#pedro pascal fan fiction

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a seat-filler at award shows, and now I can’t stop thinking about sitting next to a flirty Pedro Pascal.. (especially since they say you aren’t supposed to talk to the actors!)

The idea of him introducing himself (as if he isn’t a famous actor), sharing candy he snuck in with you or trying to make you laugh while on air and having to shoo away the award show employees that try to intervene. Him just being smitten with reader the whole night.. okay, I’d *love* to hear your take if it interests you!

Hi Nonny dearest, sorry it took me so long to respond, I just had to get my thoughts together because I LOVED this idea so much!! So here we go, hope you like it.

The Seat Filler

Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: here's another one, hope you all like it. No hateful comments please. Again I gotta shout out @ziggyrocket for the support ❤️. It's 6:32 in the morning, apparently I don't sleep like a normal person, I'm on my second cup of coffee, so any typos or whatever are my bad... and Maxwell house coffee's.

Warnings: none (well, corny jokes I guess)

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

You had signed up for this gig half on a dare and half out of curiosity. Being a new sign-up, you hadn’t expected to be called in right away, but yet, here you were, in a borrowed gown, in a theater mixed with some of the biggest stars and regular people just like you: seat fillers. 

You remembered the main rules the director told you: 1) look like you’re enjoying yourself, always smile and 2) most importantly DO NOT talk to the actors, meaning the actual celebrities. You nodded and murmured your understanding along with everyone else who was there to work as fillers, not really thinking anything of it. What celebrity would want to talk to me anyway? You mused as you took your seat.

You looked around the theater, excitement flooding through you at the idea of being in such a place surrounded by people you had admired from afar, in magazines, and online. You took a deep breath to steady yourself; you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. You glanced at the empty seat next to you on your left and wondered who’d be in it.  On your right was another filler and on their right was another empty seat.

The filler next to you leaned over slightly and whispered, “Who do you think they’re gonna put next to us?”

You shrugged. “No idea, hope it’s someone good.”

He nodded in agreement, then a look came over his face as he glanced over your shoulder.  You turned your head to look and you blinked hard as you recognized the man coming towards you, and taking the vacant seat next to you. While the man next to you was busy getting settled,  you glanced back over at your fellow seat filler, whose jaw had semi-dropped. You both exchanged excited looks, then you nudged him lightly with your elbow and he shook himself, cleared his throat lightly and sat up. You both faced forward, determined to be on your best behavior. 

Unfortunately for you, your newest seat mate had different ideas. Pedro knew the whole deal with seat fillers and how they were told not to speak to anyone. But he felt a mischievous streak go through him when he saw you glance at him briefly. 

“Hi,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Hi,” you said back, nervously glancing around to make sure that no one saw you speaking to him. 

The two of you smiled at each other, before you turned back to face the front. He took a few seconds to study your profile as you sat there, determinedly facing the front, sitting as still as a statue. 

He glanced down and saw that your elbow was resting on the shared arm rest. With a small smirk, he placed his on the arm rest too, bumping yours. 

You looked over at him, smiled awkwardly and whispered a hurried, “Sorry,” before moving your arm and facing forward again.

After a few minutes, you placed your elbow back on the arm rest, and, noticing that, Pedro, bumped your elbow again with his. You moved your arm again. And then a few more minutes later, you placed it back again, only for him to bump you again. After the fourth time this happened, you looked over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and he just smiled innocently at you.

A few minutes later you felt him shift next to you, you looked over and saw him pulling out a bag of Skittles. You tried to hide your smile, but he noticed and nudged you slightly and offered you some. You looked around, making sure that there was no one watching, and then you held open your palm and he shook some of the candies into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered and popped a few into your mouth. 

A little over an hour into the show, you could feel him getting restless next to you. You figured the sugar had gotten to him. After the Skittles, he had pulled out a candy bar, broke it in half and shared it with you. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knee and the seat. You tried to ignore it, but you had to admit it was more than a little distracting.

“Are you okay?” you whispered hurriedly to him.

He turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you though?” you asked, gesturing to his jiggling knee.

He smiled. “Yeah.” But his knee kept jiggling, you had to suppress a laugh at that. 

He noticed you struggling to keep a straight face, and decided to aim the restless energy he had at you. He was going to make you laugh, really laugh, by the end of the show. His mind was made up.

He thought for a moment and then he leaned over to you, “Psst, hey.”

“Yeah?” you answered looking straight ahead.

“I have a question.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Why did the bicycle fall over?”

You were confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I said: why did the bicycle fall over?”

“Uhh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it was two tired.”

You turned to look at him after that, he laughed at the look on your face.

“That was corny,” you said, shaking your head, but pursing your lips to keep from laughing.

“Oh, that reminds me of another one,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He looked around,  cleared his throat, and then asked, “What does corn say when it gets a compliment?”

You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to say anything but wanting to hear the punchline, you turned to him.

Barely able to suppress his giggles, he answered,”Aw, shucks!”

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh you felt escaping your lips.

“Okay, one more,” he announced. 

“Oh, lord,” you groaned.

“It’s a good one, I promise.”

You waved your hand slightly for him to go ahead, knowing he would anyway.

“Okay, why are pirates called pirates?”

You bit your lip trying not to laugh. “I don’t know why?”

He leaned closer. “They just arrrr!” he whispered the last word in a bad pirate accent. 

You couldn’t help it, you snorted, then quickly covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, but he’d heard it, and he smiled at that.

“Good one right?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, oh my god, that was bad, but…” you couldn’t finish as a fresh wave of giggles overtook you. Your shoulders shook with your suppressed laughter.

He smiled and laughed along with you. For the rest of the ceremony, he would lean over and whisper comments about one person’s speech, or another’s outfit, nothing malicious or mean, just something to make you smile. And he always had a bad joke or two to whisper to you. 

By the end of the program, your cheeks were hurting from all the smiling and your stomach was sore from the laughing. You couldn’t help it, a few had escaped, luckily it was during the jokes the emcee told, so it looked as if you were enjoying the show. Truth be told, you couldn’t remember what had happened during the show, or who had won which award. If someone had quizzed you on it after, you surely would have failed; but you felt it was worth it because being seated next to Pedro had made it the best night of your life. You hadn’t laughed that hard, or enjoyed yourself that much in a long time.

After the show was over, you headed out with your fellow seat filler.

“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself,” he said as you filed out into the lobby.

You nodded with a huge grin on your face. “Yeah, I did.”

“I could tell,” he said, nodding, “what was he saying to you to make you laugh so much?”

You shrugged. “Oh, just a few jokes, and comments that’s all,” you said lightly.

He looked at you curiously, but when he realized you weren’t going to elaborate he commented, “Lucky you. The one they put next to me was on her phone the entire time.” He shook his head. “At least you got some entertainment.”

You two chatted for a little more, making plans to grab a late dinner with him and some of the rest of the seat fillers. Before you could leave, however, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

“Okay, I have another one,” you heard Pedro’s voice in your ear before you could turn around. “Just thought of it.”

You looked at him. “All right, go on.”

“Which bear is the most condescending?”

You started laughing then answered, “what?”

“A pan-duh!”

You burst out laughing along with him. “Where on earth did you even hear these?”

He shrugged. “Internet.”

“They are so bad,” you said, still chuckling.

“And yet, you laughed. Therefore they did their job,” he pointed out.

“True enough,” you agreed, “thanks though.”

“For what?”

“Making this event… well, eventful. I was prepared to be bored out of my mind, sitting there like a statue, smiling a fake smile the entire night.”

He smiled at you. “Well, I’m glad I could help. So, what are you planning on doing after this?”

You shrugged. “I was gonna grab something to eat with some of the rest of the seat fillers…”

“Oh, okay, I'm doing the same.” He nodded and looked away. You noticed that for a second he looked slightly nervous, but before you could get a good look, his face cleared and he turned back to look at you.

“I guess I should let you go then…” you said, turning to catch up with your friends.

“Wait, one more question.”

You stopped and looked back at him. “What's up?”

“Well, you know, I have a lot more jokes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, and, well, all my friends and family have heard them. But you haven’t, at least I’m pretty sure you haven’t….”

You nodded. “I haven’t, I don’t think.”

“Good, well, I shall have to inflict them upon you, you know, if you don’t mind. Maybe over dinner tomorrow?”

You thought for a second. “I don’t mind at all,” you answered with a huge grin.

[pedroshotwifey]

Should've Stayed Bored

Please understand that this is a crack fic based on this post by @bonezone44 and the comments made by @covetyou on said post ) Also tagging other commenters on that post: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog snowflake-blog@bubble-pop-eclectic @lunitawrites

Pairing: Chump!Joel Miller × fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags/Warnings: Joel Miller NOT being a sex god, left flap rubbing, mention of the clit, piv sex (if you could call it that), premature ejaculation, age gap, dad's buddy!joel miller, bad make out sessions, misplaced confidence, secondhand embarrassment, crack fic

Summary: You really need to learn to lower your expectations.

A/N: I actually had a great time writing this and think it turned out really fucking funny.

A/N pt. 2: Well, the og post got fucking deleted, but here it is again. Fucking pissed. I would really appreciate any interaction even if you already did the first time just so I can get it back out there </3

special thanks to @romanarose, @wannab-urs, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, and everyone else who helped me calm my tits and post this again. Love y'all ❤

*****

You’re bored out of your fucking mind. You’ve had four drinks and have walked in and out of the house probably a dozen times. For a neighborhood barbeque, it’s uneventful as hell. You would think that there would at least be a few interesting people out of so many. But no. So far there’s a group of old ladies gathered around the pool in sun chairs, their husbands around the grill talking about sports, and some kids—probably grandkids—running rampant around the yard. 

That’s what your dad gets for moving into a retiree neighborhood. There’s only a few other households you know of that don’t host couples in their late sixties. Kind of like, speak of the devil, the Millers, who are walking in through the yard gate right now. 

It’s only the two of them—Joel and his daughter, Sarah, who is only about eight. She runs off to go play with the other kids and you smile as you spot Joel struggling to carry a bowl and latch the gate back at the same time. You immediately take the opportunity to walk toward him. 

You’ve always had your eyes on Joel Miller, even though he’s only a few years younger than your father. He’s a DILF in all ways that count. Sweet, responsible, and hot as hell. 

“Hey, Mr. Miller,” you grab his attention as you reach where he’s still trying to balance everything. His face lights up when he sees you coming to help. 

“Hey, darlin’, you don’t mind helpin’ me with this, do ya?” he nods his head to the gate. 

“Nope, not at all,” you say sweetly as you get the gate latched behind him. He beams at you as he shifts to hold his dish with both hands. It looks heavy. 

“Thank you. And please, call me Joel.” He flashes you a wink that makes your stomach flutter before he starts for the back door. 

With nothing better to do, you follow him inside. He’s putting his bowl in the fridge when you close the door behind you and take a spot leaning against the counter. There’s nobody else inside right now, and you realize you might have just found your cure for boredom. 

You slide up next to Joel as he stands up. 

“What did you bring, Mr. Miller?” you ask him in an over the top sweet voice. 

He shoots you a pointed look and takes a step back to put a few inches between the two of you. 

“Potato salad,” he says flatly. “And please, it’s just Joel.” 

“Well, Joel,” you take a step toward him again. “I’m bored.” 

You swear you see him gulp, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him. He glances out the window, probably looking for your dad manning the grill. 

“Darlin’,” he says in warning. “I’m sure you can find something out there to do.” 

You pout at him. “But I found something to do in here.” 

“Honey, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” you banter. “You don’t want to fuck me, Joel? I see the way you look at me.” 

He surges forward, trapping you against the counter. You smile wildly at him and throw your arms around his neck. 

“Get your ass upstairs, now,” he growls. “Strip and wait on your bed.” 

Your pussy flutters at his command, excitement building in your stomach. 

“Yes, Mr. Miller. Don’t be long.” You flash him a wink and slide from in front of him to make your way upstairs. You feel his eyes on you until you reach the top step. 

He only waits a little while, presumably to cover his bases so it doesn’t look like he’s sneaking off with his friend’s much-too-young daughter, before following you up. And by that time, you’re already naked and sitting on your bed. 

He comes in and shuts the door behind him, making sure it’s locked tightly before turning around. Your eyes go to the massive tent in his pants, your tongue coming out to wet your lips. 

“You’re fuckin gorgeous, darlin’,” he says as he takes a step toward you, already starting to unbuckle his jeans. He pulls his heavy cock out and your lips part. You’d expected him to be big, but holy shit.

“C’mon, baby, lay back for me.” 

You let him push you down on your back, and then scootch up a bit so that you’re resting with your head on the pillows. Your body is practically humming with excitement and need. Being with an older man has always been something high up on your bucket list, because there’s no doubt they know how to properly pleasure a woman. And a man like Joel Miller…you can’t fucking wait. 

He leans over you and takes your lips in a sloppy kiss. You wind your arms around him and arch your back, begging silently for him to touch you already. He slips his tongue inside your mouth, and your eyes widen. 

He’s just…licking. 

You find it really hot when a man uses his tongue to make out with you, but. Not like this. You rear your head back, trying to gain control of the kiss. But then his hand starts to trail down to your center and you decide, whatever, you can pick and choose your battles. You’ll let him do whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing to your mouth as long as he gets those thick fingers inside of you already. 

He trails down, down, oh, there, he pets your clit and you shiver, and then—

Then he continues down…and to the left. 

He starts rubbing circles on your left flap, and you furrow your brows. 

What the actual fuck?? 

You unwind your arms and start pushing on his chest until he pulls his tongue from your mouth to gaze down at you. 

“Joel, you—” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you, baby?” 

You just blink at him. What?

He winks at you. “I know, darlin’, feels real good, huh?” He dips back down to start kissing you again, thankfully leaving his damn tongue out of it. His fingers increase pressure, which you can only guess would feel really good if he was actually rubbing your clit. 

“Joel,” you mutter against his lips again, but it comes out smushed and smothered. Kind of like your poor pussy right now. Or the outside of it, at least. 

“So impatient,” he laughs. “Hold on one second, baby, Mr. Miller’s got you.” 

You resist the urge to cringe at that. 

He taps your abused pussy lip twice and retracts his hand to grasp his cock, which you’re now worried about. Hopefully he knows how to fucking use that thing. He guides his tip to your entrance—or tries to, rather, and you groan in defeat. He rubs it up and down your slit, prodding every second or so. 

“Yeah, baby, fuckin’ love those sounds you make for me.” 

You just stare at him. You’re not going to even pretend. This is just insane. How the hell did he actually make a kid??

Finally, he finds your hole—the right one, thank god—and starts to push in. You’re still pretty wet from earlier, though you’re sure there will be no developments in that department. Thankfully, it’s enough to ease the stuttering glide. 

Once he’s fully in, he starts to thrust, and you grip on to him, holding on to that last hope that maybe he can nail your g-spot with that weapon of his. 

“M…Feel so g-good, baby,” Joel moans. 

He thrusts once, twice, three times, moaning like a fucking animal. 

And then he pulls out. And shakes above you as he spills his cum on your lower belly. 

You stare at him in shock as he rolls over and collapses beside you. His eyes are closed as he pants and reaches a hand over you to touch your stomach. 

“You came?” he asks. 

You consider lying to him, but figure he doesn’t deserve that. 

“No, Joel, I did not fucking come.” 

“Oh, okay. Tha’s alright. Get you next time.” 

You sit up and gape at him. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

He looks at you with confusion but gets up after a moment. He yawns, tucks himself into his pants, and struts for your door. 

“Don’t be ashamed to ask for more, darlin’. I wouldn’t be opposed to doin’ this again sometime.” He sends you a wink and walks out of the room before you get the chance to say something you’ll regret more than whatever the fuck just happened. 

You learned a valuabale lesson today: age really does not fucking matter. 

[ourautumn86]

comin in hot with a twt link! (Dont know if i did wrong or not im new to these ^^) Idk if you write for din djarin or not but i can just imagine him doing this as he takes out his frustrations on your pussy cause the bounty went sideways. but this could also be seen as joel if a smuggling deal went wrong. Your pick! <3 much love!!

https://twitter.com/OrgasmGifs/status/1619378756648574978?t=XxqL71XHdg891aZOifJB5g&s=19

oh lord, this is pure filth. 😭😮‍💨

din djarin x fem reader!

minors don’t interact, +18 content!

cw; rough sex, choking, manhandling, dirty talking, degradation, praising, piv sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cockwarming, dom! din x sub! reader, nipple playing, name calling (whore, slut…), …

“fuck.” your eyes shot open when you heard something crashing on the salon, along with the voice of who you recognized was din, your boyfriend.

your eyes still felt heavy with sleep, but your mind was slowly coming alive as you got up from bed.

“din?” you called out for him, he was giving you his back, armor still on except for his helmet—which he had thrown across the room—. he looked exhausted, but mostly of all exasperated, furious.

he didn’t seem to have heard you, and you stepped closer. “din, what’s-“ but before you knew it, there was a hand pinning your wrists to the wall behind your back and another surrounding your neck. from your lips fell a gasp that got caught in between his as he furiously kissed you. he groaned, pushing you harder against the wall, all air leaving your lungs. he was kissing you as if you were the last thing he could hold onto.

“din, what’s going-” you moaned when his clothed thigh pushed in between your naked ones, roughly pressing against your panties and your cunt. your hands messed with his hair and tugged when he freed your wrists and pulled your shirt upwards ‘till your bare chest was exposed for him to lick and suck onto.

“shut the fuck up.” he ordered, quieting you, letting you know what you needed to do, and that was to close your mouth and take what he gave you. and if what he needed to gave you was his anger, his frustration, and stress. you will take it.

you whimpered when his lips sucked on your nipple, the hand that now stood free grabbing at your hip to grind you on his thigh, making you sigh and whine, your panties growing wetter and wetter at his roughness.

“din…” you begged, and he groaned on your chest, sucking bruises that now beautifully decorated your perfect tits.

in a swift motion he was manhandling you with his strong arms, pulling you back into your room and pinned you onto the bed under his weight. it was rough, the way he kissed you, the way he pulled off your shirt, the way his hands were digging on your skin. but it hurt so good…

“fuck.” he muttered against your nipples when a high pitched and pornographic moan left your lips as his fingers sneaked inside your panties and met your wet core, his fingertips dripping on you.

your hips jolted against his touch when he teased you, his fingers dipping on your slick and merely brushing your clit, making your whole body shake in need. need for him.

“din please…” you begged, and he smirked.

“what a good girl…” he muttered against your neck as his fingertips pressed against your clit, making sparks fill your vision. “such good manners…” you whimpered, the praise only making you eager for him, needier. “being so good to me.” you screamed when he suddenly plunged two of his thick fingers inside of you, immediately finding your g spot. you couldn’t help but arch your bag, your eyes shutting close as he started to fuck them in and out of you. “listen to her…” he smirked, his dick painful hard in between his thighs at the sounds your cunt was making for him, sticky and perfectly ready for him to fuck into. “so ready for me…” you moaned, your cheeks burning due to the sounds that your arousal surrounding his fingers made.

“din…” you sighed his name, your hips rocking onto his fingers, needing him deeper. needing him to go harder, treat you badly, love you in that harsh way that made your mind reel… you were whimpering as he split you open with his fingers, brushing your g spot with every curl of his digits. it was needy, and harsh, it almost hurt, but you couldn’t possibly need him anymore than this. your whole body was like a magnet begging for his touch, needing him to touch you.

his patience seemed to be running out as he saw you fall apart, his cock pressed against your thigh as he grasped at your tits, tugging at the nipples just like he knew you liked.

the air in your lungs disappeared when in a quick flip he had down on your stomach, his rough hand landing a harsh spank to your ass, making you jolt and hiss.

in between the dizziness and hunger that enveloped you, you heard him push down his pants and underwear, too far gone to even care about the fact that you were beautifully naked under him and he was still on his goddamn armor, completely dressed.

you whined as one of his hands pulled you upwards so your ass would be sticking out for him, your glistening pussy begging for attention, your slick coating your mound and your thighs. you were soaking wet, drowning in desire.

he didn’t even tease you, didn’t even wait for you to get adjusted to his size before he was fucking you open with his huge cock. his tip brushed your cervix with every harsh thrust and you were withering and dissolving under his touch.

“fuck.” he groaned, his whole body shaking at the feeling of your cunt tightening around him and sucking him in every time he’d try and pull out just to thrust back in. it was as if your body was begging for him to stay inside, to fuck you full of him, for him to not go. “so good…” his pace spiked up, and your hands were holding onto your sheets for dear life, your body shaking with every snap of his hips against your ass. his balls met your cunt with every one of them, getting soaked on you. they felt so heavy… so full and ready to empty themselves in you… “you’re always so fucking good to me, pussy so ready to be filled up, huh?” he teased, and you whimpered as your walls tightened around him, making him groan. “such a fucking slut for dick. look at you…, already so close to cumming all over my cock…”

“din!” you cried out when his dick reached that deep spot inside of you that no one had ever been able to reach before, making your sight go blank.

“you gonna cum, honey? gonna cum for me?” his breathing was ragged, his pace needy. the sight in front of him was like heaven; you drooling all over your sheets, moans getting cut off by his thrusts and your cunt dripping only for him. you nodded, begging for him to let you cum, he almost bursted at your cries. “go ahead baby, soak my cock.” and you did, with moans and whimpers falling off your lips, your mind going black at the strength of your orgasm, which made your whole body shake and your walls to get impossibly tighter around him.

“shit.” he groaned, fucking you though it, feeling your cum coat the curls on the base of his cock, the wetness and warmth of it.

“din!!” you whimpered when his pace only sped up, the overstimulation becoming too much. you tried and get away from him, crawl your way on the bed, but he only tugged you closer, pinning you down onto the duvet ‘till only your hips were detached from it, spreading you open for him to fuck into. his right hand harshly gripped your neck from the back of your head, making sure you wouldn’t move, that you wouldn’t get away from him. you were sure there would be bruises on his fingertips decorating your waist tomorrow morning, but you wouldn’t care. “din, please…”

you screamed as he started to piston inside of you, unable to quiet your sobbing and whimpers. “don’t fucking move.” he groaned, feeling his own release start to build. “take it. be the good whore you are and fucking take it.” he gritted in between his teeth.

your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, your jaw slack and spit dribbling to the sheets. your mind felt hazy, your body heavy as he fucked you towards your second orgasm, which was building faster and harder than the first.

“that’s it. good girl.” he smirked when your own body started to thrust backwards, begging for more. “good. fucking. girl.” his thrust cut every one of his words.

“din, gonna cum, gonna-, fuck!” your eyes were rimmed by tears, your legs shaking and about to let you fall onto the mattress. thank god he was holding you up, manhandling you just like he would a goddamn toy for him to fuck.

“that’s it baby. cum for me. good girl.” you were falling apart as he hit your sweet spot one, two, three more time before your orgasm came crashing down like a tidal wave, drowning you under water. “fuck, so fucking tight.” he groaned, his cock twitching at how your walls were tightening. “gonna cum baby. gonna fill this pretty and wet cunt of yours.” you moaned. “yeah? you want it, baby? want my cum?” you whimpered, nodding, babbling however you could multiples ‘yes’ that slurred their way out of your lips. “fuck. take it baby, fucking take it.” he groaned, and his cock twitched as he emptied himself inside of you, painting your pussy on cum and filling you up so good you could only wither and moan at the feeling.

you fell with him to the mattress, your bodies sticky and spent. he had for sure fucked his frustrations in you.

he quickly undressed, holding you with your back against his wide chest, his strong arms surrounding your waist. you whimpered when his soft cock pushed his cum all inside once again when he seated himself in your cunt. “i know baby, i know…” he cooed, leaving soft pecks and kisses in the expanse of your neck and shoulders. “gotta keep it all warm and inside for you baby.” he muttered against your skin, and soon enough your eyes were closing once again, now completely spent due to his rough fucking.

-

a/n; oh lord, hope y’all liked it, love you! 😭😮‍💨

[milla-frenchy]

Snowflakes

0k8 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3

Summary: you and Joel are on your way back from patrol. You fall asleep not expecting this night to be worse than your encounters with the infected

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dead dove. Noncon. Dark Joel. Pwp. Joel pov. Somnophilia, oral (f), masturbation (f/m), piv, degradation. No age specified

a/n: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog thank you for beta reading 💕🫶

Heed the warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. This fic isn't for everyone, and that's ok. I don't condone any of this.

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

Masterlist

***********

Joel couldn't sleep. The patrol had been stressful, too many infected had crossed your path. You two had stayed at one of the usual cabins for the night. He was looking at the moon through the window. Everything was quiet. The snowflakes kept falling and must have covered your footprints by now. You had fallen asleep, exhausted after several days of patrol, way longer than usual. You turned onto your back in your sleep, and he didn’t take his eyes off you.

When he pulled down your panties, your scent drove him crazy. His mouth latched onto her pussy and his tongue ran over your folds. You were so tired that you didn't wake up. He kept licking your pussy, his hand tight on his thick cock as he was fucking his wrist while you were moaning more and more in your sleep. He knew that when you woke up you would struggle. That he would have to hold you under him to fuck you. He didn’t care then when his tongue was buried in your pussy. Soon he would thrust his cock in your cunt. He didn't even know what had taken over him, why he was acting like that all of a sudden, when there had never been anything between you.

His tongue inside you was no longer enough for him, and when he moved back up to your clit, he pushed two fingers in your pussy. His mind and body wanted to take, to possess, to cum. He continued to jerk off harder, thinking about the moment he would push his cock inside you. He got obsessed with the desire.

When you finally woke up, you called his name without really understanding what was going on, if you were dreaming.

“J…Joel?”

When you realized what was happening, you tried to pull his head away but it turned him on even more. He let go of his cock and grabbed your wrists with his free hand, still fucking you with the other one, growling between your thighs.

Was it your incoming orgasm that made you stop struggling? He didn’t know and didn’t care. You came on his fingers and on his tongue, and he thought he might spill his cum onto the sheets. If he had been 35 years younger, that probably would have happened. But not that day, not then. That day he wanted to fuck that cunt. He needed it. When he moved back up to you and settled between your thighs, you hit his torso with your fists but he was too strong to be stopped. He took his thick cock in his hand and nestled it at your entrance. You begged him to stop, tears in your eyes.

“You cum in my mouth and think I won’t fuck you?”

He hadn't even wiped himself after making you cum, and his beard was glistening with your wetness.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ take it.”

When he sank in you, you were afraid he would tear you in two. It'd been a long time since you'd had sex with someone. And Joel didn't want to have sex, he wanted to fuck.

He didn’t stop until he bottomed out, and he stayed there, buried between your folds, balls deep in your pussy. You heard him breathing hard against your neck, until he pulled back and looked at you. When he buried himself again in your core, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Told you you’d take it. Fuck, you’re tight.”

He was smirking at you with each thrust. As if he was feeding himself with your fear.

“I bet you never took such a big cock in your cunt.”

Again, he was thrusting in, fucking your warm pussy.

"Touch yourself. Make yourself cum on this cock. Come on, I know you want it."

Mechanically, you did as he asked, and slightly rotated your finger on your clit.

“Fuckin’ whore. If I knew you were such a slut I would have fucked you sooner”, he growled.

You were ashamed when your orgasm came. Your pussy squeezed his cock so hard, that you were afraid he would release his cum inside you. But he gritted his teeth and let the jerks of your pussy on his cock fade out, listening to your whimpers.

“You’re such a slut, cumming on this cock, after you acted like you didn’t want it.”

He thrust in again, one hand on your throat, until he pulled out. He began jerking off, kneeling between your thighs, and you didn't dare move.

You looked at his cock, so thick and long, and the expression on your face made him smirk. He grabbed one of your breasts and jacked off harder, until the spurts of cum hit your stomach.

“You better keep your mouth shut when we get back, if you don't want me to come to your house at night. Bet your pussy would like that.”

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

[foxtrology]

raya!pedro & reader ✪

→ this is all FAKE! created by me!!! use your imagination babes!!! <33

pedro’s raya profile

reader’s raya profile

bonus: an article!

Pedro Pascal Spotted with Mystery Woman Named Y/N

Hollywood heartthrob Pedro Pascal, known for his roles in "The Mandalorian" "Narcos," and "The Last of Us," was recently spotted in Malta during filming Gladiator, Pascal’s upcoming film, with a mystery woman. The pair was seen enjoying each other's company while soaking up the sun on the beach.

Fans and paparazzi buzzed with speculation about the nature of Pascal's relationship with Y/N. Photos captured the duo laughing and sharing intimate moments, sparking rumors of a romance.

However, neither Pascal nor Y/N has commented on the nature of their connection leaving fans to speculate about their status.

The sight of Pascal cozying up to Y/N has ignited curiosity among fans eager to learn more about the mysterious woman in his company.

Social media has been flooded with questions and speculations with fans trying to uncover any clues about Y/N's identity and her relationship with the Sag actor.

While Pascal is known for keeping his personal life out of the spotlight, his appearance with Y/N has stirred up excitement among fans eager to learn more about the actor's relationship.

[morallyinept]

If you have written any Valentine's Day stories (past or present), or are planning to, featuring any of The Pedro Boys, please tag me.

I'm putting together a Valentine's specific fic rec list and would love to read and feature your work!

If you can kindly re-blog/signal boost so this can reach others, that would be amazing!

Thank you, love you! 🖤😘

[drewharrisonwriter]

Well-deserved!!!

Congratulations to our daddy/Papi/bbgurl 🤍🎉🥳😍 Have y'all seen his speech? It had me bawling and bursting into laughter. Such a beautiful chaotic man.

[party-hearses]

pairing: dieter bravo x f!oc x f!reader (no use of y/n)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 6.6k

summary: your girlfriend and her close friend want to give you everything, and more.

warnings/tags: explicit smut, threesome, porn with some plot, breeding kink (heavy emphasis), pet names (baby a million times), alcohol consumption, dom/sub dynamics, sub!dieter, fingering, oral (f receiving), pegging, unprotected piv, squirting, creampie, painful sex (but it’s very consensual), overstimulation, very brief mention of drug use, cliff beasts 6 jumpscare. please let me know if i’m forgetting anything!

a/n: this fic belongs to @nostalxgic and @bastardmandennis; i cannot thank y’all enough for beta reading, letting me bounce ideas around, and allowing me to be depraved about this in general.

“It won’t be weird. I promise.”

You pause, toothbrush in your mouth, turning to face your girlfriend. “Em, I don’t know how it won’t be weird. The whole circumstance is weird.”

She tuts, sliding her hands across your hips from behind, fingers coming to rest at the soft place just below your stomach. “But worth it?”

“Worth it,” you confirm around the flimsy plastic between your lips. She pulls her hands away as you lean to spit toothpaste in the sink, mewling in protest.

“Sorry, baby,” she responds off-handedly, wrist curved, eyes on her watch. “I’m already running late — but I’ll see you tonight?” Her gaze meets yours again, reassuring and tender. “Everything will be fine. He already knows, he already agreed, this is just…a formality.” You watch in the mirror as she waves her hand around the word in the air, the confidence of the action settling the nervous needling in your belly.

You wipe the remnants of toothpaste off your mouth with the back of your hand before turning and stretching upwards to press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips. She’s out of the bathroom and down the hallway before you can make it more, the anxious excitement of it all making your fingertips buzz with desire.

“Worth it, baby! Just remember that!” she calls over her shoulder, the front door clicking closed behind her.

Your Lyft runs late, which you’re sure is a bad omen. Emily chalks it up to shitty traffic in a metropolitan city. You settle on both being right, neither wanting to spoil the night before it even starts. Not with so much on the line.

The restaurant you arrive at is casually upscale, all dark wood, gold flourishes, and the richest emerald green upholstery you’ve ever seen. The hostess leads you away from the bustling room in the front, to a more secluded area in the back, her bored smile not reaching her eyes.

Emily is tucked away in the large, nearly-empty room, alone in one of the grand booths. Relief rolls through your limbs, loosening them — you may be late, but you still manage to arrive before him.

Him — the mysterious entity that holds your future in the very palm of his hands. Emily hasn’t divulged much about him, meeting your questions with shrugs and ‘you’ll just have to meet him’s.

It doesn’t instill much confidence in you, which is why you’ve been so keyed up about the dinner date she’s set.

She anticipates your anxiety, handing you a glass of chilled white wine as soon as you crawl in the booth next to her. Just being near her reins you in, her pressed white button-up molded to the contours of her body, black blazer puddled in a heap next to her.

“You’re looking very corporate-sexy tonight,” you observe, lips pressed together in a slight frown as you pick up the glass. “How was work?”

Glancing up at the ceiling, she lets out a long, slow breath. “Let’s just say I’m happy to be here with you now.”

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, the reminder of exactly why you’re here settling low in your belly.

“Hey,” you whisper, tipping your glass in her direction, “cheers to having a baby put in me.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins, throwing back what’s left of her own wine.

You’re on your second glass of wine when a distinct buzz erupts from the front of the restaurant, as if all the energy in the building had burst at once. The same hostess, previously dead-faced and slouched over, pushes her shoulders back and wrings her hands nervously on the surface of the podium.

Knitting your brows together, you crane your neck to see exactly what — or whom — the commotion is all about. You can’t see much, just a pair of hands making animated gestures, multitude of rings catching the light of the foyer.

When the owner of the hands finally moves into view, it’s impossible to miss how devastatingly handsome he is — unkempt, overgrown brown curls framing the golden glow of his skin, a strong, masculine nose and hard lined jaw covered in dark scruff, broad frame under a wrinkled black t-shirt with Siouxsie and the Banshees scribbled across it. Elegantly disheveled, like he’d rolled out of bed hungover to show up at a red carpet event.

And a pair of sunglasses, no doubt designer, obscuring his eyes.

He dips his chin slightly to peer over them, gaze sweeping past the hostess to lock directly onto you. It startles you, the assuredness with which he does it. As though he’s looking for you. A dazzling grin splits across his features, his cheeks rounding with the size of it, never breaking eye contact.

But you do.

“Oh shit, Em! It’s Dieter Bravo!” you hiss, snapping your head back to stare wide-eyed at Emily. She’s watching him, too, but with a different expression — a knowing expression. Her eyes flit to yours for the briefest of moments, her plump lips curled into a shy smile.

“So it is.”

It takes you all but two seconds to put the pieces together, your mouth popping open in surprise when you do. Anxiety builds in your chest, the thought of letting a movie star impregnate you never having crossed your mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me that it was Dieter fucking Bravo? Why didn’t you tell me that you know Dieter fucking Bravo?” You keep your voice low, but sharp. Pulse quickening, panic spreading through your limbs once again, you grab at Emily’s arm.

“Didn’t want you to freak out more than you already were,” she replies, turning to you to brush a tangle of hair behind your ear. It’s gentle, more gentle than you deserve at this moment, allowing the boiling of your blood to settle to a low simmer. You chew your lip, dropping your hand into Emily’s lap to intertwine her fingers with yours.

Your eyes track between the two of them, Dieter’s approach to the table slowed by the hostess and a handful of patrons wanting autographs, pictures, handshakes — some moment of intimacy with a celebrity, some story to tell their friends.

But he keeps his eyes fixed on you, a tender smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth all the while.

When he does eventually reach the table, onlookers in his wake, Emily stands to greet him, but he extends his hands to you, picking your own up from its place on the table.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

His voice is strawberry ice cream with sticky cherries on top. You’ve only ever heard it on movie screens, and hearing it spoken directly to you sends waves of electricity up the column of your spine.

Your hand still in his, he brings it to his mouth, pressing the most delicate of kisses to your knuckles.

“Fucking corny,” Emily mumbles, shoving into his shoulder with the flat of her palm.

He laughs smoothly at the impact, finally removing his sunglasses to expose the warm amber of his irises.

“I’m Dieter.”

“I kn-…I…I’m…” you stutter, caught off guard not only by how much more handsome he is up close, but by how charming he is right off the bat.

“I know exactly who you are, sweet girl.” He kisses your knuckles once more for good measure, placing your hand gently back on the table before turning his attention to Emily.

“Em,” he grins, adoration seeping through the way he says her name. She matches his expression before they air kiss each other’s cheeks, his hands on her shoulders, and you’re all at once taken aback at how intimate it feels.

That same intimacy envelopes you as he slides into the booth, immediately beckoning the server over with two fingers in the air.

“What are you drinking?” His gaze is burning through you again, voice low. Like you’re the only two people in the room. You’re marginally aware of Emily’s fingers stroking the flesh of your inner thigh, too entranced with Dieter to pay attention.

You’ve always been aware of him as an enigma — celebrity tabloids capitalizing on his very public drug problems, interviews labeling him an eccentric artist. Not to mention the infamy of the Cliff Beasts 6-turned-scathing-documentary and his subsequent marriage.

The question falls out of your mouth before you can stop it, some strange combination of star-struck and anxious-enough-to-vomit knocking the sense out of you.

“Aren’t you married?”

He runs a palm over his mouth, failing to conceal the playful smile therein.

The server materializes right then, but Dieter keeps his eyes on you, even as he orders.

“Champagne. A bottle. We’re celebrating.”

Wicked curiosity flickers in the pool of his gaze, waiting to see your next move. The way a predator watches prey.

The only move you make is to look up at him through your lashes expectantly, hands folded in front of you. It’s Emily who quietly thanks the server, sending him on his way. Her own body language is relaxed, back sloped against the tufted material of the booth, thumb tracing aimless circles beneath the hem of your dress.

“So, I get to put a baby in you, hmm?”

Heat blooms across your chest, rising into your cheeks. Emily is as taciturn as you’ve ever seen her, unfazed by how direct the statement is, her fingers crawling higher to ghost the lace of your panties.

You squirm under both her touch and his stare, nodding lamely at the question, heart beating rapidly in your ears.

“I should be so lucky,” he breathes, drawing closer to you, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone.

It’s sultry, the way he touches you. The way Emily lets him touch you. You’re all doe-eyes and plush parted lips when she tips forward to whisper don’t be nervous, baby, into the shell of your ear.

And you’re not — not anymore.

The champagne comes, nestled cozily into a bucket of ice, at the same time Emily’s work phone buzzes, hard and jarring against the surface of the table.

“Hafta get this,” she grumbles, eyes falling to the screen, voice edged with irritation. Dieter acknowledges her with a tip of his head as she excuses herself from the table, already barking orders at the person on the other end of the line.

The server pops the cork, pouring the bubbly liquid into three glasses, and you feel the vibration of it in your bones.

In any other circumstance, you’d be self-consciously fidgeting with your dress, or reaching for the champagne too quickly, or avoiding eye contact completely. But it feels different with Dieter, natural. Like you’d been here a million times before — like he’d touched you a million times before.

“So,” he prompts, fingers brushing yours as he hands you one of the glasses, “Emily tells me you’re an artist?”

You sip the drink, the bubbles tickling your belly as they settle.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He gives a sly half-smile, eyes sparking with humor as he leans back to tip his own drink into his mouth. He extends an arm over the back of the booth, and you notice for the first time the solid black triangle tattooed there. He doesn’t say anything when you reach out to glide your fingers over it, just notches his head to watch it happen.

“I’m not married.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, glancing back in his direction.

He shakes his head slowly, studying you. “Didn’t quite work out that way.”

You say nothing, just sip your drink again coyly without breaking eye contact. It keys him up, you can tell, by the way he downs the rest of the champagne in his glass.

“Figure I deserve to know, if we’re gonna be…involved, in whatever capacity.”

His eyes flash then, pupils nearly swallowing the color around them. Unbeckoned, the server returns to fill your glasses, but Dieter doesn’t even look his way.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he breathes, leaning in to diminish the space between your bodies.

You wave your hand in the air in front of you, an invitation. He knows what you’re asking — what everyone asks. He sucks in a deep breath.

“Covid really fucked me up, if I’m being totally honest. Not that I didn’t have issues before…but quarantine really…exacerbated them. And lucky for me, it’s all on tape.” He grins.

Bringing your glass back up to your lips, you consider this. It’s endearing, the way he’s at ease with himself. How he can make a joke of it, but still feel entirely authentic.

“Isn’t it kind of weird, us asking you to do this?” It’s a genuine question, playful pretense dropped.

He shrugs, sipping his champagne again. “I’m kind of a weird guy.”

You giggle, mind made up. Adrenaline surges through you, and you’re almost surprised when you recognize the depth of your desire with it.

Emily makes her way back to the table, shaking her head and typing out of a message on her phone. She stops next to you, finally looking up, eyes darting between you and Dieter.

“I want Dieter to come home with us tonight.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that he wants it, too. That he’s wanted it since the moment he sat down. You drop your hand to his thigh, squeezing suggestively.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Emily grins in response.

Dieter familiarizes himself with the living room as Emily opens another bottle of champagne in the kitchen. The quick popfizz of the cork excites you, makes you clench your thighs in anticipation. You’re so aware of your body in this moment — the curves and swells, the scorching heat rolling through your veins. The arousal you’ve felt all night is on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to spill over.

He’s looking at your framed photos on the mantle, hands nonchalantly buried in his pockets. He looks so competent, you think, standing on the precipice of this. It’s endearing. It’s sexy.

“Dieter.” His name leaves your lips as a purr, low and sultry. There’s a smirk pulled across his mouth as he turns to face you, as his eyes rove over your flushed form, as he closes the distance between the two of you.

The atmosphere in the room is thick, a heady electricity buzzing in your ears as he drops next to you on the couch, solid thigh pressing into yours. It doesn’t take more than a moment for him to take your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, angling your face to him. His lips ghost yours, a barely-there kiss that makes you pout and chase his touch.

He laughs, a sweet, gentle laugh that makes your blood spike, and you press your mouth to his hard enough to bruise. He reciprocates by running his hand down your body to grasp your thigh, dragging you over top of him. He nips at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you let him devour you, kissing you like he’s waited too long to do so.

There are fingers at your neck, sliding up into your hair to fist at the root and tip your head backwards. You mewl, lips abruptly torn from Dieter’s, but Emily’s quickly replaces them, licking into you attentively while Dieter laves kisses across your collarbones.

You can feel how hard he is beneath you, and you grind down onto him, searching for friction — for relief. He catches on quickly, canting his hips up into you, wordlessly encouraging you to take, take, take.

“Let’s get you out of this dress, baby,” he groans when it’s too much, cradling your ass with his hands tight enough to him that he can stand, to carry you into the bedroom.

It’s hard to keep up with who belongs to which touch — Dieter’s calloused fingers grip your thighs from beneath, wrenching them apart, your dripping sex on display. He’s on his knees, wedged between your splayed legs, while Emily’s deft maneuvering of the hard peaks of your nipples is familiar, her tongue against the column of your neck keeping you grounded, present.

She’s sat back on her haunches, muscular thighs making a home against your hips, allowing you to slope back against her body. Her head is dipped to the hollow of your neck, but you know her eyes are on Dieter — on the way he kisses the soft space just below the round fullness of your tits, the way he nips at the tender flesh of your ribs and belly.

You can’t help but reach out and card your hands through the length of his hair as he kisses further down your body, pulling back just slightly when he gets to your glistening cunt. You feel Emily grin against your skin, still watching.

“She wet, D?”

“Soaking,” he mumbles, before licking a broad stripe through your folds, eyes hazy. His arms hook beneath you, fingers curling so his rings press indents into the softest parts of you. He holds you to his mouth, the thick chain around his neck and coarse mustache scratching against your silk skin.

It’s overwhelming.

Dieter circles your clit with his tongue expertly, drawing it down every few strokes to taste the salt of your slick. Your head falls back against Emily’s shoulder, quiet moans punctuating the sound of his mouth against you.

His tongue snakes into you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp and grind down against the lower half of his face. He hums in approval, arm stretching across your body to pin you down, to hold you still. You tug on a handful of messy curls, fingertips catching deliciously against his scalp.

His hums take the languid shape of groans, and you feel him rocking his hips down into the mattress, searching for some sense of relief with the friction.

“Use your fingers, D,” Emily growls, in a voice you’ve never heard before. A different kind of thrill winds up your limbs, digging its tendrils into you as her mouth moves down to meet her fingers, drawing your nipple taut between her teeth.

At her command, he unwraps his hand from your thigh to nudge a thick finger against your opening, still lapping at your wetness with his broad tongue. You’re nodding and mewling and clenching — please D, please — so when he grants you an extra finger, stars burst behind your eyes. He presses them all the way in, crooking at an angle that makes your hips cant upwards desperately.

“So tight,” he mutters, dragging the rough tips against your velvet walls again, finding that place deep within you that makes everything feel fizzy and hot.

“Good boy,” Emily purrs around your pebbled nipple, and Dieter moans against you, eyes fluttering shut.

“Say it again, Em.” His words are mangled, lips suctioning to your clit, gently toying with the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Emily giggles darkly, a taunt if you’ve ever heard one.

“Not until you make baby cum all over your fingers.”

Dieter’s eyes flash open, locking onto yours from his place between your legs. The warm amber of them is alight with lust, eclipsed by the blown-out black of his pupils.

The urgent need rolling off his skin turns you inside out, makes the muscles in your abdomen pull taught. You feel as wrecked as he looks, the soft edges of an orgasm swirling into focus in your core.

“Gonna cum,” you manage, the words edged out by your quickening breath.

“Cum for D, baby,” Emily implores. “Cum for us.”

Dieter can feel how close you are, too, given the way he pumps his fingers into you with a new ferver, one final suck of his mouth tipping you over into oblivion.

Your cunt clenches around his massive digits, head lolling into the crook of Emily’s neck as the waves of pleasure overwhelm you. She skates her fingers up the delicate line of your neck to grasp your jaw, wrenching it up to press your lips to hers, swallowing every moan that you emit.

Dieter fucks you through it, flattening his hand against your abdomen to prolong his ability to gather the slick that pours out of you on his tongue.

“Good boy, Dieter,” Emily repeats the praise between kisses, “very, very good boy.”

He draws his fingers out of you, growling as he raises his body and sucks them into his mouth. You watch, Emily’s tongue massaging hot against yours, as he savors the taste of you on his skin. Your slick shines wet on his cheeks, glitters in his facial hair.

You rove your gaze over the entirety of his hulking form, hard muscles and soft belly, kneeling at your altar. Ready and willing to give you the one thing you so badly want, without hesitation.

Emily peppers kisses down your cheek and jaw, allowing you to turn your full attention to Dieter. The lingering aftershocks of your orgasm intensify as he drops his hand to the base of his cock, the head flushed dark and dripping pre-cum when he squeezes.

He looks like heaven.

There’s a smirk pulled across his mouth as he bears his weight back down on his arms, crawling up the bed to hover over your pliant body. He ghosts his knuckles across your womb, dipping his head to press kisses down the other side of you.

“Can’t wait to see you round with our baby, baby.” Emily murmurs, her gaze flitting up to Dieter’s hand on the place below your stomach, the reality of it settling into your bones.

It’s all consuming, the sudden need to have Dieter buried to the hilt inside of you — to give you a baby. You mewl, a pathetic, broken sound, grasping his wrist to drag his hand back down to your aching sex.

“Mmm, needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Emily hums in agreement, hands grasping at your hips from behind.

Dieter cups your mound in his large hand, raising his head to meet Emily’s eyes.

“Can I fuck her, Em?”

She tips her head to the side, pressing a final kiss to the sensitive skin of your throat.

“Hmm, I don’t know, D,” she teases, nosing the soft cut of your jaw. “What do you think, baby? Has he earned it?”

You nod enthusiastically, needing, needing, needing, elevating your hips to rock your core in Dieter’s hand.

“Okay, baby.” She turns her gaze to Dieter again, reaching out to trace his plush bottom lip with her thumb. His eyes are glassy, chest rising and falling raggedly. “Can’t cum til I say, right, D?”

“Yes, Em.”

She pushes her thumb into his mouth, his lips wrapping around it obediently. She bites down on her bottom lip, and you can feel her pulse pick up from where you lie.

“Sit up, baby,” she suddenly directs, easing you forward. Dieter follows, backing up onto his knees, wrapping his arms around your form to keep you pressed against his chest. He smells like sex and smoke and you, and it’s intoxicating.

Before you can fully process what you’re doing, you’re wrapping your fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, dragging his face down so you can taste yourself on his lips. He reciprocates immediately, licking into you with such intensity that you both nearly stumble over.

You wrap your other arm around his neck, his own tightening in their embrace around you. It’s secure — so secure that you don’t feel Emily slip out from her place behind you.

Dieter’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he guides you down onto your back, nudging your legs apart with his knee. He only pulls away to glance down as he grasps the base of his cock, notching himself against your slick entrance.

“Wait, D,” you whine, pushing feebly against the solid plane of his chest. “Wanna be on top.”

He draws back, eyes searching yours.

“Are you sure? It’s…I’m…I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“She can take it,” Emily cuts sternly from somewhere behind him. “She’s a good girl. She’ll take whatever you give her.”

He knows better than to question further.

Reaching backwards, he pulls one of your legs around his abdomen, and you follow by doing the same with the other. He slips a massive arm behind your back, and in one swift motion, he’s flipping you both over.

He settles his mussed halo of curls on the pillow, maneuvering your abdomen to situate your cunt just over the length of his cock. You roll your hips forward, catching his tip against your swollen clit. A ribbon of light unfurls down your spine, tightening around it when he groans from low in his throat.

You flatten your palms against his chest, anchoring yourself as you rock against him a second time.

“C’mere sweet girl,” he rasps, planting a thick hand against your hip to poise his leaking head against your entrance.

A tangled pant escapes your lips as you finally sink down onto him, the sumptuous sting of the initial stretch waning into an insistent throb.

“Fuu-uuck, baby,” he gasps, “you’re so tight.”

Neither of you move for a moment, each adjusting to the other, the walls of your pussy clenching around him.

Emily drops behind you, kneeling between Dieter’s legs. Her hands slide down your sides, one grasping at your waist to encourage you forward, to make you move, the other stroking wicked ministrations at your throbbing clit.

Dieter grunts out a strangled noise, his fists balled in the sheets beneath him. Emily tuts, removing her hand from your side to grip his wrist, placing his palm over your breast. She pushes her fingers over his, a silent direction to squeeze.

He obeys, lifting his other hand to caress the full roundness of your tits, drawing his fingernails over the peaks of your nipples. You shiver, goosebumps rising over the span of your arms and thighs.

You’re moving against him faster now, his cock hitting athe deepest parts of you. It’s so much, you’re so full, and the tight circles that Emily rubs across your clit send you spiraling to the edge.

Emily can feel it in the way your back arches against her, can see it in the way you tremble over Dieter’s cock, can hear it in the way your breath hitches and soft, breathy moans punch the air between you.

“Baby’s gonna cum, D. Look how good you’re doing,” she coos. “What a good boy you are.”

He clenches his eyes closed, focusing on anything but how your tits feel in his palms, on the heavy drag of his cock in your soaked folds.

“D,” Emily directs, leaning across you to dig her fingers into his cheeks. “You know better than to close your eyes.”

His fluttering lids pop back open, expression pleading, jaw slack. But Emily angles his head so he’s forced to look at the way he’s splitting you open, how the soft pads of her fingers are undoing you.

And you break, then, throwing your head back and bearing down on Dieter’s cock, fast and hard. Your orgasm washes over you, stars bursting behind your eyelids. Dieter growls, low and animalistic — primal.

“Again.” Emily’s voice is gruff in your ear, her fingers relentless at the apex of your thighs.

“I…I don’t think…” you start to stammer, but she hushes you by leaning in and pressing her tongue into your open mouth.

“Again,” she repeats when she pulls back.

Your moans shift into broken pleas, high-pitched and desperate. Dieter pulls at your hard nipples, rolling them between his skilled fingers. He’s groaning, too, eyes half-lidded and chest flushed.

It’s all so much, your body tightening more, more, more, hypersensitive from not having come down yet.

“You like it, baby? Like bouncing up and down on his cock? Like knowing he’s gonna cum so deep inside you?”

“L-like it, Em. Like it.” You mumble, vision deliciously blurred, words meaning nothing to you.

“Love seeing you cock drunk and babbling. It’s the only way I’ll let him give you a baby, baby. If you let him fuck you stupid.”

Dieter’s fucking up into you now, your own body no longer capable of being in control. His movements are sloppy, erratic, arms wrapped around your waist for leverage, but hitting every part that you need him to. Emily’s pace on your clit is grueling, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

But you’re cumming again, strangling Dieter’s cock with your convulsions, slick streaming out of you, pooling in the cradle of his hips. Fat, salty tears roll down your cheeks.

Emily finally drags her fingers back, smearing slick across your hip, skating them up your body to deposit them in your mouth. You suck obediently, obscenely, eyes closed. She laughs lowly, delighted at your capitulation.

And then she’s gone, her footsteps receding across the bedroom floor.

It takes everything in you to stay upright, Dieter’s weighty arms and warm chest an alluring invitation. But you know you’re not done, the grand finale within tasting distance.

Dieter shifts, loosening his grip, slowing his movements. Allowing you both some reprieve from the overstimulation, a chance to catch your breaths. He doesn’t stop completely, however, rocking up into you deliberately — almost sweetly.

It doesn’t last. You hear Emily return, her steps stopping at the threshold of the door.

“Look at our pretty girl, Em,” Dieter babbles, fingers splayed across the globes of your ass. He drives up into you again, hard, using his hands to spread you apart from behind at the same time. Putting all of you on display — your stretched open cunt, strained against his length, and the delicate ring of muscle just above — for Emily, who smirks from her place in the doorway.

You look over your shoulder at her, eyes hooded and chest heaving, your breath catching when you see what she’s sporting — the black harness and pink strap that you’re so accustomed to. You swallow hard, unprepared.

“O-oh. I didn’t know…”

“S’not for you, baby,” she chuckles, gesturing towards Dieter with her chin. You watch, mesmerized, as she runs her hand over the length of the toy, as commanding as you’ve ever seen her, while striding across the room.

Dieter whines when he sees it, his hips stalling against you, eyes practically rolling back in his head at just the idea of it. It would be pathetic, if it didn’t turn you on to see him so needy.

Emily comes to stand beside you, skating the tips of her fingers up the notches of your spine. The neon toy bobs suggestively between you, and despite your heavy limbs, your mouth waters.

She flattens her palm against the small of your back, effectively crumpling your lithe body against Dieter’s chest with little effort. He whimpers in your ear, cock flexing against your walls at the sudden change in position.

But he’s impatient, and Emily is persistent.

“Up,” she commands, tapping his thigh twice before moving to stand at the end of the bed. He obeys, rolling your both over gently, depositing you on your back, pressing reassuring kisses to your neck and collarbones.

“I got you,” he mumbles knowingly into your sticky skin, before Emily grasps his thighs from behind to drag him down the length of the bed.

You yelp, a giggly, surprised kind of yelp, as his grip pulls you with him, cock still buried in the furthest reach of you.

He’s kissing you again, tasting you with a different kind of urgency, while he hovers above you on all fours.

“You’ve been so good, D, giving baby what she needs,” Emily soothes, voice dripping with lust — with authority. “Now it’s your turn to get what you need.”

His body stills, save for the pounding of his heart against yours, his forehead dropped to rest on the slope of your shoulder. His heavy breath punches near the base of your throat, a hard swallow as you hear the cap on the bottle of lube click open.

You watch Emily through your lashes over the incline of Dieter’s back, his hips raised in perfect alignment to her imposing cock. She squirts the slippery liquid on her hand, and Dieter’s body quivers at the noise — at what he knows is imminent.

The way she jerks her hand up and down over the toy sets a fire in your belly, and you can’t help but arch beneath Dieter, your vigor renewed at the sight of it. You so badly want him to move, to buck back into you, to fuck you until he cums.

Emily smirks from where she stands, dripping the lube over the curves of Dieter’s ass, and you feel his jaw tighten against you when she does. It’s followed by a dark giggle as she trails her fingers through the slick, spreading it over every part of him.

“Ready, D?”

He hums in affirmation, a desperate, splintered noise that rolls across your skin. A plea.

She slips one finger inside him, all the way to the knuckle. He responds in kind, his hips jerking into you, a guttural moan crawling from his throat.

“Enough?” she taunts, pumping in and out of him the same way he’d done to you.

His hips keep rhythm with her, and the relief pooling low in your cunt makes you want to sob.

He shakes his head, mouth moving to capture your nipple, laving his tongue against the peak of it.

“Say it, D.”

“More,” he growls in response, muffled by the flesh of your breast. “More.”

Emily inserts a second finger, and he keens, driving into you with more force than he has all night. You squeak, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself, the warm metal of his chain heavy beneath your fingers.

His hips snap against you relentlessly, almost painfully. Your lashes flutter against his sweat-damp curls, and in one swift moment, Emily removes her fingers to be replaced by the toy.

She pushes all the way into him, grinding against the meat of his ass when she reaches the hilt. His body arcs, hammering into your already-used pussy with such power that a choked sob catches in your throat.

Tears swim in your eyes again, streaming down your cheeks only when Dieter hooks his arm under your thigh to press it up into your ribs. Your calf rests on his shoulder, and the position stretches you open more than you ever have been before.

“Mmm, perfect, D,” Emily approves, voice faltering. “If you really want to put a baby in her, you need to cum deep.”

He grunts in agreement, his breathing shattered and sharp. You can feel the way Emily thrusts into him as he thrusts into you, and it’s all at once too much.

Heat swirls in your cunt, tight, tight, tight, snapping as Dieter’s groans grow louder in your ear. Seeing him come undone sends pinpricks of intense pleasure over every part of your body, and you think you brokenly whisper the words gonna cum into his hair.

He pounds into you hungrily, encouraged by the way your pussy pulses around his thick length. It’s all you need — your cunt spasming, devouring, taking, as another orgasm rips through you, stealing the air from your lungs. Everything following is a white static.

Dieter isn’t far behind, his thighs shaking between you and Emily, torn between the push and pull of giving and receiving deliciously.

“Need to cum,” he finally cuts, voice tight. He doesn’t stop, but Emily doesn’t stop either, still slamming into him as hard as he does into you.

Emily doesn’t hesitate in her response.

“No. Not yet. Need to make baby cum one more time.”

Those words cut through, a knife through the fog.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you cry, fingernails digging into Dieter’s muscular shoulders, at the same time Dieter cries out.

“Please, Em,” he begs, voice cracking through the air in the room. “Please.”

“One more,” she directs, hands gripping Dieter’s hips, guiding him back onto her length. “You can, baby. You can.”

You’re sobbing now, knee pressed into your chest, spread open, split in two, stuffed full.

“You can, baby, you can,” Dieter echoes in your ear, his own voice just as desperate — strained and thick. “Cum for me. Let me give you a baby.”

And you do, melting beneath his solid body completely, tears dripping down your temples into your hair. It overtakes you entirely, slick gushing from your aching cunt, soaking both Dieter and the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter spits, and you can taste the urgency in his voice. “I can’t…I need…baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

“Ask for it, D.” Emily smirks, knowing, too, that he’s well past the point of return.

“Pl…please. Need…need… to c-cum,” he chokes, thrusts brutal and frantic.

“Cum, then. Give baby a baby.”

Immediately, Dieter’s entire body tenses, tight as a bow string, before he’s fucking into you with reckless abandon, arms flexing, primal growls ripping from deep in his chest. He presses his open mouth to your shoulder, teeth scraping your buzzing skin, as thick ropes of cum spill inside of you.

Time slows as it happens, your awareness of every pulse and clench of his cock heightened. There’s so much of it — flooding your pussy, gushing out around his still-hard cock, dripping down the curve of your ass.

For what feels like an eternity, the only sounds in the room are three rugged, matching breaths.

“Good boy, D,” Emily finally gasps, leaning forward to ruffle his curls affectionately. “You did so good.”

He mumbles something against your skin that you can’t make out, but sounds a lot like thank you.

Your head is still swimming, the bittersweet throb between your thighs persistent.

Dieter finally pulls out, delicately, easing his frame down next to yours.

“Okay, baby?” he mumbles into your ear, and you think you nod.

Your eyelids are heavy, so heavy, body overwrought and sensitive to the touch. But you don’t pull away when he nuzzles into your neck, lips grazing the tender flesh there. The pads of his fingers slide back and forth over your womb a few times, a mesmerizing movement that lulls you half to sleep.

“Sit up,” Emily whispers, rousing you just enough that you let her guide your malleable body to a sitting position. “Arms.”

You obey, eyes still cloudy, raising your arms over your head so Emily can pull a t-shirt down over your exposed body. It’s too big, and smells too much like Dieter, to be your own. The material puddles in your lap, and Dieter fists the hem to tug you back down to him. He’s all soft sighs and kitten licks when you capitulate, open palm tugging your hips flush to him.

Then the mattress bows, Emily climbing on the other side of you, sandwiching your body between the two of them. She gently clasps your cheeks, angling your face towards her so she can press her mouth to yours reverently.

“Tired, baby?”

“Mmhmm,” is all you can muster, your limbs still liquid.

Dieter presses his forehead to the contour of your shoulder, warm breath fanning your dewy skin when he speaks in a whisper.

“I should go.”

Your eyes fly open, and you’re squirming around to face him, winding your legs into his to cling to him.

“No. I want you to stay. I want you to stay at least until it’s for sure,” you pout.

He cranes his neck to look across you at Emily, unsure how to proceed. She laughs affectionately, brushing away the hairs clinging to your sweat-damp forehead.

“Baby makes the rules, D.”

“Baby makes the rules,” he affirms, dropping his hand between your legs to thumb any stray drips of cum back into you.

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

I keep thinking about fluff/smut where, for once, Pedro Pascal is the one crushing on (fem) reader- don’t get me wrong, I love all the daddy dom vibes, but him catching feelings for a funny/sweet younger woman and getting all flustered about it?

Maybe a mid-late 20-something year old, someone who is a friend of a friend or an extra on set~ I just think as flirty and charming as he is, he’d be one to get as red as a tomato around his little crush <3

What do you think? I’d love to hear your take!

Okay, so first, sorry it took me so long to respond, I saw this ask and I got an Idea™ and I had to run with it because why not? Second, I hope you like what I came up with as an answer, I tried. So here it is:

Ask Her

Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: I haven't written anything in forever, I'm still suffering from Writer's Block so go easy on me. Also it's not proofread and it's 6:40 in the morning so any mistakes are my bad. Special thanks to @ziggyrocket for the support 💜.

Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the third time that day that you felt his eyes on you, and when you turned around to look at him, you saw him look away quickly.

Next to him, Bella, rolled their eyes. "You know you could just go over and talk to her," they pointed out.

He shook his head. "And say what?"

"Umm how about 'Hi, how are you? How’s your day going?’ to start with."

“Right and then what?”

“Then you have a conversation like a normal person…” Nico chimed in from his other side.

“And eventually ask her out,” Bella finished, “because this whole staring and then looking away thing is ridiculous.”

“Yeah and you clearly like her,” Nico added.

Pedro averted his eyes and looked down at his phone in his hands, clearly not wanting to admit to anything. 

Nico and Bella exchanged glances over his head and with a mischievous glint in their eye, Bella gasped, “Oh, she’s looking over here!”

Pedro’s head shot up, his cheeks turning a bright red, as he looked over to where you were; but you were deep in conversation with one of the other make-up artists, not even remotely looking that way.. Nico and Bella snickered at him. He sighed and shook his head at them.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Bella said, “I was just proving our point.”

Nico nodded. “Eventually, you’re gonna have to talk to her.”

As fate would have it, “eventually” came sooner than expected. Later that week, you were assigned to do his make-up, since the artist that regularly did it was out for the day. So, when Pedro walked in and saw you standing there, he stopped abruptly and just stared for a second. You didn’t notice at first, since your back was turned, but when you looked into the mirror and saw him standing there, looking at you, you smiled wide and turned around.

“Hi.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He then cleared his throat. “Hi,” he managed to get out. “Um, where’s…?”

“She had something she had to do, family I think, so you have me today,” you answer, “I promise, you’re in good hands.” You gave him another smile and gestured for him to sit in the chair. 

He sat and you began carefully applying his make-up. At first you worked in silence, neither of you sure of what to say. 

You had felt his eyes on you from the moment you walked on set. You weren’t so sure that it meant anything in the beginning. You were, after all, just a lowly make-up artist, not even the primary one, why would someone like him even look twice at you? But as time went on, you started to notice it more and more. It really hit you when, one day, you were touching up Nico’s make-up and she casually joked that he seemed to perk up more when you were around. 

“He smiles more,” she’d said, “it’s almost like he’s had an extra strong cup of coffee.”

“Mind you,” Gabriel had chimed in, “he doesn’t really need it.”

You all laughed. Pedro’s hyperactivity was well known. Which made his current silence a bit odd. 

He’s nervous, you thought.

He cleared his throat again, bringing you back to the present. You figured that you might as well strike up some kind of conversation. Funnily enough, he had the same thought.

“So…” you both began at the same time. Then you stopped. You looked at him and you both burst into laughter.

“You go ahead,” you said.

He shook his head. “Nah, you go.”

“Gentlemen first,” you commented with a smirk.

He laughed at that, then asked, “What are you listening to?”

“Huh?” you touched the earbud you had in your ear that was playing a song softly. “Oh, just some music to wake me up.”

He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his hand for you to explain more. 

“Prince,” you said simply, “Raspberry Beret.”

He smiled wide at that. “Love that song.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Hmm, okay,” you said, and put the brush and powder you had in your hand down on the table behind you. 

You went over to your bag and dug around in it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Normally,” you began, “I just keep my earbuds in, because I know not everyone likes the same music I do… aha,” you said triumphantly as you pulled out your mini bluetooth speaker, “but when I’m  alone, I use this.”

You turned on the speaker and set it on the table, then connected your phone. Soon the beat began and you both sang along.  “I was working part-time in a five and dime, my boss was Mr. McGee…”

You picked up your brush again and started back on his make-up, your head bopping along to the song.

After that, it seemed like the ice had been broken. He started asking you more questions: where you from, how long you had been doing make-up, favorite color, etc. You answered all of them with ease, and asked him more questions in return.

Before you knew it, you were finished. “All right, all done,” you announced. 

“That was quick,” he said. In truth, you had taken a little bit longer than you normally would have, you just wanted to spend a bit more time with him. “Um, I guess I better get going…”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you said, as you put away the brushes and other things. You both were shy again.

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you out there,” he said, standing and stretching.

You turned and looked up at him, into his eyes. That made him blush. You smiled and you felt your own cheeks grow warm. “Yeah, of course.”

After that, he was more comfortable around you. From time to time the both of you could be found, earbuds in, heads bobbing along to some song or another or dancing around to music blasting from your portable bluetooth speaker. It was obvious to everyone who spent five minutes around the two of you that you both liked each other; there were inside jokes, laughter, and shared looks between you two, but the weeks went by and nothing more happened. 

Bella and Nico were frustrated with this. How was it possible that the most outgoing person they knew, couldn’t even bring himself to ask you out, when it was obvious that he wanted to?

Bella approached him again. “All I’m saying is you need to…” 

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,��� Bella argued.

“You were gonna say I need to ask her out,” Pedro responded.

“Well you do,” Nico said.

“She won’t say yes.”

“You don’t know that,” they both said at the same time. 

“All we’re saying is it won’t hurt to ask,” Bella said.

“It would hurt if she said no,” he pointed out.

“Which she won’t do,” Nico added, rolling her eyes.

“How do you…?”

“How do we know? By the way she looks at you,” Bella sighed

“She doesn’t…”

“Yeah, she does, she looks at you the same way you look at her.” 

Pedro sighed and shook his head. 

"What’s the problem?” Bella asked. “There’s something else isn’t there?”

He looked around, making sure they were alone, before confessing the one thing that was holding him back. “I-I’m too old,” he said quietly.

Bella and Nico exchanged glances, then started giggling. 

“It’s not funny.”

“No, but it is,” Bella said, “because it’s bullshit. If she didn’t like you she wouldn’t spend nearly as much time around you as she does, she wouldn’t talk to you as much as she does, none of it. I’m sure your age means nothing to her.”

“Exactly,” Nico agreed, nodding, then looking around she spotted you talking to someone. “So, what you’re gonna do is go over there and ask her out, and,” she said ignoring Pedro’s grunt of protest, “she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna take her somewhere nice.”

Pedro stared at you, as you talked and laughed with one of the other crew members, his nerves getting the best of him again. He wanted to go over to you, but his feet felt rooted to the spot. He looked at Bella and Nico and shook his head. He couldn’t do it. He looked back over at you, the conversation you were having had come to an end, and you were standing there, going through one of your bags, looking for something. 

At that moment, you looked up and around, spotting him. You smiled and he did the same, swallowing around the lump grown in his throat. He felt Bella push him forward slightly and sighed. They weren’t going to let this go until he did something, he knew. So, he squared his shoulders and walked over to you, smiling and blushing, but determined.

[pedroshotwifey]

*looks around and slides money on the table* 💵

Frankie Morales and number 10

I apologize to Frankie because he’s a sweet polite broad bean who’s respectful and always asks. I…would like him not to. 👀

Reader: plus size female (because I’m in full self-indulgent delulu mode)

Also I’m kinda not sorry because side why else would you have the title of the p**** eating king Morales? Huh? Huh? 😵 Sir. 👀

Anyway. I’m gonna stop rambling now. Thank you. 🥰

*Snatches money and stuffs it into pocket*

Yeah, alright. I got the goods. (I fucking love this.)

Hope you enjoy your face sitting with the p**** eating king! 😉

Rating: Explicit

W/C: 1.2k

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!plus size!reader

A Real Man

“What the fuck do you mean you’ve never sat on someone’s face before?” 

You wince at the words coming out of Frankie’s mouth. Was it really that big of a deal? 

The two of you are sitting in bed, facing the TV that Frankie just paused. Well, it’s not like the two of you were really watching it anyway. You’d started talking halfway through the movie, and you’re not really sure how you got to this point in the conversation, but here you are.

“I-I don’t know. I just…haven’t.” You avoid his gaze as your cheeks heat, unsure of why you feel so ashamed to have admitted that. Maybe it was more of a common thing than you had thought. 

“But you’ve been in relationships before?” Frankie says it like a question, but he knows that you have. 

“Well, yeah, but. I don’t know, we just didn’t do it!” You don’t know why you’re getting frustrated with this. 

Frankie huffs a laugh and shakes his head. 

“What kind of an idiot wouldn’t offer themselves up to a goddess like you?” 

“You haven’t!” you point out. It’s a bit unfair of you since the two of you have only been officially dating for a couple of weeks and haven’t done too much sexual exploration yet. You’ve known him for much longer though, having grown up with him, and you’re not going to deny hearing…rumors of his skills. 

He gives you a pointed look, knowing that you know that’s an unfair accusation. You groan and put your hands over your face.

“My last boyfriend offered, but he seemed like he didn’t really want to. So I told him I would suffocate him, and he agreed with me.” It’s muffled through your hands, and the last part is near incomprehensible with how quietly you say it. 

“He what?” Frankie sits up a bit, and you peek at him through your fingers. “Honey, I hate to tell you, but that boy was a fucking idiot.” 

You sigh and shake your head. Like you didn’t know that already. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

Your hands fall from your face as you jolt up. 

“What? No!” 

“Yes. You’re going to sit on my face so I can show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” 

“Frankie, no, I–” 

“Clothes. Off. Now.” 

You gulp at the way his eyes darken and his voice deepens. Deciding it’s better just to listen to what he says, you slide down off the bed and start to tug off your clothes with shaky hands. You glance at Frankie as you push your pants down, watching the way he hungrily licks his bottom lip as you unveil more and more skin. 

You stop once you’re down to your bra and panties, another protest on the tip of your tongue. But Frankie’s quick, and he knows your antics. 

“Keep going. I don’t want to hear it.” 

You purse your lips but undo your bra all the same, tossing it to the side and revealing your breasts to your boyfriend. You can feel the wetness between your legs as you peel your panties off, making your face flush again. 

“C’mere.” 

It’s not a request, and your body responds to it before you can think about it. You stop in front of him, his hands coming to settle on your plush hips. His eyes drag up the length of you, slowing as they pass your heavy breasts. 

“Fucking gorgeos, amor.” 

He starts to pull you back onto the bed with him, leading you to climb over him as he lays down. You stop at his waist, feeling the way his bulge presses up against the fabric of his sweats. 

“C’mon, baby. All the way up.” 

You swallow but follow his instruction, trying and failing to avoid his lust fueled gaze. You stop again right at his chest, and he suddenly wraps his arms around your thick thighs to pull you to his face, making you fall over him and plant your hands on the bed above his head. 

“Frankie, be careful!” you scold, sitting back up on your knees. You look down at him, seeing his pupils completely blown. 

“Take a seat hermosa,” he instructs, completely ignoring your outburst. 

You start to lower yourself down, hovering just over his mouth. You’re about to ask him one more time if he’s sure, and then he pulls you all the way down, making you yelp as your pussy comes into contact with his unrelenting mouth. 

He immediately gets to work on licking stripes up and down your cunt, and you scream out his name. He’s eaten you before while you were on your back, but holy fuck. It didn’t feel like this. 

He groans into you as he slips his tongue inside your weeping hole, licking up all that he can. Your hand threads through his curls as your hips jolt involuntarily at the feeling. Your head is already starting to go blank as a pressure builds in your abdomen. 

His tongue fucks in and out of you as he simultaneously slurps up your juices. You moan obscenely, tugging on his hair as you ride his face. He whimpers at the pull, and you already know his hips are bucking up into nothing. 

He’s fucking feral, licking and fucking and groaning and whimpering. After a moment, he pulls his tongue back and shifts to take your clit between his full lips, sucking harshly. Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm gets closer, and Frankie holds you even closer, his fingers leaving indents on your thighs as he squeezes your flesh. His tongue flicks over the swollen bud, and you’re done for. 

“Oh, fuck, Frankie!” you cry out as you come on him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’re vaguely aware of the way you’re clenching his hair in a way that has got to be painful, but you don’t have enough control to release your grip. 

He keeps moving through your orgasm, letting go of your clit to trail back to your hole, drinking everything up as he moans. Your body tenses and shakes violently as you focus solely on the pleasure of it. 

You’re panting as you come down, your body leaning back over his, weak from the force of the orgasm he just gave you. You feel his grip loosen on your thighs, and you take the opportunity to roll off of him and lay down on your back beside him. 

You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breathing heavy as you look at eachother. You trade a shaky laugh, completely blissed out from whatever the fuck that was. 

“Thank you baby,” you say, unsure if you can find the words to explain to him how mind-blowing that was. 

“Shit, thank you,” Frankie responds. 

“It wasn’t too much then?” you ask, doubt creeping back into your mind despite what just transpired. 

“It was fucking perfect baby. I can prove how much I liked it if you really need.” He sounds almost bashful at this admission, and you’re confused for a second before you look down and see the dark stain in his pants. 

You laugh at him, almost impressed that he managed to come untouched. 

“No, I believe you.”

*****

Here’s the link to the prompt list if anyone else would like to request 🫶

[dankfarrikfifi]

The Birthday Bash

Pt 1 of Some Version of You, 4.8k

A/N: contains mentions of smoking and drug use, a cute first encounter, and a few kisses. reader is not described other than being shorter than Frankie, wearing glasses, and having hair long enough to braid. This is my first ever fic, I’m hoping you guys like it! Reader has a name in my mind but I liked keeping it open for you to decide. Let me know what you think! Hopefully I’ll have the second part up soon :) Will get more explicit as the story goes on.

For as long as you could remember, your birthday was never your own. Sometimes it was a point of contention, but because it was shared with your lifelong best friend, Benny Miller, you couldn’t be too mad about it. Since you were 4 and Benny was 6, the two of you had shared a party, your “Birthday Bash” as it had come to be called. By the time you were turning 24, this had not changed.

People were piled into every corner of the backyard of the house you shared with Benny, some your closest friends, others very vague connections that were simply capitalizing on the opportunity to party. There was a fire blazing in the pit, and the pool was threatening to spill over with the amount of bodies filling it, despite the slight chill that had settled in the air. Benny, being the social butterfly that he is, was wandering around, greeting guests and chatting with anyone who came his way. You, on the other hand, were observing from a distance, perched on the retaining wall in the back of the yard with Benny’s brother. Will Miller, being the oldest and more reserved of the brothers, was content to share a quiet moment with you, passing a joint back and forth.

“Ya know,” Will said before releasing the smoke he had been holding in his mouth, “You should probably go greet some of your guests, be a nice host.”

“As if,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, almost knocking the both of you over in your haze. You erupt in a fit of giggles, a sound that should not come out of a man his size escaping Will. “We all know Benny is the social twin and I’m the antisocial one.”

“I thought twins were normally the same age,” he has made this argument countless times, and it’s almost automatic at this point, “And also, had the same parents.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to fall into the trap of arguing this one out with a high Miller boy. Instead, you motion for the joint, pulling your hands around the lighter as the flame flickers. You’re midway through a deep inhale when you look up and notice the two men walking towards you. And at the sight of the taller one, the breath gets caught in your throat, and the coughing starts up. You feel like you can’t breathe, from the combination of smoke burning in your lungs and the incredibly attractive man.

“Jesus, dude, what’s wrong with you?” Will is laughing, patting your back in a lame attempt at easing your suffering. You finally manage a deep breath in as the two men finally reach you. The shorter of the two looks around 30, short kept curly hair and some stubble across his cheek. You vaguely recognize him, trying to place his face while also checking out the other one. He’s tall. Like really tall, at least compared to you. His handsome, boyish face is clean shaven, and his dark brown hair looks as if it’s a few months out from a buzz cut.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you manage to get out, “lost my breath there for a second.”

“It’s because we’re just that damn good looking, Miller.” the shorter one greets with a sharp grin on his face. Will flips him the finger, before standing up and man-hugging them each. They pat each other on the back and grin, and you realize why they had looked so familiar. You had seen them in the pictures Will had saved from the army.

“Santi, glad to see you’re still an arrogant asshole,” Will shoots back as he sits next to you, gesturing for the men to sit on the bench situated across from the two of you. “Fish, looking good, how are you doing?”

“Doing good, Will, doing good.” The taller one, Fish as Will had called him, grumbles, his deep voice resonating in your mind. He turns to you, holding a hand out in greeting, “I’m Frankie, nice to meet you.”

You blush, hoping the night hides it from the attractive man in front of you, grasping his hand in yours. It’s huge in comparison, warm and calloused. You introduce yourself to him before turning and doing the same to his friend.

“Ah, the birthday girl!” He grins at you, “Very nice to meet you. I’m Santi, we were in Delta Force with Will.”

“Oh cool!” you smile at the two of them, holding out the joint in a silent offer that they both take you up on, “Will’s talked about you guys a lot, nice to meet you. What brings you to town?”

The four of you get to talking, Santi explaining that he and Frankie had needed a change of scenery after leaving the army, and Will had talked so highly of the town they now all lived in. Frankie chimed in with some details here and there, but otherwise didn’t talk as much as his counterpart. Despite this, you feel your eyes drifting to him more, catching his own already looking at you. You learn that Santi had joined Will in his recent purchase of a local gym, down the street from the coffee shop you worked at.

“Little Mike’s, seriously?” you laugh, the name always bringing you amusement, “I love that place! Benny and I work out there all the time. Please tell me you’re not changing the name.”

“Of course not!” Santi assures you. “I don’t even know who Mike is, though.

“No one does, that’s what makes it so amazing. It’s a mystery.” you joke, and you internally cheer when it gets Frankie to laugh a little. You turn your attention to him.

“What about you, Frankie?” you ask him, trying to learn more about the quiet man. He clears his throat slightly before speaking, the joint held delicately in his fingers.

“I’m actually working as a mechanic, at the shop on Central?” he maintains eye contact the entire time, making you feel like it is just the two of you for a brief moment.

“You two will definitely be seeing each other a lot, then,” Will laughs, and you yet again shove your shoulder against his, “Frankie’s a coffee addict, and you can’t keep a car running to save your life.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. And when Benny stumbles up to the group, you and Will are still giggling uncontrollably, made worse by Benny almost wiping out.

“Shut up, assholes,” he grumbles at you, straightening out before greeting everyone. “Boys, good to see you, welcome to the birthday bash!”

He grabs you by the arm, pulling you into his side and pressing a kiss to your head. You scrunch your face in mock disgust and roll your eyes, used in full at this point to Benny and his overly affectionate nature.

“You ready for cake, birthday girl?” He asks, spinning you around and catching you when the spin has a little too much force behind it.

“Absolutely birthday boy, lead the way.”

The two of you stumble in towards the house, and along the way Benny starts to yell: “Time for cake!”. People cheer, following into the back door while you grab the cake from the fridge. As per usual, you had one cake, specially decorated for you and Benny, and several other sheets of cupcakes for everyone else to share. Benny sticks some candles in the top of the cake, 24 for you and 26 for him, and leans in to light them. At once, everyone starts singing happy birthday. When you look up, you can’t help but latch your eyes onto Frankie, who you hadn’t noticed was right in front of you.

“Happy birthday to you!” they all finish, a loud cheer filling the living room. And, as tradition dictated, you and Benny each grabbed a handful of cake, shoving it in each other's faces. You’re laughing uncontrollably, and eventually everyone starts filing back out to the pool after grabbing their sweet treats. You turn to the kitchen, ready to wipe the frosting off your face, and run straight into a solid chest. Frankie catches you, hands wrapping firmly around your shoulders.

“Shit, sorry,” he slurs ever so slightly, and you realize he’s just as faded as you are right now, “Happy birthday. Didn’t say that earlier.”

“Thanks,” you blush, noticing his hands are still on your shoulders. He seems to notice at the same time, pulling them back to rest at his sides. His dark eyes remain fixed on you, a heavy gaze that leaves your head spinning.

“I, uh, I’m stoned,” he grins at you and you can’t help but return the smile, the two of you unconsciously making your way through the house, away from the crowd. You find yourselves in the living room, where a few people, including Will and Santi, sat scattered around. You half expected that you would go and join the two of them, but instead Frankie steers you towards the love seat, sinking down into it with a groan.

“This is the best couch I’ve ever sat on,” He looks up at you, an amused glint in his hazy eyes. Something in that look fuels your confidence enough that you sit down next to him, the furniture not allowing quite enough room for you both without being pressed together. If your head was less fuzzy, from the weed and the festivities and the very cute man sitting next to you, you probably would not have had the courage to lean into him as you begin conversing.

You quickly find that you and Frankie get along well. You share stories of your childhoods, discuss favorite foods, movies, any topic that pops into either of your heads. The rest of the party seems to fade away as you chat and chat, occasionally parting when someone approaches to say goodbye to you and Benny as the night grows to a close. Before long, there are 5 bodies left in the room; Will, sprawled back in the arm chair; Santi and Benny, playing a game of cribbage on the floor; you and Frankie on the love seat, him sprawled out and slouched back, you with your knees to your chest and feet tucked under his thigh.

“Earth to Frankie!” Santi calls from across the room, startling the two of you out of your enthralling conversation on coffee. “I asked if you wanted to play?”

Frankie blushes slightly, something that does not go unnoticed by you. You lock eyes with Benny, who has a sly grin plastered on his face. Will’s expression is much the same. You start to wonder how long they had been trying to get Frankie’s attention while you were talking.

“What are you two even talking about?” Benny teases, as if he can read your mind. You narrow your eyes at him without responding. Instead, you stand up and stretch, yawning as well.

“I don’t know about you boys, but it’s past my bedtime.” you change the subject, having realized it’s nearing 1 in the morning and you’re opening crew at the shop in 5 hours. You bid goodnight to them all, with the promise to see them soon, and head up to your room. Getting ready for bed in record time, you’re soon nestled under the covers, attempting to fall asleep. But something is stopping you from fully relaxing. After several minutes of tossing and turning, you finally drift off.

———————————————————————————

It feels like you’ve been asleep for maybe half an hour when your first alarm goes off. As usual, you snooze without thinking. Not long after, your “I really have to leave now” alarm is going off. You groan, exhausted and just the slightest bit hungover, giving yourself a second to be miserable before pushing back the covers to start your day.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready, and soon you’re off for the day. The 8 minute drive to work gives you just enough time to think about last night, and by the time you arrive your mind can barely focus on your opening tasks. All you can focus on is the man you met last night, Frankie. The two of you had clicked so effortlessly, an instant connection that you hadn’t felt with anyone in the past. And although he seemed a handful of years older than you, that didn’t stop the budding romantic feelings from taking root in your chest. Finally, you have the shop set up to your liking, a song playing softly in the background and tables organized to optimize space.

The shop promises to be open at 7, and although you don’t always make that it looks like today will be better than most. At 6:58 you’re unlocking the door and propping it open, letting the early morning sunlight shine across the hardwood floor. And soon, you’re able to lose yourself in the day. Alia, you’re cashier and partner in crime for the day, bustles in a few minutes late with an apologetic kiss to your cheek. Soon after, the pre-work rush begins and you don’t have a moment to think of last night as you work to make latte after latte. By the time the rush has passed you’re sweating and need to take a break.

“Alia, I’m taking a fifteen, just holler if someone comes in, will ya?”

She confirms with you, and you gather your bag from behind the register and head to the very back corner of the store. You love it back here, sitting in the corner of two benches, with enough table space to lay out your supplies. Your favorite part of the day, any day, is when you get to hide back here and write to your heart's content. It’s usually only as long as the lull between the breakfast and lunch rush, but you still try to lose yourself. It’s so far a success, until you feel a shadow slip over the table, blurring the words you had just been scribbling. You glance up, and you can’t quite believe your eyes.

Frankie is towering over you, a sly grin on his face as you startle slightly.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, and when you nod your head at him he slides into the chair across from you, smiling all the while. You can’t help the tug of your lips as you smile back. Frankie gestures towards your notebook.

“Do you write?” he questions, and you feel a slight flush rising on your cheeks.

“Yea, any chance I get.” You reply, and without thinking you’re sharing your latest story with him. You’re soon lost in discussion, only interrupted by Alia. She blinks for a second, looking between the two of you, before she turns to you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, can you come and make a few drinks. They’re a little outside of my wheelhouse.”

“Oh of course, I’ll be right back,” you say to Frankie and rushes to the counter. Never in your life have you made a London fog and mocha faster, but after a few minutes you’re able to return to your spot. To your surprise and genuine enjoyment, Frankie is still there. He grins as you set a cup of black coffee in front of him.

“I didn’t know how you liked it,” you say, almost shy.

“Sure you did,” he laughs, holding the cup up towards you in a mock toast. “Black as can be, that’s how it’s meant to be.”

“Ok fair, black coffee is good, but sometimes the fru-fru stuff is the best.”

And so launches a fierce debate between you, while the air of levitivity remains. You get up every once in a while to make a drink, but mostly remain at the table, chatting with your new friend. Finally, Frankie looks at his watch and startles.

“Shit, lost track of time, my shift started 10 minutes ago!” You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling honored that he was late for work because he had been so engaged with you. You said your goodbyes as he rushed out of the shop, trying to sneakily leave a 20 in the tip jar. You waved for a beat too long, realizing it with a flutter in your stomach. A nervous excitement has filled you during your time together, and you aren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“So, you gonna tell me who that handsome man was?” Alia startles you as she slides up to your side. “Are you seeing him?”

“No! I just met him last night, he’s a friend of Will’s,” you explain to her, without giving away too much. Being the perceptive girl she is, you’re sure she’ll see through to the truth of how you’re feeling. However, she must be feeling merciful, as she doesn’t push you, leaving you to think it through yourself. It, of course being, your newfound feelings for Frankie.

——————————————————————-

It’s been a few days since you last saw Frankie. Picking up some extra shifts had left you with little free time, and the spare minutes you did have were reserved for working on your writing. A fresh idea had popped into your head midway through your shift Monday, and by Friday you had a very, very rough draft. You were sitting on the loveseat in comfy clothes, hair braided on each side and your ridiculously large “artsy glasses” (as Benny had dubbed them) perched atop your nose. You’re so focused on the keyboard at your fingers that you barely notice the knock at the door.

“I got it!” Benny bellows, rushing towards the door like a golden retriever. He yanks it open to reveal Santi, Will and Frankie standing on the steps. You still aren’t wholly paying attention, not until you hear Frankie’s deep chuckle coming from the doorway of the living room. Your head shoots up and you meet his eyes. You can’t help the grin on your face.

“Hi.” You say in simple greeting, quickly saving the document you had been working on and shoving your computer under the coffee table.

“Hey there,” Frankie responds, settling into the seat next to you. It isn’t until that moment that you realize the amount of skin shown off by your comfy outfit. He’s wearing shorts, and your bare legs press together on the tight couch. It sends a rush down your spine, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as the rest of the boys file in, a riot of laughter at some unheard joke.

“Sorry bud, hope you don’t mind,” Benny says to you as they all settle into their various spots. “We were gonna watch the fight at Will’s but his power went out.”

“No worries Ben, I’ll leave you guys to it.” You move to stand, but are surprised when a hand wraps around your wrist. You glance down at Frankie, who is now leveling you with some serious puppy dog eyes.

“Stay with us, we’re ordering food.” You almost think you can see a blush on his cheeks, and you acquiesce.

“Ok, if you insist,” you joke, “Just let me go get changed out of my pajamas for the first time today.”

You rush upstairs, throwing on some less revealing yet still comfortable clothes, before stopping in the mirror. You can’t help but check, see if you’re looking as cute as you want. Before you can second guess, you rush back downstairs as Benny starts hollering your name.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you yell back. You trounce back into the living room, hoping that you’re not imagining the glance Frankie chances at the sliver of skin between your sweatpants and t-shirt.

“Pepperoni and pineapple, coke to drink?” Benny confirms with you, as if you hadn’t had the same order for the past 20 years. You nod at him before settling back in next to Frankie. It takes a while for the food to get to the house, all the while you are trying to ignore every point your bodies come in contact with one another. It’s a futile effort, especially when he seems to be inching closer every few minutes. Once the food is delivered, and everyone else was distracted by that, Frankie finally has a moment alone with you.

“So, how’s your week been?” he asks you, arm slung across the back of the cushions, just barely dragging against your shoulder. You can’t help but lean into the touch.

“Pretty good, you?” you ask back.

“Pretty good, worked some extra shifts, had some amazing coffee,” he winks at you when he says that point, the blush that seemed ever present around him spreading across your cheeks, “How’s the writing going?”

Your face involuntarily lights up, always excited to share some of your ideas with someone with a bit more reading tendencies than Benny. Before you can start word-vomiting about your current piece, Santi appears out of thin air, motioning the two of you to the kitchen.

“Ben’s bulking, might want to get in there before it’s all gone.”

You both thank him and rush into the kitchen, grabbing a sufficient amount of food. You grin when Frankie bumps his hip against yours, not quite sure if it was on purpose or not. Whichever it was, it made you smile and think maybe it wasn’t just you with the ever growing feelings. You try not to dwell on it too much, instead following Frankie back to the living room and falling back into what you are quickly finding to be your assigned seat.

This time you’re sitting cross legged, facing him on the love seat while he leans back, his legs spread ever so slightly to hold the plate of pizza on his lap. You’re all chatting, Benny and Will trying to start a fight with Santi over the best fighter in the ring tonight. You honestly couldn’t care less, and it seems Frankie is the same. Soon, the talking turns to cheering at the TV once the fight starts. You almost jump when Frankie leans in close, whispering in your ear.

“I had fun the other night,” he starts, gesturing with his head towards the back yard. “I brought my own stash, wanna share with me?”

You beam at him, and without explaining to the others, the two of you sneak out the sliding glass door to the back yard. With some fiddling you have the string lights illuminated, bathing the deck in a soft glow while Frankie preps a bowl for the two of you. He’s sitting on the outdoor couch, and you hesitate for a second, debating between sitting next to him or across on the bench. Before you can make a decision Frankie pats the seat next to him with one hand, not even looking up from what he’s doing.

“I figured I owed you for letting me smoke all of your weed the other day.” You laugh slightly and settle in next to him, using the slight bite in the air to stick close to his side.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna ask, but thank you.”

He grins at you, offering the bowl to you for the first puff. You take it from his hand, your fingers brushing together. Without thinking you lean towards him and allow him to light it for you, his hands cupping the lighter to shield the flame. It causes you to be in very close proximity, and the flickering light illuminates his face in a way that you find irresistible. You breathe in deeply, relishing in the sweet burn before releasing the smoke in a curl around your heads. You pass the bowl back and forth, lighting for each other as an excuse to stay close.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can do anymore,” Frankie coughs, his eyes hooded. You giggle, agreeing with him. And yet, neither of you can move, remaining on the couch even as the air gets chillier and chillier. Eventually, you can’t help the shiver that runs through you. You go to suggest moving inside, but before you can the other boys are trampling out the back door.

“See I told you!” Benny is shouting at the other two, “I told you, KO’d in the third round!”

Santi wordlessly holds his hand out for Frankie’s pipe, lighting it and taking a deep drag. Frankie is suddenly lost in the conversation with the boys, but before you can get up to find something warm, he’s shrugging his flannel off and handing it to you, smiling warmly.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you’re suddenly nervous around him again as you pull his shirt around your shoulders and slip your arms down the sleeves. The cuffs go long past your hands and the spicy smell of him fills your weed-addled brain. You almost feel lightheaded, and take a moment to curl up, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This movement just happens to bring you closer to Frankie, something that you don’t think is unnoticed by him.

“You good?” he asks you, noticing your sudden quiet. You grin lazily at him, nodding your head and curling up tighter trying to get comfortable. He smiles and throws his arm around you. Benny and Santi are fake boxing, with Benny being the obvious winner, so you don’t have to worry about them commenting on your position. Will is not so easily distracted, and before you can move he’s grinning at you, your cheeks burning hot. You mouth some choice words at him, along the lines of “don’t you say anything” and he shakes his head, turning away. Even with the lasting edge of anxiety you are feeling, you can’t bring yourself to move away from the man next to you. He’s just so ...warm, comfy, and cute.

The last word startles you a bit, even just coming from your thoughts. You hadn’t really put much thought to it, the idea of being more than friends with this man you just recently met. Now, sitting here pressed against his side, his flannel wrapped around you and overwhelming your senses, it’s all you can think about.

————————————————————————-

It isn’t long until the boys start tapping out, one at a time excusing themselves to bed until it’s just you and Frankie left. You try not to think too much of it, but then he turns towards you, a sly smile on his face.

“Having a good time?” you ask him, trying to break the tension that is slowly building between the two of you.

“Oh yea, lots of fun,” he’s teasing, and you both know it. But some little part of you wants, needs the validation that what you think is happening really is.

“Frankie,” you start, shifting ever so slightly closer to his firm, warm body, “I think I want to kiss you. Would that be ok?”

His smile blossoms, a warm, genuine thing that lights up your insides. He leans closer, bumping your noses together before fitting his lips to yours. You both make a noise, your soft moan covered by his deep one, and you reach your fingers up to tangle in his short hair. His hand grasps your waist, his other cradling your cheek in a tender touch that has your mind reeling. You sit there for a while, breathing each other in before parting. You’re just ever so slightly out of breath when you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze.

“Do you wanna go out tomorrow?” he asks you, his eyes heavy with the need for sleep but unable to pull himself away from you. “Just the two of us, a date?”

“Absolutely, I want to do that, yes,” you stumble on the words in their haste to escape you. He pulls your mouth back to his, another soft kiss that leaves you wanting more, but he pulls back.

“If I’m gonna make it home alive I gotta leave soon, sweetheart,” he grumbles, almost as if he’s mad at himself, “I’m falling asleep despite the amazing company.”

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, reaching down to pull him up with you. He stumbles a little with the force of your pull and finds your cheeks with his hands, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 6 o’clock, sound good?” he whispers against your lips. You nod, biting at your cheek to keep from grinning like a lunatic. You walk him to the front door, trying to keep from alerting Benny how late Frankie had stayed. With a few more kisses, he’s finally to his truck in the driveway, turning around to wave goodbye. You return it with a soft smile, watching as he backs out before heading back into the house.

You take your time getting ready for bed, doing every step of your routine thoroughly to savor the feelings fluttering in your chest. Eventually, you can barely keep your eyes open. The second your head hits the pillow, you’re out like a light.

[ourautumn86]

what about reader and pedro have this close relationship but reader start distancing herself from pedro because he got date rumours with another actress who's older than the reader but pedro just wants to be in a relationship if it's with the reader (sorryyy english is not my first language

a/n; aw this is so cute :((( so angsty n fluffy <3

your phone rang once again as you were getting ready for the upcoming gala, your manager holding it for you and announcing the caller.

“it’s pedro pascal once again, what should i do?” she inquired you, and you shook your head. she instantly ignored the call, as she had done the last 15 times he had called that whole day. “you can’t keep doing this…, you two are great friends! did you have a discussion?”

you didn’t answer, opting for staying silent, because your heart was aching.

“how does that look? good enough?” your makeup artist smiled at you, and you took in your image on the mirror, bold red lips with dark eyeshadow and great fake eyelashes that made your eyes pop. the highlighter made your skin glow, and your perfectly applied base made it look flawless.

not good enough. it’s what you wanted to answer, ‘cause you weren’t as pretty as that woman in the news that pedro had been caught in a scandal with, you didn’t have her beautiful and perfect cheekbones, or amazing waist and hips.

but instead you smiled and nodded, winning a soft smile from your makeup artist. your hair was down and in beautiful waves that tickled the exposed skin of your back, your dress having an opening there that reached just above your lower back. your outfit for tonight’s gala was beautiful, a dior black and elegant dress that brought out all your most prominent curves and showed just the right amount of skin. you had paired it with lace long gloves and a pair of saint laurent heels that were really too painful to stand on for too long. but we all know what they said: beauty is pain.

“okay. let’s go.” your manager said, handing you your coat so the streets of new york wouldn’t freeze you to death at this hour.

“yeah.” you nodded, and tried to ignore the knot on your stomach, fully knowing you’d see pedro there. at the end, you two were the new starring stars on the most watched series of the season: last of us, along with bella ramsey of course. you knew a lot of people would come to the premiere, famous people, probably her as well.

your heels tickled on the floor as you made your way to your limousine, the leather underneath you warming you up. your phone buzzed. new message. pedro.

you sighed and put it aside, turning on do not disturb. twitter was going crazy, with this photos of this new woman under his arm making your stomach churn.

you shouldn’t feel like this. pedro was just a friend. you shouldn’t care about who he was dating, or if he even was dating at all. you should be happy for him. so why… why were you feeling like this? so bitter? so hurt?

the flashes hit your face and body, and as always, you smiled and waved once your manager had taken your jacket for you, even if the paparazzis were blinding you and making you go deaf with their screams. you didn’t want to smile, you didn’t want to pose, you didn’t want to be here. but you had to, so you’d decided that you’d do a quick greeting and chat for a little bit with other actors and stars and head back home early.

you just needed to try and not meet up with pedro for the next few hours. you could do that. there were so many people inside of there, posing in the red carpet, hugging each other and chatting up while drinking glasses of champagne that you thought it would be easy to hide from him.

you thought.

“there you are darling.” but as always you were wrong. “thought for a moment you were hiding for me there.” he smiled at the cameras, your skin growing on goosebumps when one of his warm and big hands found your exposed lower back, pulling you closer to his side. the paparazzi’s cameras were going crazy.

“pedro.” you sighed, trying really hard to not get lost in his touch, or in his eyes, or his cologne…

you were about to say something, probably come out with a lame excuse as why you had been ignoring him lately, but then you heard it.

“pedro! pedro! what can you tell us about that last scandal? are you perhaps now in a relationship?!”

your heart sank to your stomach, and your skin grew cold. you probably looked as white as a ghost.

“excuse me.” you smiled at him and the paparazzis, pulling away from his touch in need to run away from there. ‘cause you didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

your chest felt heavy, and your feet were fast.

would he smile and nod? say that he was now happily in love with somebody else?

you didn’t want to even imagine it.

“i need a fucking cigarette.” you muttered, taking from your purse your pack of cigarettes and heading to the bathrooms. you headed towards the most far away ones, those who were always free and silent.

the lighter flicked twice before the smoke was finally filling up your lungs. you let out a sigh. you knew it was shit. smoking. it was actually disgusting. but there was nothing that could help you more than another addiction to get over the one you already had: pedro pascal.

the cold of the bathroom tiles hit your back when you leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply, red smearing all over the bud of your cigarette.

you weren’t expecting company, but as always, you had to be surprised once again by him. only him.

the door opened with a creak, and your eyes shot open when they met his brown ones. fuck.

he looked at you, chest heaving harshly up and down as if he had been looking for you nonstop, running up and down every damn corridor just to find you.

“what have i done? what have i done to make you hate me this much?” he inquired, his voice just above a whisper. your heart broke. he looked broken too. you had done this?

“pedro…” you tried, but he was stepping inside the bathrooms and closing the door behind his back.

“no.” he shook his head. “tell me. tell me what have i done to make you not even be able to stand me being close to you.” his eyes fell as he saw your need to take a step back when he walked towards you. and maybe you would’ve, if you weren’t already cornered against the wall. “have i done anything to make you uncomfortable?” he inquired, and you felt your breath hitching, tears starting to sting your eyes. he thought it was his fault, that he was in the wrong. you were causing him pain just because your jealousy was too strong for you to handle.

“it’s nothing, pedro.” you tried and walk away, but his warm hands were once again on you, surrounding carefully your wrist to not let you go. you couldn’t help the way your heart jumped

“please sweetheart… talk to me…” he begged, and your tears shone under the lights when his other hand reached for your chin to make you look at him.

you took a deep breath in, trying your hardest to not give into his voice, nor touch… but it was too strong, your need for him, your love for him.

“do you love her?” you suddenly blurted out, and your stomach flipped. his eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowed. “that woman from the news… are you in love with her?” you muttered, your doe tearful eyes looking into his. your heart was screaming for him to not break him, your brain for him to confirm the rotten feeling that had been growing inside your chest. he cupped your face, about to talk but being cut off by your babbling once again. “she’s pretty. really pretty. and famous, and nice, and intelligent and has like a million of awards…” you smiled, even if your heart was falling apart and your eyes were about to spill tears.

“no baby, wait, you don’t understand…”

“i’m happy for you.” you muttered, taking his hands to pull them away from your face, even if the loss of his touch was making your soul break. lie and smile. “i’m sure you’ll be very happy, pedro.” you sighed, your heels clicking against the cold floor of that desolated bathroom as you headed towards the door, although his voice stopped you as you reached for the handle.

the door closed as you tried to open it, his palm firmly pressing against the door and the side of your head to keep it shut.

he inquired, and you bit down on your lip and tried to fight of your tears as he slowly turned you around to face him, caging you with his body against the wood of the door. he had never been this close. your chests were gracing, the mint of his breath hitting your face.

“is it really not obvious?” he inquired, and you frowned, your breath hitching when his free hand was back at softly holding your face. “it’s not her who i am in love with, i could never give my heart to another woman that doesn’t smile like you, or laugh as sweetly as you, or work as hard of you, or make my days seem as brighter as you do. i could never give my heart to another woman because i’ve already given it to you…” you eyes widened at his words, your chest heaving in deep breath.

he looked into your eyes, and then to your lips. he sighed. “am i reading this wrong, beautiful?” he inquired, scared, terrified of your shocked expression.

you quickly shook your head, your own hands cupping his face. “no pedro, not in the slightest.” you whispered against his lips before you pulled him against yours, butterflies filling your chest when you felt his left arm —the one that had stood keeping the door close— circled your waist and pulled you tighter against him.

the kiss was soft, slow, sweet… everything you’ve ever wanted. it was enough to make you melt.

but it was not enough, and you let him know with a whine when he pulled away.

“i know baby, i know.” he hushed you, leaving a soft peck on your now smudged lips. he had red lipstick all over his. “but there are a couple of paparazzis out there i have to clear up things with. perhaps the fact that it’s you who i’m in love with, in the first place.”

“maybe we could just show them.” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile as well, eyebrows raised.

“what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours, huh?” he pinched your waist and you laughed, making his heart jump.

you hummed. “i’ll have to kiss you a little bit more for you to get the idea.” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck, staining the perfect kiss mark.

he laughed, hiding the shiver that went up his spine.

“you’ll be the death of me.”

—

i imagine pedro coming back to the gala with his whole face decorated in kisses and being impossibly happy about it

a/n; i hope you liked it<3

[deadhumourist]

I'll take care of you

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: You're sick and an unexpected source of help shows up.

Word count: ~2400

Rating: M, but there's no spice. This is a strictly 18+ blog, no minors.

Warnings: No pronouns used, no physical description of reader or mention of age. Nicknames used - Sweetheart and baby, self-indulgent fluff, fainting, mention of painkillers, let me know if I missed something.

A/N: I originally wrote this for my bestie when she was sick, and she kindly allowed me to adapt this into a fic. Love you @just-here-for-the-moment

------

You knew when you woke up with a pounding headache and a stuffy nose that your day was going to go downhill. Fast. 

Not being someone who got sick often, this sensation of your head weighing twenty pounds felt overwhelming. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you had been woken up by a loud banging noise during the night - loud enough to make you jolt awake - from neighbours who had been out late and were now returning with a raucous group of friends. The shot of adrenaline from the fright didn’t leave your system for a long time and you tossed and turned until you heard birds twittering in the trees outside. 

Now awake and groggy, you rolled over and grabbed your phone. You were supposed to have brunch with your friend later that morning but at this rate you couldn’t even breathe through your nose. Blearily you unlocked the phone and shot her a text. 

“Hey, I’m down this morning, could I please take a raincheck? ” 

A few minutes later your phone beeped. “Yeah hon, no problem. I hope you feel better. Can I bring you anything?” 

You sent her back the green-faced emoji. “I would kill for a Netipot and some painkillers”

She sent you back a thumbs up emoji. 

Slipping the phone back on the table, you laid back. Your eyes felt like they were going to drop out of your head every time you moved. 

You dozed off for the better part of an hour, and was then awoken by a sharp rap on the door. "Coming!" you called weakly from your spot on the bed. Throwing on a robe, you shuffled to the front door, thankful that your friend (and painkillers) were here.

The door swung open and your eyes widened in shock…In front of you stood Frankie, armed with a bag of things and his phone in his hand, earphones hooked into the neck of his t-shirt along with his sunglasses.

Frankie was a friend who you knew through other friends. Specifically the one you spoke to this morning. Who you had told about your crush on him. The one who knew, in no uncertain terms, that you felt he was out of your league and that there was a big, unromantic DNI slapped to his forehead in your mind. 

You instinctively closed up your robe further and shrugged into yourself. 

"Oh, hi Frankie. I…uh..I was expecting someone else."

You immediately cringed at how unfriendly that came out.

He seemingly ignored it, a frown forming on his forehead as he took you in.

"You look terrible."

Sighing deeply, you failed to stop a little cough from skittering out of your throat. 

"Yeah, thanks. I feel that way. Good morning to you too, by the way.” 

Frankie had been told you were sick but when he saw you standing in the doorway…it was so much worse than he imagined. You didn’t have your usual spark or smile, and the way you shrunk into your bathrobe like an injured little bird made his heart squeeze painfully. He was originally only meant to drop off the supplies, but seeing your tired, worn-out frame changed his plans immediately. He didn’t even think about it, the words just seemed to leave his lips of their own accord and all he could do was keep up. 

With the corner of his mouth lifting at your quip, he invited himself in, gently ushering you back inside and closing the door behind him. 

“Uhm…at the risk of sounding ungrateful, what are you doing here?” You eyed him as he walked into your living room. 

“A little bird told me you were sick so I brought supplies over. I’m going to take care of you.” he replied matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I don't know about this" you wheezed.

Ignoring your protest, he busied himself unpacking the items from the bag before turning around and quipping. "You want me to get a nurse's outfit? Will that make you feel better?"  His smug little grin did nothing to dispel the idea of him in scrubs that you could peel off. 

Before you could fantasize any further you went into a coughing fit, which doubled you over. Frankie sped over and took your hand to help you back upright, little cough aftershocks still shaking your ribs. 

He was suddenly very close, concerned eyes looking into yours. His hand traveled up your arm and squeezed your shoulder gently. 

In a low voice, he murmured "Get on the bed, Sweetheart."

In a slight daze you went, obeying him. He’s never used that particular nickname with you before, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t make something delicious preen inside of you. You wanted more of it. Frankie had always just been kind and sweet but something in his voice made your skin flame. 

He switched the kettle on and prepared some herbal tea. Then he extracted the thermometer from its packaging and set it by the bedside table. You watched with wide eyes as he went about his business in your space like he was at home there. 

Finishing the tea, he set it down and took a seat by your side on the bed, one leg casually slung over the other. He seemed to slide into the role of carer effortlessly and you would have been amused were you not feeling like you were on the brink of death. Taking the thermometer, he flicked it a few times before bringing it to your lips. 

"Open for me" he asked softly. 

When the thermometer beeped, he slid it from your lips and looked at the reading. 

"Mierda, it's high”. He never cussed in front of you, but the distinct tone of worry bled through the words as they hung in the air between you.  

"We need to cool you down, otherwise you're going to feel worse. We gotta break this fever, okay?"

“We?” you asked, aiming for a teasing tone but failing miserably short due to the weakness in your voice. He continued as if he didn’t hear you. 

He got up and motioned to you. "The robe's gotta go. You need to cool down."

"But" you started to protest but his plush lips settled into a disapproving line and you knew it would be pointless to argue. Frankie wasn’t one to argue but you knew when he had drawn a line and would not be moved from it. 

You shrugged it off, revealing your favourite pajamas underneath - it was mismatched and well-worn but comfy . He took the robe and hung it on a nearby hook, then proceeded to take his shoes and cap off. It gave you some time to swallow two painkillers with your tea.

Then you just laid back and watched him, too tired and wrung out to argue. He rummaged in the bag then walked to the bathroom where you heard the water splash in the basin. 

The cool air on your heated skin was nice but your lungs were becoming sore from the constant coughing. “What are you doing now?” you grumped at him from your nest of blankets. 

He smiled to himself over the basin; you were a grumpy patient and instead of irritating him, it just made him soft. But being soft with you wouldn’t necessarily get you better, especially not if you kept resisting his help. 

So when he spoke to you next, he was a little more stern. 

"C’mon, stop arguing with me and scoot down."

Your fever-addled brain didn't immediately comprehend.

He repeated the request, clarifying.

"Scoot down so I can sit behind you."

"Whuu…why?"

"Please, just trust me."

You did as he asked and he slid in behind you, framing your torso with his knees so that you rested back onto his chest, your head nestled close to his neck so he could easily reach down to talk to you. 

He produced the cool washcloth and gently held it to your forehead and cheeks, pressing it to you a little firmer to tilt your head back onto his collarbone. 

"See how good it feels when you don't fight me on everything?" he murmured lowly, close to your ear. The way his stubble barely skimmed the shell of your ear made goosebumps erupt down your arm. 

Worrying the sudden goosebumps were a reaction from the fever, he resolved to finish up quickly and get you closer to cool water.

If only he knew what was really causing it. 

“Okay, new plan, we need to get you to cool water. You’re still burning up.” 

“You sayin’ I’m hot?” you grumbled.

“I’m saying you have a fever and if we don’t get it down, things will go south.” 

He moved off the bed and helped you up. Carefully, he kept his hand on your lower back as you shuffled to the bathroom, where he opened the faucet and positioned you in front of the basin. You splashed your face and then suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over you. 

"I feel a bit dizzy" you murmured, hand coming up to your face. 

Frankie uttered a worried "hmmm". Perhaps it was a mistake getting you out of bed, but he desperately needed to get your temperature down. A split second decision made him run the shower cold, and shedding his t-shirt and socks, grabbed you by the waist and dragged you under the spray with him just as you started to lose consciousness. 

He hugged you close to him, your back pressed to his front. In an urgent, fervent whisper he rocked you under the cold water, counting down the seconds.

"Sweetheart, stay with me. Come on, baby, I've got you. I've got you, you're okay, I'll take care of you. C'mon baby."

Anxiety squeezed the lungs in his chest until it felt like they would burst. He tilted your head back slightly to allow the cool water to run down your neck and chest. 

Frankie could feel his pulse rabbit as the seconds ticked by. In the shower cubicle, the steady stream of water and whispers against your skin slowly pulled you back from the edge. 

You felt a chaste kiss being gently pressed to your temple, followed by another whisper. 

"Stay with me, please."

And then barely audible over the spray.

"Please be okay."

He sighed into the small space where every second felt minutes too long. 

You felt yourself coming back from the brink of the fevered dark quicker now, shivering at the pelting spray on your heat-sensitized body. 

Frankie noticed the small movement in his arms and he could have wept right then. 

He grabbed your hand from thankfulness, threading his fingers though yours and bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. Slowly you also became aware of his bare chest pressed to your back, evidently not caring about cold shower tiles. 

"I thought I lost you for a minute there" he scoffed, relief bleeding through the words. 

With one hand feeling around above him, he managed to turn the shower off, and helped you into a towel. Wrapping the fluffy white towel around you, he rubbed gently, making sure to wick as much water as possible. He lead you back to the bed, and helped you sit down on the edge of it.

You slumped once you were sat, with Frankie kneeling in front of you. 

"You can't sleep in wet clothes. Let's get you changed." he intoned gently. 

"I don't have the energy, Frankie. Please." you whined, hanging your head low. You felt vulnerable after almost fainting in his arms and didn't want to repeat the performance. 

He placed a hand gently on your knee. 

"Sweetheart. Let me help.”

You looked at him, your frown lines forming like thunderclouds on a sunny horizon. He tried to make you smile. 

"Think of me as Doctor Frankie just helping a patient." he said with a lop-sided grin.

Your frown line softened and you prodded. 

"Did you just promote yourself? You were Nurse Frankie when you came in.

He squeezed your knee and smiled boyishly. “I’ll go so you can change.” 

A few minutes later, he came back into the room, pleased to see you in bed and under the covers. Sheepishly he stood around until you piped up with a small voice. 

“Will you lie with me until I fall asleep?”

He grinned at you, and without a word, went to hang his wet jeans over the bath tub. You realised that Frankie, having been in the shower with you, would have no dry clothes of his own here. You threw him a lifeline.

“Uhm…Frankie, there are some old swimming trunks from my brother on the second shelf. They were left here months ago, they’re washed, so…” you trailed off. 

You heard more shuffling and then he appeared in the doorway. From your cosy place in bed you tried really hard not to look at his broad chest and the dusting of dark hair that trailed down under his navel. 

As the bed dipped under his weight, he swung his legs inside the covers and laid back into the large pillow. He looked over at you, his focus soft, a few curls air-dried  falling over his forehead. 

"Come here, beautiful." He husked, and lifted his arm up. 

You looked at him for a moment, incredulous at the offer. A small part of you was still grumping inside and needed comfort so you gingerly moved closer to him. As you shifted, you laid your head on his chest, snuggling into the corner of his arm and shoulder. 

You wriggled a little to get comfortable, and once you settled, his scent was right by your nose; the fresh, cinnamon-like cologne he had applied hours before. Something really sexy but comforting emanated from him, something uniquely male and you nuzzled a little further into him, swinging a leg between his own two.

He made room for you. 

Then he reached over with his other hand and gently cupped the back of your head, holding you close. It made you want to purr. This wasn't just comfort, it was heaven. 

Frankie felt content for the first time that day. He had always skirted around you to avoid facing what he already suspected he felt.

He would nurse you back to health before he asked you out, he resolved as his eyes slipped closed. 

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite DET. TIM ROCKFORD Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Black Days Series - @something-tofightfor

Tim Rockford - @boliv-jenta

Rockford & Roan Series - @littlemisspascalwrites

Belladonna - @galactic-basic CatBurgular!F!Reader

Your Hero - @ninebluehearts Nurse!Reader

Methodical Series - @popcornforone

To Catch A Thief - @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist Featuring The Thief

Cracking The Case - @absurdthirst

Apology Won't Cut It - @l0ngschl0ngking

Under His Skin, Sir & A Sight For Sore Eyes - @ozarkthedog

A Hard Bargain - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Anything You Say Can And Will Be Held Against You - @jksprincess10

The Outfit - @starlightmornings Dieter Bravo Playing Tim Rockford

The Detective & The Thief - @musings-of-a-rose Featuring The Thief

Focus & Overtime - @odetodilfs M!Reader

Midnight Alley Series - @prolix-yuy Dieter Bravo Playing Tim Rockford

Second Chances & The Perfect Match - @apenny4thots

Press Play - @thosewickedlovelies AFAB!Reader

The Big Tug - @theredwritingwitch Soulmates AU

No Body, No Crime Series - @morning-star-joy

Private Dick - @wardenparker

Detected - @oonajaeadira

An Inspecteur Calls - @ladamedusoif

The Impaler - @kiwisbell Featuring Max Phillips

Kinktober Anonymous Sex/Noncon/Somnophilia - @absurdthirst

Captivity @chloeangelic

Steep Is The Mountain - @sin-djarin

Sexfiles.MP3 - @beskarandblasters

Smutsgiving 2023 - Apple Pie - @something-tofightfor

The Rockford Files Series - @bluestar22x

Undercover Series & Under Water Cleo's Story - @secretelephanttattoo

Hold Tight - @sin-djarin

Pause - @trulybetty

Apollo Is Dark - @theredwritingwitch

Mean & Bitter - @iamasaddie

Hold Harder - @sin-djarin

Cookies - @ladamedusoif

Don't Remember Me - @5oh5

Reminder - @criticallyacclaimedstranger

Hangry - @iamasaddie

Tim's Squad Car - @ozarkthedog

Birthday Kiss - Tim Rockford - @something-tofightfor

Don't Know What You Mean - @nerdieforpedro

Silvered - @ladamedusoif

Rockford & Roses - @morallyinept

Godspeed - @magpiepills

Closer - @ghostofaboy Featuring The Thief MxM

Roc & Doc Series - @nerdieforpedro

Wired - @secretelephanttattoo

Coffee & Whiskey - @wraith-posts