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marvelwitchergilmore · 5 months ago

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Small Touches and Simple Gestures

Summary: Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> For years you've pretended to be married to avoid unwanted attention. But what happens when the lie you've been living, suddenly becomes true. Well, at least a part of it.

Disclaimer: Swearing, fluff, one of the agents making a move on Reader though nothing happens (Javi stops it). Fake dating, falling in love, embarrassing mothers, office romance. Heavy smut towards the end, so 18+. Happy ending. A lot of smaller intimate moments between Javi and Reader away from the smut, too. Kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you that three years into working with Agent Javier Peña you’d be wearing a wedding band, marrying you to him for at the very least, the foreseeable future…you wouldn’t have believed them.

And you would be right not to. Because that, technically, wasn’t what it was for.

And it had all started with a question that Peña asked you one day as you sat at your desk.

“Was he real?”

You slowly tore your attention away from the case file in front of you. “What?”

“Your husband.”

For a moment you forgot all about how you’d first come to interact with Peña. He had asked you out. Well, flirted heavily then asked you out.

“What husband?”

Javi stood as he talked, walking towards your desk and sitting down on the edge of it closest to you. “One day you’re wearing a wedding ring telling me you’re married, the next it’s gone.”

You looked at your hand. “Oh. Yeah.” You decided to admit the truth. “I made him up.”

Despite his constant theories, he was still shocked. “What?”

“I made him up.”

You said it as if you were asking him how his day was. Like it was nothing new.

“You made him up?”

“You try and be a single woman in this office who doesn’t like getting hit on by every guy who thinks with his dick,” you told him. “See how quickly you make up a fake family.”

He had to laugh. “But I hit on you.”

You looked at him, suppressing an already knowing smirk on your face. “My point exactly.”

“Think I got something.” From the door, Steve came sweeping inside and threw a couple of files down on Javi’s desk. The previous topic was dropped for now but you took a moment to revel in the shock graced on Peña’s face.

However, a few hours later, it was brought back up again.

You’d been standing in the evidence locker, looking for yet another misplaced case file. Could people not read in this office? Had they lost all sense of the alphabet? You sighed heavily.

“How long have you been doing it?”

You jumped and found Peña standing behind you. “Jesus, Peña. Make a noise or something. Fuck.” You turned back to the messy shelf in front of you.

“So?”

You sighed. “Doing what? This? Feels like hours.”

He shook his head and rounded you before leaning against the side of the shelves. “Not the files. You being married.”

“Oh, uh…” You pulled a few hefty files and handed them over to him before reaching down onto the lower shelf and pulling those files up. “Couple years, I guess. Since before the Academy.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier, or do I need to repeat myself, Peña?”

He shook his head again and put the files down. “No, I heard you. But that’s here. Why did it start?”

You sighed and stopped what you were doing to look at him. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

He let out a small chuckle. “What? Come on, you’re one of the first Agents here to reject me not once, but three different times.”

You raised a subtle eyebrow. “I was married when you did that.”

“The first time, yes.” Javi corrected. “But that was an honest mistake. The second and third time, there was no ring on your finger. And, after this morning, you technically weren’t married at all. Look, just answer my questions and then I’ll drop it forever.”

“You promise?”

He held up his hand. “Scouts honour.”

You gave a questioned hum. “It’s difficult to imagine you as a Scout.”

“Y/l/n.”

You groaned. “Fine. It started because I got asked out a couple of times by this guy. He seemed nice and all but I wasn’t interested. So, when he asked why I kept saying no, I told him I was married. Swapped my rings over under the bar top before showing it to him. He took it well, apologised and said my husband was a lucky fella.”

Peña continued to listen.

“Then I moved away. The second time I was with someone but this guy just kept hitting on my friend. She went to the bathroom and then he started on me. Told him I was with someone. He didn’t believe me. So, I showed him my wedding band. Said my friend was married, too. He,” you sighed. “Eventually backed-off. After that it just kinda became my go-to. People I interviewed preferred to see a married woman than a single woman being a cop. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t start out my job as married. But the minute the compliments, and the touching and the dates being pre-arranged because they expected me to say yes…once they all started, I started wearing my wedding ring.”

“So why take it off?”

You shrugged. “Guess I must have forgotten. Besides, nobody has tried anything in the last couple of years. We’ve all been too busy.”

For a moment, Peña’s demeanour seemed to shift. “But I’ve flirted with you.”

You smiled a tired smile and stepped back from the files for a moment. “I work with you, Peña. I like you but I think I’m immune.”

“That hurts.” He deadpanned before placing a hand over his heart. “That…wow.”

You laughed. “I think you’ll bounce back.”

And he did. That night he walked out telling Murphy he had a date with the stall girl he’d met a few days ago.

The following weeks were hectic as different cases made their way across your desk, all with connections to Peña and Murphy’s biggest case; Pablo Escobar.

From interviewing victim’s families, to interrogations, to the crappy coffee in the break room. Your days and nights were spent looking over files and dealing with your case loads. Until one afternoon in the breakroom led to something you never had expected.

There was another Agent working at the Embassy. You’d seen him around a few times, shared a conversation or two. But most importantly, he had seen your wedding ring. You hadn’t missed his behaviour over the last couple of days. It started with smiles in the hallway – innocent enough. Then you found him in your breakroom more. Apparently the coffee was better. Then he was sitting at your table during lunch – apparently his partner was out for the day and he felt like some company. You didn’t miss his eyes clocking your hand.

“Your wedding band. It’s gone.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but the lie fell from your lips. “Oh, yeah, It’s in for a cleaning. It had a couple dark patches and scuffs on it.”

More things started creeping up. Like how he always stood just that little bit closer and not in a comforting way, when you were both talking. Or how his eyes looked you up and down before you got to speaking distance from each other.

Then in the breakroom, the ‘compliments’ started. How your hair looked – how it always looked. How you always made ‘women’s clothes look so much better’. How he enjoyed spending time with you because you actually talked to him.

“You know,” he trailed a finger up your arm and you were three seconds away from breaking it and running to take a scalding hot shower. “I was thinking we could get away for a while. After all, we both deserve a break. Maybe take these lunches outside of the office.”

You stepped back. “I’m married.”

“Oh, come on, we both know that’s a sham.” He told you, taking a step closer as you took another one back. “You never bring him to office parties, there’s no pictures on your desk-”

“I don’t need to prove to you or to anyone else that I’m married.”

He laughed. He actually laughed. “You’re not about to tell me he lives in Canada are you?”

“No. He-”

“He’s right here.”

It was safe to say you were shocked, but the agent didn’t seem to notice as he turned round and found Javi standing in the hallway.

“Peña. I was just-”

“Scaring my wife?”

The guy was turning paler by the second and yet somehow his ego carried him through. “You mean work-wife, because I have to say Javi, that doesn’t really count.”

“How about a marriage certificate? Does that count for you?” Peña finally found you by his side before he whispered to you.

“You okay, cariño?” All you could do was nod, the shock of him pretending to be your husband still settling over you.

He looked back to the agent who had been hitting on you. “I’m gonna tell you this once and only once. Hit on my wife or scare her again, and I’ll kill you.”

“Javi-”

“I don’t think Messina would be happy to learn one of her best Agents was being sexually harassed.”

He nodded, backing away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Javi shook his head. “Not to me. To her.”

Awkwardly, the guy looked from Javi, around the room, back to Javi and then to you. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. Peña’s your husband?

“You can go.”

Taking Javi’s instructions, he left. Peña then waited a minute before turning towards you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” He asked, holding the coffee pot in one hand and your mug in the other.

“Javi…” You looked around the room before looking back at him. “This is gonna spread around the office. You and I -- married.”

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Now you’ve got a physical person to pretend to be your husband.”

“Javi.” He handed you your cup of coffee before pouring his own. “Please tell me you are aware of your own reputation? And the fact that we are colleagues? And the fact that I have been making a husband up for god knows how long? People are going to know this is fake and then I’ll be judged – heavily – for it.”

“Why would you be judged?”

You rested a hand on your hip. “This is gonna look like I’ve used you to be my pretend husband and everyone will just feel sorry for me and make a big joke about it with you.”

“Except I’m the one that told him.” Peña pointed out. “If anything, that’s what’s going to spread around the office.”

“Ah yes, I can see the headlines now; ‘Agent Javier ‘slut’ Peña finally ties himself down with a female colleague.’.”

He shrugged. “We don’t have to be tied down if you don’t want to.”

You hit him on the arm. “Be serious.”

“Look,” he set his coffee cup down and took you by the shoulders. “If it becomes anything then we just fake it. We already spend most of our time together anyway, and who hasn’t had an office romance once in their life?”

“I haven’t.”

Peña paused for a second before nodding. “Congratulations. You’ve just lost your office romance virginity.”

“Peña.”

He shook it off. “All I’m saying is, if it becomes a thing, we just…roll with it.”

“Roll with it?”

He nodded. “Roll with it.”

“There’s a chance our careers hang in the balance because I’m pretty sure this breaks at least three rules in HR. And your grand solution is to…’roll…with it.’.”

Javi nodded once more. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was not fine. Neither of you were fine. Especially considering two days later you were both forced into Messina’s office where, before you could spit out the truth, Messina interrupted and said she didn’t want to know. Just that you both had to remain completely professional and that if someone ever caught either of you, you’d both be suspended.

So, things remained somewhat neutral. You both received a couple of looks from other co-workers. Murphy teased both of you relentlessly, despite being the only one to know the truth since you stopped the elevator when all three of you were inside to tell him as much.

But then the loud rumours started and people didn’t even try to hide them.

Whilst pouring you and Peña a cup of coffee each – something you had done almost everyday for three years, you could hear people gossiping.

“Maybe he knocked her up. Shotgun wedding, you know?”

“I don’t think they’re even a couple. I mean, they never show any kind of affection to each other.”

One disagreed with that statement. “No, I’ve seen him with her a few times. Little touches here and there. Must be their love language. Small touches and simple gestures.”

“That’s cute, I guess. But I kinda expected more from Javi. He was always so…you know.”

The woman beside her sighed, “Yeah.”

You walked away more confused about life than you had been since before you started highschool.

It was clear the rest of the office ‘knew’ about ‘you and Javi’. And that they each had a different opinion on the matter. And some of them you didn’t even know about, but Javi did.

He’d heard everything from your marriage to him being a sham because he got you pregnant, to both male and female staff asking him “why y/n?”. Except, it was never in a friendly manner. To the men, it was either because they thought “Javi could have any choice he wanted, and he went for her?”, or because he’d gone for one of the women they had wanted “a shot at” themselves. And to the women it was…much of the same thing, with an added jealous streak wondering why he went for “the one woman who didn’t want” him, when most of the other women who’d worked with him “actually wanted” him.

Javi’s eyes trailed your every move from the coffee station, back to your desk and then towards him. “You okay?”

You zoned back into reality and handed him his coffee. “Yeah. Fine. What have you got?”

Turning the case file around, he told you.

Around a month or so later, not much had changed. People were still gossiping about your marriage to Peña, the case was gathering little evidence so the constant reviewing of previous case loads was underway. Between keeping up the lie of your marriage to Javi – despite neither of you having to do much out of your normal routine – and the case work and the constant heart attack you got when Messina would stop walking when stood directly between your desk and Peña’s before humming and moving along, you were running out of energy.

“Come to mine after work.”

You looked around. People were looking but they were too far out of earshot to hear.

You took the paper from Javi.

“Why?”

“You’re tired, and I’m tired watching you eat that shitty stuff from the cafeteria. I’m cooking dinner.”

You looked up at him, shocked. “You can cook?”

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. After work. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

Javi tapped your desk twice before walking away and looking around the office. Everyone who had been looking quickly looked away before looking back at you. Once they found you looking, they turned back to their work.

For a moment, you looked at the half stale coffee on your desk. It would be nice to have a decent meal considering you’d been eating left-overs for about a week and half.

And he kept his promise.

Javi had left work an hour before you were supposed to. He’d grabbed his jacked off the hook behind your desk, bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your body too tired to fight off leaning into him when he did so. You had meant to clock out of work an hour later but staring at words, losing concentration and trying to focus back in meant when you finally looked at the clock, you were getting close to being forty minutes late.

“Shit.”

Not bothering to drop your stuff off in your apartment two floors up, you found Javi’s door unlocked like he’d said and you walked inside.

It smelt like heaven. Good, hot food. And Javi.

It was quiet as you walked down his hallway and eventually found him relaxing on the sofa, his legs thrown across the rest of it. He was watching reruns.

“Relax,” you could hear the smile in his voice despite not being able to see his face. “Figured you’d be late. Food’ll be ready soon.”

With a relieved sigh, you dropped your bag by the steps and walked around. He moved his legs for you to sit down and he watched you for a moment as you pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes and leaned back.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you admitted.

“Come ‘ere.” His voice was soft and quiet as he reached out for you by the shoulder. Looking at him for a moment before silently agreeing, you let him pull you down until eventually you were laying beside him, your head on his chest, his legs tangled with yours.

It took him a moment, but Javi removed your hair-tie letting your hair loose before running his fingers through it. You relaxed almost immediately, feeling the once growing headache slowly melt away with each touch of his hand.

You could have fallen asleep but he didn’t let you. “You’ve gotta eat. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for nothing.”

You groaned a little and buried yourself deeper into his side. “How are you this calming?”

“It’s my natural touch.” Javi told you before kissing the top of your head and sitting up. “Come on. Dinner’s ready. Then I promise, you can fall asleep.”

“Hallelujah.”

It took you a moment but your head eventually stopped spinning long enough for you to sit up and walk over to the table where Javi had set down both of your meals. And it was one of the best you’d ever had; either because he was a great cook, or you were starving enough that any food that wasn’t cafeteria left-overs would taste like heaven at that moment. Though, you had a feeling it was the first one.

In silence, you both washed and dried. Until you spoke out the pressing question on your mind.

“What happens if we meet ‘the one’?”

“What ‘one’?” Javi handed you another freshly washed plate.

“I mean,” you spun it through the dish towel. “To everyone else, we’re married. But what if we end up meeting the person we actually want to date and marry? What do we do then?”

Javi shrugged. “Guess we get divorced.”

“But we’re not actually married.”

“Then we play it by ear. They say when you know you know…maybe when we know, we just…tell them the truth. But I doubt that’s gonna happen.” Javi nearly crapped himself. “For me, not you. I doubt that’ll happen for me.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

For a moment, he was quiet. Thinking. Deliberating. “Back in Texas, I was gonna get married. Lorraine. She was a wonderful woman but…I don't know. I was driving to the church and I just stopped.”

“You left her at the altar?”

“I never made it to the church,” he admitted. “I don’t know. I suppose at some point I’d settle down but…” Javi shrugged. “I can see it happening for you though, so, whenever you do meet him, I can be there to help explain this whole…situation we’ve got going on.”

You laughed a little at that. “Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, you were half asleep before Javi pulled you over to him once more. The last thing you could remember was you taking a deep breath in, the scent of him, his home and his cooking fill your senses.

When you woke up, you found yourself still on the sofa, the news playing on the TV and Javi cooking in the kitchen. It took you a while before your brain registered you weren’t still dreaming and you’d fallen asleep not only at Peña’s, but also on him.

“Hey,” Peña shook you back awake. “Breakfast is ready.”

You placed your hand over his and nodded. “Okay.”

Neither of you said anything when you ate, just listened to the news that passed over the speakers of the TV.

“Who taught you to cook?” You asked, turning to look at him as he drove you both to work.

“My dad. My mom helped, but dad was the one who burnt less stuff.”

After eating, you’d run to your apartment to get a fresh change of clothes and run a brush through your hair, only to be greeted by your husband at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll drive us to work.”

So, now you were driving to work with Javi before hopping out of his car and being led with a warm hand at the bottom of your back through the hallways of work before you both finally reached your desks.

And for the first time in weeks, you finally had the energy to get through your work day. And so did Javi.

Although things started to change when you got a surprise visit from your mother.

You’d been working for weeks on the same case and in between all of the case work, the fake marriage and the few months that followed, you’d forgotten to write to your mother.

It was her one agreement with you moving to Columbia. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop you – it was your job and you were good at it, plus, despite all of the gear grinding you had to do every now and again, you loved it. But knowing she didn’t accept your decision to work as DEA in Columbia would have slowly killed you – and her, too.

Any time she called, you’d either been dead asleep – either at yours or Javi’s – or at work. So, she took the notion to come and see you.

So when you walked down the hall towards your office and heard your mother’s voice ask you a question, you felt your entire body crash to a screaming halt before realising what and why she was asking.

“You’re married?”

“Mom.”

Your mom called your full name and walked towards you. “What this lovely woman just told me better not be true, or else that means I’ve missed my daughter’s wedding.”

You tried your best to remain calm and relaxed. Two emotions you were desperately clinging onto for dear life. “She tells me his name is Javier Pen…”

For a moment, she looked back to the secretary who nodded and whispered his name again for your mother to repeat with full confidence to you. “Javier Peña.”

“Mom, maybe it’s best we-”

Then the secretary spoke up in excitement. “Oh, there he is. Javi!”

Looking up from his own case file, about to turn down the hallway, he found who was calling him before seeing who was standing in front of them. You and, from what he could guess, your mother.

Shit. Your mother? No. She was back in the States. Maybe he’d remembered her face wrong from the picture behind your desk.

Walking over, Javi’s hand came to your lower back before he quickly brushed a kiss against your cheek. “Cariño, you okay?”

You tried to remain calm as you said the next sentence. “Javi, this is my mother. Mom, this is my..husband..Javi.”

Then something you hadn’t expected to happen, happened.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Y/l/n. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” But she still shook his hand and allowed him to press a light kiss to the back of it.

Carefully, Javi stepped back and pulled you closer towards him, your mother’s eyes never once stopping to not examine the couple that stood in front of her.

Javi nodded. “We are sorry about that. But, maybe we can make it up to you.”

You looked at Javi a little panicked. But your mother was already interested. “Oh?”

“I’m guessing you’re staying here for a few days? Come and stay with us. I can make us dinner and we can all get to know each other.”

Then your mom smiled. Apparently Javi already had her approval. “Well…I think that would be lovely. But don’t think either of you are getting off lightly. I missed my daughter’s wedding that I didn’t even know about.”

“Honey, give your mother our address, I’ll ask-”

She shook her head. “No, no. You all seem busy. I can take myself there. And I’d like to see what’s around the market stalls. Is there anything I can bring for dinner?”

Javi shook his head. “No, not at all.”

You smiled. “He’s got it covered, mom. Just bring yourself.”

“Alright then. Well, I look forward to seeing you both for dinner.”

In the space of five minutes you’d all said your goodbye’s and you had ever so sweetly pulled your husband towards your office before closing the door and blinds and turning back to your partner.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Javi shrugged. “She’s come down here to see you. We might as well make the effort.”

“We? Javi. We don’t live together. She’s gonna take one look around my apartment and realise I still live there. She’s gonna take one more look at my face and realise everything that’s happened is a complete sham and then she’s gonna parade it around town that I’m still single. She won’t mean it harshly, but she will.”

“So, we don’t tell her and just say we haven’t had a chance to move things since getting married. We’ll be okay.”

You let out a panicked laugh before you started pacing. “I knew this was a bad idea. It’s bad enough we’re lying to people here.”

“You’re the one that started it before I got roped in.”

“Hey! You roped yourself into this. You were the one that said you were my husband.”

“Would you have preferred for Agent Dickbag to keep pushing?!”

You took a breath. “Javi…I don’t know if I can lie to her. What…what do I tell my family when they find out? This was just meant to keep people like Agent Dickbag away…”

Reading the panic all over your body, Javi stood and walked towards you until you were wrapped in his arms. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll keep the secret up long enough to make sure nobody else finds out the truth, and then you can just say we rushed into things. We got a quick divorce and moved on, civilly.”

“I think you missed your calling in Acting.” You told him. “I think my mom already has your seal of approval.”

“Really?” He pulled back a little and smiled. “That’s a first.”

“We’ll be okay?”

He nodded. “We’ll be okay.”

And you believed him.

Because it was true.

In the space of about fifteen minutes, you and Javi managed to move some things from your apartment, into his to make it seem more…homely. Like two people actually lived there. Especially since your mom would be living in your apartment for the next couple of days until she flew back home to the rest of your family.

“Will she really check the bedroom?” Javi called from the kitchen.

You’d moved some things to the second bedside table. One or two books, a couple of hair-ties, plasters, “stray” pens. You tried your best to make it look believable as possible.

“You don’t know her like I do. This woman is Jessica Fletcher. Unsuspecting to the world, but in fact sees everything. Trust me, you do not want to end up in interrogation with my mother. Happened to a perp once. She came in to visit my dad but he was wrangling a couple of the officers so she walked around, found the perp sitting in holding and she actually got a confession out of him. Cops had been trying all day and nothing. A five minute conversation with my mother and they got a full written confession out of him.”

Javi gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah. So, trust me, what I’m doing? It’s gonna, hopefully, save us some grief.”

Javi was still cooking by the time your mom knocked on his door and you brought her inside. Immediately her eyes scanned the place picking up on the pictures, books and music.

“It smells delicious.”

“He’s a good cook.”

And for the first couple of minutes everything ran smoothly. Your mother did everything you’d expected her to do. She even passed Javi in the kitchen to look into your bedroom.

“She really did it.” Javi mouthed.

“Told you so,” you mouthed back.

“Mom, do you wanna come and sit down? I can get you a drink.”

“I’ll have a soda if you have it, please.”

You got your mom a soda and poured it into a glass with ice, handing it to her as she stood still examining your home.

“So, how is he in bed?” She whispered a little too loud to you.

You felt yourself go bright red. Redder still when you heard Javi chuckle from the kitchen. “Mom!”

“What? I’m allowed to ask my daughter these questions. I need to know you’re being satisfied in every aspect of your marriage.”

You groaned and covered your eyes. “Mom.”

“You’re being careful? Using condoms? You know pulling out doesn’t work as birth control.”

You could have died. “Mom, please. Stop.”

Javi let out a small laugh as he walked from the kitchen and handed you a drink. “Mrs Y/l/n, if you really want to know-”

“Oh no. No, Javi, please. Please don’t encourage her.”

“We’re being safe. Having a family right now probably wouldn’t be the best move for either of us.”

Your mother just graced him with a soft smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m not,” you groaned a little. “Can we please change the conversation?”

“You know, she’s always been like this.” Your mom told Javi who only seemed to revel in your terror.

“Really? This isn’t a new thing?”

“No,” you mom told him. “She went just as red when I gave her the birds and the bees talk.”

“That’s because you decided to tell me in the middle of my middle school hallway during a Parent’s Evening.”

“And when I took her to the doctors to get her on the pill.”

You covered your face. “I’m in hell.”

Javi’s hand reached for your shoulder and shook you lightly as he sat on the arm of the chair beside you. You leaned into him.

“I’d finally got it out of her that she’d had sex and next-”

“And next thing I’m being wrangled into an office chair with the doctor having my mother shout from the rooftops her daughter was no longer a virgin.”

Your mom gasped. “It wasn’t like that,”

You leaned into your husband who’d just let out a small laugh. “Please make it stop.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m glad to know you’re being satisfied. Your face tells me more than you think.”

“Okay!” You stood up quickly and tried to run away, only to feel Javi’s hand reach out and pull you back, spinning you to stand by him. From the light red in his cheeks, he felt a little embarrassed, too, but he seemed to handle it a lot better than you.

He was chuckling. “Don’t think you’re able to run from this. I wanna know more about you from your mom.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be here for it.” You tried to make a break for it again, but Javi caught you and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to slowly disappear from sight as you found yourself trapped in his hands and arms, and his gaze on you, just as yours was on his. And for a moment, you wondered what it would be like if you kissed him.

Little did you know, he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Then a timer went off.

“That’ll be the food.” Javi kissed a quick peck to your temple before standing and walking towards the kitchen, leaving your gaze to trail after him.

“You really do love each other,” your mom pointed out from her spot on the sofa. “I can see why you got married. You both need to tell me what your wedding was like!”

And so you did over dinner. With the added linger of whatever had happened when he’d pulled you closer to him.

You caught Javi looking at you a few times, and subsequently, he’d caught you, too. And, without rehearsal, you’d both managed to bullshit your way through explaining why you’d both decided to get married so quickly.

From you and Javi, your mother had learned you’d both met when you started in Columbia and you were both ‘friends’ for a while. Not much had to be lied about in that department. Javi’s reputation. Your “ability” to make every man that asked you out believe you were taken. How you’d worked together for a long time before becoming actual friends. Then the lies started…right?

About how you and Javi made a true friendship of sorts over the late nights working, swapping smaller stories until something changed.

“It was like…my heart had stopped and rebooted itself. Suddenly, everything felt like it had shifted and changed somehow.” Peña explained to your mom. “Nothing had ever been more…clearer and more daunting than ever.”

Then Javi looked at you, and you found a mirrored expression. Sadness? Confusion? Desperation? Fear? Realisation? You didn’t know what to call it, but whatever it was, you felt it. For some unknown reason, everything he’d just said rang true in your ears, your head and even your heart.

Nothing had ever been more clearer and more daunting than ever.

By the time your mom decided she was ready for bed, you were already fast asleep against Javi. At some point in the evening when he’d sat beside you, he’d slung his arm behind you and between the warmth and familiarity of him, you’d let yourself truly relax.

“I’ll walk you up.”

Your mom shook her head as Javi led her towards the door. “I know my way and you’re both tired. I’ll be okay. Get her to bed.”

Javi looked back at you for a moment and smiled.

“You really do love her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Your mom smiled at her supposed son-in-law. “I understand why she fell for you, but I hope you know, just because you’re the first one of her boyfriends, well, husband now. But just because you’re the first I approve of, doesn’t mean I won’t be judging you. You look after her, and you look after her well. Love her everyday. It’s not every day someone gets to spend the rest of their lives with my daughter. I hope you see that as a privilege.”

Javi nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Javi was telling the truth and your mom nodded. “Good. And thank you for dinner. Sleep well.”

“You, too, Mrs Y/l/n.”

Javi waited until he heard your apartment door lock before he shut his own, locked it and kicked off his shoes.

His socks padding his footsteps as he walked back to you, he was careful to pick you up before carrying you to bed and covering you up. You were still fast asleep by the time he climbed into bed beside you, but either way, you naturally rolled towards the slight dip in the bed before reaching out for him like you did almost every time he’d carried you to his bed because you’d fallen asleep in his apartment.

The only times he didn’t was when he fell asleep with you and woke up as the sun peeked through his blinds in his living room.

With a contented sigh, you slipped into a dreamless sleep beside him and for a few minutes, he laid awake, listening to your breathing. Then he let his mind slip back through the evening. If the funny feeling in his stomach and chest wasn’t what he hoped it was, but rather was what he suspected it to be, then he would have to soak up your actions as a married couple over the next couple of days before everything went back to semi-normal.

Because if he was right, and he was growing feelings for you, then these days would have to be enough. Your marriage with him and his marriage to you was meant to be for appearances, only. Nothing real was meant to come out of it, was it?

Because the feeling in his chest as he looked down at you, asleep by his side and in his arms…that feeling sure felt real.

Waking up in the morning, you felt more comfortable than usual. No creaky mattress spring giving you a sneak attack from beneath your sofa and into your back, no blinding light coming through curtains you’d forgotten to shut, no cold side to your bed as you turned over.

Instead, you felt warm. You found warmth.

Asleep on his front but his arm still across you, you found Javi. Fast asleep, seeming as though not even a gunshot would wake him.

And rather than jump out of bed or rollaway like you usually would when you found yourself in this position with any man, or even him going off the last couple of months.

You’d found yourself falling asleep countless times at Javi’s and the majority of the time, you woke up in his bed.

But waking that morning, especially after the night before, had something feeling different. So you took your time.

For the first time you…studied him.

You’d found yourself doing it more and more in recent months. How he sat in a chair, the look on his face when he was annoyed, amused, sometimes even scared.

And for the first time, maybe ever. He looked…

Peaceful.

As if it was a Sunday morning and neither of you had to get up for work. Like when he’d wake, you’d both spend the morning in bed before relaxing in your home.

And for a moment, you let yourself dream about that life. A life where there was no fear of maybe never coming home. A life where you could both…be peaceful. Happy.

Together, maybe?

After a few moments, you felt a gentle touch against your cheek, and slowly opening your eyes, you found Javi’s hand cupping your cheek, his fingers brushing soft patterns into your skin.

“Cariño…”

You smiled, finding comfort in the common nickname. “Hey.”

“You been awake long?”

You shook your head, softly. “Not long.”

“Good.” Javi then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here.”

Granting yourself permission to do as he said, Javi rolled over onto his back and pulled you into his side before he decided to ultimately face you.

Down your back, he traced a singular line back and forth as you both synced calming breaths and listened to the comfortable silence of the room.

“We could call in sick.” Javi said after ten minutes. “We’ve built up enough time to take the day off. You could show your mom ‘round.”

“We can’t,” you pointed out. “What about the case?”

“The case will still be there tomorrow. And besides, if something changes, they’ll call us in-”

Then you both heard the front door lock open.

“Javi-”

Pressing a finger to his lips, he sat up and so did you. Quietly, he moved over towards his bedside table and pulled out his gun before checking the bullets.

You both heard the door open and just as Javi was about to leap out of bed, you both heard your mother’s voice.

“Y/n? Javier? You two sleepy heads awake yet?!”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and sat back against Javi’s headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“Your mom has a key?” Javi put his gun back and closed the draw as he looked back at you.

“I told you. Jessica Fletcher.” Then you called out to her. “Mom! We’re in here.”

Letting out a breath, Javi sat himself back beside you just as your mom walked into your bedroom. “Mom, you can’t just break in,” you told her, tiredly.

“I didn’t break in. I had a key.”

“Both of us could have shot you.”

Your mom looked over both of you and gave a coy smile. “Then it’s a good thing I called out then. You both look…well rested.”

It was too early to even pretend what she thought had happened, had happened. So, tearing your eyes from Javi, you looked to your mom. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have made breakfast for both of you since Javi cooked us such a wonderful dinner last night.”

“Mrs Y/l/n, you really didn’t-”

“Hush now. I was happy to do it. Now, chop chop.” Your mom clapped her hands. “There’s plenty of time for this,” she gestured to you, Javi and the bed, “later. Come on. Before the day is gone.”

And as she walked out, you felt yourself collapse into Javi’s sheets, already feeling your face go hot.

“She really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled through the sheets.

Ultimately, Javi convinced you to take the day off with him and after a homemade breakfast, yet another awkward conversation surrounding love-making in the shower – to which Javi nearly choked on his toast. Both you and Javi had showered (separately) before getting changed and deciding to show your mom around the different places in town.

And despite the stories shared by your mother; thankfully not all of them made you want a hole in the ground to open up the floor.

You also found spending the day with Javi, outside of work talk, to be more than pleasurable. With his hand in yours, or his arm around you, holding your own across your stomach, you’d both walked side by side for most of the day. He told your mom some things about Columbia even you didn’t know before, easily sharing some stories of his own childhood when your mom asked.

And you felt…glad, maybe? Like for the first time since moving to Columbia you were home. And it wasn’t just because your mom was there, but rather because of the person who stuck by your side all day, letting you see behind the personal walls he had up at work. The ones that, if you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t know were even there.

Yet, despite the entire day feeling like one giant butterfly in your stomach at every touch, look and graze you felt from Javi, nothing made it feel like the tornado it was when your mom asked if she could film your ‘first dance’.

Dinner had been long over and the TV had shut down. In the background, a few different records played until one came on and your mother gasped.

“Oh, please. Please let me see your first dance. I love this song, and I’ve always imagined seeing you dance to it the way me and your dad do.”

From your side, Javi lifted his hand. It was up to you.

Looking at your mom’s face, you couldn’t say no. So, you nodded and both stood. Javi started the song from the beginning and turned back to face you. In a matter of moments, you were in his arms, your hand in his whilst your other lay on his arm. You could feel his firm hand at the bottom of your back, holding you up steadily.

Finally, leaning into each other, you could feel his moustache at the shell of your ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

That was when you found out Javi could dance. At the very least, much better than you could. He led you around the small section of the floor, your temple’s still touching and for a small moment, you closed your eyes.

You’d also both forgotten anybody else was in the room other than you two. Breathing, heartbeats, pulse, chemistry. It all became one.

And just as the song slowed, Javi lifted his head to look at you. It was like there was a new light to you in the fading sunlight. New features he’d never noticed before. The small freckles dotted across your face, probably having surfaced after a day in the sun. The soft streaks of baby hairs framing your face. The arch and bow of your cupid’s bow and lips. The light flush in your cheeks as for a moment, he caught your eyes doing the same thing he was.

Looking. Gazing. Studying. All to commit it to memory.

Javier Peña, for as best as he’d known, he’d never been so scared in all of his life. But there was one final thing he wanted to commit to memory, whether it be good or bad. And if he didn’t do it then, he was afraid he never would. So, for the first time with you, he did what he wanted to do because, and he hoped, by the look on your face, you wanted it, too.

With the final few notes of the song, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was firm, steady, strong and then softer. The kind of kiss that you feel long after it’s over. Silence washed over the room as the record came to an end and you and Javi found yourselves looking at each other, only realising you weren’t alone when your mom gasped.

“Oh, that was just beautiful.” She stopped the recording. “Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

You and Javi seemed to step away from each other despite it being the last thing either of you wanted to do in that moment. It wasn’t long after that your mom decided to go upstairs to bed. And once Javi heard the door lock upstairs, he locked his own and took a moment before turning back around to find you.

But you were already trying to avoid the conversation that came next.

Javi took his time. You both needed a moment to find clarity. After the faucet had been running for a few minutes, only to be switched off by you as you washed the plates in the bowl of soapy water, Javi stood at the kitchen door.

He watched you for a moment, wondering what to say. What just happened? I’m sorry? He didn’t mean for it to…be that way? Did you feel it, too? Did you want it, too? Did he cross a line?

Then he realised he didn’t have to say anything at all.

You felt him before you heard him walk slowly across the kitchen floor and stand by your side. With a gentle hand guiding your arm, he spun you to face him and in the silence, your faces shared a thousand words between each other.

Javi brushed your hair from your face before gently cupping your face. It took enough time between each of his movements to let you object if you wanted to. You stepped closer into him.

Then he kissed you.

Having dropped the sponge into the sink, you felt yourself tumble against him as your own hands came to pull him closer towards you. Things seemed to move slightly quicker than before. His hands moving down your body to eventually lift you up and move you onto the counter top, his fingers pushing their way through your hair as your own pulled him in by his collar to kiss you once more.

With your legs wrapping around his waist, securing him against you, you let out a small sigh behind your kiss. Javi only chased those small noises more after you made your first one.

“J-Javi.” You managed to find your voice in between his kisses. “Wait.”

He stopped, forcing himself to pull his lips from yours. And for a moment, all you could hear was his breathing and your heartbeat. Both rapid. Both unsteady.

“We…we shouldn’t…”

His hands still tangled in your hair and his forehead against yours, he shook his head in agreement. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

All either of you could do was breathe. Slowly. Trying to catch some form of air that was at least a close equivalent to the others.

Kissing you was like a lifeline, and without you he was dying.

His eyes finally gazing into yours, he found your own tracing his face, already reminiscing on the kiss, wanting more.

Kissing him was like life was finally being pushed back into your lungs, letting you breathe clearly for the first time and without him, nothing was in focus.

“Fuck it.”

His lips on yours again, he began to devour you and your taste. He could feel your hands pulling him closer to you, like if you’d let go of him, you’d drown.

He needed you more than he wanted to admit.

But you didn’t want him to hold back. So leaning away from his kiss for a moment, you made sure he focused on you.

“Bedroom.”

He was still drunk on your kiss. “Javi, I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter. Bedroom.”

His lips curved onto a smirk as he pulled you towards the edge and lifted you up.

“Didn’t anyone tell you we’re married? Cariño, it’s called making love.”

You laughed and so did he before it was muffled out by another kiss.

By the time morning rolled around, you found yourself wrapped in Javi’s arms, his scent swirling around your senses, locking it into a memory you’d never forget. Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t. From the arms wrapped around you, to the soreness in your legs, your body was too happily exhausted to move.

For the next few moments, you watched as he slept peacefully. His mouth parted slightly, simply looking at his mustache made you blush at the memories from barely a few hours previous. Tracing the curves of his face, you leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

His arms twitched around you. “Javi, I need to use the bathroom.”

Still half asleep, he returned the next kiss you pressed to his lips before mumbling; “Come back.”

“I will,” you kissed him once more before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

Whilst in the bathroom, you picked up the long forgotten towels on the floor and picked up the tossed body washes and shampoo bottles from Javi and your haphazard entry into the bathroom after the first two orgasms before the third.

However, you must have taken too long because as you stood at the bathroom skin, a newly familiar pair of arms made their way from holding your hips, to cradling around your waist.

You could feel the hair from his moustache as he kissed your bare shoulder, making his way towards your neck where you leaned back against his chest and placed a hand behind his own neck to hold you steady.

“Javi.”

One of his hands slowly made its way under your top before running his fingers from the top of your chest, across your breast and down below the waistband of your shorts.

“I missed you.” His tongue dampened the graze of his teeth against your neck.

“Javi.”

“Is this okay, baby?”

You bit your lip, your hips bucking against his fingers, chasing the pressure he was beginning to swirl around your clit. You hummed a response.

“I need your words, baby. Is this okay? Do you want this? Because I can stop.”

You shook your head quickly and wrapped your hand around his wrist before he pulled away any further. “No. Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

With his fingers circling your clit and his mouth having free range of your neck, you felt your knees grow weak. “Want me to stop?”

Again, you shook your head. “I need…I need more, Javi.”

“How many, baby?”

“Two, ohh…” Your mouth opened and you threw your head back against his shoulder, reveling in his fingers slipping inside your cunt and his thumb applied pressure to your clit. Then you heard him chuckle.

“Asshole.”

“You fucking love it, baby.”

You did. You really did. It wasn’t long before Javi could feel your walls pulsing against his fingers, growing tighter for him. And his dick hadn’t even left his pants yet.

“You’re so fucking wet, cariño. This for me?”

You found the strength to nod. “Just for you, Javi baby.”

But whatever strength or control you had left disappeared as the wave began to crash over you and you chased Javi’s fingers as they pumped deeper and faster inside of you. “Ride ‘em, baby. Take what you want.”

You moaned his name, almost chanting it as you came over his fingers. “Fuck,” Javi growled. “You’re so fucking hot when you come.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you felt the ache in your legs, still leaning against Javi.

“Then maybe you should do it again.”

Sharing a look with Javi, he smirked before biting down on your bottom lip, then kissing it better. Pulling his fingers from inside of you, he slowly spun you around by your hips until you faced him. Once he’d tasted everything he could from your mouth, he teasingly made his way across your jaw, down the length of your neck, under your clothing before pulling your soaked shorts down your legs, leaving your glistening and sensitive cunt for him to see.

Then he tasted the rest of you.

Pushing you onto the edge of the sink counter, you white-knuckled the edges in fear of gripping his hair too tight to pull him closer to where you needed him.

You could feel the burn of his moustache against your inner thighs, panty-line before finally his tongue circled your already sensitive clit.

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, “Fuck. Yeah.”

“Want more?”

“Y…yes. Javi, please.” Your hips bucked as you chased the feeling of his tongue licking your pussy. “Fuck, Javi.” You let out a gasp as his tongue dipped inside of you for a moment. “Fuck, right…right there.” With one of your hands tangled in his hair, you pushed him closer in order to taste all of you.

And just as you leaned back to grant him more access, he pulled back. You whimpered, wanting him back. “Touch yourself.”

“Javi-”

“I want to see how long you can hold it before I fuck you. Touch yourself.”

So you did. All the while watching him take his sweet time watching you as he pulled down his own underwear and pulled a condom on, pumping himself a couple of times before finally settling closer to you.

“I want to watch you cum again.” And so he did.

Filling you with his dick, inch by inch, he felt you stretch around him, swearing as you took him in. And then he took his time with you. Reveling in every needy buck of your hips, chasing his dick before he couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed you just as much as you were begging for him.

Moaning his name over and over as your orgasm hit you, Javi watched as you came over his dick, him finishing not long after you did.

Sweaty and covered in sex, Javi pushed the fallen hair from your face and kissed your lips after the silence had settled away from heavy breathing and racing hearts. “We should get cleaned up.”

Pulling his cock from inside of you, he disposed of the condom before walking towards the shower and turning it on. And over the next forty minutes, Javi’s hands were all over your naked body before his fingers tugged at your hair as the tiles of the floor made indents in your knees. By the time you’d both finished, gotten washed and finally dressed, Javi was changing the sheets as you placed the ones from the night before inside his washer.

For the rest of the day, Javi rarely left your side.

Going back out to the markets with your mom, his hands were constantly finding ways to touch you. His hand pinching onto the skirt of your summer dress, his fingers grazing against your hip and lower back as he changed from standing on one side of you to the other. Holding your hand around you, his arm across your shoulders, his lips in your hair, on the shell of your ear as he talked to you. And when you’d stopped inside a cafe, he sat next to you, his arm across the back of your chair which practically was sitting in between his legs as his body was constantly turned towards you.

And when you’d both finally gotten home, your mom saying she was going for a nap, the moment Javi’s door shut, the bags were dropped and your back was against the wall of his hallway, his lips on yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“So have I.”

Then a question fell from your lips. “How are we going to keep this up? At work, I mean.”

“They already think we’re married.” He kissed your neck.

“I’m being serious, Javi.”

“So am I.”

“Javi, Messina already warned us what would happen if she ever caught us. And that was before we were even…” A couple? Fucking? Dating? Married?

Javi smiled. “So we keep it a secret.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his hands off me for more than two seconds. You’ll never be able to keep it a secret.”

“Says the woman whose been eye-fucking me all day. Are you sure you can keep a secret?”

“I can keep a secret.” Then Javi noticed your coy smile. “In fact, I’ve been keeping one all day.”

Taking his hand in yours, you pressed his hand to the dip of your hips. He couldn’t feel anything but fabric. Then it hit him. With his chest flaring and his dick hardening, he stepped closer towards you.

“Mrs Peña…have you been naked under that dress all day?”

You bit your lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

His eyes flicking to the hem of your dress, he looked back up at you before slowly dragging the fabric of its skirt up and bunching it in his hand until he could slip his hand under it. And when he was met with bare skin, he swore.

“Fuck.”

“I’ve been hoping you’d fuck me all day,” you admitted. “I wanted to be ready.”

“Since you walked out of that fucking bedroom in this dress…I’ve wanted to fuck you in it.”

Pulling him closer to you, your voice turned into a low whisper. “Then you better get on with it, Agent Peña. Before I do it myself.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Capturing your lips on his, his finger coaxed at your pussy, already feeling your wetness build for him. As his fingers began to curl inside of you, you let out a moan before your fingers deftly unbuckled his belt and jeans. Javi let out a small whimper as your fingers stroked down his cock, wiping the pre-cum away with your thumb before finally pumping him a few times.

“Take it easy, baby. Otherwise I’m not gonna- fuck.”

With one hand, Javi picked you up where you stood, his fingers digging into your ass before he guided his tip in. Letting out a moan by his ear, you told him to start moving.

“Fill me up, baby.”

And he did.

Fucking you against the wall in his hallway, Javi pulled the top of your summer dress down and began leaving his mark across your collarbone and down the bow of your breast, all the while his cock pumped in and out of you before filling you up with him cum.

“That’s it baby,” Javi told you as you screamed his name as you rode his dick. Then he watched you come. He’d never get sick of that sight. It seemed to get hotter each time. You begging him for more, your moans, his name falling from your lips as he makes you unravel completely.

But he wasn’t done with you yet. Pulling out from you, he moved you both down the hallway and towards the sofa where he made you come again before moving into the kitchen where he finally fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter.

Both of you wished it could have continued like that forever, but sadly after your shower, both you and Javi were interrupted by the jingle of keys in the door as your mom let herself in before you and Javi could continue your heavy make-out session on the sofa.

But that was something you both had to get used to.

Interruptions.

From people banging on the copier room door thinking it was jammed, to people walking back into the office after their lunch breaks. But despite the ever growing need to constantly be touching him, or him touching you, you’d both found subtler ways to show how much you not only wanted each other, but also needed each other.

From the smaller touches when he always found an excuse to stand beside you, to the ever longing looks you both gave to each other as the other one walked away from the desks. There were crappy cups of coffee always being poured, lunches being made and shared, blankets being used to cover up the one that fell asleep first, the knowing looks when a case load became too much, the soft moments spent after a long day of work just laying together on the sofa watching crappy TV and falling asleep, dancing to slower records on down-days, quick kisses goodbye during lunch or during a stakeout for cases, jealous and warning glares being given to those who tried to flirt with the other, and finally slow Sunday mornings that were spent inside the apartment, neither of you leaving unless for a dire emergency.

And somewhere between all of that, you and Javi had taken a flight to your home where your family and his watched as you both swore actual wedding vows to each other; your wedding party not realising it was the first time for both of you.

Maybe it had taken a while for you both to come together, and maybe it wasn’t the most conventional of get-togethers. But it was yours and Javi’s story. One that, the more you thought about it, started off with those softer moments. One that always had, and always would, contain those smaller touches and simple gestures.

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princezzleia · 5 months ago

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x reader she's like Barbie. she can be anything. she can be everything. she can do whatever I'm not dare to do in rl and she can choose her man. *sigh* Life've never been better.

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #tumblr fanfic #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #francisco morales x reader #marcus acacius x reader #agent whiskey x reader #javier peña x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #jake seresin x reader #bob floyd x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #august walker x reader #geralt x reader #clark kent x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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missyorkswhore · 2 months ago

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pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pedro pe-

#pedrohub #pedro pascal #lucien flores #dbf joel miller #joel miller #pedropascaledit #pascalispunk #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #agent whiskey fic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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desuidesu · 1 year ago

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I love this series so much 💕

Triumvirate: Masterlist

Triumvirate: A Love Story

You and Javi have been talking about inviting someone into your bed. When you do, you begin to realize you don’t know yourself as well as you thought. And you have absolutely no idea how to handle this new situation you find yourself in.

Main Story

Part 1: Triumvirate

Reverie by @danidrabbles

Part 2: Virtus

Interlude I

Part 3 - coming soon

Part 4 - coming soon

Interlude: Compersion

Part 5: Trifocal by @danidrabbles

Triumvirate Extended Universe

Drabble set during Reverie by @danidrabbles 🔞

Phone sex 🔞

BTS

Inspo tag: some ✨vibes✨ and some spoilers

General tag

Moodboard by @frankiemorales

Other

Join the taglist

#triumvirate tag #agent peña x reader #i've been thinking a lot about them #gihee💕

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pedrosyouknowwhat · 3 months ago

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Falling from grace

You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war

Warnings: Dark dark topics, noncon, abduction, mentions of killing a whole community, raider! characters, psychological, physical and sexual abuse, sexual slavery

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

Chapters:

Who owns you?

Clean

Someone's

Feather light touches

Defiled

Miller's

Breaking in (Part 1)

Breaking in (Part 2)

Breaking in (Part 3)

surrender

thunder

Drabbles

Period drabble

Before punching Acacius

Oscar Isaac Crossover

Aftermath?

cumplay

Headcannons

Feel comfortable to request any idea you’d like to see play out in the story; I’ll try either to integrate it or create a hc or drabble about it!

Love, Red

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cosmicaura7 · 1 day ago

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SUCKING HIM OFF

Pairings : pedro pascal characters x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, men whimpering and moaning, cum swallowing, dirty talk,

Synopsis : You are the best wife he could ever ask for, especially when you’re on your knees just for him.

Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)

You’d know Clint Flood when he was just a hot-headed, leather-clad punk with a permanent scowl and knuckles always split open from fights he never started but always finished. Back then, people warned you he’d burn out fast, yet you didn’t listen.

Now years later, your last name matches his. And he still burns, and only for you.

The bedroom hums with the sound of flickering street lights outside. Cigarette smoke curls in the air, but Clint's not paying attention to anything but the way you're easing his jeans down, slow and deliberate. He's propped up on the creaky bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it for hours. He probably has and anticipation does that to him.

"Fuck, baby…" He breathes, voice rough and already wrecked, like you’ve only got to look at him the right way to bring him to his knees.

You smile, he doesn’t see it, not with your lips brushing against the base of him, not with your fingers wrapping around his length like it’s something sacred. He’s thick, heavy and already twitching against your palm, and when you kiss the tip, he jerks like you’ve struck a nerve.

"Keep your eyes on me." You whisper against his aching length. "Wanna see you fall apart."

And he does.

Clint tries to keep it together, the way he always does. Tough guy, scrappy survivor and too stubborn to break. But your mouth is warm and wet, your tongue tracing along the underside of his cock with precision that only years of knowing him could grant. You know what he likes, what makes him grunt low in his throat, and what makes him whimper, just a little, barely there when your lips sink down and your throat tightens around him.

“Jesus, sweetheart, goddamn…” His fingers tangle in your hair, not to pull but to anchor himself. His thighs are trembling now, the kind of tremble that starts deep in the gut and spreads outward like aftershocks. You hollow your cheeks and his hips buck despite himself.

“You gonna fall apart for me, baby? Gonna let me hear you beg?” You ease off just enough to speak.

The sound he makes isn’t a word, it’s a broken gasp, his pride splitting at the seams. And you love it, love him. Love the way your husband, who once stared down death with a grin, becomes nothing but needy in your hands, your mouth and your voice. He tries to answer but all that escapes him is a desperate whimper of your name.

He’s yours.

And you’re not stopping until he remembers that with every trembling breath.

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

You know your husband’s body like you know your own. Every scar, every muscle carved from years of training, every place where he holds tension, shoulders, neck and thighs. Dave York moves like a ghost in the field, quiet and precise. A weapon with a wedding ring.

But here, in your bedroom, he’s anything but untouchable.

The room is dark, save for the amber spill of the bedside lamp. You’re on your knees between his legs, fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down as he leans back against the headboard. He watches you, eyes low-lidded and glassy, the weight of the day falling off him in slow, heavy waves.

“I missed you today.” You murmur as you wrap your hand around his cock, already hard, flushed, and pulsing in your grip. “Did you miss me?”

“Always.” Dave swallows thickly.

You smile up at him. There’s something so thrilling in how he says it, like he means it with every inch of his soul. But actions speak louder, don’t they? You lean forward, lips brushing over the sensitive head, tongue teasing the slit until he hisses and his legs twitch on either side of you.

“Baby…” He warns, voice low and hoarse.

“Mmhmm?” You hum innocently, then slowly and torturously take him into your mouth. You feel him tense, always so in control even now but that control starts to slip as your lips stretch around him, sliding lower as your hand stroking what your mouth doesn’t yet reach.

Dave lets out a soft, strangled noise.

You live for that sound.

He always starts off so composed. Even now, his hands grip the sheets instead of your hair, like he’s holding on to the last thread of his restraint. You set a rhythm, slow, wet and relentless, tongue working with practiced ease. His hips jerk once, then again, and the curse he mutters is half-broken.

“F-fuck, baby... please...” There it is. That rasping breathless edge. You feel his thighs shaking now, muscles tight, his whole body caught between tension and surrender.

“Please what?” You pull off with a pop, eyes gleaming.

He looks down at you like a man torn in half. You’ve unraveled assassins like him before but only with bullets. But with him, you merely use your mouth, your body, and your love to slowly break him down into pieces.

“Don’t stop.” He murmurs, completely wrecked underneath your touch.

You obey because you love watching him fall apart. He trembles when you go deeper. He whimpers your name when your tongue swirls just right. You take your time. This isn’t about getting him off, it’s about watching him give in. Because only you get this version of Dave York. The real one, the one who comes undone not from fear or pain, but from love from you. And when he finally lets go, hips stuttering, mouth open in a silent groan and hands fisting in the sheets like he’s drowning, you take it all, moaning softly around him.

You stay there, stroking his thighs gently as he catches his breath, legs still trembling, eyes heavy with adoration and disbelief. “Goddamn.” He whispers, reaching for you.

“I love watching you fall apart.” You crawl up into his lap, straddling him, pressing your forehead to his as you couldn’t help but pepper small kisses all over his face.

“You always do it like you’re trying to kill me.” He then passionately kisses you like he means to marry you all over again.

“You know I’ll only kill for you, Dave.” You smirk as you bite down onto his bottom lip, making him groan. And you know that he’d die for you too.

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

There are two versions of Dieter Bravo.

The one the world knows, chaotic, mouthy and beautiful in a way that makes people stop and stare. He’s wild and unpredictable, with that swagger that’s part actor, part man-child and entirely him. He lives in the spotlight like it was made just for him.

And then there’s your Dieter. The one who melts under your hands and crumbles under your mouth. The one who turns breathless and wrecked when he’s beneath you, not above the world.

That’s the version you’re staring at now.

He’s flat on his back, sprawled across the hotel mattress with that lazy stoned grin faltering as you settle between his thighs. His curls are a mess, pillow-mussed and falling into his eyes, and the tattered hem of his oversized vintage tee just barely covers his belly. “Babe…” He murmurs, like a warning and a plea all at once. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I never do.” You smirk, trailing your fingers up his thigh.

He shudders when your touch brushes over his cock, hard, aching and already leaking for you. He always gets like this when you tease him, when you let your voice dip into something low and sweet and filthy. And when you wrap your hand around him, he actually gasps, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

“Holy shit…” He whispers and it’s adoring, like he can’t believe he gets to be loved by you this way.

You lower your head and take him into your mouth slowly and deliberately. You feel the tension coil through his body immediately, his legs twitching, his hands flying to grip the sheets rather than your hair. Because he knows the rules. He’s not allowed to rush this, not when you’re the one taking control.

“Baby…” He whines, breathless and high, and you moan around him just to feel the reaction ripple through his spine. It’s a full-body surrender.

Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s favorite disaster, reduced to trembling under your touch. You know exactly what you’re doing, tongue flicking just right, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. And when you glance up, his head is thrown back, mouth open, curls clinging to damp skin.

“You’re so f-fucking good at that.” He groans, voice cracking. “Like evil, genius-level good, are you…oh my God…!”

“You’re shaking.” You pull off just long enough to catch your breath, lips swollen and slick.

“I can’t feel my kneecaps.” He says in a helpless little breath, blinking down at you. “I…I love you. I think you might be killing me and I’m totally okay with it.”

You smile and wrap your lips around him again. This time, he whimpers. Hands gripping the sheets, thighs twitching under your touch, hips stuttering despite himself. You keep going, keep worshipping him, until he’s begging, until his voice goes hoarse and wrecked with your name and pleading for mercy. He finishes with a desperate moan, back arching off the bed, everything trembling. And when you finally crawl up to curl against his chest, he wraps his arms around you with a shaky laugh.

“I love being married to you.” He breathes, still dazed.

“I know.” You grin against his neck.

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

The metal clatters softly as you set his helmet aside. No ceremony. No hesitation. Just your fingers and his breath, both trembling with need. Because this moment? It’s sacred. You’re the only one who gets this. The only one allowed to see the man beneath the beskar, the raw edges, the soft underbelly of the Mandalorian. And tonight, you plan to remind him exactly what that means.

His armor is gone. His voice is bare. And you’re on your knees in front of him, nestled between his legs in the dim golden light of the Razor Crest’s cabin, your hands slowly parting his thighs.

Din watches you like he’s trying to commit every second to memory. His hair’s messy from your fingers, his brown eyes dark and wide, blinking like he still can’t believe this is real. “You don’t have to…” He rasps, voice strained.

“I want to.” You tilt your head, smiling. That breaks something in him. You see it in the way he exhales and leans back slightly, bracing himself with his hands behind him. Trusting you completely. You can feel his thighs already trembling beneath your palms as you press a kiss just above the waistband of his trousers.

“You work so hard.” You murmur, breath warm against his skin. “Let me take care of you.” When you free him, he’s already hard, thick, flushed and twitching with anticipation. You wrap your hand around him first, slow and steady, watching his jaw flex as he tries to stay composed. But when you lick a long stripe from base to tip, his composure shatters.

“Cyar’ika…” He whispers, voice like sandpaper. “Please…” You take him into your mouth and his head falls back immediately. He’s quiet at first, he always is. But not from lack of feeling. No, Din Djarin feels deeply. You feel it in the way his fingers twitch against the bedding, in the slight helpless jerk of his hips when your tongue circles the tip just so.

But then comes the sound. That sweet, low whimper in the back of his throat. It makes your thighs clench, makes you moan around him and that vibration pulls another broken groan from his lips. “You’re shaking.” You whisper when you pull off briefly, saliva connecting you to him in a glistening thread.

His brows pinch together, eyes blown wide. “I…I can’t help it. You’re…” He trails off as you take him back in, deeper this time. One hand on his thigh, the other working in tandem with your mouth. He starts to fall apart fast, all that control melting like ice under twin suns.

The whimpers grow louder and more desperate. His thighs tremble uncontrollably beneath your touch and when he reaches for you, it’s not to stop, it’s to ground himself. To feel you while you undo him completely. “Mesh’la…” He groans. “I’m close, I’m…please…”

You don’t stop. You never do. Not until he’s gasping, falling apart with a low, broken cry of your name. He spills into your mouth with a shudder so intense his whole body tenses and jerks, and you hold him through it, swallowing everything, slow and soft and loving.

When you finally rise, Din pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping tightly around you like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. “You ruin me.” He whispers against your temple.

“You’re mine to ruin.” You smile into his neck. And in that quiet space, skin to skin and hearts still pounding, he lets himself believe it.

Ezra (The Prospect)

Out here, the air always tastes like dust and danger. The stars above don’t shine so much as stare and the only thing keeping you tethered is the man currently trembling beneath your hands.

Ezra, your husband, your ghost in the green, your last tether to something warm in this brutal system, has long since shed the layers of his armor. His suit lies half-unzipped around his waist, chest bare, breathing ragged. His eyes are wide and glassy, pupils blown as he watches you settle between his legs in the cramped little corner of your ship’s sleeping berth. “I fear, darling.” He says, voice breathy and tense. “You intend to destroy me.”

“I do.” You smile, leaning in to press a kiss just above his hip bone.

He huffs a laugh but it falters halfway out as your hand wraps around his cock. He’s already hard, flushed and thick tip glistening with need. Ezra’s always so careful with you, his voice, his touch, his words measured with precision. But down here, beneath your hands, he’s undone.

You stroke him slowly and deliberately, feeling the tension coil in his abdomen as his thighs twitch beneath you. He’s trying to stay still. You can see it in the way his knuckles grip the edge of the mattress, white and shaking. “Please…” He murmurs. “Don’t tease me tonight, my love.”

“But you’re so pretty when you whimper.” You tilt your head, your voice soft and playful.

That does something to him. His breath catches, hips jerking forward involuntarily as your tongue flicks over the tip. You lap up the salt, humming low in your throat and the sound pulls a broken noise from him, half-moan and half-begging. “Stars, gods above.” He gasps. “You…ah!”

You take him deeper, sinking your mouth over him slowly, lips stretching around his length. One hand cradles his thigh as the other wraps around his base, moving in tandem with the swirl of your tongue. He’s falling apart fast, as he always does with you.

Ezra has survived gunfights, betrayals and poison in his lungs, but it’s this, your mouth, your love and your relentless focus, that truly unravels him. The way your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock, the wet heat of your mouth, the deliberate pace of it all. It's not just lust, it’s devotion and worship. He’s trembling now, hips stuttering, soft whimpers breaking free with every breath. He’s too far gone to stop the sounds and you love it. Love the way his voice goes high and desperate. Love that the universe only sees the floater, but you’re the only one who gets this side of him behind closed doors.

“My stars, please…” He groans. “You’re going to, fuck! I can’t…”

You moan around him in response and he breaks. He spills into your mouth with a strangled gasp, thighs locking around you as his hands claw at the sheets, chasing the end with all the grace of a man utterly ruined. You take every drop, never pulling away, not until he’s fully spent, breathing ragged and dazed. When you finally rise to curl beside him, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close like he’s afraid the world might steal you away.

“You are a cruel and wondrous woman.” He whispers, voice shaky with the aftermath.

“And you’re mine.” You smile into his skin. And in the silence that follows, as the ship drifts on through alien stars, Ezra presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs the only truth he’s ever believed in anymore.

“Yes. Always.”

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Your husband’s built like a fortress. Calm under fire and solid under pressure.

Francisco “Catfish” Morales has always been the guy others count on, reliable, grounded and dangerous in all the ways that matter. But here, in the quiet of your bedroom with the door shut and the world kept out, he doesn’t have to be any of that.

Because here with you, Francisco lets go.

He’s sitting back against the headboard, shirt off, sweatpants pushed low on his hips. His broad chest rises and falls a little too fast, and his eyes, dark, warm and heavy with love, track every movement as you crawl onto the bed, settling between his legs.

“You’re staring.” You tease, fingers brushing up his strong thighs.

“You’re beautiful.” He says without hesitation, voice already fraying at the edges.

“You’re nervous.” You smile, slow and knowing.

He exhales a shaky laugh. “You’re too good at this. Every damn time.” You don’t answer. You kiss the inside of his knee, soft and slow, and watch the way his abs tighten when your hands slide up to his waistband. He’s already hard, straining against the fabric. You ease his cock free, and he lets out a low needy groan when your fingers wrap around him.

“Relax…” You murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

And gods, does he try.

You lick the head first, just a teasing flick of your tongue, and he jolts. His hand flies to the sheets, gripping tight. You press open-mouth kisses down his shaft before taking him in slowly, your mouth warm and wet and loving.

Francisco chokes on a breath, thighs tightening around you. He always starts off quiet, trying to keep control but you know how to undo him. Your tongue swirls, your rhythm builds, your hand strokes what your mouth doesn’t reach. And then he makes that sound. A low soft whimper that escapes his throat before he can stop it. You glance up, eyes meeting his, and he looks so wrecked. Head tipped back, lips parted, a flush creeping up his chest. His hand hovers, torn between grabbing your hair or just holding on.

“Baby…” He pants. “I…I’m not gonna last.”

You moan around him in answer, hollowing your cheeks and dragging a groan from his chest so raw it makes your whole body ache with pride.

He trembles under you now. His composure is shot, hips twitching, thighs shaking and voice dissolving into little broken gasps of your name. You love this version of him. Not the soldier, not the man behind a wheel but the man who trusts you enough to fall apart.

“Fuck, please! Don’t stop…” He begs, feeling completely wrecked, and that’s all it takes. He comes hard, with a stuttering moan that dissolves into a whimper. You don’t stop until he’s finished, twitching in your mouth, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. You finally pull away, wiping the corner of your mouth and crawl up to kiss his shoulder. He wraps you in his arms instantly, body still trembling.

“Jesus.” He whispers hoarsely. “You always…God, baby…”

“I love making you lose control.” You nuzzle into his chest.

He chuckles, voice thick with afterglow. “I’d let you ruin me any day.” And in that quiet moment, wrapped in his arms with the world outside forgotten, you know that no matter what else comes, Francisco Morales is yours entirely.

Harry Castillo (The Materialists)

The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan was draped in diamonds and light. The penthouse you shared with Harry was all cool stone and warm shadows, the quiet buzz of night muffled by wealth and glass. But inside, the only sound was your husband’s breath, shaky, shallow and growing more desperate by the second. He was sitting on the velvet chaise at the foot of your bed, shirt unbuttoned, trousers undone. The usual sharp edges of his persona, the tailored suit, the smirking control and the unreadable poker face, had already begun to crack.

Because you were on your knees between his thighs and he knew what you were about to do. He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it. That after the champagne galas, the art auctions, the millions signed away with a flick of his pen… this was still his favorite luxury.

You.

“You’re dangerous.” He murmured, voice low and words already coming out breathless.

“Then stop me.” You tilted your head, lips grazing the inside of his thigh.

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers wrapped around his cock. Already hard for you, always aching for you, his chest hitched with the first slow stroke. But when your mouth followed, lips parting as you took him in with a practiced ease, that control, the tight grip he kept on everything, slowly began to slip.

“Shit!” Harry gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not pushing, just anchoring, like he needed the touch to survive. “Baby, you…God, your mouth…”

You hummed around him, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock. He whimpered at the sensation, that sharp gasp of his breaking into something soft and needy, utterly unlike the man he was in public. He trembled as you took him deeper, one hand sliding up his abdomen as his head tipped back against the velvet. He always looked expensive, even like this, his tan skin flushed, tie hanging loose, chest rising with shaky breaths. But you? You made him wrecked, completely unguarded and utterly yours.

“Please.” He whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t! I’m gonna…”

You didn't let up. If anything, you sucked harder and slower, teasing him right on the edge. His thighs began to shake beneath your palms, muscles twitching as you bobbed your head, hand stroking in rhythm. His moans spilled freely now, soft, broken and delicious.

Then came that sound. Your absolute favorite. A helpless trembling whimper from your husband’s lips as he finally surrendered to you. He came with a groan that dissolved into your name, thighs locking around your sides as he spilled into your mouth. You held him through it, taking everything he gave you, your fingers digging into his hips to ground him. When it was over, he slumped back, chest heaving. His hand slipped from your hair to cradle your cheek.

“You…” He rasped, voice ruined. “You are the death of me.”

“No, darling. I’m the reason you’re still breathing.” You wiped the corner of your mouth and smiled. And as you crawled into his lap and curled against his chest, Harry Castillo held you like he never wanted to let go, trembling still, undone by love dressed as sin.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)

The soft creak of the wooden floor beneath your feet echoes as you slowly make your way across the bedroom, your silky nightgown brushing your thighs like whispered promises. Jack’s eyes follow your every move from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hat off, hair slightly messy, white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the dusting of chest hair you love to nuzzle.

“Darlin’...” He drawls lowly, voice thick with affection and heat. “What are you up to with that look on your face?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead you slide between his knees, your palms gliding up his strong thighs, feeling the tension already building under your touch. His breath hitches, and he swallows hard, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips. “I just want to take care of my husband.” You purr, fingers teasing the belt buckle he hadn’t even gotten the chance to undo yet. “You’ve had a long day. Let me make it better.”

Jack’s hands instinctively move to your shoulders but you bat them away gently, giving him that commanding look he secretly loves so much. He leans back slightly, giving you the room you need while you work, opening his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free him. He’s already half-hard but the moment your tongue flicks along the underside of his shaft, he stiffens fully in your hand. “Shit…” He groans, eyes fluttering closed.

You hum around the tip, savoring the way his body reacts instantly, his thighs clenching, breath catching. You take him deeper, inch by inch, keeping your pace slow and steady, your eyes never leaving his.

Jack looks like he’s trying so hard to keep his composure but you can see it slipping with every pass of your tongue, every deep pull that has his hips twitching toward your mouth. “God, baby… You’re too good at that.” He whimpers, his Southern accent thickening as his grip on the bed sheets tightens.

You moan around him, feeling the subtle tremors that start in his thighs and work their way upward. His muscles are taut, like a bull rider trying not to be thrown, but you’ve tamed him long ago. “Please…” He gasps, voice wrecked now, head tipped back. “I-I can’t take much more, sugar…”

But that only spurs you on. You love watching him come undone, Agent Whiskey, the charmer with a gun and a grin, reduced to a shaking mess beneath your mouth. It’s intoxicating. You increase your pace slightly, one hand stroking what your mouth can’t take while the other massages his thigh, grounding him. He’s trembling now, hips jerking despite himself, soft broken moans spilling past those perfect lips.

“I’m…fuck! I’m gonna…”

You don’t let up. You want it all. You want to feel the exact moment he falls apart for you. And then it happens, his entire body goes taut for a split second and he cries out your name like a prayer, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping the sheets like a lifeline. You swallow everything he gives you, only pulling back once he’s gasping and twitching from overstimulation. You sit back on your heels, licking your lips slowly, just to tease him.

Jack’s chest heaves, sweat glistening on his brow, his shirt open now and clinging to his damp skin. He looks at you with glassy eyes, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. “Jesus Christ, woman.” he breathes, reaching down to pull you up into his arms. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Only the sweetest death there is.” You laugh softly, settling into his lap and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You better be ready to be repaid in full, darlin’. ‘Cause I ain’t letting you get away with that.” He chuckles, low and warm.

“I’m counting on it.” Your grin widens as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Your husband is a man of passion. He loves big, talks fast and feels everything. Javi Gutierrez is made of velvet emotion and fire-drenched sincerity, and in the privacy of your sunlit villa, behind golden curtains and marble walls, he gives every ounce of it to you.

But tonight, you’re the one who wants to give.

He sits at the edge of your bed, long curls still damp from a shower, his linen shirt hanging open, the soft light from your chandelier bathing his skin in gold. Javi’s eyes are wide as you sink to your knees before him, your hands on his thighs, your gaze locked with his.

“Mi amor…” He breathes, chest rising fast. “What are you…?”

“Let me worship you tonight.” You lean forward, kissing along the soft lines of his stomach.

That’s all it takes.

Javi’s voice catches in his throat. His hands hover awkwardly and reverently, like he’s afraid to break the spell. His cock is already half-hard in his pants and you make quick work of freeing him, palming him gently, marveling at the weight and heat of him in your hand. He watches you with that same awe he reserves for perfect film endings and rare collectibles like you’re a dream he hasn’t yet earned. But he has, he always has. You take your time. Your mouth is soft, your tongue deliberate, and he falls apart almost immediately. One hand fists in the sheets behind him, the other gripping your wrist as if to steady himself.

“Dios mío…” Javi moans, hips twitching under your touch. “You’re going to kill me.”

You hum around him, lips stretching into a smile, and he whimpers, actually whimpers, like he’s helpless against you. That sound sparks something hot and pleased in your chest. He’s a man who talks poetry, who commands respect, who lives in luxury and leads with kindness. But when he’s in your mouth, trembling and flushed, all he can do is feel.

“Please…please, cariño.” He gasps, his Spanish spilling between moans. “No pares. No pares, por favor…” Your hand strokes in tandem with your mouth, your lips moving wetly over him, savoring every twitch and shake of his body. Javi’s thighs tremble, his chest heaves and his voice, it’s ruined, barely coherent and calling your name like a prayer.

“I’m…ah, I’m going to…!”

You moan again, sending vibrations down his cock, and that’s it. Javi spills into your mouth with a strangled gasp, thighs tightening, hands fumbling to cradle your head as if to hold you in place through the pleasure. His cries are raw and broken, his usually lyrical voice reduced to ragged breaths and overwhelmed whimpers. You swallow every drop, slow and reverent, and only pull away once he’s fully spent. He collapses back on the bed, eyes wide and glassy, curls sticking to his flushed forehead. You crawl up beside him and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“That was…holy. You are holy, my love.” Javi stares at you like he’s still falling in love all over again.

“You say that every time.” You laugh, brushing his hair back.

“Because it’s true.” He whispers, pulling you close. “And every time, it’s more true than before.” And when he kisses you slowly and thankful, tasting himself on your lips, there’s no doubt that in his eyes, you are not just his wife.

You are everything.

Javier Peña (Narcos)

You know the weight he carries. The long nights, the empty bottles and the lies that crawl under his skin and make a home in his bones. Out there, he’s a man with a badge and a gun, sharp eyes and a faster mouth, always walking the line between justice and rage.

But here, in your bedroom, he’s just Javi.

And tonight, you want him to feel something good and something real. He’s already undone a few buttons of his shirt by the time you settle on your knees between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs. His breath catches like it always does when you touch him there, just above the buckle of his belt, fingers warm and teasing.

“Baby…” His voice is hoarse and warning, but weak.

“Let me.” You glance up, eyes locking with his.

He swallows, jaw tight, like he wants to say no, like he wants to act in control but his hands fall to his sides, fists clenching the sheets instead. That’s all the permission you need. You unbuckle his belt, pull his slacks open. He’s already getting hard and you haven't even kissed him yet. The pride that swells in your chest is molten and possessive. This man belongs to you and you’re going to remind him. You wrap your fingers around him first, stroking slowly, watching his breath stutter. He’s always so warm in your hand, heavy, pulsing and achingly responsive. Then your mouth follows. The moment your lips close around the head of his cock, Javier groans, low and broken. His hips jerk slightly, legs tensing beneath you and one hand slips into your hair but he doesn’t push, not yet, for now he just holds, as if grounding himself.

“Fuck…” He mutters. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You hum in response, swirling your tongue and taking him deeper. Every sound that slips from his throat spurs you on, the hitched breaths, the quiet curses and the soft gasp when you moan around him. Then he whimpers. It’s faint, almost swallowed by the sound of your mouth on him but it’s real. You glance up again and he looks so wrecked. Dark eyes glazed, his jaw slack, chest rising like he’s trying not to cry. His thighs tremble beneath your touch.

“You’re so fuckin’ good at this.” He breathes, voice shaking. “Too good.”

You pull back for a moment, just to whisper, “That’s the point.” Then you suck him deep, hollowing your cheeks, stroking him with your hand in tandem. Javier groans like he’s falling apart, his fingers tightening in your hair. And when he comes, he practically shakes. Hips jerking, thighs quaking, head thrown back as a raw cry breaks from his chest. You take it all, not stopping until he’s twitching, completely spent, and softly panting your name like a prayer. You pull off gently, licking the corner of your mouth and crawl up into his lap. He immediately wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

“Jesus…” He whispers, voice still wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

“Not kill you, Javi. Just keep you alive.” You smile, running your fingers through his hair. And for once, he doesn’t have a smart reply. He just holds you closer, trembling still and lets you love him.

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

The world’s quiet tonight.

The fire in your safehouse crackles low, shadows dancing along the walls. Joel sits on the edge of the mattress with his back to you, elbows on his knees, shirt sticking to his back from the long day’s heat. He’s tired. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his hands hang loose between his legs. But you also see the tension. That wired stillness in him. He’s always carrying something too heavy for one man, guilt, pain and survival. And even with you, it never quite leaves his bones.

So you cross the floor, kneel behind him, and press your hands to his thighs. Joel flinches, just slightly, but he doesn’t stop you. You trail your hands up, around to the button of his jeans and he lets out a low breath. “What’re you doin’, baby?”

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper.

He doesn't answer. Just leans back a little, enough for you to slide between his legs, enough for his body to say what words won’t, yes, God fucking yes. You work his jeans open slowly, feeling the way his breath shifts when you graze over him. He’s already hardening beneath your touch, already aching for the softness he only lets you see. You pull him free, thick and heavy in your hand, and look up at him. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes shut like he’s trying to hold something in. You give him one slow stroke and his thighs tense on either side of you.

“Damn…” He mutters under his breath, barely audible. “You gonna make me beg?”

You just smile. Then you take him into your mouth. Joel grunts, low and gravelly, hand flying to your hair out of reflex. Not to push, not to guide bust to hold. Anchor himself as your mouth sinks lower, your lips warm and wet around him, your tongue teasing every inch.

“Shit!” He rasps. “That mouth…” You work him slow at first, bobbing your head with a rhythm that builds, steady and hungry. His hips shift with you, not thrusting, but twitching when you suck him harder, your hand stroking what you can’t take yet. Joel’s breathing grows ragged. His free hand clenches the sheet beneath him. The muscles in his thighs start to tremble.

Then you hear it, his voice cracking. A whimper pulled from deep in his chest, like it slipped past his defenses before he could choke it down. You moan around him in response and he shudders. His grip in your hair tightens, his whole body going taut. “Fuck, baby…please.” He groans. “I can’t…‘m close…”

You don’t let up. You suck him deeper, sloppier now, stroking him in time with your mouth. And Joel falls apart. He comes with a broken moan, hips stuttering, thighs shaking around you, a low whimper tearing from his throat as he spills into your mouth. You take it all, every last drop. When you finally pull back, Joel looks like a man undone. Hair damp, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his temple. You crawl into his lap and rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps both arms around you without a word.

Just breathless whispers. Just comforting heartbeats. Just him and you.

After a long silence, he whispers. “You’re the only thing in this world that still feels good.” And you hold him tighter, knowing you’ll keep giving him that, again and again, until the world ends or he’s finally free.

Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)

The armor always comes off slow. Piece by piece, you help him shed the weight of war. The heavy cuirass first, the thick leather straps, the shoulder guards smudged with the dust of the Colosseum. It’s a quiet ritual by now, your hands sure, his eyes always watching you like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Hard day?” You ask softly.

Marcus exhales through his nose. “Victorious.” He mutters. “But I feel no lighter.” That’s all he says. That’s all he ever needs to say.

You guide him to sit, still shirtless and flushed from the heat of battle. The moonlight slips through the balcony curtains and washes over him in silver. He looks like something sculpted by the heavens, beautiful but tense and tired. But you know how to undo him. You drop to your knees before him, your hands gliding over his strong thighs. He stiffens, slightly startled. “You don’t need to…”

“I want to.” You interrupt, voice low and sure. “Let me have this, Marcus.”

His jaw clenches. Always so composed. Even now, his war-hardened body is strung tight like a bow. But he gives a small nod, a sign of surrendering himself to you. That’s all the permission you need. You unlatch the leather waistband of his under-tunic, eyes never leaving his. He’s already getting hard, and you stroke him slowly and deliberately, watching his breath hitch as your hand wraps around him. He tries not to react at first. The stoic soldier in him holds the line.

Until your mouth replaces your hand.

Marcus shudders. “Gods…” He groans, one large hand flexing at his side, the other twitching like it wants to bury itself in your hair but can’t quite dare. “You’re… wicked.” You hum around him and he jerks, hips jolting forward as a broken sound slips past his lips. It starts quiet. A low growl. But with every stroke of your tongue, every wet glide of your lips around him, Marcus’ composure begins to crack. His thighs tremble under your palms. He tries to brace himself, feet planted, spine straight but his breaths come faster and shorter. You suck him deeper, easing him slowly to the back of your throat and that’s when it happens.

A soft wrecked whimper leaves him, not loud but real. Your strong towering husband, the scourge of Gaul and Rome’s favored son, whimpers for you. You glance up and see him undone, flushed face, wide eyes and jaw slack as if he doesn’t recognize the sound he just made. “Don’t stop.” He pants. “Please…”

You don’t. You take him in again, deeper this time, hand stroking what you can’t reach. He’s losing it now, gripping the edge of the carved wooden bench, knuckles white, muttering curses in Latin between hitched breaths. “Dulcis deorum.” He gasps. “I…I'm going to…ah!” He comes hard, trembling with it, thighs shaking as he spills down your throat with a cry that borders on a sob. You don’t pull back until he’s spent, until his body finally slackens, overcome by the pleasure you dragged out of him like a blade from its sheath.

When you rise and crawl into his lap, Marcus clutches you like a man who barely survived. He buries his face in your neck, his voice hoarse against your skin. “You undo me. More than any enemy ever could.”

“Good. That’s how I like you.” You smile into his hair. And he laughs, quiet, breathless and grateful, as you cradle your war-god husband in the arms of peace.

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

The house is quiet tonight. Missy’s with her cousins having a sleepover. The city’s at peace for once. And Marcus, your dear husband, is home for the night, not just physically but fully present, all the weight of his armor and his responsibilities finally set aside. You find him in the bedroom, fresh from the shower, towel hanging loose around his hips, dark curls still damp. He looks at you the way he always does when the world fades, like you’re his grounding point, his true north.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiles, soft and tired.

You don’t answer, not right away. You cross the room, letting your fingertips graze down his chest, slow and silent. You feel the way his breath catches when you dip lower, nails gently teasing down his stomach. Marcus watches you, his expression already shifting into a curious one and albeit a little flustered as well.

“Sit.” You whisper. He obeys without question, lowering himself to the edge of the bed. You kneel before him. His eyes widened slightly, his body stiffening. “You sure? We don’t have to…”

“I want to.” Your voice is firm and certain. “Let me take care of you, Marcus.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. “Okay.” You tug the towel from his waist slowly and reverently, exposing him. He’s already half-hard from just your attention, so responsive as always. You stroke him gently, feeling him thicken under your hand, watching the muscles in his thighs twitch.

You lean in and kiss the tip of him, and Marcus groans quietly. “God, babe…” You take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch. You use your hand at the base, matching the rhythm of your lips. He gasps when you swirl your tongue along the underside of him.

“Fuck…” He mutters, already unraveling. You look up at him and what you see makes your heart thrum. His head is tipped back slightly, brows drawn together, breath stuttering. You keep going, slow and focused, letting the room fill with wet, quiet sounds and the softest little noises from him.

Then comes the first whimper. It’s small and raw. He tries to bite it back but it breaks out of him anyway, half-lost in a shaky moan. Your husband, the brave, calm and ever-gentle Marcus, whimpers under your mouth.

“Baby…” He gasps, hand finding your hair but not guiding, just holding, holding like he’ll lose himself if he doesn’t. You hum around him, suck him deeper, and his thighs begin to shake. His whole body is quivering now, his composure slipping with every pass of your lips. “Please, I…God, I’m gonna…” He chokes out.

You don’t stop. You want this, want him to let go, to fall apart in your care. And when he comes, it’s with a desperate cry, trembling beneath your hands, moaning your name like he can’t hold anything back anymore. You stay with him through every pulse, every broken breath until he’s spent and shivering in the best way. You pull back, licking your lips and crawl up into his lap. He clutches you instantly, arms wrapping around your waist, burying his face in your neck.

He breathes you in like you’re oxygen. “Every time…” He whispers, voice still rough. “You make me feel so damn safe.”

You kiss his temple and smile. “That’s because you are.” And he holds you tighter, trembling still, your name a soft chant on his tongue.

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

Your husband is always a gentleman. He opens doors, brushes your hair back from your face, brings you flowers even after the longest days. Marcus Pike, art crimes agent, hopeless romantic, doting spouse, always composed and always in control.

But tonight… tonight you want to take that from him.

He’s home late, tie loosened, jacket tossed carelessly on the armchair. His shirt half-unbuttoned already, revealing that smooth chest you know so well. He looks tired, yes, but when he sees you, waiting on your knees at the foot of the bed, something shifts in his expression.

“Sweetheart? What are you…” His voice trails off.

You smile, slow and wicked. “Sit.” Marcus’s throat bobs, yet doesn’t say anything and merely obeys. You rise just long enough to undo his belt, his button, his zipper, deliberate, patient and dragging it out. You can feel the tension roll through him but he doesn’t stop you. His breath stutters when you tug his pants and briefs down, freeing him, already hard and already flushed.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” You murmur, stroking him once and slowly, watching his hips twitch. “Let me take care of you, Marcus.”

His eyes flutter shut at your touch. “God, I love you.” Then your mouth replaces your hand. Marcus lets out a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, his hand flying to your hair, not to push, just to anchor himself. His breath comes fast and unsteady, as you swirl your tongue along his shaft and suck him in deeper.

“Shit, baby…” He pants.

You hum around him, slow and steady, building a rhythm. He’s falling apart already, trying to stay composed, trying to be your sweet calm husband. But it’s slipping. You feel it in the way his thighs tighten under your hands, in the way his hips shift forward without meaning to. When you take him deeper, your throat relaxes to accommodate him, that’s when it happens. A sharp whimper escapes him. Your name tumbles out of his mouth right after, broken and needy. You glance up, his head’s tipped back, flushed face lit by the warm glow of the bedroom lamp, lips parted in helpless surrender. You press one hand to his stomach, keeping him grounded and work him harder, your mouth, your hand, your tongue driving him to the edge.

“I’m close.” He gasps. “I…oh, please, I’m…!”

Marcus comes with a deep, wrecked moan, his whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you swallow him down. His voice cracks around your name, and for a moment, all he can do is hold on. You ease him through it gently, until he’s panting and pliant, fingers still buried in your hair. When you crawl up into his lap, he wraps his arms around you like he never wants to let go.

“You make me lose my mind.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

You smile against his jaw. “That’s the point.” And he laughs, soft and breathless, kissing your forehead like you’re the greatest thing he’s ever known.

Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)

You always know when he’s had a long night. Max saunters in, lips still red from feeding, suit crisp as ever. He acts like the king of every room he walks into, even when it’s just your living room, low-lit and humming with quiet anticipation. You’re curled on the couch, waiting with a silk robe draped over your shoulders like a second skin.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” He grins with that wicked sharp smile.

“Maybe.” You arch a brow.

He’s beside you in a blink, using that vampire speed of his but you don’t flinch, you never do. He might tower over everyone else but with you? Max softens, just a little, that cocky confidence wavers under your gaze.

“You look like you need to relax.” You murmur, fingers already brushing along his belt.

He huffed a laugh. “You offering to rub my shoulders, babe? Or…?”

“Not exactly.” Your fingers undo his belt with a practiced flick.

Max stills, eyes beginning to burn with lust and desire. “Oh.”

You rise, guide him backward until he sits, sprawled out on the couch like some smug executive on a throne. But even he can’t hide the hitch in his breath when you sink to your knees between his legs, hands on his thighs, mouth tilted in a sinful smile. “Let me take care of you tonight.” You say, voice honey-slick and low.

Max watches you, something hungry and reverent in his eyes. He starts cocky because he’s always cocky. “You know, I usually like to be in charge…” You trail your nails up his thighs. He groans softly and less smug now. You make him wait. You kiss his inner thigh, his hip bone, teasing him until he’s squirming beneath your touch. His hand curls into the couch cushion, trying to stay cool.

But you see the twitch in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes and the way his fangs slightly descend when he exhales hard through his nose. “Still in charge?” You whisper, voice feather-light.

He swallows hard. “You’re playing dirty.”

“You like it.”

You finally give him what he wants but on your terms, your pace and your rhythm. You drag it out until he’s trembling, his cock throbbing under your touch, his breath stuttering with every slow wicked pass of your mouth. The bravado slips first. Then the smirk. Then the whimper, quiet, and bitten off but real.

“God, please…” He rasps. “You’re… killing me here.”

You glance up at him, lips slick, eyes sharp. “You’re already dead, Max.”

He laughs, choked and breathless, and then moans again when you swallow him down deeper. He’s trembling now, every part of him was. The vampire who usually has people begging him? Was now begging for you, whimpering your name like a prayer and hands fisting helplessly at his sides. And when he finally lets go, it’s like the world shatters. He spills into your mouth with a cry, a broken desperate sound you know he’d never make for anyone else. When it’s over, you crawl into his lap, straddling him while he recovers.

“That was… you’re insane.” Max’s voice is hoarse.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You married me.”

“Best bad decision I’ve ever made.” His fangs flash and he kisses you like he’s starving.

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

The world always sees Maxwell Lord in control, slick, polished and commanding. The business mogul who bends empires to his will with charm and sheer ambition. But that’s not the man who stumbles into your shared penthouse tonight, tie crooked, energy drained and gold cufflinks still gleaming despite the weight in his shoulders. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, exhaustion giving way to something more tender, a longing only you get to see.

You meet him at the door, cup his jaw in your hand and kiss him slowly and unhurried, letting your touch pull him back to earth. “Rough day?” You murmur.

“You could say that.” He chuckles low.

You trail your fingers down the front of his shirt, loosening the last buttons one by one. He lets you, he always does. That’s part of the magic, how he hands you the reins without a word. “You work so hard.” You say, voice barely a whisper, lips brushing his throat. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

His breath hitches. “Sweetheart…” But he doesn’t stop you, he never does.

You guide him to the edge of the bed, sit him down. He watches as you kneel between his legs, wide-eyed now, hands twitching with restraint. It’s not every day the king kneels before the queen but he looks at you like you are his goddess. “Relax.” You whisper, working open his belt. “Let go for me.”

“You know I can't say no to you.” Max swallows thickly.

You smirk. “I’m counting on that.” You take your time. He’s always been a man of theatrics and spectacle but here, like this, it’s the quiet that breaks him. The soft sounds of your breath, the glide of your hands, your mouth wrapping around him with slow devastating precision. He groans, head falling back. You suck gently then deeper, letting your tongue drag along his length, your pace maddeningly slow and controlled. He’s the one who usually negotiates, commands and most of the time wins, but now he’s gasping, trembling under your touch, undone by nothing but your mouth and the soft scrape of your nails along his thighs.

“God, baby…please…” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for but he knows he just wants more, more from just you. Your name spills from his lips in a whimper, helpless and reverent. That control he wields in boardrooms and on live TV? Gone. You watch him break beautifully. Every shaky exhale, every desperate buck of his hips, every whispered plea just for you. You hold his gaze when he comes apart, trembling violently, spilling with a cry into your mouth. His hands grab at the sheets, at the air, anywhere but you, because touching you might shatter him completely.

You only pull away when he’s too spent to breathe. He collapses backward and feeling completely boneless, hair damp with sweat, chest rising and falling in rapid uneven waves. You climb into his lap and he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, his anchor, his peace and his undoing. “Who’s in charge now?” You tease, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I’d give you the whole world if you asked.” He huffs a weak laugh.

You smile. “I only ever wanted you.” And for once, Maxwell Lord is speechless.

Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)

You can always tell when Lucien’s been fighting his ghosts. He slips in through the side door like he’s still half-lost in shadow, shirt soaked from rain, curls clinging to his forehead. His eyes are distant and hollow, almost, but they soften when they find you. You're the only thing in this world he believes might be real, might be good.

You take his hand without a word. Guide him through the darkened halls of your estate. You say nothing as you peel off his wet coat, undo the buttons of his shirt, kiss the bruises on his soul he refuses to name. He doesn’t resist, never with you.

Lucien De Leon, the same man the town gossips and whispers about, becomes something else in your presence, something quieter and fragile almost. You push him gently to sit on the edge of your bed. The storm outside throws shadows across his face, thunder rumbling in the distance. “Let me make you feel something else.” You whisper, fingers already working at his belt.

He opens his mouth to protest but no sound comes out, he just nods. You kneel between his knees, ghosting your lips over his stomach as you free him from the last layers of fabric. His breath catches, chest rising and falling in tight, shallow pulls. You can feel the tension wound through him, grief, rage and fear, and you want to unravel it, unravelling him. Your mouth wraps around him slowly and purposefully.

Lucien curses under his breath. He doesn’t make loud noises, he never has. He withholds but with you, that control frays. You work him with your lips and your tongue, dragging soft moans from him like secrets. His fingers twitch in the sheets, clenching when you suck harder, flick your tongue just right. His thighs tremble and his breath stutters. He whimpers your name like he’s praying with it.

“You’re safe.” You murmur between kisses along his length. “You’re mine.”

“Y-Yes…” He breathes, voice cracking. “Always.” You take him deeper and he gasps, sharp and broken. You see the tears shining at the corners of his eyes, not from pain but release. He’s not used to gentleness. He’s not used to this, being worshipped, cherished and made to feel. His whole body trembles as he spills, clutching at your wrist like a lifeline. You don’t move, you merely hold him through it, kiss him through it.

When you finally climb up beside him, he pulls you to his chest like he might fall apart otherwise. “Tell me I’m still here.” He whispers.

“You’re here.” You kiss his lips, his temple and his scars. “You’re mine. And I’ll always bring you back.” You say. Lucien closes his eyes, trembling still, but now it’s not fear, it’s surrender.

Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)

The candlelight paints his skin gold. Oberyn lounges on silken cushions, robe half-undone, one leg lazily draped over the side of the bed. The warm breeze from the Dornish night carries the scent of sun-warmed citrus and sandalwood through the open windows but your eyes are only on him. Your husband. Your prince. Your ruin, if he had his way.

“You’re staring, my love.” He smirks when he catches you watching.

“I always do.” You murmur, stepping forward. “You like to be looked at.”

“Of course. I’m beautiful.” He says, shameless and grinning. But that smile falters, just slightly, when you kneel at the foot of the bed.

You part his robe with slow, reverent hands. He watches you with those dark molten eyes, like he’s daring you to continue. Testing the edges of your boldness. “You’ve been hunting all day.” You say, your fingers brushing his thighs. “But I think it’s time I hunted you.”

“Careful, my sweet. You may find more than you bargained for.” He raises a brow, his voice already rougher.

“I always do.” You whisper, lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of his hip. “And I always conquer it.” You begin slowly, too slowly for him. Your lips trace every inch of him that isn’t already kissed by the sun. Every breath he takes grows shallower and his hand tightens in the sheets, not in command but restraint. He is usually the one who takes lovers apart piece by piece, smiling as they unravel.

But this?

This is different.

You wrap your mouth around him, warm and slick and unhurried. Oberyn hisses between his teeth, hips twitching before he clamps down on the urge to move. His control is legendary, on the battlefield, in politics, in bed. But you know him. You know just how to undo him. You hum around him, slow and sensual, tongue teasing in maddening circles. His head tips back against the cushions.

“Gods…” He breathes. “You…”

You don’t let him finish. You deepen the rhythm, watching him unravel. The Red Viper trembles beneath your hands, knees slightly shaking as his composure slips. A groan escapes him, rich, needy and vulnerable. “Look at you.” You purr between strokes. “So powerful. So desperate for me.”

Oberyn whimpers, a sound that would never escape his lips for anyone else. “You’ll be the death of me.” His voice is raw.

You glance up, lips slick, smiling. “Then die slowly, my love.” He moans again, deeper now, as his body tenses, shaking with the edge of release. His thighs flex, his hands grasp the bedclothes like a drowning man reaching for shore. You hold him there, trembling, breathless, whispering praises against his skin until he finally lets go with a cry, a sound ripped from his throat like confession.

When it’s over, he collapses back, dazed, eyes glazed and chest rising fast. You kiss his thigh, then his stomach and crawl up beside him. He pulls you close, flushed and breathless, eyes still wide with wonder. “Seven hells…” He whispers into your hair. “Remind me never to anger you.”

“Oh, but I want you trembling.” You laugh softly against his skin.

And Oberyn, wild and untamable to the world, whispers into your ear.

“Only for you.”

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

They call your husband a brute behind his back.

A killer.

A sword arm.

A grumbling wall of muscle and scars.

And he is to them. But to you? Pero Tovar is something else entirely. That’s why he says your name so quietly when he returns from the battlefield, armor dusted in ash and sweat. That’s why his hands fall to his sides when you approach, letting you take the blade from his belt, the weight from his shoulders. That’s why he doesn’t flinch when you push him gently into a chair, eyes burning into his, your touch firm and loving.

“You’re safe now.” You whisper, fingers sliding under the layers of his armor, tugging each strap loose. “Let me take care of you.” He watches you with the wary awe of a man who’s never known softness, never been allowed to need. But he nods, always for you.

You kneel before him slowly. His breath hitches at the sight. “Mi amor…” His voice is gravel, either a warning or a plea, you can’t tell.

You smile, kiss the scarred skin at his hip as you work to open his trousers. “Let me worship you.” Your mouth is hot, soft and reverent. You take him slowly and deliberately, letting your tongue drag with practiced intent. His hands clench on the armrests, shoulders tightening.

“You don’t have to be strong here.” You murmur against his length causing him to shudder. You deepen the rhythm, taking him farther, letting him feel everything, the wet heat of your mouth, the tenderness behind every movement. He’s panting now, breath broken, gaze locked to you like he doesn’t know whether to beg for mercy or more. You hollow your cheeks and suck harder.

And your husband whimpers. The sound is raw, torn from somewhere deep, the kind of sound no one has ever heard from him but you. His thighs shake and his hands tremble. He whispers your name like a vow, like it’s the only thing tethering him to this world. “Please…” He gasps, not even sure what he’s asking for.

You don’t stop. You want him to fall apart. You want this hardened warrior to break for you and he does. His whole body arches forward as he spills, jaw slack as a moan half-choked in his throat. You don’t pull away until he’s utterly undone, ruined at your feet, breathless and wide-eyed.

When you rise and cup his flushed face, he leans into your touch like a man starved. “I don’t deserve you.” He murmurs in a ragged breath.

You kiss his lips, slow and deep. “You deserve to be loved, Pero. Even the strongest men fall.” He buries his face against your shoulder, arms wrapping around you tightly, trembling, vulnerable and utterly yours.

Always.

Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)

Reed’s mind is always elsewhere. Equations trail behind his eyes even when he’s beside you in bed. His thoughts stretch as far as his fingers, reaching through time, gravity and theoretical dimensions. He’s a genius, yes. But more often than not, he forgets he has a body, that he too has needs as well.

That’s where you come in.

He’s distracted tonight, brow furrowed as he pours over holographic data screens in the lab, fingers tapping out calculations so fast they blur. But when you step in barefoot, in nothing but one of his shirts and a look he can’t quite decode, you see the way he stalls. You feel the change. “Reed.” You say, soft and steady, walking toward him. “You're thinking too loud again.”

“I’m just finishing one last model…” His mouth quirks.

You slide between his legs where he sits on the bench stool. “No, you’re not.” He blinks. And when you press your palm to his chest, warm and grounding, you watch his whole system short-circuit. You kiss him, slow and sweet. He sighs into your mouth, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for something but doesn’t know what.

So you kneel. He exhales a shaky breath. “Darling…”

You look up, your hands already easing his waistband open. “Let me take care of you.” He groans, not just from pleasure but from surrender. Because when your mouth wraps around him, Reed’s brilliant mind goes blank. He braces his hands on the table behind him, knuckles white. His breath catches and you feel it, the tension, the vulnerability he keeps locked away with science and logic. You stroke him slowly, lips tight, tongue circling just right until his legs begin to tremble beneath you.

“You’re incredible…” He murmurs, voice already cracking.

You hum around him, watching the flush bloom across his cheeks, the way his hips jerk despite his best efforts. He's falling apart for you, Mr. Fantastic, greatest mind in the galaxy, reduced to gasps and moans under your tongue.

“Please…” He breathes, voice thin and high. “I c-can’t…” He whimpers when you don’t stop. That’s what you want, not just his body but his surrender. When he finally comes, it hits him like a wave. You feel the quake of it through his thighs, the ragged groan pulled from his throat, the raw need in how he says your name.

Afterward, he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping tightly around you. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He whispers into your neck.

You smile, brushing his hair back. “You don’t need to solve that one.” And for once, Reed Richards doesn’t have an answer. Just soft kisses and gratitude.

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)

It always fascinated you, how Tim could stay so calm and so controlled, even when the world was crumbling around him. The headlines, the secrets, the ever-present mystery of that damned mansion he’s been assigned to investigate.

But not here and certainly not with you.

Here, in your quiet bedroom, beneath warm lamplight and linen sheets, he isn’t Detective Rockford. He’s just Tim, your dear lovely husband. And when you step between his knees, eyes focused, fingers gently brushing his collar, you see the walls start to crack.

“You’ve been too tense lately.” You whisper, brushing your lips against his. “Let me help you forget.”

“You always see right through me.” He exhales shakily, already affected.

You smile. “I always see you.” You kiss him again, slow and deliberate as your hands glide down his chest. He starts to speak but the words catch when you sink slowly to your knees in front of him. Your hands find his belt and he makes a sound low in his throat, fingers twitching against the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to do this.” He murmurs, though his voice is already fraying.

You look up through your lashes. “I want to.” And then your mouth wraps around him, warm and tender, taking him in with slow reverence. His breath punches out in a gasp, head falling back against the headboard. He’s so used to controlling, to orchestrating the chaos but now, he’s unraveling in your hands.

You suck gently, tongue flicking in delicate circles. His thighs tense as his hands fist the sheets. “God…” He chokes out, voice already trembling. “Sweetheart…” You hum around him, loving the way his legs begin to shake, how his chest rises in ragged bursts. Tim Rockford, whose face could lie to the world, now moans brokenly just for you.

“Please.” He whispers, barely audible. “I c-can’t…!” He whimpers, sharp and desperate, and that’s when you know you’ve taken him to the edge. You don’t stop until his whole body tenses, hips jerking forward with a deep, shuddering cry of your name. You hold him there, letting him fall apart in your mouth, your hands, your care. When it’s over, he collapses back, completely silent except for the shaky breaths and the soft, awed whisper. “You ruin me…”

You climb into his lap, kissing the corner of his damp temple. “I put you back together too.” You whisper.

And he nods, resting his forehead against yours, trembling arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I know.” He says. “You always do.”

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whoredyceps · 2 months ago

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“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

» if there was a column people waited to read every week, it was yours. famed sex-columnist, and the heart of new york city's dating scene, you give a play by play of your love life and what it all means. the readers of your column begin to notice a reoccurring character, beyond the flings and awkward second chances. will he become the main character, or are you doomed to croon about the tragic dating scene?

» author's note: this is a new series i'm staring based off this post i made! it's a 'sex and the city' based fic series. each entry is a different character from the ppcu, so each chapter will focus on a character. they will all be standalone fics, and you don't have to watch sex and the city to understand the plot. let me know your thoughts! :)

» the playlist link

⌕ old dogs, new tricks ༝ joel miller

⌕ easy come, easy go ༝ javier peña

⌕ time and punishment ༝ din djarin

⌕ plus one is the loneliest number ༝ oberyn martell

⌕ the fuck buddy ༝ frankie morales

⌕ take me out to the ballgame ༝ jack daniels

⌕ what goes around comes around ༝ marcus acacius

⌕ the baby shower ༝ reed richards

⌕ just say yes ༝ clint

⌕ coulda, woulda, shoulda ༝ lucien de leon

⌕ the domino effect ༝ javi gutierrez

⌕ out of the frying pan ༝ the epilouge

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javierpenaispunk · 1 month ago

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Here’s a list of some my favorite fics written by very talented people. It will be updated regularly with new fics but also with some older ones as I am trying to catch up with the ones I missed.

Some fics are tagged as mature so please do not read/interact with these works if you are under 18.

If you enjoyed any of these fics as much as I did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors ♡

• Joel Miller

• Javier Peña

• Frankie Morales

• Javi Gutierrez

• Din Djarin

• Marcus Pike

• Oberyn Martell

• Dieter Bravo

• Dave York

• Agent Whiskey

• Ezra

• Max Phillips

• Lucien de Leon

• General Acacius

(More characters coming soon)

#joel miller x reader #javier peña x reader #frankie morales x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #din djarin x reader #marcus pike x reader #oberyn martell x reader #dave york x reader #dieter bravo x reader #agent whiskey x reader #ezra x reader #max phillips x reader #lucien de leon x reader #general acacius x reader #fic recs #fic recs masterlist

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blckbrrybasket · 1 year ago

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can you do odd!reader responding to her partner w/ a breeding kink?

absolutely! im so so sorry for taking the longest amount of time to respond to this anon </3

odd!reader not picking up stuff is so real to me

Fem, Masc, and Gn reader featured

[fem/afab]

God you were so pretty, was all he could think. Even from the back you were utterly beautiful. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand crept around your hip to draw shapes on your clit. Seeing the way your folds stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your cunt. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good mom.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “I’m on birth control…and we’re not ready to be parents.”

If he hadn’t been balls deep in you he might have laughed. His hips snapped before slowing down in shock. “No it’s- it’s just dirty talk, babe. A saying?” You blinked as the cogs in your brain turned, a smile brightening your features once you realized. “Oh! Okay.”

Seeing you move on so swiftly had him shaking his head and beginning to thrust into you again. His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he focused on how you clenched around his dick, fucking through his confusion. It wouldn’t be the first nor last time it happened.

[masc/amab]

God you were so handsome, was all he could think. Even from the back you truly were attractive. His cock continued thrusting into your walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. His hand thumb rested at the top of your ass, watching the lube drooling out over his cock. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside your ass. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good dad.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “That’s not possible….and we’re not ready to be parents.”

[gender neutral]

God you were so hot, was all he could think. Even from the back you were captivating. His cock continued thrusting into your slick walls. He’d slide his dick out till it was just his tip notched inside your entrance before pounding back in. It was a hypnotizing rhythm that had you drooling into the pillow beneath you.

The other pillow held your hips up, keeping you presented nicely for him. Seeing the way you stretched around him made his dick twitch inside you. “Fuuuck. Gonna fill you with up yeah? Have you carry my babies? D’be such a good parent.” He choked out without a second thought.

He, of course, was the only one not giving it a second thought. You always gave it a second thought though. Craning your neck, you shot an almost worried look over your shoulder. “We’re not ready to be parents.”

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sugadolly · 2 years ago

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i think i need someone older ⸜❤︎⸝‍

#it’s giving dbf!#mi amor pedrito :(#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey #jack daniels #javier peña #kingsman #narcos #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels smut #javier peña smut

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reveluvjay · 2 months ago

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I did it last year. I'm doing it this year. In honor of pooh bears birthday, the big 50, here are MORE reaction pics of Pedro you can use in... Honestly idk what situation. Surprise me.

And a bonus bc I never recovered from this

#pedro pascal #happy birthday #din djarin #javier peña #javier gutierrez #marcus moreno #marcus acacius #agent whiskey #shane dio morrissey #joel miller x reader #agent whiskey x reader #maxwell lord #din djarin x reader

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iamasaddie · 2 months ago

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1. Criminal Paris. Javi has been trying to catch the quiet killer that’s been always a step ahead of him. When he does catch him, it’s because of a lust-filled mistake. He sees Clint fucking you, Javi’s informant, in a dark alleyway and he’s not sure what he wants to do next.

2. Ancient Paris. Acacius is well aware of the prizes his men take for themselves after conquering another city. But when he sees you in his loyal soldier’s arms, he really wants to be the one to claim you.

3. Rivaling Paris. Professor Reed couldn’t be jealous of his brother. It was illogical. He had a stable job, a gorgeous wife, friends. Yet, when he sees you on the arm of his deadbeat twin Lucien that barely has a couple hundreds to his name, he can’t keep the envy at bay.

4. Spoiled Paris. Harry had promised Dieter that he’d always take care of him. Would always look after his little brother whatever it takes. ‘What’s mine is yours’, he’d always say. But what happens when Dieter wants something that money can’t buy? Harry’s new girlfriend, you.

5. Undercover Paris. Someone was leaking secret data out and Tim got fed up with it. He became paranoid, suspecting every person in his unit including you, his secretary. Yet, he didn’t expect to find you in bed with an agent he fired years ago, learning that you both went rogue.

6. Family Paris. Marcus was good for you. He was kind, sweet, caring. He gave you so much love and adoration. But he just didn’t have that sharp edge his dad, Joel, did.

7. Secret Paris. Two agents who were very good at their job got assigned to one case; and that case was you. What happens when the lines between what’s right and wrong blur, and hatred becomes something else?

8. Flying Paris. You shouldn’t have stepped inside the cockpit when you heard the pilots arguing. You knew Frankie and Din rarely got along. And when you got caught in middle of the crossfire, they used you as a white flag until the plane landed.

9. Royal Paris. Oberyn thought he could have anyone he wanted whenever he wanted. But when you refuse joining his orgy in favor of spending time with the stable boy Zachariah, he’s proven wrong. Instead of holding a grudge, he decides to visit you both at the stables, and he is not disappointed.

————

thanks to @fifers05 for coming up with the most brilliant meme ever that inspired me to do this

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missyorkswhore · 3 months ago

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JESUS CHRIST

#pedro pascal #pedrohub #HANDS #so hot omg #dbf joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #javier pena x reader #javier peña narcos #javier peña #javi gutierrez x reader #agent whiskey fic #happy frankie friday

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lottiesliterature · 4 months ago

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#needthat

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pedrosyouknowwhat · 3 months ago

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Who owns you?

Summary: You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war

warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder of unnamed characters (community), kidnapping, man handling, gang bang (not in this chapter but yeah), humiliation, virginity loss, reader being basically a sex slave, unprotected p in v, threats, darkness overall

series masterlist

Your boots padded on the uneven ground as your heart hammered on your chest, what was left of your community rising in flames. Once the habitat of the most prosperous survivors of the Cordyceps outbreak, reduced to ashes and death; and you, it's only remain.

You didn't even know of what you were running from, just doing it the second the alarms went off; it meant chaos, worse, Raiders.

That was what spared you. Your short flowy dress snagged on branches, red cowboy boots that were mostly a fashion statement proving themselves not ideal as you stumbled face first into the cold, sharp ground.

"What do we got here?" You heard a thick accent drawl, and your shivering body jolts your head upwards. A man, wearing a thin striped shirt and a thick, beige vest; His eyes are shaded by dark sunglasses and all that is recognizable is a thick mustache and a curved nose. "Are you alright?"

The rifle on his hand looks at you threateningly, as you retreat on bruised knees; The man takes off his glasses, realizing how intimidating he looked. "Oh-I'm sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you."

You slowed your movements, gazing up at him, studying him. His chuckle still pulled at his lips softly. "I-I, My home-My home is being invaded by raiders."

You spluttered, and his eyes soften in understatement, body crouching to lift you off the ground. His arms were strong and tanned, and the way his hands wrapped around your arms gave your mind the slight fuzziness of comfort.

"Anyone with you?" He asked, his accent so foreign, you shook your head. "Alright, let me take you somewhere safe, mhm? can you tell me slowly what happened? My name's Javi, by the way"

You nodded, mouth blabbering everything you could remember, from the siren to the gunshots ringing to the fire; his hands never leaving your skin as he softly nudged you to follow him. He cooed at you, face scrunch in worry.

You didn't realize you were walking back into camp until the smoke hit your nose, making your head snap around wildly.

"Javi?" You ask, the name sounding bitterly in your tongue as you see him, lips pressed into a thin line to suppress laughter. Panic fuels into you as you see the group of men, thrashing the city. The boutiques, the stores, everything you knew.

Their gaze fall on you. Slowly, one by one, as they arise from the remains of your town; they are like walking dead, eyes hungry. You realized Javi's grip on you had become tighter, stopping you from moving.

His laughter rings in your ear as his arms envelop you, making it harder to breath. The man around you crowd closer, and you see flashes of your faces as the fear of the imminent swoons over you. You faint, knowing as soon as your eyes shut together that you are going to regret it.

The man, Javi, holds you tightly as you feel your knees buckle and your vision starts to swim. His strong arms keep you upright, even as the world around you begins to spin and darken at the edges.

Javi's voice reaches your ears, muffled and distant, as if he's speaking to you from the bottom of a deep well. "Easy there, sweetheart. I got you. You're safe now."

As your vision fades and your consciousness slips away, the last thing you see is the leering, hungry faces of the men surrounding you, their eyes glinting with a predatory light. The last thing you hear is Javi's low, rumbling chuckle, filled with a dark amusement that sends a shiver of dread down your spine.

The world goes black as you slip into unconsciousness, your mind reeling with the horrors you've witnessed and the unknown dangers that lie ahead. In the back of your fading consciousness, a small voice whispers a warning - that you may have escaped one nightmare only to stumble into an even darker one.

When you wake up, the first thing you see is an unfamiliar wooden roof; your muscles ache as you attempt to move, the hard mahogany floor hard against your spine, as if the soft blanket sprawled beneath you was non-existent.

"Finally." An unknown, Texan-accented voice sang; your head whipped painfully to see him. Your heart picked up, as behind the man were more.

You had seen him before; he stopped by your camp for food once. You cringed as you recalled how the townspeople turned him away, asking him if perhaps yesterday scraps were good enough for him.

“Feral stray” they had called him.

You remember getting a peek out of him, by the gates, his broad shoulders and pepper and salt hair branded into your mind.

Close behind him another man stood, same greyed hair, though he looked taller and held a scar along his cheekbone; his face was scrunched up, but his eyes told a different tale.

And then was Javi; you wanted to scoff as your mind recognized the nickname he told you to call him. He had taken off his sun glasses, dark eyes sliding up your face as he held a pleased grin, proud of his little catch.

You couldn’t get a proper look to the rest of the men as the “feral stray” spoke once again.

“Fuck, she looks terrified.” He commented, though no pity took place in his tone; a deep growl that warmed his skin.

You accessed the situation; they were bigger, stronger and more than you, but they stilled in their place, eyes raking slowly and precisely over your shivering form. You weren’t tied up, just laying there, and if you ignored hard enough the way Javi-Javier- had grabbed you before you fainted, there could be a simmering chance they were truly trying to help you.

“I-I-“ You staggered, but your brain couldn’t think of one thing to say in this situation. You planted your hands on the floor as you pulled yourself to sit up.

A breeze ruffled your skirt, and you eyes widened, feeling an unfamiliar chill in your core. A hand shot to your thighs, fingers gracing your most intimate place that you found bare.

“Looking for this?” Another men spoke, far more rough looking than the rest as he held your panties in his ringed finger. He laughed, eyes narrowing under brown tinted sunglasses.

Your hope was out the window, and you wished you’d be out the window too.

“I-please,” you managed to croak out, your best fake smile pulling at your teeth, as if attempting to back away. “I-I don’t want trouble.”

You suddenly weren’t a girl trapped in a house with seven men, but a highly esteemed comedian as the room erupted in laughter.

“Trouble?” One of them repeated, the one who looked the youngest, with short dark hair and a trimmed beard that shaded around his jaw; he gripped his dark yellow shirt as he cackled.

“Little girly doesn’t want trouble!” a thick, cow-boyish accent hollered as he took off his hat and pressed it against his chest.

You didn’t know if to laugh along or to cry, so your gazed fixed itself on the only one who wasn’t laughing; “feral stray”.

His glare was set on you, and you prayed and prayed he wouldn’t remember you, stealing a glance of him through the watch tower as the Community leader sent him away.

“That’s a pity,” He sighed, words profound and careful. “cause we do want trouble.”

With two long strides of his strong kegs he was besides you, looking down at you. Your mouth clamped as you pleaded with your eyes, tears kissing the brim.

Seven men.

One you.

Trapped in a house.

They were going to kill you.

Raiders were ruthless, never to be messed with, at least that’s what your community taught you, and by the cold, dark eyes that were posed on you, you knew then that it was true.

Stories flood your mind, murders, vandalism, theft, but never rape, despite it being the only reasonable thing this bunch would want to do to you. You had never heard about it.

“Please,” you attempted once more, hands sliding you away as they become clammy against the hardwood floor. “I-I’m no good, I’m a virgin, please-”

Their laughter dulled at your words, not suddenly, but intriguingly. You could hear some groans, some “sweet jesus” under their breathes.

“Feral Stray” bent at his waist, knees popping with effort as he reached his hard, calloused hand to grace your cheek.

“You know what they called me?” He asked.

Feral stray.

And he waited for you to answer, but you couldn’t. It was like kicking a bear that was already mauling you.

His fingers laced between the threads of your hair, still fresh from your expensive shampoo. You see his muscles flexing before you feel the stinging pain across your scalp. He tugs harder.

"You know what they called me, your stuck up, bitchy community?" He growled, and you whimpered. "Come on, pretty girl, give me the answer."

You felt as if he was going to rip out your hair, and you feared he might do it. Your neck craned painfully, looking at his furious face as a small trace of mockery, amusement was hid in his dark eyes.

"F-feral stray." You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

"Louder!" He screamed, the sound ringing in your ears as his face etched closer. You felt hot tears cascading down your cheeks, blurring the vision of the men in front of you.

"Feral Stray!" You yelped, as loud as the knot in your throat allowed you to say it. The grip stayed tight, pain blooming to your temples along the dull thump thump thump of a headache.

Suddenly you were pushed face first, your hands rapidly supporting you against the hard floor. You sighed, no longer feeling the head-exploding tension in your scalp.

A pair of hands pulled your hips up, forcing you to support them on your wobbly knees. Your head hung low, tears wetting the blanket beneath you.

"look who's the dog now," The man chuckled, a hand running over the expanse of your back. You sobbed at his words through ragged, half filling breathes. "that's it now, little puppy, come on now, bark."

Shame filled your cheeks as you slowly turned to look at him, pleading silent eyes, begging for it to be a joke. But he looked sternly at you, hand gripping your waist.

"Boss said to bark, puppy." The second eldest said, the one with the white t-shirt and the scar.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"Seems like we got a disobedient one," Javi teased, boots etching closer to your line of sight. You dared to look up, look him in the eyes. "Bark baby, or you're gonna get in a lot of trouble."

His eyes looked slightly softer, still hungry and disturbed, but for a moment you had a deja vu of how he found you, even thought it was mere hours ago. The dusking sky outside told you so.

"P-please," You whispered to him, feeling the urge to cling to his leg. "please don't make me."

A grin tugged at his lips as he let out an amused breathe.

"There there," He cooed. "Not disobedient, just shy, am I right?"

Your head seemed to be locked in place as you attempt to nod at him.

"Well, she can't be shy when I'm asking her to suck my balls." The one who was holding your panties blurted; if you were looking at him you would have realized he had done a line of coke off of them.

"Patience, Dieter." The youngest one reprimanded him. "We can't expect a highborn girl to act so whorish on our whims."

"Like any good mare, just needs to be broken in." The cowboy one joked, making them laugh.

It felt so dystopian, how they joked about the situation. They could joke about it, while you stood shivering like a leaf.

"Don't get too excited," The scarred one spoke, with the regality of a Roman Emperor. "Boss is going to be the one to deflower her."

It irked you now, the casualness of all of it. The way they spoke of you like if you were merely a piece of meat, an animal even. Your knuckles turn white as you clutched the fabric beneath you, the warm blossoming from "Boss'" hand now unbearable.

"Do I even get a say?" You barked, immediately clamping your lips shut.

There were no slaps, no hair tugs, no pushes. All seven cold gazes directed to you. The hand on your back shifted towards your ass.

"Glad you asked," He grunted, kneeling behind your body as his immense back roamed over your flesh like a silent threat. "You don't."

You bit your lips as his touch became more demanding, kneading handfuls of flesh as he slowly pulled your thighs apart, your knees giving in. He hummed as he looked at you, and you never felt as bare.

If you looked forward, you could see the other men, hands wandering over their legs as they observed the scene, and if you looked backwards, you would see the look in his eyes. You opted to look down, the sound of zippers going down and Feral Stray's groans filling your ears.

"Haven't properly introduced myself," He spoke, pulling your ass cheeks apart and a breathless gasp from your lips. "Name's Joel; but you won't be calling me that."

You sensed an interchange of glances before Joel's fingers slipped once again into the hair at your nape, touch so gentle it almost cooled the sting of the previous grip, and pulled you up to face the men.

"Marcus." The one with the scar grunted, feeling your gaze on him.

Before you could continue to stare at him, the youngest one shifted “Oberyn.” he said, smirking.

“Whiskey.” The cowboy huffed, though you could tell it wasn’t his name. Not that it mattered as you felt Joel paw at your flesh.

“Dieter Bravo,” the coke-snorting one said, pulling up his sun glasses. “you may know me from the movies, did a shit ton of them back before the world went to shit-“

“Not now.” Joel bellowed, annoyed. His hands skimmed up and down your thighs, as if warming you from the biting cold.

Your eyes shifted to the one at the back of the room, the one wearing a baseball cap. He was deadly silent, had been all the time; you wouldn’t have noticed him if Javier wouldn’t have moved out of the way.

As they traced your stare, he lifted his eyes from the thing-looked like a toy helicopter- he had been fidgeting with. “Catfish.” He huffed, uneasy, returning his attention to the toy.

Silence wavered, only broken by your gasp as you felt one thick, calloused finger traced your slit. Fresh tears sprung as your neck gave out, once again facing the floor.

Two thumbs pulled your lips apart, exposing your most vulnerable oar to Joel; a deep seated growl roared through his chest as he observed.

"Gonna take your time?" Javier asked, leaning against the mossy green wall.

You felt his finger delve between your folds, touch warm as he pushed a little dipper; a soft whimper escaped you as he finally pressed a pointer finger at the top of your slit.

"Just this once." Joel muttered, deep in thought as he begun circling your nerve, weakening your elbows as your body urged you to lean forwards. Your nails dig into the wooden floor, urging you to stay up.

Their eyes, pairs of dark brown eyes posed on you, each glimpse of fresh skin they could get, your chest heaving and shining softly with a new layer of sweet, your jean jacket becoming unbearable under their hot gaze. Shame, shame warmed you up too.

They noticed, the dampness beading on your skin, cheeks red and heavy pants. How could they not? they were staring at your every move, how you shivered with Joel's swift touches on your clit, how you clamped your lips tightly, everything. If one wouldn't notice, at least the over five would.

"Getting warm there, honey?" Oberyn wondered, and you refused to meet his eyes.

"I think she is, why not shed a layer?" Whiskey teased, the low fap fa fap getting louder. It cringed in your ears.

"Acacius." Joel commanded, your brows furrowing, questioning if you had forgotten a name, or if there were more of them.

Your question was answered when Marcus thick thighs appeared in your vision, only recognizable by his worn down grey jeans. He pulled the jacket down your shoulders, the movement brief but forceful enough to let a small sound that you had withhold, all due to Joel's unwavering touch on your clit. He lifted one arm, gently, slipping the oversize denim off as you supported yourself in his scarred arm. The men almost moaned at the sigh of more exposed skin, and he finally pulled off the jacket.

He lifted himself on his knees, bulging crotch grazing against your forehead as you felt a tug on the soft cotton dress. Your head shot up, stuttering your words.

"P-please."

You didn't even know what you were begging for, an unfamiliar heat spreading through your core to your belly and to every bit of flesh you owned.

He looked down through almost black eyes, continuing to tug the fabric off your body until it came to your armpits. You wouldn't budge, hoping to sympathize with any trace of humanity in him.

For a few seconds he stopped, and you almost let out a sigh of relief as he dropped the dress; but then, his hands gripped around the hemline of the arm holes and a powerful screech of fabric ran through the air. After that, he continued ripping through the dress until it pooled beneath your quivering form.

The only thing you still had on was a flimsy bralette and your red cowboy boots.

Dieter commented something about it matching, but your mind race to the feeling of Joel pulling his hand away.

"This too?" Acacius-Marcus-you didn't even know now- asked, pulling at the clasp of your bra.

"Yes." One of them sighed, not Joel. He didn't break it, just let it slide off your arms.

The scene was almost ridiculous, clad in only fashionable boots, but it got them going. A palm smoothed down your shoulder blades, forcing your chest into the blanket and your discarded clothes. Before much warning, you felt two thick digits sink into your hole.

You cried, whining, trying to get away, but the hand was pressed to firm and in front of you Marcus still was there, working his belt buckle off. The sting opened your walls, and his pace was deliberately strong; in and out, against the sloppy holes that pushed tightly.

"Easy," He chastised, pace never faltering. "Gonna hurt more if you fight it."

You obeyed silently, fingers twisting against the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as Acacius shifted beside you. You clenched your eyes, wishing to ignore everything as Joel sawed his fingers in and out of you.

The pain diminished, briefly, and your hand slapped against your mouth to stifle any pleasurable sound. He chose to scissor his fingers inside of you, preparing you for the inevitable.

It was normal it felt good, you knew that, that the way he was touching you was meant to feel good, but still shame crept over you as a coil begun tightening in your lower belly, cunt eager to take it in deeper.

Despite your efforts, whimpers and breathy moans escaped your palm, brows furrowed in submission as you felt him pull out his fingers, thighs shivering and rubbing to dissipate the pleasure that had struck you.

It lasted little, for the hot tip of his cock begun pressing against your entrance. You snapped out, grabbing Acacius thighs in order to get away as your hips were held prisoner in his hands.

"N-No, no please," You whimpered, but the other pair of hands tugged at your forearms, pulling you up to face him. With a steel grip, he forced you to plant your arms over his shoulder, back stretching and twisting as Joel pushed you onto his length.

"Hold-fuck-still," He grunted, pushing a girthy inch. Face inches apart from Acacius, you couldn't evade his glare as his hands clamped on your forearms. You stalled, getting lost in the enigma that held his face.

You pursed your lips as Joel brought you down further on his cock, pain irradiating from your core as he stretched you. As you attempted to move, Acacius held onto you with a force that told you he could dislodge your arms if he wanted to. From over his shoulder you saw blurry visions, the other men stroking their cocks, eyes like hyenas waiting for left overs.

The pain was unbearable, growing each time as you felt yourself being ripped apart by his cock, groans and moans were chanted in your ears, forcing you to take it.

"Fuck," He grunted, voice lost in pleasure. "So-fucking-tight."

He punctuated his words sheathing more of it into your core, though you felt as if you couldn't take more, as if he was fucking all the way to your guts. Your cunt clamped on his cock.

Acacius doesn't let up, his grip on your arms tightening as he forces you down further, impaling you on Joel's massive shaft. The pain is blinding, your walls screaming as they're stretched beyond their limits, forced to accommodate his incredible girth.

Joel grunted, his face contorted in pleasure, lost in the tight, wet heat of your core. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he continued to thrust, driving his cock deeper with each powerful surge.

As Acacius leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy against your face. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, holding you captive in their gaze. "Take it, you fucking slut," he growls, his voice rough and demanding. "Take his fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are."

The other men watch, stroking their own hard shafts, their eyes gleaming with sadistic lust. They enjoy the show, reveling in your suffering and Joel's pleasure. The room is filled with the crude sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, guttural moans, and your own cries.

Joel's thrusts become more forceful, more punishing. He's chasing his pleasure, using your body for his own gratification. The pain is overwhelming, tears streaming down your face as you feel yourself being split open, ripped apart by his relentless assault. Acacius smirks at your tears, his grip on your arms not loosening even for one second.

"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Joel groans, his words punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. "Gonna... fuck... fill this cunt up..."

Acacius' fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you mercilessly in place as Joel uses you like a fuck toy. Your body jerks and bounces with each violent thrust, your tits swaying hypnotically to the hungry hyenas.

"Look at them, whore," Acacius hisses, nodding towards the circle of men fisting their cocks, their eyes wild with lust and greed. "Look at how much they want to ruin your holes too. They're going to love wrecking your sloppy cunt after Joel's done flooding it with cum."

Joel lets out a guttural roar, his fingers sinking into your hips, leaving finger-shaped bruises. Your vision blurs as he hilts inside you with a final, brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. At the same time, his cock throbs and pulses, erupting deep inside your core.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuccckkk..." he bellows, his hot seed flooding against your unprotected womb, painting your insides white. Your stomach bulges slightly from the sheer volume of his release.

Acacius' grip becomes loose as your body shivers, loosing strength with each final thrust Joel gives you. Soon enough, you cascade down his body, head laying weakly against his thigh as his open zipper rubs against your cheek. Your aching muscles betray you,

"There, there," Joel cooed, almost mockingly as his hand raise shivers along your spine. Your eyes become blurry as all you can hear is the men chasing their release and pain slowly overtakes your body, leaving you numb, almost lifeless. You found a strange sense of comfort from the warmth emanating between Acacius' legs, almost as if you wanted to curl up closer, but suddenly, you were pealed off by a sharp grip on your hair.

"Fuck, gonna cum in this throat-"

It all happened so quickly, but the one in the back, the only one who wasn't jerking off to all of this, shot up, stopping Javier with a harsh "WAIT" that shook the room. Hands slowed down, and gazes shot to him.

Catfish, he had said, rubbed his face in distraught as he hesitated his next words.

"Let her sleep, it's her first night."

You weren't focused on the laughs and hollers, but in Javi's leaking shaft mere inches from your lips; you have never seen one so close, each vein and ridge and it's pink tip, it's musky scent filling your nose.

"Awww," Dieter teased, pumping his cock with your underwear. "so sweet little Frankie, let the slut sleep huh?"

The Cowboy, Whiskey, chuckled. "Look at your pants boy, you are no better than us-"

"Alright." Joel cut them short, standing behind you. "She can sleep tonight, not gonna get much sleep in the next days..."

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