#pascalispunk

[sweetlovepascal]

pleasure bound

pairings harry castillo x younger!reader

summary you and harry keep things hush-hush, just business on the surface but in the elevator, all bets are off. later that night, the secret feels even sweeter, especially knowing your father would actually be okay with it.

“look at you, my spoiled little heiress… sittin’ on me like you own me.”

content nsfw 18+, explicit sexual content, secret relationship, age gap, rich heiress reader, billionaire, consensual intimacy, oral (f receiving), multiple positions, reader is on birth control, unprotected sex, teasing foreplay, reader is confident and assertive in private. proceed with care.

masterlist

the elevator doors close with a soft click suspended above the city.

you stand beside him. close, but not touching. not yet.

to the cameras, to the world, you are nothing more than business allies. but here, in this pocket of silence, every heartbeat says otherwise.

his pinky brushes yours.

you don’t look at him. you don’t need to.

“i spent that whole board meeting pretending not to look at you and all i wanted was to reach over and touch your hand.” harry whispered, voice low and strained with restraint.

your lips curve, slow and sweet.

“one more minute and i would’ve kissed you in front of all of them,” you murmured, barely turning your head.

that draws a quiet laugh from him. soft and disbelieving.

“you’re dangerous,” he said, looking at you now.

“so are you,” you replied with a little tilt of your chin. “but at least i admit it.”

he watched you for a moment, like he was trying to memorize you. eyes tracing your cheek, the curve of your mouth, the slope of your shoulders.

harry reached for you slowly, one hand rising to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your jaw.

then, gently, like he couldn’t help himself anymore, he leaned in.

your noses brushed. you closed your eyes.

and when his lips finally touched yours, it wasn’t rushed or frantic. it was reverent. warm. the kind of kiss that lingered long after it ended.

his hand cupped your cheek as your fingers curled into the front of his suit, pulling him just a little closer, just a little longer.

when you finally parted, breathless and smiling, you whispered into the space between your mouths.

“tonight. come by. back entrance. no security.”

“and what would the heiress of the sorelli family say if i just showed up unannounced?”

“she’d say she missed you,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his.

he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“and what would her father say?”

you tilted your head with a small, knowing smile.

soft and spoiled all at once.

“he wouldn’t know. he still thinks i’m too busy running empires to fall in love.”

the elevator chimed.

as the doors slid open, harry’s hand found the small of your back. he guided you out like nothing had happened.

like he hadn’t just kissed the one woman he wasn’t supposed to fall for.

your pulse was still racing as you walked through the lobby and his fingertips lingered against your spine.

the house was quiet. jazz floated lazily from the record player.

you wore nothing but silk and bare skin, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you as you padded down the hallway.

you heard the door open and close with care. no knocks. no voices.

his footsteps.

you stepped into the hall, standing where the shadows met the light.

“took you long enough,” you said with a small smile.

harry looked up, still wearing his coat, hair tousled from the wind, eyes warm and tired and completely focused on you.

“i tried not to speed,” he said quietly.

you walked toward him, slow and barefoot, letting your eyes drink him in.

he reached for you without thinking, his hand finding your wrist, thumb brushing the inside of it like he needed that touch to breathe.

“you’re late,” you teased softly.

“i didn’t want anyone to follow me,” he murmured, gaze sweeping over your figure with something that looked like longing and something that felt like relief.

you stepped into his space and curled your arms around his neck. he pulled you close without hesitation, one hand sliding along the curve of your back.

“good,” you whispered against the side of his throat. “because i don’t want to share you tonight.”

he closed his eyes as your breath warmed his skin.

“you never do,” he said, and you could feel the smile in his voice.

when harry kissed you again. slow, lingering, his hands gentle on your waist, it felt inevitable.

the way his lips explored yours with aching care.

the way his body fit perfectly against yours when you leaned into him, silk against wool.

now, you’re in your bedroom.

he’s standing between your thighs as you sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a fresh silk slip.

one he hasn’t seen yet. midnight blue.

he looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

his blazer drops to the floor with a quiet thud.

you reach up, undoing each button of his dress shirt with slow, steady fingers, your palms skimming over his chest, tracing muscle and hair.

he exhales shakily, leaning into your touch like he’s been starving for it.

then his hands slide to your thighs, the silk beneath his fingertips.

he lifts the slip just slightly.

you see the shift in his expression: confusion, surprise, then a wicked sort of delight.

he looks up at you slowly, voice low and thick.

“you’re not wearing any panties.”

you smirk, all sweet mischief.

“i got comfortable.”

he huffs out a soft, dark laugh, shaking his head as his hands skim higher, cupping the backs of your thighs.

“you’re a naughty girl,” he murmurs, his voice turning rough with arousal. “sitting here like this. waiting for me. silk and nothing else.”

“i knew you’d appreciate it.”

“oh, i do,” he growls softly, dropping to his knees between your legs. “now lie back, sweetheart.”

you obey, easing onto the pillows as your slip pools around your hips, exposing soft, bare skin. your legs part for him without hesitation.

he kisses your knee. then your thigh. his hands stroke the length of you with reverence and hunger.

and then his mouth is on you.

the first flick of his tongue is light, teasing and barely there.

he watches you as he licks, eyes dark and focused, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

you gasp softly, back arching when his tongue grows bolder.

stroking you in slow circles, licking deep and firm. his hands spread your thighs wider as he settles in.

“you taste like heaven, baby,” he whispers between strokes.

you moan, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clutching the sheets.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your slick skin. “just relax. let me make you feel good.”

he flattens his tongue and drags it from your entrance to your clit in one long, devastating pass, then circles your clit again and again.

his pace is slow, relentless. he draws out every whimper, every trembling breath.

and he doesn’t stop when your legs start to tremble. he doesn’t stop when your hips lift off the bed, chasing his mouth.

in fact he grins against you, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still.

“stay right there for me, sweetheart.”

your body builds with pressure, pleasure curling tighter, hotter. his tongue never letting up over and over and over until you’re writhing, whimpering his name.

“harry—please—”

he groans, licking faster, more focused now. his tongue flicks, presses, circles your clit with maddening precision, keeping you right on the edge.

“let me feel it.”

your body goes taut. it’s overwhelming.

your thighs clamp around his head, your voice breaks on his name, and he holds you through every wave.

but he doesn’t stop.

even after your orgasm crashes over you, his tongue keeps moving, slow and soft, then quick and pointed. overstimulation licks at your nerves, making you twitch beneath him.

“too much—harry—”

he lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes.

“shh. one more, baby. just one more. i’ve got you.”

his fingers slide inside you. two.

his thumb replacing his tongue to rub your clit in tight, perfect circles.

you sob a breath, overwhelmed and shaking.

“you’re soaked,” he murmurs, pressing deep. “so fucking tight. let me see you fall apart again.”

his name spills from your lips like a prayer as your body coils again trembling around his fingers.

you come harder this time, vision going white around the edges.

he kisses your thigh, then your stomach, then pulls you up gently into his arms.

you’re panting, limp and trembling against his chest.

“you okay?” he whispers into your hair, brushing it back.

you nod, clinging to him.

“too good,” you manage.

he kisses your temple then your lips.

“not done yet, i still need to be inside you.” he murmurs.

his lips press to your jaw, then lower along your throat, over your chest.

you’re still trembling, but you don’t want to stop. you want more. all of him.

he knows. he always knows.

“you want to ride me?” harry whispers, his large hands sliding down your sides before gripping your hips firmly. “take what you need?”

you nod, breath caught in your throat. you push lightly on his chest, urging him to lean back, propped up against the headboard.

slowly, you straddle him, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs.

his cock, flushed and slick with your arousal, stands hard between you, glistening with precum.

it’s already leaking for you.

you reach down, your hand wrapping around him, sliding along his slick length to line him up.

his dark eyes lock on yours, full of heat.

“look at you, my spoiled little heiress… sittin’ on me like you own me.”

“i do,” you whisper, lips brushing over his.

you sink down slowly, every inch filling you, your silk slip sliding and clinging to your curves.

harry’s hands find your hips first then they trail up your sides until his fingers curl under your slip.

cupping your breasts with hunger thumbs tracing circles around your swollen nipples until they pebble, hardening beneath his touch.

your breasts bounce, pressing into his chest and palms with each slow, deep roll of your hips.

a strangled groan escapes him.

“you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he groans, eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you riding him, your tits trembling in his grasp.

you lean down to kiss him. messy and desperate. his mouth claims yours, teeth grazing your lower lip.

your thighs tremble, your body slick with need and silk.

“turn around for me,” he pants, voice low and commanding. “on your hands and knees. let me take care of you.”

you whimper but obey, sliding off and flipping over onto the pillows, chest pressed down, ass raised in the air.

his eyes darken as he takes in the slick heat between your thighs.

“look at you,” he growls. “so fucking wet. so fucking ready.”

his cock lines up with your entrance, and then he presses in slow.

you cry out, burying your face in the sheets, your body arching involuntarily.

harry’s hands grip your hips hard, but one slides up your side, slipping beneath the silk slip to cup and knead your breast.

with every deep, powerful thrust, your breast bounces, the silk sliding and catching, heightening every sensation.

skin slaps, slick moans, and harsh breaths fill the room.

“that’s it,” he hisses. “take it. take all of it.”

your nails rake the sheets as you moan, your body trembling under his relentless pace.

“harry—fuck—”

he growls your name, pulling your hair lightly, arching your back. his hand moves between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit as he pounds into you harder, fingers curling into your hip.

one hand slides back to your breast with a desperate worship that sends hot jolts through your core.

“you gonna come like this? stuffed full of me?” he pants.

you nod, breath ragged.

“i’m so close—”

“come for me,” he demands, voice rough. “now.”

your orgasm crashes through you like thunder, whole body trembling, muscles clenching hard around him as you scream his name.

harry pulls out, flipping you over again, lips pressing feverishly to yours.

now he’s on top. his mouth claims yours. kissing you deep and hungry, he presses back into you, slow and full. his other hand cups your face, holding you close, eyes dark with need.

“you’re mine,” he whispers against your lips. “every inch.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist, nails sinking into his back.

his thrusts grow more urgent, deeper, chasing release.

you’re right there with him, heat and pleasure crashing through your veins.

“come with me,” he begs, forehead pressed to yours. “one more, baby.”

your bodies lock together as he spills inside you, hips jerking, whole body shaking with release.

he stays buried deep, panting against your neck.

then soft kisses trail from your jaw to your shoulder to your lips.

he holds you close, skin to skin. “i’ll never let you go.”

[papipedrolvr]

Pedro Pascal via his Instagram

[joelsrose]

chapter 4!!!! i love this story so much omggg - as always, i hope you guys enjoy xxx

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You were ecstatic—buzzing, practically vibrating with excitement as the sun crept over Jackson’s rooftops like it, too, was eager for what the day might bring.

Today was the day: Joel Miller’s first date in what was likely two decades, maybe more, and you had been the orchestrator of it all.

The entire thing had lived in your head for a week now, spinning like a little carousel of possibilities—some disastrous, some dreamy, some wildly romantic like something out of the battered books you kept stacked beside your bed.

You’d imagined a dozen outcomes: Joel arriving early with flowers (unlikely), Joel cracking a rare joke over dessert (a stretch), Joel sitting with his arms folded refusing to speak (realistic), and even one where he somehow fell instantly, hopelessly in love (a girl can dream).

But most of all, you hoped—really, truly hoped—that he’d try.

You had found someone you thought was perfect. Her name was Naomi—mid-forties, soft-spoken but sharp as a tack, with kind eyes and a laugh that could warm a cold room.

She worked with the school’s little garden co-op, loved to read mystery novels, and once told you that she’d be open to something “real” if it came along. And when you’d nervously shown her Joel’s name in your journal (complete with scribbled-out lines and notes in pink ink), she had blinked, smiled faintly, and said, “He’s handsome. I wouldn’t mind meeting him.”

That alone had made your heart flutter with cautious hope.

Their date was going to be at the dining hall—humble, yes, but at sunset it turned soft and sweet, the candles on the tables flickering like tiny promises. You’d even roped in one of the cooks that night to make something nice—nothing fancy, just warm bread, grilled fish, and the kind of roasted vegetables that made even the most stoic Jacksoners groan with delight.

You’d told Joel you’d meet him at the dining hall, just to make sure everything went smoothly—not that you thought he needed you, exactly, but because a tiny, worried part of you couldn’t bear the idea of him showing up alone and uncomfortable, his arms crossed and jaw tight, already halfway out the door before the poor woman even said hello.

And though he’d grumbled something predictably Joel—something along the lines of, “I don’t need no damn babysitter,” or maybe it was “Like hell you’re watchin’ me like some charity case”—you hadn’t really listened, because the miracle had already happened: he was going.

Joel Miller, who frowned at butterflies like they personally offended him, who didn’t eat dessert because he was apparently too proud for joy, who moved through town like he was allergic to small talk—was going on a date.

And not because Maria begged him, or because Tommy tricked him, but because you had asked.

Because somehow, after all the sighs and sharp looks and muttered curses, he had agreed to try.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You sat—not subtly, despite your best efforts—tucked into the far corner of the dining hall, half-hidden behind a tall, mismatched stack of crates and a poorly potted plant that offered minimal cover but enough plausible deniability.

From your perch, you watched with the anxiety of a director at opening night as Joel sat at the table, looking profoundly out of place, his posture slightly slumped like he was already apologizing for being there. His shirt was unironed, the sleeves unevenly rolled, and his hair looked like he’d run a hand through it once out of obligation and then given up entirely. You winced.

When his eyes flicked up and caught yours across the room, you straightened your back instinctively and mouthed, “Sit straight,” even modeling the posture with a meaningful lift of your shoulders. Joel blinked once, scowled like a grumpy schoolboy, and adjusted stiffly, muttering something under his breath as he did so.

And then Naomi walked in.

She looked lovely—effortlessly polished in a way that made you feel a flicker of hopeful pride. Her braid was neat, her dress floral and soft, and as she approached the table, you could see the faint smile of curiosity tug at her lips.

Joel stood up, which you had to admit was a win, but any warm feelings were quickly extinguished as he greeted her with an awkward, two-handed handshake—firm and businesslike, like he was closing a deal rather than stepping into a date.

Not a hug, not even a kiss on the cheek, just a dry, utilitarian shake that made Naomi tilt her head a little, puzzled. Then he sat—sat—without offering her chair, the screech of his wooden seat dragging across the floor echoing through the hall like a warning bell.

You physically cringed, your hand flying to your forehead as you whispered, “Oh, God,” under your breath, already bracing for the slow-motion disaster about to unfold before your very eyes.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You weren’t a body language expert by any means—didn’t need to be. Anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain could tell this date was going up in flames before the second course even hit the table.

Joel sat stiff as stone, arms crossed so tightly across his chest you wondered if he was keeping himself from bolting. He didn’t smile, not once—not even the tight-lipped kind people give when they’re trying to be polite.

His jaw was set, his mouth a thin, immovable line, and the only real movement he made was stabbing his fork into his mashed potatoes like they’d wronged him personally.

You watched in slow-building horror as he grunted in response to Naomi’s questions, barely making eye contact, and at one point—at one godforsaken point—he actually leaned away from her mid-sentence to refill his water glass with all the grace of a brick wall.

You ran your hands through your hair, heart racing, like maybe the friction would rub the secondhand embarrassment off your skin. You wanted to crawl under the table. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. He was paying more attention to his peas than the gorgeous, interesting, totally game woman you’d found for him, and all you could do was stare, helpless, as your most promising Cupid endeavor to date unraveled like a badly-knitted scarf in the middle of winter.

You kept watching like it was a car crash happening in slow motion—horrifying, inevitable, and impossible to look away from.

Joel said something—you couldn’t hear it over the clatter of cutlery and murmur of nearby tables—but you saw Naomi’s brows shoot up, her head tilt just slightly, the way a woman does when she’s giving someone one last chance to backpedal. Joel, of course, did not backpedal. His mouth moved again, probably something gruff and dismissive in that grumpy cowboy drawl of his, and you actually saw Naomi scoff. Not laugh. Not smile. Scoff. Sharp, unimpressed, and loud enough that a few heads turned.

Then, just like that, she pushed back from the table with a scrape of chair legs that echoed louder than it had any right to, grabbed her coat, and left without another word. You were frozen, eyes wide, mouth half-open, watching as Joel just blinked at her retreating form like she’d spilled her drink and he wasn’t sure if he should clean it up or not.

As soon as the door swung shut behind Naomi, you didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. You launched out of your hiding spot like a woman on a mission, practically sprinting across the dining hall, weaving between chairs and startled diners until you slid into the now-vacant seat opposite Joel. You leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes wide and incredulous, like you’d just walked in on a crime scene.

“Joel,” you hissed, voice pitched low but vibrating with disbelief, “what the hell happened?”

He barely looked up from his half-eaten plate, casually poking at a piece of roasted potato like this wasn’t the dating equivalent of a four-alarm fire. “We didn’t click,” he said, with a shrug so nonchalant it nearly made your head explode.

“Joel,” you said again, dragging out the syllables like a prayer for patience, “why did she get up and leave like that? Like you insulted her lineage or ran over her kid!?”

He gave you a look, the picture of stone-faced indifference, and mumbled, “I don’t know. She was talkin’ about her cat.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And what did you say, Joel?”

He paused for a beat, glanced away, then muttered under his breath, “I said I don’t trust people who let animals sleep in their bed.”

You blinked at him. “Jesus, Joel.”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just taken a flamethrower to a perfectly decent date. “Didn’t like me the second she sat down.”

“Yeah, Joel,” you said, exasperated, “maybe because you said three words total, insulted her cat, and greeted her like she was an IRS agent coming to audit your crops. You shook her hand.”

He scowled deeper, already standing, already grabbing his coat like this whole night had been a bad dream he could storm away from. “That’s enough,” he muttered, brushing past you, out the door and into the cold.

“What the hell,” you hissed, pushing your chair in with a sharp scrape, bolting after him.

You caught up with him just outside, your breath fogging in the evening air as you jogged to close the space between you. “Joel! Stop.”

He did. He turned on a heel, the movement sharp, sudden, and his voice was rough when it came out. “What? Is that why you’re here? To tell me how shit I did? You think I don’t know I fucked it up? You don’t think I’m aware I ain’t some charming, fresh-faced guy women line up for? I know what I am. I know I’m well past my goddamn prime.”

You stared at him—this big, broad, stubborn man who looked like he was made of iron and regret, standing under the soft street light like it was trying to make something warm out of someone who didn’t believe he could be.

“Stop it,” you said, firm, breathless. “You want me to feel sorry for you? I won’t. Because you’re not past your prime, Joel. You’re still here. Still living. Still capable. You’re handsome, whether you believe it or not—Naomi said so herself before she even met you.”

He froze.

You could see it—that flicker of something in his eyes, just barely there, something startled and unsure. And it wasn’t your scolding that got to him, or the fact that you’d followed him out into the cold like you cared enough to keep trying.

It was that one word. Handsome.

Because you—who wore sweaters with daisies on them and drank out of a chipped Little Miss Sunshine mug and believed in soulmates and fresh starts and love at first sight—you had called him handsome. Had looked at him like there was still something good there. Something worthy.

He shifted, his shoulders tight, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat like he was trying to tuck his embarrassment away with them. His gaze didn’t quite meet yours, instead flicking sideways, focused on some invisible spot in the dirt. “Alright,” he muttered gruffly, voice thick with something he wasn’t ready to name. “Maybe I shouldn’t’ve shaken her hand.”

You watched him, lips twitching with the threat of a smile you didn’t dare let fully bloom just yet. “You think?” you said, teasing but warm, your voice low like you didn’t want to scare off this rare, soft moment.

He sighed, and it felt like it came from somewhere deep—bone-deep, years-deep. “I should’ve talked more. Been less—” he gestured vaguely, almost helplessly, “—me. More gentlemanly or whatever. It’s been a while.”

You took a step closer, slow and steady, like you were approaching a wild animal that didn’t quite know how to accept kindness. Your fingers brushed his forearm first, then settled there, grounding, gentle. He didn’t flinch. Just looked down at your hand like it was the first warm thing he’d felt all day.

“And that’s okay, Joel,” you said softly, eyes on his, voice like honey and heartache. “No one’s asking you to be perfect. You don’t have to get it right the first time. Or the second. We just… have to try. A little more. Next time.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours then, a brow arching with something halfway between surprise and amusement. “Next time?”

“Oh yeah,” you said, your hand still on his arm, your eyes sparkling with something fierce and fond. “I’m not givin’ up on you yet, cowboy.”

That earned you a sound you hadn’t heard before—a real chuckle, low and rough, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. It made something in you light up, bright and effervescent.

He shook his head, just slightly, like he couldn’t believe you, like he was still fighting the smile threatening his own mouth. “You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, but this time, it sounded an awful lot like a compliment.

And you just grinned, the wind catching your hair, the cold forgotten entirely. Because for once, Joel Miller didn’t look like he wanted to disappear into the night.

He looked like he might actually be willing to stay.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

i wont be doing a tag list angels, im sorry it gets so confusing and messy for me !!! hope you understand xx

[millers-angel]

beach trip

dbf!joel miller x virgin!reader

summary: back home for the summer, a getaway to a beach resort takes an unexpected turn when you cross a line with Joel—your dad’s best friend. warnings: age gap, kind of mean joel, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), size kink (?, innocence kink, pet names, fluff at the end. wc: 7.7k

read the second part here!<3

You're back from college just for the summer, and Dad had the great idea to plan a little getaway—a few days at a beach resort. Sun, sand, and overpriced cocktails. It sounded nice. Relaxing, even.

You’d already been home for a few days, not doing much. Helping Dad with a few things for work when he asked, watering the plants out front in the warm afternoon sun, taking long walks just to pass the time. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly exciting either. So when he mentioned the trip, you figured—why not?

That is, until Dad dropped the bomb: he had invited Joel Miller.

Yeah. That Joel Miller. His best friend. The man who has lived across the street for as long as you can remember. The same Joel Miller you've spent years exchanging sarcastic remarks with, toeing the line between playful and downright rude, though neither of you has ever seemed to mind.

He's always been quick with a dry remark, and you've never been one to back down. If he calls you a pain in the ass, you call him old and grumpy. If you roll your eyes at something he says, he just smirks and shakes his head like you're some bratty kid he barely tolerates. It's been the same for years.

But now, thanks to Dad's brilliant idea, you're stuck in a beach resort with him for the next few days. And if the way Joel had looked at you when Dad announced the trip was any indication, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it either.

The sun was beating down, the scent of salt thick in the air as you stretched out on the lounge chair by the pool. The resort was nice, you'd give your dad that much. Fancy as hell, the kind of place that served cocktails in coconuts and had a little island bar just across the pool.

"Want a cocktail, sweetheart?" your dad asked, already pushing himself up from his seat.

"Yeah, something fruity," you replied, lazily adjusting your sunglasses.

He nodded, making his way toward the island bar, leaving you alone—well, almost.

Joel was still there, sitting in the chair beside you, one arm slung over the back, legs stretched out like he owned the damn place. You could feel his eyes on you before you even looked. A slow, deliberate gaze, sweeping over your body in a way that made heat rise up your neck. He didn't even try to be subtle about it.

Your bikini wasn't anything crazy, but that didn't stop his eyes from trailing along the curve of your hips, how the slopes of your breasts pump over the bra, the length of your legs, lingering just a little too long in places he had no business looking.

You huffed out a laugh, tilting your head toward him. "Close your mouth, Miller. You'll let the flies in."

Joel's gaze flicked up to yours, unbothered, amused even. A smirk pulled at his lips as he dragged his tongue along his teeth. "Hell," he muttered, shaking his head. "When did you grow up?"

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the way he said it—low, gruff, like he was realizing it for the first time.

"Go get in the pool, old man," you teased, sinking further into your chair. "Before you get heatstroke."

Joel just chuckled, but you caught the way his gaze dipped again before he looked away, like he wasn't quite done looking yet.

The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, warming your skin as you lounged back on the chair, toes buried in the hot sand. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, mixed with the distant laughter of resort guests. A few feet ahead, your dad and Joel were waist-deep in the ocean, letting the waves push them around like kids.

You had no interest in joining them. The water looked nice, sure, but you were perfectly content where you were—stretched out, the salty breeze cooling the heat clinging to your skin.

That was, until your dad decided otherwise.

"Come on, sweetheart," he called, waving you over. "The water's perfect!"

"I'm fine," you replied, lifting your sunglasses just enough to glare at him.

But your dad wasn't having it. He waded closer to shore, hands on his hips like he was about to give you a whole speech on making the most of the trip. "Just for a bit," he pushed, eyes glinting with challenge. "Don't tell me you came all the way here just to sunbathe."

You sighed, knowing there was no getting out of it. With a dramatic groan, you stood, stretching just enough to feel Joel's eyes flicker toward you. If he had been watching before, he sure as hell was now.

The moment your feet hit the water, you shivered. It was cooler than you expected, the waves gentle at first—until they weren't.

A swell came up fast, knocking you off balance. You barely had time to react before the water dragged you under, flipping you over itself like a rag doll. You sputtered as you resurfaced, coughing up saltwater while your dad laughed at your misery.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn't laughing—at least, not in the same way. He was watching. Closely. The way the water clung to your skin, the way the wet sand stuck to your thighs, your stomach, the soft curve of your ass before the next wave washed it away.

You felt his stare even before you met his gaze. Dark, unreadable, something flickering in those brown eyes that made your stomach twist.

"Enjoying the show, Miller?" you teased, brushing wet hair from your face.

Joel just smirked, slow and lazy, eyes dragging over you one last time before he glanced away. "Just surprised you didn't drown," he shot back. "Thought I'd have to come save you."

You rolled your eyes, kicking up a splash of water in his direction. "Keep dreaming."

But as you turned away, you could still feel his gaze lingering, heavy and deliberate.

Dinner was nice. The three of you sat at one of the resort's restaurants, the warm glow of candlelight flickering against the polished wood of the table. The food was good, the conversation easy—your dad did most of the talking, as usual.

Joel was quieter than normal, but not in a bad way. He just... watched. Not in a creepy way, not at all, just with that same quiet intensity he always carried. Like he was trying to figure something out, intrigued in a way he wasn't used to. His eyes lingered, scanning your face, the curve of your wrist as you lifted your glass, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear.

You tried not to let it get to you.

After dinner, as the plates were being cleared, your dad leaned back in his chair, giving you a pointed look. "You going out to the bar or anything tonight?"

You shrugged. "Maybe."

"You should," he said, nodding as if he had just made up your mind for you. "It'd be good for you. Get your mind off all that college stress, let loose a little."

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "You're not wrong," you admitted. "Maybe I will."

Your dad seemed satisfied with that answer, and soon after, the three of you parted ways for the night.

Back in your room, you hesitated.

The truth was, you weren't exactly the kind of person who let loose easily. You had always been more on the reserved side, quiet, the kind of person who didn't make friends easily. College hadn't changed that. Sure, you had acquaintances, classmates you talked to in passing, but you weren't the type to go out partying every weekend, to dance on tables or laugh too loud in crowded bars.

But tonight... tonight you wanted to try.

You took a deep breath and started getting ready.

A simple dress, short but not vulgar, hugging your body in all the right ways. Nothing too much, nothing over the top—just enough to feel different, to feel good.

The bar was livelier than you expected. Warm lighting, the low hum of conversation mixing with the soft melody of live music playing in the background. Groups of people filled the space, laughing, clinking glasses, bodies swaying near the small dance floor.

You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly hyperaware of how alone you were.

It wasn't like you expected to know anyone, but standing there, watching clusters of friends and couples, you felt out of place. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe you should just turn around, head back to your room, and pretend you never even—

No.

You squared your shoulders and walked toward the bar, slipping onto an empty stool.

The bartender greeted you with an easy smile. "What can I get you?"

"Um," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "A margarita, please."

A few minutes later, a glass was placed in front of you. You thanked him, wrapping your fingers around the cool surface, but when you lifted it to take a sip, you hesitated.

Drinking alone felt... weird.

You glanced around, watching people chatting in groups, leaning into each other with familiarity. No one else seemed to be alone. It made you shrink into yourself a little, embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Still, you took a sip.

You were halfway through your drink when someone slid into the empty seat beside you.

"Can I get a whiskey?" the man asked the bartender before turning his attention to you.

You tensed slightly as his gaze swept over you, taking you in. He was tall, dark-haired, dressed in a loose button-up that clung to his frame just enough to suggest he took care of himself.

"You here alone?" he asked, voice smooth, casual.

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around your glass. "Yeah."

He nodded, ordering his drink before looking back at you. "First night here?"

You shook your head. "Got here earlier."

His lips quirked in an easy smile. "That so? Well, I'm glad I ran into you."

The conversation flowed easily, helped by the soft buzz of alcohol warming your veins. He asked about you—what you were studying, how long you were back for—and you answered, telling him about college, about coming home for the summer. He listened with genuine interest, nodding along as he sipped his drink. In return, he told you about his job, something business-related, though you were too distracted by the way his voice dipped, the way his fingers toyed with the rim of his glass, to really focus on the details.

At some point, he ordered you another drink. You hesitated, just for a second, but then nodded, letting yourself relax just a little more.

You weren't used to this—being approached, being the center of someone's attention—but it was... nice. Different.

And when he extended a hand, his eyes warm with invitation, you didn't think twice before taking it.

The music was low, sultry, a slow rhythm that thrummed through your chest as he led you to the dance floor. You moved together easily, the alcohol making you lighter, more willing. His hands found your waist, firm but not forceful, pulling you in just a little closer. The heat of his palms burned through the thin fabric of your dress, and you swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how close your bodies were.

You weren't sure how you felt about it.

It wasn't bad. It was just... new. A little overwhelming.

But you didn't pull away.

You let him guide you, let yourself sway with the music, let his hands settle comfortably at your hips.

And then—

A presence. Heavy. Familiar.

Joel.

"Hey, kid."

Joel's voice cut through the music, deep and unmistakable.

You stiffened instantly.

The man holding your waist paused, his grip loosening slightly as both of you turned toward the source of interruption. And there he was—Joel, standing at the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed over his broad chest, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

His smirk deepened. "Just checkin' in on you. Didn't know this was a kid's space."

Heat rushed to your face.

"I'm not a kid," you snapped, pulling your arms from around your dance partner's shoulders, but Joel wasn't even looking at you anymore.

Instead, his attention had shifted to the man standing beside you, his expression unreadable. The man—whose name you had already forgotten—cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you. "Uh, you know him?"

You opened your mouth, ready to brush it off, but Joel beat you to it.

"Oh, yeah," he said, voice filled with amusement. "She's like my little shadow, been followin' me around since always, annoying me you know, likes actin' all mean, but we all know it's because she craves attention."

Your stomach plummeted.

The man blinked in surprise before—before laughing.

It wasn't cruel, but it didn't matter. The damage was done.

You could feel the humiliation creeping up your spine, burning your skin from the inside out. You took a step back, suddenly desperate for space.

"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, turning on your heel.

You didn't bother looking back as you weaved through the crowd, ignoring the way Joel's eyes followed you, ignoring the way your chest felt too tight, ignoring everything except the overwhelming need to get out of there.

The warm night air did little to cool the heat burning under your skin as you pushed through the bar's entrance, stepping outside with quick, angry strides. The music still thumped behind you, muffled by the thick walls, but it didn't drown out the sound of footsteps following close behind.

"Where the hell are you goin'?" Joel's voice was steady, but there was something else there—something unreadable.

You didn't stop.

"Back to my room," you muttered, jaw tight.

"C'mon, don't be dramatic. Just get back inside," he said, voice lighter, like he wasn't taking any of this seriously, like he thought this was just another game you were playing.

That was it.

"Fuck off, Joel."

You turned on him, eyes burning, fists clenched at your sides.

His smirk faltered. "Jesus, alright. No need to throw a tantrum."

You scoffed, shaking your head, turning to leave—but before you could take another step, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

"Let me go," you said, voice low and sharp, barely restrained.

He didn't.

Instead, he tugged you just enough to make you stumble back toward him. "You pissed 'cause I ruined your little date?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "Are you fucking serious?"

Joel tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Ain't that what this is about?"

Something about the way he said it—so casual, so certain—made something inside you snap.

"No, Joel," you hissed, yanking your arm out of his grip. "It's about you humiliating me. It's about you treating me like I'm still some little kid when I'm not, or the things you think about me—that I'm annoying." Your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated it, hated the way he looked at you then. "So congratulations, okay? You got your little joke, you made me look like a fool. Are you happy now?"

Joel's expression shifted, something like regret flickering across his face, but you didn't stick around to let him respond.

You turned and walked away, shoulders squared, swallowing down the lump in your throat before it could turn into something worse.

The room felt too quiet, too empty when you stepped inside. You kicked off your heels, the soft thud of them against the floor the only sound as you crossed to the bed.

This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.

You had spent so much time getting ready, standing in front of the mirror, second-guessing every detail. You'd told yourself you were doing it for you, that you wanted to go out and have fun, to feel good for once—but now, sitting at the edge of the bed, the dress that once made you feel beautiful now felt like a cruel joke.

Joel thought you were annoying. A little shadow that followed him around, desperate for attention.

Was that how everyone saw you?

Is that why you barely had any friends in college? Why it was always so hard to fit in?

The thought stung worse than it should have.

You blinked hard, but it didn't stop the tears from spilling over, slipping down your cheeks as you reached behind yourself, tugging down the zipper of your dress. It pooled at your feet, forgotten as you wiped your face quickly, sniffling as you reached for the oversized T-shirt draped over a chair. It was your dad's—soft and worn, far too big on you, but comforting in a way nothing else was right now.

Pulling it over your head, you made your way to the balcony, arms wrapping around yourself as you stepped into the humid night air. The sound of the waves filled your ears, the scent of salt thick in the breeze. It should have been peaceful. It should have calmed you.

But it didn't.

Because no matter how hard you tried, you could still hear Joel's voice in your head.

A soft knock at the door made you flinch.

Your dad? No, he's probably asleep by now, you know him well.

Another knock.

You turned, padding back inside, wiping at your face one last time before pulling open the door—

Joel.

Your stomach twisted.

He opened his mouth, but before he could get a single word out, you slammed the door in his face.

"Open the door," Joel's voice came from the other side, low and steady.

You pressed your forehead against the cool wood, eyes squeezing shut. "Go away, Joel."

"Come on, kid—"

"Fuck off," you snapped, voice sharp with the lingering sting of humiliation.

A pause. A sigh. Then—"I'm sorry."

You huffed, arms tightening around yourself. "Yeah, well. Great. Now you can leave."

"I need to say it to your face."

You hesitated.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with him right now, but you also knew Joel—knew he wouldn't leave until he got what he wanted.

Jaw tight, you unlocked the door and yanked it open.

He was standing there, hands on his hips, looking... not as smug as usual. That only irritated you more.

"Can I come in?" he asked, gaze flickering over you, taking in the oversized shirt, the bare legs.

"No."

Joel exhaled through his nose—and then walked past you anyway.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shutting the door behind him.

"I just wanna talk," he said, holding up his hands like he was trying to calm you. "That's it."

You folded your arms over your chest, biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I didn't know the damn date was that important to you."

A scoff left your lips before you could stop it. "You're a fucking idiot."

He scoffed back. "I'm trying to apologize. You're upset to me and I get it, I didn't think it was something... so serious, you know? Like you wanted to get laid—"

Joel's words hit you like a slap.

Your body tensed, nails digging into your palms as you glared at him. "Get out."

He blinked, looking genuinely confused by your reaction. "What? Why?"

"Because you're an asshole, that's why."

He exhaled, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'm just saying—it's not a big deal. It happens to everyone. You're young, you're supposed to have fun, I get it, it's normal, it's—"

"Not your problem," you cut him off, voice sharp.

Joel's lips twitched, like he was amused by something.

You clenched your fists. "Change that stupid look on your face and leave."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you, and then—"It's 'cause you're a virgin, isn't it?"

Your entire body went hot.

The words burrowed under your skin, setting your nerves on fire. "That's not your business," you shot back too quickly, too defensively.

His eyes darkened, the amusement flickering with something else. "Huh. All this time in college, and you never—?"

Your throat tightened. "You don't know anything about me."

He chuckled. "That explains a lot."

Your glare sharpened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Just that... only a virgin acts like this all the time. All bratty and wound up, like you're just beggin' for someone to—"

"Get out." you shouted, shoving at his chest, face burning with embarrassment and fury.

Joel barely stumbled back at your shove, his body solid as a wall. But before you could push him again, before you could do anything else, his hands found your wrists, firm but not rough, and in a swift motion, he guided you backward.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed. You tried to step away, to free yourself, but he only pressed forward, until you had no choice but to sit.

You didn't say anything. He was right, but you feel a little embarrassed about it, you're all grown up and still a virgin.

Joel exhaled, his grip on your wrists loosening, but he didn't step away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unreadable. "That guy," he started, voice low, "he wasn't lookin' at you like a person. He was lookin' at you like a piece of meat. And he was touchin' you the same way."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Don't lecture me, Joel. Just accept that you were an asshole and move on."

His jaw clenched, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Fine," he said. "I was an asshole. And I'm sorry." His fingers twitched against your skin, as if debating whether to let go or hold on tighter. "But I wasn't tryin' to ruin your night—I just didn't want anything bad to happen to you."

You exhaled sharply, frustration curling in your stomach. "I'm not some naive little girl, Joel. I can handle myself."

Something flickered in his expression, something you couldn't quite place, but whatever it was made heat rise to your cheeks. "You're not naive?" he murmured, almost like he was testing the words. His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "Could've fooled me."

Your eyes narrowed, and you tried to jerk your hands away, but he didn't let you. "You're such a—"

His lips crashed against yours before you could finish, swallowing whatever insult was on your tongue. You gasped into his mouth, but he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, his hands finally releasing your wrists only to slide down your arms, gripping your waist. The heat between you both ignited in an instant, like a match striking dry tinder, and before you knew it, you were falling back against the bed, Joel following you down.

His weight pressed against you, solid and warm, his knee slotting between your thighs as his mouth moved hungrily over yours. He kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment—like he had been holding back for far too long and had finally given in. Your fingers found the fabric of his shirt, fisting it as you arched slightly beneath him, breath hitching when his lips trailed down your jaw, your neck.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, thick with something you couldn't quite name.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Then maybe you should stop," you murmured back, though your fingers betrayed you, gripping him tighter instead of pushing him away.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, eyes darting between your mouth and your eyes.

"Don't think I can," he admitted.

"You don't even like me," you mumbled, embarrassed.

Joel's thumb lingered on your lip, his gaze heavy, but the moment your words left your mouth, something in his expression shifted. A flicker of regret, of something deeper, flashed in his eyes.

"That's not true," he murmured, his voice softer now, rough around the edges but sincere. "What I said in the bar—it was bullshit. I don't think you're annoying. I love it when you mess with me, when you push my buttons." He exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against your waist. "I just... I lost it when I saw him touching you. That's all."

Your brows furrowed, something twisting in your chest at his words. "You humiliated me," you said, voice quiet but firm. "For no reason. You hurt my feelings over something stupid."

Joel shut his eyes briefly, exhaling like he was trying to steady himself. When he looked at you again, there was nothing playful left—just raw honesty. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to. It—it was just a damn impulse, alright? You drive me crazy. I haven't stopped thinkin' about you since you came back, and then I saw his hands on you, and I—" He cut himself off, his fingers dragging along the bare skin of your thigh, slow and deliberate.

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling in your stomach. You hated how easily he could pull you back in, how one touch had your breath catching. His palm slid higher, pushing the hem of your dress up just slightly, his calloused fingers warm against your skin.

Your heart pounded. "That's not fair," you whispered.

Joel's lips curved slightly, just a ghost of a smirk, but his eyes stayed dark. "Probably not." His thumb brushed along the sensitive inside of your thigh, watching the way you reacted, the way your lips parted just slightly. "But I'm done pretendin' I don't want you."

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He was too close, his breath fanning against your cheek, his fingers still moving—slow, teasing.

"Say somethin'," he murmured, his forehead nearly touching yours now. "Tell me to stop."

But you didn't.

His hand is way too far—far enough to feel you're wearing nothing but panties under the shirt. You licked your lips once he moved his hand to your belly.

"Have you ever been touched, sweet girl?"

You swallowed. "I don't think this is appropriate,"

Joel hummed low in his throat, his hand pressing just a little firmer against your stomach, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. His lips hovered near your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin as he spoke.

"Why?" he murmured. "'Cause you're a virgin?"

You swallowed hard, gripping at his wrist as if that would stop the way your body responded to him. "Because my dad is your friend," you whispered, your voice unsteady.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, deep and knowing. His nose brushed against the curve of your jaw, his lips barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Mm," he mused, his fingers slipping lower, teasing just above the waistband of your panties. "That ain't stoppin' you."

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your neck, then another. His beard scratched against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "You haven't told me to stop," he murmured against your throat, his voice smooth, coaxing.

Your fingers curled against his arm, your pulse hammering in your ears. You should tell him to stop. You should push him away. But you didn't.

His hand lowered to your belly, going down to play with the waistband of your panties, then teasing his finger on your mound, sending shivers all over your body, getting you even more wet.

"Is it okay if I touch you here?"

Even if every part of your brain was telling you that you should stop before this goes further, you nodded like a fool, looking for his mouth again.

His fingers made they way under your panties. He could felt the smooth skin, probably never touched before because... he could feel how wet you were and—

"So you're really a virgin," he said amused, breaking the kiss, your lips still lingered by a string of drool. "Virgins get wet so easily."

You bite your lip. "Is that a problem? Cause if so, you should stop."

Joel chuckled, low and deep, his lips ghosting over yours. "Stop?" he murmured, his hand slipping just a little lower, teasing. "Darlin', I've been fightin' the urge to touch you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Now that I have you like this... I ain't goin' anywhere."

He spreaded your legs, played with your panty til your crotch. "Then why do you make it sound so embarrassing?" you asked sheepishly.

He finally reached your slit, you gasped, you were a bit scared. Are you gonna fuck for the first time with your dad's best friend? Would it hurt? Would it be weird after? A lot is going through your mind, but he cleared all your thoughts.

He pressed his lips against yours as he drawed circles on your clit, he could feel how needy and swollen it was, you must've been aching. You muffled a whimper against his lips, which he found really hot.

Instinctively you grinded your hips, just seeking for more pleasure. Your fingers curled on his hair, clutching it. He loves to feel how you writhe beneath him, his fingers exploring your folds, until they found your hole.

He didn't went rough, he was slow, deliberate, slowly stretching you out with his fingers—thick and strong. You couldn't help to moan, breaking the kiss. It was the first time you get this far with someone, lust runs in your veins.

Joel grins at the sound of your moan, enjoying the way you're falling apart under his touch.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Let go. Let me hear you."

He continues to move his fingers, adding a second one to stretch you even further, his movements still slow and deliberate but with a hint of impatience.

"You're so tight for me, babygirl"

"Oh, God," you whimpered.

Joel's fingers are slick with your juices as he moves them in and out of you, his movements growing more urgent with each thrust.

Your skin is so smooth and soft, but you're also so hot and tight. He can feel every muscle in your body clenching around him, trying to pull him in deeper. It's driving him crazy, making him want to take you even more.

He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You've been touched like this before?"

You shook your head. "No."

He smirked, he knew it. You were a pain in the ass, you loved getting on his nerves, you loved getting in his head because deep down you wanted him like this.

He stopped working his fingers in you, to get rid of your panties, with no warning, he just threw the garment somewhere in the room, changing positions to toss your calves over his shouders, holding your hips.

Your hand instinctively covered your slit, you were embarrassed, after all, he was someone you knew, someone who is close to your dad, someone who—

"Don't hide from me, angel," he said taking your hands to his lips. "I wanna taste you."

"Joel—" you swallowed. "I'm—"

"You don't need to be shy with me,"

He drew your hands away, just to see how flushed, swollen and needy your pussy was. Glistening in your own juices.

His gaze made you squirm, made you feel all your blood rushing to your cheeks. It wasn't bad—it was the opposite. It was dark and deep, like he was starving and had just laid eyes on a feast laid out before him.

You could feel his breath, his lips barely touching your folds. He wanted to feel every part of you, never thought he would have his best friend's daughter laid in front of him like this, showing all her vulnerability to him.

Joel's tongue darts out to lick his lips, his gaze fixated on your body. He moves his mouth lower, kissing and sucking on your inner thighs, leaving a trail of marks behind.

"Don't be a tease, Joel," you whined.

Joel grins against your skin, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he says, his voice a mixture of amusement and desire.

He moves his mouth to your clit, sucking on it hard as his fingers continue to move inside you, curling and rubbing against your sensitive spot.

It was heaven. The way his tongue swirled on you, the way he knew exactly how to do it, the way his fingers kept working on you, taking you to the edge.

Joel's tongue is like a snake, moving slowly but firmly, tasting every inch of you. He licks and nibbles at your folds, exploring every curve and contour, savoring the taste of your juices. His tongue is slick and warm, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

You were biting your lip, trying to muffle your moans but failing miserably. You were curling your toes, so close to the orgasm.

"Joel, please—" you yelped.

Joel lifts his head for a moment, his lips glistening with your juices. "I know you are, angel," he says, his voice low and rough. "You're close. I can feel it. Just let go, let yourself fall apart for me, babygirl."

He dives back in, this time, he's gonna taste you directly from the source. His tongue plunging into your core, searching for that sweet spot that will push you over the edge.

Joel's tongue continues to move inside you, thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm. He moves his hands to your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

"You taste like heaven," he repeats, his voice strained with pleasure.

He flicks his tongue against your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Enough to make you come.

Writhing, your legs shaking because it was too much. You let yourself fall apart, panting, moaning, saying his name.

He pressed his lips on your thighs, then slowly pulled your calves from his shoulders.

You were just recovering, but he just took off his jeans, you were amused, biting your lip, but once you saw his bulge, your gaze changed.

Surprised and... a little scared. It was too big, it will defenitely hurt, also, now that you see that this is going serious, you don't have condoms, but you want to do it.

You sit on your knees to help him getting rid of his shirt and his boxers. You adored his body, you've seen it before, but not like this, so... raw. His cock was dripping precum, it was swollen, his base hairy... you were eager to touch him.

Your gaze was sticked to his cock, the way he held it. "Can I touch it?" you asked sheepishly looking at him through your lashes.

His cock twitched in response. "Yeah, you can touch me,"

You swallowed and the tip of your finger barely touched his tip... it wasn't even entirely when he made you lay back in bed. He couldn't take it, you were almost too innocent, the way your first thought was to touch the tip and not fist him, the way your finger looked so small. He won't last long if you keep doing that.

"That's unfair—" you knitted your brows.

"I'm sorry, angel. You will touch me tomorrow, but right now I need to fuck you."

Your cheeks burned and your knees were still together. He laid his hands on them but you talked before he could spread them.

"Joel, I don't have any condoms,"

He chuckled. "Me neither,"

"What should we do?" your face almost screamed panic, it was really sweet and also, of course you had a point, but his mind only worked for pleasure right now.

"You want us to stop?" you shook your head. "Okay, then trust me, I'll pull out on time,"

"But it's still risky—"

"Jesus," he finally spreaded you open. "I ain't gonna hurt you, I promise,"

You nodded, trusting blindly in him.. because right now, you could only think about your own pleasure too.

He teased his tip all over your slit, mixing your juices, rubbing his cock against your slit, feeling how small it felt. He didn't want to hurt you, he knew you'd feel fucking good to fuck.

"Take your shirt off," he growled.

You didn't need to be told twice, you tugged the piece of fabric over your head, revealing your bare breasts to him. He had imagined them before, how your nipples would be, back in the pool, in the beach, they were covered just by a rectangle but they were hiding so much.

He went inside slowly. Your hands grasped to his arms, whining and made a face of pain. He knew it would hurt but he knows you'll feel good in a couple of seconds.

Once he was finally inside, he didn't move for a couple of seconds—you felt them like an eternity. You were choking him, you were warm, soft... tight, it was too much.

"Please—" you whimpered.

He locked his gaze on yours and thrusted. It hurt, and it kept hurting until it didn't, until all the pain was replaced with pleasure and lust.

He was being as gentle as possible. You wrapped his torso, sticking him even closer to you.

His weight all over you but you could only plea for more. Your walls throbbed and so did his cock. It felt good. Joel was making you squirm, losing your mind over him.

Moaning, clawing your nails on his back, he's sure you're gonna leave marks, scratches, but he couldn't care less.

"You're taking it so good," he groaned.

You hummed something incoherent in response, couldn't even mouth a word.

"So tight," his head found its way to the crook of your neck. "Such a good girl,"

He nudged your g-spot, thrusting and nibbling your neck, leaving little marks, feeling your intoxicating scent.

The way you moaned his name, softly and needy, made him lost his mind.

You whined. "Joel, don't—" your eyes roll involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, that's it, come for me," he cooed on your ear.

And you needed less. You followed his order, losing yourself, reaching your second orgasm. Your walls choked him, he never felt anything tighter before. You were milking him... and he would've shot his load inside you, God knows he would've.

But he couldn't take the risk. He pulled out with a loud pop sound of juices.

He jerked off until his cum was costing your slit. It was so much he felt like a teen.

Your body was still trembling, weak from the overwhelming sensations, but you didn't regret a thing. Every nerve felt alive, sensitive to even the faintest touch of the sheets beneath you.

Joel stood up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. A moment later, he returned, a warm cloth in hand.

He was gentle as he cleaned you, careful, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary. You appreciated that—the quiet care in his actions, the way he wasn't rushing to leave.

You expected him to grab his things and go, to put some distance between you now that it was over. But to your surprise, Joel didn't move toward the door. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, then slipped under the covers beside you, his warmth seeping into your skin as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light. "I really enjoyed it," you admitted, your voice soft, a little shy.

Joel let out a low hum, his hand finding your waist beneath the sheets. "Me too," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. "More than you think."

His words settled deep inside you, warm and reassuring. You let yourself relax, curling into his side, and when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, you leaned into the touch.

For the first time that night, you didn't overthink. You just let yourself be held.

Joel let out a slow breath, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your waist. You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice quieter now, softer.

"I'm sorry," you murmured.

His brows furrowed. "For what?"

You swallowed, fingers playing with the edge of the sheet. "For being... I don't know, a little much sometimes. I know I can be stubborn, or—" you let out a small, nervous laugh—"annoying, like you said."

Joel shook his head immediately. "Don’t say that," he muttered, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "Drives me crazy when you push my buttons, yeah, but that don’t mean I don’t like it." His voice dipped lower, rougher. "I like it too damn much."

You blinked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

He exhaled, his thumb running along your ribs. "I’m sorry for makin’ you feel like you were a bother. You never were. Never will be."

A comfortable silence settled between you, warm and easy, interrupted only by the rhythmic crash of the waves outside. You traced lazy patterns over his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart before finally speaking again.

"So..." you hesitated, biting your lip. "Are we gonna do it again?"

Joel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Sweetheart," he said, amused, "you damn near killed me. Need a minute before you wear me out completely."

You laughed, lightly smacking his arm, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as he pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.

"Not now. I know old men usually take—"

He laughed, hard, delighted. "Old man? This old man just made you have two orgasms in a row."

You rolled your eyes, but still could feel your cheeks warm. "I was talking about doing it tomorrow? Maybe? I mean, I would like to get better, learn new things,"

Joel smirked, shifting onto his side so he could look at you properly. His fingers brushed over your hip, lazy and warm. "Oh, now look at you," he murmured, voice dipping into something teasing. "All shy all of a sudden."

Your face burned. "I’m not shy," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Mm-hmm." His thumb traced slow circles against your skin. "So let me get this straight—you’re askin’ me to teach you a few things?"

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, low and knowing. You swallowed hard, lips parting, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

Joel grinned, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed your ear. "That’s real cute, sweetheart," he murmured. "But you gotta use your words."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Forget I said anything."

His chuckle rumbled against your skin as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "Oh, no. I heard you loud and clear," he mused, his breath warm against your skin. "And don’t you worry—I’ll make sure you learn real good."

You sighed, utterly spent, and rolled onto your stomach, your body sinking into the mattress. The exhaustion tugged at you almost instantly, a deep, pleasant heaviness settling into your limbs. Your eyes fluttered shut, the thought drifted lazily through your mind—maybe tomorrow, you could sneak into his room. The idea made your lips curve slightly before sleep pulled you under and within moments, your breathing evened out, soft and steady.

Joel propped himself up on one elbow, watching you. His fingers ghosted over the curve of your back, barely touching, just tracing the shape of you beneath the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the distant sound of waves crashing outside, but inside his head—inside his chest—everything was loud.

He should feel guilty. Hell, maybe he did, a little. Not because he regretted it—because he didn’t. Not even for a second. But because it was you. His best friend's daughter. And not only had he slept with you, but he'd been your first. That should’ve weighed on him more, should’ve made him hesitate, should’ve made him pull away before any of this happened.

But looking at you now—peaceful, lips slightly parted as you breathed, hair splayed out over the pillow—any guilt that tried to surface didn’t stand a chance.

Because you were beautiful. And, God knows, you drove him crazy.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling quietly.

He was in trouble. 

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the resort’s dining area, casting a warm glow over the table set with fresh fruit, toast, and steaming cups of coffee. The soft hum of conversation filled the space, blending with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

You sat across from Joel, the cool tile of the floor smooth beneath your bare foot as you stretched out, pressing lightly against his leg beneath the table. A small, teasing touch.

Joel didn’t react at first. Just sipped his coffee, gaze flicking up to meet yours over the rim of his cup. But when you dragged your foot higher, brushing along his calf, the muscle in his jaw ticked.

Your lips curled slightly, feigning innocence as you reached for a piece of fruit, taking a slow bite.

"You’re in a good mood this morning," your dad commented, flipping through the resort’s activity pamphlet. "Had fun last night?"

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around your fork.

Joel cleared his throat, setting his mug down a little too carefully.

You forced yourself to nod, hoping the heat in your face wasn’t too obvious. "Yeah," you said, voice just a little too high. "I had a really good time."

Joel let out the smallest chuckle, shaking his head as he reached for the butter.

"Glad to hear it," your dad said, turning a page. "This trip’s all about relaxing. You deserve to enjoy yourself, sweetheart."

You nodded, glancing at Joel, at the way he was watching you now—something dark, something knowing.

"And," your dad added, stretching back in his chair. "Summer’s just getting started."

Your stomach fluttered. If only dad knew...

Yeah. Summer had just begun.

[saturnyo]

Call Me Castillo

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Reader

Summary: A story where the boss and the secretary turn to fake dating and eventually fall in love for real. Harry Castillo had it all. Money, a thriving business. But the media still painted him as a womanizer and a heartthrob. Then there's you. Dumped at your engagement party in front of 200 people, completely humiliated. Work was regular, a constant in your now broken life, until your boss came to you and proposed a plan. The two of you at the upcoming gala announce you are dating, to help get the press off his back and your ex off yours. Everything was going fine until lines began to blur and real feelings began to surface.

Warnings: mentions of public humiliation, no smut, some swearing, a tiny bit of fluff

WC: 1.3k

Song choice: Good Days by SZA

"Tobias...." you said in a warning tone.

Your best friend, and unfortunately, your coworker, had just said the most ridiculous thing to you. And considering how your week has gone, that was saying something.

He didn't even react, just leaned against the counter peeling a banana like he didn't just commit a verbal hate crime.

"What girl, I'm saying."

Like that somehow made it better.

You stared at him, blinking slowly. "You can't just say that, Toby."

"I just did," he said, casually taking a bite of his banana. He walks over to you, sitting down.

"You didn't have to," you muttered, rubbing your temples. You could feel a headache forming. "There are just some things you shouldn't say. And that was one of them."

Tobias took another bite of the banana, just completely unfazed. "I'm just saying, you were dumped at your engagement party. Publicly. And not only that, but in front of 200 people with a live string quartet. If I were you, I would be in the Bahamas drinking pina coladas till I forgot my name."

You groaned, hitting your head against the break room table. "Thanks for that. I almost went a full hour without thinking about it."

He gave you a sympathetic but still a jerk kind of look. A type that only a best friend can give and get away with. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to go through something like that and then come to work like it didn't-"

"I'm fine," you cut him off, mid-sentence. "I am. I need to keep working, and I'll keep being fine."

Tobias gave you another sad smile, but ultimately let it go. After the blunder that was your engagement party, he was the one person you could come to and talk with without judgment, he and his boyfriend, Emmett. You've been friends with both of them since the first week you started working here. It was honestly an absolute gamble to get the job, but you still decided to try, and here you are, two years later, with a 115,000 salary.

When the offer letter came through, your jaw dropped. You had gone through three rounds of interviews and didn't expect to hear that ding in your email inbox.

115,000...

To manage schedules, coordinate meetings, and to make sure Harry Castillo doesn't lose his damn mind. It was shocking. Generous. You'd almost asked him if it was a typo. But Harry said it like a fact, not a favor.

"This job comes with high expectations," he said. "You'll be compensated accordingly."

And you did. Handsomely.

"Now I have a meeting with Mr. Castillo in ten."

You got up, throwing away your coffee cup and waving bye to Tobias.

The walk to Harry's office feels longer than usual. Walking down the hallway felt like a runway of pitying looks and snickering glances—a fighting gauntlet you hadn't signed up for. Maria? or Miranda? You couldn't remember who was looking at you, pursing her lips with a sympathetic but holier-than-thou smile. John? Standing by a water cooler gave you a weak thumbs up like you were about to go and win a marathon instead of walking into a status meeting with Harry Castillo.

You lifted your chin, straightened your blouse, and kept walking.

You weren't going to cry in the breakroom. Or break down in the hallway. No, you were going to keep holding your head high and continue walking towards Harry's office. Not even your boss, the great Mr. Castillo, will see any glimmer of displeasure or heartbreak.

Whether it was true or not.

The imposing wood door was sleek and taunting. You breathed deeply in and out a few times to compose yourself, then you knocked on the door and stepped inside.

He didn't look up right away. Harry was standing by the floor to ceiling windows, sleeves rolled to his elbows, phone in hand while holding his coffee. All work and no play.

Without turning around, he speaks to you. It's not rude, it's something he's done for over two years and you've gotten used to it. Just second nature.

"Sit," he said, voice calm- low but commanding. In that special way of his. Finally glancing your way, Harry's warm brown eyes settle onto you with a calculated precision. His mind is always thinking about business and how to keep over twelve thousand employees with a job.

You quickly obeyed and sat in the chair in front of his desk as his hands folded on the mohagany wood, placing down a Manila folder. It was labeled, "sensitive."

You knew the drill. Let him keep thinking what's on his mind and he'll speak first.

After a beat, Harry finally shifted in his seat, leaning slightly back creating a moment of a laid back atmosphere. You sat there spine straight, rigid waiting for what he wanted to speak about on today's agenda. He slides the folder closer to you, still wordless with a determined look on his face.

"The CFO has submitted a quarterly report, and Legal has requested a pre-brief with you ahead of Thursday."

You grabbed the folder, flipping it open revealing the documents Harry mentioned. Two years ago, this was basically another language. Having to learn basic business jargon was difficult but he was unusually patient with you. Helping correct mistakes that you didn't even notice before they were sent off.

"Got it. I'll block thirty minutes on your calendar two days from now. Want it before or after the sync?"

"Before. These types of things always run long." He paused. "They always do."

You smiled faintly but didn't comment.

Harry leaned forward slightly. "Also there is a charity gala in three weeks. I don't normally go those types of things. As you know, I rather donate behind the cameras but I've decided to go this time and I want you to be my plus one."

That made you freeze, heart stuttering enough to feel it. "Your plus one? Are you sure? I'm not the high society type and-"

"Of course. You deserve to be there just as much as anyone else," he said, cutting in smoothly before you could spiral.

You smiled again. a little bigger this time.

You tried not to read into it. Wondering whether or not it was professional or personal courtesy. But your hands were warm and you could feel a pulse in your throat.

"Ok," you said softly. "I'll be there"

Harry gave a small nod, satisfied. "The event packet will be sent to you in next week or two. And a styling team with Tobias will be there at your apartment the day of to get you ready."

You blinked, trying to make sense of what he said. "A styling team?" You asked

"It's a high profile party. Plus I don't want you to have to worry about makeup, the outfit, and whatever else you'll need." Harry responded, like it was a normal every day thing for him to have a full team at his disposal and it was.

You bit your lip, focusing back on the Manila folder in your hands. "That's generous."

"It's practical," Harry said, without missing a beat.

A moment passes

"Let me know if Legal needs to change the pre brief and we'll move some stuff around to make do"

"Understood."

You nodded, standing up, carefully picking up the folder. As you turned to go, his voice followed you- calm, low, and impossible to ignore

"Don't let anyone out there get in your head."

You paused mid-step.

"You aren't the one who should be embarrassed right now."

Your breath caught. Slowly, you turned back to him.

His eyes hadn't moved from his laptop. Like he hadn't just taken the one thing that had been bothering you and crushed it to dust in a matter of seconds.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Thank you, Mr. Castillo."

"Harry...you can call me Harry." He corrected, not looking up.

And that was the last thing he said. As you walked out of the office, his words still ringing in your head, changing you in a way that you did not expect.

[xbeababyx]

The most beautiful smile in the world.

[missyorkswhore]

Pedro is a slut

[millers-girl555]

i saw materialist today and i can’t stop thinking about harry castillo

[kittenlittle24]

Chapter 9: A Charged Silence

Masterlist

Story Masterlist

Previous, Next

Pedro Pascal x Fem!reader

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

Tag list: @pascal-mynightlyobsession @wanniiieeee @theendwhereibegin

Your eyelids fluttered open to the pale glow of morning light sliding through Pedro's floor-to-ceiling windows. His arm was a dead weight around your waist, his chest pressed warm against your back, his breathing still slow with sleep. For one hazy moment, you let yourself pretend today wasn't the day he'd leave.

Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned into your shoulder, his grip tightening. "No."

You twisted to check the screen. "Seven-fifteen."

"Bullshit." His voice was gravel-rough, his lips dragging lazily down the curve of your neck. "Tell the plane to fuck off."

You laughed, but it dissolved into a gasp as his hand slid up your ribcage, calloused fingertips tracing the dip of your waist. "Pedro—"

"Mm?" He kissed the hinge of your jaw, unhurried, like time didn't exist.

"You have a flight."

"Later." He rolled you onto your back, his body slotting against yours with practiced ease. His hair was a disaster, his stubble scraping your cheek as he kissed you—deep and slow, as if he could memorize the shape of your mouth. You arched into him, fingers tangled in his curls, the world narrowing to the heat of his palms and the way he sighed your name against your lips.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he nuzzled your nose. "Coffee can wait."

You pulled him back down.

By the time you made it to the kitchen, the sun had climbed higher, gilding the stainless steel of Pedro's absurdly fancy espresso machine. He moved through the space like he owned it (he did), all barefoot confidence and sleep-soft smiles as he poured coffee, nudging your hip with his own when you reached for the creamer.

"You're burning the bacon," you said, nodding to the pan where smoke curled ominously.

He swore, flipping the charred strips with a wince. "Distracted."

"By what?" You stole a sip from his mug—bitter, no sugar, just like him.

His grin was wolfish. "By you. In my shirt." His gaze dragged over the oversized fabric hanging off your shoulder. "It's a problem."

You rolled your eyes but let him crowd you against the counter, his hands bracketing your hips as he kissed you again, lazy and sweet with the taste of coffee.

Later, you sat cross-legged on his bed, Pedro's script spread across your lap as you scribbled in the margins. He paced the room, tossing clothes into his duffel with haphazard precision.

"This line's weird," you said, frowning. "Would your character really say 'I'd die for you' like it's nothing?"

Pedro paused, looking up from a tangle of charger cables. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's too easy. Love's not about grand gestures—it's about showing up." You scratched out the line, rewriting it. "I'd choose you every time."

He stared at you, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. Then he was kneeling on the bed, caging you in, the script forgotten as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. "How do you always know?"

Your breath hitched. "Know what?"

"What I'm trying to say."

Before you could answer, his phone buzzed—another reminder. One hour left.

The car arrived too soon.

Pedro lingered in the doorway, his duffel slung over one shoulder, his free hand cradling your face. His thumb traced your cheekbone like he was memorizing you.

"I'll call you when I land," he said, voice thick.

You nodded, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

He kissed you one last time—slow, desperate, his fingers tangled in your hair—then pulled back just enough to whisper:

"Te amo."

The words hung between you, soft and unintended. His breath caught. Your stomach dropped.

A beat of stunned silence.

"Uh—" Your brain short-circuited. "Have a safe flight. Send pictures."

Pedro blinked, his ears turning pink. "Fuck. I—yeah. Yeah, of course."

The air crackled with something electric and awkward. He cleared his throat, adjusted his bag strap, stared at the floor like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Okay," he muttered. "Bye."

The door clicked shut behind Pedro.

You stood frozen in his apartment, surrounded by the remnants of him—half-empty coffee cups, rumpled sheets, the script still open to your rewritten line—heart pounding like you'd just lost something you hadn't known you could have.

Outside, the car pulled away.

Silence.

For three heartbeats, you stood frozen in his loft, your skin still buzzing where he'd touched you. The bed smelled like him—coffee and that stupid expensive cologne. Your tank top was draped over the arm of his chair. Your sandals by his door.

Te amo.

You moved suddenly, grabbing your scattered clothes. The shorts from the floor. The bra dangling off the closet doorknob. The hair tie you'd left on the bathroom sink—no, don't leave traces—but your fingers hesitated before snatching it up.

Keys. Phone. Breathe.

The elevator ride down to the parking garage took a lifetime.

The steering wheel burned under your grip. You cranked the AC up full blast, but it did nothing for the heat crawling up your neck.

Your phone buzzed in the cup holder.

Pedro: [Photo of sad airport breakfast sandwich]

Pedro: This should be a war crime.

The forced casualness made your teeth ache. You could see him—knee bouncing in some plastic terminal chair, thumb hovering over send.

You swallowed hard and typed:

You: At least you're not stuck on the 405.

The freeway stretched ahead, sunlight glinting off chrome. All you could see was the way his throat had worked when he realized what he'd said. The way his fingers had trembled—just slightly—when they brushed your cheek.

You didn't knock. Just threw open the door hard enough to make the framed photos rattle.

Lena nearly dropped her smoothie. "Jesus fucking—"

Before she could finish, you blurted it out:

"Pedro said te amo and I told him to have a safe flight like some kind of Delta Airlines customer service rep."

Silence.

Lena slowly set down her drink. "Oh, honey."

You collapsed onto her couch while she poured wine straight into your mouth.

Your phone buzzed:

Pedro: [Selfie making a pained face]

Pedro: They just played the Mandalorian theme over airport speakers.

Lena snorted. "He's reaching."

You: Sounds like karma for stealing my sunglasses.

Pedro: [Photo of said sunglasses on his face]

Pedro: Finders keepers.

Lena grabbed your phone. "Oh no he didn't—"

The texts escalated:

Pedro: Boarding now.

Pedro: [Photo of boarding pass with YOUR NAME as emergency contact]

Lena's jaw dropped. "This man is down catastrophic."

You groaned into a throw pillow.

Pedro: Airplane mode.

Pedro: [Last-second blurry selfie of him pretending to sleep]

You were officially out of excuses.

The last text sat heavy in your hands, the image of Pedro's sleepy smirk blurring as your vision doubled. Lena's couch creaked when she sat beside you, pressing a fresh glass of wine into your shaking fingers.

"Okay," she said softly, bumping her shoulder against yours. "Tell me everything from the beginning."

You took a shuddering breath. Outside, the afternoon sun painted golden stripes across Lena's hardwood floors—the same sunlight that was probably streaming through Pedro's airplane window right now, glinting off the stolen sunglasses still perched on his nose.

Somewhere between the wine and the way your phone kept lighting up with notifications from his delayed flight, the truth settled in your chest like a stone:

This wasn't just some fling. And you were terrible at pretending otherwise.

The last text sat heavy in your hands, Pedro's sleepy smirk blurring as your vision doubled. Lena's couch creaked as she settled beside you, pressing a fresh glass of wine into your shaking fingers.

"Okay," she said, bumping her shoulder against yours. "First time at his place and he drops the L-bomb? Start from the top."

You swallowed hard. Outside, the afternoon sun painted golden stripes across Lena's hardwood floors—the same sunlight probably glinting off the damn sunglasses he'd swiped from you last weekend. He'd plucked them right off your face, laughing when you tried to grab them back, slipping them on like they'd always belonged to him. "Finders keepers, cariño."

Lena studied you over her wineglass. "You're panicking because...?"

"Because it's too soon," you whispered. "Because he's literally on a plane right now. Because he said it like it was nothing—"

"Like it was obvious," Lena finished. The knowing look she leveled at you cut straight through your chest.

Your phone buzzed.

Flight DL 2372 Delayed - Now Arriving 8:17PM

Three more hours of limbo. Three more hours for him to sit there in stale airplane air, replaying those two words in his head, fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest.

Lena smirked as you drained your wine. "He's gonna call the second he lands." She plucked the phone from your death grip. "And you're gonna answer."

8:17 PM came and went.

You'd kept yourself busy—half a bottle of wine deep, helping Lena fold laundry (which you never did), scrolling aimlessly through your phone, staring at your unread texts like they might change if you blinked enough times.

Nothing from Pedro.

You weren't going to text first. Absolutely not. No way.

...But maybe his flight was still taxiing. Maybe he'd forgotten to turn off airplane mode. Maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move—

Nope. You shot up from the couch, wobbling slightly. "I need carbs."

Lena watched, unimpressed, as you beelined for her kitchen and started rummaging through cabinets. "Uh-huh."

"I mean it," you insisted, waving a half-empty bag of pretzels like it was a lifeline. "You know what happens when I drink on an empty stomach."

"What happens is you get emotional and text your situationship at 2 AM," she said dryly, lifting her wineglass. "And you don't have an excuse this time, because he already texted you."

Your stomach flipped. "No, he didn't."

Lena just arched a brow and pointed at your phone—where, sure enough, a new message lit up the screen.

Pedro: Landed.

That was it. Just one word.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your thumb against the cool glass like it might tell you more. No missed you, no talk soon, no what the hell happened back there?

Just landed.

Like he hadn't just changed everything. Like he hadn't looked at you with those dark, steady eyes and said te amo like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he wasn't regretting it now.

Lena whistled lowly. "Oof. The ellipsis is deafening."

You threw a pretzel at her. "There is no ellipsis."

"There might as well be."

You chewed your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What were you supposed to say? Glad you made it? Cool, have fun pretending that didn't happen?

Before you could overthink yourself into oblivion, your phone buzzed again.

Pedro: Call you when I'm home.

You stared.

Lena sat up straighter. "Okay. That's something."

It was something. He was calling. Not texting. Not waiting.

Your pulse tripped as you forced your voice into something resembling nonchalance. "Yeah. Guess so."

Lena smirked, tipping her glass toward you. "Buckle up, babe."

You clinked your glass against hers. Then you drained it.

By the time your phone rang, you'd already changed shirts twice, brushed your teeth (why?), and paced Lena's living room so much she threatened to sedate you.

Now, standing in the kitchen, staring at Pedro's name lighting up your screen, your stomach twisted itself into knots.

Lena, sprawled on the couch, pointed at the phone. "Well? Answer."

You took a breath, pressed accept, and—

"Hey."

Pedro's voice was warm, low, a little rough, like he hadn't spoken much since landing. The faint sound of a door clicking shut in the background, followed by the soft rustle of sheets as he shifted, made you feel like you were right there in the room with him.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "Hey."

A pause. Just the muffled hum of hotel air conditioning, distant voices from the hallway, and the occasional clink of glass from the floor above.

Then, softer, like he was propping himself up on a pillow, "You okay?"

Your throat went dry. "Yeah. You?"

A humorless huff. "I've had better nights."

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. "Pedro—"

"I meant it." His words were quieter now, a steady reassurance. No hesitation this time, just the sound of his breath, slow and even, as if he was taking his time to make sure you heard him clearly.

Your breath hitched.

"I didn't say it because I was leaving," he continued, his voice a little lower now, like he was leaning in, "Or because I wanted something from you." A beat. "I just—do."

The floor beneath you seemed to tilt, like the weight of his words had shifted everything.

Lena's gaze snapped to yours, wide-eyed, mouthing what is he saying?

You ignored her, pressing a hand to your forehead. "I—"

"You don't have to say anything," Pedro said quickly, the soft sound of a key being tossed onto a nightstand in the background. "I don't expect—" He exhaled, frustration threading through his words. "I just didn't want you to think it was a mistake."

Something in your chest cracked open.

Because you had thought that. Or at least, you'd been afraid of it.

But he wasn't taking it back.

He meant it.

Lena shot you a say something look.

You cleared your throat, gripping the counter for balance. "I don't—" Your voice faltered. "I don't know what to do with this."

Pedro let out a quiet, breathy laugh, the sound warm despite the exhaustion threading through it. "Me neither."

Your fingers curled into your palm, a grounding pressure. "But you still said it."

"I did."

Another silence. But not awkward, not tense. Just there. Holding both of you in the space between what had been and what would come next.

Pedro sighed, his breath deep and tired, like he was sinking back into the bed. "I should go. I'm barely keeping my eyes open."

Your heart clenched. "Okay."

"Yeah."

Neither of you hung up.

His voice softened further, like he was already halfway to sleep. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

Your stomach flipped, the excitement fluttering in your chest. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

A quiet chuckle, almost a hum of affection, slipped through the line. "Goodnight, cariño."

The line clicked off.

You stared at the screen, at your reflection in the darkened glass.

Lena's voice broke through the silence: "Soooo..."

You turned slowly, the warmth of the call still lingering in the air.

She grinned, mischievous. "That sounded like a man in love."

Your heart pounded. The words felt heavy on your chest.

Because, yeah.

It did.

[httpsastral]

so you're telling me that in FIVE YEARS no one in Jackson got with him???? HELL NAH i don't believe it

[sweetlovepascal]

steady hands

pairings joel miller x reader

summary you don’t feel the pain as much as you feel his panic. joel’s hands are trembling and no matter how many times you say you’re fine, he keeps looking at you like he’s about to lose everything all over again.

content angst, established relationship, minor injury, joel panics, hurt/comfort, protective joel, joel can’t cope with you getting hurt, blood mention, emotional vulnerability, soft reassurance, love in the silence.

masterlist

the sting in your side wasn’t the worst you’d ever felt. a clean graze from a bullet, nothing more.

you’d been lucky. lucky the shooter had a shaky aim, lucky joel had dropped him with a single shot before anything worse could happen.

but joel wasn’t acting like you were lucky. he was acting like the world had just ended. again.

“sit,” he barked the second you both made it inside an abandoned warehouse.

his voice was low but sharp, one hand steering you toward the sagging couch in the corner while the other yanked his backpack off with a jerk.

“i’m fine—”

“didn’t ask,” he cut you off, rummaging through his pack for the med kit, hands moving too fast, too frantic.

you sighed, wincing when the motion shifted your weight and pulled at your side. that made him pause. just for a second. but it was enough to see the flash of something raw behind his eyes. fear.

he knelt in front of you and reached for your shirt. “lemme see it.”

you held still while he cut away the fabric around the wound with his pocketknife. his hands were shaking. subtle, but noticeable. joel miller’s hands never shook. not even in a firefight.

“i told you i’m okay,” you tried again, softer this time.

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the blood, excessive. enough to redden your shirt and smear across his fingertips. his jaw worked like he was biting something back.

“you ain’t okay,” he muttered. “you’re bleedin’. that ain’t okay with me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face made you stop. not angry. just haunted.

joel poured alcohol over the wound without warning. you jumped, cursing, and he flinched like he’d felt it too.

“shit. sorry,” he breathed. “i just—fuck, i should’ve seen the bastard comin’. should’ve had you behind me.”

“it wasn’t your fault,” you said gently. “he was hidden in the trees. could’ve happened to either of us.”

you hissed sharply when the sting flared up, and joel froze, eyes flicking up to catch your reaction.

his jaw clenched again as he started wrapping the bandage, each movement careful now, too careful, like he thought he’d hurt you worse if he didn’t go slow.

when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“next time,” he said, eyes locked on the gauze, “you let me go first. that way if someone gets hurt, it’s me. that’s the deal.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the tremor in his voice. “joel—”

“i ain’t losin’ you.” his eyes met yours finally, and there it was. all of it. the panic. the guilt. the storm he was trying to hold back behind that rugged, stoic shell.

“you get that? you go down, i don’t—i can’t…”

you bit your lip, trying to keep still, but the pain was sharp and sudden.

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” joel said softly, his hand resting warm and steady on your side.

“i’m right here. you’re okay, okay? you’re tough as hell—tougher than anyone i know. ain’t nothing gonna break you, not while i’m around.”

you swallowed, the sting still sharp, but his words wrapped around you like a shield.

“just lean on me, baby girl. i got you.” he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, thumb trailing gently over your cheek. “you’re safe now. i'm here.”

he trailed off, chest rising and falling like he’d just finished running. his hands were still on your side, gently holding your wrist as if feeling your pulse would convince him you were still here.

you leaned forward and gently cupped the side of his face. “i’m okay. you stopped it before it got worse. you saved me. like you always do.”

his eyes slipped closed at your touch. he turned into it slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

“i shouldn’t’ve let you get in front of me,” he whispered. “i’m supposed to protect you.”

“you do. every day.”

he pulled in a shaky breath. “not well enough.”

you kissed his forehead. just a light press, just enough to ground him.

“joel. look at me.”

he did.

“you’re allowed to be scared,” you told him. “but i’m not made of glass. i’ve got your back out there too, you know.”

“don’t want you to have to,” he admitted. “i’d take every hit if i could.”

you smiled gently, your thumb brushing over his stubbled cheek.

“i know. but we’re a team, remember? and i need you to keep it together when i get a scratch. because if our roles were reversed, i know you’d be telling me not to panic.”

joel huffed a breath. almost a laugh, but it cracked too hard to be lighthearted.

“yeah, well. turns out i ain’t so good at takin’ my own advice.”

“you’re doing fine. a little overdramatic, but fine.”

“overdramatic,” he echoed with a scoff, wrapping the last bit of gauze around your side. “damn got a hole shot in you and i’m overdramatic.”

“joel.”

his eyes flicked up. you held his gaze.

“i’m here. i’m safe. and i’m not going anywhere.”

something in him melted then. his shoulders dropped, the tension draining slowly, like your words had finally pushed through the wall.

he pressed a kiss to your bandaged side, then rested his forehead against it. “you ever scare me like that again, i’m tyin’ you to the goddamn porch.”

you grinned. “you’d miss me after five minutes.”

he was smiling now, just a little, his hand curling gently around your uninjured one.

and even though you were the one bleeding, he looked like he was the one who’d just barely survived.

you didn’t say anything more. you just held onto him, letting the silence stretch until his breathing slowed and his hands stopped shaking.

letting him know without words this time that you were his. and you weren’t going anywhere.

not now. not ever.

[ohhoneypascal]

“Say goodnight to uncle grumpy”

Brb while I’ll fucking cry

[saturnyo]

Bound to Ruin

Pairing: Javier Pena x Reader

Summary: You are a local translator and agent working for the DEA, and Javier was your unwilling partner. He flirts with everyone, but you are immune to his charms. You see through him, and he hates that he wants you anyway.

Warnings: Bilingual Dialogue (English/Spanish), Praise Kink, P-in-V Penetration, Creampie (implied), Soft Aftercare, Spanish Dirty Talk

WC: 1.8k

A/N: There is some Spanish dialogue, and since I'm not a speaker of said language, I had to use a translator. I apologize if the translations are wrong.

Song choice: Crazy in Love cover by Sofia Karlberg

Bogota, Colombia - 2:45 P.M.

The embassy was filled to the brim with sounds of keyboards clacking and feet scurrying across the floor trying to get to where they need to as quickly as possible.

Working for the DEA was your dream come true. You loved the nitty gritty sides of police work and even delving into dangerous places to help bring down the world’s most notorious criminals. Which landed you here in Bogota, Colombia, all the way from good ole California.

You were assigned to the Medellin Cartel Case, a dangerous drug trafficking ring. There is no place in the world where they are not familiar with who they are. Of course, you wouldn’t be working alone. Alongside a team of other capable agents, you all put your collective minds together to intercept any information you came across. But off to the side with that annoying cocky grin of his was Javier Pena. He would lean back in his chair like this job was only for him to relax and sleep his way across Colombia.

He’s the type of guy who could make every girl swoon with a smile and a corny pick-up line, but you? You are different. You were immune to his charms, and that fact alone made him want you more.

You were sitting at your desk when he walked up to you, slamming a Manila folder down on your desk. His own was just a few feet away, turned in the direction where Javier could stare directly at you whenever he chose to lift his gaze.

The Manila folder made your pens and a few other papers scatter across the floor as you glared daggers at him.

“What the hell, Peña?” You looked up, unimpressed. “¿Qué te pasa?” you said coldly.

He gives you that shit eating grin that makes you want to smack it right off. Or kiss it. Your head is just confused in his presence but you would never admit that to him.

“I like you speaking in Spanish,” he said, leaning in over your desk just mere inches away from your face. “Un escupitajo que eres, y me encanta.”

You rolled your eyes as you bent over to pick up the papers. “Those tired old lines won’t work on me, Peña.”

Javier watches you like a hawk, tracing every curve as you bend down, loose papers and pens in hand.

"Hermosa."

You blink, taking in what he said, almost feeling like you hallucinated it. Your face heated up, your legs felt like jelly, and the sounds of the keyboards and feet faded out.

You fucking hated it

"Do you have something worthwhile for me?" You asked, eyes narrowing.

He handed you the manila folder. "Need help translating some communication that we recently intercepted."

You raised your eyebrow. "And a man who can speak Spanish suddenly just can't, and you need my help?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to see the most beautiful woman in Colombia? Also, you are joining me on a stakeout."

Your stomach dropped.

"Since when?"

He smiled. "Since now. Come on, Cariño."

You rolled your eyes again, ignoring the sudden heat pooling between your legs, and gathered your things. You wondered how the night would go, being trapped in a car for hours with a man you hated, but desired at the same time.

Bogota, Colombia - 11:00 P.M.

Hours passed. You and Javier are sitting in his car, staking out a suspected drug stash house. His car is a bit cramped, and your legs cramp up from being in one position for too long.

"Mierda.." you muttered. Your legs seized up as the passenger seat creaked, you shifted side to side, trying to get comfortable, knowing you'll be here for a while longer.

Javier looked at you, his eyes softening a bit. "Are you ok, Cariño?"

His gaze cut through you, making you forget for a moment where you were. You snapped out of it, bringing yourself back down to earth.

"I'm fine," you snapped, saying it too quickly. "My leg is just cramping. I don't go out on stakeouts often; they mainly keep me in the office."

"Good," he said curtly. Javier turned back, staring out the windshield. Silence fell over you before he cut in again. "They've been missing out on one hell of an asset, then."

Your heart clenches, catching yourself between hate and lust.

"Thanks, Javi-"

You were cut off by the sound of bullets hitting your windshield. You have been made. Two figures step out from the stashhouse, aiming their weapons in your direction. Bullets began flying relentlessly as you grabbed your gun, Javier's voice ringing out through the chaos.

"Mierda. Cariño sígueme!"

Shots fired from Javier as he grabbed your arm, pulling you through different alleyways trying to get away from your relentless pursuers. His hands never loosened, only tightened as bullets ricocheted off the brick walls making you tremble in fear. But through it all, Javier was there pulling you, shielding you in the best way he could and your ire towards him slowly began to soften.

Eventually he stopped at a door, swung it open and ushered you inside. it’s a Safehouse, one of many the DEA has stashed around the city. You spotted the red worn leather couch and plopped down on it, adrenaline still coursing through your veins and your heart still pounding, threatening to break your ribs.

“We-we almost died, Javi…” you whispered, voice trembling as the weight of what happened finally settles down on you.

Javier leaned in, forehead touching yours. “I was scared too. I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You looked up, he’s standing in front of you hands cupping your face like you are fragile but not demeaning you but fragile as if you’d break so will he.

“i thought you hated me, Pena.”

“And i thought you hated me, Cariño”

His eyes held a secret. one he’s been trying to suppress out of fear and rejection. All of things he wanted to say are held within his big brown eyes.

“Aren’t you just trying to make me another notch in your belt?” you asked bitterly, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice.

He scoffed, shaking his head, but there was pain in his eyes. “is that what you really think of me? After everything?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore Javi,” you said, folding your arms tightly across your chest like armor. “You flirt with everyone. You disappear when it matters. What was i supposed to believe?”

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, swallowing your words letting you release your pent up frustration.

“A la mierda.”

One word. One sentence. It felt from his lips as quick as he pressed them against your own. Electric, unlike anything you ever tasted before. He was cigarettes and tequila but safety and sorrow. Outside, you two almost died but in here? in the safehouse? it was just you and Javi, lips colliding, clothes falling to the floor, and him laying you gently kissing down your body worshipping you like you were a long forgotten holy idol.

“Hermosa,” He said, his voice a quiet confession. “do you know how long i’ve been thinking about this?”

“How long?”

“Demasiado jodidamente largo Cariño.”

You moaned in response, your head swimming unable to think clearly. His fingers trailed down your stomach, tracing circles along every scar, ever bruise you have gained since you started to work in Colombia. He kissed them, whispering loving words before his fingers traced the outline of your clothed pussy. you were soaking wet, dripping down your thighs.

“Maldito bebé,” Javier groaned. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

He pushed a finger inside making your back arch off the couch, your hands gripping his hair trying to anchor yourself in the moment.

“Earlier today. Office,” you moaned, breathless at the feeling of his finger delving into your wet cunt.. “Por favor. Necesito más”

Javier growled, low in his chest, and then there was a second finger—stretching you out, filling you in a way that made your mind go hazy. They were thick, moving so precisely making you come undone. He watches in awe, like he couldn't believe you were withering beneath him looking so beautiful as your orgasm washed over you, making you shudder.

He places a slow, drugging kiss on your lips before he positions his cock at your slick entrance. “Do you want this? Podemos parar.”

You pulled him closer, interrupting him with a kiss. That was all the answer he needed as he pushed inside, slow and sure like the both of you were trying to hold onto something fragile, to something worth fighting for.

“Eres tan jodidamente apretado,” He groaned, dipping his head into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.

His hips move in perfect, slow rhythm, each thrust deliberate, filled with purpose. It’s not pretty, it’s not like one of these perfect sex scenes in a rom com—it’s filled with a disgusting need and fervor. Your bodies moving together, wet skin against wet skin, moving together creating a thread between you and Javier—your hate fading away.

“Todo mío”

“mi vida”

“Hermosa”

His words flow into your ears, your skin on fire as Javier lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his waist—giving him a better way to push his cock in deeper making you gasp. Your fingers grip his arms tighter as your release builds up like a dam about to crack.

“Vamos nena, suéltate,” Javier murmured. “I want you to feel you cum on my cock.”

Suddenly you feel yourself as your cunt squeezes him, your body violently shaking as he fucks you through your orgasm. it was overwhelming, so many feelings all at once—crashing back down.

His rhythms sttuters just for a moment like he’s trying to drag it out, savor it. but his breathing is ragged, jaw clenched tight, every muscle tawt in his body like hes hanging by a thread.

“Mierda,” he growls again, voice wrecked. “i’m close.”

His thrusts get deeper, more frantic. rougher and deeper, more brutual now. like he’s chasing that moment where his control shatters. Your body’s trembling, still riding the high from your last orgasm, and you feel him throb inside you. he grabs your face, possessive and firm, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Mírame cuando me corra, nena."

And fuck you do. the look in his eyes is wild. that anger, that hunger, that fucking need, all crashing into one beautiful, terrifying thing. Then he slams into you one last time, his cum filling you up inside as he buries himself inside. he groans like his voice is being ripped from his throat.

When he finally stills, he looks at you, brushing the sweat covered hair off your forehead admiring how it splays out across the couch.

“Eres mía mi amor,” he whispered. “Te quiero.”

Your breath catches at his words.

You don’t say anything

You didn’t have to

He knew. You knew. And that changes everything.

[xbeababyx]

Pedro THE man you are.

[missyorkswhore]

Pedro Pascal fucking side profile

[millers-girl555]

officially beekeeping age 🐝