar path.

Your house. It's a short walk away from the bar.

Joel still recalls that day. How long has it been? Five, six, seven months? It feels like yesterday to him.

He'd had a terrible conversation with Tommy, not at all the way he'd planned it on his first day in Jackson. Things got heated up pretty quickly, leaving a bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue, the burn of the whiskey only worsening his mood.

"Just because life stopped for you, doesn't mean it has to stop for me..."

The words were ringing in his head as he stormed out of the bar. Shrugging his jacket on, all he wanted was to walk as far away from that area as possible. This affronted, begrudging, irrational sting was boiling in him and in that moment he was more than ready to leave the gates of Jackson even if it called for more danger. Life had really ended for him years ago, but to hear it from Tommy right after the hell he'd went through to find him... It really hurt. 

The pain was resurfacing in rapid tides.

If his boots could dig deeper, get stuck in the snow and propel him into the cold biting blanket of the earth, he'd welcome it. If life had really ended for him, he had to make it make sense by ending himself as well. This... There was this distant melody echoing in the air and cutting through his troubled thoughts. The wind was harsh against his ears, and each step brought the melody closer. 

It really could be the last song that played before his funeral.  

Joel was surrounded by all the colors, and all he could see was white, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't pay much attention as he bumped into someone. He barely lifted his head to apologize, and then his gaze settled on the crackling fire on the left side of the road. 

Red and orange and yellow hues. It was a fresh contrast. His eyes were hurting from all the white snow.

He came to a halt, mindlessly waving at the person he'd bumped into. A dozen of kids had gathered around the burning logs in a barrel on the porch, rubbing their hands together and listening to the same melody he was entranced by. The same melody that he thought would be his burial hymn.

Joel's eyes followed their excited faces, wondering who they were looking at. He saw you mirroring their hopeful gleams first, and then he registered the guitar on your lap. 

To make the matters worse, you had tilted your head, shooting him a funnily quizzical look. He might've looked weird back then. The town's newcomer, with a permanent scowl on his face, maybe plotting murder as well (considering that it was the main topic in all the words that already flew around about him).

He didn't answer, still dead in his tracks as if he was immobilized by some invisible force. So you shifted in your seat, silently offering him a spot among the children as if to say "You can come over and join us."

He had two choices in that moment, either a polite decline was on the table or a dismissive frown. He looked over his shoulder at the bar and finally opted for the third choice – or so his mind created another choice for him – and he nodded, joining in on your little gathering without as much as saying a word. He really wanted to hear that song.

He never asked whether you knew the words to that song, but that night when he lay in bed and his thoughts were far from the idea that he wanted to bury himself in the snow, he vaguely remembered the lyrics. And it hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

He wanted to ignore how the words affected him in the middle of the night. It was the first night he could feel some semblance of peace, not sleeping with an eye open in case someone attacked them. Ellie was safe in another room. So he really considered that. He considered the possibility of staying. He was relatively new to the community... And so damn unaccustomed to the whole arrangement. He almost woke up the next morning and started packing before he remembered where he was.

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Those words stuck with him.

And his first encounter with you was a harbinger of different things to come.

One day of patrolling with you led to another, one night of inviting you for a drink led to another. One peaceful afternoon in the stable led to another. One gloomy evening in the clinic did not lead to another. He was way too protective of you to let that happen again.

He truly feels lucky. You could be anywhere else, better off if you picked anyone other than this grumpy, old man. And yet you still want him. You silly girl. You've melted his heart with your warmth. 

But he's like a lake, deserted in the middle of a haunted forest and engulfed in coldness. Even though the center is warm and gooey, he keeps the surface frozen and rigid and menacing. Hard enough to keep his instincts sane and alarmed. Cold enough to let everyone know that you're his and he will not fucking share. 

Lightning strikes again in the sky.

He lifts himself up and off your front stairs with a heavy grunt. An hour has passed since he left for a walk. The clouds have fully gathered in the sky and he thinks that he should be by your side now.

Joel really cares little for the details, always asking Tommy and Ellie to spare him the explanation and get straight to the point. But with you, it's hard to forget a couple of things. One night, a few weeks ago, you were pulling him past the threshold of your house. So adorably drunk and inviting. He was still a little pissed by how the rainstorm had ruined your nightly walk. Despite your complaints about sharing a kiss in the rain, he'd dragged you back to the nearest shelter possible, because he just didn't want to get fucking soaked. Joel didn't find it romantic at all. He was frowning, still pinning you against the wall for a begrudgingly needy kiss. You giggled into his mouth, playful fingers pocking at his chest. "Come on Joel. Let yourself enjoy it... All these neverending drops on the roof, the fresh earthy scent that comes after it... It's just really beautiful. One of the few things that kept me sane before I came here..." 

He's not really against the idea. But the changing weather doesn't bode well with him. One day is sunny, and the next is rainy and it just goes to show how he has no power over the situation.

Hell. A part of Joel is really terrified of the changing weather. One day it was scorching hot, and the next his boots crunched against the white blankets of neverending snow, reprimanding him for his carelessness. Time would pass whether he wanted to or not. He is still terrified, wishing he could stretch the time he could spend with you. God knows he wants an eternity with you. 

He has seen enough rain for a lifetime. He hasn't seen you enough. How could he enjoy getting soaked in tiny drops of water when all he wanted was to bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for a while – maybe forever and a little more?

But he has considered it since then. If there are a few things that keep you happy and rainy days have to be one of them, he'll give you that. He'll get used to that. There's no pattern with the rainfall in here, and the weather forecast is pretty much nonexistent. He has promised himself to tell you whenever it rains, even though he despises the idea of you catching a cold after minutes or hours of dancing in the cold, letting droplets of water wash over you without a care in this wretched world. 

He also despises the idea of waking you up.

But he knows you'll like it. You careless, adorable girl. He lives to see that excited gleam in your eyes. Everytime you show it, this old heart pounds impatiently in his chest and it all feels like the first time it has happened.

He's back home in no time. 

So, kicking his boots off as silently as possible, he trudges over and settles down by the edge of the bed, suppressing a low groan. His knees still ache from all the never-ending effort he's put in repairing the library over the past few days. Jesus, he just wants it to be done as soon as possible. It feels like he's losing so much time when he's away from you. Now that you're still pretty much asleep in the same position he last saw you, all Joel wants is to lie down by your side and melt in your warm embrace instead of having to fight with his thoughts and the world to not take away yet another precious piece of him. He can't afford to even think about losing you.

Each flash of lightning illuminates the contours of your beautiful face and he can't help himself when he lifts a hand and lets his knuckles gently stroke your cheek. Your lips are parted ever so slightly and you look so innocent in your unconscious dream. He almost backs down, part of him hoping that it rains throughout the day, just so he doesn't guilt trip himself for the pout on your face if you miss it. You need to rest.

As if you sense his hesitation, you stir in bed and lean into his touch. A low hum escapes you, and Joel is too weak to deny himself the softness it brings. His wounded knuckles are soon replaced with a calloused thumb and he wonders what's so interesting about these hands that never ceases to catch your attention.

One night at the bar, Joel had caught you actually staring at them and when he teased you a little about it, you just shrugged and grinned mischievously. "I mean... I just like them so much. Your hands are always warm, and... and that's all."

He shrugged it off that night. Ellie had also considered it a flex for him to have warm hands even in the coldest days of winter, but with you and the way you looked at him... It was different. He knew it was more than that. 

And when the nights he shared with you went further than his sinful thoughts had planned, you showed him that it was more than that. It was more than the warmth you found there. If anything, your helpless whimpers were an indication of how capable and strong these hands were.

Heat blooms in his chest. It simply is endearing. The way you always seem to recognize his touch and send his head spiraling with the idea that you want him to do more. You've never been afraid of him. You've never pushed him away. You've never judged him for the horrible things he's done. Jesus, it should terrify him. Joel should've pushed you away at some point, because he knows you'd be better off without him, but how could he muster the strength to do so? Since that fateful moment on your porch, your presence keeps on inviting him for more. More than simply existing. And God, if you knew how he wants to do more than that every second of the day... Only if the world lets him breathe a little.

There's another bolt of lightning and raindrops finally begin to drum against the window pane.

Joel shakes his head to get rid of those worrisome ideas. Propping himself on one elbow, he leans over ever so slightly and lets his thumb trace its way to your chin, up to your jawline, and then back to the soft skin on your cheek. He draws circles over the blooming flush and then his thumb is traveling down to your lower lip. Your mouth parts just a little more, breathing even and content and if he gets a grip on himself, he may notice that there's a ghost of a smile in there as well.

"Baby..." He whispers softly, his gaze drifting all over your adorable face. You really are a piece of art, tangled in the sheets, in the safety of his house, and your innocent hums are doing something to him. Some obscene voice that silently pleads for more. More and more... Just to give you more. 

You stir a little more.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, the sweet, fruity scent he's come to like a lot about you engulfing his senses. He watches every little movement with amusement. "My sweet baby... You want to see what's waitin' for you outside."

"Joel," you mumble sleepily, voice drowsy and laced with a hint of confusion as you rub your eyes and stretch your arms before looking around the dark room with a quizzical expression on your face. It doesn't take long for the realization to hit you and the familiar gleam in your gaze makes him smile. You stare a him, wide-eyed. "Is it- again?"

He chuckles and gestures at the window. "Yes, a heavy one at that."

Again, there's that hum of delight as you follow his gaze. The pitter-patter of the rain cheers you up like a lollipop would do to a child. It's maddeningly adorable.

You should be running to the backyard by now, but instead you stare at him for a while. It's his turn to be confused. Your smile gets broader by each passing second as your delicate hands trace his face and run over the salt and pepper patches of his beard. When you playfully ruffle his hair, your eyes are still droopy and dreamy and so damn kissable that he just can't help himself.

His other hand fondles with a loose strand of hair beside you on the pillow before twirling it between his fingers. You bite your lower lip and lift your head just enough for a brief peck on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, letting his fingers draw a line over the column of your neck, down to your chest, and at last they disappear beneath the sheets, settling comfortably on the warm expanse of your belly. 

Joel assumes that his presence is not too close to lock you in place, and yet not too loose to let you drift back into unconsciousness. You just have the perfect moment to escape. For goodness sake, rain is the one thing you choose over anything else. The thing you like a lot.

But you're still here, dazed eyes flickering all over his face and it just gives him a second thought. A new idea to test your patience. Seeing you still pinned under him and unmoving, was not really in his list when he decided to walk back home and wake you up. He chortles with amusement. If you want what he thinks you do, he could give you that... "Come on sweetheart, what's stoppin' you?"

His fingers drift lower, exploring the bare flesh of your thigh, right where his mouth was hours ago. Still as warm as he remembers, maybe a little bruised too. "It's all rainy outside. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"I know..." You mumble, an undertone of need sewn in your voice as you look down over the sheets that cover every movement of his hand. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway. He could easily toss the covers aside, but it's wickedly satisfying this way. "I'm- um, just feeling a little under the influence...and it's- uh, it's distracting."

His hand caresses its way to where he knows you need it the most, and you barely repress a shudder when his fingertips glide over your folds. But he barely feels you, a ghost of a touch hovering there as a smirk threatens to flicker at the corner of his mouth.

"Wonder if my hand's makin' a good influence or a bad one. What d'you say, baby?"

It pelts down steadily outside, but you don't seem to care the slightest about it. Neither does Joel. A low gasp emanates from you when his touch becomes proper, rubbing circles and spreading the slick over your clit as slow and unrushed as he physically can manage. You're still indecently wet after he'd brought you over the edge again and again before you dozed off... and the fact that some of his cum might be gathering in his hand is fueling his lewd thoughts.

You naughty girl.

"A very bad one, I see." He tuts, feeling your chest heaving up and down beneath him. It's easy to rile you up this way. Desperation is written in your expression... and he hasn't even started yet.

"She needs fixin', doesn't she?" Joel asks, bringing his movement to a sudden halt. You're too distracted by everything he does to form a coherent thought. He lifts an expectant brow, now actually waiting for an answer.

"Yes- yes Joel... need it so bad... so bad it hurts." You breathe, a helpless pout forming on your lips.

"I know baby. I know... Jus' lay down and let me take care of it, hm? How's that sound?" He demands again, but this time he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he pushes two fingers past your weeping hole, burying them knuckles deep within your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, eyelids heavy as you grasp his arm, squirming like a helpless, needy girl.

What a cruel man he is.

"Not off to a good start, angel. I know you can be more patient."

You nod quickly, biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from wriggling and twisting on the bed. For a split second, Joel considers pulling out to nuzzle his face between your legs and let the heat consume him. A perfect place to brave the cold, restless seasons. 

But his fingers aren't shy either. He starts with slow thrusts, effortlessly sliding in and out before picking up the pace. He makes you adjust to his rhythm, and when you let go and open up, the obscene moans and chocked out cries are all that fill the silence of the house. Jesus, he lives to hear them every day. He rewards you by curling his fingertips to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

You shudder particularly hard at that, more arousal pooling inside you and soaking his fingers. You're losing your grip with reality, and he can sense it as your legs begin to shake and your knee brushes over the denim of his jeans, but you still remember to abide by his "No squirming" rule.

You're so pliant and obedient in his hands that it does nothing but to spur Joel to give you more. And so he does.

"I like these sounds," He adds a third finger, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. "I dream about them all the time."

You whimper and tighten your hold around Joel's arm. When he feels that your orgasm is creeping impossibly close, his thumb joins and rubs rapid circles over your bundle of nerves and that's your undoing. You clench around him, walls tightening and squeezing his fingers deeper – if that's even possible – as waves of white-hot euphoria crash over your worn-out body and take over your senses. Your back arches involuntarily into him. A sound between a groan and a curse escapes his throat.

"That's it. Atta girl... that's it, so fuckin' beautiful."

His touch is unrelenting as he talks you through it with a string of sweet nothings. 

Only when you come down and rest back on the bed he slowly pulls out. You're panting heavily, face flushed and heated and so effortlessly seductive that Joel is sure no fucking artist could ever capture it in words of a poem or colors of a painting. Joel is the only one to witness this moment and it swells his chest with pride. He wants to drink it in, let it run through his veins like never-ending liquor.

He lifts his hand, smirking as you gape at the way it's glistening under the dim light. You're in awe. He softly places the tips between your swollen lips and you waste no time in swirling your tongue around them, licking the slick off as if it's a delightful lollipop. And the hazy look on your face says that it's more than just a sweet treat.

His own breathing hitches when you open your mouth a little wider and take him fully in, sucking and humming and driving him absolutely crazy. He shakes his head slightly, catching the playful gleam in your gaze.

"Hm. Still a very bad influence."

When you're fully recovered and satisfied, Joel lifts you up in his arms and walks towards the backyard, chuckling at your confused expression. You give a squeal and wrap your hands around his neck to keep yourself steady, at the same time trying to gauge what his next plan would be. You really have forgotten about the rain, haven't you?

He comes to a halt, making sure the blanket he'd just picked off the bed is not leaving any part of your body uncovered. The rainstorm has eased off considerably over the past hour, but he doesn't want to risk it. Keeping you warm and safe in the cold is and will always be his top priority, no matter if his back or knees protest from how much they ache. Hell, he aches for you and that content smile on your face. Nothing beats it.

"My girl still wants to go out, hm?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the half-open door, filled with excitement and delight and a tiny flicker of doubt. "Yes Joel... but...you sure you want to join in?"

"I don't know," He feigns innocence, pretending to think for a short while before his face lights up with an idea. "Do I get a kiss for it?"

You laugh and lean up to press your lips into his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's so tender and reassuring that he has to pull back before changing his mind and taking you back to the bed.

"Then it's settled."

It has been settled for a long time.

Maybe he can get used to it. Maybe you get a better idea of what you've made of him with your presence at times when he easily complies with things that make you happy. A heart made of ice, molten enough to experience the world with you all over again. Even if he gets soaked in the rain, he's alright with it. You kiss him and all the discomfort is forgotten.

He should give it time and learn to breathe again. Learn to stay, to settle. To let you know that you're all he sees.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

The words are carved in his head. He chances a glance at the living room before walking past the door. Your guitar is placed on the couch. Maybe one day he'll bring himself to play his melodies for you too. He thinks that he's got a lot of time for it now. He wants an eternity with you, and in this wretched world, eternity lasts as long as you'll have him.

One, two... Ten droplets fall over him. He kisses you again, harder and longer. His ice-cold heart melts just a little more at your careless laughter. Just stay with me.

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship—how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[cosmicaura7]

WANNA TRY OUT SOME FREAKY POSITIONS?

Pairings : pedro pascal (javier peña) x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, marathon sex?, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (female and male receiving), multiple sex positions, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, size difference, overstimulation

Synopsis : Have you ever tried this one? In where Javier Peña receives a gag gift from Steve Murphy for his birthday, a kama sutra book.

Word Count : 9k

-----

“You have to be fucking kidding me…”

Steve Murphy couldn’t help but let out a victorious cackle upon seeing Javier Peña glaring at him and ready to attempt murder as he held a book in his hands. The book in his hand was supposed to be Steve’s gag gift for his birthday and it was none other than a fucking Kama Sutra book. The gringo agent claimed that the book might give him more tips and expand his knowledge in pleasuring and satisfying his informants. And needless to say, Javier was offended that his partner thought that he even needs a guide book to sex to begin with. 

“Though you might need some tips. No harm in keeping things fresh for your lady at home.” Steve cheekily smirks at his partner, mockingly holding up a glass of whiskey towards his direction in a cheers gesture before taking a long sip and walking back to his desk to start packing his things to get home to his wife. 

Earlier yesterday while on his break, Steve was taking his wife, Connie, out on a lunch date at the mall and managed to see the book displayed on the windows of the bookstore and just knew instantly that he had to get it as a gift for Javier for his birthday. And it may be stupid or maybe even worthless, considering the amount of rumors he’s been hearing about the said man and how he performs in bed roaming around the office walls. But the American agent merely just wants to get a reaction out of him because he lives to annoy the living hell out of him.

Javier merely scoffed underneath his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before begrudgingly putting the book in his bag as he’s heading home as well. Distinguishing the last of his cigarette bud onto his ashtray, he lets out a deep sigh and grabs his things before heading out of the embassy to get home. He knows that someone is already waiting for him at home and he’s way too eager to go back to his apartment and not waste any more time in the embassy. And with that, he finally got into his jeep and drove himself home.

Upon reaching his apartment, Javier was immediately greeted by the smell of grilled meat and vegetables, along with the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples which immediately made his stomach growl in hunger after a long day at work. After taking off his shoes and setting down his things by the couch, he trudges his way towards the kitchen to find his dear girlfriend keeping herself busy preparing his birthday dinner for the night. You were humming a low tune to yourself, hips swaying to the melody as you began plating the food, making sure to plate it all nice and pretty for when Javier comes home. The apple pie is already cooling down on the side, having remembered how Javi doesn’t really like cake all that much.

You immediately let out a surprised squeak upon feeling a pair of arms wrap around your waist as a pair of lips began trailing kisses on your neck. “Smells incredible, mi vida.” Javier murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder as he whistled in delight at the sight of dinner.

“Happy birthday, baby.” You turned your head and kissed his cheek. 

Javier let out a soft breath, letting his eyes properly rake over the variety of food you cooked up for tonight as he can already feel his stomach angrily grumbling in hunger and anticipation. Beautiful medium rare steaks, roasted vegetables, a side of that cheesy corn bake he secretly loved and sitting proudly at the center was an apple pie, still warm with its sugary crust golden and flaking just right.

“You made pie.” He murmured with genuine surprise.

“You don’t like cake.” You reminded him with a small shrug. “And you always steal bites of apple pie whenever we’re out, so I figured something homemade this time.”

“You spoil me.” His grip tightened just a little as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck once again. 

“You deserve it. Besides, I like seeing you smile. You’ve been so tense lately. Thought I’d give you something to come home to.” You laughed softly, turning in his arms to face him. 

His eyes scanned your face, lingering before softening. “You’re my home.” He whispered. Then with a smirk slowly forming on his lips, he added, “You wouldn’t believe what Steve got me.”

“Oh? What is it?” You asked in amusement before grabbing the dish rag to wipe your hands clean. You watch as Javier walks out of the kitchen to grab something from his bag in the living room. And when he comes back, he hesitantly holds out a small thick book towards you as you grab it to see what it was. And as you turned the book in your hands to look at the cover, you were greeted by the sight of a Kama Sutra book staring directly at your face, causing you to be surprised.

“You’re kidding.” You blinked as you turned towards Javier with a smile slowly fluttering across your face. 

“I wish I was.” He chuckled. “Said I might need some ideas. You know, for tonight.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see if the book is any good.” You grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. 

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days.” Javier groaned playfully as he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours before tenderly rubbing his nose against yours in a playful loving manner. 

“Not until after dessert.” You flirted once more, playfully biting his bottom lip and chuckling at his surprised reaction.  He kissed you, slow and deep, tasting like love and longing, like home and warmth, as he held you close into his arms as if he never wanted to let you go. And upon pulling away, you soon gesture to Javier to take a seat by the dining room so both of you can finally eat dinner before it gets cold. 

Once dinner was finally done, the kitchen was practically spotless. Plates washed and stacked, counters wiped down, apple pie wrapped and tucked into the fridge, well what was left of it anyway. Javier had gone to shower, claiming he needed to rinse off the day before getting too cozy. You didn’t miss the way he winked at you before disappearing down the hallway.

Which is how you found yourself now curled up on the living room couch, the Kama Sutra resting open in your lap. You weren’t even sure what compelled you to open it at first, maybe curiosity, maybe the quiet hum of wine in your veins from dinner, maybe just the way Javier had looked at you across the table all night. That kind of look should be illegal.

Your eyebrows arched as you flipped through the pages. Some of these positions looked physically impossible. Others had little notes and ancient illustrations that made you choke on your laugh. “Okay, now that’s just gymnastics. There’s no way I can bend that way.” You muttered to yourself, shaking your head with a grin. You were so caught up in one particular page, one that involved a precarious combination of balance and a very willing partner, the mating press, that you didn’t hear Javier padding back into the room. Not until he leaned over the couch behind you and whispered low in your ear.

“Doing some light reading, cariño?”

“I was just looking.” You jumped, closing the book a little too fast as heat rushed to your cheeks. 

Javier chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest as he walked around and dropped onto the couch beside you, hair damp from the shower, gray sleep shirt clinging to his chest in all the right ways. He rested his arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder. “I saw that page.” He said with a grin, nodding toward the book now clutched awkwardly in your hands. “Looks ambitious.”

“Think you could handle it, birthday boy?” You raised a brow, smirking. 

He leaned in, lips brushing against yours as he murmured. “I could handle anything if it’s with you.”

Your breath caught. The book slipped from your lap to the floor as his hand moved to your thigh, slow and warm, and you knew the night was just beginning. “Let’s test a few.” You whispered against his mouth, your voice a sultry challenge.

“Only if I get to pick the first one.” Javier’s grin turned downright sinful.

The bedroom was dimly lit, warm shadows flickering across the walls from the bedside lamp you’d left on. Javier had tossed his shirt somewhere near the door, now sitting on the edge of the bed with that slow, predatory grin he wore when he was really in the mood to ruin you sweetly, thoroughly and in every way that made you forget your own name.

You sauntered toward him, the silk of your night slip clinging to every curve. His eyes followed the sway of your hips like he was tracking prey, his thumb resting at the corner of his mouth as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to devour you or worship you.

“So…” You straddled his lap slowly, your hands still flipping through the sinful pages of the Kama Sutra book as you searched for that particular page from earlier. “Have you ever tried this one?” You purred, your lips brushing his cheek as you flipped the book around for him to see the mating press page from earlier that caught your eye. 

Javier froze just for a second. You felt the subtle shift of tension in his body, the hitch of his breath, the way his hands gripped your hips just a little tighter. He leaned back slightly to look at you, brows raised in amusement, in challenge. “Mating press?” He repeated, voice low and dangerous with a hint of teasing disbelief. “I think my back would give out trying that.” Both of you couldn’t help but chuckle as he draws circles at the back of your thighs, his touch soft and gentle as if he’s trying to tease you and already get you wet and ready for him

You laughed against his jaw, kissing along the curve of it. “You said you’d try anything if it was with me.” You whispered, voice laced with mischief before setting the book down by the nightstand on Javier’s side of the bed.

His grip soon grasps upon the back of your thighs, shifting you closer to his aching bulge, letting your soaking clothed cunt press against his as you can’t help but gasp at the sudden gesture. “You trying to kill me, baby?” He asked, half a groan in his voice already. “Because that sounds like a death sentence. For both of us.”

You leaned in closer, lips grazing his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” You lied through a pretty innocent smile as you let out a sultry moan, beginning to grind your cunt against his bulge.

Javier growled and soon rolled both of you over on the bed with him now on top and you trapped helplessly underneath him. You squealed at the gesture, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, caging him between your thighs and groaning at the contact of your aching pussy against his throbbing hard on.

“You think you’re in charge now?” He muttered, caging you beneath him with all that heat and strength that his body can muster. “You start something like that, cariño, you better be ready to finish it.” He then leans back and couldn’t help but groan at the sight of your panties now soaked through before teasingly running his fingers up and down the wet patch, letting your slick juices coat his fingers. 

“Then show me, Agent Peña.” You grinned wickedly, fingers running up his arms as you moan prettily for him while he continues to tease you. 

The bedroom was dimly lit, the warm glow of vanity bulbs casting long shadows over the plush queen sized bed. Scattered fabric, glasses half filled with whiskey and the now abandoned kama sutra book on the nightstand, a testament to the chaos you both left in your wake for this blissful night.

And right now, the only thing that mattered was him.

Javier Peña was on his knees before you.

His broad shoulders pressed between your thighs, hands gripping them with bruising force, keeping you open for him. His eyes, dark and hungry, flicked up to meet yours, his lips slick with evidence of his devotion. "Mierda, look at you." He murmured against your thigh, voice thick with desire. "You were made to be worshiped like this, huh? That why you tease me, cariño?"

You barely had time to answer before his tongue was on you again, dragging slow and torturous over your soaked heat. Your head tipped back against the plush pillows, a broken moan slipping from your lips as he licked and sucked with maddening precision.

"Javi." You gasped, fingers sinking into his thick hair, tugging and urging him to go faster.

He growled against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. "What do you need, baby? This pretty little cunt’s already dripping for me."

Your thighs trembled as he flattened his tongue, licking a long deliberate stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit. Sucking and flicking his tongue just the way he knew would make you fall apart. And you did. With a breathless cry, you arched against him, pleasure coiling tight and unbearable. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you rocked into his mouth, chasing that edge.

Javier didn’t let up, didn’t even stop. Didn’t even think of letting you go until he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from you, lapping it up like a man starved. When you finally came, shuddering, whimpering his name, he groaned against you and held you through every wave, every aftershock, only pulling back when your legs finally went limp.

"You still wanna tease me, baby?" He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You were still panting, dazed but the slow wicked smile that curled your lips told him you weren’t nearly finished.  Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure but that didn't stop you. It never did. You lay sprawled against the bed with one leg lazily draped over Javier’s shoulder. He was still kneeling between your thighs, watching you like a predator eyeing its next meal. His hair tousled from your fingers pulling at it earlier, lips still slick from devouring you.

And yet, you still couldn't resist teasing him.

You stretched your arms over your head, arching your back just enough to push your chest forward. Your lips curled into a sultry smirk, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on him. "Mmm, what’s the matter, mi amor?" You purred. "You look a little frustrated."

Javier huffed out a laugh, his hands gripping your thighs with enough force to leave imprints. "You got a real fuckin’ mouth on you, cariño." He murmured, voice thick with something dark. "Always pushin’ me, aren’t you?"

"And what are you gonna do about it?" You giggled, your foot grazing his chest playfully. 

The challenge was clear.

Javier tilted his head, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. He released one of your thighs, running his fingertips down your inner leg, a feather-light touch that made you shiver. Then without warning…

Smack.

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat as his palm landed against your still-sensitive cunt. The sharp sting sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, your hips bucking at the sensation. "Javi!" You gasped, half in protest and half in sheer delight.

"Eso es, muñeca." He smirked before he did it again. Another sharp slap, just enough to make you jolt, enough to have wetness pooling between your thighs again. Your hands clenched the fabric of the blanket as you bit your lip, barely stifling a moan.

Javier leaned in, his lips brushing over your ear as his fingers trailed over your now-throbbing folds. "Thought you were still in charge, huh?" He murmured, teasing the wetness between your legs with slow deliberate strokes.

You shuddered but your smirk never wavered. "Still am." You breathed, shifting your pelvis to chase after his teasing fingers.

"We’ll see about that, baby." He chuckled, dark and low, pressing a kiss to your throat. And with that, he gave you another sharp spank before diving between your thighs again, this time, determined to ruin you completely.

After giving you a couple more orgasms in where your thighs were practically shaking in overstimulation, Javier was not yet satisfied as he soon got up and pulls you closer by the waist before using his massive hands to spread your thighs once more, pushing them back until your knees practically touch your shoulders, causing you to wince at the sudden change and stretch of position as he helps you adjust and grow comfortable. Delightful shivers soon ran down your spine upon hearing him let out a somewhat pathetic whimper as he eyes your swollen dripping cunt and can’t help but take one last lick to taste your juices one last time before grabbing a hold of his aching hard cock, tapping it several times against your aching clit as if his cock is trying to hello to your pussy making you grin.

“Just trying to warm him up, hermosa.” Javier chuckles to himself upon noticing your giddy smile plastered on your face, as he tries to compose himself from entering you in one shove upon feeling you roll your hips, letting your cunt grind onto his cock. “You sure love teasing me, don’t you?” He grumbles underneath his breath, tightening his grasp on your hip to prevent you from moving as he finally inches his dick inside you and letting you adjust to his size, seeing as everything he fucks you, you’re just always so damn tight that with just a few thrusts, he’s already damn cumming hard.

And with that, Javier finally sinks his aching cock into your soaking pussy as he can’t help but let out a satisfied growl while you pathetically whimper at the sheer girth and size of him entering you. You instinctively clenched down on him as he also instinctively grabs a hold of your hips as if he’s silently telling you to stop it or else he’ll lose his mind and just go crazy with fucking you. He slowly began bottoming out, obsessed with how wet, tight and warm you feel. 

You cried out, back arching as he filled you to the hilt, deliciously stretching you open just like you desire. “Fu-fuckk, so big…You’re going to break me.” You gasped, nails digging into his arms holding your thighs and keeping them spread apart to his liking. The position leaves you completely open for him, vulnerable and at his mercy. 

“You can take it. I know how much you love this.” Javier growls, pinning you beneath his weight as he continues and ravenously claims you. “Being stretched like this, being filled by me.” Each thrust drives deeper and harder until the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the bedroom. You’re so tight around him, walls fluttering with every stroke and he was obsessed with the addicting feeling, never once daring to slow down. 

“Yess!” You cried out, voice breaking as the neverending pleasure continues to surge through your body, bouncing up and down with every thrusts. “I love the way you fuck me, Javi.”

Javier then leans down to capture your lips in a fierce claiming kiss as he continues to fuck you harder and rougher. Your cries muffled against his mouth, body writhing beneath him as the pressure rapidly bubbles between you both. “You feel so goddamn good, hermosa.” He groans as he drags his teeth along your throat, no doubt leaving marks all over you to stake his claim. “So tight and perfect around my cock.” 

“I’m close!” Your body trembled violently, breath hitching as you clung close to him. “Don’t stop please.” You begged, voice raw with need.

“Come for me, baby.” Javier commanded, voice dark and demanding, as he continued to pound his cock into you and abuse your sweet spot, making you cry out and try to escape his tight grip on you. But he merely tightens his hold on your thighs, pushing them even higher as he thrust into your cunt with brutal precision. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.” He practically begs, sneaking his hand down to where both of you are connected as he rubs desperate circles on your throbbing clit. 

Your release hit like a storm, sudden and forceful, as you cried out Javi’s name, your entire body shaking as you came apart, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed into you like a tidal wave. The feel of you pulsing around his throbbing cock was enough to push Javier to the edge. And with a deep shuddering groan, he drove into you one last time, filling you up completely as he spills his seed deep into your cunt, practically filling up your womb with him. The sensation was overwhelming, hot, wet and perfect, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you tangled together in the heat of your shared desire. 

As the two of you try to catch your breaths, Javier pulls back slightly to admire the sight of you all wrecked and shaking underneath him, your lips swollen from his kisses and body all sweaty and utterly spent. “You did so well, hermosa.” He murmured into your lips, brushing away strands of your hair from your face. “Took every inch of me like a good girl.” Leaning down to kiss you one last time, letting his softening cock rest inside your swollen cunt as if he doesn’t want to leave you just yet. 

“You know I always do.” You smile lazily, fingers trailing down his chest, voice soft but full of love and satisfaction. 

And with that, the two of you continue to share sweet lazy kisses with one another, refusing to let go of each other just yet, despite the smell of sweat and cum starting to linger in the room, and letting the night waste away after an intense love making. 

“So how about this one?”

Javier had just exited the bathroom and was drying his hair with a towel when he heard your question, raising an eyebrow towards your direction while grabbing a random suit from the closet to wear for work. He sees you sprawled out on the bed, legs spread out as he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of your bare cunt peeking out of the button up shirt you stole from him this morning. It seems like your attention was focused on that Kama Sutra book again and no doubt flicking through the pages to find another position the two of you can try out soon. And after the mind numbing and body rocking sex last night, there’s no denying that Javier was looking forward to what you’ll discover next and want to try out.

You then sit up on the bed, turning the book around to show him the page you were referring to with a giddy smile plastered on your face. And upon squinting his eyes to take a better look at the page, Javier sees the somewhat lewd illustration of a couple fucking while standing up. The man has his hands on the woman’s breasts, hips pressed against her ass while her hands are resting above his hands. His face buried on her neck, no doubt leaving marks behind. 

“You wanna try that one, hermosa?” Javier questions in a teasing tone, his usual playful smirk plastered on his face as he drops the towel around his waist to slip some boxers on. His smirk only widens even more, watching your eyes flit down and ogling at him as you bite your lip in temptation, having an internal battle whether to not drop on your knees in front of him right there and then. And to be honest, he wouldn't mind being late to work again and attend another dreadful meeting. 

And soon enough, you beckon Javier with just a flick of your finger as your eyes slowly drown in lust and desire. A smirk soon gracing your features as well as he follows your silent command and walks towards the bed while you stand up to your feet, eagerly pushing him down towards the mattress and pulling down the boxers he just slipped on. A chuckle escaping his lips from your obvious excitement, letting you lead the way while he grabs a pillow to lay his head on, to make himself comfortable as he lets his legs stay on the ground by the edge of the bed. 

Javier watches in anticipation as he rests his head on his arm while the other one brushes away the strands of hair on your face, both of your eyes heavy with lust and mischief. The sight alone was enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation. 

“You’re already hard for me, baby.” You practically purred, fingers wrapping around the base of his length, marveling at the sheer size and girth of him that you’re obsessed with. You leaned closer, brushing your lips along the thick vein that pulsed against your palm, chuckling at the way he twitches from your touch as you feel his hand lightly grasping your hair to urge you to take more of him. Your other hand sliding along his thigh, slow and deliberate, before gently cupping and teasing his balls, causing his breath to hitch at the feeling. 

“You’re gonna ruin me.” He murmured, though there was no protest in his voice, only dripping with need. 

Instead of teasing him further, you leaned down to press kisses on his inner thighs before letting your tongue sweep across the head of his cock, tasting the beads of arousal that had already begun leaking down his length. Letting your moan vibrate against the sensitive tip, sending a delicious shiver run down his spine. 

“Fuck…” Javier couldn’t help the curse that slipped from his lips as you took him deeper, tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the length of his cock. Just the sight of him falling apart from your touch was enough for you to take him deeper into your mouth, lips stretching around his girth. Throat fluttered as you tried to swallow him down, the sound of your soft gagging only heightening the pleasure coursing through his veins. His hand now tightly clutching your hair as his hips thrusts up into your mouth, pathetically groaning out your name.

The heat builds quickly as his thighs tremble beneath your attention as moans continue to tumble out of his mouth, as he’s not afraid to show you this side of him. You hummed in pleasure at the sounds, the vibration sending shockwaves through his cock as you took him deeper, lips brushing the base of him, nails digging into his thighs as if you couldn’t get enough at the taste and size of him. 

“You love this, don’t you?” You murmured as you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, lips glistening with saliva and precum. His response was guttural, a primal sound ripped from his throat as you swallow him down again, throat constricting around your length as his grip tightened in your hair while his pleasure only continued to rise and threatening to bubble over at a rapid pace. 

The combined feeling of the heat of your mouth around his cock, wet, warm and relentless, was too much for him. His body tensed as the coil of pleasure snapped, sending waves of euphoria crashing through him. With a rough growl, he spills into your awaiting mouth, his hips jerking as you swallow every drop he gives you as your tongue flicks over his sensitive head to gather the remnants of his release. When you pulled back, a satisfied smile curved your lips as you got up from your knees to capture his mouth in a heated kiss, letting him taste his cum on your tongue. 

“You’re fucking insatiable, hermosa.” Javier said through a breathless laugh, eyes heavily lidded as his chest heave with the last tremors of pleasure coursing through his body. His body already feels like jelly after you sucked the life out of him, as no doubt the image of you on your knees with your mouth around his cock will be imprinted on the back of his eyelids later at work. 

Later that evening, your apartment smells faintly of vanilla perfume and hairspray, the room a flurry of lip gloss tubes, fashion magazines and at least five rejected dresses that just didn’t have the right drama for tonight. 

But this one did.

You turned in front of your full-length mirror, a slow satisfied smile blooming on your glossed lips. The crimson red mini dress hugged your curves like it had been sewn onto your body by angels obsessed with fashion week. The neckline dipped in all the right ways, the hem kissed mid-thigh and your strappy red heels added the final “eat your heart out” touch.

You looked dangerously good.

Javier had just called you this afternoon to tell you that since the DEA had a successful raid, the embassy was planning on celebrating for tonight in a nearby lavish club. And he decided to invite you as well since Steve invited his wife, Connie, to come as well, seeing as he wants to celebrate with you rather than mingling with his coworkers, whom he already sees on a daily basis. 

Just as you puckered up for a final layer of your signature bubblegum-pink lip gloss, the apartment buzzer then rang, signaling Javier’s presence to pick you up so both of you can go to the club together. So when you opened the door to find him standing by the door, his button-down white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone and that look on his face? Girl, he might as well have melted.

His eyes raked over you like he was starving and you were the three-course meal. His lips parted slightly. “Dios…” He breathed. “You look…”

“Totally stunning?” You offered with a playful flutter of your lashes.

“More like… illegal.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He then waits for you to grab your purse as the two of you leave the apartment and get into his jeep to drive to the club, where the party was already starting and no doubt already getting lit. 

Upon arriving, the club was packed, bodies pressed together in a haze of sweat, smoke and sin. The low thrum of music vibrated through the floor, a sensual bassline that made the air thick with tension. You were right where you needed to be, dancing, swaying and blending into the crowd like just another pretty thing looking for trouble. And you were indeed looking for trouble, except you only wanted to create it with Javier alone. 

And as if on cue, his hands found your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he moved with you, his breath ghosting against your neck. “You want a drink, baby?” Javier questions you, gesturing his head towards the crowded bar, where most of his coworkers are already drinking the night away and no doubt are wasted by now. 

“I just wanna dance with you for now.” You innocently smile at him as you drag him down the dancefloor and squeeze your way through the crowd. “Dance with me, baby.” You murmured, your lips barely moving and eyes locked on his, drinking the sight of lust and desire slowly clouding them.

Javier smirked, his fingers tightening on your hips. “Careful, baby.” He murmured back. “Don’t wanna stand here with a hard-on while grinding on you.” A sharp thrill shot through you. That was the thing about Peña, he played dirty and you fucking loved it.

“Maybe both of us should be careful then.” You teased, rolling your hips against him and feeling the sharp inhale he took.

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe we should.” He murmured. “So careful that no one’s gonna notice when I fuck you right here.” Your breath caught, your body stiffening for only a second before his hands slid down, palming your thighs and dragging your skirt up just enough to make you shiver.

Javier’s fingers found the thin lace of your panties, barely covering anything and already damp from the way he had been touching you. His chuckle was dark and dangerous. “Always so fucking ready for me.” He murmured. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep dancing, swaying in time with the music as his fingers teased, tortured and slipping beneath the fabric.

No one was looking.

No one could see.

The club was too packed, the darkness too thick and the music too loud. Then he pushed a finger inside you and you bit your lip to keep from making a sound. “Shh…” Peña warned, his other hand wrapping around your waist, keeping you steady as he curled his finger inside you. “We don’t want an audience.” Your nails dug into his wrist, your thighs squeezing together as you tried not to tremble. He fucked you with slow, torturous strokes, his body pressed close, rolling his hips lazily against your ass and making sure you felt just how hard he was. Your hands gripped his forearm, your head tilting back against his shoulder, melting under his touch.

Then, his fingers disappeared, only to be replaced by the thick, hot press of his cock, already free from his pants, pushing against your slick needy entrance. Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t seriously…

Javier groaned as he pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the stretch, the heat and the promise of what was coming. You whimpered, barely audible over the music. “Be good.” He murmured, kissing your jaw, voice thick with amusement and lust. “And I’ll let you come right here on the fucking dancefloor.” And god help you all, you wanted him to.

A strangled gasp barely slipped past your lips before Javier’s hand was on you, strong and calloused fingers clamping over your mouth and muffling any sound that dared to escape. “Quiet, hermosa.” He murmured against your ear, his voice thick with amusement, rough with need. “Or do you want them to hear?” Your heart pounded, your fingers curling around his wrist, nails digging into his skin as he pushed forward, the thick, aching heat of him stretching you and filling you, right there in the middle of the club.

The bass thrummed through the floor, the dim and pulsing lights casting flickering shadows over the mass of bodies around you. No one was looking and no one noticed the way Peña’s arm had wrapped around your waist, holding you against him and his other hand keeping you silent. You felt every inch, every pulse, every slow and torturous push as he buried himself inside you. Your knees nearly buckled at the feeling.

Javier groaned, low and filthy, his grip on your waist tightening. “Fuck, baby.” He rasped. “You’re so fucking tight like this.” You whimpered against his palm, your breath hot against his skin. He stilled for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him and the way your body shuddered in his hold.

Then he moved, slow and deep thrusts, dragging against your slick sensitive walls, making your head spin, making you ache and making it impossible to think. His hips rolled in a lazy rhythm, perfectly timed with the music and perfectly masked by the sea of bodies moving around you. You weren’t just dancing anymore. You were being fucked on the dancefloor, right in the open with no one realizing how completely Javier Peña was ruining you. The sheer filth of it, the risk, the danger, it sent a sharp, hot thrill through you and made your walls flutter around him.

Javier groaned, his fingers tightening on your waist. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw and his voice dripping with amusement. “You love being my dirty little whore, letting me use you like this.”

You whimpered, nodding helplessly against his palm. His pace quickened, his thrusts deeper and more insistent, his cock dragging against your most sensitive spot with every stroke. Your body tensed, your thighs trembling. He felt it, felt you getting closer and felt you unraveling in his arms. “Come for me.” He rasped, nipping at your ear. “Right here, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” The order sent you over the edge. Your orgasm hit hard, making you convulse in his grip, your walls milking his cock and your muffled cry swallowed by the thick pulsing music.

Javier cursed under his breath, his thrusts turning sloppy and desperate, until with a final, deep groan, he spilled inside you, filling you up and holding you tight as he buried his face in your neck. For a moment, the world blurred, just the music, the heat and the overwhelming pleasure thrumming through your veins. Then, he exhaled, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You did so fucking good, mi amor.” He murmured. His hands smoothed over your waist, pulling your skirt back into place and making sure no one saw just how thoroughly he had wrecked you.

Then with a smirk, he leaned in to whisper, “Now, be a good girl and let’s have a few drinks with Steve and Connie, before I drag you to the bathroom and fuck you again.” And just like that, Javier Peña had you playing his game all over again. Your legs wobbled, a deep and pleasant ache settling between your thighs as you steadied yourself and pressing a hand against the sleek surface of the bar.

Javier had ruined you. The evidence of it still lingered, slick warmth seeping between your thighs and the ghost of his grip imprinted on your waist. The smell of him, of sweat, sex and sin still clung to your skin. And now, you have to work. Taking a slow breath, you pushed back your loose hair, straightened your dress and forced yourself to move, each step a silent reminder of what just happened and the slight tremble in your thighs making it so much harder to focus.

Soon enough, he gently dragged you out of the dancefloor and towards the bar, where Steve and Connie Murphy are already sharing a few drinks and enjoying the music blaring through the speakers. For now, you have to appear as if you didn’t just have your soul fucked out of your body, plastering a smile on your face and socialize just as how Javier wants you to do for the rest of the night before the two of you get home, where he promises to fuck you again and again. 

Late that night, both of you have finally arrived back to the apartment after a fun and eventful night at the club. But the moment you stepped inside, you barely had the chance to speak before he had you on his bed, his large hands already working your skirt up your thighs. "Javi." You breathed, trying to focus as his fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your panties. "Please, don’t tease me." You practically pouted and whined.

"Yeah? Don’t worry, hermosa. I got you." He smirked, his dark eyes flicking up to yours as he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw. 

You shivered as he slid your panties to the side, his rough fingertips brushing over your already slick folds. Your breath hitched when he ran one thick finger through your arousal, barely grazing your entrance. "Please…!" You gasped when he suddenly pushed a finger inside you, curling it just right.

"Please what?" Javier hummed against your throat, his voice smug. 

Your hands fisted the sheets as he pumped his finger slowly, deliberately. "Please make me cum, Javi…." You panted, your body tensing when he added a second finger, stretching you just enough to make your head spin.

"Uh-huh." He murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, his free hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your blouse. "Don’t worry, baby. I got you."

You tried to keep your focus but the way his fingers moved inside you, curling with each stroke and made it nearly impossible. "Javi…" You gasped as he pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

"Come on, cariño." He murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me what else you want."

You whimpered, your body arching against him but he didn't let up. His fingers worked you relentlessly, his thumb keeping a steady rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "I…" You swallowed hard, barely able to think, let alone speak. "I wanna cum so bad, Javi."

"Mm…" Javier hummed approvingly, his pace never slowing. "Good girl. And what else?"

"Want your cock inside me." You choked out, nails dug into his shoulder as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. 

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?" Javier smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone. But before you could answer, he pressed harder against your clit, sending you spiraling over the edge. Your body trembled as waves of pleasure crashed over you, a broken moan spilling from your lips as you clenched around his fingers.

Javier groaned, watching you fall apart beneath him, his fingers slowing their pace as he helped you ride out your high. When you finally came down, your breathing still uneven, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours as he sucked them clean and savored the taste of you. "You did so well for me." He murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss. You hummed against his mouth, already feeling yourself melt into him.

Javier pulled back just enough to smirk. "Now, cariño." He murmured, flipping you onto your stomach, his voice low and teasing. "Let's see how well you take my cock." You moaned into the sheets, gripping the fabric as he stretched you open, his thick cock pushing in inch by inch. Every time you took him, it felt the same overwhelming, toe-curling and deliciously addictive.

"Fuck, cariño." He groaned, his large hands gripping your hips as he slowly sank deeper. "You're so fucking tight."

"Javi…" You whimpered, arching your back as he bottomed out inside you and filling you to the brim. 

He smirked at how wrecked you already sounded, leaning down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah?" His voice was smug and teasing, his breath warm against your skin. "You love how deep I am, huh?"

You nodded frantically, rolling your hips back against him. "You're so big." You gasped, your voice breathless. "So thick. I can feel you everywhere."

Javier groaned at your words, his grip tightening. "Fuck, baby." He muttered, pulling back just to slam into you again, making you cry out. "You take me so goddamn well." You felt every inch of him dragging against your walls, stretching you in the best way. The pressure and the fullness, it had you obsessed, addicted to the way he filled you completely, how he owned your body every time he had you like this.

Javier thrust into you harder, faster, his breath ragged as he watched himself disappear inside you over and over again. "Look at you." He growled, running a possessive hand down your spine. "Taking all of me like a good girl."

You clenched around him, a broken moan spilling from your lips. "Javi, I love it." You whined, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Love how big you are. Love how deep you go."

Javier gritted his teeth, feeling his control slipping. You were too perfect, too fucking tight and warm around him. He reached around to press his fingers against your clit, rubbing in tight circles. "Come on, baby." He murmured, leaning over you. "Come for me. Show me how much you love it."

The pleasure was too much, his thick cock filling you, his fingers working your clit and his voice murmuring filth into your ear. Your body tensed, the coil in your stomach snapping as waves of bliss crashed over you. You trembled, your walls clenching down on him as you came with a cry of his name.

Javier groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. "That's it, cariño." He panted. "So fucking tight when you come." With a few more rough thrusts, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as he filled you up, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your back.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing. Javier slowly pulled out, smirking at the way you whimpered at the loss. He ran a hand down your thigh before flipping you onto your back, his dark eyes full of hunger as he spread your legs again. "You love how big I am, cariño?" He murmured, trailing kisses down your stomach. "Then let me give you more."

Javier wasn’t done with you, not yet.

Still catching your breath, you barely had a moment to process before he was manhandling you onto your back, spreading your legs wide as he settled between them. His dark eyes burned with hunger, his jaw clenched, his body still tense from his last release. "You wanna feel me deeper, cariño?" His voice was low, rough, dripping with need. "Then let me give it to you."

Before you could even respond, Javier gripped your thighs and pressed them up, folding you in half as he pinned you beneath him. The position left you completely exposed and vulnerable, his broad frame towering over you. Your breath hitched as the head of his cock teased your entrance, still sensitive from your last orgasm. "Javi…" You gasped but the rest of your words melted into a cry as he pushed inside in one slow devastating thrust. You were already stretched from before but like this, he was impossibly deep. You could feel every inch of him, every pulse and twitch as he bottomed out, his pelvis flush against yours.

"Fuck." Javier groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you in place. "So goddamn tight. Look at you, baby." He glanced down, watching where your bodies were connected, watching the way you took him. "You're squeezing me so fucking good."

You whimpered, barely able to form words. Your nails clawed at his arms and your mind hazy from the overwhelming fullness. "So deep." You finally managed, voice breathless and needy.

"I know, cariño. Feels good, doesn’t it?" Javier smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.  He didn’t wait for an answer before he started moving. His thrusts were slow at first, controlled and dragging every inch of his thick cock against your walls until you were trembling underneath him. Then his grip on your thighs tightened and he snapped his hips forward, fucking into you harder and rougher.

You cried out, your back arching and your nails raking down his biceps. The sounds between you were obscene, skin slapping against skin, breathy moans, the wet and lewd noises of him filling you over and over again.

Javier gritted his teeth, watching the way your body took him, the way your breasts bounced with every deep thrust. "This what you wanted?" He growled. "Wanted me to fuck you like this? Make you feel me in your fucking stomach?"

You nodded frantically, too lost in pleasure to do anything else. "Yes, Javi." You whined. "You’re so big, fuck, I love it."

Javier cursed under his breath, his pace turning brutal. "Goddamn it, baby." He groaned. "I can feel you squeezing me. You're gonna come for me again, aren’t you?"

You were and you could feel it building, that familiar coil tightening in your stomach, your entire body trembling under his relentless thrusts. He was everywhere, surrounding you, inside you and overwhelming your senses until all you could do was sob his name.

"Javi! I'm gonna…"

"Come for me, cariño." He demanded, reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles against your clit. "Come all over my cock." That was all it took. Your body tensed and pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, white-hot and all-consuming. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, your legs shaking as you came so hard you nearly blacked out.

Javier groaned at the feeling of you milking him, his thrusts growing erratic. "Fuck, baby." He rasped, pressing his forehead to yours. "Gonna fill you up, gonna give you every fucking drop." With one last deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a guttural moan. His entire body shuddered, his grip on you tightening as he emptied himself deep inside your trembling cunt.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling and your bodies slick with sweat. Then Javier let out a satisfied hum, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips. "You good, cariño?" He murmured, brushing your hair out of your face.

"You nearly fucked me unconscious, Peña." You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to recover. 

"Yeah? Then I did my job right." He smirked, rolling his hips slightly, making you whimper from overstimulation. 

Javier let out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back against the pillows, his body still warm and thrumming from the aftermath of your time together. He reached for his pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, pulling one out and tucking it between his lips before flicking his lighter open with practiced ease. The flame cast a soft glow over his face for a moment before he took a deep inhale, the end of the cigarette burning red as he filled his lungs with smoke. You lay beside him, utterly spent, your body still tingling from the way he had ruined you. Your limbs were boneless, your skin warm and a deep sense of satisfaction settled over you as you turned toward him, resting your cheek against his bare chest. His skin was slightly damp with sweat but you didn’t mind, it only reminded you of how hard he had taken you, how thoroughly he had made you his.

"Comfortable, cariño?" Javier exhaled slowly, a lazy smirk curling at his lips as he glanced down at you. 

You hummed in response, nuzzling closer. His free hand came up to run fingers lazily through your hair and you sighed at the affectionate touch. "You should smoke less." You murmured against his skin and tracing idle patterns on his stomach.

Javier let out a soft chuckle, the vibration rumbling in his chest. "You always say that." He mused, tapping the ash into the tray beside the bed.

"And you never listen." You shot back, though there was no real bite in your voice.

He took another slow drag before shifting slightly, pulling you closer into his side. "I listen when it matters." His fingers traced a slow, lazy path down your spine, making you shiver. "You’re warm." He murmured, his voice a little rougher now, sleep creeping in.

"So are you." You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. 

Javier smirked, taking one last drag before stubbing out the cigarette. He exhaled the last bit of smoke then wrapped his arm more securely around you and let his hand rest on the small of your back. His fingers moved in soothing circles, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

For a man as dangerous and unpredictable as Javier Peña, these quiet moments, where he was just holding you, no mission, no violence, no tension, felt rare. But that only made them all the more precious. "Get some sleep, cariño." He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Only if you do too." You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into his warmth. 

Javier huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue. Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his breathing told you he had finally given in and you let yourself follow, safe and secure in his arms.

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Javier stirred, his muscles pleasantly sore from the night before, the warmth of the bed and the lingering scent of you keeping him in a rare state of peace. But something else pulled him from the haze of sleep, a familiar, blissful pressure that had his brows furrowing and a deep groan rumbling from his chest. His dark eyes flickered open, only to be met with the sight of you nestled between his legs, your lips wrapped around him and your warm mouth working him with sinful expertise.

"Fuck…" He rasped, his voice still thick with sleep. His hand immediately found its way into your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he exhaled sharply.

You hummed around him, your eyes flicking up to meet his, filled with mischief and something even deeper and devotion, maybe or just the sheer enjoyment of having him like this.

"Couldn't wait, cariño?" Javier's voice was hoarse, still rough from sleep, but laced with amusement as his grip in your hair tightened just slightly.

You pulled back just enough to let your tongue swirl over the head, dragging a slow, teasing stroke that had his jaw clenching. "You looked so good sleeping." You murmured, your voice dripping with sweet innocence that directly contradicted the way you were stroking him. "I wanted to wake you up properly."

Javier let out a deep chuckle, though it ended in a groan as you took him deeper again, your fingers pressing into his thighs to keep him still. "You're gonna kill me." He muttered, his head falling back against the pillow as pleasure coursed through him. His other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to just grab you and ruin you right then and there. But he liked this, liked watching you take your time, liked how eager you were to have him first thing in the morning and how utterly obsessed you were with making him fall apart beneath you.

"You're mine." He groaned, his hips jerking slightly as he felt himself getting dangerously close.

Your nails scraped gently down his abdomen in response, a silent confirmation that you already knew that. That you'd always known. And when he finally tensed, spilling himself into your waiting mouth with a deep and shuddering moan, he swore you were the best damn thing that had ever happened to him.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (4/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, angst, fluff ୨ৎ : tws : injury, surgery, medical trauma, emotional distress, guilt, near-death experience, physical pain, anxiety ୨ৎ : wc : 2402

part one | part two | part three | part four

Love is funny, isn’t it? You think you have it all figured out, and then one day, you realize that the love you thought would always be there can sometimes fade into the background. But it doesn’t just fade. No, it burns out, slow and steady, like an ember that’s been left too long. That’s the worst kind of loss—the one you didn’t see coming, the one that happens while you’re still holding on, telling yourself everything will be okay.

You remember when you and Charles first fell in love. The world felt like it was yours, and nothing could get in the way of the connection you had. The world around you blurred into the background, and it was just the two of you. You’d laugh together, make silly promises to each other, the kind of promises that felt forever, like they couldn’t possibly be broken. And in your mind, you believed it. You believed you’d grow old together, that no argument could ever pull you apart. But life has a funny way of surprising you.

The love you shared in the beginning was so full of light. It was easy. It was simple. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between the late-night talks and the quiet moments, you lost that. The arguments crept in. At first, they were small, just misunderstandings, but they grew, louder and sharper, until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. The more Charles drowned himself in the racing world, the more you felt yourself slipping away. But neither of you stopped to listen to what the other needed.

You can’t help but wonder now: If you hadn’t argued so much, if you hadn’t allowed that distance to grow between you, would he be lying in this hospital bed today? Would he still be fighting for his life? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. The thought makes your chest ache with a weight you can’t shake off. You want to believe that everything could have been different, but you don’t know for sure.

---

The steady beep of the monitors is the only thing that keeps you tethered to the present. Charles’s vitals have stabilized since the crash, and you try not to let yourself hope too much, but each small sign of improvement sends a rush of relief through you. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it might be foolish. Every small movement, every little shift in his breathing—each one feels like a promise. A promise that he’s still here.

Pascale’s footsteps break your train of thought. She steps into the room, her face tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her eyes.

“You’re doing everything you can,” she says, her voice gentle, like she’s trying to reassure you that you’re not alone in this. “You’re not to blame for this. The sport… it’s dangerous. We all know that. But Charles loves you. And this—it’s not your fault.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy with the weight of her words. But they don’t sink in, not completely. You can’t stop the guilt that keeps clawing at your chest. You can’t help but wonder, what if you could have done more? What if you had said something different, done something different? Would he still be here, conscious and fighting? Or would this still be his reality?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit quietly, your voice shaky, betraying the calm you try to maintain. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

She takes a step closer, her hand finding yours. “You don’t have to,” she says, her tone firm but soft. “Just be there for him. That’s what he needs right now. And when he wakes up… when he’s ready, you’ll figure it out together.”

You nod, not sure if you believe her. But you hold onto her words like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful.

---

Hours stretch into what feels like an eternity. The doctors come and go, each update a little less hopeful than the last. Charles is still critical. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if he wakes up. And the waiting—waiting without knowing what’s happening to him, if he’s improving or slipping away—feels unbearable.

And then, without warning, his heart rate drops.

The machines beep with a harsh, frantic sound, and the room erupts into chaos. Your body freezes, the air thick with panic. Nurses rush to his side, hands moving quickly, calling out to each other in a language you can’t fully comprehend. You stand there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Your mind spins with fear and confusion, and all you can think about is the man lying in front of you, fighting to stay alive.

Charles’s heart rate flatlines.

A scream gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t escape. You don’t have the strength to let it out. The world feels like it’s spinning, like you’re stuck in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You watch as they work on him—CPR, chest compressions, defibrillation—but none of it seems to matter. It doesn’t feel real. He’s supposed to be okay. He’s supposed to wake up.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the doctors manage to stabilize him again. His heart rate picks up slowly, steadily, until it’s just enough for you to breathe again.

The doctors exchange glances, unsure how to explain the sudden shift. They weren’t expecting this. They were preparing to pull the plug. Now, it seems he’s fighting back.

But the fear doesn’t dissipate completely. It lingers in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. There’s no telling if this is the end of the battle or just another moment of temporary reprieve. All you can do is wait.

---

Time passes, but it feels like you’re standing still. Charles’s breathing evens out. The monitors beep at a normal rhythm now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a glimmer of hope.

And then, as though your prayers have been answered, you hear it. A soft groan. His hand twitches in yours.

“Charles?” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyelids flutter, and slowly, his eyes open. The confusion is evident in them. His brow furrows, trying to process everything.

“Y/n?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you can hear the recognition in it. The relief that floods through you makes it hard to breathe. You’re shaking, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Oh my God. Charles… you’re awake.”

His eyes flutter again, blinking as he adjusts to the light. He tries to speak, but it’s a struggle. “What… happened?”

“You were in a crash,” you explain, your heart racing. “But you’re awake. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”

His hand tightens around yours, a weak but determined grip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. You know he’s here. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You lean in closer, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything right now. Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

His eyes close again, exhaustion taking over. But this time, it’s different. He’s not slipping away. He’s fighting. And that’s enough for you.

---

It’s been a few days since Charles woke up. His recovery is slow, but every step forward is a victory. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, and his vitals are improving steadily. He’s no longer on a ventilator, and they’ve managed to reduce the pain medications, though he still winces at the sharp pangs in his body when he moves. His face is pale, his body thin, but his eyes—they’re alive. They’re still the same Charles you love.

His hand rests weakly in yours as he shifts in the hospital bed, a small groan escaping his lips. You watch him carefully, knowing he’s still in pain but feeling so much relief that he’s here, breathing, talking, and slowly getting better. It’s surreal how much has changed in just a few days.

You gently press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering longer than you expect.

“Still hurts?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything hurts,” he replies, his voice hoarse from the tubes and the strain, but it’s unmistakably Charles—weak but teasing. “But I’ll live.”

You chuckle, even though your heart still feels heavy with all that’s happened. “You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His hand tightens around yours, and for a moment, there’s silence between you two, the hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens softly, and Pascale enters, her eyes lighting up when she sees Charles awake.

“You’re really here,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you,” he mutters, a weak but determined smile crossing his face. “I don’t give up that easily.”

She chuckles, her relief palpable. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The doctor enters next, checking his vitals and making small talk about his progress. But after a few minutes, you sense that everyone is trying to give you two some space. You appreciate it more than you can say. You need a moment alone with him, just the two of you.

“Can we talk?” Charles asks suddenly, his voice quieter, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His gaze locks with yours, and you nod.

Once the room clears, you move closer to him, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down, your hand never leaving his.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice soft but full of emotion. “More than I ever thought possible. I was… so afraid. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Your heart catches at his words, and you squeeze his hand tighter. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

“I know I messed up, Y/n,” he says, his voice trembling slightly as he continues. “The arguments, the distance between us… I didn’t know how to fix it, but I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done better for us.”

You shake your head, leaning closer to him. “We both messed up. I pushed you away. I let my own fears and doubts take over, and we let the distance grow between us. But we don’t need to dwell on that now. What matters is we have a chance to rebuild. We can start again.”

Charles’ eyes soften as he looks at you. He lifts his free hand and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers are weak, but his touch is gentle, so tender it makes your heart swell.

“I don’t want to waste another moment,” he whispers. “I want to make it right. For us. I want to give you everything I have. I want us to be… forever.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest at his words, and you can’t hold back the tears that sting your eyes. “Charles… I love you. I always have. No matter what happened before, it’s in the past now. We’ll get through this together. We’ll be better.”

He nods, his smile growing as much as his weakened body allows. “Forever,” he repeats, his voice firm. “You and me.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his gently, the kiss soft and full of promise. You feel the heat of his lips against yours, the lingering taste of the past and the hope for the future mixing together. It’s everything you need. Everything you’ve always wanted.

After the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, the moment feeling peaceful, intimate, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

"I promise I’m never going to leave you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I won’t leave you either. We’re in this together. Forever.”

His breath catches, and you can see how tired he is. His eyes start to close, his body relaxing into the bed. You’re thankful for this moment—this quiet moment of peace between the chaos. It’s all you need for now. His grip tightens one last time around your hand before he drifts off, his breathing steady, but shallow.

As you watch him sleep, your heart swells. There’s so much to be thankful for now. He’s here. He’s alive. And even though he’s still in pain, the fact that he’s awake and breathing on his own, that he can talk and even smile, fills you with a sense of relief you can’t describe.

Time may not have stopped, but you feel like it’s been kind to you in the small ways. And in this moment, with Charles beside you, you’re ready to take on the future. The fights, the love, the challenges—they’re all worth it. Because at the end of the day, it’s you and him. Together.

---

As the days continue, Charles slowly gets stronger. The pain from the crash is still there, but it’s manageable. He’s talking more, eating small meals, and regaining some mobility. He even laughs now and then, the sound a balm to your weary soul.

It’s slow, but progress is progress, and with each passing day, your connection with him grows stronger. The weight of the past seems lighter, and you find yourselves rebuilding, piece by piece, finding new ways to love each other.

You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, you know you’ll face it together. Whatever happens, you’ve found something worth fighting for.

---

A few weeks later, Charles is finally cleared for a short walk around the hospital floor. It’s a small victory, but it feels huge to both of you. He’s still weak, but he’s standing, with you by his side, helping him steady himself.

“You’ve come so far,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you could conquer anything. “I’m not done yet. I still have a lot of living to do. And I want to do it with you.”

You nod, feeling your heart swell as you walk beside him, hand in hand. This journey isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

But for now, you’re both here. You’re together. And that’s enough.

Forever.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , @anunstablefangirl , @waytoooobsessedwithlife , @larya810 , @laufeysvalentine (tags closed, story complete)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Where the Cider’s Warm

summary: you and joel finally talk about what happened in his office that night.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, get together fic, fluff, a little angst, food mention & consumption, kissing, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v

wc: 1,675

an: they’re so awkward and cute and hot, and i adore them. hope yall enjoy 🥹

set the table masterlist | pedro pascal character masterlist

There’s a knock at your door just after six.

You peek through the peephole even though you already know who it is—call it nerves. Joel Miller stands there in his flannel and jeans, a foil-covered plate balanced in one hand, the other shoved awkwardly in his pocket. His beard is a little more trimmed than usual, hair still damp from a shower, and he’s wearing his glasses again. The ones you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the night he bent you over his desk and ate you out like you were his last meal.

When you open the door, he clears his throat. “Ellie and Dina made brownies,” he says, holding the plate out like an offering. “I supervised.”

You grin, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Brownies, huh? You didn’t burn anything?”

He exhales a soft laugh, a little sheepish. “Almost. Ellie told me I was stirrin’ the batter like I wanted to start a fight with it.”

You step aside. “Well, come on in before they get cold. I made dinner.”

Joel’s eyes flicker to yours, uncertain for a beat before he nods and steps over the threshold. There’s a tension in his shoulders you can’t quite name, but you feel it too—this is the first time you’ve been alone since that night, and neither of you has mentioned it.

You pass him a plate of roasted root veggies, lentils, and the last of your cornbread and pour two glasses of that cider Maria dropped off last week.

He takes a bite, chews, nods like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten. “You cook like you read blueprints. Precise as hell.”

You laugh, a small huff into your wineglass. “I thought you hated my blueprint reading.”

“I don’t,” he says. “Not really. You just get all up close with your mouth and start sounding out numbers like they’re poetry, and I can’t think straight.”

You blink, a smile pulling at your lips as your cheeks warm. Joel flushes and looks down at his plate, jaw working. The silence stretches, but it’s not tense. It’s warm and golden like the candle that flickers between you.

You can’t help it. You have to know some semblance of what’s going on, have to know if you were that vulnerable with him for no reason.

Eventually, you ask, “Did you regret it?”

He looks up, sharp.

“The other night at the site,” you clarify. “It’s just…I hadn’t heard from you since then, not until Ellie said you would drop by tonight.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. He sets his fork down carefully, formulating his response. “Didn’t regret a damn second of it. I just—didn’t wanna show up here like some asshole who thought it meant nothin’. Been tryin’ to figure out what to say.”

His words allow the tension in your shoulders to drain away. You reach for his hand across the table. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.

“I didn’t regret it either,” you say. “I’ve… never done something like that, so open and risky. Not with someone I actually care about and not in a long time.”

“I don’t take it for granted.”

Joel’s thumb brushes the back of your knuckles. His glasses glint in the candlelight.

“I think about you,” he says quietly. “More than I probably should.”

Your pulse stutters and you squeeze his hand. “Then stay.”

His eyes lift to yours, excitement at their center with frayed edges of hope.

“Please.”

It’s clumsy at first, the way you kiss in the kitchen like two people trying not to knock over every emotion inside them. But once your hands find the back of his neck and his mouth opens to yours, it becomes something else, full of need and memory and promise.

You stumble to the couch, breathless and laughing between kisses. Your skirt is already riding high on your thighs, and Joel’s palms slide up and under the hem to cup your ass, like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“You been thinkin’ about this too, haven’t you?” you whisper teasingly against his mouth.

His breath is labored. “Every damn day. You always wear skirts to torment me?” he asks.

“You and only you,” you breathe.

He bends you over the arm of the couch and drops to his knees behind you like it’s a prayer. Your skirt stays on, bunched around your waist, and Joel groans like a man starved when he slides your panties aside and sees how wet you already are for him.

“Fuck me,” he mutters. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever seen.”

His glasses stay on. Fog at the edges, a little crooked, but you catch sight of them when you glance back over your shoulder—and the sight of him like this, glasses low on his nose, face buried between your thighs, has your breath catching.

His tongue finds your clit first, slow and wet, a filthy little circle that has you keening and bracing yourself against the couch. But he doesn’t stop there. He licks higher, messier, spreading you open and tasting everywhere like he needs your taste imprinted on his tongue.

His thumbs hold you open, and then his tongue dips even higher—slick and careful—until it brushes against your other hole. You gasp, a sharp, startled sound, but your body doesn’t pull away. If anything, it arches closer.

Joel freezes for a breath, glancing up like he’s checking for any sign of no. You’re already panting, already rolling your hips back toward his mouth.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You like that, baby?”

You nod, moaning when his tongue slides back to your clit. The contrast makes your whole body light up, nerves sparking like kindling. You clutch at his hair, ride the wave of his tongue and lips and filthy, reverent devotion.

He gives you all of it. Mouth working you open, tongue returning again and again to every sensitive place he can reach, building the pressure so sweet and unbearable.

“Joel—Jesus—”

He growls, tongue flattening against you again. “Ain’t holy, baby. Just hungry.”

Your moans turn wild; high, desperate, needy. You grind back into his face, and he groans like he can’t help it, his hands bruising-tight on your thighs to hold you there.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters. “Missed this. Missed you.”

His glasses press against your thigh, fogging with every exhale, and your hands tangle in his hair as he flicks his tongue over your clit again and again until you can’t hold still.

“So fuckin’ good for me. Sound like a dream,” ge rasps. “

You cry out, eyes rolling, fingers tugging at his soft hair. He devours you, groaning against your skin, tongue relentless until your legs shake and your body locks up around an intense, wrecked climax.

When you collapse into his lap afterward, panting, he kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue.

In this moment of still and tenderness you wonder.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, nose brushing his. “You still want this?”

Sure, you want to know if he wants to have sex again, but it’s more than that. There’s weight behind your question, asking if he wants all of this.

All of you.

Joel’s eyes darken behind his glasses. “More than anything.”

You move, reach between you, and tug your panties aside again, letting his cock slide through your slick folds. “Then let me have you, baby. Please.”

Something in the air shifts. It’s no less hungry but he feels himself sinking into your couch, sinking into you. And when you ask him to have him— to have your chance to claim him—his chest hitches, but he nods, eyes roaming you like he doesn’t know which part of you he wants to look at more.

When you sink onto him, you both moan, the sounds melting together.

It’s slow, filthy, and sweet. You ride him with gentle rolls of your hips, taking your time, whispering soft, dirty nothings against his mouth as his hands clutch at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You feel so good,” you murmur. “M’so full, Joel. You were made for me.”

He grits his teeth, head tipping back against the couch. “Fuck. Keep sayin’ it.”

You continue spewing that sweet filth into his ear—how perfect he is, how full you feel, how much you missed him. He groans into your mouth. You kiss him slowly and delicately, swallowing the moan that slips from his lips as you roll your hips.

You ride him gently, hands in his hair, letting the heat curl between your legs again, unhurried this time, thicker. He holds your hips and watches your face, his eyes soft behind his glasses, mouth parted in awe.

When you come again—quiet, shaking, forehead pressed to his—it undoes him. He spills into you with a low growl, arms wrapping tight around your waist, breath faltering against your skin.

Joel breathes hard, glasses askew, beard wet from earlier. He looks completely wrecked. Precious. You smile and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Afterward, he carries you to the bathroom with eass and cleans you up with a warm cloth and smooth murmurs. He helps you back into your panties, presses a kiss to your knee.

Then he carries you back to the couch, stopping in the kitchen to grab you a brownie so he can feed it to you right from his hands.

He tells you how beautiful you are, how lucky he feels to be with you, how next time he’ll cook you dinner.

You lick chocolate from his finger and raise an eyebrow. “You supervised this?”

“Ellie did most of the supervising. I just took credit.”

You laugh. “As long as she supervises dinner, too.”

He grins. “What, you don’t trust me in the kitchen?”

You lean into him. “I trust you. But I’ve seen you wield a hammer not a spatula.”

He pulls you into his lap again, smiling against your shoulder. “I’ll make you dinner and it'll be damn good,” he says.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Looking forward to it.”

> pt. III

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel miller taglist!

nsfw joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @yesjazzywazzylove-blog, @lowrisemiller, @ficsavin, @diedorleft, @meetmeatyourworst, @amyispxnk, @marc-spectorr, @luzhesrozes

[endless-ineffabilities]

my man of the year

Ewan Mitchell x girlfriend!reader

a/n: just a little something for the Ewan girlies, because in this GQ party, we are all fam 💙

main masterlist

You attend the GQ Men of the Year 2024 party with your boyfriend.

You watch in admiration as Davey makes the final tweaks to Ewan's outfit for the event—a suit tailored to perfection, its velvet material snug against his lean form. A classic piece, but sporting some eccentricities that have become essential in the Mitchell-Sutton style partnership.

The velvet suit, not in the usual black or blue, also has a textured high notch and lapels, making him look like some kind of an 80s-flick vampire.

Your gaze sweeps from his polished shoes up to his face, finding that he's watching you in the reflection as he stands in front of the mirror.

He tries turning around to see you better, causing Davey's hand to fall from his shoulder as he was pinning something in place. "Ewan, mate. Save the ogling for later, yeah? Let me finish this first."

Ewan sighs dramatically, like a kid who's been asked to stand in the corner. "Okay."

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the scene. "Ewan, listen to Davey now."

You share a look with Davey, knowing smiles on your lips. Ewan, am I right?

"I just want to look at my girlfriend," Ewan complains.

"Look at me?" you question. "Look at you, handsome! You're my man of the year, every damn year."

"C'mere, babe."

"Ewan, don't move until Davey—."

"I won't move. But come here and give me a kiss."

"Fine." You get up from your comfortable position on the seat. Might as well oblige your boyfriend, the GQ honouree. Just the thought of it makes you so giddy with pride.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you rest your chin gently on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes as he leans his head against yours.

"There's my girl," he purrs, wrapping his free arm around your waist and Davey works on the sleeve on the other.

Then he kisses you, mindful to stay perfectly still. Only his lips move, pillowy as they caress yours. You would have to reapply your lipstick after this.

When he cheekily snakes his tongue out, you pull back, giving him an incredulous shake of your head. "Stand down, handsome."

"Oh, don't worry about me, sweetheart," Davey reassures you. "Maybe we should let Ewan have his way. Poor guy looks like he's about to explode."

You all share a laugh.

A minute later, he's all ready. Davey snaps photos of him alone, then shifts to capture the two of you together. He even manages a few that feel like classic prom poses, with Ewan's arms around you from behind.

The rest of the night is a blur of lights and glamour, and the warmth of Ewan's hand on your back quells your nerves as you step onto the red carpet.

The cameras are everywhere, a sea of flashes and shouting for you to, look here, look here!

Ewan keeps you close the entire time, steering you through it all. You can feel that he's anxious too but he's a steady presence by your side. He used to need a crutch like cigarettes or gum to deal with the chaos of such public events, but when you're with him, the noise is silenced.

It's just you and him against the world.

When his arm tightens around you, you jokingly remark, "Didn't peg you for the clingy type, babe."

He glances down, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Just making sure you don't run off with some other dashing celebrity."

An idea pops up in your head. He makes it all too easy. You let out a shaky gasp, "Wait, is that Pedro Pascal over there?"

"Where?" he asks sharply, distracted.

"By the big GQ sign. Don't make it obvious, though!" you whisper, as if you're entirely serious.

He squints, scanning the sea of people coming through the red carpet, until he realizes… there's no Pedro. Not yet, at least.

He turns to you with a playful glare, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. "You think you're funny, don't you, baby?"

You give your best wide-eyed, innocent look. "Who, me?"

"You're asking for it," he whispers close to your ear so the cameras don't catch it.

You only laugh as he pulls you closer, giving your waist another possessive squeeze.

"And what exactly are you gonna do about it?" you ask.

"Guess you'll have to find out after we're done here."

When he kisses you, you both know that the resulting pictures are going to flood the gossip sites, fan pages, and everything in between as soon as the next day. But neither of you care.

He makes sure that there's no mistaking who he came with that night.

And you would never tire of showing everyone just who your boyfriend is. You could scream it from the rooftops.

He doesn't need GQ to tell him he's one of the honourees of the year.

All he needs is you by his side to feel like he's truly won.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

A Happy Ending?

Fandom: The Last of Us

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Your son and Ellie try to play matchmaker with you and Joel.

A/N: reader is 50+ years old in this fic with a 25-29 year old son! also i just wanted something cute and happy bc i miss joel...

The Last of Us Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

James had been spending a lot of time with Joel. He became interested in carpentry when Ellie showed him the guitar Joel made her.

So now you barely see your son because he’s spending all his time with Joel. Not that you mind. Honestly, James is almost 30 and never had a good father figure growing up. (Blame the outbreak and decreasing faith in humanity for that). So you’re grateful he has Joel and that Joel has taken a liking to him.

But you’re still James’ mother and he’ll always be your baby.

You knock on the door of Joel’s place. You don’t wait long until Ellie opens the door.

“James, your mom’s here!” She hollers and you giggle.

You ruffle the young teen’s hair, “How long have they been working?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, “All day. Joel hasn’t even given me my guitar lesson for the day. Tell your son to fuck off!”

You laugh, “I’ll see what I can do, but he’s a grown man.” You walk further into the home and see Joel and James hunched over the dining table, each with some pieces of wood and shavings surrounding them.

You stand behind your son, hands on his shoulders, “How’s it going, boys?”

James beams up at you and you see remnants of the young boy he used to be, “We’re carving out wooden cars for Ben’s birthday.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Everythin’ okay?” Joel asks, tilting his head down to look over his glasses.

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, “Yeah, just wanted to see if I should wait for James before making dinner.”

“Shit,” your son mumbles and looks at his watch, “I lost track of time. I’m sorry, mom.”

You pay down his hair, “Baby, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re spending time with Joel and not your boring mom.”

James scrunches his face, “You’re not boring.”

You snort, “Tell that to his brother,” you nod at Joel, “Always trying to get me to go to movie nights and get togethers.”

“That’s Tommy for ya. Pain in the ass,” Joel says with a smirk, “Don’t mind him though. He’s only doing what he thinks will be good for you.”

“What about you? You think you know what’s good for me, Joel?” You give him a smirk and it makes him squirm in his chair a bit.

You and Joel have been playing this game for months now. This cat and mouse, back and forth game. Flirting and teasing and then pulling back. Honestly, at your grown age, you should be tired of it, but it brought a little thrill back into your life.

Joel clears his throat, “Suppose I don’t, but whatever you think is good for you, just..do that, I guess.”

You chuckle, “Sure, Joel,” you put your attention back on your son, “So, honey, should I wait for you?”

James shakes his head, “Nah, it’s okay. Go ahead. If anything, just leave me some leftovers or-“

“Don’t worry, we’ll feed him,” Joel says, not looking up from his project.

“You sure?”

He nods, “Yup.”

“Alright. Thanks, Joel,” you kiss James’ head, “Don’t stay here too late. The old man will probably need to sleep soon.”

Joel gives you the finger and you laugh while exiting his home.

Once you’re gone, James leans in, “Soooo���”

“Don’t start,” Joel gives him a warning glare.

The younger man holds his hands up, “I’m just sayin’, I give you my blessing to date my mom. You guys clearly have…something between you two.”

Joel takes off his glasses and sighs, leaning back in his chair, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, kid. And your mom? She’s pure and good and I don’t wanna taint her with my shit.”

James can’t help but scoff, “You think my mom’s pure and good? You don’t think she had to do some shitty things in order to raise me during a fucking apocalypse?” He shakes his head, “Man, I get it. You think you’re too old and tainted to have something good in your life, but after everything we’ve all gone through, we deserve good things. You deserve good things, Joel. And my mom? She likes you, really likes you. She hasn’t said it to me but I see it. I just-I want my mom to be happy and I think you can be that for her.”

“I agree,” Ellie says as she appears in the room.

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fucking-Don’t gang up on me like this.”

Ellie shrugs, “He’s right, plus you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife!”

James grimaces, “Ugh. Please don’t talk about my mom having sex. I don’t wanna picture that.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, “Grow up, dude!”

“You grow up!”

“You’re almost thirty and sex grosses you out?”

“Sex doesn’t gross me out! The idea of my mom having sex grosses me out! You can’t tell me that the idea of Joel having sex-“

Joel decides to break up the argument, “Okay! Okay! Hey! Hey! Break it up, you two! Jesus,” he shakes his head, “Enough talking about my sex life!”

“Or lack thereof,” Ellie mumbles causing James to snicker.

Joel glares at the two, “Enough. Nothing is going to happen between Y/N and I.”

“Because you don’t want to?”

“Because it just can’t, alright? Let’s leave it at that.” He says his words with finality and goes back to working on Ben’s birthday present.

Ellie and James give each other and knowing look and then Ellie mumbles, “Whatever, dude,” and heads back to her room.

____________________________________

There's a knock at your door mid-day. You'd just gotten back from helping out in the community garden, so you're covered in soil. Nonetheless, you open the door to reveal Ellie on the other side.

"Oh, hey! James isn't here-"

"I know, I'm here to see you, actually," she steps inside and you close the door behind her.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, um, Dina mentioned that you know how to bake. Was wondering if you could teach me?"

You look at her in surprise, "Really? Didn't think you'd be interested in that."

The young teen shrugs, "Think it'd be a nice skill to have. That way I can bake shit whenever I want and don't have to trade an arm and a leg for it."

You snort, "Very true, but sure. Lemme just take a quick shower and we can get started. Feel free to hang out here. Some of James' old comics and books are on the shelf there." You point to the bookshelf in the living room.

"Sweet!" Ellie heads straight to it and you rush upstairs for a quick shower.

Twenty minutes pass and you're in the kitchen with damp hair and smelling like flowers. You have all the ingredients laid out in front of you, "Okay, so first, we pre-heat the oven so by the time we're done mixing everything together, it should be ready to pop it in."

You show her how to pre-heat the oven and then guide her back to the counter, so the best method for this is to mix all the dry ingredients together in one bowl. And the wet ingredients in another bowl, then combine them."

"Cool. Got it." You give her the measurements of each ingredient, instructing her the best way to mix everything and what to look out for. Ellie's smart and a quick learner, so she gets through it very quickly.

"Fuck yeah," she mumbles to herself in excitement when she pours out the batter into the 12-cup muffin tin.

You laugh, "You've done well so far. So now that the oven is at the temperature we want, we just slide the tin in and let them cook for about twenty-five minutes."

She slides the tin in and closes the door, "So what should we do while we wait?"

"We clean all this up," you gesture to the dirty dishes and flour and egg droppings on the counter, "and wait."

"Boring," Ellie groans, but continues to help you anyway. As you two wash the dishes, she makes conversation.

"So...how's your love life?"

You cackle at her abrupt question, "My love life?"

"Yeah. You seeing anyone? Anyone catch your eye?," she leans in and whispers, "You can tell me, I can keep a secret."

You laugh even more, "I find that hard to believe considering you and Dina share everything."

Ellie scoffs, "She's my best friend. Of course, I tell her everything." She places the spatula she washed into the the drying rack, "But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

You hum for a moment, "Fine. I'll play along. To answer your question, no, there isn't really anyone that's caught my eye. Not sure dating is my top priority right now."

"Why not? Don't you want someone at your side before you die?"

You look at Ellie in disbelief, "Okay, first off, I don't think I'm croaking any time soon. Second, why are you interested in my love life? Did James say something?"

"No! I just noticed that you seem to be by yourself all the time, especially since James has been spending all his time with Joel."

You sigh, "I appreciate your concern, Ellie, but I'm fine. My priority is James as well as doing my part in helping this community. What I want doesn't matter."

Ellie holds back a groan because you're starting to sound exactly like someone she knows...

_________________________

James, Joel, Tommy, and several others are working on building a new shed for some supplies. James is, basically, Joel's apprentice, and follows him everywhere, learning what he can from the older man.

As they both hammer away at planks of wood set to be the foundation of the shed, James makes conversation, "So, uh, you going to the barbecue on Friday?"

"Maybe, not sure," Joel stands up straight and rolls his shoulders, "Why?"

"I'll be there...with my mom."

Joel rolls his eyes, "James," he shakes his head, walking away, but the young man follows him, "I know you said for me to drop it, but just hear me out!"

Tommy happens to walk by and smirk, "Hear you out on what?"

Joel whips around, "Don't-"

"I think him and my mom would make a great couple."

Tommy processes the words and then smiles, "I agree."

Joel places his hands on his hips and lets his head hang low. He shakes his head, "Fucking kill me."

Tommy laughs and pats Joel on the shoulder, "Come on, brother, Y/N's a great woman. She'd definitely soften up that hard exterior of yours."

"I'm too old for this shit."

"Hell you ain't. Linda and Daniel just got together and they're older than you! Never too late to find love, even when the world's ended. Worked out for me," he gave his brother a wink and Joel wanted to punch him in the face.

James sighs, "You know I do it 'cause I care about you guys, right? There's chemistry between you and my mom and I think you'd both be dumb to not pursue it. Your pride and stubbornness be damned! I just want my mom to be happy," he mumbles the last sentence before heading back to the area that he was working on, leaving Joel to stew on his words.

It's not like Joel hasn't thought about having something with you. He's definitely thought about it. A lot. And more recently now that he and Eliie keep bringing you up. But there's still that small part of him that feels like he doesn't deserve you. It took him a lot to open his heart up to Ellie, but does his heart have room for more?

__________________________

James is out on patrol, so it's just you in the house. You figured now would be a good time to visit Joel, so you do, with a basket of baked goods.

You find him in the garage working on a truck. He's hunched over the hood and you clear your throat, startling him. He jolts, hitting his head on the hood.

You hear a hiss of pain and you rush over to him, "Shit! I'm so sorry, Joel. Didn't mean to scare you!" you look at his head, making sure there isn't any blood or swelling.

"'s alright, sweetheart. No harm, no foul."

You step back, realizing how close you've gotten, "Still, I'm sorry. Anyway, the reason for me being here is to thank you."

"For?"

"Just taking James in, being a mentor and showing him the ropes on how to fix and build things. I've done my best trying to teach him that stuff growing up, but I'm not as skilled as you are. So," you hold out the basket, "made some bread and muffins for you and Ellie and, well, anyone else you'd like to share them with. Also put in some lavender honey in there I made myself." You hand him the basket and he accepts it.

Joel looks at the basket and then you, "Well. shit. You didn't need to do all this."

You shrug, "It's nothing, really. I just-I really appreciate what you've done for James. I can tell he really looks up to you. He's never had a stable male figure in his life, so thanks."

"Yeah. You're welcome. He's a good kid. You did well."

"I did the best that I could given the circumstances. But I can say the same with you and Ellie. She's also a good kid."

Joel scoffs and props a hand on his hip, "She's a pain in my ass," he pauses and a small smile appears on his face, "But yeah, she's a pretty good kid."

You clear your throat, "Well, I'll let you get back to work," you take a few steps back and Joel stops you, "Wait!" You pause and he realizes what he's done. He curses under his breath and scratches the back of his head, "Wanna share some of these over a cup of coffee?"

You softly smile, "You should share them with other people. I make these all the time."

"I wanna share them with you, if that's okay?"

You giggle and shake your head, "Alright, if you insist."

You follow him into the house and to the kitchen. He sets the basket on the kitchen island and heads to the pot of coffee.

You lean against the counter, "Still keeping your coffee plug a secret?"

Joel gives a low chuckle as he pours a cup for you and himself, "Yeah, how else am I supposed to lure you in here?" He slides you the sugar container and you pour spoonful of it in.

"You know I come by a lot because James is always here."

He cocks a brow and smirks into his cup, "That all?"

"Nah, I like chatting with Ellie too. She's funny."

Joel hums, staring at you over his coffee cup. You're avoiding his eyes, but you feel them staring at you. You mess with the handle of the mug before speaking up again, "Do you get lonely, Joel?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"Some stuff has come up and just made me think about things."

"Like what?"

"Us, this...game we've been playing. I flirt with you. You flirt with me, then one of us pulls back. And then we start all over again. And endless cycle...does it mean anything?" You still don't look up at him, "To me, it was all fun at first. Flirting with you and you flirting back, it made me feel alive again. Then when you pulled away and distanced yourself, I dunno. Didn't feel good."

You sigh and finally look at him, "Sorry. I'm rambling. I just want to know if this is a waste of time. It probably is," you push your mug away and stand straighter, "Thanks for the coffee," you murmur before walking away.

And for the second time today, Joel stops you, "Wait. Wait, please," he holds his arm out and you pause.

He gulps and lets out a shaky breath, "To be frank, I'm not very good at this. I'm rusty as hell, but..it wasn't just flirtin' to me, sweetheart. I like you. A lot, but you're too fucking good for me and I don't deserve someone like you."

You look at him with soft eyes, slowly approaching him. You place your hands on his chest, "Joel Miller...you are such a self-sacrificing son of a bitch," you whisper before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is slow and hesitant. You feel Joel holding back and it isn't until you wrap your arms around him that he lets go. He allows himself to have you like this.

He presses you up against the counter, rough hands digging into your hips. He presses himself into you and you moan into his lips.

He feels himself hardening at the sound and he immediately pulls away., "Sorry, sorry. Um," he steps further away from you, running a hand down his face, "Didn't mean to get carried away."

You laugh, "It's fine, Joel. You're fine."

He takes up his usual pose, hands on his hips and contemplation on his face, "So...what now?"

"Now, we see how it goes. Not only will you have James bothering you all the time, but I'll be there with him."

Joel softly smiles at you, "I think I'll be okay with that."

______________________________

When James comes back from patrol, Ellie immediately runs up to him, "Dude!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong! Everything's right!" Ellie stares up at him with excitement.

James looks at her suspiciously, "What happened?"

"I saw your mom bring Joel the muffins we baked the other day and they went inside the house. They were making out! Our plan worked!"

He held up his hand, "Hold on, you were watching out parents makeout?"

"Ew, no! Dina and I peeped through the kitchen window and saw them sucking each other's faces-"

"Please spare me the details."

Ellie rolls her eyes, "So fucking childish," she murmurs, "but anyway we did it. Joel and your mom are together!"

"Great! Now I need to tell Joel that if he hurts her, I'll kill him."

Ellie snorts and crosses her arms over her chest, "Pretty sure he'd kill himself if he ever does. But whatever. They get their happily ever after and shit!" she lightly punches his arm and goes walking off to wherever.

___________________________

"You fucking cheated!"

"I didn't! Uno is literally a game of chance! It's not my fault you kept pulling yellow cards when blue is called!"

You and Joel watch as Ellie and James argue with each other on the floor, while you and he are cuddled up on the couch.

You lean in, whispering, "Aren't you glad our kids get along?" you ask with sarcasm dripping in your tone.

He chuckles, "Oh yeah, they get along great," he whispers back and then kisses your head.

For the first time in a very long time, Joel feels whole and happy again.

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!!, use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me)

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I missed you so much" you pout.

"I missed you too" he whispers out, getting tired.

He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"Missed how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[andy-15-07]

Please, a QZ!Joel x younger!reader in which she is new to the QZ and Joel and Tess are forced to share with her. Joel at first is like super rude and thinks she is naive and a burden but he starts falling for her because she is smart and kind. He doesn’t want to accept it but he gives in sometimes and other times he is an asshole. Pleaseee do it 🥺

Hope in the QZ

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1512 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller leaned against the rusting fence that marked the edge of the Quarantine Zone, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at the newcomers being herded inside. Tess stood beside him, arms full of canned goods and medical supplies, her gaze sharp but weary.

“Why can’t they just let us be?” Joel muttered under his breath.

Tess rolled her eyes. “Because people keep showing up, Joel. It’s not like we can lock the gates and pretend the world went away.”

He grunted. “I don’t know why we have to take more in.”

Tess turned to the line of refugees stepping through the checkpoint, uniforms stained, faces grim. Among them, a young woman,late teens, early twenties,stood apart, clutching a battered backpack. She looked around with wide green eyes, marveling at the haphazard camp: tents pitched under broken streetlights, a communal fire pit, the scattered carts of traders.

Joel’s gaze lingered on her. She wore a faded hoodie several sizes too big, leggings, and boots that looked like they’d seen better days. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and though she looked tired, there was something determined in her stance.

Tess elbowed Joel in the ribs. “Hey. You said you’d oversee the new arrivals.”

“That’s your job,” Joel snapped. But he turned toward the girl. “You. Come over here.”

She flinched slightly but stepped forward, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Name?” Joel barked.

“Y/N,” she whispered. “Y/N Carter.”

He looked her up and down. “Age?”

“Eighteen,” she said, stifling a quiver.

He scoffed. “What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?”

She met his gaze. “Surviving.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surviving ain’t enough. You need to know how to stay alive.”

She frowned. “I,I can learn.”

Joel glanced at Tess. She gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. You’re stuck here. You’ll share our tent with us.” He turned abruptly to move away.

Y/N blinked. “Your tent?”

Tess placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Joel’s being a dick. Come on.”

Later that night, Y/N lay on the thin mattress in the corner of Joel and Tess’s tent, hugging her backpack as if it were a lifeline. The lantern cast flickering shadows on the canvas walls.

Tess was dozing on her cot, snoring softly. Joel sat cross‑legged on the floor, gutting a rat for dinner. He glanced at Y/N.

“You hungry?” he asked, voice gruff.

She nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Starving.”

He tossed her half the rat. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Y/N picked at the meat. “Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes but watched her eat. She was careful, polite,unlike the usual survivors who cursed and snarled. After a moment, he broke the silence.

“You know how to use that backpack?” He nodded at the duffel, where she’d stowed a tattered journal, a book on edible plants, a folding knife.

She nodded. “My dad taught me. He was a botanist.”

Joel snorted. “Plants.” He gestured at the rat bones. “Don’t see you gutting rodents in your spare time.”

She smiled. “I’ll learn.”

He looked away. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Over the next week, Y/N followed Joel and Tess everywhere,work details, patrols, supply runs. Joel was brusque: snapping orders, expecting her to stumble, berating her when she did.

On day two, while clearing debris from a collapsed storefront, Y/N slipped and twisted her ankle. She gasped, clutching her leg. Joel whipped around.

“You okay?” He crouched beside her, concern bleached from his face.

“I think I sprained it,” she winced.

“Stay here.” He disappeared behind a pile of rubble and returned with a makeshift splint: two sticks and a strip of cloth. He bound her ankle tightly.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Joel refused to meet her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

One evening, Y/N found a stash of old textbooks in a deserted classroom. There were grammar guides, a calculus workbook, maps of pre‑outbreak South America.

She carried them back to the camp, clattering under her arm. Joel spotted her and shook his head. “What now?”

“I thought… maybe we could teach the kids.” She lifted the books. “Help them feel… normal.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “We don’t have teachers. Not anymore.”

She set the books down but met his gaze. “We can try.”

He turned and stalked away. Y/N felt deflated,she’d thought maybe he’d support her. But when she looked back at the books, a protective spark flared.

Tess caught Y/N reading to a small group of children by the fire. When Joel arrived from patrol, he frowned.

“You’re teaching them?” he demanded.

Y/N stood, wiping soot from her palms. “They’re scared. This is something they used to do.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped. “You’re wasting time.”

She squared her shoulders. “They need hope.”

He stared at her a long moment, then turned and walked away. Tess watched Y/N’s face,pride and sympathy warring there.

That night, Joel couldn’t sleep. He strolled away from the tent and found Y/N at the fire, scribbling in her journal.

He cleared his throat. She looked up.

“You okay?” she asked, concern bright in her eyes.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She patted the ground beside her. “Sit.”

He hesitated, then sank down. They sat in silence as sparks drifted upward.

“I saw you with the kids,” he said softly. “They liked you.” He flicked a spark with his foot. “You’re… good at that.”

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re good. We just need someone to believe in them.”

He scowled at the fire. “I don’t… get it.”

She scooted closer. “You don’t have to. Just… come watch. It’s tomorrow morning,exercise and reading in the square.”

He rubbed his face with his hands. “Fine.”

Next morning, Joel found himself leaning against a wall as Y/N stood before two dozen ragged children, reciting the alphabet in song. They sang back, shy but eager. Then Y/N opened a calculus workbook and explained fractions with chalk on the cracked pavement. The kids cheered as they grasped the concepts. Joel’s arms crossed, but a small grin tugged at his lips.

When Y/N spotted him, she waved. He nodded once, heart thumping.

Over the next weeks, Joel’s attitude changed subtly. He’d pause when Y/N left the tent, admiring the soft curve of her cheek or the way she moved with purpose. He’d sneak blankets for her when she complained of the cold,blankets he’d normally hog. And when she injured her wrist fetching water, he’d stayed up that night to wrap it properly, murmuring nonsense apologies when she thanked him.

One afternoon, Joel caught her by surprise in the supply tent. She’d discovered a cache of canned peaches,luxury food. She opened a can and poured fruit into bowls.

“Hey,” he said, watching the amber slices catch the light.

She glanced up. “Thought the kids would like a treat.” She handed him a bowl. “Want one?”

He took it, surprised. “You’re spoiling them.”

She smiled, bright. “They deserve it.”

He cleared his throat before tasting one: sweet, dripping juice down his chin. She giggled and dabbed his mouth with a rag.

“Stop,” he muttered, but his eyes sparkled.

It was past curfew when Joel found you reading under the lantern. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders; your plus‑sized frame curled into the chair. You looked up as he entered.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked.

He leaned against the table. “Thought I’d check on you.”

You patted the seat beside you. He sat, too close,your arms touched. You offered him your book. “Wanna learn about edible mushrooms?”

He winced. “I’d rather learn about you.”

Your heart thundered. “I’m not that interesting.”

He took your hand. “Shut up.”

You laughed softly. “You’re an asshole.”

He pulled you forward. “Yeah? You think I care?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kissed you,fierce, urgent. You responded, pressing into him, shock melting into desire. His beard was rough against your cheek; his arms held you steady as the world spun.

When he pulled back, chest heaving, you whispered, “Joel…”

He brushed your hair from your face. “Don’t think. Just… feel.”

You nodded and kissed him again.

They found you in the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms, the lantern dim. Tess knocked softly.

Joel jumped, pulling away. Y/N sat up, cheeks flaming. Tess cleared her throat.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, amused. “And we need volunteers to help build that new shelter.”

Joel stood, brushing dust from his jeans. “Count me in.”

You offered him a trembling smile. “Me too.”

That night, around the fire, Joel raised a canteen of watered wine. “To Y/N.” He paused, voice thick. “You’re… the best mistake I ever made.”

You laughed through tears. “I’m a mistake?”

He winked. “The best kind.”

You leaned into him, arm around his waist. “I love you.”

He kissed your forehead. “I love you too, even when I’m being an asshole.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a lot of things.”

He smirked. “But worth it?”

You smiled. “Always worth it.”

And in the flickering glow of the QZ, with danger outside and hope for tomorrow, you two found something that felt like homecimperfect, feisty, and real.

[lazysoulwriter]

method kisser. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: Pedro Pascal x wife!actress!reader, domestic fluff, playful vibes, line rehearsal, kiss interruption, pouty Pedro, soft romance, married life adorableness.

---

You stood barefoot in the living room, script in hand, pacing a little.

Pedro was on the couch, glasses on, already flipping pages. “Okay, so I’m playing Jacob?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Scene fifteen.”

He grinned. “The one where he finally admits he’s in love with her, right?”

You glanced up. “Yup.”

“And they kiss at the end?”

“Yup.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow. “Convenient.”

You smirked. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re hot.” He winked.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat. “Okay, focus. Let’s just get through the middle bit. The emotional confrontation.”

He stood, adjusted his posture, and immediately snapped into character. God, he was so good at this — eyes deep, voice low, gaze locked on yours.

It was actually really hot. Too hot.

You rushed through your lines, heart fluttering a little, and right when the script called for the kiss — you took a step back.

“Okay! That’s all I needed. Thanks, baby.”

Pedro blinked. “…Wait. What?”

You started to gather the pages. “I don’t need the kiss part, I’ve done it like ten times with my scene partner already.”

His mouth dropped open slightly, puppy eyes activating. “But… we didn’t rehearse that part.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.”

“No, I mean—” he pointed helplessly to the script. “We were right there. It was literally the next line. The next beat.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Pedro.”

“I wanted to kiss you.”

You snorted. “You do realize you’re my husband, right? You can kiss me whenever.”

He blinked. “Oh. Right.”

A pause.

“…Can we still do it, though? The whole scene. Like. From the top. All the way to the kiss.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

“But a committed dork.”

You sighed, dramatic. “Fine. For art.”

He grinned like a kid on Christmas, already finding his place in the script again.

Ten minutes later, you delivered your last line — all soft and emotional — and Pedro cupped your face, kissed you like the credits were rolling and you were the lead in his love story.

When he pulled back, breathless, he smiled.

“See? That’s good acting.”

You smirked. “Pedro, that wasn’t acting.”

He laughed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Even better.”

---

✦ 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 @kellyxo1 @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512

---

[unsuperingyournatural]

anchor

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Female!Reader <platonic>

comfort, loss/grief

The world doesn’t stop when you’re grieving.

The emails keep coming. The scripts still get sent. The press obligations loom on the calendar, unapologetic in their persistence. And the people—God, the people—they don’t know what to say. So they say nothing. Or worse, they say everything.

Except Pedro.

Pedro says just enough. And sometimes, not a word at all.

You’re standing backstage at a charity event you’d promised to attend weeks ago. A fundraiser for a cause close to the person you lost. You didn’t have it in you to cancel. But now, in a quiet shadowed corner just offstage, you’re trembling and you don’t even realize it until Pedro’s arms come around you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, chin brushing the crown of your head. “I’m here.”

Your fingers curl into the lapel of his jacket, holding tight, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. It’s been like this for days. Every appearance. Every red carpet. Every time someone asks how you’re doing with a tilted head and a pitying smile.

Pedro just wraps himself around you like armor.

There’s a flash from the press pit. Then another. A buzz on social media not long after. Photos of you clinging to Pedro, his hand on your back, his mouth pressed to your temple as you blink through tears and try to smile. Videos of him pulling you into his side and whispering something that makes your shoulders drop. Something that helps you breathe.

The headlines write themselves.

“Intimate Moment Between Pedro Pascal and His Co-Star Sparks Dating Rumors.” “The Way He Holds Her—Fans Think It’s Love.” “Pedro's Latest Gal Pal: Hollywood’s Quietest Romance?”

Let them talk.

Because only the two of you know the truth.

That when you showed up at his door the night you got the call, sobbing so hard you couldn’t see straight, he opened it in sweats and no shoes and pulled you inside without a word.

That he let you cry into his chest for hours, brought you tea you didn’t drink, and stayed awake the entire night just so you wouldn’t have to be alone.

That he held your hand at the memorial even though no one else did. That he helped you write the tribute when your hands were shaking too badly to type.

That he sits with you now, legs tangled with yours in the corner of a private lounge after a press event, your head on his shoulder, his thumb brushing slowly over your wrist as your body leans into his.

“You need anything?” he asks softly.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… this.”

He nods and tucks your head beneath his chin.

This is Pedro. Your best friend. Your anchor. Your safe place.

People keep asking if you’re together.

They don’t understand that some loves aren’t romantic. Some loves hold you together when you’re breaking apart. Some loves stay quiet, steady, solid. Some loves don’t need definitions.

And when you finally speak at that tribute event—voice soft but sure—Pedro’s the first to rise when it’s done. The first to pull you close. The first to kiss your head as the audience claps and you nearly crumble.

Later, someone shows you a headline that reads: “If That’s Not Love, We Don’t Know What Is.”

You smile, just a little.

Because maybe they’re right.

Just… not in the way they think.