#Pedro pascal character fanfic

[jazzy96scorpio]

The Weight of Longing

Description: Girl [You] gets majorly hooked on her Step dad Joel..Things get super awkward when he catches her...humping a pillow. Forbidden feelings, power plays, and a whole lot of messed-up tension follow.

Pairing: You / Step dad! Joel Miller

Warnings ⚠️: Adult Content, Minors do not interact, explicit sexual content, age gap (Sorry not sorry, unspecified), mean! Joel, dominance/submission, infidelity, oral sex (fem. rec), unprotected sex, first time sex (virgin!), SMUT.

Note: If you're easily shocked, maybe grab a pillow to hide behind (or, you know, use for other purposes). Just remember, this is all fiction 😉 Well, don't say I didn't warn you!

P.S. This story contains a significant age gap and some really filthy stuff. If that's not your thing feel free to skip this one. No judgment here!Now, go forth and get your fictional freak on!

Fic inspired by video of @daddyyss

The screen door slams behind you, the familiar whine of its spring echoing through the yard. Joel's out back, his broad shoulders hunched as he works, the shovel biting into the earth.

'Hey,' you say, your voice a little louder than intended. 'What are you doing?'

He straightens, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His eyes, a shade of grey that always seem to hold a storm, flicker over you. 'Your mom wanted some flowers planted. She's at your grandma's. She'll be back tonight.'

'Oh.' You knew Grandma hadn't been feeling well. 'Is she okay?'

'She'll be fine.' His tone was clipped, dismissive. 'Where have you been?'

'The lake,' you replied, 'with some friends.'

'I hope you weren't fucking around and drinking,' he said, his voice hard. 'You know I don't approve of that shit. And your mom's gonna be pissed.'

'I didn't do anything bad,' you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

'Get me a beer,' he ordered, turning back to his digging. 'And go study or something.'

You bring him the beer, the cold bottle sweating in your hand. He takes it with a grunt, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. 'I'll order a pizza,' he says, his voice rough. 'For dinner.'

'Okay,' you manage, and retreat to your room, the image of his broad shoulders and the way his worn shirt stretched across his back burned into your mind.

You remembered the first time you saw him. Your mom had brought him home, a surprise, a man she'd been seeing. He was older, yes, but undeniably handsome. His huge hands, the way his worn t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, the rough, almost dangerous look in his brown eyes, the salt-and-pepper curls that framed his face – it was all so different from the boys you knew. A thrill, forbidden and exciting, had shot through you.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him. The way he moved, the sound of his voice, even his gruff criticisms – it all fueled a growing obsession. You wanted him, a raw, desperate need unlike anything you'd ever felt for any boy you'd kissed or dated.

Inside, you try to distract yourself, scrolling through your phone, but his presence fills the room, a phantom sensation. You can't shake the feeling of his eyes on you, the way his voice rumbled when he spoke. A wave of heat washes over you, a restless energy that settles low in your belly. You find yourself thinking about him, about the way he moves, the strength in his arms.

The feeling intensifies, a raw, undeniable desire. You grab a pillow, burying it between your legs and begin to move, the friction a poor substitute for what you crave. Your breath hitches, your body arching, lost in a haze of imagined touches. You imagine his hands on you, his lips on your skin, his dick inside you..

Suddenly, the air shifts. A shadow falls across you. You freeze, your heart slamming against your ribs. You hadn't heard the knock. You hadn't heard the door open. Joel stands in the doorway, his expression a mask of anger.

Panic floods you. You scramble to lie down, pulling the blanket up to your chin, your face burning with shame and fear.

He asked, his voice low and dangerous, 'What the hell are you doing?'

'Nothing,' you stammer, your voice thick with tears.

His expression hardens. 'Don't lie to me. I saw what you were doing.' The words hang in the air, heavy with accusation.

A wave of shame washes over you, so intense it feels like a physical blow. Tears stream down your face, hot and stinging. You can't meet his eyes.

'I caught you again, you little slut,' he drawls. The words cut deep, a reminder of a previous moment he caught you.

Just like in the bathroom, a few weeks back, you think, the memory flashing through your mind: behind the door, the desperate, hurried touches, the sudden creak of the handle turning, his silhouette filling the doorway, his eyes cold and unforgiving. He had watched you then, too.

He steps closer, his presence filling the room, suffocating you. 'Why are you doing that, huh? Imagining some of your fuckboys?'"

You told him, your voice trembling, 'No, Joel. I'm not… I wasn't…' You couldn't bring yourself to say it, to admit the truth that burned in your chest. The thought of him, the forbidden desire, was a shameful secret you couldn't bear to reveal.

His expression darkened. 'Are you fucking around with some boys, huh?' he demanded, his voice rising.

You remained silent, tears streaming down your face.

'I'm gonna punish you for that behavior,' he said, his voice hard. He stepped closer to the bed, his shadow looming over you. With a swift movement, he yanked the blanket away, leaving you exposed. 'You need a lesson, lady. A lesson on how to behave in my house.'"

He told you to get up, his voice leaving no room for argument. He gripped your arm, his hands surprisingly strong, and pulled you onto his lap.

You were surprised, a flicker of fear mixing with a strange, undeniable thrill. His touch, though rough, sent a shiver down your spine.

He slapped your ass, the sharp sting echoing in the quiet room. 'I told you not to lie to me,' he growled.

'I'm sorry, Joel,' you whispered, your voice thick with tears.

'Tell me the truth,' he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. 'Who were you imagining, little slut? You were so horny you were humping a pillow, huh?'

The words hung in the air, raw and humiliating. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, in a rush, the truth spilled out. 'You, Joel…I want you…'

A low growl rumbled in his chest, followed by a harsh, almost triumphant laugh.

He says, a smirk playing on his lips, 'I know it, sweetheart. I've noticed the way you look at me.' He slaps your ass again, harder this time, the sting bringing tears to your eyes.

'You want Daddy's cock, don't you?' he asks, his voice low and suggestive.

You can only nod and hum in response, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and desire.

'Turn around,' he commands. As you turn, his right hand drifts down, settling on the damp fabric of your panties.

He gently rubs against your soaked pussy, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. 'So wet for me, aren't you?' he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. 'Just thinking about me makes you leak like this.'

A moan escapes your lips, a sound you can't suppress. You arch your back, pressing yourself against his hand, craving more of his touch.

'Mmm, that's it,' he whispers, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh beneath the wet material. 'You're a dirty little thing, aren't you? So eager for Daddy's attention.'"

You whisper, your voice thick with desire, 'Yes, Daddy. I need you so bad… please…'

He kneels before you, a predatory smile playing on his lips. With a slow, deliberate movement, he removes your soaked panties, his eyes never leaving yours. 'Such a needy little thing,' he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. 'Begging for it.'

He lowers his head, his breath hot against your swollen clit. His tongue darts out, licking the sensitive flesh, then swirling around your entrance. A moan escapes your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He begins to suck harder, his mouth a warm, wet suction, pulling and teasing. 'That's it,' he growls against your core.

'Come for your Daddy,' he growls against your core. 'I wanna taste it.' He grips your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, as he continues to lick your clit, slowly slipping a finger inside you.

You’re overwhelmed, a wave of sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever touched you like this.

He continues to stroke you with his fingers, then slips another one inside, stretching you, teasing you. “So tight,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet.”

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense. Tears stream down your face, a mix of pleasure and raw emotion. You moan, gripping the sheets, your body arching beneath him. He swirls his tongue around your clit, and you shatter, your pussy walls clenching around his fingers, soaking him in your juices.

He pulls his fingers out, licking them clean. 'Mmm,so sweet babygirl.' he says, his eyes gleaming. 'You're such a good girl for your Daddy.'

He stands up, the sound of his belt buckle echoing in the room.

He unzipped his pants, and with a swift movement, pulled off his shirt. His chest and shoulders were broad and powerful, the muscles defined in the dim light. He exuded a raw strength that made you catch your breath.

He pulls down his pants and boxers, his erection springing free. He looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, as he strokes his huge cock with his hand.

The thick shaft is already rock-hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum. 'You want this, little slut, huh?' he growls. 'Let me hear it! Beg for it, you little whore!'

He leans closer, spreading your legs wider, and positions himself between them. He teases your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your slick lips. 'Tell me what you want,' he commands.

'I want you, Daddy,' you whisper, your voice thick with desire. 'Only you, please.'

'Has anyone fucked you before?' he asks, his voice laced with suspicion.

'No, Daddy,' you breathe. 'I've been a good girl.'

A predatory smile spreads across his face. 'You're gonna be mine, baby girl,' he murmurs. He leans down and kisses you roughly, the force of the kiss sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He trails kisses down your neck, sucking on your breasts, teasing your nipples until they’re hard and aching.

He positions himself at your entrance, guiding his cock with his right hand. He slowly pushes the tip inside, the burning pleasure bringing tears to your eyes. 'I know, baby girl,' he whispers, his voice surprisingly gentle. 'Be good for Daddy.' He pulls back slightly. 'Let me in, sweetie. Daddy wants you so bad. Daddy's gonna make you feel so good.'

You nod, your body trembling. He cups your face in his hand and kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours. Then, with a swift, hard thrust, he pushes himself inside, stretching you, filling you completely. He’s so big, it hurts, a sharp, burning pain that makes you gasp. You shake a little, tears streaming down your face.

'I need to move,' he growls, his voice thick with lust. 'Daddy wants to fuck this tight pussy.' He glances down at the junction of your bodies, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the blood and your juices coating his cock. “So fucking tight,” he murmurs. “So fucking good.”

He begins to move, slowly at first, then with increasing speed and force. “You like that, don’t you, baby girl?” he pants. “You like Daddy fucking you?” He grips your hips, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. “Tell me you like it!” he commands. “Tell me you’re Daddy’s little whore!"

You told him, your voice a broken whisper, 'Yes, Daddy… I love it… I'm yours… Fuck…'

He began to thrust faster, his eyes fixed on your breasts, watching them bounce with each powerful stroke.

He wiped the tears from your face, he leaned down and kissed you, his lips bruising and demanding. 'You take me so good,' he growled. 'Such a good girl. You belong to me.'

He pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. 'Turn around,' he commanded. You obeyed, and he slapped your ass cheeks, the sting sending a jolt of heat through your body.

'Lift your ass for me, sweetheart' he said, his voice thick with lust. 'Daddy's gonna fuck you from behind. You're mine to use however I want.'

He entered you again, this time rougher, deeper. He grabbed your butt cheeks, squeezing them hard, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, and whispered in your ear, 'From now on, you're mine, little slut. You'll be punished every time you try to touch yourself, or hump that pillow, baby girl. This is my pussy now. Daddy's gonna take care of it."

“You’re gonna scream my name, aren’t you?” he whispered harshly.

You told him 'Yes, Daddy. I'm yours to command.' Your body trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. He began to fuck you harder, his thrusts powerful and relentless.

He rubbed your clit with his thumb, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He felt your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing him tight.

You came again, your juices soaking him, mixing with the pre-cum that still clung to his shaft. “Mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

He gave a few final, powerful thrusts, then groaned as he came inside you, his hot cum filling you completely. He glanced down at the junction of your bodies, watching as your mingled fluids dripped down your legs. “You’re so fucking mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with possessiveness.

“No one else will ever touch you like this. You’re my personal fucktoy darling."

He lay down on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He hugged you close, still buried deep inside you. “You’re my dirty little secret,” he murmured in your ear. “And Daddy’s gonna keep you safe.

"You’re never gonna forget this, are you?

You whispered a quiet "No, Daddy."

"You're branded, little slut.”

He pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Then he lay beside you, his arm draped possessively across your waist. “You’re mine, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I don’t want any other little boy touching you. Do you understand me?"

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m gonna be only yours.”

He leaned down and kissed you, a slow, deep kiss “Good girl,” he murmured against your lips. “You know, you’re… you’re the only one who can make me feel this way. You’re so fucking perfect, so sweet and dirty all at once, babygirl.”

He pulled the blanket over you. “I’m gonna prepare a bath for you,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You lay in bed, the sensations still lingering, a strange mix of pleasure and guilt. You’d gotten what you wanted. You’d finally had him.

After he finished preparing the bath, he returned and lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom.

The doorbell rang, a sudden, jarring sound. He looked surprised. “Pizza’s already here” he muttered. “Maybe that's your mom. Come downstairs after your bath.”

You nodded, and he left.

When you finally made your way downstairs, your legs aching and unsteady, you saw your mom. You tried to act normal, to keep your composure, but your body betrayed you. You could barely walk, the soreness a constant, throbbing reminder of what had just happened.

As you saw your mom, she immediately noticed something was off. She asked, her voice laced with concern, 'Are you alright?'

Joel watched you, taking a slow sip of his beer, his expression unreadable.

'I'm fine, Mom,' you said, trying to sound casual, 'just a little tired.' You quickly changed the subject. 'How's Grandma?'

'She'll be fine,' your mom replied.

'I'm hungry,' you said, grabbing a slice of pizza. 'I'm going to take this to my room. I need to study for my class tomorrow.'

She nodded, but her expression tightened. 'You could have at least made dinner,' she said, her voice sharp. 'It's easy to just order pizza.' She was always like this, quick to criticize.

She started to complain, her voice rising, 'You're so lazy. Always going out, always locked in that room.'

Suddenly, Joel spoke up, his voice low and firm, cutting through her rant. 'Maria, that's enough. Leave her be. She's tired.' He defended you.

You saw the opportunity, going back to your room, anger simmering beneath your skin. You could hear them arguing downstairs, Joel's voice a low rumble, your mother's a sharp, insistent whine. 'She needs to learn,' your mom's voice rose, 'She is not a child anymore.' Joel responds, 'Maybe you should try being a mother instead of a warden.'"

Mom snapped, her voice sharp and laced with resentment. 'Well, you're not her dad! She's my daughter, and she's going to listen to me!'

Joel, surprisingly, managed to calm her down, his voice low and soothing. After a while, he left the living room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Curled up in bed, you felt a wave of self-loathing wash over you. Useless. Worthless. It was the middle of the night, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being completely alone.

A soft knock startled you. It was Joel. He entered, holding a glass of water and a small pill. 'You need to take this, plan B.' he said, his voice gentle. 'I'll get you some birth control soon.'

He pulled you into a warm hug, his hand stroking your hair. He kissed you softly on the forehead. 'I'll take care of you,' he murmured. 'You're a good girl. Don't take your mother's words to heart.'

'She's right, though,' you whispered, your voice thick with tears.

'No, baby girl,' he said, his voice firm. 'You're great.' He paused, then added, 'I love you.' He hugged you tightly.

'I love you too,' you replied, your voice barely audible.

He leaned and kissed you knew more time, gently cupping your face with his hands "Good night babygirl, now rest..See you tomorrow."

"Good night Joel. Thank you." you whispered.

He left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He loves you. The words echoed in your mind, a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. You couldn't believe what had just happened. One moment, you were humping a pillow, lost in a fantasy, and the next, he was here, in your room, confessing his love.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You were happy, undeniably so. The physical intimacy, the possessive way he’d claimed you, the whispered promises – it was intoxicating. But beneath the surface, a tremor of fear lingered. Was this real? Was this love, or something else entirely? The power dynamic, the way he’d taken control, the harsh words mixed with tender touches… it was confusing, unsettling. You felt like you were walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling. You closed your eyes, the image of his face, his eyes dark and intense, burned into your mind. You were his, he’d made that clear. And a part of you, a dark, hidden part, reveled in the thought.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Tags: @lanaispunk @probablyreadinsmut @joelmillerpascal

Please like and leave a comment.❣️

Write me if you want part two 😉

[andy-15-07]

Cigarettes and Honey

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 922 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

request:Hii😙 I absolutely love ur work. Could you maybe write a very Lana Del Rey coded fic about Joel? I was thinking that Joel moved into a trailer park and was the readers new neighbour, the reader sees him, he’s older, but she doesn’t care, they begin talking and the rest idk:-) I hope you understand what I mean, sorry, English isn’t my first language.

The first time Y/N saw him, she knew he didn't belong here. Not in this quiet, dusty little trailer park on the edge of nowhere. Not among the rusted-out pickups, the chain-link fences leaning from years of wind, and the sound of some old radio playing classic rock from three trailers down. He looked too heavy for a place like this, like he carried something real dark in his chest, something that made him walk a little slower, eyes a little sharper.

But Y/N didn’t care about any of that.

Joel Miller moved into the trailer next door on a Wednesday. By Friday, she was standing on his porch, holding two cold beers and a pack of smokes, because that’s just the kind of girl she was.

“You gonna be my mysterious new neighbor, or you gonna let me sit down?” she asked, one brow raised as she held up the beer in offering.

Joel looked at her for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh before nodding toward the empty chair beside him. “Suit yourself.”

That was the beginning.

Most nights, they’d sit outside, watching the sun dip behind the trees, the sky all soft pink and hazy orange. Y/N would talk about nothing and everything, filling the spaces Joel didn’t care to. He didn’t say much about himself, but she didn’t push. Some men were like that—kept their ghosts close, like they were afraid they might slip out if they weren’t careful. And maybe Joel had more ghosts than most.

“You always this quiet?” she asked one night, flicking ash off her cigarette.

He smirked, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of beer. “Only when I don’t got much to say.”

“Or when you don’t wanna say it,” she countered, watching him through her lashes.

Joel huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t mean. “Maybe.”

Y/N liked him. Liked the way he carried himself, like a man who’d seen too much but still knew how to handle himself. Liked the way his hands looked—rough, calloused, strong. Liked the way he looked at her sometimes, like he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t quite help himself.

And she liked pushing his buttons.

“You know,” she said one night, swinging her legs off the edge of his porch, “you ain’t as scary as you look.”

Joel turned his head slowly, raising a brow. “That right?”

“Mhm.” She grinned, taking a slow sip of her beer. “You try real hard to be all gruff and brooding, but I see right through you.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Not yet,” she said, tilting her head. “But I think I’d like to.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, staring out at the dark, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. And for a second, Y/N thought maybe she’d pushed too far. But then Joel sighed, ran a hand through his graying hair, and muttered, “You don’t quit, do you?”

She smiled, leaning back on her hands. “Not when I want something.”

And she wanted him.

It was slow, at first. Just long talks on his porch, stolen glances, the heat between them building like a summer storm. Then one night, after too many beers and a long, lingering look, Joel finally caved.

“You’re real trouble, you know that?” he murmured, voice low as he cupped her face, thumb brushing against her cheek.

Y/N grinned, leaning into his touch. “Yeah,” she whispered. “But you like trouble, don’t you, Joel?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just kissed her, deep and slow, like he’d been starving for it. Like he’d been starving for her.

And maybe he had.

The thing about Joel Miller was that he never let himself have nice things. He’d been burned too many times before, left picking up the pieces of whatever life he thought he could have. So even after that first kiss, after the way she melted against him like she was made to fit, he still kept his distance. Or tried to, anyway.

But Y/N wasn’t the kind of woman who let things go easy.

“Why you keep runnin’ from me, Joel?” she asked one night, leaning against the hood of his old truck. The sky was dark, the moon low and golden, casting long shadows across the dirt lot.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands on his hips as he shook his head. “Ain’t runnin’, sweetheart.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head. “Feels like you are.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Just… ain’t sure this is a good idea.”

Y/N stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until she was right in front of him. “What, me and you?”

Joel nodded once, eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah.”

She smirked, reaching up to trace a finger down his chest. “You think too much, Miller.”

He caught her wrist before she could go any further, but his grip was gentle. “You deserve somethin’ better.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flickering between her lips and her gaze. “Ain’t about what I want, darlin’.”

She smiled then, slow and knowing, and leaned up on her toes to whisper against his lips. “But you do want me, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, not with words. But the way he kissed her—fierce and desperate, like he was tired of fighting it—told her everything she needed to know.

Joel Miller was hers, whether he liked it or not.

[almostempty]

because of you (dave york x f!reader)

wc: 7k | other fics | rating: 18+ dddne | read on ao3 |

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

note: as per usual i took a prompt that could’ve been simple.. ‘never have i ever cried during sex’ x dave york .. and i thought.. how can i make him worse? so…here’s some dark!dave and no worries if any of the tags are a nope, i’ll be back with more threesomes soon

tags/warnings: explicit, dead dove do not eat, non con, unreliable narrator, delusional dave, infidelity, just a little bit of knife play 🔪 (no blood), pussy slap(s), face slap(s), a few uses of whore and slut, raw non-con piv and creampie (duh), bi reader has a wife!, crying during sex, little bit of ass play (whoa, who did that), obsessive behavior/ruminating, no york kids, no y/n, able bodied afab reader, ooc dave but also he’s a loving husband okay

thanks to: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @syd-djarin @slimybeth69 @hoelaris @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @yxtkiwiyxt (…i think the gang’s all here lmao <3) it takes a village and thanks to y’all for support at different stages of this idea and over the darkest days of the year. i think this is the first thing i’ve been able to finish since December, so like we’re so back! (i hope) And to kiwi <3 i was so flattered you would trust me with a prompt for your man and, uh, i hope you would again after this lmao! 

"Oh! Marina, do you still have that game?"

Heads swivel, all focus shifting to you–bouncing on the balls of your feet and sporting a sheepish grin as you realize you’ve interrupted your party host. Your neighbor is unfazed and parts easily from the other neighbors she was entertaining, finding the game for you as the party-goers voices resume buzzing.

The light in your eyes brightens, your whole face awash with excitement. Dave watches as you find a seat for yourself, cross-legged on the floor in front of your spouse, reaching for the box the hostess grabs from the shelf.

“I loved playing this in college!” You look like a kid on Christmas as you open up the box. 

Autumn, your wife, shakes her head as she laughs. “You just loved using this game to make your move in college.”

Dave exhales a quiet chuckle, though something darker hums beneath it. He turns his wedding band between his fingers, but his eyes haven’t left you.

“Yeah, well it worked on you,” you jest over your shoulder as she passes your wine glass to you, in sync. 

You’re too expressive—your reactions are instant, unguarded. Loud laughter, teasing quips, a warmth that feels too good to be real. He’s spent most of the night cataloging them, the faces you make, the sound of your voice, and the curve of your lips. 

He wonders what your eyes would do if he wrapped his hand around your throat. Would they sparkle with the same joy? Would you be willing and eager for him? 

That thought slithers in and settles in the front of his mind.

He can’t make out what it is about you that draws him in. But he keeps watching. Waiting.

And now, in a room full of people, you have his rapt attention. He’s glued to everything you do. 

“What was your move?” Carol asks before Dave can. 

Autumn starts to tell the story for you. In college, you were always that person who stayed up the latest. The one that was still in the kitchen at three in the morning, having a heart-to-heart with a friend or a stranger. How you’d convince anyone to watch the sunrise with you. 

And that you had this habit of asking everyone their middle name before you’d finish your second drink.

You nod along as she describes the college version of you. Dave can picture it all clearly. He thinks you’d still stay up to watch the sunrise if anyone else at this party was willing. There’s something different about you–an energy that the rest of the run of the mill neighbors have had beaten out of them with HOA meetings and shitty bosses. 

“But her real trick,” Autumn continues warmly, with just a hint of teasing, “she’d lure you in with her magnetic personality—” 

“Is that what you’re calling my tits now?” The two of you laugh, ignorant to some of the uncomfortable husbands and wives shifting their weight as their eyes dart away from your chest. 

“No. They know what I mean!” Autumn addresses the room again, “She’d take you by the hand and pull you somewhere secluded…” 

“Not, like, immediately! I like to actually play the game too,” you edit before taking a sip from your glass, mesmerizing Dave with a behavior as simple as swallowing.

“I think you just liked trying to set up your friends before you’d run off with whoever you’d picked to get lucky.” 

“I’m good at matchmaking.” You shrug. 

“Is that what you wanna call it?” your wife teases. 

“Mmm, what about..” you roll your head around like it’s heavy, “I’m good at reading when two people wanna fuck. And giving them a little push.” You squish two invisible people together between your hands with a satisfied grin, and when your eyes flick to match Dave’s he feels the world start to narrow. 

“Right.” Autumn agrees, reluctantly. “So picture this,” she goes on addressing the whole party. “It’s late, you’ve been drinking, and now she’s got you with this look that says, ‘I wanna know everything about you.’” 

“I do like getting to know people,” you mouth quietly, aware you’ve been interrupting. Your eyes are still on Dave and he lets the meaning of your attention sink in.   

Until Autumn squeezes your shoulder, a silent I know, and you tip your head against her hand affectionately as she continues. 

“But the thing is, you see, she’s still got your full name in here,” she taps your temple gently. “She’d play everyone right into her hand with ‘Never have I ever’ rounds that would make you blush.”

“So, now she’s got you all starry-eyed, right? All worked up and flirty, spilling your secrets... And that’s when she pulls out her move—” She cuts herself off with a smirk, looking across the room. “Dave, what’s Carol’s middle name?” 

“Marie.” 

“Show her,” Autumn murmurs in your ear. With a wave of your hand Dave shifts on the sofa, so you can squeeze in next to his wife. He lets you in, but stays unnecessarily snug. 

Pressing your knee into Carol’s, you give her your undivided attention, gleaming eyes locked on hers.

“Never have I ever…” you tap your lip in thought, a hint of a smirk curling, “kissed a woman named Carol Marie.” 

Neither of you move. 

Dave’s skin heats up watching you hit on his wife—even if it’s just a demonstration—the chemistry is palpable. You hold his wife’s gaze for a long pause, letting the charge fill the whole room. 

“You think you could help me change that?” you ask, putting on an innocent voice, and tucking Carol’s hair behind her ear like a hallmark romance movie. 

For a second, Dave swears you start to lean in, but his wife breaks the spell. 

“Well, I can see how you’d seal a deal with that move.” Carol laughs, a little breathy, shaking you off. You skip back across the room like you just won something, or stole it. 

“All in good faith,” you claim with a wink, and everything comes into focus for Dave. You wanted him to watch, to get the front row seat. To feel the warmth of your body next to his. You were planting a seed, making a show of toying with Carol. 

You’re good. He smirks to himself, before sliding back to his wife, a possessive hand resting on her thigh. “Thought you were going to whisk this one away from me for a second there,” he says, eyes locked on you. 

“It’s powerful, right?” Autumn shares with pride, clasping her hands on your shoulders as you lean back against her knees. 

“I did alright with it,” you add on. “College boys were almost too easy, though. Some strong eye contact and they’d fold without even getting into the game!” Your quip lightens the room, the charge between you and Carol fading away. But Dave knows it was a coded message. He’ll play your game. 

Your story inspired some other college tales from the other neighbors. Marina’s husband brings out some more snacks and the conversations carry easily as the night wears on. 

The room is softly lit and the drinks flow. Eventually couples file out and soon the party has dwindled just to you and your wife, the hosts, and Carol and Dave. 

You convince the remaining couples to play the game for real, rifling through the cards and frowning at a few of the pre-written statements before shuffling them up. “After dark my ass,” you chide reading the marketing claim on the box. “Some of these are more like icebreakers for a corporate team building event but I saw some good ones in here too.” 

There’s some kind of point keeping system written in the box that you immediately decide to ignore in favor of just ‘getting to know each other’s secrets’. 

And, you’re right, of course. Some of the cards are more tame like, ‘never have I ever been in a hot tub’ or, ‘never have I ever shoplifted,’ though, you do end up revealing your sticky fingers as a youth to the room. 

You laugh it off, claiming you were just a dumb kid that should’ve been caught. But Dave sees beneath it. You’re a thrill chaser. Too smart to get caught, even as a teen. Or maybe if you were caught, you’d talk your way right out of it. 

Some of the cards are a little racier, revealing some intimate details Dave didn’t expect to learn about his neighbors, along with some “scandalous” stories he finds boring. Strip club stories, faking orgasms, a story about role playing in the bedroom that had Marina’s husband shrinking in his seat before she cut herself off. 

Your answers are consistently on the adventurous side, he doesn’t see any shame in your face. Even when you surprise your wife with some answers.  

Dave knows you watch him, he can feel you studying his reactions and keeping track of every answer. He feels you when he’s not looking, feels the connection between you tugging at him. 

You hide it well, such a smart girl. Nobody besides him would be able to decode your silent communications. It makes the entire game more interesting to Dave. 

You find yourselves locking eyes again as your lips meet your glass. The gleam in your eyes shoots straight down to the base of his spine, but he keeps cool. The game keeps unfolding as you take turns drawing cards and swapping stories. 

Dave doesn’t volunteer any stories, more content with listening. He doesn’t balk when Carol shares anything, if anything it only adds to the buzz already present in his veins from the liquor, and strokes his ego. He decides your wife seems open, not embarrassed by much. 

Marina giggles again. Dave clenches his jaw. If this game got really dark, she’d be the first to pass out. He bets she’d faint before he even reached for his drink.

‘Never have I ever stabbed someone and watched the light fade from their eyes,’ he swirls his tumbler imagining the thud of Marina hitting the floor. She’d definitely pass out if he drank to that. But, you? You wouldn’t. He can tell. 

Turns out none of the cards have any prompts about murder or espionage. Just more first date types of questions or kinky ideas for housewives. 

But, there is one. One unassuming card that does something sinister to Dave. It sinks sharp little claws into Dave’s mind and latches on tight. 

It’s not the most sexually depraved card. It doesn’t uncover some shocking truth about you. It’s not something he would’ve thought twice about before tonight. 

But then, you read it out loud. In your too sultry voice for present company. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” 

Your brow furrows in thought. Everyone, including Marina’s husband, takes a sip of their drink admitting they’ve shed coital tears. 

But you’re still. Head tilted, staring into space like you’re trying to run calculations. 

“This is what stumps you?” your wife jokes as you continue sorting through memories. “You saying I’ve never fucked you to tears?” 

That gets a smile out of you. “No, things definitely get wet. Maybe some tears, but not, like–really crying? I don’t think so.” 

“Not even messy makeup sex? After a fight?”

You shake your head. Marina frowns. 

“Makes it more intense,” Carol floats. “Physically…emotionally.” 

Dave glances at his wife with a smirk. He can feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting between him and his wife. Whatever they’re picturing probably isn’t far from the truth. 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with something before you nod your head. You draw a card for your wife to read, clearly hoping to move on. But you don’t. 

“Never have I ever…had sex in a car.” Autumn reads out. The whole room drinks to that one, and you raise your glass, jokingly toasting the room for the shared debauchery. But Dave sees the curiosity still brewing inside of you. He sees it the rest of the night. Between rounds and as conversations fizzle. 

You never move on from the thought of really crying during sex. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing. The emotional release. 

He knows you’re still thinking of it. 

He’s still thinking of it. What you’d sound like. The way your entire body would jerk beneath him with every sob. 

It’s late and Dave can tell Carol’s nearly ready to call it a night. She gives him a nod and they’re up and saying their goodnights. You and Autumn take the cue to leave as well, gathering your things and heading for the door at the same time. 

You head out into the clear night, walking together for a block before waving Dave and Carol off and turning into the cul-de-sac. Dave can still hear your warm voice in the air as he opens the front door for his wife. 

It echoes in his head the rest of the night. 

He can still hear it when he wakes up. 

When he closes his eyes he sees yours glinting back at him. Your smile and the long line of your neck when you toss your head back with laughter. 

He can still smell the perfume you wore. The one that wrapped around his mind and lodged itself in his memory bank. 

He can still feel the warmth of your body from when you sat next to him to put your move to work on his wife.  

But, above all else one moment rings loudly–so salient he can touch it and taste it. It’s the wrinkle between your worried brows. The faraway look he aches to correct. The dreamlike yearning behind your eyes for a fantasy yet to be fulfilled. A fantasy he will fulfill. An idea. 

An idea he cannot stop picturing. …a plan.

It haunts his waking consciousness and fills his dreams at night. Visions of you with tears streaming from your eyes, lips parted with his name rolling off your tongue. Between gasps you’re pleading, choking his name out between sobs, eyes wide, begging for mercy. It stirs something he can’t ignore, and it burns like embers, day and night. 

At first, Dave indulges. 

When he wakes with a throbbing erection and the ghost, the dream version of you against heating his skin, it’s simple. He transfers his passion to his wife, finding some relief as he spills hot and desperate inside of her. 

If they don’t have time in the morning, he makes time in the shower, tugging earnestly at his cock until it pulses in his fist as your name haunts his mouth. He goes on like this for days, waiting for the intensity to pass. To ease. 

But over time, Dave becomes irritated. 

He can’t get you out of his fucking head. At work, at home, in bed, in the middle of the night, before he wakes up. Unprompted, unprovoked. You’re in his skin, in his blood, in his subconscious. 

Your roots grow deeper. No matter how he twists it, the same image plays on repeat. Over and over. You, fixed in his mind.

Dave decides to start getting up even earlier. He goes for long runs in the morning, trying to reprogram his own body. Soldiering through this affliction. The exertion should be enough of a distraction, some other kind of physical outlet has to help. But as well intended as it is, the plan backfires horrendously. 

Because of you. 

You’re also an early morning person. Of course. 

Dave passes you on the sidewalk, on the walking trail, in another neighborhood entirely. No matter which direction he starts in, he can’t escape your path. And worst of all you’re just as chipper before the sun is up as you are after it sets. 

You wave and say good morning or hello or maybe you’re calling him an asshole he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. 

Dave only nods, muttering a good morning as he passes you. His feet pound against the sidewalk as loud as his heart pounds in his ears. 

He can’t stop. He won’t stop. 

When he stops you’re thrilled, a wide grin spreads on your face as you confess you’ve been hoping to catch him on a cool down. That you’ve been delighted to see another person taking advantage of the calm before the world wakes up. You chat away softly as his mind races and he responds with appropriately timed grunts and nods. 

Sweat cools on his back and his shirt sticks to his skin between his shoulder blades, a discomfort that pales in comparison to the twisted scream in his gut before it all goes quiet. Calm. 

Dave walks back through the neighborhood with you mirroring the same glowing smile you wear.

He can allow this. Walking together. It's a coincidence really, it wasn’t something he planned. 

And it’s easy. 

Because of you. 

You’re talkative and reliable. In the same place at the same time. Full of stories and jokes, and with an exceptional memory for details—at least for anything he shares about himself. 

You don’t have the same strength as him—not cardio wise—but to resist. To abstain from the pull that connects you. The fated path that draws you together like gravity. 

You brace a hand on his bicep when you laugh, you hold his gaze longer than necessary when you share something personal, and you only cement yourself deeper into his soul day by day. His walls stay up, he’ll hold the boundaries for you both. 

He won’t break them. He can’t. 

Danger is unpredictable and lurks in the most insidious places. A neighborhood barbecue. The draw between you is overpowering and with every glass of wine, you’re closer to asking a question he won’t be able to resist. 

The night pulls in closer, wrapping around just the two of you. You want this. He can see it. Feel it in the way your body leans toward his and the whispers in your smile. When you sit next to him on Marina’s back porch he can taste the trouble rolling off of your tongue. 

You ask for his middle name with what he swears is a wink, and you lean against him shoulder to shoulder, sighing so deeply he feels it in his bones. Like you were meant to hold each other up, to ease the weight of the universe. 

Before you say anything else, Autumn saunters through the yard. She takes your hand and walks you home and Dave finds his own wife and does the same. Leading Carol just past the entryway of their home before he’s tearing off her clothes and sinking his cock deep inside her. It dulls the ache, but doesn’t fully soothe the pain. Nothing will. 

Because of you. 

You’re a splitting headache demanding his attention, pulsing beneath his skull and racing down his spine. Relentless and insatiable. 

After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. 

He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. 

He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. 

But it’s never enough. 

It grows stronger. 

To obsession. 

Inky and dark it slips through his morality calling to the part he keeps locked up. The part that lets him take a life and twelve hours later be a husband. The part that lets him distort casualties to unfortunate consequences of the work. The part that perverts complexities into black and white decisions. 

Simplified. 

Dave blinks again. 

When he opens his eyes he stares at his dark ceiling listening to the sound of Carol’s breathing. And when he closes his eyes he sees you. He hears you begging for him. He can taste the salt on your skin and feel your nails digging into his shoulders. And it’s clear. 

Because of you. 

Clarity is a drug. You aren’t a distraction—you’re his path. This is what he was made for. Missions, execution. Giving you what you’ve been asking for? Child’s play.

He already has most of the information he needs. It’s a game of waiting and watching. 

Learning. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out the details. The challenge is that you and Autumn are rarely apart. You both work from home, leaving such small windows of time where you’re reliably separate. It’s not hard to get the intel he needs, he has all the connections he needs to find out about the companies you work for. 

He knows every meeting on your schedule. Every professional development conference on Autumn’s company calendar. 

From here, it’s effortless. 

Dave walks up your steps, checking Autumn’s schedule once more on his phone before slipping it into his pocket and knocking on the door. You answer with surprise before inviting him in, apologizing that your wife is on a work call upstairs. He assures you it’s fine, he just wanted to give something to you. 

Cookies. 

Dave brings cookies that Carol made. A neighborly gesture. No ulterior motive. Aside from taking the opportunity to snoop around the house, scoping out everything he needs to know while you’re none the wiser and your wife never even sees him. 

You’re gracious, of course, offering coffee or something stronger. And then your voice lowers and you’re closer without even moving your feet. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know.” 

It’s in your eyes again, that look he knows how to fix. “Thank you,” you speak deliberately, slowly. “Thank you for being more than a neighbor. For being…a friend.” 

But you don’t mean friend. Not the way you tilt your head and the dopey smile you flash. No, he knows exactly what you mean. You don’t have to say it out loud. 

He smirks to himself, satisfied not just with the intel he collected, but with how smitten you are with him in your kitchen. How bad you must need him—he can practically smell it on you. His fingers twitch, idly at his side. 

He knows exactly how many minutes are left before Autumn’s meeting ends. The daylight and open windows don’t deter him. He could have you wrecked and put back together, presentably, in the minutes he has to work with. But he’s greedy. When he gets you to himself he’s not going to stop until presentable is no longer an option. 

Days pass, routine and bland. He doesn’t see you for a few days. Then you’re back to your morning run. But it doesn’t matter. He’s consumed by the details of the next step. He channels everything into it. He’s been given purpose. 

And when it’s finally here, the night he intends to execute his plan, he’s calm. His heart beats slowly, rhythmically, and he moves with steady, premeditated motions.   

Carol is out of town, that was easy to arrange. Autumn is out of town. That required some coordination, pulling strings and cashing in on a favor. He organized an invite to an elite seminar in another state, confirming her arrival and attendance earlier this evening. 

Everything is aligned as he designed it to be. He almost wishes his team was here, just because they work so seamlessly together and he gets off on the rush—but you’re going to be his and his alone tonight. 

He slinks inside, avoiding the front door camera, disabling the alarm. Straight to your bedroom. As planned. You’re sleeping soundly for him.

You’re perfect. 

The strap of your thin top is askew over your shoulder, the rest of you hidden beneath your covers. He could watch you longer, but that would be a disservice to you. You’ve been waiting so long. 

You need this. You need him. 

He pulls the cover off of you, pausing for the briefest moment to take in the smooth skin of your thighs, the dips and curves of your entire body, the serenity in your resting form. 

He crawls over you slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress and pinning you down. He soaks in your sleep-warmed body beneath him, your scent coiling around his spine and your deep breaths. Your chest expands as your lungs fill with air, but it’s his blood that is oxygenated by your body. 

The reality creeps into Dave’s mind. Here he is with you completely unconscious on your back underneath him. It’s a miracle you’ve both waited so long—or maybe it’s been purgatory. 

Either way, you’re no longer a vision. You’re flesh and blood and he’s desperate to fulfill your fantasy. To make your dream and his a tangible experience. 

He covers your mouth with one hand–you’re alone, but you still have neighbors, and he worries you might be disoriented at first. 

Thankfully, Dave waited long enough that his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d missed the expressions that flash across your face as you wake up. 

Holding a finger to his lips, he conveys his request for quiet. With only the moonlight pouring into the room your eyes shine as they widen. Dave is struck by your beauty and the overwhelming closeness. 

Your voice is muffled under his palm, but he can’t let you talk yet. The heat between your bodies keeps building and he lowers more of his weight against you. It’s intoxicating, just the shape of your body against his. 

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I’m here now.” 

You push and shove at his chest, then claw at his arms, it only makes him chuckle dismissively. You ease up eventually, just waiting beneath him for what happens next. Good. 

The blanket shifts. It’s almost gentle—like a slow Sunday morning—until he adjusts. And then Dave grinds against you, expression darkening and a smile splitting across his face when you squirm and whine. “So sensitive, I know. Must be just aching already.” 

You fight him again—hands pressing, nails biting into his arms, little jerks of your body beneath him. But Dave just watches. He lets you get it out of your system. And then, just as he knew you would, you go still. A little more acceptance settling in this time.

You still flinch and arch as he keeps one hand on your mouth, straddles your waist, and cups the swell of your breasts with his free hand. 

Tears start to well and one rolls down the side of your face. Dave leans down and presses a kiss to the wet corner of your eye. 

“Crying for me?” His voice is thick, drenched in lust and awe. “So pretty like that.” He pulls out a knife and you go rigid beneath him, head straining uselessly under his large hand. 

The sound of metal sliding free makes your breath stutter. Then cold and sharp against your chest. You freeze. Heart hammering, every muscle tense.

"Oh, you like this?" he murmurs, almost amused.

He presses the flat of the blade against your sternum, dragging it up—just enough for you to feel it, for panic to crawl up your throat. Then he shifts it lower, skimming between your ribs, unhurried. 

Teasing.

"Bet you’d let me cut these off," he muses, toying with the thin straps of your top. He could just rip them. But he wants to draw it out. 

You don’t move. Can’t. Your breath is short, chest rising in shallow gasps beneath the steel.

You suck in a breath, but he’s already tilting your chin up, smirking down at you. "Smart girl," he purrs, tracing the blade’s blunt edge down your stomach, inch by inch.

Fear locks up your joints. He mutters to himself about how you’re better than he imagined. Going to be so perfect for him. Not good—because you’re not a good girl—but perfect. For Dave. 

Tears roll freely now, your body trembling beneath him, making Dave groan. He kisses your cheek, savoring the way you shake for him. You’re wired tight and he’s flooded with everything he wants to do with you all at once. Your chest racks with sobs, pulling him to the present. The sounds are muffled beneath his hand, but Dave hears the way your breath hitches—you’re so tense. You need a release. Of course you do, that’s why he’s here. Ready to be what you need. And incredibly turned on. 

Because of you.  

“Fuck–” he hisses, grinding you deeper into the mattress with his pelvis pinned to yours. 

You squirm, hips bucking, but it only makes his cock pulse with heat. 

“You feel that?” His voice is dripping with pride. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your crying gets wilder. Louder. “The more you sob, the harder it makes me.” 

He doesn’t need to hear you to know. Your muscles respond to his lewd statement, quivering for him. 

Impatient. 

The corner of his mouth quirks. A subdued portrayal of his excitement. He drinks in the moment, the heat blazing between you and the glow of your dewy skin. 

Your muted voice is amplified by the stillness of the night. The calm cover of dark. Dave was built to be nocturnal–like a wild cat, and he’s patient. Precise with his prey. 

But that’s not what you are to him. You’re an equal. A creature of the night, just the same. 

So as bad as he wants it and as vulnerable as you are right now–he waits. Swallowing down groans as a fierce need courses through his veins. His weight holds you in place, but he still feels all of the tension rolling within you. 

He knows you can’t ask for this, that he has to give it to you. But, fuck, when you resist it makes him want you even more. Has him practically buzzing. Using the last of his patience. 

Until you’re ready. 

Surrender sinks in, deep, softening your limbs as you melt. He can feel the swell of emotions crescendo and dissipate as you transform with grace, becoming pliable and moldable.

And when you open your eyes, he knows. You’re offering yourself wordlessly, to him. Now. 

He drags the back of his knife down your chest languidly, before dropping the tease and slicing your top and panties with finesse. You protest into his palm but he doesn’t stop exploring, he’s sure you have other sleep clothes or he’ll replace these. 

He traces your body with the weapon, mapping different paths he’d like to trace with his lips instead. Dream versions of you feel like an insult, he confesses in murmurs–nearly imperceptible. 

Your heart beats loudly for him, increasing as he toys with pressure and misdirection. He touches you everywhere except for where you expect. A mastermind. You don’t know when he’s going to touch you. 

Time is an exquisite luxury tonight and he meditates with a clear mind as he breathes with you. Dave could stay like this for hours. But you start to twitch and flinch and toss your head. He laughs, amused with your show of discomfort. 

He’s in control. Like you wanted. The longer the tension builds, the more your tears flow, wet, warm, and constant. 

He drops his hand from your mouth, knowing you won’t scream now. 

“Please,” you whisper into the dark. “Dave, please.” He’s darkly devoted to you, obsessed with how your body tells him everything. Your chest heaves, nipples strained and taut without being touched. Just at the prospect of it. And then there’s your glistening pussy, crying so pretty for him, just like you. He’s so entranced he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Please,” your voice cracks as another violent sob steals your breath. 

“I know,” he purrs above you. “I’m here.” 

Your words slur into garbled wails as he leans in close, pressing kisses to your wet temple, down your jaw and neck. He can taste the salt on your skin and it’s immediately addictive, but he stays focused. 

“Let me take care of you.” His voice dips, velvety and gentle. The blade in his hand tells a different story, teasing a direct path down your stomach.

"She’s so swollen, poor thing,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your cunt, making you jerk. "You need this. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

His fingers replace the cold metal, stroking you, rubbing over your clit—slow at first, then cruel, faster and faster. You twist, struggling to get away, but it only makes him laugh under his breath.

“Relax.” He dips two fingers inside you, curling them and teasing. 

“That’s good,” his breath is hot against your ear and he works quickly to free his drooling cock and guide it up and down your wet lips. You jolt, bumping against him at the raw heat and the pressure. 

“She’s meant for this,” he murmurs drunkenly, “made for me.” 

“Dave,” you cry weakly. He grins, pleased that you’re already so wrecked you can barely speak up. 

"Say it louder."

You shake your head, biting your lip. Refusing. 

He hums, low and disapproving. His cock slides against you, teasing—pressing, not quite giving in. Until he realizes you’re serious about arguing. Then, he pulls back and with a quiet, steady voice tries again. 

"Say my name."

When you don’t, his palm comes down against your clit—sharp, shocking, and disorienting. You gasp, writhing, but he only looks pleased.

"Oh, she liked that," he purrs, doing it again. Another slap. A roll of his thumb, a wicked, relentless rhythm that makes your body push against him, reaching for more. He watches the pain and pleasure on your face meld. 

"Say. My. Name."

You choke on it, barely more than a whisper—“Dave.”

“Mmm. Again.”

You hesitate. Another slap. Harder. 

“Louder.”

You sob his name. 

“Good.”

He knew he’d win, but he decides you deserve a reward for that. He doubles down, using his hands and keen observations to work you closer and closer, catching every tremble of your muscles and tensing of your hips until he feels your cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers. 

“There you go.” 

You gawk openly as he coats his cock with the arousal shining on his fingers, before he’s sliding it along your seam once more. Then, he starts to sink inside of you, forcing himself to take it slow. Savoring the tight stretch, the resistance, when you yelp— “Wait!” 

"No," he growls, pressing your hips down. “No more waiting.” Then he buries himself inside you with one hard stroke. "Oh, fuck—"

It’s slow at first. He saws into you with long, drawn out strokes. Unhurried and mesmerized by the tight grip of your cunt and your hands. You dig your nails into his shoulders like his dreams predicted, but he never could’ve imagined how soft and wet you’d be for him. 

He thrusts in deeper and deeper as you clench firmly around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, losing himself to the perfect fit of your bodies. He rocks into you, steadily building up speed, and his groans cut off his words. 

He fucks you like you’re the love of his life. Giving you all of this part of him. Determined to prove that he’s been listening this whole time. 

The way you sob—it’s different than he imagined. More raw. But the way you arch under him? That’s real. That’s instinct. You don’t even realize the way you’re sucking him in.

"Yeah,” he groans. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

His lips brush softly over your temple, so gentle it feels mocking. Then, in the same breath—

"My perfect little whore. Look at you—a mess. So needy.”

He pounds into you, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Listen,” he orders and you stifle your gasps and pleas. The only sounds are the slick, slapping noises where you’re joined and the grunts he tries to muffle when he meets the end of you. 

“Taking it so well, just like that. So good for me.” 

You wince when he praises you. He notices. He laughs.

"Oh, but good girls don’t drip all over my cock like this, do they?"

You don’t say anything. Letting your head loll as he keeps up the same pace. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. Praising you for existing. The moment stretches and shrinks from forever to fleeting. 

His words dissolve into grunts. He folds your knee to your chest, fucking you harder—brutal now.

Quiet whimpers escape your lips as your body bounces from the force of him. The sweet sound incites a primal fire inside of Dave, drawing all of his focus. 

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

Your answer is just a choked, broken sound. It’s not enough.

“Say it.”

You slam your eyes shut, refusing. He’s not playing this game again. The slap is instant. A sharp crack across your cheek that stuns you.

“Say. It.”

Your voice shakes. “I like it rough.”

“My filthy fucking slut,” he groans, fucking you deeper. Your hips shift, proving his point.

“Of course my perfect girl likes it rough. Wants it harder too.”

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Now say thank you.”

You whimper, shaking your head. The slap is instant. Sharp. Blistering.

“Say it.”

“Thank you.” You spit the words out quickly. 

“Mmm, that’s better. So polite.”

He manhandles you onto your stomach, pinning you ass up. His weight crushes you into the mattress—and then he slams back inside, deep.

The angle knocks the air right out of your lungs, choking gasping breaths fill the room and he curses behind you. 

“Look at you. Clenching down on me like you don’t want me to leave.”

He watches as he sinks inside you again and again, and you cry louder, unable to quiet yourself. Not when he’s giving you what you’ve been begging for all this time. 

Your whines are stuttered by his hips snapping into you and muffled by the mattress you’re pressed into. If you had anything to say he wouldn’t be able to listen now. But it doesn’t matter anyway.

You rock against him, not coordinated in your timing, but more urgent, primal. The tight, wet squeeze of your cunt pulling him deeper is close to divinity—debaucherous maybe, but still heavenly. Engulfed by your warmth, deep as he can reach, your muscles contract pulsing around him dangerously. But he catches on. 

“Trying to milk my cock, already?” He huffs the question, memorizing the way you mewl with disappointment as he slows down. 

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You sway, relying on him for support. He steadies you easily with a firm hold, fingers digging into your waist, gliding his other hand up your spine. It’s a soothing touch, just resting along the curve of your ass, until he starts to knead and spread your cheeks wider for a better view. 

He grins as you twitch under his gaze, before he spits on your other hole. He groans, a deep rumbling sound that comes from his chest as he spreads his saliva with his thumb. 

As if compelled by a voice from within, Dave resumes his pace. He fucks you hard and fast now, watching your plush flesh ripple as you bounce against him. He keeps hitting it just right, adding pressure at the perfect angle to make you cry out his name. 

He knows you’re getting close, the tension in your core pulls tighter even despite your exhaustion. You almost let go before he makes it a guarantee, working his thumb into your ass until he hears it. The moment you stop thinking. You’re too fucking full to think, to speak, to feel any shame. 

“Come for me.” 

Honest, ragged sounds pour out of you. 

“Of course, my needy whore isn’t happy with only one hole filled.” 

Everything is unfiltered as your muscles contract and you writhe against him. The strength builds from somewhere deep, beyond your control. Your body all but gives out, jerking faintly as you take everything he gives you. 

The sounds you make go straight to Dave’s head. You’ve gone dumb for him, empty-headed, out of tears. The satisfaction gives him a heady rush, and he surges into you with renewed vigor. His grunts and curses punctuate the obscene sounds coming from between your bodies as everything starts to blur. 

In one swift show of strength, he lifts your upper body, holding you against his chest. He kisses your cheek, wet and sticky from your tears—then he’s gasping, low and raspy as he fucks his come into you as deep as he can manage. 

“Fuck.” 

Your intermingled breathing is louder than any other sounds you’ve made tonight. 

“Easy,” he husks, “let me stay.”

He lowers you with care, ultimately pinning you under his weight. His cock is still buried inside you, thick and leaking, making sure every drop stays where he put it.

“Stay just like this. I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night.” You’re still collapsed in a heap when he gets up, and still stuck to the sheets when he returns. You barely stir when he sets a glass of water on your nightstand, or when he peels the torn scraps of fabrics you’d worn earlier from beneath you and drapes the covers back over your body. 

But, when he leans toward your face you flinch away, turning your head. He doesn’t like that. 

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bruised cheek, mocking softness. 

Then, a kiss—pressed against your damp temple. His breath lingers, warm. You shudder.

Overwhelmed. 

He sees the fatigue clouding your eyes and his pride swells knowing you’re as sated as he is.

“Because of you,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving as quietly as he entered. 

A few months later it’s game night at Marina’s again. The Never have I ever box is open on the table. 

The prompts spark laughter and more stories of mildly adventurous escapades and college memories. 

They’re a few rounds into the game when Dave pulls another card. He stops himself from rolling his eyes at the prompt. It reads like an idea pitched by a 21 year old corporate intern. Instead, he pretends to read from the card using his own idea. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” A crooked smile spreads on Dave’s face. You sip your drink this time, holding eye contact without blinking.

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[dontlookatme121]

ive been thinking about this fic since i read it yesterday (3am on a monday). im obsessed, and you perfectly nailed the smut and angst mixture that IS javier peña. sooo thank you. here are some of the quotes that refuse to leave my mind:

'"No, you first."

"I will, baby, I will."

Baby, baby, baby. He doesn't call you that because he's not allowed to — that is one of the few rules. It's not the word itself, but the way he says it. It's not 'my love' or 'my wife", but you can hear devotion creep into his tone and it's dangerous. It feels like he's reserved the word for you, like it belongs to you just as much as your own name does.'

'Maybe Javier kisses because it's the one form of intimacy that doesn't force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi's eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn't usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was - it's hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all.'

'''See you Monday," he says.

You see him before that, though, in a dream, then a nightmare, then a memory, and a glimpse of him getting into his car and driving away.’

who will i say goodnight to when you're gone?

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: angst, smut, fwbs, p in v, oral

summary: you are javi are just coworkers who sleep together, nothing more

a/n: title is from cornflower blue by flower face

wc: 3.6k

thank you to @almostempty for beta reading!

It’s easier this way.

That’s what you tell yourself.

Your job is your life, whether or not you want it to be, and it would be unfair to subject a partner to that. It’s not just long hours at the office, it’s the constant threat of death, worse, the way it percolates your mind even when you’re sleeping —something you struggle to do these days.

At face value, it might seem like you should date a coworker, someone who gets you, who already stands beside you every day. But who would be there to comfort you when panic comes over you in the middle of the night? Putting two agents in the same room just makes you both a more convenient target. Imagine, they could kill two lovebirds with only one raid.

Some might say you’re like rabbits in the bedroom, but you’re not enjoying the spring weather, sitting in a bed of flowers. Rain is beating down on the windows, adding to the summer humidity, and you only end up on Javier’s uncomfortable mattress about half the time.

Sometimes, it’s the living room couch after a glass of whiskey or three. Other times, you choose convenience and share the cramped shower, maybe on the sink afterwards if there aren’t any clean towels and you have to air dry. Sometimes, when Javier throws the condom in the trash, he sees the cotton balls covered with hydrogen peroxide and blood.

He says more when he’s inside you than he does when he patches you up. You patch him up too, and you can tell he tries not to wince every time even though your hands are gentle. He will clean the wounds you received from others, only to bruise you. Usually, it’s on your hips or your thighs, anywhere below the neckline.

It’s the kindest thing he can do for you.

He doesn’t make you beg because he knows you would. He doesn’t beg because he knows he doesn’t have to. You knock on his door and he knows what you want.

You did this sort of thing often. Sex, they call it. Friends with benefits, casually hooking up after a bad day at work or a drunken night out, better yet, a drunk night in — no need to pretend this is about having fun. This is stress relief. It’s less sustainable than the habit you’ve picked up of a shared cigarette afterwards, but it’s better for your lungs.

It started like a glass of wine after work. If one could be a sommelier of sex, it’d be Javi. A taste, another taste, another, and you learned quickly how every drink goes down smoother than the last. Until it doesn’t.

It was hot and heavy in the beginning. Javier loved when you wore pencil skirts and heels, he loved to shove your skirt up, rip your pantyhose, pull your panties to the side while you’re up against the kitchen counter. He’d run two fingers over your slit before pushing them both inside, making his fingertips slick when he rubbed your clit and taunted you for your wetness.

“Were you like this all day at work? Or did it just take a kiss to make you this wet?”

“All day,” you’d admit shamelessly. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who wanted this.”

“You’re right about that. I had to take an extra smoke break outside after you bent over in that slutty little skirt.”

“Did you do anything about it?”

“What do you think?” He’d press his hips up against your ass, still clothed but you could feel how hard he was.

“I think you should do something about it now.”

It was vulgar, it was gossip, it was a tidbit to dish out when you got tipsy with your girlfriends. You’d tell them all about how he fucked like no man ever had before and they’d beg for his number, but you’d never reveal his identity. He was more of a myth than a man.

Office romances are sexy, particularly the fictional ones, and in the books you browse to humor yourself on the occasion that you have some downtime, the characters always seem to get caught or fall in love or both, often both. These are horror stories wrapped up as fantasies. Getting caught fucking in the file room is bad, everyone knows that, but falling in love is certainly worse.

You only fucked in the office once, and fucked is a bit of an exaggeration as it was only a blowjob, preceded by a wager-less bet.

“What’s this?” Murphy asked, plucking the book from your purse.

Before you could snatch it from him, he read the title aloud, “Loving Is A Full-Time Job.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just a stupid book a friend recommended to me.”

He turned it over, skimmed through the reviews on the back. “Warning: there’s a lot of inside-her trading in this one.”

You were halfway between disgust and amusement, though you should’ve been thoroughly embarrassed. Regardless, you let him know, “I’m on page 104 and there hasn’t been anything inside her thus far.”

Of course, you’d only fed his appetite, and he flipped to the page you’re on.

“Read it out loud,” Javi chimed in. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

So, he did. He read out the scene of the financial advisor getting sucked off by his colleague while he’s taking a phone call.

“Totally unrealistic,” Murphy remarked. “No way they wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“Nah,” Javi said. “You just don’t have a good poker face. I guarantee you I could pull it off.”

“Maybe you can invite one of those ‘CIs’ to the office and try it out,” you said, patronizingly to hide the arousal you felt at the idea.

You assumed the discussion had ended when Murphy left the room and returned the book to you.

“Is someone a bit jealous?” Javi taunted.

“No, I am not jealous of your whores.”

“You sure? You really looked like you were enjoying that book earlier. Were you thinking about performing a scene with your sexy coworker?”

“I think you’re projecting, Javier.”

You could see the mischief in his eyes, daring you to do something.

“We would one hundred percent get caught even if we tried.”

“No. I’m great under pressure. I can keep a straight face. Swear.”

You glanced towards the door and saw no one in the hallway. “Are you serious right now?” you asked.

He said nothing, just pulled out his chair, letting you climb under his desk. You grimaced at him, but you’d made your choice already.

“You owe me,” you said before unbuckling his belt.

“You want me to do the same for you? Because you know I will.”

“No, I don’t want to risk getting in trouble twice, thank you very much.”

“I figured. You can’t seem to keep quiet whenever I—” he cut himself off with a groan when you took him as far as you could without gagging.

“What were you saying?” you asked, pulling back with a string of spit still connecting your lips to his tip.

He made the mistake of looking down to see your pretty face when your lips found their way to his cock again. He bit his fist to hold back the groan you could hear in your own head, pulling it from a memory, which only served to make you want him more.

As much as you would’ve loved to see Javi break, you knew you shouldn’t try. Murphy’s the only one who re-entered the room — and seemed relatively unbothered by your absence — still, you didn’t need him to see this.

Only Javi gets to see you like this.

It was glorious to see him come like this — for you — despite his victory. It was miserable to sit on the tiled floor for over an hour, particularly when you were so close to the man you wanted more than anything else.

In the parking lot, you learned he wanted you even more than you wanted him, and sprawled out on his couch, he proved it to you.

“Just made me want you more,” he murmured. “Seeing you like that.”

“You wanna see me like that again?”

“No, I need to make you feel good.”

With that, he yanked your pants down along with your panties. While one hand stroked your g-spot, the other was clamped over your mouth because his tongue does dangerous things, and you couldn’t get another noise complaint.

It was routine like any other, the typical progression you learn as ‘bases’ in adolescence. Unlike baseball, it did not last nine innings. He took you over the edge quickly, not sparing any time. When you opened your eyes, he was already ripping the foil packet with his teeth.

You passed a cigarette back and forth in silence until your feet hit the floor and you gave him the classic, “see you at work.”

After a typically stressful day, you knock on his door and are greeted by only his voice, not his face. You have a key to his apartment. He doesn’t need to let you in, you can do that yourself, but it still strikes you as rude. Are you really a guest in his home anymore? 

You made yourself look sort of presentable, a bit more fuckable, in the traditional sense. Before walking down the steps to his apartment, you changed your dress into one that’s easier to pull up or down, prepared to let him take you however he wanted. 

But, when you open the door, there’s a cigarette in his left hand and a glass of whiskey in his right. There is nothing left of him to hold you.

He’s shirtless, his pants are on, but they’re unzipped. Your skin is a bit dewy because it’s hot outside, but his sweat is unmistakable. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you, but he notices you noticing first. Though, what is there to notice about you?                                 

Your mouth opens before the words come out.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, pivoting on your heels.

“Why?” he asks.

What angers you most is that he’s asking for an explanation when he already knows the answer. 

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“There’s no one else here.”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me in if there was.”

He nods, so you nod back. This time you’re looking into each other’s eyes, and seeing each other, deeper than before, but something is still missing, something that you do not find until much later in whatever' ‘relationship’ you have with him.

“Goodnight, Peña,” you say as you leave, really intent on it this time.

But if you didn’t want him to know, you wouldn’t have given him the hint. You call him ‘Javi’, maybe ‘Javier’, but you don’t call him by his last name, not even in the office.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” he calls after you. “You’re pissed at me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not happy.”

“Are you really going to make me say it? You know exactly why I’m leaving.”

“I thought we knew how to talk to each other. I don’t hold shit back from you.”

You scoff, turn your head to the door like it’ll open and the wind will carry you away. 

“You just slept with someone else,” you say, gesturing to his body, only looking him in the eyes because that’s the one place that seems untouched.

“And? I didn’t know there was an exclusivity clause in this deal.” Deal, he calls it with a finger pointed between the two of you, almost accusatory now.

“There isn’t. I don’t care if you sleep with other women.” Except you do. “I’d just rather you shower in between.”

“I can go shower if you care that much.”

“I don’t care if you shower or not.”

“You just said that you did.”

“I said that I’m not having sex with you because—”

“Because you’re mad at me — unjustifiably, by the way.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m just a human-fucking-being.” You should leave, but you don’t. “What if you came over and I had obviously just had sex with some other man? Wouldn’t you leave?”

“No. I wouldn’t give a fuck because I know I’d fuck you better.”

You’re seething, one fist strangling the strap of your purse and the other balled into a fist. You think about hitting him, but you wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. He’s right, he hasn’t technically done anything wrong. 

“Fine.” You stomp towards him and he stubs out his cigarette, like he’s making space in his hands for you.

You stand in front of him, look down, and say only one word: “shower”. You point towards his bathroom, and he goes along with it. He rarely submits to you. It’s not really his thing, he’d say. But, he returns with a towel around his waist and his skin dewy with something new. Plus, a condom between two fingers and a face that pisses you off even further. Cocky, per usual.

You can see the smart remark before it comes out of his mouth, and you shush him. “You don’t speak, you don’t touch me, you do exactly as I say, or I’ll leave. Got it?”

“I thought you wanted to show me how you could fuck me better.”

“I never said that. Those were your words. This is for me. Not for you.”

“Have at it,” he says, dropping the towel before falling back onto the sofa.

You could taunt him for being hard but this isn’t about him. Not at all. This is about finding some way to hurt him the way he’s hurt you — really, if you plan to even the score, you’ll have to make him do it all himself.

But when you walked in, he was satisfied, worn out, in an unusually peaceful state. Now, he’s won again. He gets to have you, to know that you still want him even when he wants other women.

You suck on his collarbone, the nape of his neck, up to the point just below the neckline of the shirt he’ll wear to work tomorrow. If you were braver, you’d mark him up higher. But he’s not yours, no one else can know about this. Except for that woman. Whoever she may be. If she comes around in the next few days, she’ll see the bruise, she’ll know.

His moans are shameless. You suppose, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make him feel the same insecurity. But he leans his head back, exposing more skin, almost daring you to do it. He doesn’t know that you prepared yourself a bit for this, but you shove two fingers in his mouth and drag them over your slit so you can act like you’re not already as wet as you are.

You sink down effortlessly, take him all inside you, set your own pace. You only touch him to dig your nails in, to bite him, to put your hands around his neck just to see if he’d let you choke him. But you don’t dare squeeze.

There were two possible outcomes in your mind: one, you would make sure you came first, and immediately retreat from him, leave without a word, or, two, you could make him come first and keep going until the point of complete overstimulation, you could make him beg and cry. But, his stamina is too good, and you end up at a standstill, you’re both holding back, waiting for the other to break. Your breath is heavy and ragged but you bite back every moan until one slips and it’s his fucking name, a sob. He lifts his head, which had lolled back long ago, says to you softly, like he’s not breaking the rules if he’s quiet, “let me help you.”

Javier Peña always gets to be the hero. 

It’s so goddamn genuine. It’s your own battle you’re fighting against no one, but he tells you that you’ve won. That it’s fine to give in, that you’ve done well at whatever it was you wanted to do.

You just nod — it’s your turn to stay silent because, as you both know, every word you say can and will be held against you.

He flips you over so gently, gracefully, has you crying through languid thrusts.

“Just let go.”

“No, you first.”

“I will, baby, I will.”

Baby, baby, baby. He doesn’t call you that because he’s not allowed to — that is one of the few rules. It’s not the word itself, but the way he says it. It’s not ‘my love’ or ‘my wife’, but you can hear devotion creep into his tone and it’s dangerous. It feels like he’s reserved the word for you, like it belongs to you just as much as your own name does.

“Mm-mm. You first.”

“Baby, I need to see you come first. I need to feel it. Please.”

Please. That’s it. Politeness — you wouldn’t have thought Javier had it in him. When you come, you know you’ve won.

You cling to him for dear life as you cry out his name, and he insists, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

When you put your clothes back on, you notice he looks more worn out than he did when you arrived and that’s good enough for you.

“Are we good now?” he asks.

“Yes. See you at work,” you say.

Which is how it always ends.

You file it under ‘things we’re not going to talk about’ — it’s a simultaneous, mutual action, but you don’t say a word to each other about it because we’re not going to talk about it.

What happens in the bedroom — proverbially — stays in the bedroom because it would be too complicated otherwise.

Until the night he shows up at your doorstep, looking more disheveled than ever. The word ‘please’ only gets halfway out of his mouth before yours shuts him up.

You want to take care of him tonight. You drop to your knees, silently offering. But, he pulls you up to your feet.

“You don’t want me to—”

“I want to kiss you.”

It’s not that you never kiss. You just don’t kiss like that, like wanting, like longing — still needy, but with an adoration you cannot face.

Maybe Javier kisses because it’s the one form of intimacy that doesn’t force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi’s eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn’t usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was — it’s hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all. But, there is something kinder hidden, a flicker, something you haven’t seen in the mirror since you were a child. It’s something more than hope.

Taking care of Javier is letting him give himself to you, listening to every noise you make and repeating whatever he did to hear it the first time so he could hear it again. It’s making you come twice, the road to each orgasm drawn out, leaving tears in your eyes when it finally hits you. It’s pretending not to hear him say your name after a muffled whimper when he finally lets himself come.

He undresses before getting into your bed because he doesn’t want to carry whatever sweat, blood, and guilt that stained his clothes.

Rarely would you see him like this, so vulnerable — only when you were atop him, and though you’d always see a second sense of release whenever you ended up in that position, he would insist it isn’t his favorite.

Javier’s favorite position is the one you spend most of the night in — missionary, the type of sex you’re supposed to have on your wedding night when you lose your virginity to your soulmate, the love of your life, and maybe Javi sees it that way.

It’s not like that, it can’t be. You’re coworkers, you’re sleepy and he’s exhausted. He needs you to help him sleep. And this time it has nothing to do with an orgasm. When he decides he should stand up, he lingers by the bed.

You’re both too scared to be the one to ask, so no one asks, instead, you tell him: “stay”.

It’s quiet, like maybe you can get him to believe no one ever said it. But not weary, you’re strong even in your weakness. At your most vulnerable, you are commanding.

So, he does. He resigns himself to the fact that he is powerless in the face of such sincerity. He needs to sleep, so he does — entangled with you, naked still.

In the morning, you want to say, “Let me go make some coffee” or “Get back in bed” or “I love you”, but none of those words have the chance to leave your mouth before Javi reaches the door.

“See you Monday,” he says.

You see him before that, though, in a dream, then a nightmare, then a memory, and a glimpse of him getting into his car and driving away.

And, as promised, you see him on Monday. His fingertips that ran along your skin fumble over the keys on his typewriter, he holds the phone between his head and his shoulder — where you should’ve left a mark, his lips that kissed you only days ago wrap around the last cigarette in the pack. There is nothing left for him in his desk drawer. He stubs it out in the ashtray next to him. If Javier knows one thing it is how to light a flame and turn it to dust before your eyes. 

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

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@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

[900 words of fluff and cock worship]

daydreaming about…

Older boyfriend Joel who is so patient and tender with you. He slips out of the bedroom without turning on a light in the mornings, not wanting to disturb your sleep. But he never forgets to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, murmuring something sweet, before he leaves.

And on the weekends it’s the same. Except he comes back in an hour or two, just to leave a coffee on the nightstand for you. Doting without smothering, or risking your morning attitude.

Some days you don’t wake up until you smell the earthy coffee, steam still swirling from the mug. But most of the time he barely makes it to the doorway before you croak out a quiet, “Wait.”

“Come here,” you lilt in your rich timbered morning voice, stretching your arms toward him. It never gets old to him, no, he thinks it’s one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. One of the most heavenly sights.

You can only grin lazily at him. Your gaze drags down, over his handsome smile, over the rippling muscles of his chest and arms under his worn tee, and skimming over the bulge in his loose sweats.

You scoot toward the middle of the bed, hold up the cover, inviting him into the warmth you’ve been nestled in. He climbs in and scoops you onto the broad plane of his chest.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he rumbles beneath you, voice deep as the ocean. It’s so serene to be in his strong arms. Nobody has ever grounded you like this, anchored you, physically and emotionally.

It’s not that being older makes him smarter or wiser than you, rather, he’s the first to brag about your accomplishments or support your goals. It’s the way that time has taught him gratitude.

Joel is present with you. So alive. Flesh and blood, warm and firm. He’s not in a rush, not sacrificing his energy chasing benchmarks or brushing you off to prove something.

He’s there with you.

Sometimes he just holds you in a peaceful quiet. You listen to his breathing and his heartbeat. Until the sun gets higher in the sky and the world comes to life.

But most of the time you can’t resist wiggling your hips against him and biting your lip. Fucking with him, just until you feel his dick start to stir.

Joel’s heart flutters at your breathy giggles, but when your laughter is cut off with a gasp, the heat rushes lower. He likes the game you play, always teasing him and acting surprised at how fiercely he wants you. How badly he needs you. It never takes long before he’s rock hard, straining against his sweats, precum leaving a little dark patch against the soft material between you.

Sometimes everything stays slow and syrupy, just grinding and rubbing against each other until Joel can’t take it anymore. Until he has to roll you over so he can sink into your soft, warm cunt. Sometimes you take turns spoiling each other with greedy hands and mouths until you’re both sweating and sticking to each other.

But sometimes you do this thing that sends him right over the edge. You sit up and perch your ass on the meat of his thighs, far enough down that you can pull at his waistband freeing his throbbing cock. The way you grin just playing with it makes him dizzy.

You’re so fucking hot without even trying.

You’re always fascinated by his dick, hard or soft.

Always amused with the bounce it makes when you let go of his shaft and the weight makes it slap against his lower belly. You like the mess of it, the precum that beads, and rolls from his slit, the string of it connecting to the dark hair on his stomach. You’re easily infatuated by the heat of his length in your palm, the silky smooth skin, the veins and the angry red tip. The lust on your face is unmistakable.

Joel could cum just seeing the ardor in your eyes and the greedy way you wet your lips. But then, matching his gaze and lowering your body, you lick a hot, wet stripe from base to tip. His entire body shudders, overwhelmed with the heavenly bliss.

When you finally envelop him in the wet furnace of your mouth, he’s on another planet, groaning and praising you, encouraging you with a massive palm wrapped around the back of your head. Completely at your mercy, he’ll do anything you want. You get him so blissed out he’s nearly incoherent.

He rarely lasts long enough to fuck you properly on those mornings. But when you finally let him get his hands between your legs he could nearly cum a second time just feeling how wet you are.

Drenched.

So absurdly turned on, he barely gets to sink his thick digits inside of you before you’re gasping and crying out his name. But you love it. Nobody has ever made you burn with such intensity and ache with such desire.

And he’s generous. Joel never stops until you’re tugging at his wrist, pulling his arm away as you tremble and spasm.

And some days when you come back to yourself and find yourself staring into his deep brown eyes you think you’d like to spend your mornings like this for the rest of your life.

🍒 🌸

click here for more of my writing

[theetherealbloom]

Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

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

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.  

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.  

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.  

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.  

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.  

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”  

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”  

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”  

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.  

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”  

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.  

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.  

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.  

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”  

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.  

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.  

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.  

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”  

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.  

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”  

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.  

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.  

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”  

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”  

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”  

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.  

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”  

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.  

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”  

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.  

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.  

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.  

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.  

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.  

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”  

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.  

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.  

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.  

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.  

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.  

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.  

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”  

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”  

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”  

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.  

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.  

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.  

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.  

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.  

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”  

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.  

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”  

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”  

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.  

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”  

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”  

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”  

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.  

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.  

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”  

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.  

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.  

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”  

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.  

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.  

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”  

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”  

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.  

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.  

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”  

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.  

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.  

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.  

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”  

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”  

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”  

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”  

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”  

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”  

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”  

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”  

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”  

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.  

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”  

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”  

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”  

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.  

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”  

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.  

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.  

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.  

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”  

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”  

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”  

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.  

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.  

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”  

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”  

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”  

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.  

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”  

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.  

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.  

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”  

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.  

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”  

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”  

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”  

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”  

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”  

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”  

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”  

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”  

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”  

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”  

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.  

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.  

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.  

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.  

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”  

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.  

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.  

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”  

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”  

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”  

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.  

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”  

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.  

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.  

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.  

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.  

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”  

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”  

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”  

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”  

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”  

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”  

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.  

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.  

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.  

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.  

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.  

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.  

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.

[missyorkswhore]

Excuse me?

[notjustjavierpena]

Ok so someone said Pedro is so husband in Gladiator 2 and I was wondering if you would possibly do a Marcus and pregnant!wife fic?! Please 🤍

Restless

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This was so fun to write and I hope you like it! Just fyi, this is not a part of my series Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.

Summary: Being heavily pregnant makes it hard to sleep.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Pregnant reader, kisses, a general devoted to his wife

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60543115

Restless

Since entering the final stages of carrying your child, nights in bed have been restless. You lay awake most of the time, drifting off on your side only to wake up not long after with a foot pressing against your ribs. It is a strange paradox how something so unpleasant can offer you comfort at the same time, serving as a reminder that your baby is healthy and strong. You’ll take watching the sunrise each morning if it means knowing that they are well, even if it means exhaustion from the lack of rest. 

Tonight is no different. You are yet again caught in the realm of the awake, carefully turning over from side to side as you beg God Somnus to show you mercy and grant you some sleep. However, just as your eyes start to flutter closed, you are startled awake by another swift kick to your insides. 

“You are as restless as your father,” you speak quietly and with affection to the life within your belly, pressing your hand over the spot. You glance at Marcus as you say it, already aware of how he is stirring from his slumber because the littlest of things can rouse him. After all, he is a light sleeper, old habits making him as vigilant in bed with you as he is on the battlefield. 

“Another night on slumber’s battlefield?” Marcus asks while sleep still clings to him. His voice is rough, rumbling through his chest as he speaks. 

You nod with a sigh, reaching for your husband’s hand to guide it to rest on your belly. His voice joining yours has woken up the baby even more, and they seem even more enthusiastic in announcing their presence to their parents, “It seems like your child is preparing for a campaign of their own. Feel.”

“My child?” He asks with a fond smile, another jab at his palm making him gently trace patterns across your belly. 

“During nights like these, they’re your child,” you tease lightheartedly and earn a gentle smile, a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he chuckles quietly but it is interrupted by another spirited kick. He sucks in a breath, talking quietly as if mostly to himself, “Every time I do this… I still can’t believe—“

“Neither can I,” you say dreamily and rest your own hand on top of his. You guide his palm over the curve of your swollen belly, “But they’re really in there. Feel this. Here’s their back and this… this must be the foot that’s keeping me from sleeping.”

Marcus’ calloused palm is warm as it skims across your stomach, feeling its way around to picture the growing bundle inside of you. His eyes are filled with uninhibited wonder, a joy that seems to be more frequent on his face after Goddess Juno granted you this blessing so soon after your union. He shifts on the bed to bend down and kiss where he has just felt a particularly enthusiastic kick. 

“Listen to me, little one,” he murmurs softly against your skin, “Your beautiful mother is doing all the work bringing you into the world and into my arms. The least you could do is grant her some rest.”

“I don’t think it’s going to happen. I think they’ve inherited some of your rebellion,” you begin but Marcus looks at your face with feigned outrage. He crawls up to hover over you. 

“Their rebellious spirit is directly from you,” he argues with a charming smile, palms flat against the bed on either side of you. In return, you reach up to cup his face and drag him down for a sweet kiss. He smells like olive oil and metal from his armor, proof of him being in the sun all day during today’s training session. He should be exhausted but he kisses you like he isn’t. 

“Then you should know how to tame them just like you tamed me, General,” you bite back with a mischievous expression, a high-pitched giggle interrupting your attempt at an attitude because Marcus maneuvers you onto your side again, this time facing away from him. He crawls up behind you, scooping his arm underneath you so he can cradle your full belly with both hands. 

“Close your eyes,” he tells you, splaying his hands on you until the warmth of his touch starts to calm everything in your body and mind, “Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly like the tide.”

You can feel the gentle change in the room, both Marcus and the baby falling into sync with you as sleep comes knocking for all three of you. He talks in a quiet whisper even on the verge of slumber, his chest rising and falling against your back while your belly mirrors it, “That’s it. You’re safe, my love. My heart, my strength, my guiding light.”

“Tell me about our baby,” you murmur softly, eyelids growing heavy until you capitulate and close them. 

“Our baby,” he begins, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “Will be as beautiful as their mother. When they laugh it’ll be with your laugh, and when they smile, everyone will think of you in an instant. Perhaps, they will be granted the courage of Mars. Or perhaps the wisdom of Minerva, a real strategist.”

His hands continue their slow and gentle pattern over your stomach, lulling you even closer to the edge of sleep. You relax further into his embrace, letting his words wash over you as he continues, “And as for me, I hope they will inherit my heart. I hope to pass on my sense of duty and purpose. They’ll be honorable, stand firm, and protect the ones they love.”

“Marcus,” you say without knowing why. 

“They will be loved,” he adds as if it is the most true of all, his forehead resting against the back of your head, “Loved beyond comparison, beyond comprehension. By us and even the Gods themselves, and they will never doubt this. They will find it to be as certain as Sol and Nox ensuring each day and night.” 

“I like that,” you smile sleepily, barely awake anymore. 

“Me too,” you hear him say just before sleep finally claims you, his voice a calming echo that tells you he’s telling the truth.

.

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If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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[andy-15-07]

Javier Pena x CIA agent!f!reader

You and Javier in secret relationship that you two simply have great chemistry. You enter the meeting with bunch of military, DEI, CIA. Javier was siting with bunch in meeting as you simply listen and watch for General to speak. Then you glare one second at Javi, focus one what trying to do. After the meeting, Javi steps outside and smoke a cigarettes, you step in and talk to him. I know Javi is brave enough about taking down Cali. You got faith for him and if he needed help for you, he’ll called you. He kiss your knuckles that everything would be fine and love you dearly. Lots of hard work for you two would be brave.

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day)

Secrets in the Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2353 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The conference room was dimly lit by fluorescent bulbs, their harsh light clashing with the somber mood that filled the space. You, Y/N, a seasoned CIA agent known for your steely resolve and discreet efficiency, had entered the meeting with your head held high. Today’s session was critical—a joint briefing with high-ranking military officials, representatives from DEI, and fellow CIA operatives. It was a meeting where every word could mean the difference between success and disaster.

Seated at a long polished table were men and women in crisp uniforms and tailored suits. Among them, your eyes found Javier “Javi” Pena, his presence unmistakable even from across the room. Though you both had to keep your relationship strictly off the record, the subtle chemistry between you was palpable—a private language of glances and half-smiles that spoke of shared secrets and unyielding support.

As the meeting began, you took your seat quietly at the far end of the table, your posture poised and alert. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as the General prepared to address the assembled team. You allowed your eyes to drift around the room, taking in the determined expressions of your colleagues, until finally, the General cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the General began, his voice deep and commanding, “we are here today to discuss our coordinated efforts against the Cali cartel. Our intelligence indicates that their network is more deeply rooted than we previously believed, and every resource we have must be deployed to dismantle their operations.”

You listened intently, nodding slightly as he outlined the strategy. Every detail mattered—every contingency plan, every tactical adjustment. And through it all, your gaze kept finding Javi’s. He sat with a group of agents from various agencies, his expression stoic yet attentive. For a brief moment, as the General continued speaking, you caught a glimpse of determination in his eyes—a silent promise that he was as committed to taking down Cali as you were.

During a pause in the General’s briefing, you exchanged a fleeting, charged glance with Javi. For a single second, you allowed yourself a small, knowing glare—a reminder of the private bond you shared amid the public formality. You focused back on the presentation, but the warmth of that brief contact lingered, steadying your resolve.

The meeting carried on with intense dialogue. One agent from DEI interjected, “General, if we allocate additional assets to surveillance, we might pinpoint their key operational hubs faster.” Another CIA operative added, “We need to ensure our field agents are equipped with the latest intel. Communication channels must remain uncompromised at all costs.”

Throughout the debate, Javi leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through the technical jargon. “We know the Cali cartel isn’t just a network—it’s a living, breathing organization. Every move they make is calculated. We have to be even more precise. If we’re going in, we need to be in sync, like a well-oiled machine.” His words, delivered with his trademark mix of grit and conviction, resonated with everyone present.

You couldn’t help but smile at his passion. Despite the gravity of the situation, his confidence was a beacon of reassurance for you. Quietly, you made a mental note: if he ever needed extra support, he’d call you without hesitation—and you’d be there in a heartbeat.

Finally, after what felt like hours of planning and debate, the meeting began to wind down. The General wrapped up, “I trust that each one of you will execute your part with the utmost precision. We have one chance to dismantle this network—let’s not fail.” The room erupted in murmurs of assent and determined nods. As the participants filed out of the conference room, you could see the weight of responsibility in everyone’s eyes.

Once the room had emptied, you noticed Javi slipping quietly out the side door. With a practiced glance that masked your concern and affection, you followed him out into the cool night air.

Outside, the corridors were quiet. Javi stood under a flickering light near a set of stairs, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette he held between his fingers. His rugged face, usually set in a mask of stoic determination, now softened as he exhaled slowly. You approached him, your footsteps echoing softly in the near-empty hallway.

“Javi,” you said gently, stopping a few feet away, “you alright?”

He glanced over his shoulder, a small, tired smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hey, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. “Just needed a minute to clear my head. You know how these meetings get.”

You leaned against the wall next to him, keeping your tone casual but your eyes filled with concern. “I do. But you’re one of the bravest men I know. Taking down Cali isn’t easy—anyone would be feeling the pressure tonight.”

He took a slow drag on his cigarette, the embers flaring briefly. “I appreciate that,” he murmured. “I know the stakes, and sometimes it just gets… overwhelming. But knowing you’re out there, doing your part, it gives me strength.”

Your hand brushed lightly against his as you offered a quiet smile. “You’ve got to trust that we’re in this together, Javi. And if you ever need anything—backup, a shoulder, or just someone to listen—you know I’m just a call away.”

For a moment, the sound of distant city traffic and the soft hum of the building’s ventilation filled the silence between you. Then, with a tenderness that belied the harsh world you both inhabited, Javi stepped forward and gently lifted your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss onto your knuckles, his eyes conveying a promise that everything would be alright.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone earnest and resolute, “I love you. I promise, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll always call on you if I need help. And you’ll always be the one who reminds me why I fight.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with both love and pride. “And I love you, Javi. I believe in you—completely. We’re stronger together than apart, remember?”

He nodded, flicking the cigarette away and stubbing it out with a practiced motion. “I do. And we’re going to bring Cali down, one step at a time. But tonight, let’s just… breathe.”

The two of you stood there, the cool night air mingling with the warmth of your shared moment. You could hear the distant murmur of voices and footsteps, the busy world continuing on even as you both savored this small haven of quiet intimacy.

“Remember,” Javi added with a playful glint in his eyes, “when you’re in that meeting next time, I expect you to give me that look again. The one that says, ‘We’ve got this.’”

You chuckled softly. “You mean the glare you love so much? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get your daily dose.”

He laughed, the sound rough and genuine. “Good. Because I’m counting on it.”

Your conversation drifted into a mix of mission details and personal banter, each line of dialogue weaving a tapestry of trust and unspoken promises. You recalled recent operations, shared insights about the enemy’s movements, and even traded a few light-hearted jabs about whose briefing notes were better. All the while, the underlying tone was one of mutual respect and unwavering support.

“Y/N,” Javi said after a pause, his voice softening as he looked at you with sincere admiration, “I know I can be stubborn sometimes, and I appreciate that you never let me down—even when I’m too proud to ask for help.”

You reached up and gently touched his arm, your eyes meeting his. “We’re a team, Javi. You take on the danger, and I take care of the details. It doesn’t matter who carries the burden on any given day, as long as we carry it together.”

He smiled at that, a hint of vulnerability shining through his normally guarded demeanor. “I wish I could tell everyone how proud I am to have you in my corner. But you know the rules.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance of your secret relationship. “Our secret is safe, Javi. I trust you with my life—and I know you trust me with yours.”

In the stillness of that moment, the weight of your responsibilities melted away, replaced by the simple truth of your connection. The night was far from over, and there would be more meetings, more battles, and more sacrifices ahead. But for now, you both allowed yourselves a brief respite—a pause to appreciate the love that fueled your courage.

After a few more minutes of quiet dialogue—exchanging theories, recounting memories of past missions, and speculating about the future—Javi broke the silence. “I have to get back inside. There’s more work to be done today.”

You hesitated, reluctant to let him go, but you knew duty always called. “Alright, but promise me you’ll stay safe. And if you ever need to talk—or need me—don’t hesitate.”

He leaned in, capturing your gaze with his intense, unwavering eyes. “I promise, Y/N. I love you, and that means more than any mission ever will.”

He pressed one last soft kiss to your knuckles before turning and heading back into the building, leaving you with a lingering warmth in your hand and in your heart.

As you watched him disappear into the corridor, you whispered softly to yourself, “We’ll get through this together, Javi. Always.”

Later that evening, after the meeting had been fully disbanded and the adrenaline of the day had settled into a calm determination, you returned to your secure apartment. The city outside was alive with the hum of nighttime activity, but inside, you prepared for the next phase of your mission. Your mind kept drifting back to Javi’s words and the promise in his eyes—a beacon of hope in a world where danger was a constant companion.

Over the next few days, as intelligence reports and mission updates piled up, your secret relationship with Javi remained a quiet source of strength. In the brief moments between operations, you would exchange coded messages and subtle signals that only the two of you could understand. Every time your phone buzzed with a discreet “Javi check-in,” your heart skipped a beat—a reminder that in the midst of chaos, love was still your anchor.

One afternoon, as you were reviewing a detailed report on Cali’s latest movements, your secure line lit up with his familiar number. You answered immediately, your voice husky with anticipation.

“Y/N,” Javi’s voice came through, low and reassuring. “I need a favor. There’s a situation unfolding at one of our forward posts. I could really use your expertise on this.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you responded, “I’m on it, Javi. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Just hold tight, okay?”

“Thank you,” he replied, relief evident in his tone. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll keep you updated.”

Driving through the night to the designated location, you rehearsed the plan in your mind—an intricate blend of CIA precision and field experience honed over years of challenging missions. The weight of responsibility was immense, but so was the knowledge that you and Javi had each other’s backs, no matter what.

When you arrived at the site—a remote outpost near the border—Javi greeted you with a tired smile and a quick, affectionate hug that conveyed both gratitude and a silent promise to return safe. “You always know how to show up when it matters,” he whispered into your ear.

Together, you assessed the situation, your dialogue blending strategy with subtle, unspoken care. “We need to secure the perimeter and establish a communication line with headquarters,” you instructed the team. Javi nodded, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of shared understanding. Every command, every reassurance he offered to the team, was backed by the quiet strength you saw in him—the strength that made you believe that together, nothing was insurmountable.

Hours later, as the operation wound down and the immediate threat was contained, you found a quiet corner away from the chaos. Javi, looking a bit weathered but resolute, pulled you aside. “Y/N,” he said softly, “I couldn’t have done this without you. I know I’m not always the easiest person to work with, but you— you make me better.”

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. “Javi, we’re in this together. I trust you with everything I have, and I know you feel the same. We’re a team—on the field, and in life.”

He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped yours. “I do. I love you, Y/N. And I promise, no matter how hard the work gets, I’ll always come back to you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a hard-fought battle and the quiet resolve of those who had risked everything, you felt the truth of his words deep in your heart. Love, trust, and courage—they were the pillars upon which you both built your lives, even if the world around you was steeped in danger.

As the night drew to a close and you finally returned to your apartment, you replayed every conversation, every glance shared with Javi, knowing that your secret relationship was the one beacon of hope in a turbulent world. And as you prepared for the next day’s challenges, you vowed that no matter what lay ahead, you and Javi would face it side by side—brave hearts in the shadows, united by duty and bound by love.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed you, you smiled softly at the memory of Javi’s gentle kiss on your knuckles, the whispered promise that everything would be alright. Despite the hard work, the secrets, and the ever-present danger, you knew that you had found something worth fighting for—a love that shone as brightly as the stars above, even in the darkest of times.

And as the new day dawned, with its fresh challenges and uncertain battles, you were ready—ready to take on the world with the strength of your convictions, the support of your secret love, and the unbreakable bond that held you both together, even in the shadows.

[mrsmandalorian]

short n' sweet tour

--pedro pascal x singer!f!reader

summary: on the debut night of your arena tour, you pull out all the cheeky tricks to grab Pedro's attention while the crowd goes wild.-this fic features a tiny bit of 'Bed Chem" and the whole song of 'Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter !!

lyrical genius masterlist / main masterlist / wc:4.9K

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, smut!!!, and fluff!, p in v, hard and quick FUCK, sexual TEASING, pet names, pillow humping, dry humping, wandering hands, makeout.

a/n: the next part is finally here! thank you for all the love on this series. hope you guys enjoy this part! pls leave some feedback and let me know what you guys might be interested in seeing in the future! much love, maddie <3

The electricity from the crowd vibrates backstage as you nervously wait for your cue to run onstage. All the hard work throughout your career has led to this moment—the first concert of your North American leg of the arena tour. It started in  Staples Center in Los Angeles and concludes in Sweden next year. 

The pre-show recording starts as your team quickly helps you with your earpiece and offers words of encouragement. Take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves as you hear the team start a countdown to your entrance over the earpiece. 

“Three, two, one-go, go!” the stage manager says from behind you.

As the crowd roars, you dash onto the elaborate stage to begin the show with one of your many comedy bits, acting as if you are half-ready for the show to start, still in your sequined bath towel. You finally end up center stage to find your microphone and strip from your fake towel to a custom sparkling bodysuit with sheer sparkling tights, which causes an uproar from your fans. 

Looking into the sea of people and phones, you give your best smile and take the moment as best as possible. The tune of your first song starts as your dancers slowly come out to join you on stage. It was showtime. 

The crowd was whole of thousands of fans and familiar faces from family, friends, and celebrities. The cheers and joy in the room made all the struggles and hard work behind the music worthwhile. The impact your music has on people truly makes it all significant. You released your album, and it was a fantastic experience; it topped the charts for weeks and went viral on social media. It has undoubtedly been the best year of your life. Your career has already taken off, but the overwhelming success you've experienced in the last six months has been remarkable in more ways than one.

Your nerves disappear as you sing through the setlist and entertain your fans with your cheeky comedy bits and lovable personality. Your setlist consists of songs from your new album, older hits and gems, and karaoke from your favorite artists. Much like your most recent singles, your latest album is very sex-positive and cheeky, which sets your performance to the same tone. You were expecting a good reaction from the crowd, especially someone. 

After a few songs and the addition of a sheer robe, it was finally time for one of your more sexual songs off your album, Bed Chem, which had a very sensual tone of dance to it. The lights dim as you get into position on a retro circular bed part of your elaborate makeshift apartment stage. You position yourself seductively in the middle as you stare up at the camera above you, which will project onto the large screens for the audience. 

The song starts as you twirl your hair with a massive smirk. As you go through the first few lyrics on the set bed all by yourself, you can't help but imagine your bed chemistry with your lover, Pedro, which causes you to blush heavily. 

Your imagination halts as your dancers join you on the bed to continue the song and choreography. The canopy opens to the audience, but you have been so caught up in your performance that you haven't taken a second to look at those chocolate eyes in the audience. 

As you continue the song sensually and playfully, you are met at the edge of the bed with your dancers. Staring into the crowd to find his eyes, you meet them with a large smirk, holding them as you sing the following few lines. 

“And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time (bed chem)

And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine (bed chem)

And I bet it's even better than in my head (my, ooh).”

Your gazes hold until you give him a wink, which earns you a smirk and wink back from him. The tension between you and him burned hotter than the stage lights, igniting every inch of you—even in a room packed with thousands. You were so smitten with him as you continued your choreography with your female dancers. 

During the song's outro, the ladies leave you to dance with the guys as you kneel on the bed. One of the male dancers joins you, holding a camcorder that projects onto the screens, and he joins you on the bed. Playfully actingout a scene with him until the canopy curtain closes and your reflections show you both undress and embrace onto the bed as the lights dim to darkness. 

After the song ends, the crowd erupts, and you run backstage for your first outfit. As you change, one of your few mini videos and dancers entertain the audience. Touching up your makeup and dabbing the sweat from your brow, you quickly grab your phone to send Pedro a selfie of you winking and making a kissy face: “All for you, baby.” 

The concert flows on—another outfit change, playful banter, and electrifying moments with the crowd—all in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts of your irresistibly fine man. After an intensely emotional song, your setlist picks back up with cheerful, fun music that has gone viral for your whole tour. You walk yourself down in your long, custom, sexy dress down the catwalk of the stage as you talk with the crowd. You compliment and express your gratitude to your fans as you prepare for the next song. Before the song, your team and you have been doing a comedy bit before to give the spotlight to a fan. 

You complimented the crowd on their fabulous outfits, which you knew took them a while to pick out or make. The best part of the bit happened once your dancers joined you just off the main stage onto the catwalk. 

“Oh my, everyone, look! Who is this hottie in the front row right here?” You let out a shocked expression as you fan your face dramatically. The camera for the large screens directs the camera to the person you are referring to, who happens to be Lux Pascal. The crowd goes wild as Lux starts to blush. “ You are breathtaking! Whoever made you, God bless them. God bless their genetics.” You joke with her as you twist your hair in a fake, flirtatious way. “Um, what's your name, gorgeous?” 

The camera pans back to Lux, where she plays her part and screams, “Lux!” to you. You both laugh together. “Such a beautiful name! Our names would be perfect for us to be in a relationship together. Oh my god! My clothes just fell off thinking about us. I will have to arrest you for being too hot!” You say as your long skirt falls to reveal your shorter skirt underneath. A brief glimpse of Pedro standing beside his sisters and your friends sends the arena into a deafening uproar, the sheer volume making you giggle into the microphone.

Your dancer hands you a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, which you give to the security guard with a wink and blow a kiss to Lux before you start to get into position for the next song, which the intro has begun. 

The dancer brought a chair for you to sit in between them to start the song. They all still wave and send Lux flirtatious signals as part of the bit. The music begins, which causes you to smirk because of the context. 

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it (get it)

Whole package, babe, I like the way You don'tt

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

You promise yourself just one glance. Flashing him your brightest grin, your eyes meet him—and the instant connection sends a deep blush rushing to your cheeks. It remains on your face throughout the song as you continue to sing. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

Your blush never fades as you pour yourself into the sultry song about your lover, every lyric a teasing confession. Your movements are sensual and playful, and the choreography pulls the audience deeper into your world. They sing along to every word, their energy electrifying, reminding you that moments like this make it all worth it.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself; hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

You quickly make your way down the catwalk as you sing and dance, smiling at the sea of people around. You get right to the tip of the heart at the end of the stage and give your cheekiest smile. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

As the lyrics leave your lips, you drop to your hands and knees at the center of the heart-shaped stage, rocking your hips in a slow, sensual tease. With a playful bite of your lip and a cheeky wink to the crowd, the message is crystal clear. The arena erupts at the bold display, but you’re already back on your feet, slipping seamlessly into the next move. The cameras cut to Pedro—his head shaking, a knowing smile on his lips as he chuckles with your friends. The stage slowly rises above the crowd as you continue to sing. 

I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love

“Alright, LA, sing this next part with me at the top of your lungs!” you exclaimed to the crowd, shimmering in the air. “Let me hear every single one of you!” You seamlessly kneel and place your hand on your chest as you sing the bridge. 

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)

Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

Behind you, the screen flashes the song’s lyrics in bold, glowing letters, each word pulsing with the rhythm. As you reach the bridge, your mind drifts—those lyrics, once just melodies, now feel like a private confession, each line a tantalizing reminder of your lover. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep singing, letting the emotion seep into every note.

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

The concert rolls on for a few more songs, each moment more electrifying than the last. A hint of sadness creeps in as the night nears its end, but the thrill of an unforgettable show lingers. Still, excitement bubbles within you—soon, you’ll be backstage, ready to celebrate a night that was nothing short of magic.

“LA, this has been the most unforgettable night of my life. My first big tour, my first night, and I got to spend it with you. I can’t even put into words how much this means to me—how much you mean to me. Thank you for believing in me, for screaming with me, and for making this dream a reality. I’ll never forget this night… unless the adrenaline wears off and I completely black out. But seriously, I love you all more than words can say. Thank you for everything!” You express your gratitude, trying not to get too emotional about the overwhelming feeling. You gently wipe your few happy tears from your face.

You blow kisses and wave as you gracefully go backstage with your dancers. Your team is waiting for you to help take your earpiece out and celebrate with you. They all give you compliments and congratulations. If there is any criticism, they will let you know tomorrow. 

After returning to the greenroom, the energy from the performance is still buzzing through your veins, and your friends and family pour in from the audience. Laughter and praise fill the space as they hug you and gush about their favorite moments of the show. Their words warm your heart, but before you can respond to them all, a familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine.  

Strong, warm hands settle on your hips, grounding you instantly. You turn swiftly, already knowing who they belong to, and are met with Pedro’s soft, adoring smile. Before you can say a word, he pulls you into his embrace, his scent wrapping around you like a comforting haze.  

“You were incredible, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride. His hands trail down the fabric of your outfit, savoring the texture beneath his fingertips. The simple gesture sends a wave of goosebumps across your skin, and you can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch.  

Still basking in the moment, you slowly pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whisper, the connection lingering between you.  

With his presence still humming through you, you turn back to your loved ones, laughter, and conversation effortlessly filling the space once more.

As the last of your friends and family trickle out of the arena, heading off to prepare for a celebratory late dinner, you stay behind in your dressing room, savoring the moment. Pedro remains by your side, a comforting presence as you decompress from the night. The air between you crackles with unspoken energy, and it’s clear you both can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were quite the tease during your set, angel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His warmth envelops you as you sit on the small couch, his hands exploring your body with a playful familiarity. You giggle at his words, nodding in agreement, the tension between you both palpable.

“You knew exactly what you were doing to me,” he adds, his fingers dancing along your waist, drawing you closer. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that sends your heart racing. “I’d love to see your stage set.”

A rush of excitement floods through you, your smile growing as you meet his gaze. “I’d love to show you,” you say, your voice soft but laced with promise. Taking his hand, you lead him toward the stage door, the lingering buzz of the night still thick in the air. A few crew members move about, cleaning up and prepping for tomorrow’s show, but your focus is entirely on him.

Waltzing onto the stage, you gesture to the elaborate setup, walking him through the details as you chat about your performance. His hands never leave you, fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin as he listens intently, slipping in jokes that send both of you into laughter.

But as you near the infamous round-shaped bed at center stage, warmth floods your cheeks. His smirk deepens. “You looked blissful the whole night,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. “But there were two moments you looked absolutely delectable.”

His lips brush your neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses that send a shiver through you. A nervous giggle escapes as you instinctively tilt your head, granting him more access. Slowly, he eases you back onto the bed, his touch growing more assured, guiding you into surrender.

That’s what you do—surrender to him. It had been weeks since your schedules aligned, since you’d had a moment like this, and you weren’t about to waste it. You let him take control, guiding your body with ease, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips capture yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

A soft whimper escapes as he presses closer, his hands trailing down the front of your body, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “You were such a tease tonight, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with amusement. His grip tightens around your thigh as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body and how he moves against you sends a shiver through you, the anticipation crackling between you like electricity. “I think you might have been trying to get a reaction out of me.”

His hips dip into yours as you feel his warmth glide against yours, which causes you to squeeze your legs around me. His hands wander down to your bum, and he holds you close for a moment. With one swift movement, he flips you and positions you on top of him. Gripping your ass before giving a quick slap against your behind, which causes you to let out a yelp. You bury your head into his chest because you are embarrassed by being too loud and getting caught.

He gives you two more slaps that make you whimper against him and cause him to snicker. “Two can play the game, love,” he says as he grips your hips and pushes you against his clothed member. You buck your hips to create some friction between the two of you, which makes you let out the slightest whimper in need. His hand remains on your hips as you throw your head back as you let yourself hump him against him. He enables you to ride him as his hands roam towards your breast and knead them roughly, which causes a noise of frustration to erupt out of you. The slickness in your panties makes your determined hips work furiously against his hardened member. 

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice Pedro’s smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes. He had a plan—one carefully crafted to make you pay for every playful tease, every bold move you pulled on stage.

Your breath hitched as his hands moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both gentle and commanding. “You had your fun tonight,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Now it’s my turn.”

With a wicked smirk, he tightens his grip for just a moment before effortlessly sliding you off his lap, the loss of his warmth sending a desperate ache through your body. His hands linger—slow, deliberate—tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you. Then, just as your breath catches in anticipation, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, almost reverent, yet it only leaves you craving more.

As he rises, his gaze locks onto yours, dark with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he’s done. Without another word, he strides off the stage, vanishing into the shadows, leaving you there—breathless, flushed, and utterly undone, your body still humming with the need only he can satisfy.

For a moment, you lay there, catching your breath, your mind racing. You wouldn’t let this old dog win—not yet. Your teasing wasn’t over. But damn him, he’d left behind something deeper than just a game. The ache he ignited wasn’t one to be toyed with; it demanded more than just playful taunts. It needed to be answered.

Your body still burned from his touch, every nerve alive with the memory of him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin, the soft press of his kiss on the top of your head—a contradiction of tenderness and control that made your pulse quicken.

No, this wasn’t over. But first, you had to deal with the fire he’d so effortlessly set ablaze.

And that’s just what you start to do. 

Slowly, you push yourself up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch. A quick glance around confirms what you already suspected—the crew has cleared out for the evening, leaving the stage bathed in dim, moody light, the perfect setting for what you’re about to do.  

A wicked smirk tugs at your lips as anticipation curls low in your stomach. If he thought he could leave you like this, aching and undone, he had another thing coming. This wasn’t just about need; it was about control and claiming the upper hand. And what better way than here, on his stage, where every move was meant to captivate an audience?  

Especially when that audience was him.  

With a slow, deliberate breath, you step back onto the fluffy pillow-covered bed, already imagining the look on his face when he realizes just what kind of show you’re about to put on.

You glance across the bed, your eyes drifting over the pleasurable options laid before you, each a temptation, a promise. The sight alone tugs you back to past nights, to the moments when distance kept you apart but never truly separated. You’ve performed this wicked little act for him before, in the privacy of your own home, a sinful display meant only for his eyes—his voice in your ear, coaxing, commanding, praising.

But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, this is your stage. Your domain.

The empty venue hums with silence, the stage lights casting a soft glow, illuminating the space where you captivate crowds with every note you sing. But now, there’s only one audience member you care about. He thinks he’s won, leaving you breathless and aching, but you smirk to yourself—this game is far from over. 

Your hands find the subject to your pleasure, which happens to be the firmest and fluffiest pillow on the bed. You mount the pillow as you had just previously mounted your lover. Your determined hips start at work again, creating your own friction against the softness of the pillow against your soaked panties. You couldn't hold back your soft moans as you rode in a familiar rhythm. 

Caught up in your own pleasure, you barely registered the weight of unseen eyes on you—though deep down, you felt it. That familiar heat, that electric prickle along your skin, warning you that you weren’t alone. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.  

The game, the teasing, the push and pull—it all faded into something raw, something uncontrollable. You weren’t performing anymore. This wasn’t for show. This was need, pure and aching, a fire burning too hot to be tamed.  

Your breath hitched, your body surrendering to the moment, lost in sensation, in the hunger that refused to be ignored. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, he watched. Silent. Waiting. Taking in every movement, every sound, every unguarded moment of you unraveling before him.

Before you knew it, rough, familiar hands were on you—firm, possessive, claiming what had always been his. A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, quickly followed by a frustrated groan. You had been so close, teetering on the edge, almost lost in your own pleasure, only to have him interrupt just as you were about to tip over.

But even through the frustration, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

His touch and presence were precisely what you had been craving all along. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the unmistakable dominance in his grip, the way his breath fanned hot against your skin. He had been watching, waiting, letting you think you had control. But now, he was done watching.

His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you finish without me?" His fingers tightened, his body caging you in, making it clear—you weren’t going anywhere. "You put on quite the show, sweetheart… but now, it’s my turn."

Hands worked quickly, rough and unyielding, as he maneuvered you with ease—his strength undeniable, his intent unmistakable. Before you could catch your breath, you found yourself in the position you had so proudly displayed in your performance tonight, the one meant to tease, torment, and tempt him beyond reason.  

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, his grip firm as he held you there, ensuring you understood exactly what would happen. His lips barely grazed your skin, his breath hot and taunting. "You wanted my attention, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice laced with hunger. "Now you have it. Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

His boldness caught you off guard as you felt your slickness become bare, and the sound of pants unzipping rang through your ears. Before you knew it, his thickness probed at your walls, determined to finish what you both had started. His fingers make quick work to find your bundle of nerves, forcing you to moan deeply into the pillows. 

His hands gripped your hips firmly, but his eyes flickered to the pillow beneath you—still damp with your wetness, carrying the intoxicating scent of your need. The sight of it, the evidence of just how lost you had been in your own pleasure before he caught you, sent a dark, satisfied smirk across his lips.

"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers ghosted over the damp fabric. "You were really putting on a show for me, weren’t you?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his hands worked quickly, positioning you exactly how you had so boldly displayed yourself during your performance. "But now that I’m here," he continued, voice dripping with wicked promise, "let’s see if you can handle what you were begging for."

His promise was quickly answered as his hips brutally thrust into trying to relieve his ache of desire as well as yours. All at once, his thrust and fingers worked you up to mold effortlessly beneath his movements. You were moaning and gripping onto the fuzzy bed before you knew it. You heard his groans as you both were about to finish in sync. There was no more game at play, so you relinquished it and rode out your high together as he moaned heavily into your ear. His heavy moans are replaced with deep gasps from exhaustion, which match yours, and an adoring smirk on both of your faces. 

"I guess this means the war is over," you murmur, your breath still uneven as he eases away gently, cleaning himself off with slow, deliberate movements.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, his smirk softened but still present. "Maybe," he muses, casting you a knowing glance. "Or maybe we just found a new way to fight."

His fingers trail over your skin one last time before he leans back, watching you with the kind of satisfaction that promises—truce or not—this was far from the end.

In quick motion, he finds your discarded panties, using them to clean the two of you the best for the situation. He leaves kisses down your body as he does so, being the gentle lover again. He might fuck hard, but he is always a gentleman in the end (literally). 

The two of you return to your dressing room, the air still warm with the remnants of what just transpired. There’s a quiet intimacy in how he lingers, watching as you slip into something more comfortable, his hands occasionally brushing against you in small, affectionate gestures.  

You take a moment to clean up, smooth your hair, and touch up your makeup while he stands behind you, his presence steady and familiar. Every now and then, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a silent reminder of just how deeply he adores you.  

Falling into your usual rhythm, the playful teasing and gentle touches return, the two of you wrapped in the sweet comfort of each other. As he helps you fasten a necklace, his fingers grazing your skin, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ready, beautiful?"

With one last glance at yourselves, you take his hand, feeling nothing but warmth as you step out together, heading off to meet your loved ones for a late dinner—still lost in the afterglow of the night and of each other.  

As you settle into the car, the city lights flickering past the windows, he suddenly turns to you with a smirk, his tone light and teasing. “I do have a question: why are all the songs you write about me pertaining to  sex?” 

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shove his arm playfully. "Oh, shut up and drive." 

His chuckle fills the space between you, the perfect sound to end a perfect night.

[umadosedepascal]

DIRTY HOLIDAY | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | One Shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You go with friends spend the holidays in Mexico, such a coincidence to be at the same resort as Pedro. What a world, so small huh?

wc: 3.7k

rating/warnings: [little surprising plot] [Pedro being Pedro][unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f] [alcohol comsuption] [Curse words]

a/n: C’MON GUYS. Do I need to explain myself after yesterday pictures and videos? NO. FUCKING HELL NO. wtf Pedro.. WHY is he so fucking hot??? WTF. 😭

You are going with your friends to Mexico to spend the holidays this year. It was a tough decision to make because you always spend the holidays with family, but this time you decided to try something new away from home since your whole family always judges you. Your dad always comes to you saying, “You’ve been drinking a lot, my baby; slow down…”

All you want to say is that you are a grown woman and do whatever you want, but every year you keep behaving as an angel to them.

You and your girlfriends get on the airplane on the 24th, heading to Mexico for 2 weeks.

All of you are very excited and feeling some freedom in the air.

“Hell yeah, the first thing we get there will be a round of tequila shots… you gotta deal with me…” and your friends laugh with your sassy attitude.

A promise is a promise. You check in, change to your bikinis, and go to the bar by the pool.

“Hey buddy, 3 shots of tequila, por favor?”

The barman looks at you with half-closed eyes. “ID first, my ladies; you look under 18…”

Although you are all over 27, actually, you three hand your IDs on the counter and look around the pool waiting for your drinks.

One of your friends comes to you and says, “Hey, isn’t that guy from….”

Your jaw drops, your legs start trembling and shaking, trying to hold on to something and not to fall… “YES?”

Pedro is lying down on a sun chair in red shorts, drips of water are running down to his bare chest, and he is really deep into a book.

“I need my shot RIGHT NOW!” You say loudly to your friends, trying to compose yourself at the same time.

They know you have a crush on him and talk nonstop about his work, so this is going to be a wild trip if you get to meet him even for a second.

“Second round is on me; let’s do it,” one of your friends says.

All you can think about is him. You don’t stop to look in his direction and try to plan how to approach without being a silly, stupid, drunk idiot.

The most down-to-earth friend of yours tries to calm you down, saying that you will have your chance, etc., but you are so far away in your thoughts that you ask for a large margarita and tell them you're going to take a sun chair as close as possible to him and see what happens.

“You crazy! But yeah, good luck; I hope he’s not a dick with you…” one of them tells you, hopeless, not trying to hurt your feelings.

“Dick? Yeah, I want some dick… You laugh, already buzzed, walking towards the chair right next to his.

As long as you get near him, by himself, still deep into the book.

You already worked up the courage and asked, “Hi, is this chair taken?”

He gives a side eye, looking at you from head to toe. “No darling, all yours…”

As you sit on the chair, you can hear your friends from the bar cheering like party animals.

You look at him saying, “Jeez, these people know how to party, huh?” Hoping he didn’t see you before taking shots with them a few moments ago.

“Yeah, yeah… young people... having their time…” he says with a smooth voice.

You feel relief because he didn’t see you before with them and anxious at the same time because YES, you could start a chit chat with him.

“Erm, yeah…” You don’t know how to keep this going and pick anything that you find inside your ecobag just to create other possible ways to talk.

Lay down on the chair, put on your Ray-Bans, and open the FUCKING MAP of the resort.

Jesus, what am I doing? Should I say I know him? Should I just ask what he is reading or maybe wait for another brief comment coming from him?

You can see by the side of your eye that from time to time he looks at you, but very, very fast, you just hold that giant map, feeling like you're on mushrooms with empty thoughts on your mind.

You’ve got your friends getting drunk and cheering for you from the bar and the hottest guy in the world by your side.

Think wisely…

You grab your drink from the side table and sip it.

“Is that good?” He asks you.

Pretending like you got scared, almost dropping the fancy glass on the floor… “Did you just.. talk to me? Um, well, I had better ones. But this one isn’t bad at all…” you describe your drink with a shy smile.

What the fuck did I say???

He chuckles, closing his book and now sitting down on the chair.

“Hm... 3-star review? I’m getting one myself; I like cheap stuff.”

You simply just give a “ha” to him as he stands up and walks towards the bar.

Your friends get wild; at this point, they might think he is going to talk to them for sure.

You immediately look at them trying to mimic something like, “Nooooo, noooooo, don’t say shit, you motherfuckers!!!”

You are in a panic because you know them and what they are capable of, especially under alcohol influence.

But they understand wrong; they know you always need a hand in terms of trying to flirt with someone else.

You see one of them approach him, saying something and looking at you at the same time.

You are screwed up. You know.

The only thing you can do now is wait for your end, getting big gulps of your drink and trying to calm down.

He comes back with a wild smile on his face saying, “I just met your friends over there; they told me things... you don’t need to hide anything…”

You sit down quickly. “What? Hahaha, they… They are buzzed; don’t believe in what they say…”

He keeps looking at you with half-closed eyes. “Hmm,” he sits on his chair sipping his drink and says, “Yeah, it’s not that bad at all…”

You simply don’t talk for some moments; your anxiety is building up like a pressure cooker.

Until then… “Hey Pedro… I’m sorry… I just wanted to say hi, but I’m already drunk, and I don’t know how to start a proper conversation. They probably told you I’m a sucker for you… and the ‘dick’ thing as well. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stalker; I don’t want to bother you. I just think you're awesome, and it was a stupid idea to come over right here, right now.” You run over words.

“Wow, wow, wow, they just told me to be nice to you, haha, because you care... about me.” Pointing to himself.

After you say all that with a flushed cheek, you let out a loud laugh looking at your friends that are already out of sight. You get more desperate saying sorry a million times, trying to compose yourself.

“What more did they say?”

“That you are awesome and know everything about my stuff, but with moderation… I don’t know what they meant, but yeah, I just didn’t catch your name…"

You tell him your name with eyes open and disbelief that your friends, for the first time, did a good job, but not you… not you.

“What’s the dick thing you told me?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Aaah, nothing… being a dick… that’s it.” You say, looking to the ground with shame.

He grabs you by the chin and says, “I would never be a dick to a beautiful girl like you…”

You feel a shiver down to your spine when he touches you like that.

Oh shit…I’m already wet without even getting into the pool.

“I, I think I need to… brb…” You leave everything behind and go straight to the toilet, locking the door and sitting there.

Breathe in, breathe out.Ok, I will just grab my stuff and disappear…What did I do?

As soon as you open the door, Pedro is there waiting…

“I usually don’t do things like that; it can be the vibe, my drinks, or even Xmas. I don’t know…” He says, grabbing your hips, pushing you back to the toilet, and closing the door behind him.

“Is that what you wanted? hm" He rubs his beard on your face, searching for your mouth.

He guides your hands to his growing bulge while running his right hand from behind you, rubbing one finger over your pussy.

You moan when he rubs his finger roughly against you…

“So wet already for me…” he says in between sloppy kisses.

“Since the moment I spotted you here, yeah…” you whisper, with both hands stroking his cock over the shorts…

Then Pedro takes you slowly to the sink and sits you there, spreading your legs…“Let me see what you got, beautiful… spread more…” putting your bikini bottom aside and lowering to the same level.

You grab his wet hair with one hand while he tongue darts you deep, sucking your lips and moaning low with pleasure…

You don’t even blink, just looking down at him savoring you, such a tease.

No fucking way this is happening…

You can feel his nose rubbing against your clit; you are getting close to the edge, but suddenly people knock at the door…

“Oh dammit…” You murmur disappointedly.

Pedro stops his worship on you and tells you with a low voice, “My room isn't far... want to see what naughty presents Santa has for you?" His fingers trace small patterns on your thighs, making you shiver.

“But we need to be discreet… What’s your room number? I meet you there…”

Pedro chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. "Discreet, huh? I like the way you think." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, "Room 217, second floor."

Luckily nobody is at the door anymore, so you sneak out the toilet.

You try to find your girls just to quickly freak out and disappear again, but there's no sign of them.

You come back to the pool area, and Pedro isn’t there anymore; you bite your lip, get a deep breath, take your stuff, and go towards the elevator.

Room 217

You knock twice.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Pedro standing there, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled chest. He's holding a bottle of tequila and two glasses. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.

Stepping aside to let you in, he whispers suggestively, "Merry Christmas to me, indeed." He gently shut the door behind you, his free hand trailing down your arm. "Hope you like tequila..."

“Hm, yeah, better be careful… right?

Pedro's eyebrows shot up, a devilish grin spreading across his face at the memory. "Ah, but that was just a sample of what I can do sober. Imagine what I'm capable of now, all loosened up." Doing a little dance…

Then he pours two generous glasses of tequila, sliding one towards you before picking up his own. "I've got a list of naughty things I want to do with you..."

Oh, he wants to play a game…I’m just gonna faint 😮‍💨

“Oh… tell me more…” You push him to the sofa, sitting on his lap.

A deep, sexy chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you push him onto the sofa, his hands immediately finding your curves. "Mmm, you're being a naughty girl..." He takes a sip of his tequila, then offers you the glass. "You first."

“My list? With you... it is an extensive list. Better you tell me yours first…”

Pedro leans back into the sofa, a confident smirk playing on his lips as his hands continue their exploration of your body. "Well, since you asked..." He takes another sip of tequila, his eyes never leaving yours.

The motherfucker is a tease; I knew it… I knew it!!!

His hands wander up and down your body possessively as he continues. "I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my... gifts." He punctuates his words with a gentle bite to your neck.

"Then I want you bent over this fireplace mantel while I take you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.” His fingers trailed along your waistband suggestively.

“Wow…You really don’t waste time on your list, huh?” You start unbuttoning his shirt all the way down.

He chuckles, his eyes locking onto yours as he sees you unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and abs one button at a time. He helps you finish the job, tossing his shirt aside. "Guess not..." He growls, pulling you closer.

Pedro's lips curled into a wicked smile as you slowly head down towards his chest, his hand lightly gripping the back of your neck.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur approvingly, pressing your lips against his nipple.

He let out a low groan as you began to suck, his other hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "Fuck, just like that..."

You let out a soft laugh. “So… you like some worship on your nipples, huh?”

A deep, sultry chuckle escaped his lips, his voice husky with desire. "You're learning my secrets, aren't you?" His hand urges your head towards his other nipple. "Not just my nipples... but every part of me deserves some worship."

“That’s how I make my way down…” you whisper.

His breath hitches as you whisper your intentions, his body tingling with excitement. "Well then, I can hardly wait to feel those heavenly lips trailing lower..." He guides your face down his torso, his abs clenching instinctively under your touch.

As you kiss and nuzzle your way down his abdomen, Pedro's hands rest lightly on your head, his fingers gently guiding you. "Lower... lower... yes, just like that..." He hisses as your lips brush against the waistband of his red swim trunks.

You slowly peel back his zipper, the sound echoing in the room. Pedro's breathing grows heavier as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his thick, hard length. He lets out a low groan as you pull it free, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck... oh god..."

Pedro's cock twitches eagerly as you firm your grip, the skin velvety soft, a prominent vein runs along the underside. The head is broad and round, flushed a deep red, with a tiny slit oozing with pre-cum. His hips giving an involuntary thrust forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't tease me, beautiful..." He breathes out, voice strained with lust. "Put those gorgeous lips to work."

As you bob your head up and down, Pedro's hands tighten on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to thrust gently…”Fuck... You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me..." He pants, his abs flexing with each thrust. His hands move to cup your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he guides your movements. The wet sounds of your sucking fill the room, mixed with his guttural groans.

I take you out of my mouth for a few seconds. “You taste so good, but I don’t want you to reach the edge, hottie…”

His breath catches at your words. "Mmm, teasing me now? You know exactly what you're doing..." His tone is a mix of both frustration and deep satisfaction. "Yeah, don't make me come just yet…”

“Yes, let’s work on your list…” You say, sitting back on his lap, cleaning the corner of your mouth with his precum.

Pedro's eyes darken with desire as he watches you clean your mouth with his precum. "Fuck, you're so naughty... I love it." He reaches out and runs his thumb over your lips, spreading it around before leaning in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

“So…What did you say about the fireplace? Second of the list…”

Pedro smirks mischievously. "Ah, the fireplace... I was thinking we could move our little session over there." He stands up, lifting you with him effortlessly. "I want to bend you over the mantel and fuck you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.”

Pedro carries you to the fireplace, setting you down gently on your feet. He spins you around and bends you over the ornate wooden mantel, the cool marble pressing against your skin. "Keep those elbows locked," he commands, a firm hand on the small of your back.

Not happy with that, you just suggest, “Why don’t you just take me to the bed?”

"Because the bed is too ordinary," Pedro murmurs, running his hands down your thighs possessively, "I want to do this here, where I can watch myself take you in the mirror." He steps back to admire the view, his eyes roaming over your arched back and rounded bottom.

With a mischievous tone, you ask him… ”and you like to watch yourself?”

"Right now I’d love watching myself fucking you," Pedro confesses, his voice low and husky with desire. "Seeing my cock disappear into your pussy, feeling your body shake as I pound into you... it's fucking incredible." He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the loose strands.

"And the mirror," he continues, his other hand reaching out to the mantel to steady himself as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Watching myself push into you, feeling your tight little hole squeeze around my dick as I fuck you hard against the mirror... fuck, it's going to be perfect."

With a deep grunt, Pedro thrusts forward, sheathing his hard length inside you in one smooth motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you before he starts to move, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you hard against the mirror.

"Look at us in the mirror..." He reaches around to cup your breasts while continuing his steady pace. "Watch how beautifully you take my cock. Those whimpers you're making... fuck, you're perfect." His pace quickens, his breath becoming ragged against your ear.

His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths and his sweat, obscuring parts of the reflection but not enough to hide the lewd scene unfolding before it.

In between moans, you beg him to take you to the bed; you can’t stand your legs anymore with so much pressure.

Pedro growls, pulling out of you abruptly and spinning you around to face him. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, tossing you onto it before climbing on top of you. "I need to be inside you again, now."

He settles between your thighs, his hard cock pressing urgently against your slick folds. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, easing the tip of his shaft teasingly along your slit. As you comply, he grips your wrists, pinning them above your head with one strong hand.

Pedro leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you again, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with lust as he begins to move, thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing," he grits out, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Pedro quickens his pace, his grip on your wrists tightening as he chases his release. The room fills with the sound of his hips slapping against yours and your breathy moans. "I'm going to fill you up so full," he pants, nipping at your jaw. One of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. "I want to feel you come on my cock…”

"Fuck, you're getting tighter... Is this what you need, baby?" His thumb presses harder against your clit as he fucks you with deep, forceful strokes, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Come for me..."

Pedro feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, "That's it, cum on my cock." He slams into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. His thumb circles your clit frantically as his release builds. "Fuck, I'm close..."

With a loud grunt, Pedro explodes inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His thumb presses hard against your clit, sending you over the edge as you scream in pleasure, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's got.

He stays buried inside you, his thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he nuzzles his face against yours, breathing heavily. "Damn it, I will tell your friends you are amazing… they were right..." He murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck.

After a moment, Pedro slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your still-quivering pussy. He collapses beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Can we keep up with this list?" You say.

He kisses the top of your head, his heart still racing from their intense encounter. "I think we should keep going, yeah. There are a lot more things on that list I want to try with you." He pulls out his phone and starts typing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, I need to check on the girls...” you say, worried about them being away for a couple of hours already.

Pedro looks up from his phone, his expression softening. "Of course, go check on your friends. I'll be here when you get back. But don't be too long, okay?" He says giving you a little wink.

As soon as you go back to your room, you find your friends passed out on the bed.

Well, I guess you will leave a note at the door saying thanks for the little help, and you guys will catch up on the next day because you won’t sleep in the same room for a while… The list is endless.

😈

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Fever

Summary: You're ovulating- It's that time of month where you find yourself turning into an unspeakably horny monster with just one problem that Javi knows exactly how to help you fix.

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) oral (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, an unspeakably explicit breeding kink (I ain't sorry about it), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Javi "Daddy" and meaning it (help), the sweetest softest sex, yet somehow the filthiest, nastiest sex at the same time??? god these two love each other so much it makes me SICK

A/N: ... If you know me, no you don't. I'm so sorry y'all, I am ovulating and absolutely FERAL, I am truly thinking that someone may need to come put me down at this point because.... yeah... raise your hand if you're surprised Madeline has yet another story with Javier Peña and a big, fat, nasty breeding kink?! Oh look!! It's no one!!! ANYWHO, don't mind me while I foam at the mouth for the next 24-48 hours, BYEEEEEEEEEE

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

If there was one thing that you knew about Javi, it was that he was one of the most handsome, attractive men you had ever met. 

His dark, curly hair. 

His mustache. 

His sweet brown puppy dog eyes. 

His absolutely incomprehensible shoulder to waist ratio. 

Your husband had it all. That, you knew for a fact. 

Truth be told, there wasn’t really much that you ever thought Javi could do to be hotter than he already was. 

That was until a few months ago, when you had recently stopped taking your birth control and you could quite literally feel yourself morph into the insatiably feral, horny mess that you became when you were ovulating. 

And when that was the case, not only was he the hottest man you had ever laid eyes on in your entire life, you were quite literally ready to rip his clothes right off of him at every single opportunity possible. 

You could practically feel the change in your body when you woke up this morning- the soft sunlight of Saturday morning spilling through your curtains as you rolled over to see Javi, mouth slightly agape as he snored, face buried in his pillow and messy brown curls flopping over his head. 

God, does he always look this hot when he sleeps? You thought to yourself, slowly stirring awake, stretching your arms over your head before creeping out of bed to make yourself some coffee to bring back upstairs with you while you waited for Javi to wake up. 

As the bittersweet aroma and quiet, rhythmic drip of the coffee hitting the bottom of the pot began to gently rouse you from your sleepy state, you couldn’t help but shake the warm, stirring sensation in your stomach from the image of Javi sleeping next to you in bed. 

Elbows propped up against the counter, chin resting in your palms, you closed your eyes, picturing him- His sweet soft smile as you kissed his plush lips, the way his big hands roamed across your hips and back as he pulled you closer to his chest, the bulge of his cock pressed against your thigh before he- 

“What are you doing up, cariño?” Javi’s soft and sleepy voice cooed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest to your back as he planted a gentle kiss on your shoulder, his presence enough to snap you out of your daydream, but not enough to shake the dull ache that had been growing between your legs from the moment you woke up. 

“I was just gonna make some coffee and bring it back up to bed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby.” You sighed, a smirk growing between your cheeks as you turned around to face him, Javi now caging you between his body and the counter as his hands splayed planted on either side of you. He looked down at you with his half-awake gaze and sleepy smile, still in nothing but his boxers, his tanned skin and barely there freckles glowing in the morning sunlight creeping through your kitchen window. 

“Don’t apologize, mi amor. Just wanted to know where my wife was. Glad I found her.” He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, only pulling away to quietly whisper, “Good morning, hermosa.” 

And while it was nothing but a simple good morning kiss, the way Javi’s lips met yours sent a spark off inside you, quickly leaning back to pull him closer to you as you draped his arms around his neck, a soft moan escaping from your parted mouth, feeling a grin growing across Javi’s face in response. 

“Mhmmm, well, a very good morning to you then. My bedhead and morning breath really doin’ it for you, huh?” Javi smirked, lowering his hands to rest on your hips, gently toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts. 

“Sorry, I uh- you just, God, you look really good this morning. Can we, um, ya know, maybe go back upstairs?” You stammered, so enamored with Javi’s presence that you could barely get a coherent thought out as you stared up at your husband, already feeling a damp patch beginning to grow in your underwear, stomach churning with arousal. 

“Yeah? Mi esposa muy dulce (my sweet wife), you want me to-” 

Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggggg

“Who the fuck is calling me this early…” 

Javi’s face scrunched in frustration at the sound of his cell phone ringing on the kitchen counter, reaching over you to see the expression in his face shift to concern as he read the caller ID, quickly opening up his phone to answer. 

“Hey, Pops. What’s goin’ on? Everything okay? Again? Fuck… Yeah, just um- shit, yeah, I’ll be over in 30. Okay. Yup. Yeah, bye Pops.” Javi let out a deep sigh, running his hands over his face and through the sleep curled ends of his dark hair, his grumpy pout telling you that your morning was not going to go the way you thought it was 30 seconds ago. “The gate that Pops had installed last week fell down overnight and now all the cows are loose in the pasture… I gotta go over there and help him put it back up before it gets even worse. I’m so sorry, Hermosa.” 

“It’s okay.” You shrugged, trying your best to mask your horny disappointment. 

“It hopefully shouldn’t take that long. I should be back before lunchtime, okay? And when I get back, if you still want,” he paused, letting his palm slide along your jaw, cradling your cheek before pressing another soft kiss onto your lips, “We can pick up where we left off.” 

“Promise?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Yo prometo (I promise).” 

Wanting to give Javi any chance of leaving the house without trapping him in your bedroom, you tried your best to keep yourself busy while he quickly got ready and grabbed his things to head to the Peña Ranch, giving him a quick kiss goodbye before watching him back out of your driveway in his truck, the image of him with one hand behind the passenger seat at the other with his palm to the steering wheel making you just about drop to your knees for reasons you thought you couldn’t explain. 

You hoped that with Javi gone, you could at least be a little productive in getting some things done around the house before he returned, but it seemed like with everything that you did and anywhere you went in your house, you couldn’t help but find more reasons to add to the insatiable desire building in your core. 

While you were trying to make breakfast, you couldn’t help but stare at Javi’s favorite coffee mug, the Empire Strikes Back cup he had claimed as his at your apartment when you had first started dating.  You couldn’t keep yourself from imagining the width of his huge hands wrapping around it, dwarfing the mug in his grasp, thinking about how good those same hands would feel all over you. 

After that, came trying to do the laundry, where you caught yourself sniffing Javi’s shirts, the overpowering and familiar scent of his cologne and sweat seeping through the fabric, driving you absolutely crazy, wishing you could find a way to drown in his scent. 

Finally, in your very valiant effort to try and make your bed, you found yourself laying face down in Javi’s pillow, somehow leaving the sheets and comforters tangled and tossed about worse than you had found them. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me today…”  You whispered to yourself, now sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels on your TV, somehow still even hornier than you were when you woke up this morning. You let your gaze wander away from the TV, examining the walls of your family room until you landed on your wedding photos hung across your wall, smiling to yourself as you looked at the portraits, reliving the moments of the happiest day of your life. 

It wasn’t until you glanced at one of the photos of you and Javi surrounded by your family in a candid moment where Javi had hoisted your niece on his hip to dance with her during your reception, the image making your stomach flip with an overwhelming need. After doing the quick math in your head, it hit you like a thousand pound ton of bricks why you had been so worked up all goddamn day. 

You were ovulating, and you needed Javi to put a baby into you right now.  

As if the universe had magically heard your prayers, you turned your head to hear your garage door opening and the familiar stomp of Javi’s boot covered footsteps trudging down the hallway. Like a moth to a flame, your heart began to race as you watched Javi’s broad body approach you, your jaw practically dropping at his appearance. 

Javi was now glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his curls sticking to his damp forehead, and the sleeves of his button down shirt now rolled up past his elbows, the buttons once done up to near his neck before he left now trailing open to the middle of his chest, exposing the warm glow of his tanned skin underneath. 

“Hey hermosa, I’m home! Ended up being a way easier fix than Pops thought and- Oh!” 

Before Javi could even get out the rest of his sentence, you were trapping his words in your own mouth, feverishly bringing your lips to his as you grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, kissing him like every bone in your body depended on it. 

Javi stood there for a moment, almost dumbfounded and frozen, wondering what had warranted such a greeting before leaning in to reciprocate, snaking his hands to your sides and grabbing your waist, pulling away only to try and understand the reason for his passionate welcome. 

“H-hi baby. Everything okay?” 

“Mhmmmmmm.” 

“Not that I’m mad about it, but I feel like you’re greeting me like I’m coming home from war.” Javi laughed to himself quietly, looking down at you with a smirking suspicion. 

“I missed you. I need you so bad, Javi.” You moaned, pressing up to lock your lips to his again, this time Javi matching your intensity as your mouths crashed into each other. 

“Is this all from this morning?” Javi managed to ask between parted kisses, his grip tightening around you as he pulled you closer to his chest. 

“This morning,” you paused, beginning to kiss him between each thought, “right now,” your hands began to roam up his chest, sneaking under the fabric of his shirt, “all the time,” fingers now working at frantically undoing the buttons, “fuck, everything about you. You’re so fucking sexy, Javi. Do you know that? God, I’m so lucky.” At this point, it felt like the words were flowing out of you in a horny and unstoppable stream of consciousness, babbling between desperate kisses pressed against Javi’s lips. “I need you so bad. I want you fuck me, Javi. Fuck, I- I want you to put a baby in me.” 

Your last sentence had Javi frozen in place once again, pulling away just to make sure he had heard you correctly, even though the boyish grin growing ear to ear across his face seemed to be enough confirmation. The two of you had been trying ever since you had gotten back from your honeymoon, but now that you were to the point that your birth control was out of your system and your cycle was back to normal, it felt just a little more real to the both of you. 

“You want me to put a baby in you, mi amor? That what you want?” Javi groaned, his voice rumbling low in his chest as a hungry glaze painted itself across his chocolate brown eyes, making your pussy throb at hearing him say it back to you. 

“Mhmmmmm.” You nodded frantically, too caught up in your own desire to find any words to string together into a coherent sentence. “I think I’m ovulating, so it could really happen this time. Please, baby, I-” 

This time, it was Javi’s turn to cut you off, his arms scooping below your legs to hoist you up around him, legs locking around his hips as he carried you down the hallway towards your bedroom, your bodies banging and bumping against the walls and door frames in a frantic race to your bed without any regard for spatial awareness.  

As soon as you were close enough, Javi was tossing you on the bed, frantically stripping himself of his shirt and working his way down to his jeans before he realized you were sitting up, already toying with his button and zipper. You pushed his pants down his legs, followed by his boxers, revealing his cock, fully erect and weeping with precum at the tip. It wasn’t long until you were scrambling off the bed and dropping to your knees in front of him, licking the salty tang of spend off his tip before he could protest that he needed to take care of you first. 

“Hermosa, I- Oh fuckkkk-” He groaned, feeling your jaw go slack as you took his length into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks until you could feel him in the back of your throat, pulling back to look up at him with batted lashes as you kissed him up and down his shaft. 

“I wanna suck your dick, Javi. Wanna show you how much I love it. Wanna feel you down my throat before you fuck me.” You moaned, rubbing your legs together to try and ease the ache between your legs, your pussy so wet and puffy that slick and arousal were dripping from your cunt and coating the inside of your thighs. 

“Fuck me…” Javi muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut to regain his composure before looking back down at you, slowly sucking at his tip, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridges of his cock. “Okay, baby. Show me how bad you need me before I put my dick in your tight little pussy, huh?” 

Inch by inch, you took him back down your throat until you were brushing up against the curls at his base, the sweet and musky scent of him filling your nostrils as you inhaled. “Oh fuck, Osita. Holy shit.” His voice rasped, hitching in the back of his throat watching your mouth fill with his cock. His fingers ran through your hair, tugging a little tighter as your pace began to quicken, his grunts and moans becoming louder with each push and pull. “Fuck, such a good girl taking me so well. So fucking pretty when you suck my cock baby, holy fuck.” 

For as much as Javi wanted you to keep going until he was spilling down your throat, he needed to save every last drop for when he came inside you, fucking you full of him until he knew it took. Feeling his balls begin to draw up into his stomach, he forced himself to pull you off him, panting to catch his breath before he spoke. “I don’t wanna cum yet, baby, and if you keep going like that I’m gonna bust.  Fuck, you’re so good to me. Lay down on the bed, Hermosa. Let me take care of you. Need to taste you.” 

Instantly, Javi was pulling you up and sitting you on the bed, letting your back hit the mattress as he settled between your legs, tugging your bottoms off until they were in a crumpled pile on the floor. his hands slide down the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart to reveal the wet, slick, and puffy mess your pussy had already become without even being touched. Javi chuckled to himself, awestruck by the sight in front of him, kissing and nipping at the meat of your legs, teasing you with how dangerously close he was to your cunt and finally giving you what you needed. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet, cariño.” Letting his hands shift down, his fingers ghosted across your core as his thumbs slid through the lips of your pussy, spreading it open even further, making you whimper in anticipation. “Goddamn, she’s so pretty. Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Who’s pussy is this, baby girl?” He smirked, barely kissing your clit, driving you absolutely wild as you squirmed beneath his touch, desperate for him to do something, anything, to ease your ache.  

“Y-yours, Javi. It’s all yours, baby. Only yours.” You whined, gazing down at him with a rampant need in your eyes, fisting at your bedsheets to find somewhere to try and release your tension. 

“Fucking right it is.” 

His head then dipped between your legs, arms draped across your stomach holding you in place as he began to eat you out like a man being served his last meal on this earth. Broad, flat strokes of his tongue slid between your folds, pressing against your clit with the perfect amount of pressure he knew would have you crumbling beneath him. 

You couldn’t help but rithe under his touch, instinctively bucking your hips at his face, overwhelmed by the way Javi was relentlessly drinking you up, his fingers gripping tighter to the meat of your thighs to hold you in place as you could feel the tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine, your back arching in desperate anticipation. 

Almost as if he could read your mind, Javi easily slipped two fingers inside you, curving in just the right way to bump against your g-spot, fucking in and out of you to fill the emptiness in your pussy he knew you craved. 

“J-Javi, oh fuck- don’t stop baby, please, don’t stop.” You whimpered, your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head as you felt your orgasm begin to build, cunt clenching tighter around Javi’s fingers and beginning to flutter while he sucked on your clit. You could feel his smug smirk pressed against your heat as your hand shot down between your legs, grabbing and tugging on fistfulls of his thick locks, your tell tale sign that it was only a few more moments before you were about to come undone. 

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name, baby girl. Let me hear you.” 

And there you were, chanting his name like a prayer, over and over again until you reached your breaking point. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi, J-Javi, J-aaaahhhhhh, oh fuck-” 

In an instant, you could feel a wave of pleasure crashing through you in toe curling delight, your orgasming ripping through every inch of your body with undeniable intensity, your slick soaking Javi as he drank up every last drop of you, savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue. 

You sat there for a moment, back against the mattress as your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, blissed out of your mind as you sat propped up on your elbows, staring at Javi, proudly wiping the slick covering his face with the back of his hand. 

“Javi, holy fuck, baby.” You gasped, swallowing hard as you watched Javi begin to hover over you, making his way up your body one slow, wet kiss at a time, nipping at the soft skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts, taking one in his mouth, sucking and flicking at your pebbled nipples with his tongue while he rolled the other between his fingers. The whimpers escaping from your lips were damn near pathetic, but considering how worked up you were, you could have probably cum again just from this alone. 

“You still want me to fuck a baby into you, Hermosa?” Javi asked all too knowingly, tongue darting between the smirk of his parted lips, trailing languid kisses along your collarbone and up your neck.  

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes.” You moaned, breath hitching at the back of your throat as Javi sucked at your pulse point. 

“Tell me how badly you want it, pretty girl.” Javi whispered, his voice rumbling low in his throat as he nipped at your ear. “Tell me how much you want me to give you a baby.” 

“F-fuck, so badly Javi. Please, baby. I want you to so bad. I want you to more than anything. I wanna make you a daddy, Javi.” 

If Javi had any ounce of self composure left, that alone was enough to make him crumble, letting out an audible groan, his dick even harder than he already thought it could be. 

“Fuck me…” Javi groaned, sucking you in for another electric kiss. “Turn around, baby.” 

Scooching yourself further up the mattress, you laid with your stomach to the bed as Javi climbed behind you, swiping his cock through your folds before sinking into your heat, bottoming out against your cervix and whimpering at the sweet sting of his stretch, sucking him in with your warm, velvety walls. 

Slowly, Javi began to thrust in and out of you, taking his time with each stroke as he laid his chest against your back, interlocking his fingers with yours outstretched above your head on the bedspread, head buried in the crook of your neck. 

Each push and pull of his hips elicited more lewd sounds than the last- you were practically dripping at this point from how worked up you were, and could hear the wetness pooling in your pussy, filling the room with obscenely filthy sounds. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet. You hear that, Momma? You hear how wet you are for me? Hear how badly your tight little pussy wants me to fill her up? Pump her full of me?” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper, his grip around your hands even tighter than before, biting down on your shoulder trying his best to keep from falling apart at just how good you felt around him, coating every inch of his length in your arousal.  

“I want you to cum so deep inside me, Javi. P-please, baby.” You begged, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the wrecked expression painted across Javi’s face that mirrored yours. 

Suddenly, you could feel Javi grabbing your hips, flipping you over as your back bounced against the mattress, now staring up at him. He ran his hands up the back of your thighs until your knees were against your stomach, spread open as wide as you could be for him. 

As he sunk back in your heat, he caged himself over you, devouring you in a desperate and hungry kiss of mangled tongue and teeth, catching your moans in his mouth as he bottomed out inside you. 

“Need to see that beautiful face when you cum for me, cariño. Wanna see you when you soak my cock, w-watch, oh fuck- you when I fuck you so full of me, I’ll knock you up tonight.” Javi moaned between kisses. 

The new angle had Javi pounding into you in the way that had your jaw going slack and your cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around his length, once again feeling the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten with arousal. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fuck- You feel so good, don’t stop, baby.” You whimpered, your eyes locking with his, your heart racing as you stared into the deep chocolate brown of his gaze.

“I won’t stop, hermosa. Won’t stop until I fill this perfect pussy up. Fuck you so full of me, I’ll be dripping out of you for days. Won’t stop until I fuck a baby into you, get you pregnant, watch you give us a family- Jesus, fuck- Fuck, I love you so much.” 

Snaking his hand between your bodies, he reached between your legs to rub at your clit, rhythmically circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you, knowing at this rate, you weren’t going to last much longer, and that meant neither was he. 

“I love you too, Javi. More than anything.”  

 Each thrust of his hips sending you closer to the brink of collapse than the last, the noises of your wanton moans, skin slapping against each other and the wetness of Javi’s cock sloppily pumping in and out of your cunt had the room sounding borderline pornographic. You could feel your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as the coil in your belly was about to reach a breaking point until the firm grasp of Javi’s palm around your jaw forced your gaze up at him once again. 

“Eyes on me, baby. Eyes on me when you cum. Need to see you when I fuck a baby into you, Momma.” 

That was all you needed to finally send you over the edge, your body exploding with pleasure as your orgasm overtook you, your thighs shaking and voice trembling with wrecked pleas of Javi’s over and over.

“J-Javi, Javi, Javiiiii, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, oh God, fuck, baby, fuck!” 

As you gushed around his cock, your pussy gripped him like a vice as you came. Javi’s hips began to stutter, his pace now becoming frantic and sloppy knowing how close he was to following suit, losing all inhibitions as you sobbed out in ecstasy. 

“That’s it, baby. Mierda- Fuck, I’m close. Gonna fill this pussy up- oh shit- so full it’ll f-fucking take. I know it will. I p-promise, I- oh fuck!” 

With one final stammer of his hips, Javi’s orgasm consumed him, his spend coating every inch of your walls as he spilled into you, milking himself of every last drop as he came. His body slumped into yours, chests rising and falling in sync as both of you laid in post-orgasmic bliss, completely lost in the sensation of each other. 

After a moment, Javi finally pulled out his softening cock, making you whine at the loss. Sitting back on his haunches, he couldn't help but admire the absolute mess between your legs- your pussy so puffy and swollen, covered in your shiny slick, and dripping with his cum. A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he watched his spend begin to leak out of you, knowing that you were overflowing with him. 

His fingers traced down your thighs, dragging his cum back to your cunt, making sure a single drop didn't go to waste. You couldn't help but sob as his curved fingers push back inside your pussy, making sure you stay stuffed full of him so he knew it took, because God, did want it more than anything to take. 

Gently pulling back out, Javi couldn’t help but lean down to kiss you again, grabbing your face as he peppers you with kisses, making you squeal in a ticklish delight. 

“I love you so much, mi amor.” Javi cooed, his forehead resting against yours as he softly stroked your face, your heart swelling with joy and excitement at the man you hoped from 9 months from now, would be the father to your child. 

“I love you too, Jav. You’re gonna be such a good Daddy.” You smirked, teasing him just enough to make him let out a sigh, biting down on his lip. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me with that one. You know that?” 

“Well it’s true!” You laughed, giving him a playful nudge, running your hand through the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck. “You think this one will be the one?” 

“I hope so. If not, guess we’re just gonna have to keep trying every day till it is, huh?” 

“If you keep fucking me like that, we’re gonna have 12 kids before you know it.” 

“I mean… wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Javi grinned, rasing his eyebrows at you with a boyish glow. 

“Javi! We are not having 12 kids!” You protested, rolling your eyes at your husband. 

“Osita, if you keep coming on to me like you did today, we may not have a fucking choice.”  

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

fantasizing about...

boyfriend joel miller fucking you on the kitchen table on a warm spring day cuz he can't even finish putting the groceries away without bending you over the table first

1.5k words 🌸 warnings: mdni/explicit/smut, no outbreak, female reader, reader has hair that joel can weave his fingers in, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, creampie kink talk, use of: daddy, pretty girl, baby, praise and teasing

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In between gasping breaths, you beg and beg for more.

“Harder—ah—harder, please!”

Joel keeps slamming you into the edge of the kitchen table, trapping you in place with his body. He splays one massive hand between your shoulder blades, pressing down firmly, squishing your tits against the cool wood surface.

His other hand clamps around your hip, keeping you in place as he fucks into you deeper and deeper. He snaps his hips brutally against you, jolting your whole body forward, causing your ass to ripple with each thrust.

He grunts through clenched teeth, bruising you as his fingers dig into your flesh.

You know you’ve got him wound up tight. You’d been a tease all morning as you ran errands, whispering your dirtiest thoughts to him in the middle of the produce section, not so subtly brushing your ass against his crotch at every checkout line, and, of course, revealing you had nothing on under your sundress before skipping off to the parking lot. And now he’s gonna make you take it all.

“Harder?” he taunts with a strained edge. “This needy little pussy isn’t satisfied being filled with Daddy’s cock?” He’s already fucking you hard enough that he thinks you might both go through the table.

Your brain isn’t connecting your thoughts. Your head lolls, bouncing a little each time his hips meet your ass. His cock is so thick it lights up every nerve inside of you. Makes it hard to focus. But you know he wants an answer.

“No,” you murmur, unable to add any context.

He stills deep inside of you causing you to whine. His hand grasps the base of your skull, fingers wearing tightly into the roots of your hair, and he turns you to meet his eyes. “No? It’s not enough?” His eyes are nearly black, but fire flickers behind them.

Your body isn’t helping. Spineless, sweaty, and limp. You’re only held together by the table and his body curled over you. You have to fight to hold your heavy eyelids open to respond.

“No, no,” your brows pinch as you murmur the word over and over.

Joel’s muscles are tense and his body is so sturdy. You can feel his chest rising and falling as he waits for you to string a full sentence together.

“No, it’s…” you fight to pull the thought together. “Daddy’s cock s’perfect,” you slur together.

Before you can conjure up another sentence, he pulls out of you, leaving you empty and aching, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. 

“Don’t lie,” he growls right into the shell of your ear before he flips you over.

It’s disorienting when he does that but it’s also a huge turn on. You’re always pliant in his hands, but there’s a thrill in knowing how much he needs this too.

He has you flat on your back now. The damp skin on your bare shoulders sticks to the tabletop before your jelly-like limbs can protest. Your dress is functionally useless with the hem rucked up above your hips and the neckline peeled down and wedged under the curve of you breasts.

“Not lying, Daddy,” you plead. He only hums in thought. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands skim along your legs, spreading them wider. He lifts them, slipping his hands under the back of your knees and pressing them towards your chest. You wiggle just until you’re perched at the edge of the table, eager for him to sink his fat cock back where it belongs. 

His hold is always secure, his weight pressing down on you, grounding you even as he drives you wild. Only Joel can have you floating in a romantic haze while he folds you in half and let’s you tremble and drip. 

A gentle breeze flows through the kitchen window as he keeps you waiting. The cool, moving air feels sublime as it kisses your heat-flushed skin. You’re certain you recognize the delicate, sweet scent of the apple blossoms drifting over you. It’s idyllic. Or, it would be, if it weren’t for the empty, aching feeling in your cunt.

“Please,” you start, so helpless your voice might crack, “I jus’ need you.” 

You hold your breath waiting to find out if you’re in trouble after your bad behavior or if he needs you just as bad right now. 

He watches your entrance flutter with needy contractions. “Beggin’ the only way she knows how,” he remarks. You strain to hold your head up, peeking at his cock. It makes your stomach flip and your lips part. 

It never gets less impressive. The smooth mushroom tip flushed a deep shade of red, the prominent veins you nearly know by heart, and the imposing girth all the way from tip to base. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d worry it wouldn’t fit. 

But you know exactly how perfectly it fits inside of you. And you need it. 

When you look up, meeting his eyes, they’re already locked on you. A smug, prideful smile curling his lips an crinkling his eyes. 

You whimper when he curls his body over yours and his dick nudges and prods your puffy folds. You arch, trying to angle yourself so he’ll slot right at your empty hole, but he’s faster. 

Devilish man.

He nips at the hinge of your jaw, before murmuring huskily at you. 

“Say it again, baby,” he kisses behind your ear. “What do you need?” 

You grab him by his dark curls, angling that scruffy jaw and those plush lips to yours for a hungry, heated kiss. He softens, letting you deepen the kiss, groaning into your mouth as you tug at his hair and claw at his shoulders. 

When he lifts up you both have wet, swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes. 

“I asked you a question, pretty girl,” he teases, lowly, but with no malice behind it. His face hovers just above yours, warm breaths shared between your parted lips. 

“Need you to fuck me hard, Daddy.” 

“Yeah?”

“Please,” the word slips out like more of a pained whisper as your chest heaves beneath him. 

Joel hooks your hands behind your knees leaving you to hold yourself open for him. Then, you’re too close together to see, but you can hear the slick pull of his fist stroking his shaft, still coated in your arousal. When he lines himself up, slotted at your entrance, you nearly cry out. 

“How hard?” 

You let out a sharp gasp as he continues to tease you with otherworldly restraint, pushing just enough to light you up and then easing up. 

“So hard I can’t walk. Can’t talk. Can’t think.” 

He holds still, grinning at you. 

“Please, Daddy” you keep going, “jus’ wanna be fucked out and full of your cum the rest of the day.” You know the plea goes straight to his dick, you feel it throb and kick. 

“Repeat it.” He demands, something wilder flickering behind his eyes. 

“Want your cum dripping out of me the rest of the day.” 

He’s beaming as he stares down at you.

“Beg.”

“Please, Daddy—“ you choke as he splits you open onto his cock finally. One harsh stroke and he’s buried deep as he can be, but he holds still. You blink at him and start over. “Please, Daddy. Fuck me stupid with your big cock.”

“Again,” he demands, voice velvety and low. 

You’re squirming. Tears nearly spilling from your eyes out of desperate want.

“Please, please, please,” you chant in a breathy whisper.

He starts tracing half circles around your clit with his thumb. Holding you right on the edge. Your hips jerk and his other hand flattens across your lower stomach keeping you in place and adding to the pressure of his massive length that fills you to the brim and makes you moan. 

He grins at you and starts dragging himself, almost painfully slowly, in and out of you. Your nerves are all on fire with the intensity.

“Harder, please.” 

“Yeah, pretty girl,” he concedes in his rich voice, “you got it. Gonna fuck you dumb.”

You melt, eyes rolling back and head lolling resting against the firm table. He picks up speed, sawing in and out of you, setting a steady pace.  

He increases the pressure with his thumb, still circling your swollen bundle of nerves. Everything in you is burning bright. You’re whispering mindlessly, between breaths again, “please, Daddy—please.”

“That’s it, baby,” he croons softly like he hasn’t been torturing you. “Let me feel her. Love it when she tries to milk me.”

You let him talk you into it. Tipping you head first into a hot, bright orgasm. You can faintly hear him groaning as your wells clench around him, but his words get drowned out by your pleasure. 

You can barely hear anything over your own heartbeat pounding. Waves roll though you, and your cunt continues to clamp down on his dick while he still rocks into you. He only removes eases off of your pearl when your hips are twitching with sensitivity.

When you can finally make out words again, you have to slow him down. 

“What’re you saying?”

“Keep count for me.”

You tilt your head at him. Slow to process. 

“That’s one.” He says.

Oh. 

You’ve created a monster.

“One.” You affirm and he nods.

“Atta girl.”

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