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lonely-ey3s · 2 days ago

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To Go, Please | the materialists pt 2/2

pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader (the materialists)

word count: 3.8k

summary: After arriving at Harry's place with tension high for each other after dinner, he convinces you to stay the night.

chapter warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI), m!oral receiving, implied f!oral receiving, piv unprotected, fluff, mutual pining, Harry speaks Spanish but translations are there, cream pie, dirty talk, soft!harry.

a/n: I fear I have gone feral for this man over the past few days and on top of my upcoming rodeo!joelmiller fic, there will also be a series with harry coming out soon (will post a sneak peak sometime this week). god help us all when this movie releases... 💀🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Part Two

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You felt like you were floating as you went further down the hall into his bedroom. Your hands were on his chest, lightly pulling on his sweater as you kissed him slowly and deeply. His hands cupped your cheek and murmured, “I crave you…” as he began to pepper your lips with kisses, “Estas cautivadora…” (You’re captivating)

He had spoken Spanish to you before, but something about it being chanted to you like this, while he had you like this under his gaze, it was intoxicating.

Your hands rested on his chest, smiling brightly, softly giggling. His hands moved down your cheeks to your shoulders, down your arms to take your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours, parting from your lips for a moment, pulling you slowly down the hallway as he walked backward, softly chuckling at how carefree and light he was feeling.

You lightly bit your bottom lip following him, eyes on his before you needed your lips back on his, so you pulled him back in by his hands. You put his hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck and murmured, “Come ‘ere…” You teased your hands through his hair, looking into his eyes.

He smirked as he leaned down and reconnected your lips with his, the kiss starting gentle and slow but becoming more deep and passionate the closer the two of you got down the hall and into the bedroom.

As soon as you crossed the threshold between the hall and the bedroom, both of your hands rushed to start undressing each other.

He parted from your lips, but was softly panting as he nudged his nose with yours, “May I?” he whispered as his fingertips breached the hem of your now untucked blouse, softly caressing your skin.

You nodded and smiled, whispering back, “Yes…” then softly placed your hand on his cheek to bring him back to you and kissing him as he began to unbutton your blouse, gently but in somewhat of a rush.

As he did this and you were certain his lips would stay to yours, your hands fell down his body and started to gently palm him through his trousers, earning a groan against your lips from him. You then smirked and hummed in agreement before going up to his belt to start undoing it.

He was halfway down your blouse when he groaned impatiently against your lips and pulled away just a fraction, “Fuck it…” he then tore open your blouse the rest of the way, buttons falling to the floor– your bare skin and black lace bra now on display.

You gasped and let out a small giggle, “Harry!” blushing madly.

He smirked as his eyes fell to your chest, he lightly bit his lip taking his view in before he looked up, “I’ll buy you a new one… in every color…” he was lightly panting, his eyes darting back and forth between your lips and eyes.

You couldn’t help but grin as you undid his belt and started to unbutton his trousers, keeping eye contact with him, “So you’re going to buy me new clothes for the morning, a new blouse– in every color…” you unzipped his pants and smirked “I wonder what else will be in store as the night progresses…” you taunted before you slowly knelt before him and pulled his trousers and boxers down to his ankles, his hard cock sprang free.

Your tongue darted between your lips as you looked at what was before you.

You bit your lip again and then reached behind you, taking your blouse off and tossing it to the side, looking up at him, “Perhaps we should add to the list some throat lozenges…” You grinned before you reached for his member, slowly starting to stroke it before dragging your tongue up from the base to the tip.

He inhaled sharply then looked down and couldn’t help but grin, “Mmm fuck–” He swallowed, “I’ll add those to the list to send my assistant– anything else?” he reached down and softly ran his thumb over your cheek.

“Not at the moment…” you looked up at him tilting your head a little, “Can you think of anything else, handsome?” then you put your lips over the tip and moaned softly as you slowly sunk him into your mouth before slowly pulling back to the tip then back down again, this time a little further to tease him.

His jaw slacked and he grunted, “F-fuck…” he groaned feeling you go deeper.

You kept one hand on the base, stroking it slowly as your mouth did most of the work– bobbing up and down, sucking him into your warmth. Your other hand laid against his thigh, using it to help keep you steady.

He put his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding you down on his cock, groaning the deeper you’d get, “Fuck you look so good with your lips around my cock…” he smirked and clenched his jaw when you pushed yourself as deep as you could, gagging quietly then moaning softly as you pulled back off him with a soft ‘pop’.

You swallowed and hummed, “Mmm, you taste so good baby…” You bit your lip and began stroking his length now covered in your spit.

He felt a pull behind his navel and grunted, “Mmm fuck… god damn f-fuck–” he groaned, “Stand…” he whimpered.

“Hmm?” you grinned and continued to stroke him, leaning in and kissing the crease between his pubic area and hip.

“Querida (Darling), I’m only going to say this once more, stand up.” he grunted again and looked down at you, “Please…” he begged his brown eyes pleaded.

You slowly rose to your feet and stood in front of him, keeping your hand on his cock, continuing to stroke him.

He gently grabbed your chin and pulled your gaze up to his, “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doin’ that to me…” he grinned, “And I’ve not even started with you…”

Your eyes gazed at his lips then up to his eyes as you cooed, “Then why don’t you get started…” You moved in to kiss him but he pulled away just a fraction, he moved back a step and took his sweater off which left him now completely bare before you.

He then cupped your cheek and whispered as he stepped back close to you, “I wanna take this slow… take my time with you…” he leaned in and nudged your nose softly, reaching his other hand behind your back to unclasp your bra, allowing it to fall off you, down to the ground.

Your breath hitched and you moved your hands to lay on his chest as he pulled you closer by your waist.

“Harry?” your eyes fluttered closed, feeling him inch closer to your lips.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning up to kiss your forehead gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You took a small quiet breath then opened your eyes, putting your hand on his cheek softly, speaking up softly, “I… I think… no… I am–” you found his eyes, “I’m falling in love with you...” you confessed.

That smile he had already across his lips grew ten times wider. He gently held your cheek and then slowly started to walk you back toward the bed, “Can I confess something as well?” he asked, keeping his eyes on yours.

You shyly nodded and gasped feeling the back of your knees hit the cooler silk sheets he had on his bed.

He slowly turned you around, then sat on the bed, looking up at you as he pulled you to stand between his legs, “I’ve been falling for you since I saw you across the aisle at Richard and Mandy’s wedding…” he pulled you to sit in his lap, smiling up at you, “I want this… I want us…”

You wrapped your arm around his neck, keeping the other on his cheek. Your legs straddling his waist, looking down at him as you listened.

You leaned down and combed through his hair a few times before kissing him a few times, filled with love and passion.

He then wrapped his arm around the back of you as he turned and laid you on the bed softly then hovered over you, gently pulling from your lips, “I just want you to know that… know where I am.” he spoke softly and reached up to brush your hair out of your face.

You smiled up at him and touched his cheek tenderly, whispering softly, “I want this too…”

His eyes got softer than they already were and his smile grew just a fraction more before he slowly leaned back down, capturing your lips to his, kissing you slowly and deeply.

Your fingers moved to comb through his hair again, pulling him closer. You felt his hands move to the waistband of your panties– so without parting from his lips you raised you hips to allow him to take them off of you.

He did so and then nestled himself between your legs, his hand gently resting on your thigh while the other pulled your waist close to him. He slowly began to grind his hips, his hard cock sliding through your folds– causing you to softly moan against his lips.

He continued this, edging the two of you on, creating this tension that you couldn’t put into words other than you both wanted the other, wanted each other now.

He pulled away from your lips and whispered, “One sec…” then leaned over and opened his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

You turned your head to follow his movements and smiled softly as you looked at him, “Harry…”

He looked at you, “Yeah?” he put it between his teeth tearing it open.

You let out a soft giggle, “I uh… you don’t need to wear one if you don’t want to. I have an implant, so that’s not needed, if you’re comfortable with that…” you leaned your head over and gently kissed his arm that was closest to you.

He looked down at you, and took the condom wrapper out of his mouth, “You sure?” he smiled softly and set it back on the nightstand then came back to you, cupping your cheek, “I don’t mind wearing one… but I…” his tongue darted between his lips and he leaned down, nudging his nose with yours, “I want you to feel safe…” he softly said.

You blushed and reached up, touching his cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb, “I’m always safe…” you smiled finding his eyes, “I feel safe with you…” you said softly.

He went to say something, his mouth opened slightly and there was a small sound that came from the back of his throat but then he smiled and shook his head, “I’ll just show you…” he then leaned down, carefully capturing your lips with his, kissing you slowly and lovingly for a few moments, hands exploring your body beneath him.

He moved his hand down between your bodies before he aligned himself with your enterence before he slowly sunk into your warmth, humming against your lips, goosebumps eliciting up his body.

Your breath hitched and you moaned against his lips.

His hand moved to grip the sheets beneath you as he began to roll his hips at a slow steady pace, grunting each time he sunk back into you.

He pulled his lips back and softly pressed his forehead against yours, “God you feel so good… Eres tan hermosa (You’re so beautiful)…” he softly spoke, panting.

His breathes were soft and slow, but the beating of his heart was quick against your chest. You felt a slight buzz under his gaze, being with him like this. You couldn’t feel anything but him, not the coldness of the sheets, or the brisk breeze coming from the open window, it was just him.

Just the two of you in this moment.

You softly moaned every few thrusts in between breathes, you began grinding your hips with his to create more friction, more movement.

He moved his hand to behind one of your thighs and pushed it upwards, creating more access to you for himself, letting himself get deeper as his hips thrusted into you. He quietly grunted and then peppered your jaw with kisses, making his way down to your neck, softly sucking love letters into your skin.

You moaned a little louder, more breathier however as his name fell off your tongue. The coil had been slowly winding up and you felt it about to break as you felt a deep pull in your core, “Fuck… I think I’m going to cum…” you began to pant a little harder, your heart now pounding against your ribs, feeling a heat crawl up your spine, “F-fuck don’t stop…” you begged as you gripped his bicep and waist, your back starting to arch up against him.

He grinned, “I’m not stoppin’... let go baby…” he grunted and gripped onto your thigh, “...for me…” he rasped. His hips didn’t stop, instead he pushed your leg a little more up, and with that you cried out, your back arching more up as you clenched around him, cumming harder than you ever had.

He grunted and his jaw slacked open before he groaned deeply, “Fuck you feel so good…” he groaned again, muttering drunkenly, “Feel so good when you come undone on my cock…”

You chuckled softly feeling yourself floating as you began coming down from your high, “God you’re intoxicating…” you breathed in and then pulled him up to your lips, pushing your head up to meet his lips in a slow but heated fit of kisses.

He moved his hand that was gripping the sheets to cup your cheek, tenderly holding you close to him as he continued to grind into your heat, making soft sounds against your lips.

You moved your hand down to his waist to pull him close, moaning softly against his lips as you felt him hit a deeper part of you.

He grunted and moved his lips to pepper kisses down your jaw then came down to your neck and shoulder, “Where do you want me… I…” his hand moved back to the sheets and gripped them tightly, his hot breath against your skin, immediately forcing you into overdrive, that coil building back up.

You gasped and your head fell back against the soft and silky pillows. You couldn’t form a coherent response with how his cock felt deep inside you. You moaned and your chest arched– your nipples were perked and breasts boucing with each snap of his hips. You still had your hand on his waist so you just tugged softly and cried softly the only thing you could think of, “S-Stay…” you started panting a bit faster as your orgasm built up.

He looked up at you and nodded then created a trail of kisses back up to you. He finished by kissing your forehead softly before he put his hand on the top of your head to create a barrier between you and the headboard he noticed you were close to hitting– but also softly used his thumb to stroke your temple as he hovered over you and continued to bury himself deep inside you.

He grunted feeling you tighten around him and whimpered softly, “F-fuck…” then started murmering, “I’ll give you the world…” his eyes clenched shut and he groaned and then smiled and swallowed before opening his eyes and leaning down, kissing you slowly and deeply, whispering against your lips, “The moon. The fucking stars. Anything you ask, it’s yours. I’m yours…”

You wrapped moved our hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat strongly against your palm. The other hand teased through his hair as the two of you continued to kiss, the tension building tighter and tighter for the both of you with each thrust, softly mumbling between kisses, “I’m yours…”

He pulled back from the kiss, muttering under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” as he pressed his forehead against yours.

Your hand moved up from his chest to cup his cheek, whispering, crying out softly, “Right there… please don’t stop… d-don’t stop…” as you softly moaned.

He grunted and his jaw tightened as he tried to hold on a little longer in order to give you one more release, grunting as his hips started to thrust half haphazardly, speeding up a little.

You gasped at the sudden change in speed and grabbed onto his shoulder, “Fuck fuck f-fuck…” you cried out then moaned his name as you came, pulsating against his cock as a wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He let out a small chuckle of relief, smiling down at you, “Good… good girl…” he then moved his hand that was on your thigh to lace with your hand that was on his shoulder, pressing it into the bed beneath the two of you. After a couple moments he inhaled sharply then groaned as he spilled deep inside you, his knees buckling.

You moaned softly feeling him come undone, holding tightly onto his hand, muttering as your chest heaved, “Kiss me Harry…” you pleaded, needing his lips on yours.

He moved his hand from above your head to your chin and pulled you to his lips as he leaned in slowly, “Mi vida…” (My life) he whispered before his lips fell onto yours, his body going limp against yours. His hand let go of yours and put it onto your waist as he continued to slowly thrust every drop into you before pulling out with a small gasp from each of you, his cum spilling out of your now empty hole, running down your thighs.

He rolled off after a few moments, laying next to you– but stayed with your lips, wrapping his arm around your body, pulling you against him as he kissed your lips lazily but deeply. Both of your chests heaved against each other, hands moving gently across skin— exploring each others bodies.

His lips momentarily left yours to trail across your neck, shoulder, chest, whispering how much he loved your body against his, how he wanted this– wanted you for the rest of his life before he made it back to your lips and kissed you ever so passionately, smiling against your lips. He had never felt so happy with someone in his bed, this was it for him, you were the endgame.

He pulled gently from your lips and nudged your nose, "Stay right here..." he softly commanded before getting up from the bed and going into the bathroom.

You heard the tap turn on and off and then he walked out with a warm washcloth and smiled, "Here... let me..."

He sat on the bed and then gently wiped the mess between your legs, being sure to get as much as he could to help you feel clean after the mess he'd made.

You watched him with a loving look in your eyes, adoring the small act of care.

He then tossed the used washcloth into the hamper on the other side of his room and put himself back under the sheets, pulling you back into his arms, "Now where was I?..." he bit his lip then smiled leaning down, "Oh that's right..." he gently took your chin in his grasp, pulling your lips to meet his in slow passionate kisses again.

As you both continued to devour each other's lips, you could hear raindrops and a small echo of thunder coming from the open window. The atmosphere was nothing short of peaceful and relaxing, sending you straight towards sleep the more you came down from your high.

You hummed after a while and pulled back slowly, nudging your nose with his, your eyelids becoming heavy, “Hmm I thought of something else…” you murmured.

Harry gently brushed some stray hairs back out of your face and looked down at you, kissing your nose ever so gently then pecked your lips, “What’s that, mi amor?” he spoke softly before taking his thumb and gently brushing it against your rosy cheek, memorizing your features as his eyes scanned your face.

A small happy smile was etched into your lips and you took a deep relaxed breath, “I need a umbrella for my walk to work tomorrow… its…” you took a sweet short breath as you mumbled, sleep taking you, “raining…”

He tsked, smiling lovingly down at you. He let out a small quiet chuckle then kissed your forehead gently, softly whispering into your skin as his lips lingered, “Get some sleep mi vida, I’ll take care of everything– I’ll take care of you…”

Harry woke around 7am to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He had his arms wrapped around you as he spooned you from behind. He slowly turned and grabbed his phone, answering the call, whispering so he didn’t wake you, “Yes?”

“Sir, the items requested are on the entry way table and we have Scott in the kitchen making breakfast for the two of you, is there anything else I can get for you?” his assistant Bradley spoke through the phone.

“Were you able to get the flowers I requested as well?” Harry looked over at you as he spoke.

“Yes sir. I have them sitting in a vase on the dining table with the note you requested written next to it.” Bradley confirmed.

“Thank you Bradley, that’ll be all.” Harry smiled softly then hung up the phone and set it back before slowly and quietly leaning back over, wrapping his arm back around your torso, softly kissing your shoulder.

You took a deep breath and stirred in your sleep. You hummed sleepily and turned around to cuddle into his chest.

Harry couldn’t help but smile lovingly as he watched you sleep. He took his hand and softly caressed his fingers up and down your arm, thinking of last nights events.

You felt the small brush of his fingertips against your skin and a small warm smile slowly appeared on your lips. You hummed sleepily again, fluttering your eyes open, “Good morning…” your voice was thick with sleep.

His smile grew and his cheeks became warm with adoration as he leaned down and pecked your lips softly, “Good morning, querida…” he continued to brush his fingers up and down your soft skin, “How did you sleep?” he leaned up and gently kissed your forehead.

You let out a small giggle, “Like a log…” you moved your hand to gently trace shapes into his chest with your fingertips, “You?” you asked looking up at him, studying his features before reaching up to gently kiss his jaw.

His hand brushed once more up your arm before it came to rest and cup your cheek, “Best sleep I’ve had in years…” he chuckled before leaning in and kissing your slowly, lingering on your lips.

You blushed and hummed his lips, your hand moving up to tease through his hair, “What time is it?” you murmured.

He kissed your lips again, then mumbled, “Just after 7…” he kissed you again, “What time is your meeting?” he kissed you again, getting more passionate, starting to pull you closer against him.

You returned the kiss and smiled against his lips, biting your bottom lip for a moment, “9…” you combed his hair back then softly trailed your hand down to his chest again.

He grinned, “Good…” he kissed you deeply a couple times then parted from your lips a fraction, “That gives us more than enough time…” He gently pushed you to lay back, moving to lay himself between your legs.

He then slowly slipped under the sheets, leaving a trail of soft delicate kisses down your body before he spent the next hour making love to you and making you only 10 minutes late to your meeting– which you didn’t mind one bit.

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no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @sp00kymulderr

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cosmicaura7 · 2 days ago

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WHOLE PACKAGE BABE, I LIKE THE WAY YOU FIT

Pairings : pedro pascal (francisco morales) x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, size kink, size difference, unprotected sex, creampie

Synopsis : In where Francisco Morales is still a virgin because of his rather large size. That was until you came along.

Word Count : 2.7k (my first time writing smut! Hope you guys enjoy.)

Taglist : none yet

Francisco Morales had never thought of himself as unlucky when it came to women, but after years of failed attempts at getting laid, he was starting to think otherwise. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He had been with plenty of women, beautiful, smart, interested. They liked him, heck even wanted him. But the moment things got intimate, they took one look at what he was packing and suddenly had an excuse to leave. Some were polite about it, some not so much, but the end result was always the same.

It had gotten bad enough that his so-called brothers in arms had decided to intervene.

Which was how Frankie found himself sitting at a dive bar with Will, Benny, and Pope, all of them nursing beers and conspiring about how to finally get him laid.

“I’m just saying…” Benny started, leaning forward with his usual shit-eating grin. “...we need to find you a woman who can handle what you’re working with, man.”

“Jesus Christ, Benny.” Frankie groaned, rubbing his face in frustration as he’s not really in the mood to discuss it any further.

“I’m serious!” Benny gestures wildly with his beer bottle. “We gotta think strategy here. We can’t just throw you at any random woman and hope for the best.” He then started strategizing like the topic of Frankie’s virginity was some sort of football game.

“Benny, we’re not hunting for a damn prize mare. Frankie’s not some freak, he just hasn’t found the right person yet.” Will, ever the rational one, sighed to himself.

Frankie sighed, slumping in his chair. “Thank you, Will.” He then grabs a hold of his beer to take another big gulp.

Santiago, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly smirked. “You know… I might actually know someone.” He couldn’t help but laugh in amusement at the three pairs of eyes turning towards him in confusion and interest.

“Who?” Benny asked, intrigued.

Pope took a slow sip of his beer, as if considering. Then he grinned widely at his brothers. “She’s a friend of mine. Someone I trust. And I think she might just be exactly what Frankie needs.” He couldn’t help but contain the excitement bubbling inside his chest at the thought of setting his best friend up with one of his best friends as well.

“I don’t need a damn setup!” Frankie frowned in annoyance, taking another sip of his beer.

“Yes you do.” Bennyl cuts in, slightly flinching at the sight of Frankie glaring at him as he decides to keep his mouth shut for now.

Pope ignored his protest and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her.” He was already searching through his contacts to look for his best friend’s phone number to immediately dial her and see if she’s available.

Frankie groaned again, but deep down, curiosity stirred. Because if Pope was suggesting someone, it meant she wasn’t just a random woman. It meant she was different. And God help him, maybe different was exactly what he needed.

-----

You had no idea what to expect when Pope called you. You’d known him for years, had run in the same circles, and trusted him more than most people. So when he told you he had a friend who needed a woman’s… expertise, you were instantly intrigued. And when you met Francisco Morales for the first time, you were absolutely sold. The man was gorgeous. Tall, broad, rough around the edges but with soft brown eyes that made your stomach flip. He was shy, almost awkward, but there was something about him that pulled you in.

And when Pope, not so subtly, filled you in on why you were here, you nearly laughed. Because this poor man had been struggling all this time over something most women would kill for.

So, after a night of drinks and quiet conversation, you leaned in, tracing a finger over the rim of your glass, and said. “You wanna get out of here, Frankie?” And you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction.

His eyes widened slightly. “You… you sure?” He couldn’t help but tighten his grip around his beer bottle to ground himself and make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

You smiled. “I think you’ll find I’m not so easily intimidated.” And when you finally got him alone, when you got your hands on him, got to see exactly what had scared off so many women before you, you grinned.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. “Those poor girls had no idea what they were missing.” And as Francisco Morales let you pull him onto the bed, he had a feeling that, for the first time in his life, he had finally met his match.

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Francisco Morales had never felt like this before, like he was drowning, overwhelmed, consumed. You were everywhere, wrapped around him, pulling him in deeper, moaning his name like it was the only thing you could remember. And the way you looked at him, like you couldn’t get enough, like you were obsessed with how he felt inside you, it was almost too much to handle.

“Fuck…” You gasped, nails digging into his back as he thrust into you again, slow and deep, stretching you open in a way that had you shaking. “You’re so…fuck. Frankie. you’re so big.” Jesus, even the way you moan was like angels singing in his damn ears.

He groaned, burying his face against your neck, his breath hot and uneven. “Too much?” He rasped, already prepared to stop, to pull back, to give you time to adjust…

But you only clenched tighter around him, dragging him closer, your legs locking around his waist. “No…” You whimpered pathetically, rolling your hips up to meet his. Feeling absolutely desperate and needy for more. “Never too much.” You sigh out, feeling your brain soon turn into mush just like how Frankie was turning your insides into mush as well and making a complete mess out of you.

Frankie swore under his breath. He had never had this before, not just the pleasure, not just the sex, but this. The way you wanted him, all of him. His size had scared every other woman off. But not you.

You loved it.

You needed it.

“More.” You begged so prettily for him. “I want to feel all of you.” Your hands slid down his back, gripping his ass, urging him to move.

Frankie groaned, lifting his head to look at you, and damn near lost it. You were completely wrecked, lips swollen, eyes glassy with pleasure and body shaking in ecstasy. Your nails dragged down his skin, leaving marks, as if you needed proof that he was real, that this was all real.

“You’re perfect. So fucking thick, made to ruin me.” You whispered, biting your lip as he pushed in deeper, the stretch almost too much but exactly what you wanted.

Frankie cursed, his control slipping. He grabbed your hips, pinning you down as he thrust into you harder and deeper. You moaned, arching under him as your body shudders around him. “This what you want, hermosa?” He rasped, voice thick with arousal. “Want me to stretch you open? Fill you up?” His thrusts slowly increase its pace as his grip on the beautiful woman beneath him tightens.

“Yes, yes! Fuck!” Your head fell back against the pillows with your body trembling beneath him. “Yes…” You whined.

Frankie growled, his lips capturing yours in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing your moans. He had never felt wanted like this before. And he was never letting you go.

Frankie was losing himself in you. He had never felt anything like this before, never felt anyone like this before. The way you took him, the way you needed him, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. And the way you clenched around him, so hot, so tight, so perfect, made it impossible to stop. He should stop. He should pull out. He knew he should. But he couldn’t.

Because you felt too good.

Because you wanted it.

Because he was obsessed with the way you swallowed him whole, with the way your body craved his, with the way you moaned when he filled you up. And right now, with you writhing beneath him, your fingers tangled in his hair, your breath hot against his ear as you whimpered. “Frankie, please…please don’t stop. Need you so bad…”

How the fuck was he supposed to stop?

Frankie groaned, pressing you deeper into the mattress as he thrust into you, slow and deep, burying himself to the hilt. He felt you tremble, felt your nails rake down his back, and fuck, it only made him want you more. “You feel so fucking good.” He rasped against your lips, his voice thick with need. “So tight, so perfect, taking me so well.”

“Don’t pull out.” You moaned, your back arching, your legs wrapping tighter around him, locking him inside you. “Wanna feel you. Wanna be full of you.” You breathed, your lips brushing against his.

Frankie swore, something breaking inside him. His hips snapped against yours, his movements turning rougher, more desperate, more needy. “Fuck. You want it, hermosa? Want me to fill you up?” He gritted out.

“Yes! Please…” You nodded frantically, clinging to him, your walls fluttering around him.

That was all he needed.

Frankie buried himself as deep as he could, his body shaking as he spilled inside you, his release filling you up, making you gasp as you felt him flood you.

“So fucking good.” You whimpered, your legs tightening around him, holding him close, not letting him go. “So good…” You whispered to yourself, your lips brushing against his temple.

Frankie groaned, his body still trembling, his breath uneven as he pressed a lazy kiss to your collarbone. He knew he should move. He should pull out. He should clean you up. But instead, he stayed inside you, letting himself sink into your warmth, into the way you held him, into the way you fit around him.

Because fuck, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

And maybe… he never would.

-----

The room was still heavy with the scent of sex, the air thick with warmth as you and Frankie lay tangled together in the sheets. His broad chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his heartbeat still erratic from the way he had just wrecked you. You traced lazy patterns over his skin, reveling in the way he still pulsed inside you, not yet willing to pull away. His arm was wrapped securely around you, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Frankie let out a long, satisfied sigh, his fingers dragging through your hair as he pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. “That was…” He trailed off, searching for words.

“Yeah?” You grinned, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Yeah…” He murmured. “Fucking perfect.” His brown eyes were soft, a little dazed, a little wrecked.

You preened under his praise, nuzzling against his chest, feeling impossibly warm and full in every way.

And then…

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

Frankie groaned as the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand shattered the peaceful silence. He ignored it at first, nuzzling deeper into your hair, but when it went off again, he let out a reluctant sigh.

“You should get that.” You couldn’t help but teased, lazily pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“I really don’t want to.” He muttered, squeezing your hip.

Out of curiosity, you peeked over his shoulder and caught the name flashing on the screen. Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” You smirked.

Frankie shot you a suspicious look before finally grabbing his phone and answering. “What?” He grumbled, voice hoarse from exhaustion. There was a beat of silence before Pope’s voice rang through the speaker, way too fucking amused.

“So…” Pope drawled. “Did she finally pop your cherry, or what?”

Your eyes went wide, and then you lost it. A surprised snort escaped you, quickly turning into full-blown laughter as you buried your face in Frankie’s chest, your body shaking with amusement.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pope.” Frankie groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“What?” Pope said innocently. “We had a bet going. Benny swore you’d chicken out last minute.”

“I fuckin’ knew he had it in him! Pay up, Garcia!” You could hear Benny’s distant voice in the background.

“I hate all of you.” Frankie clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Fish.” Pope teased. “We’re proud of you, man. You finally got your dick wet.”

You howled with laughter, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as Frankie groaned again, looking absolutely fucking done. “Okay bye.” Frankie gritted out before hanging up and tossing his phone onto the nightstand.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.” Still laughing, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” Frankie grumbled something under his breath before finally sighing and shaking his head, his lips twitching.

“Maybe a little.” You grinned.

“Think it’s time I wipe that smug look off your face.” Frankie rolled onto his side, pinning you beneath him, his large hands sliding down your waist.

“Yeah?” Your breath hitched, your body already responding to him again.

“Yeah.” He smirked, pressing his hips against yours, already hard again.

And as Frankie Morales sank back into you, filling you up all over again, you decided that his friends could wait. Because there was no fucking way you were done with him yet.

-----

Francisco Morales had it bad. It had only been a few days since that first night, but in that short time, you had completely taken over his life. Every thought, every free moment, his head is just filled with you. You were insatiable, always pulling him back into bed, always wrapping yourself around him like you couldn’t get enough. And Frankie? Frankie was just as bad. If you so much as looked at him a certain way, he was done for. If you so much as brushed your fingers over his thigh, whispered something soft against his ear, he was fucking gone.

And his friends noticed.

Which was why, four days later, when the team met up at their usual bar, Frankie found himself the target of relentless teasing.

Benny was the first to start. “So Fish…” He drawled, leaning back in his seat, a shit eating grin on his face. “Haven’t seen much of you these last few days. Wonder why that is.”

“I’ve been busy.” Frankie ignored his teasing, taking a slow sip of his beer.

“Busy, huh?” Will smirked, exchanging a look with Pope.

“I think he means he’s been buried between…” Benny grinned, nudging Pope as well.

“Don’t.” Frankie shot him a glare.

But Pope was already laughing. “Oh, come on, hermano. We all see it. You look like a man who hasn’t left his girl’s bed since the second he got a taste.” Despite him and the others giggling like middle school boys and making fun of Frankie, there was no denying that they were happy for him for finally finding someone he wants to spend his life with.

Frankie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are the fucking worst.” He then takes a long sip of the beer in his hands in an attempt to hide the love sick grin on his face.

“You do know we’re happy for you, right?” Benny chuckled, leaning forward.

“Yeah, yeah.” Frankie sighed, rolling his eyes.

“But we’re still gonna give you shit.” Pope smirked, clapping his hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“Just don’t forget to hydrate, man.” Will chuckled, shaking his head.

Frankie flipped them all off. That was when his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, and his stomach did a little flip when he saw your name pop up.

[Hermosa]: Miss you. Come over?

Frankie couldn’t help the way his lips twitched.

Oh my God, you’re so smitten.” Benny caught the look immediately and groaned. “

“I gotta go.” Frankie ignored him, already standing and reaching for his keys to get ready to leave and return back home.

“Yeah, we know.” Pope snorted at him.

“Give her our love!” Benny called after him.

“Give her some water after you’re done!” Will added, laughing.

Frankie just shook his head, but he didn’t stop walking. Because, fuck, they were right, he was smitten. And he had every intention of showing you exactly how much.

#chat and chill #x fem!reader #x female reader #x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #francisco morales #triple frontier #frankie morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction

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readingiskeepingmegoing · 8 hours ago

Text

Going in for an almighty re-read.

Closed Position Masterlist

Last Updated 01/27/2025 ||| Dieter Bravo x OFC

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not by Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Cat dad / plant dad Dieter comes with his own warnings.

EXTRAS | TEASERS | VIBES | ASKS | PLAYLIST

✨DIETER’S INSTAGRAM STORIES | POSTS

✨KATARINA’S INSTAGRAM STORIES | POSTS

✨TEXTS WITH DIETER SERIES HERE

Prologue

Week 1 - Introductions

Week 2 - Foxtrot

Week 3 - Cha Cha (Part 1)

Week 3 - Cha Cha (Part 2)

Week 4 - Jive (Part 1)

Week 4 - Jive (Part 2)

Week 5 - Rumba (Part 1)

Week 5 - Rumba (Part 2)

Week 5 - Rumba (Part 3)

Week 5 - Rumba (Part 4)

Week 6 - Argentine Tango

Week 7 - Paso Doble

Week 8 - Viennese Waltz

Week 9 - Jazz

Week 10 - Quickstep

Week 11 - Samba

Week 12 - Finale

Epilogue

🪩 Enjoying this fic? Check out my others HERE.

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or shoot me a DM.

Credits: Star divider courtesy of @saradika Sparkle chapter dividers courtesy of @deadbranch Support dividers/MDNI courtesy of @cafekitsune

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #plant dad dieter #cat dad dieter #closed position series #dieter bravo fic rec #dieter bravo multi chapter fic rec

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cuppajoel · 2 days ago

Text

first fruit since winter

pairing: modern!acacius x reader

synopsis: You come out of the shower and apply lotion. Marcus wants to help.

w/c: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ (MDNI), unprotected pnv sex, established couple, slight (legal) age gap, v fingering, pet names, slight religious imagery, p pronouns, breeding kink?, size kink, rubbing?

a/n: my wip list is so fkn long but I cannot get this man out of my head. This is a continuation of the same universe as this fic.

If you’d like to hear more about these (almost) love birds/ more modern!acacius pls let me know and I can tag you next time. This is unbeta’d and barely proof read.

Read on AO3

Steam chases you from your en-suite bathroom. Smells of coconut and jasmine trailing closely behind. Your hair is bundled into a towel which is precariously balanced on your head, not helped by the jiggling as you brush your teeth.

There’s nothing that you enjoy more than coming home after the gym to use your own shower. The rainfall setting on the shower head acts as a masseuse and works out the knots on your back.

As always after a workout, your body is tired but your brain is playing pinball with all of the endless tasks that await you tomorrow. You thought a shower would wipe those out but to no avail.

A black, terry-cloth robe is tied loosely around your waist, creating a v between your breasts as you saunter into your closet. You pinch the silken material of your pyjamas between your fingers, holding your toothbrush steady in your mouth as you walk again through to your bedroom.

Without realising it, you're murmuring to yourself. It almost sounds melodic. The white foam around your mouth threatens to spill out from the sides as you set your pyjamas onto your bed before returning to the bathroom to wash it all away.

Marcus sits upright in your bed. Cheaters perched on the bridge of his beautiful nose as he glances at you over his paperback. It’s something historic, war-related. He allows the book to fall softly to his chest, his attention piqued as your return from the bathroom. Your robe has become more undone, exposing the full curves of your body and your hair is still damp, creating a slight chill on your neck.

He takes a deep, audible breath and then releases it. He enjoys watching you exist within your own space as if he wasn’t there. For so long, he had partners who relied on him for so many things that by the end of it, their personality faded to what they thought he wanted from them- but not you.

Your routine was impacted minimally from this new situation that you found yourself in. For the first time in your adult life, you had swapped keys with someone, allowing the other access to your homes.

Despite having shared every inch of each other's bodies, this was somehow the most intimate thing you think you’ve done with this man. Eyes catching in the mirror as you brush your teeth; ironing his shirt because you were ‘doing yours anyway’; a call from the other end of the apartment that there was a ‘band-aid emergency’. Domesticity had shown you the soul of this man and you were falling hard.

Over by your vanity, you retrieve a bottle of your coconut body oil. You undo the tie of your robe, which was already hanging by a thread, and allow it to slip off your shoulders to the floor below. You pump the oil into your hand, set the bottle back on the side, then rub your hands together, warming the liquid. Lifting your leg to the small stool in front of the vanity, you start at your ankles, rubbing deep, thorough circles up your calf, shin and then knee.

“If I could have a picture painted on the back of my eyelids forever, it would be this.”

You glance up at Marcus. The paperback is closed, to one side of his bedside table. His head is cocked as if trying to get a better view of what you’re doing. His smile is lazy, eyes hooded from a long day at work but there’s a spark in them that tells you that something’s about to explode.

The circling doesn’t falter as you pump more oil into your hands, beginning to knead your plush thighs. “Mmmmm, I’m sure there are a million other things you’d rather look at than me putting lotion on…” your idle hands continue.

Slowly, he pulls off his round-rimmed glasses, folds the arms inwards and places them alongside his book. He peels back the covers from the lower-half of his body, revealing the fact he’s wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, swings his legs out of bed and floats over to where you stand.

He picks up the bottle of body oil and waves it under his nose. Eyes fluttering, he knows this is one of the undertones of you. The coconut mixes so well with your warm muskiness which elicits a Pavlovian response in him. Marcus feels his cock twitch from the tight fabric he’s confined in. He hums, vocalising his appreciation for the smell before placing it back down, exactly where he found it.

“Can I help?” He looks down at your hands with pouty lips, then flits back up to your heavy-lidded gaze. Under the soft glow of the bedroom light, the oil makes your skin glimmer and shine. It almost makes it look wet.

Marcus prides himself on being a man of strong wills. Able to wait and savour the moments of anticipation that make the moments of pleasure even more heightened. But looking at you here, warm and slick, anticipating the feeling of you under his touch, is making his strength falter.

He tries to keep his mind on the here and now, but viewing you in all of your naked glory, Marcus’ mind begins to conjure up the most carnal of images as his cock becomes harder than stone.

Narrowing your eyes at the man towering above you, you remove your foot from the soft cushioning of the stool then gesture for him to sit on the vacant seat, which he does so obediently. His dark eyes somehow grow larger as you now stand above him, like he’s just been presented with a giant present to unwrap.

The size difference between your hand and Marcus’ is laughable, as you take his in yours, turning it so his palm faces the ceiling. Reaching behind him you pick the bottle up once more and pump the liquid into his palm. He cups his hand slightly, moving it so the oil doesn’t escape.

Neither of you move for a moment. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze as it roams across your full, heavy chest, down to the curve of your stomach and waist. Under his gaze you are a goddess; something to be revered and worshiped.

You grab both of his wrists and force his palms together. His eyes don’t drop from yours as he warms the oil in his praying hands. He is ready to sink to his knees at your alter. “There is no better sight than you.” His lips curl upwards, he hasn't moved from the position you manoeuvred him into.

Spinning, you present him with your back. Rolling your shoulders deeply, you try to keep your heart steady and your brain relaxed as his strong, wide fingers find the indents of your hips. “I feel like you may be a little biased, given I’m all naked and lubed up…” you chuckle, looking down at him from over your shoulder.

“I cannot do your beauty justice with words.” He starts, spreading his fingers wide and rounding them back and forth, kneading your cheeks. The movements he makes are not soft but also not punishing; calculated and steady. You can’t bare to look away from him, though his eyes follow his hands as they push and pull at your body.

“Every part of you surrounds me and fills up each of my senses so that I lose control…” he slowly moves his thumbs in circles until they reach the small of your back. He increases the pressure, knowing that you have trouble with that area.

“I see you, and I’m in awe.” His grip is unrelenting, he rises from the stool so that your back is to his chest. “When I touch you, my whole body burns.” He holds you as he pushes his hips forward, you can feel the warmth of his cock. A hum passes your lips and you can’t help but to push your slicked ass back into him.

A throaty moan turns into a chuckle as Marcus realises that you are just as ready for this as he is. His lips hover at your ear and you can feel him smile against you. “To smell you…” he inhales, the soft breath tickles the fine hairs on your neck and shoots goosebumps all down your arms which he smooths over with his oil-slicked palms before they settle on your rib cage.

“To hear you…” his hands travel further up, cupping your heavy breasts and squeezing them roughly, eliciting a sweet whine from your lips. The oil from his hands has all but depleted but with what’s left he spreads all over your tits, pushing and pulling with his calloused hands.

“Mmmfuuuuck” you allow your head to roll back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed as he twists and yanks at your hardened nipples, his breathing deepening.

“But d’you know what makes me lose it the most?” He rolls your nipples in between his thumb and fore fingers as the rest of his hands move the heft of your tits with his palms.

Your brain is still two moves behind him, nerve endings still firing off from the sensation of the body oil swirling under his relentless fingers.

A faint rumble at your back paired with stilled hands on your chest brings you back in the room. Marcus nips at your earlobe before soothing it with his hot mouth. Gently, he lets your punished bosom fall from his grasp as he turns you by the shoulders to face him.

Heavy-lidded, panting, and jaw-slacked is how Marcus finds you. He bites the inside of his cheeks, trying to hide how giddy your pliancy makes him. Lifting your chin with his knuckle, he ensures your gaze meets his and stays as he guides you backwards to the bed.

“What makes me lose it the most, the thing that taunts me every day when I’m sitting at my desk, daydreaming about coming home to you…” he lowers you to the pillowy softness of your comforter, hovering above you so that the tip of your noses are touching. “The thing that makes me run faster every morning?” Maintaining eye contact, you can feel him slowly walk his fingers from your kneecap up to the crease between your thigh and pussy.

Sucking in your cheeks, you bite down hard, trying to keep your breathing even. Marcus’ thick first digit swipes slowly up and down your drenched core spreading your wetness. “Fuuck, Marcus-“

“Ohhhhh, there she is.” He sucks in a deep breath as he adds his second finger rubbing slow, deep circles around your clit. “Tasting your sweet cunt is the first fruit since winter.” He pushes both fingers inside of you, his own eyes flickering closed as your tightness wraps around them. Marcus fucks his fingers in and out of you with careful precision, his honey-glazed eyes half open and staring deeply into yours.

Steadily, he slides his fingers from you. Leading a trail of wetness up your naked body, across your tummy, circling your poor nipples, before bringing them inches from your faces. His lips envelop his digits, a throaty rumble passing through him as you feel him rut his covered cock against your inner thigh.

Extending your neck, you lick at Marcus’ fingers and tongue, needing to know the taste of you in his mouth. He appeases you for a moment, licking a swirling his own tongue against both his fingers and grazing it past your own before it all becomes too much. “I need to be inside you.” He mumbles after removing his fingers from both your mouths.

Marcus shucks off his light grey briefs now stained a darker tone from his leaking cock. Holding himself up on a forearm, he takes length in his hand, pumping himself back and forth allowing his flushed tip to caress your clit, before notching himself at your entrance, pushing in half an inch.

Rapidly, he sucks in air through his teeth, trying so desperately to keep his eyes open and on you. “Your cunt is so greedy for me, sweetheart.” He dips his head to look at the point where your bodies are meeting.

He pushes in a little further, licking his lips as he does so. “Mmmmmfuck, look at us.” He brings himself out of you just to push forward again, only his tip inside. The wet sound of your soaked core bouncing off the walls, only highlighting how feral this man makes you.

Following his instruction, you brace yourself up onto your elbow, you look down to see Marcus’ thick, weeping cock tease in and out of you.

Surveying the toned roundness of his stomach, your man puts on a show for you. He allows the swollen crown of his dick to catch your opening, stretching you with the giant girth of his tip, only to pull out again.

It is obscenity at its finest. The heady sounds and smells of you both perfume the air, all with the sweetness of coconut oil.

At the same time, you look up, holding each other there in the moment. The older man pushes himself in, inch by aching inch as you wrap your legs around his waist and push down on his lower back, trying to feel him even deeper. Finally, he is seated within you, the burn of his stretch only adding to the carnal desire.

“You Goddess; you take me so fucking well.” Marcus’ head falls in the space beside yours, his breath hot and ragged as he stills his hips. You can feel yourself flutter and squeeze against his giant cock, willing him to move. He does, but only circles his hips, savouring the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like a fist.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, the broad backed man takes pitty on you, pushing your left leg back and up over his shoulder as he starts his legato movements.

In all your years you have never been fucked in a way like this. College boys with the stamina of Olympians have nothing on the animalistic urge that you awaken in one another.

“Do you like it when I stretch you out?” Marcus’ deep timbre brings you back into the room as he licks at his lips. His eyes snake slowly from your own to the point where his giant cock is testing your limits and then back up again.

“Hmmm?” He goads, a smirk slowly developing as he feels you tighten around him over and over. “Feel us together, sweetheart. Feel how my cock stretches your tight little pussy.” He takes hold of your wrist and brings it down to the fusing point.

With a sly smirk of your own, you grab the base of his dick and slowly pump the part of him that can’t quite fit. A deep throaty moan rumbles from his chest as his deep eyes turn a darker espresso colour. “Fuck, you stretch me so much…keep going, please.” You can feel the faint twitch of his dick as you know you’re both not going to last long.

“You play with that swollen clit but don’t you dare come yet. I need to feel you squeeze around me as I’m filling you with my cum.” You should feel embarrassed as the type of moan that passes your lips, breathy and deep, but you don’t have the brain function to care. This man is fucking you dumb.

As any good soldier would, you follow your clear instructions from the man in charge as you roll your clit in quick, tight circles. “That’s it, my sweetness, you like the idea of me filling you right up don’t you?” His thrusts become faster and deeper. The leg that was up on his shoulder, now fallen slightly but hooked over his back as his relentlessness never falters.

Marcus smiles down at you, his bright pearly whites unable to be hidden as he peers directly into your soul. Slowly, he brings his lips down to yours, your body almost folded in on itself as he fucks up into you.

The warm heat of his tongue glides and smooths against your own as you hear him moan into you which is the thing you both need to push you off the edge.

Your tongues become sloppy but never still as you feel his cock jerk inside of you, filling you in the way that you need him to.

The sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears as you both continue microscopic movements of your hips, only prolonging your highs as the hormones rush through your bodies.

Marcus throws his broadness and takes you with him as he rolls onto his back and manoeuvres so that you straddle him.

Too exhausted to sit up, you press yourself to him, chest to chest. The deep thudding of his heart brings you both back down to earth.

After a while of soft touches and lingering kisses, Marcus can hear your breathing even out, a whisper of a snore coming from you. He presses a kiss to your, nearly dry, hair. “I’m falling in love with you…” he whispers to the otherwise silent room. The confession that will be heard on another day.

Np tags:

@guiltyasdave , @baronessvonglitter , @mandaloriankait , @ohhoneypascal , @gothcsz , @iknowisoundcrazy, @stellamarielu

#Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal fanfic #Pedro pascal fic #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom #marcus acacius fanfic #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #modern!acacius #fic!ffsw #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #gladiator au #pedro pascal gladiator

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notjustjavierpena · 18 hours ago

Text

Applied Physics pt. ii

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited… Hope you enjoy :)

Summary: Days later, you’re back but this time in Dr. Richards’ office with your assignment. It’s time to set up some ground rules.

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, female masturbation, description of bruising, dom/sub dynamics and arrangements, rewards and punishments, Reed has powers, clit stim, fingering, edging, 60s views, praise kink, dirty talking, orgasm denial, orgasm control, humiliation, multiple limbs, aftercare, stern Reed giving homework 🥵

Word count: 8.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/164546746

Applied Physics pt. ii

That Wednesday, you barely make it in through the front door to the shared housing before you excuse yourself to your housemates who look bewildered at the clear signs that you have been rushing home.

“Hi! Goodbye! Lots of reading!” You grin with rapid breathing from practically running through the city. You stumble up the stairs to the second floor with your bag knocking into your hip as you bounce up the steps, cruelly reminding you of Reed’s work that is splayed all over your backside. You pass the bathroom, the three more rooms, and finally reach your destination.

Your head is swimming with unreleased pressure between your thighs as you lock the door to your room, fingers shaking when you turn the key and the lock clicks. You almost frantically sling your school bag onto the floor by the door, wincing when your skirt tightens as the bag pulls on it. The textbook you have cried into earlier peeks out as the bag falls open when it hits the floor.

Your shirt comes off first and then your skirt too until you stand in only your underwear with the blinds rolled down. You had planned to get straight to business and use the first of the three orgasms you have been allowed - after all, there’s no use in pretending you will get any studying done tonight - but to get to your bed, you must pass by the full body mirror.

It is the color that catches your eye at first, a reddish-purple, deeper in some areas, taking up a large part of your behind. On your sore right cheek is an almost cartoonish mark of Reed’s hand, outlined enough for you to be able to count his fingers and you shiver at the sheer size of his palm. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed how big it is before, like when he has held a piece of chalk in his hand or corrected things on paper with a pen, but you have never been this close to the fantasy of feeling those thick digits inside of you coming true.

With a clench of your cunt at the fantasy hitting you once more, you gush slightly and the wetness between your thighs becomes even greater along with the ache for release. It doesn’t help that you trail your fingertips over the sensitive skin and that you gasp at the pain that instantly comes at even the lightest of touches. It makes you wonder how Reed’s rougher and larger hands had made it hurt less.

You twist your body slightly in the mirror to gain a better view of your bruising, and the thought hits you that Reed Richards, the sharpest mind in the world, has done this to mark you as his own. It is going to take at least a few good weeks before everything has healed and that is two weeks where you cannot give yourself to someone else.

You hold in a pathetic whimper and exhale silently through your nose instead, your shameful horniness for someone you shouldn’t want passing the mark where it has become unbearable. You face your reflection again, trying to picture him standing behind you in the mirror with a knowing smile.

Slowly, you reach up to smooth a hand - in your head, his hand - over your neck until you elicit a sigh. Then you let the same hand slide down the curve of your waist, keeping eye contact with yourself the whole time. Your fingertips dance over your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake until they stop right above the waistband of your panties. Without thinking too much about it, you dip the hand into your underwear.

Your cunt is soaked for him. You barely need to gather any slick to smear over your hard clit because you’re already so worked up from Reed’s attention today, and the thoughts they have left you with, that you’re damp and ready to imagine him getting you off. You bite your lip to keep quiet, rubbing your clit in taut circles and staring at the way your hand moves underneath the fabric of your panties. You touch yourself with little to no build-up because you need it now, and fuck, it feels so good that you can’t stand on your legs.

You sink to the floor, sitting with your back against the bed, and try to mask the hiss of pain from resting on the bruises with a cough due to the paper-thin walls. You want to cry out as the pain mixes with the pleasure you are giving yourself but you will yourself to stay near-silent.

In your head, he is the one touching you. You may be home but your mind is still in the lecture hall, bent over Reed Richards’ desk who has his pupils blown wide by desire and his cock buried in you to the hilt this time. The mental image makes your cunt squeeze around nothing, and you spread your legs a little to chase your first high. You get so close so pathetically quickly.

And you come so hard a moment later, fingertips moving erratically in your underwear and with a hand around your breast, squeezing harshly to match Reed’s roughness. It is so intense that you can’t stop the moan that rips from your throat, hoping you can brush it off later by saying you stubbed your toe. The way your cunt pulses and spasms with ecstasy seems never-ending, leaving you a twitching mess on the floor as you double over, hips thrusting and your trembling touch continuing throughout the whole thing.

And it is still not enough.

You lay your head back on the bed until you can stare up at the ceiling, panting in the aftermath. However, you are so wired that your pulse doesn’t stop racing in your chest. Apparently, there’s no relief from the spell he has you under.

You turn onto your hands and knees to crawl onto your bed, dragging your sensitive body up from the floor with a soft whine. On your unmade bed, you lay down on your back and close your eyes to try and let sleep overtake you. Yet what shouldn’t happen happens almost automatically; your hand slipping down into your, by-now, ruined underwear once more. You cannot stop the painful thought that you only have two more to go.

—

It feels like weeks have passed instead of days when Monday finally comes around. You’d only lasted the night, had touched your swollen, needy clit to orgasm three times before midnight even if your body begged for more. Then you had used the whole weekend to throw yourself into working on your missing assignment as a way to steer clear of the burning desire he’d left behind in you.

The finished paper is in fact your best work yet, your need for distraction making you highly productive. It is meticulously researched - even if it was hard to stay disciplined while sitting with the textbook in your lap - and perfectly executed, every word carefully chosen, written in your neatest handwriting, the ink dried and pages stapled together, not a single smudge to be found. He will read it and you will be on his mind.

You walk down the corridors of the main building with determination and in a look very different from the one that you had worn on the fate-changing Wednesday last week. The restrictive pencil skirt has been replaced by a checkered miniskirt, deliberately flirty and resembling something Twiggy would wear, the pleated fabric swishing loosely - as commanded by him - around your thighs. The cardigan is now a crisp white turtleneck that makes your neck appear longer, hopefully intriguing him to get to it now as it is hidden from view.

If Reed knew your wardrobe as well as he does the mechanics of the universe, he’d know that it is you who is approaching his office because of the way your boots click on the marble flooring. The sound follows you as you pass other students, making a few of your male classmates turn their heads and successfully masking the nervous flutter that is taking up your whole body.

To deal with your racing heartbeat as you approach the correct door, you busy yourself by adjusting your bag onto the front of your hip. You take out your paper as a way of beating him to asking for it, clutching it close to your chest with both hands.

Reed Richards’ office is on the first floor of Columbia University. He has one of the largest ones on campus with the head of faculty being the only exception. The door is ajar to signal the beginning of office hours. With a steadying breath, you gently push it open with your shoulder before closing it behind you with the heel of your boot.

You’ve been here before but as you enter his office, the things that are the same look brand new. The office sports the same wooden panels along the walls, the same orange upholstered chairs, the same bookshelves that carry binders with hurriedly scribbled labels on them and thick textbooks filled with theories you barely understand yet. They shouldn’t feel different, but they do, a symptom of how you have changed.

If you think about it, it makes sense to meet now; the rhythm of campus life is still slow so early in the morning with little to no one walking through the halls. Many professors do office hours now, so no one will think twice about you being here and everyone else is already busy talking about upcoming coursework projects in quiet, tired voices while getting coffee.

As you approach the desk, you notice that the window is open. Dr. Richards has decided to enjoy fresh air and natural light from the green areas just outside his window, and with how heightened your senses are in his presence, you can hear the faint rustling of the trees and a few distant murmurs.

Reed sits in his chair behind the desk, its sleek design matching the ones on the opposite side of the table but with a higher back that radiates authority. His expression is unreadable, his fountain pen moving confidently even as he scrawls a hurried note across another student’s paper, but there’s something knowing in the way his posture shifts just a little the second you step into his office. He knows it is you.

He finally looks up and you can feel your heartbeat everywhere, his gaze spreading fire across your skin like his hand had last week. It feels like he is all-knowing, like he already knows how many times you came this weekend and the exact way you whined when you had to stop at three.

“You have something for me,” he notes, his gaze dropping only briefly to the paper in your hands.

“Yes,” you step forward to stand with the edge of his desk just an inch from grazing your thighs. You hold out your work for him but he doesn’t take it immediately, deliberately toying with you.

“Is it your best work yet, like I asked?” He questions with a small smile, smug as ever but hiding it well.

“Yes, sir, of course,” you reply without hesitation in case he’ll reject the whole thing. It feels like something he would do.

“Place it on my desk,” he orders neutrally and sets the other essay aside without knocking the papers into his ashtray.

It feels shameful to do it when you have been offering it to him, the papers hanging in the air awkwardly. Your face is warm as you turn the pages in your hand so they are the right way to him, and then you place them neatly in the center of the desk.

You swallow as you feel the wood underneath your fingers, a completely different material to the one he was sitting by last week. It makes you wonder how different it would feel to be bent over this table instead.

He picks it up and flips through the pages for a moment, back and forth and with an occasional hum that you cannot decipher. You almost expect him to have immediate feedback from how easy it looks to him. Suddenly, unprovoked and without looking up, he talks again, “And you’ve been a good girl?”

Your stomach flips. Yes, and it has been torture, “Yes, sir.”

“All three?” His eyes scan the text in front of him. It could be all for show but knowing his reputation, and from what you have seen during his lectures, his mind is effortlessly multitasking.

You forget how to breathe for just a second too long and he looks up at you with a raised brow. You quickly nod, head swimming with the heat pooling in your belly.

“And no more?” He interrogates, painfully in control of the room.

You shake your head, “No more.”

“Attagirl,” the praise falls from his mouth so effortlessly that your inability to show restraint and stand still is embarrassing. He swivels his chair so it is slightly angled away from the table, “Come here.”

The command makes you shiver, your body remembering just as well as your head what happened the last time he said those words. Though this time, they’ve got a different ring to them; they are still an order but there’s a softness to them, like telling a nervous animal there’s nothing to be scared of. At least, you hope there’s nothing.

You walk around the table to stand in front of him, heat thrumming through you with every heartbeat. He sits further back into the chair and spreads his thighs, acting so much calmer and more collected than you. You hesitate for only a second before you step closer until you have his knees on either side, relieved to not be scolded for it.

“Turn around,” he says instead of praising your work over the weekend.

You swallow thickly but do as you are told, hoping that you are hiding the panic on your face somewhat successfully.

Reed’s hand starts tugging at the hem of your skirt, neatly pulling it up until your underwear is exposed. His hand settles on your hip to keep it from falling down again and then his other hand slips into the back of your underwear. He feels the pain he’d left behind last week, tracing over the remainder of a minor bruise and then the large one that you still wince at when sitting down.

“Still tender? Sore?” He asks and you notice his breath is slightly ragged. He likes this.

“Yes,” you answer.

“Good. Very good,” the hand in your panties draws back. He gently smooths it over the worst of the bruises and then delivers a soft smack to it that makes you gasp audibly, “And you are wearing what I told you.”

He caresses your backside on top of your skirt when it tumbles down into place, his fingers absentmindedly moving between the pleats in the fabric, “I assume that means you’re eager to continue your lessons.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you try to recover from the tiny blow to your bottom, “Very eager.”

“Suppose I should reward you for following instructions then,” he muses. His hand snakes between your thighs until his fingers rest against your clit. He finds that your underwear is damp underneath his touch, and the discovery makes him exhale sharply through his nose, “Already?”

“Mhm, since I stepped foot on campus,” you bite your lip and push back against his hand, seeking more after five days of abstinence but it draws away, leaving you aching and him with a shine on his fingertips.

"You’re still impatient. Your generation lacks discipline, always just wants more," he tuts softly, disapprovingly, while you make a noise of frustration. You’re just about to beg when he interrupts you as if he has read your mind, “Saying please won’t get you anywhere.”

You swallow down the word and stand up a little straighter. At one point, the idea that you might be in over your head flashes in your mind but then he speaks softly behind you.

“Come back to me, angel,” he says and you melt at the way the pet name rolls off his tongue. You pivot back to face him, at this point even affected by the way your thighs rub together as you move.

He has leaned even further back into his chair and is currently rolling up his sleeve to his elbow. The shine of your slick on his fingers is gone but in your inexperience with this level of depravity, you can’t imagine how he has sucked his fingers clean while your back was turned.

“I think we should start by laying down some ground rules,” he informs you when moving to roll up the other sleeve. He looks up at you when he has secured it above his elbow, “But before we begin, tell me, how many men have you been with, if any?”

Something about the invasive question makes your stomach do a somersault. You know he is asking for a number but your instincts tell you that there’s more to it than that. He is gathering data, putting you under scrutiny, and cataloging each detail in his meticulous mind so as to figure out how exactly to handle you. The number itself, yet also the way it falls from your lips, will determine something you aren’t sure you really understand or even know what is but you have never felt so eager to please, to get it right.

What should your answer be? If you say none, you’re a lying prude. If you say too high a number, you’re reckless, careless, and suddenly uninteresting. Your mind races with a million thoughts per second.

The correct and simple answer is three, maybe two and a half if you don’t really count the embarrassment that was your first time.

“Three,” you eventually say and hope it sounds somewhat confident. You’re thankful for the way your turtleneck hides your throbbing pulse, sure that he would be able to see it underneath your skin if it was exposed.

“Three,” he repeats, taking in the fact for a moment and making you think that he is satisfied. He taps the armrest of his chair, studying you like an equation he has already solved and you think that’s the end of it.

But then, “And were they any good?”

Your mouth goes dry and it feels uncomfortable to swallow around the lump in your throat. Were they? Your immediate thought is to say yes.

You’ve done things that felt nice, sure. You’ve ultimately had sex that wasn’t a disaster but it was fine - after all, this is the sixties and times are changing, history reshaping the ideas of what a woman should or shouldn’t do - but looking into Reed’s eyes there’s something that tells you that whatever you think you know is good sex, he is about to completely turn upside down.

Still, if you say no to his question, he might need you to elaborate on what they did wrong and then you’ll have to admit that you simply do not know, so instead, you smile a little and say, “They were fine. One of them was pretty good.”

The response elicits the first genuine surprise from him. He raises both eyebrows instead of one this time, and you regret your words because he looks curious to know more.

“And what did this one boy do?” He scoffs as if humored by your reply. You hadn’t realized that he’d question you about what they did right too and your gut tells you that you are walking right into a trap.

You have no interest in talking about previous affairs, so Reed can analyze them under his microscope. You just want to fall to your knees and beg him to smother you with his attention.

“He was confident and good-looking, sweet, not selfish and quick at all,” you say and try to look as if thinking back at him fondly in an attempt to make your answer appear safe. Unknowingly though, you are making a fool of yourself when your words reflect your inexperience, ”I felt really good when I was with him, like he was enjoying me and not… just getting to the finish line.”

After a beat of silence, he pulls the rug from underneath your feet.

“Did he make you come?” The question slices right through you like he knows there’s only one possible answer. The intent behind the question stares you in the face and taunts you for thinking that a sweet, patient boy in bed is the best sex you will ever have.

“No, but—“ you start to protest.

“You think taking his time is what makes a man good in bed?” He continues his dissecting of you.

“No, but he was nice,” you continue your protest, but when you want to say more, you find yourself opening your mouth with nothing coming out.

“You’re too smart to settle for ‘nice,’ angel,” he smiles a little too devilishly, his gaze burning as he looks at you like he has figured you out. The worst part is that he probably has, “That’s not what you want.”

“What do I want then?” You swallow around nothing. It sounds like a challenge but it is tinged with something else; the realization of one thing only. None of the three men you have had inside of you have ever made you feel the way Reed Richards does by just looking at you.

He beckons you closer. You place your hands on the armrests of his chair, leaning down over him until your faces are mere inches apart. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his arm stretching out to lock the door to his office. The act doesn’t make your heart stutter like it did the first time.

“Young people think they want fast and easy,” he talks quietly and still, his voice is so loud in your head, never has sounded more in charge despite the calm of it, “But I am here to tell you that I won’t be indulging you in this tedious narrative after you have been throwing yourself at me for months. You may categorize those months as torture but you have never been on the very edge of desperation and gotten told no. I will teach you how good it feels to be patient and earn what is given. That’s what you want.”

Your stomach flips but you refrain from asking when you can start. His eyes bore into yours until your skin prickles. You can barely stand on your legs, shaking like a leaf as you feel his breath on your face. A whimper escapes you. God, you want him. Slowly. Intimately. In every way that he thinks best.

“Shh,” he coos, “First, there has to be rules.”

“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for - after all, you’ve never considered your experience lacking until now - but you don’t dare lean into a kiss.

He ignores your near-sob completely, “First of all, I don’t want to see you nodding your pretty head as a reply to instructions. Use your words.”

Stupidly, you nod your head in your eagerness and he raises a brow. If he’s affected by the way your body trembles before him, he doesn’t show it.

“Your words, angel,” he repeats calmly.

“Yes, sir,” you answer quickly.

“That’s it. Nicely done,” he praises to cause a thrill to run up your spine, “Second of all, you don’t touch me without permission.”

Thank God that your instincts told you not to take a chance and kiss him. He must have noticed the way you had wanted to, and you hope it’ll reward you later on. You nod. Stupidly. Again.

“Words.”

“Sorry.”

“We’ll work on that,” he smiles softly and reaches up to run his knuckles over your burning cheek, overbearing and sweet, “Thirdly, I won’t have you pouting when you don’t get what you want. If I tell you no, you accept it.”

“Of course, sir,” you say, not forgetting, to show him that you can be a good student, hoping that he won’t send you out the door without an earned reward.

“And lastly,” he starts but trails off, ghosting his fingertips down your shoulder and arm, leaving goosebumps underneath your blouse, until he can grab your hip. He pulls a little to signal for you to move, silently commanding you to turn around in your spot, so he can drag the zipper on your skirt down. The garment slips down your hips and pools around your feet on the ground. You step out of it without being told. He hums in approval and drags you to sit in his lap, “Lastly, you don’t come unless I say so.”

You gasp but not at the unfairness of his final rule even if your mind tells you to argue.

Something else has caught your attention.

So far Reed has been controlled, methodical, and in charge, might have been able to hide the arousal from his expression but as you sit on his thighs, the hardness of his cock is unmistakable and pressing into your still-sore backside. Left speechless, you say nothing for a moment, focused on the fact that his body wants you and contemplating, if only briefly, to grind down on his cock and hear him moan. You conclude that you do not dare.

“Your pleasure belongs to me now. Do you understand?” His hands come around your waist to rest in your lap, inching inwards to the insides of your thighs. The move pulls you from your thoughts of disobedience and temptation.

“Yes,” you blurt out when you don’t know how many seconds have passed. Your heart pounds in anticipation, dizzying you to the point where you need to relax against his broad chest and wait for him to have mercy on you. You swear that you can feel his heartbeat against your spine but you are so scatterbrained that it might be your own, so deeply in his grasp that you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Once again, he hums in approval because you are learning to follow orders. He slowly spreads your thighs apart and guides them to hook over the armrests of his office chair, “You did well this weekend.”

“Thank you,” you say with your eyes fixed on his strong hands as they move on you and position you exactly how he wants. Your whole body trembles as his fingers tap your skin in deliberation of what to do with you.

“You deserve a reward for showing me you’ve got discipline even without me present,” he states matter-of-factly. His breath tickles in your ear, his voice smooth and steady unlike yours.

“Y-yes.”

“One orgasm.”

You swallow thickly, your cunt pulsing at the unfairness of it. You were definitely hoping for more than that after a mere three in the last five days. Your body is killing you with how turned on you are, burning with need and waiting desperately for him to chuckle and say it was a joke, that he’ll give you as many as you can take.

“And you won’t beg,” he adds instead and has you whining feebly, “If you even think about begging, you’ll tell me. Out loud.”

The humiliation is making your stomach do a million somersaults and shutting down your brain until only the fire of your loins remains. You manage to stutter out another simple yes.

“If I hear even a tiny, little please slip from your mouth,” he starts, his index finger finding the front of your underwear, smoothing over the fabric before hooking into it, “You’ll wait another week.”

Your breath catches in your throat. A week. Time makes no sense anymore. Just days ago, you would never have thought that a man could be so cruel in the name of pleasure and days ago, you would never have imagined that you’d ache for that cruelty.

But you do and when he pulls your panties to the side, you watch with relief and clench around nothing, painfully in need of him, “I’ll be good for you, sir.”

“I suspect so,” he answers with a mix of a scoff and a chuckle that rumbles in his chest, “You know what happens if not.”

His fingers find your clit then and you respond by tensing up for a second, shocked to be so fully touched by him already, before letting out a soft moan. A memory of previous men fumbling with their hands underneath your skirt flashes in your mind, because it is like Reed Richards was put on this Earth just to make you feel good.

Your eyes flutter closed in relief, “Ah.”

The pads of his fingers brush over the sensitive nub in slow, featherlight strokes until the first spark of pleasure makes you shiver. He moves them in circles, taking his time without uttering a single word because, you realize, he is studying you. He is treating you like an experiment, testing out his theories on how to pleasure you and deciding exactly how to touch you after categorizing your responses.

When your moans become more frequent, he hums to himself and doesn’t change his method. He breathes a little harder behind you, his neglected cock twitching underneath you, but he doesn’t do anything rash or desperate. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t groan, doesn’t tense, doesn’t adjust his hips. He is showing you how to be the prime example of restraint, discipline, patience.

He works you all the way up to the brink of heaven, your cries that continuously climb in pitch telling on you so he can still the movement of his hand before removing it altogether from your cunt. You shake your head at the loss, brows furrowed and trying to lift your hips towards his hovering palm, your heartbeat throbbing painfully right behind your clit.

“Sit still,” he orders immediately and uses the hand to force your hips down. He isn’t going to let you chase it. He’s going to make you take exactly what he gives you and nothing more.

“Sorry,” you whine, the plea for more right on the tip of your tongue. You swallow it down quickly, the muscles of your calves twitching, “I— I thought about begging.”

“Shh… Of course, you did,” he replies almost too sweetly and cups your whole mound to steady you when you sob, “And you told me like a good girl. So well behaved.”

The colorful interior of his office makes you dizzy at this point, causing you to keep your eyes shut as you breathe heavily through your mouth. You want him to touch you again, move those skilled fingers over the sensitive parts of your body, still aching from being pulled back from the edge, until you fall apart.

However, while the clock ticks on the wall, nothing happens. You’ll swear to this day that you can hear the cogs turn inside of Reed’s brain, listening closely to when your breathing has settled down enough for him to add to his ministrations.

You let your head bump against his shoulder, trying not to come off as impatient and tortured as you actually are but every fiber in your body is screaming for relief.

It’s pathetic.

You know this, and while you won’t say it out loud, you slowly come to terms with the fact that maybe your professor is right. You need to learn how to wait for things if this is how you act after being denied just once, gripped by the spirit of a feral animal, a wild youngster.

His hand smooths over your mound, back and forth in a slow motion that doesn’t really make any difference because of how light it is. He doesn’t rush, just speaks lowly in your ear, “You’re doing really well.”

You tremble at the praise, tightening your legs around the armrests of his chair. His fingers slide back to your swollen clit but his free hand joins the other. Your thighs twitch in nervous anticipation, hoping that he will use his unoccupied fingers to stretch your cunt open. However, something else entirely happens and it causes a tiny gasp to slip from your mouth.

At first, it feels strange and your instincts tell you to stop him, to bat his hand away at once, but another part of you convinces you to trust him fully. His fingertips spread you open to a shameful degree and then they trace upwards, moving higher. It hits you; he is pulling something back, you realize, exposing something that you have never thought to touch before. Your heart stutters and the air in the room shifts because your body reacts as if it already knows what will happen.

A calm chuckle rumbles in his chest against your back. He is amused at your confusion and nervous fidgeting, choosing to distract you with the sound of his voice, “Do you know what I’m doing?”

You shake your head before catching yourself in it. You quickly let out a breathless moan when the breeze from outside hits the much more intimate area that he has brought out in the open, “No, sir.”

Your thighs instinctively try to snap shut as soon as he thumbs at your very exposed clit, circling the finger around the very tip of it but you can’t seem to figure out how to unhook your legs from the chair, the connection to all logic severed. His gentle touch creates white, hot, searing pleasure.

“You’ve never touched yourself like this before,” he notes but there’s something about his tone. He isn’t mocking your inexperience, no, instead he is teaching you. He sits up a little to nose along the shell of your ear, continuing his torture between your legs, “The most sensitive part of you is right here, but most women have never really touched it. The hood protects the sensitivity, but being so direct in stimulus can be—“

“It’s—“ you try to say something to tell him how you feel, to sound clever but all you can do is swallow down big gulps of air.

“Too much?” Reed finishes your sentence but you shake your head quickly when he starts to ease off again.

“No!” You protest a little too loudly and he tuts disapprovingly, giving you a few seconds to calm down again, but ultimately only causes you to try lifting your hips towards his controlled hand. You clench around nothing, screwing your eyes shut, “No. It’s good. Please don't stop, sir, I’d like more.”

“Asking. Not pleading. What a good girl I have on my hands,” he muses and you can hear the smile on his face, pride swelling in your chest. He teases your clit again and time is lost on you, whines becoming higher while you fight the urge to beg for your release.

It’s hard but you quickly discover that your vision being gone due to your eyes staying closed distracts you from begging because it comes with the price of losing awareness of his next move. Without sight, there’s only touch. You are lost to only the sensation of the way his fingers stroke through your soaked folds, over your twitching clit until you whine again, and how he smooths a hand over your thigh, one over your stomach too. How he is doing this is beyond you because you swear that he is everywhere.

Suddenly, confusion starts to tease in the back of your mind and shortly after, it momentarily cuts through the haze of ecstasy. You brush it off with a giggle that transitions into another soft gasp.

“Feels like you have more than two hands on me,” you huff a laugh, saying it through a moan too, like it is the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Do I?” He chuckles softly in your ear but for the first time, it is tinged with something darker. He is amused.

His words don’t register at first. Not fully at least, not until you start counting his limbs in your head and they don’t add up. However, you have to stop because two thick fingers push into you and curl just right. Your eyes snap open as it dawns on you.

Three arms.

You were already aware of Reed’s abilities that make him Mister Fantastic - the stretching limbs and the almost absentminded use of them during lectures - but this is not something that he displays at random. It should be unsettling to see, should feel outrageous and even bordering on horrifying but as you watch the third limb that has unfurled touch you so skillfully, your cunt betrays all of that by forcing one thought only: This is a daring thing to experience because Reed Richards is actively ruining others for you, touching you in a manner that no other man could ever offer. Your cunt clenches around the fingers inside of you at the thought.

“I… I didn’t know you could do that,” you manage to say through a hitched breath.

“Does it scare you?” He asks with a voice that has dropped an octave from how worked up he is.

“N-no. It feels so fucking good,” you whimper with a shuddering breath, too caught up in everything happening to your body at once that you are without care for the swear. His fingers are so deep inside of you, his fingers circle your still-exposed clit.

“Good. Let’s see how long you can handle my touch like this,” he answers, his labored breath hot against the nape of your neck.

You don’t know how long he toys with you like this, dragging his thumb over the sensitive nub in agonizingly slow motions and fucking you open on his fingers. You thought only you would know where that sensitive spot inside you was, that it was something you had for yourself behind locked doors, but right now, it feels like it belongs to him. All three hands on you, working in unison, have you dancing on the brink fast, choking on air until—

Reed stops altogether, the immediate halt of his touch making you feel like you have been thrown into an ice bath. Your vision is blurred, your breathing is ragged, and your whole body is trembling in his arms. Just a few more seconds of his touch and you would have experienced ecstasy like never before, you’re sure of it.

“I can’t stop thinking about coming. I’m thinking— I want to beg for it, sir,” you bravely confess. Please. You almost say it at the end of your sentence but catch it just in time. It takes every ounce of power within you to not let the word slip out.

“You can have it,” he whispers behind you, almost affectionately, bordering on paternal, and you want to sob in relief. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your skin right above the turtleneck, “I’m not going to stop this time, and then you’re gonna come for me, angel.”

The pleasure mounts again when he continues where he left off but this time, the air of control to his touch that has kept you on the edge is gone. He wasn’t lying; he is giving you this. You think about those words again, hearing them as if they are a broken record in your mind. You’re gonna come for me, angel. It isn’t a maybe, isn’t a suggestion either. It is pure fact. An order.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

You nod frantically, “Y-yes!”

Reed senses the way your body is winding even tighter. His cock twitches beneath you, probably aching by now but he still isn’t in this position for himself. He throbs against your sore backside, “Be a good girl and let go for me, angel. Thaaat’s it.”

When you finally come, you can’t even scream at first, totally seized up for a second before your legs start to shake violently. After a moment, noise finally leaves you and it is a handful of wrecked, gasping sobs. You feel like this is the devastating possession that Sunday church has taught you about, a thing that will ruin a person.

Sure, you have felt so good in bed with a pillow between your thighs that you have let noises slip from your mouth by accident, small whines and whimpers that no one really heard or found necessary to comment on, but this.

This has you losing control of any restraint that you have previously been capable of, your nerves being licked by fire as you can do very little else but just take it.

“I know, sweet angel. You are so good for me,” he soothes you as he deliberately presses the pads of his fingers against your g-spot, holding them there as you pulse around the digits, “You earned every bit. Take it.”

You’re about to say something back during the most intense moment but then you hear it. There are footsteps outside, a shadow passing by the window, and voices in close proximity. You panic, practically gurgling in your state by now because someone could hear, someone could see the way your pussy drools in his lap, hear you crying like a tortured animal. It would devastate you, would ruin his—

A quick fourth hand stretches out and suddenly, the latch on the window clicks shut and the blinds are effortlessly pulled down. His fingertips still sit against the perfect spot inside of your cunt but the hand that closed the window moves, determinedly like a snake closing in on prey, to clamp down over your mouth, shushing you because you’re apparently still loud enough to hear outside the room.

You writhe as he continues guiding you through the last few seconds of the best orgasm you have ever had and then through the beautiful aftershocks that you can feel in the very tips of your fingers and toes.

When it is all over, your entire body, boneless and spent, slumps against him. Your turtleneck feels like a prison more than a garment, sticking uncomfortably to your body from how sweaty you are. Your heart is steadily finding a slower rhythm, no longer beating in your ears but leaving you slightly chilly and tired.

Your breath is damp and warm against Reed’s palm. He still has it firmly clamped down over your mouth but only holds it there until you have gone quiet again. When he removes it, simultaneously retracting his extra limbs and leaving your cunt empty, you heave for the breaths you have been deprived of. It is suddenly nice to not be touched there anymore.

“You’re okay. Breathe. Deep through the nose and out your mouth,” he gently guides you until your gasping slowly turns into regular breaths and any impending anxiety vanishes. He hums in approval, “Better?”

“Mhm, yes,” you answer dazedly, “Thank you.”

“Good job,” he praises and helps you unhook your legs from the armrests. The tip of his nose presses into the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips pressing an occasional kiss to your skin there, “I need you to stay still for a minute.”

You nod, feeling cherished even if your limbs feel like they belong to someone else. For the first time since you stepped into his office, your body relaxes completely against him. Reed lets you.

Reed huffs a laugh, “Your words, angel.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry. My head’s… it’s fuzzy,” your first real sentence reveals that you are slightly hoarse, matching very well how clouded your mind is. You barely even register that his hands are already moving, basking in the warmth of his body as your own slowly comes back to you.

“That’s alright for now,” he reassures and pulls your panties back into place. You only just manage to think that you could stay here forever, curled up in his lap or even just on the couch along the wall, but then, “Let’s get you on your feet.”

“What?” You aren’t sure you have heard him right. Even so, and with your shoulders tensing at the thought of using your trembling legs, you start getting on your feet.

“You heard me,” he states as if it is fact. He is right, of course. He steadies you briefly by holding your waist when your legs wobble.

You remove yourself from his lap, hearing the softest of hisses escape his mouth and feeling the soreness in your thighs setting in immediately to join your bruised backside. You have to grab the edge of his desk to keep yourself upright but even if you want to sink to the floor right there, the infatuated part of you makes you turn around to face him.

Briefly, you glance down with your lip between your teeth. He is still tenting in his slacks and you recall a time when your ex told you how cruel it was to leave a guy hanging. You move for his belt buckle before you think better of it, having little to no brain power left in you to recall that he specifically forbade you from touching him without permission.

He catches your wrist just in time, tightening his grip when you try to twist your hand free of it, “That’s none of your concern. I know your body better than you do right now and you need no more right now. Stop being greedy. You’re going to crash again in a few hours. When you do, I want you to rest.”

Your breath hitches at the accusation, the veiled concern for your well-being lost on you. Your brows furrow in confusion because clearly, this is you offering something in return, “I’m not being greedy. I got to— You didn’t… That’s not fair.”

“You really think this is your brain telling you about fairness? This is greed. Impatience. You just came, angel. You should be floating, blissed out, grateful. Instead, you’re already reaching for more. I don’t like that.”

You don’t reply. Men don’t usually have this kind of self-control, you think to yourself as your gaze flickers to the way his cock strains against the front of his trousers. You ache to prove yourself worthy of his time.

"You think this is about me?” He continues and reaches for your discarded skirt on the floor with ease, “I don’t take what I want when I want it. That’s your problem, angel. Not mine."

But it is about him. You can feel it, read it between the lines. He likes the power, the control, the fact that you’re completely at his mercy and willing to submit even when he isn’t there.

You like it too. You even like the shame of being reprimanded by him, like the burn of embarrassment in your cheeks. It seems that sweet, little, dutiful you love to get into trouble.

He stands from his seat, towering over you, and doesn’t even show how affected he is from being hard, a large wet stain on his thigh, right next to his thick cock, from where you have been sitting. He doesn’t even need to tell you what to do. You already know, stepping into the skirt to which he nods.

“Don’t think offering your mouth or hands to me makes us even. That’s not how this works,” he goes on when you still haven’t dared utter a word. He slides the skirt back up over your hips, his hands grabbing the hem and adjusting it into place so the zipper is on the right side. He follows it up by brushing out the creases and fixing the pleats like it is a task of utmost importance.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“You’re still learning,” he simply states after letting the apology sit between you for a moment, holding onto your hips. His thumbs press in where your hip bones are, “But you should go home and revise your new rules until we meet next Monday or you will be.”

Then he steps back, leaving only the scent of ink and paper and his aftershave. His self-control is maddening compared to yours which is still in its early stages, and it makes you seem even less composed than you actually are.

You watch him sit down again, opening a drawer at the very bottom of his desk to reveal a stack of crispy white shirts with new slacks at the very bottom too. He takes out both. You wonder if he sometimes sleeps here.

There’s tension in the air. You have the urge to turn and leave because of how charged the room feels but you know better than to do it before you have been excused, wouldn’t even do it if he had just held regular office hours with you. You wait.

He looks at you after making room for his new change of clothes on the desk, contemplating for what is probably only seconds but feels longer.

“What I did to you today is called edging,” he says, watching your face to make sure that you’re taking it in, “It’s when you bring someone to the brink of orgasm and then stop. Over and over again.”

“Yes,” you nod, “I have heard of it.”

It is the truth but the way he says it is so far from the context you know it from. He uses the words of a scientist, uses it as a term, whereas you have only heard it in drunk conversations with other girls who giggle loudly and have never experienced what you just have.

“Good,” he says but it isn’t meant as praise, “Then you know it is not done to delay gratification but to teach you that good things come to those who wait. When I say there’s no coming without my permission, I don’t just mean within these walls. I mean at all times, even at home in bed with your hands under the covers.”

“This means,” Reed starts rolling down his sleeves again, but he doesn’t button them. You wonder if he’ll change his clothes in front of you, “That you need to give up the idea that pleasure is something you can just take whenever you want just because I can’t see it. Trust me. I always know.”

You gulp. You know what is coming and he can’t be serious.

“Therefore, I am giving you homework,” he continues, “You are not to come this week but you will edge yourself at least twenty minutes a day.”

“I—“ your pulse picks up.

“I don’t care how busy you are. Find the time,” he interrupts you and holds up his hand to make you stop talking, “I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself. What part of me you imagine. What part of you aches most after. What words you’re thinking when you stop. If you cross the line, you’ll write down the time, date, and place. I want to know how long it took and how it felt. Bring the notes to me next Monday. Neatly written. Stapled. As always.”

Your mouth opens slightly, not to protest his wishes, but because your mind is already scrambling to understand how you’re going to survive till Monday morning.

“We’re done for today. You’re excused,” he finally says and reaches for your paper, flipping to the first page, already critiquing it. You wonder if he’ll think of you beyond it, have you on his mind while grading the next paper in his pile or while talking to another student. You will think about his hands, the way they felt between your thighs. If he’ll wash them right away or touch himself with your dried-up come on them.

“Monday,” he reminds you just as you reach for the doorknob. You want to say that you don’t need reminding of the day because you’re already counting the hours.

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently instead. You push the handle down but he interrupts you just as you start to swing the door open. It stays closed.

“Oh, before I forget,” he stops you. You turn your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. He is leaning comfortably back in his chair, your paper still in hand.

He smiles, looking over the page, “Wear a skirt again.”

Outside in the corridor, the bustling noise of students turning up for classes greets you harshly, shattering the intimate bubble you’ve just been in. You smooth down your skirt nervously, subtly shifting on sore legs and feeling the ghost of his touch on your aching body. Suddenly, your classmates' chatter feels unbearably loud, their laughter grating, their very presence uncomfortable.

You feel alienated from them suddenly because Reed Richards has changed you, and none of them know it.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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wardenparker · 2 days ago

Text

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 5

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Financial disparity, a well intentioned surprise, fluff, friends, flirting with your spouse. Summary: Javi solves a problem with a grandiose surprise, and you're not sure how you feel about it at first. Notes: After a brief hiatus we are back! My laptop has been replaced and we should be smooth sailing from here. Happy Sunday, my lovelies!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

Thursday, May 1, 2025

"Mrs. G, can we get you on set please?" The production assistant that works with Javi to make sure he has everything he needs and is wherever he needs to be has also been assigned to you in the month since work on the film started. Luckily Kyle is a nice kid and enthusiastic, and doesn't mind that he reliably has to knock loudly to make sure he doesn't walk in on the newlyweds in some sort of state of passion.

"Sure, honey."

Javi has been on set for a little while already so you pocket your phone and hop up from your chair to head inside. The schedule for today has them shooting in just one room, but it's the main character's bedroom and the scene is the first of the clandestine love affair that is being shot. It makes sense that Tamara and Jason might have historical context questions.

The halls of the great house are lined with rolls of cardboard – RAM board, they call it – to protect the precious antique wood and easily scratch floors. Whole pieces of the architecture like columns are wrapped up in it to shoulder height, and while the look of it was odd and off putting at first, it's familiar now. Like Hazelwood House has been wrapped up in a sort of temporary blanket to keep it safe.

Up to the second floor and into the south wing of the house, you find Javi sitting with the two actors on an armchair and chaise lounge by the fireplace, staring at the footed panel in front of it. It still jars you to see the cast lounging on exact replicas of Hazelwood's furniture, but it's only because the museum rules (No touching!) have combined with a slight jealousy in your head. The furniture in this house really is fantastic.

“Sweetheart.” As soon as you come into the room, Javi is lighting up, his eyes widen with sparkling happiness as he quickly stands. Moving towards you to meet you halfway in the room, although he refrains from kissing you since he had been told you might not like it at work. “Hey handsome.” Even murmured softly into the air between you as Javi wraps his arms around you for a quick hug, you feel a little more relaxed just being in the same place as him. “You called and I came. How can I help?”

“We have a question about the fireplace.” Even if he doesn’t kiss you, his fingers caress your wrist lovingly as he turns you towards the object in question. “What is this and why is it here?” He asks, pointing to a wood and fabric screen that could not be utilized while there is a fire crackling in the hearth. While Hazelwood has been extremely accommodating, there was to be no real fires in the hearths due to some of the chimneys being blocked off and the risk of an out of control fire being too great. All of the fires would be added by CGI in post production but Javi had noticed the screens still in front of the hearth and needed to know if they would risk it during a fire or if it would be moved and what purpose it served.

"That is a fire screen." The warm radiance of him standing next to you is a fire unto itself and it's a pity you're on set instead of in your shared trailer so you can't melt into him.

"Like...for embers?" Jason asks, brow furrowed. "But it's wood."

"And cloth!" Tamara objects.

"I know." You manage to stifle a laugh, but you had the same thought the first time you saw them. "It's technically the predecessor to today's metal fire screens. In function, it's the same. But the main focus here was in keeping direct flame off of people's faces." Shrugging slightly at how silly it might sound to a modern person is the best you can do. "Being flush from the fire or getting any kind of color was looked down on. The paler your complexion, the more obvious it is that you don't have to work or exert yourself in any way."

“So warming the room but not over exposing them to the flames.” Javi frowns slightly. “So they would have the fire going and having the screen in front of it?” He asks, tilting his head towards you for the answer. “We want to make sure we get the shot right.”

"If you want the shot without the screen in place, there could be a throwaway remark about Tamara being flush?" You suggest, chewing your lip as you tilt your head up at him.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Javi looks between the principal cast and then over at the director. “Do you?”

"Screen will be better without live flames." The director hums after a minute of thinking. "Won't have to work as hard on manufacturing the look of the fire. We'll keep the screen."

Javi smiles as he looks back at you. “Thank you for your expertise.” He hums, reaching for your hand to kiss the back of it.

"Do you mind if I stay to watch?" The filming process is slow but fascinating to you, and these people – with the small exceptions of the egotistical producers and snobbish director – are very fun to spend time with. It's much more fun to be here on set even with the slow progress, than it is to be in your trailer.

Javi is immediately nodding. “Yes.” He agrees, knowing that no one will argue with him. He’s had carte blanche on set, especially after making some re-writes that everyone swears will clench the Oscars in multiple categories.

"Yes I can stay?" You melt into a soft smile and wish that the aforementioned snobby director weren't in the room so you could kiss him. "Thank you. I'd much rather be here."

He smiles and squeezes your hand. “You can be wherever I am.” He promises, not caring if the director would rather you not be on set. He’s a little stiff and Javi can tell he doesn’t exactly approve of your soulmate status for whatever reason, but he doesn’t care.

"Come sit!" Tamara pats the chaise lounge beside her immediately. Since everything that happened on that first day, she's been an eager and bubbly friend. "We might need you for something else."

Javi smirks as he lets go of your hand so you can sit down next to your friend. “Did you run your errand like you needed?” He asks you, knowing you had been wanting to take care of something.

"I did." Though it wasn't exactly fun or easy. "The bus was running a little late but I managed to get everything done and sent off my sister's birthday present." You may not be close, but she's still your sister.

“You did not take the car?” Javi frowns immediately at you, sure that he had given you his keys before rushing off to the set this morning.

"I'm okay with the bus while my car is in the shop," you promise him. "And the car from the studio always brings you home, so there was no need to worry about that." Having a driver is a very helpful convenience, especially for Javi who likes to use the drive to prepare for the work day. Since your car has been in the shop for three days now, you've just been going to and from the studio with him, but this morning you needed to get to the post office. He had handed you the keys to his luxury sports car like it was nothing, but the mere thought of anything happening to the expensive automobile had you using a bus pass instead.

He’s not happy with your answer, and Tamara and Jason both grin as they watch the interaction between you. “Honey, what’s wrong with your car?” She huffs, hoping to distract.

"So far?" You let out a huff of a laugh. The director has gone to get a cup of coffee so you have a little time to breathe. "The engine. Just...in general."

Javi opens his mouth and then closes it. Deciding that he will take care of things and pulls out his phone.

Seeing your husband duck behind his phone with a look of concentration isn't unusual, so you pay it no mind and keep chatting lightly with Tamara. The cast had invited you and Javi to join them for drinks after shooting on Friday night and you're excited to go.

Javi doesn’t look up from his phone until the director comes back. “Clear the set.” He calls out and Javi pops up out of his chair. “Let’s go watch from the sidelines.”

There are a half dozen chairs set up in the hall behind the camera monitors for watching, and one of them bears Javi’s name. You hop up into the one beside him to hold his hand during the rehearsal of the scene before it gets filmed. “Everything okay, love?” You ask, not wanting to pry about whatever he was doing on his phone but still checking in.

“Perfect.” Javi tells you, looking over at you with a giddy smile. “Just taking care of something.”

“Something exciting?” You guess, but leave it at that.

“I think so, but it might be a little boring.” He admits with a chuckle. “We will see tomorrow.”

“Nothing you do is ever boring.” Surprising, frequently, and often lovely. But never boring.

“You would be surprised.” He grins proudly, squeezing your hand and the lifting it to kiss the back of it right as the director yells “Action!”

The scene is full of tension, but it has to be done angle by angle so the many takes come one after another in slow succession. Nothing seems to be done quickly in the movie industry, that's been obvious to you since day one.

He sees you shift in your chair and he leans over. “It can be so boring at times.” He murmurs in your ear. “I asked Nick how he doesn’t scream sometimes with so many takes.”

"I think it's fascinating," you admit, whispering back to make sure you don't disturb anything. "Watching how one gesture or a change of inflection can transform the whole scene? It's stunning."

He chuckles and hums softly, loving how you are enjoying yourself as you watch them reset the scene again. “Sometimes art takes time to perfect.” He admits. “First takes are like rough drafts.”

“Like the muslin before a gown.” In the days that you had dreamed of designing clothes, those rough muslin forms had been such loving work on the floor of your bedroom at home.

He tilts his head and tries to understand what you are meaning. “Muslin? The fabric that they used for undergarments?”

You nod, somehow managing to keep the giggle out of your voice so it won’t carry. “I was taught to design clothing by making a muslin form first. Like a rough draft. To make sure the design works before cutting into the expensive fabric and whatnot.”

“You make clothes?” That’s a new fun fact he didn’t know about you and he lights up as he memorizes it. “So that is why you have been the in costume trailer a lot?”

“I used to.” The light in your eyes dims ever so slightly, but you keep smiling. He doesn’t know all the ways that your art was taken from you. Piece by piece.

“Why did you stop?” He frowns, sensing the way there is a shift in your mood. It’s slight, but your hand stiffens in his.

“My parents,” you tell him, honestly despite it being harsh. “My step-dad convinced my mom that art school was pointless. So they refused to pay for it. I ended up studying history instead.” Which has worked out for you, obviously, and you do love it. But if you had been able to study fashion the way you wanted? Maybe you would be a textiles conservator or a costumer for a living history museum by now. Who knows?

“That is not right.” Javi immediately defends you. “You should have been able to study whatever you wished.” He feels passionately about that, since he was also shoehorned into a role he didn’t not want in his own family.

"Well, I agree, but there's nothing we can do about it now." The best you can do is shrug, having put the dream aside a long time ago. Maybe one of these days you'll look into getting a second-hand or lower end sewing machine. Make yourself a few things, or even make them as gifts. Javi would probably jump so far into the idea that he'd suggest one of the rooms in your now-oft-dreamt-about future house be a sewing room. He's very sweet like that. Maybe you'll ask for your birthday, but that's in the future.

He is about to suggest that you go back to school, but he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s hoping you quit your job. Selfishly, he likes having you right here every day. “Maybe one day you can show me what you’ve designed?”

"Maybe..." You nudge his shoulder slightly, cheeks warm from the compliment of his interest. "I'll dig out my old sketchbooks tonight? If you really want to see."

“Yes.” Javi immediately answers, grinning when you giggle slightly. “I want to see all of them. Do you have them at the cottage or do we need to go back to your apartment?” The move has been day by day, you deciding what you want to do with your furniture but your most pressing items already in the cottage alongside his own.

"We should stop at the cottage on the way home, if that's okay?" As usual, the studio's driver will be taking you, but he never seems to mind making a small detour before leaving Santa Barbara. The ride back down the coast to the house – or cottage, as Javi calls it – is always a nice way to relax together after a work day.

“Absolutely.” He nods and smiles. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

"Maybe I can cook tonight?" He often likes to go out or have something delivered, and that's lovely. But tonight you like the idea of having a domestic night at home with your husband. After all, it's not like you lack for groceries. Or anything.

“Do you need anything?” He immediately wonders which is the closest store to the cottage, or if you would prefer one near your old apartment.

"We have a full kitchen, love." You promise him with a kiss to his cheek. "I already know what I'm going to make."

“I thought that was all the charcuterie items you wanted for the dinner with Nick and Olivia?” He had been warned away from the fridge drawers, making him pout as he searched for late night snacks.

"There is more than just snacks, my love." He had simply bypassed the steaks, brussels sprouts, potatoes, and assorted other ingredients in the kitchen because he isn't very interested in cooking just in general. That's perfectly fine, of course, but it means warning him off the things he can snack on without cooking them if you've bought them for a particular reason.

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes at himself and nods. “Only if you want to cook.” He hums. “You might be tired after work.”

In truth, it amounts to wanting to do something sweet for him because he does so much for you. Javi gives and gives and takes pride in it, but even with the generous pay from the studio your income doesn't come close to his.

Do you share bank accounts now? Of course. He had a credit card opened on his account in your name. But so far you've only used it for groceries or household necessities. Anything else feels...greedy.

"I won't be, mi amor," you promise him, setting those thoughts aside and resolving to make a nice dinner for you and your soulmate.

“We should build one of those kitchen outdoors.” He mentions causally, as if he’s talking about a simple weekend project. “Since you like to cook. I’ve seen some amazing ones. We could have it next to the pool.” The pool is currently being dug next to the cottage. In front of it actually. Wanting you to swim whenever you want, it’s now become a priority.

"We could definitely do that." In between takes now, you no longer have to whisper. At least for a short time. And that means you lean a little more into Javi's side and breathe a happy sigh. "It would be great for parties."

“Good!” He has expected you to huff about the idea, since it would be expensive and you seem to be determined to not spend his money. “Why don’t we talk to the architect?”

"We have a meeting next week. Why don't we add it to the things we want to talk to her about?" The quiet reason you're not immediately downplaying this idea is that you can immediately imagine having pool parties for your future children out there, with the patio bustling and a little outdoor kitchen right at hand. It makes you feel so dreamy that you just can't say no.

“Perfect.” Now that the director as given them the slight changes he wants to the scene, he moves back behind the camera and calls for silence on the set again.

There is nothing but utter silence in the hallway during the actual take. You cuddle into Javi's side and just watch the monitor. Having him close even without talking is a special kind of intimacy and one that you're starting to find that you love. The atmosphere of the set can be so tense at times that these little moments of intimacy feel stolen.

The wheels in Javi’s brain are starting to spin and he hums to himself as an idea for another script jumps to life. Even as he watches his latest being brought to the screen in front of him.

It’s a beautifully done scene, one full of yearning and those first pangs of something new that make your heart ache for the characters. Javi’s script is sensational on its own but Tamara and Jason are so good together that you almost feel like you’re intruding on their privacy just by watching the monitor. Which is absolutely as it should be.

Javi plays with your rings while he watches the scene. Knowing it by heart, he’s seen it in his head for so long, it’s almost boring to see it now. Thinking about that new idea as he grins to himself.When “Cut!” is called again, you nudge his jaw with your nose flash him a grin. “It’s a beautiful script, love.”

"Huh?" He is started out of his musings and he glances at you in confusion. "Oh, uh, thank you." He realizes what you are talking about and he grins. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else."

“Is everything okay?” He hasn’t mentioned being out of sorts or unwell or anything, but you still ask. Javi is, as they say, a dreamer. He might be far off in an imaginary land right now just as easily as he might be worrying about something.

“Everything is good.” He smiles again so you don’t worry. “I have an idea for a new script.”

“Really?” Your eyes light up in surprise. “A new idea already?”

“Umm hmm.” Your surprised delight makes him so much more appreciative of the support you’ve already shown him. “I need to jot some rough ideas for the timeline down.”

"I already can't wait." And you can't believe that he could come up with new ideas that fast, either. It seems like scripts should be so much harder to put together than just a single spark of an idea.

“Good.” He nods. “I will probably be asking you a million questions.”

"Oh?" That surprises you again, but as the director makes adjustments and gets ready to do another take, you sort of revel in the absurdity of the whole thing. You're living beyond your wildest dreams, after all. "And why will you be asking me questions, of all people?"

He smiles at you like the answer should be obvious and you are so sweet for not figuring it out. “Because it will be about you.” He hums and winks before looking back at the monitor as the scene is called to action.

You're still staring at him in abject confusion a full three minutes later when the director calls 'Cut!" again, and despite probably looking like a mad woman you don't feel any saner or closer to an answer. Which is why you end up blurting out "Why?" The second you're able to talk again.

Javi turns towards you again, wondering if you are upset at the idea of being his muse. For so long, anyone who learned of his desire to write movies would always beg to be his muse, sometimes even using seduction to try to sway him. You and Nick seem to be the only people that seemed uncomfortable by the idea, Nick because he wasn’t sure if it would work. “Art school.” He explains. “The impossible choice between honoring your parent’s wishes and following your heart.”

"Then I hope your character decides to do more with it than darn socks and mend thrifted clothes." There is worry on his face that you wish you could reach out and smooth away. Like a swipe of your thumb might lifts all of the clouds of concern right out of his mind. "I'm honored that you think I'm worth being inspired by, sweetheart."He bites his lip, trying to search your eyes to see if you are just being polite. “You should do more than darn socks or mend thrifted clothes.” He murmurs. “You should do what you want.”

"Maybe." He is disarmingly sweet. He has been since the day you met him, and a month of marriage has not dulled it in any way. "I was thinking of asking for a used sewing machine for my birthday this year. Since...I never really have anyone to ask but I hoped you might wonder what to get me?"

"A sewing machine." He is immediately committing that to memory and nodding. "You have me to ask now." He promises, deciding that he will throw you one hell of a birthday party for this year.

"And you have me." For whatever the hell that's worth. Things seem both awash with prospects and simultaneously in the middle of a weird sort of limbo right now. At least for you.

Javi's phone buzzes and he jumps slightly, not expecting it. Chuckling at himself as he pulls it out of his pocket, his eyes light up as he sees the number on the screen. "Oh! It's here!" Bolting out of the chair to take the call.

“It?” You jump out of your skin right along with him, clambering down from your chair to follow.

"Hello?" He is off to the races as he answers the phone. "Yes! Hi! Are you outside?" He asks, hearing you following him, but it's a given that you need to be here as well. "Yes? Already? And the bow?" He is giddy and practically skips a step. "Thank you! I am on the way."

“Javi, where are you going?” He’s headed straight down the hallway toward the main entrance of the house and you barely make it to the door behind him. Down a half dozen stairs and out to the port-cochere, there are plenty of cars and trailers parked out in the front of Hazelwood House but the gate has opened to let two more in.

Two cars. One of which has a giant bow on the roof.

Javi’s eyes light up and he thinks it’s perfect. Your favorite color just happened to be available in the same model as his own car and only a few cities over on another car lot. They had managed to ship the car here today and he spins around to you. “Surprise!”

"Oh my god..." You can barely huff out the words, watching a metallic blue version of Javi's beloved Porsche convertible be driven onto the grounds of the museum. You should feel awed. You should be such immense gratitude. And you do, really you do. But the twist of discomfort in your stomach is so sharp that it almost makes you nauseous. "You bought me a car?" Why? And why does that make you almost want to cry instead of being excited?

The wide grin on his face falters slightly when you don’t immediately start jumping up and down while screaming in excitement. “You– uh, didn’t want to drive my car.” He explains. “So I thought that you should just have your own. You would drive that, right?” He asks.

"I don't like driving your car because I'm terrified of something happening while I'm in it..." He looks absolutely crestfallen but you really don't know what to do right now. He went completely over your head to solve a problem and landed on an answer that makes you uncomfortable without meaning to.

“Something happening?” He rushes back over to you and grabs your waist gently. “Sweetheart, it’s a car. A tool.” He insists. “If something happened, I would only care that you are safe.” His brows lift. “And the car has a fantastic safety rating.” He adds, as is that will bolster his argument.

"I can't imagine you not caring if your million-dollar car was in an accident." Okay, you have no idea how much the car actually costs. But it's a Porsche convertible. It has to be a lot. And expensive things -- or at least things that were expensive to you -- have been a stress point for your entire life. "It's very sweet of you, baby. But when I needed to take my car to the shop, the solution didn't need to be buying me a new car."

“The car wasn’t that expensive.” He protests and the delivery driver of the car gets out of the driver’s seat and starts walking towards you and Javi. “Your car was...tired.” He reminds you.

"Say what you mean." You shrug. "My car is a piece of shit. But it was a piece of shit that I worked hard to afford and was proud of because it was proof of all that work."

His shoulders slump, feeling horrible for making you feel like your efforts didn’t matter. “I’m - I’m sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I just wanted my wife in a safe, reliable car instead of riding a bus. And I-“ he shakes his head. “I’ll have the car returned.”

"Amor," you tip his chin back up with two fingers to look at you, hating the way he looks when he pouts. It breaks your heart to upset him at all but this was a very big surprise. “Is it already paid for?”

His eyes slide to the right guiltily. “Sí.” He sighs. “But I think they will buy it back.” For loss, of course. They would take at least twenty grand off just because they had taken it off the lot to be delivered. The last thing you want is for him to think you're mad. He did something deeply overboard but he did it out of love and a want to be helpful. So you put your own arms around his waist in turn, and the expression on your face turns into something like a lopsided smile of exasperation. He is so terribly sweet, your excited puppy of a soulmate. He really is. "If it's already paid for, then I'll find out how much the shop will pay me for the parts from my junker. Can I just ask you one thing, mi amor?”

He bites his lip, feeling the rebuke coming but at least you aren’t yelling. “Anything.”

“The next time we have a big decision to make, can we make it together?” You squeeze his waist gently and lean up to kiss his cheek, trying to make sure he understands you’re not mad — just exceedingly confused. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Guilt floods him and he has the decency to look sheepish. “I- I got caught up and I wanted you to have-“ he lets go of your hip with one hand to gesture to the car. “I thought it was a sign they had one in your favorite color.”

"It's very beautiful." When he had found out your favorite color was blue you thought for sure he was going to theme every little thing in your lives to shade of that color, but so far it's been limited to him buying a whole new bedding set in shimmery blue for your bed. You had loved that surprise, so you can see how he had thought right away that you would love this, too. "I'm not upset, Javi. I'm just really surprised. When you said you were going to spoil me when we got married, I didn't think it would be big things, too."

“Why would it not be with big things?” He asks, concerned that you could think that he would leave you to hand big things on your own.

"I–I don't know." Suddenly you're the one feeling guilty, and frowning deeply because the answer occurs to your out of nowhere, almost like you're being punched in the gut. "Probably...because...I've always had to do the big things for myself."

He hates the way your face looks so lost, so uncertain. Javi leans in and kisses you softly. “Now you have me to do the big things…with.” He stresses the last word, reassuring you that he heard your request.

“Come on, you.” The weight of a handful of unexpected revelations is still heavy on your shoulders, but the world seems a lot more manageable when Javi is smiling and you’d prefer to keep it that way. “Show me the car.”

Now that he’s halfway sure you will accept the car, he’s grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the deliver driver to get the keys and thank him profusely. “It is just like mine.” He promises. “Although your car has the cooled seats!”

The car dealer deposits the keys in Javi’s hand when he walks you over, smiling and chatty as car salesmen at wont to be. At some point the directive that this car is for you must have been given because the salesman’s attention moves firmly to explaining all of the special features of the complex car to you.

Your car is the same year model, although there are a few more bells and whistles on yours. The grey and black leather seats look amazing and it’s obvious that the dealer has just removed all the protective plastic before delivering it. It has that deeply satisfying new car smell, although that will soon disappear if you drive with the top down. “Your husband asked for the same model he has, with a few upgrades.” The salesman explains to you, as though he hasn’t just explained the entire car tip-to-tail. “Including the manual transmission. Of course, Mrs. Gutierrez, if you prefer—”

“Before you insinuate that I won’t be able to drive the car my husband has gifted to me, be assured that my ability to drive a manual sports car is not in question.”

Javi looks smugly proud of that fact and he nods. “Absolutely.”Accordingly, Javi drops the key into your hand and presses a kiss to your cheek. You thank the salesman for the delivery, realizing belatedly that the thing that going to make you keep this car is fifty percent Javi's sweet gesture and fifty percent spite for this salesman who thinks you can't handle it.

The salesman leaves in the other car, climbing in the passenger seat and Javi grins. “Want to take it for a test drive?” He asks excitedly."Don't we have to go back to work?" Javi's excitement is always the sweetest height of any moment, but there are still responsibilities to take into account. "How about I drive us home tonight instead of taking the studio car?"

He pouts for a moment and then nods. “That makes more sense.” He agrees, even though he wants to take a ride with you now. “Maybe we can drive around the coast and find a new restaurant to try?”

"That sounds perfect." You won't say so because you know Javi's idea of a new place to try is always fancy, but Alex had told you about a new burger place on the Pacific Coast Highway. Just a shack on the beach. It sounds like something Javi will love if he even ever tried it -- but those aren't the places that he thinks to try.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” He asks, glancing at the car and then back at you.

"It's a gift from my soulmate." You wrap one hand around his arm and tuck the keys into your pocket carefully with the other. "Even if it was unexpected, it's still lovely."

“Okay.” He relaxes into your body and smiles. “I was hoping you would like it. They are very reliable cars.”

"I know you love your car." He does, and you had really just chalked it up to him being a sports car guy, but Javi's obsession with safety is one more thing that is very sweet about him. He really cares about the people closest to him. You glance back at the car, which was neatly parked on the edge of the other staff vehicles, and then back at him. "It will take a little getting used to, for me. But I love that you want to take care of me."

“You’re my soulmate.” He huffs. “Of course I want to take care of you.” He promises. “I want to give you the world.”

“I’m still getting used to that,” you admit, leaning on his arm a little out of a dear and sort of desperate wish to be close to him as you head back down the hall to whatever scene work is being done right now. “And I love you, too.”******

Alex wasn’t on the primary set today, but he was working with the secondary camera crew and the assistant director to shoot some of the exterior scenes, so he had seen the delivery of the car from a distance.

“New car! Who got a new car?” He demands, knocking on the trailer door and throwing it open a second later to charge inside like an over eager puppy. He’s a total gear head and loves cars.

"Mrs. G." Jason reports, lounging across the sofa in their shared trailer with a book open and resting on his chest. He'd barely closed his eyes for a nap when Alex came rumbling in. "You go see it yet?"“No! I have to get out of this costume.” He is pulling off the elaborate jacket and starts to unbutton the crisp white shirt.

“Go easy!” Jason reminds him, sitting up on the sofa and shoving a bookmark into the spine of the book without mercy. “Heather will kill you if you rip anything.”

“Dude, the horsepower of the car.” He grins. “Maybe she’ll let me test drive it.”

"You might have a better chance at that if you hadn't crushed the cover of her notebook the other day just by holding it weird." Jason chuckles. He pulls himself to standing with a grunt and moves to grab his water bottle off the nearby shelf.

“I didn’t mean to!!!!!” He insists, whining and pouting at the mention of that incident. He really hasn’t meant to.

“I know, man.” Jason can’t stop cackling now, even as he pats his co-star on the back. “I know. But it’s never not gonna be funny.”

In his excitement and exuberance, Alex can be a little…destructive. He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Then I’m never gonna drive that car.” He groans.

"Maybe she'll take you for a ride," Jason offers instead. Alex is just pulling on a t-shirt when he motions back toward the trailer door with a wave of one hand. "I mean she basically adopted you as the brother she never wanted right?" He snorts when Alex swats at him defensively and the two guys tumble out of their trailer and into the spring sunlight. "Just ask, man."

“Maybe.” He is rushing towards Javi’s trailer, still amused that the writer has his own space. Although it makes sense, in a way. Changes are quick, printed out right on site.

You groan at the impatient knocking on the trailer door, having to pause what you're doing with one hand working open Javi's pants and the other tangled in his curls. "One second!" You call back, pouting about being interrupted.

“Hurry up!” Alex chirps happily, practically wringing his hands together. Eager to see the car up close. “Stop kissing your soulmate!”

"Shut up!" Is the retort that comes back through the door, and after a minute or two of shuffling you pull the door open to find both leading men on your steps. "Yes, gentlemen?"

Jason chuckles, finding both you and Javi behind you looking flustered. Having some inkling it was much more than just kissing. “Saw the new car.” He explains. “Alex is about to crawl out of his skin to see it.”

"Alex, someday when I meet your soulmate, I'm going to ask them if they are a dog person right off the bat," you chuckle with thinly veiled amusement at the way the Hollywood star is practically wagging his tail to see the new vehicle. "Alright," you were already reaching for the key out of sight, and now you dangle it in front of his face teasingly. "Let's go check her out. She needs a name anyway. Might as well make it a group project."

“Oh god!” His eyes light up and he tries to snatch the keys out of your hand, but you pull them back. “Don’t name her something stupid.”

“What would be a stupid name for a car?” You ask him, entirely amused by his clearly very strong feelings on the subject.

“Bertha.” He chuckles. “I know Eleanor is popular because of Gone in Sixty Seconds…” he glances at Javi. “But don’t name her that.”

"Bertha is a character on my favorite tv show." You shake your head at the suggestion even as you loop your arm around Javi's waist to walk together. "I usually let a car tell me what their name is. You know – get in and the first song that plays on the first drive is where you get the name from. That sort of thing."

“Ohhhhhh that’s a good way to do it!” Alex plugs up and he’s turning around and walking backwards as he quizzes you. “Favorite genre of music?”

"It sounds so basic to say rock, but it's true." There is also a healthy interest into any kind of music that tells a story, but in general? It's rock. "90s alt rock, grunge, punk...but I'll try anything that comes on a good recommendation."

“Janie.” Alex grins widely, eyes alight with glee. “The car’s name is gonna be Janie.”

"How can you possibly guess that?" Jason huffs, crossing his arms like it's his car that has been named and not yours.

“Janie’s got a guuuun.” Alex croons off key on purpose as he continues to bound backwards like an excited puppy. “Most dealers set the XM radio to the 80s or 90s station, depending on the price tag of the car. Javi’s car is easily ninety k, and Aerosmith released the song in 1989 but it topped charts in 1990, so they play it on both the 80s and 90s stations.”

"We'll see." Never mind that the 80s and 90s stations are usually what you listen to, you ask the universe for one single second to make it anything else so that Alex will be wrong. You love the guy – he's funny and a great friend – but he doesn't need his head getting about bigger.

He doesn’t take offense, chuckling happily as he spins around and he whistles just as soon as the sparkling new car comes into the view, bow still sitting on the hood. “Ohhhh she is puuuuuuuuuurdy.” He drawls out with an exaggerated Texas accent.

"I have to admit," you give Javi's side a gentle squeeze. "The color is perfect."

“Good.” He beams. “It was this or a car that looked like pink or purple color.”

"I mean," you laugh, watching Javi's face morph at his obvious distaste for that choice. "I do like pink and purple. But blue is my favorite. And the gray interior is gorgeous." Stepping up to the car, you smooth a tentative hand down one side and bite your lip. Is this really your car? Did he really do this? But you click the unlock button on the fob in your hand and sure enough, the door unlocks instantly. Yep. He really did it.

Even as Alex drools over the car, Javi is watching you. Eager to see your reaction now that the reality of it being yours is starting to sink in.

It is the same as his car, after all. You've been in his car dozens of times now. But opening the driver's side send a ping of nerves through you just as much as it does anticipation. After all, the car was a gift. And it is much safer than your old one. Just because you scraped and saved for that shitbox did not make it a good car by any means.

You slide into the driver's seat and actually sigh with how comfortable it is.

“Heated and cooled seats.” Javi reminds you and Alex starts cracking up. “You got the coochie coolers, hellllllll yeah mama!” He slaps Javi on the back. “Just what she needs in the California summer.”

"Please never call them that again," you snort, shaking your head at Alex before you lean back in the front seat and look up at the three men that you now spend as much time with as anyone else in the world. "Okay. We ready for this?"

"Hell yeah." Jason pumps one fist in the air. "Do it!"

"Here we go..." Turning over the ignition is akin to a cat purring out its very best first impression, and when the screen blinks to life the station that is listed is, in fact, 90s Alt Rock. Javi leans in to ear the song, eager to learn what is playing. The unique sound of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers comes through the speakers in studio quality sound.

"Last dance with Mary Jane, one more time to kill the pain I feel summer creepin' in and I'm tired of this town again"

Jason smirks, Javi’s head tilts curiously, and you just start to laugh as Alex crows with victory.

“Alright, fine,” you can’t stop shaking your head and laughing as Mary Jane’s Last Dance pours through the speakers. “I guess the car’s name is Janey.” It’s better than Mary Jane, after all, and the radio determined the winner anyway.

“Janey?” Javi asks, wondering if you are joking since you had wanted to thwart Alex.

“Those are the rules.” When you shrug you’re still laughing. Mostly because the chance of that happening was way too small to ignore. “I don’t particularly want to name her Mary Jane, but Janey is cute.”

“It could always be MJ.” Jason pipes up with a grin tossed Alex’s way.

“But then it sounds like you’re naming your car after Michael Jackson.” Alex points out, as if that proves that he wins.

“Or MJ from Spider-Man.” Jason counters with a shrug. “Short for Mary Jane.”

“I always liked Gwen Stacy.” You counter, just to watch the unabashed, rather gobsmacked way both Alex and Jason start to sputter in protest. “I’m kidding guys, oh my god. Calm down. MJ is good. I like MJ.”

Javi chuckles and pats the cloth hood of the car. “MJ.” He hums. “Why don’t you let her hair down, Sweetheart?”

Placing a kiss on his cheek, you slide into the car and shut the door. Turning over the ignition feels like you're sitting on an engine-powered cloud. Just like Javi's car, the buttery leather cradles you and you really can't deny the comfort. You tell yourself it's practical. Your husband – your soulmate can afford to buy you a new car when your old one is dying, and he got you something safe and stylish without you ever having to ask. Most partners would be thrilled.

So why not embrace it?

The second your foot presses the gas, you suddenly have no trouble with the idea of this car being your reality.

Javi watches as you squeal out of your parking spot, grinning wildly as Alex shouts encouragement in excitement.

Almost the second you pull out, the wind seems to change. The world morphs around you a little. And yeah, you like driving. You always have. But this? This feels like flying, and the only thing you’re missing is Javi beside you.

“Well damn, she left you behind.” Jason snorts, slapping Javi on the back, but your husband just chuckles. “She’ll be back. She’s just getting a feel for her baby.”

“It’s a hell of a gift.” Jason observes, arms crossed, as he watches you turn a wide circle on the other end of the parking lot.

“She’s worth it.” Javi promises with an indulgent smile. “First time I’ve ever felt truly loved.” The realization had been astounding. You accepted him, flaws and all and even put up with him now when you were exasperated by him buying you a car without your input. There is never a moment where you make him feel like he’s not enough.

Jason and Alex, for alternate reasons, sigh with longing and mumble agreements. Jason has been developing a sizable crush since beginning work on this film and hasn’t said a goddamn word to anyone — while Alex has been having a quiet personal crisis about the possibility of never being able to find his soulmate. He envies people like Javi and Dieter Bravo. People who work through their fears and end up happy and in love. He just doesn’t know if that will ever happen to him.

The car comes roaring back towards the three men and Javi chuckles when the other two step back cautiously but he knows you will stop. The braking system on the car is amazing, and he fully trusts you. “How does she feel?”

At some point during your test drive you brought the top down, and you’re grinning at him unapologetically from the front seat of the convertible. “The only thing that would make it more perfect is having you in the front seat with me.”

“Are you ready to leave?” He asks, shooting you a matching grin and lifting his brows. “Alex might cry if you don’t take him for a spin.”

“Don’t we have more work to do?” If you’ve both been dismissed from set that is news to you, but you wouldn’t be opposed to a drive.

“We are done for the day.” Alex is bouncing on his toes and edging closer to the car. Eager to get into the passenger seat if he can’t get behind the wheel. “Secondary too.”

Looking up to Javi, you flash a gleaming grin and shrug your shoulders. “Do you guys want to go for a drive? Head out to the beach and maybe get dinner?”

“You- uh, don’t mind?” Jason looks surprised and at the same time, a little relieved that you just aren’t dragging Javi away.

“Why would I mind? We’re friends, aren’t we?” It’s a little heartbreaking the way Jason always seems surprised to be included in things, but that’s like half the reason you’re damned and determined to always make sure he knows he’s invited. “If everybody is done, maybe we can catch the girls and we can all go together?”

Javi chuckles. “We won’t all fit in this car, but why don’t we go to the house and pick up my car?” He grins at Alex and Jason. “You two can take turns driving mine.” He offers with a waggle of his brows.

Before you can say another word, the boys are agreeing and sprinting off to their trailers for their stuff so fast that they leave behind a dust cloud.

“Well,” you laugh, shaking your head as they go. “We should go tell the girls. You just gave those two the biggest excitement of the week.”

“We’ll have to get them to the house, but then we can let them ride in my car.” He offers as he leans against the driver’s door and offers you a smirk. “You look sexy behind the wheel. Knew you would.”

“Yeah?” He’s practically beaming at you, and you can’t help but feel a little giddy about it in turn. “What else do you think about me being sexy doing?”

He bites his lip, his expression sliding into something a little more…carnal. “When you walk around the cottage in those little outfits. When you wash your make up off every night and you lean over the sink to make sure you got all your eyeliner.” He grunts slightly, obviously infatuated. “Painting your toenails.”

A little giggle wells in your chest and you smirk at him in turn. “So…any time you get a good view of my ass or get to look down my shirt?”

His eyes dip down your shirt and linger for a moment before he looks back into your eyes. “Guilty.” He admits with a chuckle.

“That’s totally fine,” you promise him, grin spreading a little wider. “I can’t wait for the pool to be ready so I can check out your whole drawer of speedos in action.”

“I have a favorite pair.” He admits shamelessly.

"Oh yeah?" As much as you hate to, you climb out of the parked car temporarily so you and Javi can go inside and hunt down the rest of your friends. "Which one?"

“They are black and white striped.” He tells you. “I think they make my small butt look bigger.”

Barely stopping yourself before you snort, you lean into Javi's side and pat his 'small butt' lovingly. "I think your ass is perfect, amor. Don't worry about that."

“You like it?” He perks up slightly, surprised that you would even care about his mild body issues.

"Do I like my husband's ass?" Even pretending to think about it only lasts a minute, and you slide your hand into his back pocket to give him a little squeeze. Sure, Javi doesn't have the biggest or perkiest butt in the world – but it's lean and tight just like the rest of him. "No. No, I take that back. I don't like it. I love it."

He chuckles, a little self conscious and a little proud of his butt that you like so much. “Yours is much better.” He promises, his own hand sliding down to your lower back and he grins but continues down to squeeze your ass.

"I guess it's a very good thing we like each other's assets so much," you joke, giggling at your own bad pun.

Javi laughs at the corny joke, nodding happily. “Go find your friend, sweetheart.” He urges you. “I’ll find Tamara.”

Moira is, as always, easy to find. At the reception desk inside the front door of the house, she is sitting with her novel of the week and her enormous pink Stanley full of iced water. The little cherry cover has been flicked off the top and she's chewing the tip of her straw between her teeth as she reads something particularly exciting.

"Can I interrupt?" Sometimes being interrupted in the middle of reading something exciting is the worst and you don't want to do that to her.

She’s immediately marking her spot and closing the book, looking at you expectantly. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Hollywood?” She teases with a grin.

“Hush.” But you just roll your eyes, grinning with that effervescent sunny aura that life with Javi had given you. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come hang out tonight.” You waggle your eyebrows teasingly. ��Jason is coming.”

Eyes widening as her heart starts to race, there isn’t the possibility of playing it cool. Her crush on the actor is nearly overwhelming and to her horror, she can barely form sentences around him. So often she is asked why she’s so quiet. “Oh god.” She moans. “I’m gonna embarrass myself.”

“You’re not!” Plopping yourself down on the stool beside her behind the desk for a moment of work wife support, you squeeze your best friend close to your side and shake her a little as if you’re trying to shake her nerves out. “He’s a sweetheart and an absolute goofball. And I totally caught him checking you out at lunch today.”

“Oh b.s.” she huffs, waving her hand at you even if she perks up slightly and rolls her shoulders back. “He was not.”

“He was.” You nudge her, knowing you’ve already gotten her that much cheerier. “And I have it on good gossiping authority that he’s got a crush on somebody in the production.”

“The key word there is production.” She points out, sighing softly. You don’t tease her about her impossible crush, but she’s almost embarrassed by how much she likes him. She feels akin to a stalker, flustering every time she runs into him and yet she’s ’accidentally’ run into him more than once.

“You count as being in the production, babe.” The reminder is soft, but still nudging. “You don’t have to come tonight, but I wish you would. We’re just going to drive out to the beach and have burgers and hang out. Nothing fancy.”

“Just hanging out?” Since you’ve been married, the out of work time spent together has gone down, but that is to be expected and she doesn’t begrudge you that. Still, it’s nice to have the opportunity to spend time with you if nothing else. “Why not?” She shrugs and grins. “You know how much I love burgers.”

“I know you do.” And if you manage to get her in the backseat of your new car with her celebrity crush at any given point, the night will be twice as successful. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Grab your stuff and we’ll sign you out. They’ve called shooting for the day.”

“They have?” Her brows wing up and she’s jumping out of her chair to start gathering her things. Without guests, her days are boring at times and today was one of those days. She hadn’t even had confused guests arrive not knowing the house was closed for filming. “That’s early.”

“Yeah, but I can’t say I’m upset about it. Javi said they got the first two scenes this morning in one take each.”

“You weren’t on set?” She smirks and shoots you a coy look. “What were you doing? Recovering?”

“Hush!” Even as you bat her arm in playful shock, you’re near giggling. “No, I had some mail to send and my beloved junker was in the shop."

She groans in disbelief and shakes her head. “What’s wrong with Betsy now?” She demands. “She’s requiring more and more maintenance, you know.”

“I know.” At this, you at least have the decency to look a bit sheepish. Once Moira has her things, you head down to the time clock in the basement together so she can sign out. “And I guess Javi was more concerned about my safety with the old girl than I realized.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns in confusion. “Did he insult your car?”

“No, no! Nothing like that.” Javi could never insult anyone. You know that about him. He’s constitutionally incapable of intentional negativity. “He just mentioned that she breaks down a lot and that he’d feel better if I drove something a bit safer.” You bite your lip and shrug, wondering how she’ll take the news. “He worries.”

“Well, he should worry.” She admits, shrugging slightly. “You broke down on the 405 six months ago.” She reminds you. “Had to wait three hours for a tow truck.”

"I know." Though Javi doesn't know that. If he had, he probably would have done what he did today much sooner. "Which is why I'm hoping you'll be impressed by what he did instead of freaking out a little like I did."

“What did he do?” She is instantly suspicious and dragging you towards the stairs so she can find out.

"He, um..." You clear your throat and very quickly mumble: "Heboughtmeanewcar."

“He what?” She heard you, she just can’t believe what you’ve said. The very idea of someone just buying their spouse a new car isn’t something happens in real life in her experience. “What? What kind? Where? Is it here?”

"It's out front." The ever-so-slight embarrassment on your face is just because you can't believe he did something so extravagant out of a place of kindness and love. Out of worry, for that matter. Just because he cares about you and he can. "It's um...before you see it...just know it's not something I would have picked for myself but I do love it."

“Oh god.” She groans. “Don’t tell me that man got you a fucking minivan.”

"No, no. Quite the opposite." Back up the stairs and out to the front of the house, you put your hand into your pocket and click the remote entry that unlocks your shining, metallic blue Porsche. "Moira, meet MJ."

“Holyshitnofuckingwaaaaaaay!” The squeal makes it out in one breath as she nearly leaps for the car, yanking the door handle open to look inside and verify that your key fob unlocked this car. “Can he buy me one too?” She begs, teasing but obviously slightly jealous as she coos over the car.

"Honestly if you asked, he probably would," you tell her, glad to see that she's excited about this development instead of getting worried that it's overbearing or that Javi is lovebombing you. Neither of which is the case.

“Holy shit.” She huffs. “It smells amazing.”

"New car smell, right? I swear Porsches have their own specific version."

“Because it’s expensive.” She pokes her head out of the car and looks at you over the hood. “Don’t tell me that he just surprised you with it?”

"I don't know if you've noticed, but surprises are kind of his thing." From the front steps of the house, the guys and Tamara appear and you can't help the way you light up at even the smallest sight of your soulmate. “Everybody excited to get outta here?"

“I wonder what he will surprise you with next time?” She chuckles, happy to see that you are so happy. You deserve everything.

“Hopefully nothing as big,” you half-laugh under your breath as the group comes down the front steps toward you.

“Hell yes.” Tamara answers happily. “A burger and a beer or two sounds like the perfect way to unwind tonight.”

When the rest of the group makes it over to the car there are hugs and squeezes all around and Tamara coos over the new convertible lovingly. "Since everybody else was driven," she eyes the boys with amusement. "Why don't we take Mrs. G's gorgeous new baby and my SUV out to Casa Gutierrez and we can go from there?"

“I want to ride in the convertible!” Alex immediately calls it and Jason shoots a glance over at Moira to see if she’s going to call the other tiny backseat.

"Surprising no one." Tamara laughs. "Jay and Moira, wanna ride with me? I think if we try to split up the adoring soulmates, the world might implode."

Everyone laughs and Javi shrugs. “It just might.” He admits. “It is hard enough to be away from her when she is having her nails done with Moria.” However, he knows you need your time with your friends and he would never deny you anything you need.

“Which is a tradition we cherish, and you’re the king of appreciating a nice new manicure anyway, mi amor.” Before him, your weekly manicure sessions with your best friend had been an excuse to spend time together, listening to music and gossiping and painting each other’s nails. Once Javi had heard about this, he had insisted on upgrading it to a weekly lunch and salon date for the two of you.He smirks and winks at you as he thinks about the way your hand looks when you wrap it around his cock. It’s your favorite way to beg him for sex, not that you have to beg, but you love to feel him harden in your hand. “Yes I do.”

“Okay.” Having a feeling that you’re both thinking about the same thing, you snap back into reality just long enough to nudge a slightly panicky looking Moira toward Tamara and Jason. “We’ll meet you guys at the house. See you in a bit!”

Everyone is quickly loaded up into the cars, Alex groaning over the buttery leather interior and grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he leans forward. “Make her fly?” He begs.

He’s like a little kid in the backseat all the way down the Pacific Coast Highway. For the length of the drive it is nothing but good music and chatter in both cars and even when you leave Tamara’s SUV in the driveway of the cottage to take both convertibles out for dinner, the good mood just keeps rolling. By the time the six of you get the little burger shack with its old fashioned jukebox and brightly painted and varnished tables, you’re both starving and in an incredibly good mood.

“Oh my goodness, I love the vibes of this place.” Moira is absolutely enchanted by the relaxed atmosphere and the relaxing classic rock that is pouring out of the speakers of the jukebox. It’s very chill, very surfer-like. Even if the rocky cliffs aren’t the perfect setting for surfboards and catching waves.

“Isn’t it the cutest? And I’ve looked over the menu a million times, everything looks so good.” Your best friend had glued herself to your side the second both cars got here and you’re dying to know why she’s blushing so badly but you won’t pry quite yet. “I’ve been wanting to come here for ages.”

“Why didn’t you say something before now?” Javi asks, almost looking hurt that you kept what you wanted to yourself. “We could have come.”

“I knew we’d get around to it.” You reassure him, and make a mental note that Javi seems a little extra sensitive to making you as happy as humanly possible today, despite — or perhaps because of — the car purchase just hours ago. “And I was right, wasn’t I? We’re here now.”

“Yes we are.” He relaxes at your words and the way you stroke your hand down the small of his back as you lean into him. “We need to try everything you want.”

“That’s either going to be a very big tab or a whole lot of visits, but I like the enthusiasm, mi amor.” The two of you slide up to the rest of the group to find Alex already flirting his way into getting two tables pushed together instead of having to wait. Moira has joined Tamara at the jukebox where they are eagerly picking out songs, and Jason is lingering slightly behind with his eyes trained firmly on the ground in front of him like he’s misbehaved or something.

“What’s wrong with him?” Javi asks you, noticing Jason’s behavior and finding it odd for the actor. He’s not as outgoing as Alex, but he’s normally not sulking like a kid put in time out.

“Not sure yet.” The two of you hang to the back of the group as the beaming hostess leads Alex to his table and all the rest of you only by accident. “But I caught him get starry eyed looking at Moira earlier. Maybe there’s a thread there?”

“You picked up on that?” He lifts a brow and grins as he glances back at your best friend. “I thought I was imagining things.”

“Nope.” Shaking your head lets you smother a giggle as you walk together, and you grin up at your husband. “Clear as day!”

“What does she think about him?” You have to know, as close as the two of you are. But Javi doesn’t push you to tell him everything you and Moira discuss. He respects your friendship enough to know that you might keep secrets from him that she divulges.

“Oh, we are absolutely meddling,” you murmur, right before letting go of his arm to sit down.

“It’s like that, huh?” He snorts in amusement and sits down beside you.

“Like what?” Jason asks brightly. He’s already picked up a menu and is leaning back in his chair, savoring the evening breeze off the Pacific.

“Like a party.” Javi answers, glancing over at Jason. “How was the drive here?”

“Stunning.” Alex grins, leaning forward just as Jason leans back. “I’m gonna have to get one of those for myself, ya know.”

“So you are going to let Jason drive it back?” Javi asks with a grin of his own.

Picking up on Javi's thread quickly, you bury your grin behind your menu and shrug. "Someone would have to keep an eye on him if I did let that happen."

Javi chuckles. “And who better than your best friend?”

"Perfect." Moira might kill you for it later -- if the foot stepping on yours under the table is any indication -- but you'll be damned if you're not going to at least try to help.

“But I wanted to drive her some more.” Alex pouts playfully, even as he hands over the keys to the Porsche.

"Play nice and you'll get another chance," Tamara advises, still grinning when the waiter comes over to take everyone's drink orders.

“Or better yet, buy one.” Jason snorts. “Or maybe not, the way you drive.”

"Hey!" Alex all but pouts. "I'm a good driver!"

Moira snorts and Jason immediately bites his lip, the edges of his ears turning red as he looks at the menu like he’s trying to memorize it.

The ordering of drinks distracts from whatever must surely have happened during the drive out to the coast, and the table is awash with margaritas and beers in no time. Conversation turns to the menu and everyone's plans for the weekend, but your best friend beside you is suspiciously silent.

“Everything okay?” Your innocent question makes her jump, lost in thought until you rip her back to the present. “Oh, uh, y-yeah.” She stammers. “Everything’s great. Fine. Everything’s fine.”

"Liar." Eyeing her, margarita in hand, you lean slightly to your side and have a sip of your drink. "You're a terrible liar."

“What?” She gives you an exaggerated innocent look.

“What happened?” You whisper, waggling your eyebrows at her like you’re sure she has a secret.

“Alex drives like a maniac.” She whispers back after a long moment of silence. Her face is turning scarlet again and she bites her lip. “We weren’t wearing seatbelts and….” She chokes out a groan. “I know that my boob fits perfectly in his hand now, so that’s gonna be the highlight of my fantasies for the next hundred years.”

“What??” Barely able to stifle a snort of laugh by clamping your hand down over your mouth, your eyes bulge looking at her. Thank god you’re capable of keeping your voice down to a hiss. “You’re kidding me!”

“Noooooo.” She groans and flops her face into her hand. “And Jason reacted like I had an infectious disease.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” you promise her, glad that the other four at the table are currently distracted by some other discussion at the moment. “He was probably just embarrassed.”

“Or he’s disgusted he accidentally touched me.” She snorts, hating how rejected she felt when he had pulled backed and refused to look at her even as he apologized.

“I’d call that the least likely option.” After all, you know his eyes were trained on her ass at Craft Services this afternoon. There was no mistaking that. And more than once he’s gotten blushy and excitable talking to her between scenes or at a meal. Moira just never noticed because she was blushy and excitable too. And because she was fairly blind to anyone ever paying her compliments.

“Whatever you say.” She huffs quietly. “You’ve found your perfect prince and he’s literally amazing.”

"And you will, too." Because if it happened for you, there is nothing in the world that is going to stop you until you help your best friend find that happiness, too.

“We will see.” She doesn’t want to bring down the mood at all, so she shoots you a smile. “So you named the car already?”

"First song on the test drive was Mary Jane's Last Dance," you tell her, letting the deliberate subject change wash past you. There's no use harping on it when Jason is sitting a few feet away and Moira will just dig her heels in. "So it was kind of a no brainer."

“Sounds like it.” She laughs and shrugs. “MJ is kind of cute. Some people will think of Spider-Man, some people will think of smoking out.” She laughs. “Some people with think of Michael Jackson.”

“Variety is the spice of life, right?” Your little shrug is playful. Unserious. A small attempt to keep the mood playful for her.

“You should get a vanity plate for her.” She hums, knowing how much you enjoy figuring out what people are trying to say through their plates.

"Can you get them with just two letters on it?" It's a question you've never, ever had to contemplate before and now you can't recall if you've ever seen a short vanity plate before.

“What about MJ and the year?” She suggests.

"That could work." You hold up your glass to her to toast. "Just as long as you go for endless drives with me and keep being my adventure buddy. I can't possibly be Thelma without my Louise."

“Always.” She snorts and picks up her own glass to tap against yours. “I’ll be the scrub in the passenger side of my best friend’s ride.”

You snort, but toast her anyway. "You're dating us with that lyric, babe."

That makes her laugh, even though it’s jarring how much time as passed by since she first discovered her first soulmate mark and hoped to find them soon. “I’ll own it.”

"It's a good ass song." There's no debating that. Just like there's no debating how relaxed you are with your soulmate on one side of you and your best friend on the other. With a whole table full of friends. It's become your new reality almost as quickly as meeting and marrying your soulmate, and there's something about that that clenches your heart tonight. "And I swear I'm not getting teary over a TLC song."

“Yes you are.” Moira snorts. “But that’s okay. Right now, everything in your life is perfect.” She might be a little envious, but she would never begrudge you this happiness. You deserve it and more.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TUWOP: @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sunnytuliptime @iamladyp @spishsstuff @famouslyanonymous

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #Javi G #TUWOMT #the unbearable weight of massive talent #soulmate au

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javierpena-inatacvest · 7 months ago

Text

Me, You, and Baby, Too

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

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

Word Count: 4.1K

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

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

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

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Long.”

“My knees are killin’ me.”

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.”

“Better now that I’m home with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Not floor plans.

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did.

Not even what he had done today on the job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want one.”

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

“Joel… Really?”

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

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

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

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To get you pregnant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

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

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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: prev | masterlist | next

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora / *i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal #call it what you want series

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lazysoulwriter · 24 hours ago

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guilty pleasure. - pedro pascal.

----

You had a guilty pleasure.

Well, it wasn’t exactly guilty, but you weren’t about to announce it to the world either. You read fanfiction. Specifically, fanfiction about him. Pedro. Your boyfriend. The man who, at this very moment, was in the kitchen making himself a snack, completely unaware that you were consuming questionable content about him on the internet.

It wasn’t your fault. People were creative, and some of them had a talent for capturing that irresistible mix of charm, warmth, and—let’s be honest—daddy energy he exuded. And maybe, just maybe, some of those fics were a little spicy.

You were in the middle of a particularly... intense paragraph when you heard footsteps approaching. Before your brain could catch up, Pedro walked into the room.

You panicked.

With lightning speed, you slammed your laptop shut, as if that alone could erase all evidence of your activities. But the sudden movement caught his attention immediately.

Pedro raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his deep brown eyes. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you blurted, voice an octave too high.

“Oh, nothing, huh?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking like he already knew you were hiding something. “That was the most suspicious ‘nothing’ I’ve ever seen.”

You tried to play it cool. “Just... work stuff.”

He scoffed. “Uh-huh. Work stuff that makes you blush like that?”

Damn it. Your cheeks were burning.

He walked over, placing his hands on the back of your chair and leaning down until his face was right beside yours. “Come on, let me see,” he coaxed, voice smooth and teasing.

You shook your head rapidly. “Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

He grinned, lowering his voice into that dangerous tone. “Baby, please?”

Damn him and his irresistible charm.

With a dramatic sigh, you opened the laptop and handed it over. Pedro took one look at the screen and immediately started laughing. Like, full-body, shaking laughter.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “You’re reading fanfiction about me?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Just give it back.”

But he wasn’t done. His eyes scanned the words quickly, and then—oh no.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

“Wait, wait—this is a smut fic?” His grin widened as he kept reading. “Oh-ho-ho, this is explicit. Dios mío—is this what you think about when I’m not home?”

“Pedro—”

“Oh, wow. So you want me to do this to you tonight?” He glanced at you with faux innocence, tapping the screen. “Because I can make that happen, sweetheart.”

“Pedro, I swear—”

“Actually,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “This part? Right here? I could do better.”

Your soul left your body. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me.” He handed the laptop back, still smirking. “And apparently, you love reading about all the ways I could absolutely ruin you.”

You buried your face in a pillow as he laughed, obviously enjoying your suffering.

Then, after a moment, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, voice dripping with promise, “you don’t have to read about it. You could always just ask.”

Your breath hitched.

Damn it.

You were never reading fanfiction around him again.

----

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readingiskeepingmegoing · 1 day ago

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Oh, my days Harry is so unbelievably hot! What a dream.

To Go, Please | the materialists pt 1/2

pairing: Harry Castillo x reader (the materialists)

word count: 2.7k

summary: You have been seeing Harry for a couple of weeks now after meeting him at your friend's wedding. After your last date was cut short due to a work emergency, the two of you want nothing more than each other's company tonight.

a/n: ok so are we all insufferable today between the apple airpod trailer and the materialists? because i am. my god. also, we are calling him Harry for now, as the name card he picks up in the trailer I assumed was his, and the name on it is Harry Castillo?? but either way, i'll change it if need be. also, i've already thought of a new series containing this man-- so much is coming.. ahhh !!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Part One

The sushi place that you were currently sitting at was something of a hidden gem you liked to go to when you needed a break from everything. Being a matchmaker had its joys and perks, being surrounded by people falling in love- and finding their happiness. However, it also had its days when you wanted nothing more than to curl up and vow that love doesn’t exist. Today was one of those days after a client you’d lined up with someone turned out to be nothing but a fraud, leaving the bride at the alter– one of your biggest nightmares.

However, Ming’s Sushi was one of the small slivers of joy you could get access to on a day like today. That and well as of late, another sliver of joy and peace was Harry.

Harry as well had a busy day, not bad, just busy. It was filled with meetings, contract signings, budget reviews, and at the end having to be submitted to a board meeting to discuss the quarterly numbers.

He called you when he was leaving the office, wanting to see you after a long day as well as after hearing about your day, wanting to offer some comfort. He asked where you wanted to go for dinner, and when you said Ming’s, he asked you to be ready within the hour.

Harry was a man like no other. Yes, he was filthy rich, which set him aside– but he was also one of the most generous individuals you’d ever met, not only as a person but as a partner as well.

He was consistently making you feel seen, heard, and appreciated in every aspect. This was shown by the way you’d offer to help carry something inside last you were together. He thanked you with those big brown eyes and warm smile but insisted on doing it for you– his reasoning was always he wanted to take care of you.

It was also shown when he would appreciate how beautiful you looked. He’d find small things that you didn’t think you’d notice like the color of your nails, the earrings or eye shadow you wore– small details to you, but he made them feel so much more valuable– made you feel more valuable.

He worshipped you.

When he introduced himself at your best friend’s wedding, and from the start, he had a way of somehow making you feel like the most desired person in any room.

After a night of drinks, getting to know each other more, a few slow dances and a very polite and respectful goodnight kiss from him, he called you the next day to ask you to dinner.

Since– the last 2 weeks have been nothing short of a complete dream. You’d gone out with him a few times to dinner and once out for a lunch date, but every time he took you home, he kissed you goodbye, kissed the top of your hand and would tell you he’d call you tomorrow— which he always did.

After the 3rd dinner date you were going to invite him in, but the moment disappeared when an emergency work call of his interrupted the doorstop make out session on your front step— you two were enthusiastic attendees to.

He reluctantly had to wish you goodnight and promised he’d make it up to you.

Since then the sexual tension between the two of you has been at an all time high.

When he picked you up today, it was the first time you'd seen each other since. He wasted no time after helping you into the back of his car before his lips were on yours, whispering how much he missed you, how he’d hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

To both of your disappointment, the car ride from your place to the restaurant was less than a few minutes, again cutting your make out reunion short.

While eating you made small talk about what you’d done since you last saw each other a few days ago.

You’d momentarily dazed off for a moment as there was a moment where he ordered a dessert from the waiter and your mind wandered. You kept your gaze on the soy sauce bottle in the middle of the table, your mind being pulled back to the events of earlier today.

He turned to look at you after ordering, noticing where you were. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb shyly and cleared his throat softly, “You look beautiful if I haven’t told you already. Those earrings bring out your eyes…” he said from across the table, taking you away from your thoughts— his brown eyes sparkling from the warm lighting the dining area brought in.

You immediately snap out of it, looking at him across the table, softly smiling, “Oh, um, thank you, you’re very sweet.” you blush, reaching up to touch one of the earrings, suddenly feeling shy. You purse your lips together and lean forward to give him more of your attention.

He slowly reached his hand over the table for you to take, “So tell me, what’s the story with Ming’s? I wanna know the history…” he smiled warmly, speaking softly.

You looked down at his hand and took it. His hand acts as an anchor for you and the anxieties of today. He immediately started softly running his thumb over your knuckles in an attempt to soothe you, to keep you with him. He leaned himself in closer to give you his fullest attention.

You kept your gaze on your hand in his, “My grandmother's apartment was about 2 blocks from here growing up. She was friends with the owner. They both had husband’s that worked at the docks back in the day.” you smiled remembering the memories held within these four walls, then you looked up at him, “This place brings a sense of stillness to my chaos. Brings me back to her in a way.”

He nodded, then brought your hand to his lips and gently kissed it, keeping his big brown eyes of maple syrup on you, “I have a place like that, I’ll take you there next time…” he tilted his head as he gazed at you.

You couldn’t help but smile a little brighter, “What’s your ‘Ming’s’ then? Give me a sneak peak…”

He let out a small light chuckle and set your hands down, keeping yours in his, going back to running his thumb along your knuckles, “Esmeralda’s…” he bit the inside of his cheek, “My abuelito’s good friend owns it, has since the 60’s.” he looked down at your hands, “When my tia used to watch me and my siblings, she’d take us there with my grandparents, it was our little thing.” he chuckled reminiscing, “All of the New York fine dining I’ve had over the years… nothing can compete with her tamales…” he tsked and looked up at you as you let out a small chuckle.

“Tamales from Esmeralda’s… Egg Rolls from Ming’s…” you softly hummed, “Anywhere else that brings you that level of comfort?” you asked, looking down at your hand in his.

“Anywhere in the world when I’m with you…” he confessed, not missing a beat.

You looked up and blushed but let out a small snorted chuckle, “That was horribly cheesy… even for you.” you teased.

His smile lit up the whole room, and he slowly shook his head, “No no, you’re right, that was horribly cheesy— but completely and utterly true.” he stopped and bit his bottom lip for a moment, “Why don’t we get the dessert to go? We can go back to my place— rent a movie or something…” he raised his eyebrows, hopeful, his thumb continuing to rub softly still against your knuckles.

You were a sucker for those damned brown eyes, the ones that looked like a puppy dog whenever he’d look at you in any shape or fashion like this.

You tsked, smiling, and looked at the waiter passing by and raised your hand, “Excuse me? Could we get the dessert we ordered, to go please?”

He nodded and smiled, telling you he’d have it ready for you in just a moment.

You looked back at Harry, his eyes hadn’t left you. He was puckering his lips a little like he was thinking, he had a small smirk on his upper lip.

You chuckled knowing what he might be thinking and bit your bottom lip, attempting to play hard to get, “Just a heads up, I can only come over for a little while, I’ve got an early morning meeting.” you tucked your hair behind your ear and stood as the waiter brought the dessert in a to-go bag.

He stood and came around to help you put on your jacket, leaning in and kissing your temple and then cheek. “Of course…” he said, putting his hand on the small of your back as he came to stand beside you and offer his arm. You took it and held onto it while you two walked out.

“Just a little while…” he said as opened the door for you with a wink, and that smirk grew a little bigger.

He had his driver pick the two of you up within moments of you leaving the restaurant.

As soon as the car door shut and the privacy screen was up after he told the driver to go to his house, you turned to him and had your bottom lip between your teeth, trying not to smile but your eyes said otherwise.

He chuckled lowly and cupped your cheek before leaning in slowly and nudging your nose with his, “Just for a little while, don’t worry— I’ll make it worth your while…” he whispered before his lips fell onto yours, kissing you deeply and passionately.

The air damn near was struck out of you by how he kissed you. You hummed as his lips glided against yours, smiling ever so slightly at the understanding of what was about to happen.

His hand slid slowly down your body onto your waist and pulled you closer. He was greedy in the fact that he always wanted closer than you already were, especially in situations like these when each other's lips and tongues were cascading over each other.

Your hands were everywhere, slowly going up and down his chest to pull him closer with this torso, pulling the collar of his sweater towards you, at one point your hand fell to his belt and gave a gentle tug— being bold for once.

He groaned, panting softly as he pulled his lips away from yours momentarily, "Stay... stay the night..." he pulled you in by your chin, kissing you a few more times before pulling away again, foreheads against each other, out of breath, "I'll buy you clothes, have them delivered tonight..." he cupped your cheek and before his lips fell onto yours he asked once more, "Stay..." he pleaded.

You two hadn't slept together yet and part of it was you were trying to avoid it deep down. To avoid getting too involved so quickly, knowing he could do so much better than you.

A part of you was flattered and happy he had given you this much time, but then the other part screamed it was only temporary, you were only meant to be temporary. You knew it wouldn't be forever. Someone like him couldn't make someone like you his forever, right?

However, in the time you had known him, he had been very clear about his intentions and feelings towards you. He wanted it all with you. He was sure of it. He was stubborn about it. He never faltered, never doubted— in fact, he solidified it all by words of devotion and acts of sincerity.

He was something of a rarity. He was a fantasy. The unicorn. The diamond in the rough. He was the perfect fit for most of your clients, however, he wanted you and only you.

Whether you wanted to believe it or not, he checked off every single box that you buried deep down and even provided more. You hated to admit it to yourself but he was everything you had ever dreamed of for a partner. He brought light to your life, warmth to your days.

He was what you needed.

He was what you wanted.

You nodded slightly, not realizing you didn’t verbally agree to stay and continued to kiss him.

After a moment the car came to a stop and the locks all shot up, signaling you had arrived where you needed to be.

He pulled back slowly, hand on your cheek every so softly, "Will you? Stay?" he looked at you with those big brown eyes and you couldn't help but smile and blush.

"I'll stay..." you nudged your nose with his, softly.

He softly stroked your cheek with his thumb then lightly pecked your lips before reluctantly moving away to open the car door and offer his hand to help you out of the car.

You thanked the driver and scooted out, reaching out and taking his hand while you got out of the vehicle, turning your head ever so slightly to smile at him.

He wrapped your hand around his bicep and closed the door, walking up with you to the front of his building.

His doorman opened the door and welcomed you inside, "Mr. Castillo..." then nodded to you and smiled, "Miss..." greeting you as well.

He smiled warmly and gently touched the man's arm in the most genuine and friendliest way, like the two had known each other for years, "Good evening, Henry, how’s Ruth doing?"

“Feeling much better, she came home from the hospital today, my daughter is taking care of her. Thank you for asking sir…” he smiled.

Harry smiled and nodded, “You’ll let me know if you guys need anything, yes?”

Henry nodded and smiled, “Of course sir. Have a lovely night.”

Once inside, an elevator opened up and the both of you stepped inside, he pushed the top floor.

The tension was palpable, you could shatter it with one small breath. You watched as each floor passed by, trying to calm yourself down, taking small but deep breaths. Mentally telling yourself level out-- but as soon as the top floor 'ding' hit and those doors opened to his penthouse, you were both on each other.

His hands had a firm but gentle hold on your waist as he backed you up against the wall of his living room, lips crashing over yours in a heated but passionate fit of kisses.

Your hands were on his cheeks then in his hair. They eventually laid on his chest as you pressed yourself against him.

He moved his head down and kissed your jaw and then neck, sucking a soft mark into your skin.

You moaned his name, gasping softly as his hands moved up your body to pull you off the wall by wrapping his arms around your waist and up your back, continuing to kiss and softly mark your skin.

He went to move down the hall a few steps, moving off your neck and leaning back in for your lips.

You momentarily opened your eyes to look at him and smiled at you before his lips fell onto yours. Your eyes registered your surroundings and you pulled back to pull your gaze to the nearby surroundings. You chuckled, "Holy... sh-..." your jaw slacked a little, "This is where you live?" you looked around.

He let you do this for a few moments, your eyes looking around you, smiling, looking somewhat baffled before pulling you back to him, making you giggle as he pulled you close, putting one of his arms around your waist.

He whispered hoarsely, "I'll give you a tour later... but I think we've got more pressing matters to get to, yes?" he teased his lips against yours, hand cupping to your cheek.

You nodded and breathlessly whispered back, "Yes..." your eyes fluttered back shut, and leaned to kiss him.

He grinned and leaned in as well, "Good... now where were we?" he then reconnected his lips with yours in a slow deep kiss.

Next Chapter

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #the materialists #pedro pascal the materialists #pedropascal #pedrohub #harry castillo #harry castillo fanfic #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x reader #materialists

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likesomeoneinlovee · 2 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐣𝐚𝐰

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Wc: 2k

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns my absolute love.

AN: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room and fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your hair. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

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paulyenvol6 · 14 days ago

Text

As Slow As You Need

Marcus Acacius x female reader (OS)

Idea by the wonderful @mrspascalsworld <3

Chapter two

You have just married Marcus Acacius and despite ignoring him for the first few weeks of your marriage you can't help but eventually fall for him...

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, slight possessiveness, shy and inexperienced reader, soft!dom Acacius, caring Acacius, talking you through it, implied age gap (I imagined reader to be in her early 20s and Acacius around 50) angst, slight aftercare, mentions of pain and discomfort, arranged marriage, sort of enemies to lovers

Wordcount: ~10,612

Masterlist

The bracelet was too tight and painfully cut into your flesh.

That was the first thought that was in your head as you stood in front of Marcus Acacius and you wanted to slam your head against a wall so badly because this was supposed to be the most beautiful moment in your life and instead you were on the verge of crying. Perhaps it would have been the most beautiful moment if it wasn't him.

A part of you just wanted to let the tears flow, break down and make it physically impossible for you to marry him but you couldn't do this to your father. This had been his last wish and every time you cursed this arrangement in your thoughts you remembered your father's tired pleading eyes making it impossible for you refuse his demand.

You had promised that you would marry Acacius and frankly, you hadn't thought about the consequences of it until after your father had been dead. It wasn't just a little kindness so your father could fall asleep peacefully knowing that you would be taken care of, no you were about to spend the rest of your life with Acacius, a man that made a shiver run down your spine every time he laid his eyes on you. There was something so intimidating about him that you feared to be alone with him. He radiated dominance and authority and perhaps even a little danger.

The whole procedure was a fever dream. Your body was separated from your mind, your legs doing what they were supposed to do, carrying you down the aisle by Acacius' side but you didn't feel anything. You were numb, expressionless which almost made you think that the people around you might believe there was something wrong with you but it was the only way to cope with all of this.

Time passed way too quickly for your taste and then the feast in celebration of your wedding was over and Acacius was about to lead you to your bedchambers. The two of you had barely exchanged a word except a 'Thank you' when you handed him a jar of wine or a 'Excuse me for a second' when he went to speak with one of his friends.

You couldn't remember if you had said anything at all to him though. You were a ghost, a lifeless shell that did just what it was supposed to do like smiling at all the congratulations and looking pretty. That was what you would be to Acacius after all. Someone to put his babies inside and be used as a stress relief. And this was what had killed his last wife and now it was your turn to be humiliated and turned into his plaything.

The fact that you were still a virgin didn't exactly calm you either and now was the first time you felt something. It wasn't pleasant; a bitter feeling was creeping up in your belly spreading all throughout your body and making your heart pound fast in your chest. You couldn't tell if Acacius noticed your discomfort and merely didn't care about it but his night was a lot busier than yours as no minute passed in which no one came up to him talking about some matter that you couldn't care about less.

When you felt that the night slowly came to an end you would have liked to stop time or perhaps even reverse it so you could tell your dying father that you loved him more than anything else in the world but you couldn't do him this favor.

You wanted to run out of the building and hide in the stables right next to your villa you had always gone to when you were in trouble or cried about a fight with your siblings. When you were a child you had believed that no one could find you there but this dream had been shattered when your sister had dragged you out of there by your hair when you were 12 after you had broken her favourite doll. It was better than nothing though, you bitterly thought and watched your clenched hands giving away just how tense you were.

Your whole body suddenly twitched when you felt a hand on your bare arm and you turned your head probably looking like you had just seen a ghost.

"My lady," Acacius' deep voice brought you back to the present moment. "I think it is time for us to leave."

'No, it's not,' you wanted to answer, cross your arms in front of your stomach and sit here until the sun would rise in the morrow. Maybe you could sit here until Acacius was even older than now and would be too old to bed you.

"Yes… of course," was what you mumbled instead well aware that this wasn't a proper way to address your new husband in public but honestly, you didn't care. This whole thing couldn't get any worse so why worry about what other people might think about you?

Acacius rose from the chair offering you his big hand which you grabbed and you felt his rough skin against yours. You almost stumbled over your own feet following him but fortunately didn't fall down although it might have been a good way to avoid the inevitable bedding ceremony.

Acacius led you out of the magnificent hall to the corridor and you blindly followed him too focused on breathing and controlling your wobbly knees. Perhaps he noticed your mental and physical state to some extent because he didn't let go off your hand while guiding you up the stairs.

He started talking to you for the first time when you passed the library and a new wave of shock ran through your body at the sound of his voice.

"Did you enjoy the festivities, my lady?" he asked calmly which only made you angrier because you felt pathetic almost clinging to his helping hand while he had never seemed more at peace.

"Yes," you shortly answered staring ahead of you but felt his eyes on your profile.

"That's good to hear."

Then there was silence which would have been unbearable in any other circumstances but not with him tonight. Right now you rather welcomed it because you had a feeling that every movement, twitch or sound escaping Acacius' mouth only unsettled you further. He seemingly was oblivious to what you needed right now because he tilted his head towards the library that you had passed by now and looked at you again.

"Do you enjoy to read? I am most proud of the collection in there."

You slightly nodded still avoiding his gaze and dug the nails of your free hand in your palm just to feel a little bit like yourself. "I do. Yes."

You knew that you were more than impolite and Acacius could have snapped by now but he received your answer with a nod of his head but then remained silent until the two of you arrived in his bedchambers.

It was a comfortable big room that was beautifully lit by countless candles and you would have enjoyed the view if your eyes hadn't fallen upon the big four poster bed that made the center of the room.

Not only were you afraid of the act itself, but more importantly, you didn't want your husband to see you so vulnerable. He would regard your bare and naked body the way you were born, touch your most intimate parts and eventually melt with you and everything inside of you twisted and turned at the thought.

You didn't really know this man but what you knew was that he was evil and vicious, that he was violant and rough on the battlefield and he wouldn't be any different when he was laying with you. You could quite literally smell the danger off him and only had to look into his dark eyes once to know everything you needed to.

The tears collecting in the corner of your eyes were inevitable and you couldn't stop them from escaping either. You didn't care about it; he should see them and maybe if he had any humanity left in him he would feel bad although you were certain that after decades of fighting in bloody and brutal battles one couldn't be moved by a couple of tears running down the face of a stranger.

You felt awkward standing next to Acacius quietly sobbing and when he finally turned to you his eyes remained on your face for way too long. You turned your head away from him covering your eyes with your hand because all of a sudden you chose not to be seen by him which he allowed for a moment before gently, yet firmly pulling you towards the bed by your arm.

Something inside of you shifted, your heart beating loud and your eyes widening in shock because it would finally happen now but your were incapable of speaking up and try to stop him. He pushed you to sit down on the bed your hands instantly wrapping around your own upper body while dropping your gaze to the floor beneath you.

You couldn't see his reaction and what he might be thinking but when you felt a hand on your shoulder a sob escaped your lips and you squeezed your eyes.

"My lady," he cooed softly rubbing your cold skin. "I'm not going to touch you. I promise."

It took you an embarrassingly large amount of time to understand his words but once you did you slowly looked up to him his eyes looking surprisingly warm.

"What?" you breathed, your bottom lip trembling so hard you tried to control it by pressing your lips together.

"I will not touch you. You clearly don't want me to."

His words were still too surreal to accept so the crease between your brows only deepened and you couldn't allow your body to relax just yet.

"B-But I thought we… I thought we have to," you whispered so quietly that you almost didn't hear your own words but Acacius did.

"We don't have to do anything. I'm the General, little one. I think I can decide when I want to bed my wife."

Your big eyes stared at him almost as if you were waiting for him to deliver bad news but Acacius just tilted his head looking pitiful as he took in the mess on your face.

"Do you remain a virgin?" he then asked which was followed by another twitch of your body and your eyes narrowed again.

"Y-Yes," your shivering voice cut through the air questioning why he was asking but your husband just ran his eyes over your face and then sighed.

"Go to sleep. I have a feeling you need it."

Sensing that you didn't react to his words at all, he lifted his eyebrows slightly leaning back and giving you a curious look.

"I will not harm you. I give you my word."

You let out a bitter laugh shaking your head and then hissed out sharply. "How am I supposed to trust you? How do I know the worth of your word?"

Silence. You were about to chuckle again but then Acacius next to you rose to his feet approaching the table nearby.

"You don't. But this is all I can offer you," he said and not sure how to react you nervously toyed with your fingers your sobs slowly quieting down.

"Sleep now," he then repeated while tidying up the table looking unbothered which made the blood in your veins boil. Eventually you complied though, lying down on your back moving as close to the edge as possible so when Acacius joined you you wouldn't touch any part of his body.

He had been kind to you thus far but firstly, he might do so just to take what was rightfully his the next day or the day after and secondly, this didn't change the way you saw him. Maybe he was just old or not in the mood tonight and the picture you had of him couldn't be shifted 180 degrees just because he didn't rape you in your wedding night.

He was the enemy and now you would be bound to him for the rest of your life serving him in the bedroom and spreading your legs for him whenever he wanted you to just so he could get rid of his adrenaline. This wasn't how you had imagined your life at all but it was too late to change anything about it. All you could do was not make it easy for him. Whatever the reason was why he hadn't taken your virginity tonight you wouldn't be on your knees thanking him for it but remain your own person independently living your life.

These were the kinds of thought you fell asleep with. It was a chaotic, restless night shifting from one side to the other waking up every few hours. You didn't know whether it was the new environment or the person next to you but either way, when you woke up the next day you were sweaty and felt not at all well rested.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days passed and you stayed true to your promise bringing as much distance as possible between the two of you at all times. It became your obsession, your purpose to not allow anyone to treat you like Acacius' wife, let alone think of yourself this way.

You have convinced yourself not to believe in your new status as a wife and instead acted as though nothing had changed except your residence. That way you didn't have to deal so much with your role as the general's wife and fled from reality.

At first Acacius granted you this freedom, seemingly satisfied with seeing you at lunch and supper but allowed you to do whatever you wanted the rest of the day. He was gone most of the time anyway so he didn't mind you strolling through the city during the afternoon just as long as a guard or two were with you.

But the quietness didn't last that long and the first time that the two of you really spoke since your wedding night was when Acacius entered your bedchambers one afternoon while you were writing a letter to a friend.

It was his physical state that shocked you and made you stare at him totally forgetting about the paper the ink was dripping onto. He was covered in blood, open wounds clearly visible on his face and arms and it almost felt surreal seeing him walk in here as if nothing was wrong.

Your mouth was open as you waited for him for some kind of explanation which didn't come so you cleared your throat while your husband took off his shoes not even as much as glancing at you.

"Ehm… Are you alright?"

He lifted his gaze running his eyes over you and then shrugged his shoulders. "Yes. Are you?"

"You're hurt," you said quietly ignoring his question and unable to hide the shock in your voice.

It wasn't like you were concerned about his well-being because you couldn't have been farer from feeling attached to this stranger but it was the fact that you hadn't believed that his time on the battlefield caused him to look like this.

"Yes. But it will heal."

With these words Acacius walked to the table you were sitting by and poured himself a cup of wine. Perhaps it was still the surprise mixed with your curious state of mind that made you expectantly tap with your fingers on the wooden table as you confidentaly raised your chin.

"Why haven't you consumated our marriage yet?" you asked a lot more secure than you felt.

You didn't know why you were asking this. You should be glad that the things were the way they were but if you were being honest with yourself it actually was mere curiousity. You had come into this marriage expecting him to use you for sex and to produce heirs and now you were married for a week and he hadn't touched you yet. There had to be a reason.

Acacius chuckled lowly taking a sip from his wine while intensely watching you from over the cup. Then he curled his mouth into a smile.

"Because I had the feeling you don't want me."

You rolled your eyes flaring your nostrils because you grew angry at how he was acting all caring and kind making you believe that your well-being was actually important to him.

"I didn't think you would care," you replied clenching your hands into fists.

"I do. You're my wife. I want to protect you."

"I don't need anyone to protect me," you shouted jumping to your feet and flashing your eyes at him. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

Acacius sighed putting the cup back on the table and licked over his lips to remove the remains of the liquid.

"What do you want then? Do you want me to take your virginity or why are you asking me?"

You quickly shook your head and took a step back just in case.

"No. But I… I don't want it but I don't want you to protect me either. I just want you to leave me alone."

Acacius lifted his eyebrows resting his hands on the back of a chair. "I'm your husband."

"This is an arranged marriage," you breathed trying to make yourself look as tall as possible in front of him but didn't stand a chance.

"We should just live our lives the way we want to and mind our own businesses."

He smirked and then pursed his lips as he looked you up and down.

"I might be wrong but I did mind my own business the last couple of days. It was you who came up with this just now."

Of course Acacius was right and you felt your cheeks growing hot at his words desperately trying to come up with an intelligent answer.

"But I don't want anything from you. I don't want you to protect me and I don't want you to harm me. I want you to ignore me."

Your husband sighed looking disappointed like he was talking to a little child and you once again were reminded why you hated this man so much. He was arrogant, self-centered and so smug.

"Good night, my lady," he eventually spoke with his husky voice and made his way over to the bed on which he fell with a groan and turned to his back so his wounds could heal during the night.

The remaining blood glistened in the dim light and it almost made it look black. There was a strange beauty about him laying so peacefully while his face represented a brutal battle field and you couldn't take your eyes off him for a few seconds before approaching the bed as well taking your right side of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks passed relatively peacefully and despite cursing yourself for it and trying to convince yourself into believing that it wasn't the case, you started to adjust to this new life as well as to Acacius as your husband.

It took you quite some time but you figured out that he was far from being the person you had thought he was. It happened a lot when he returned from the battlefield. You would wait in your chambers looking him up and down and felt unsettled by the way his body was marked and violated. Perhaps you realized that he was in such great danger every time he stepped outside the villa and that there was a chance that he wouldn't return which seemed to make you see that he wasn't as selfish and arrogant as you had thought he was.

And then there was the fact that he still didn't demand anything of you and let your body untouched for the next weeks as well merely giving you little smiles that you yet didn't return. You just couldn't let show that a small part of you grew to trust him and so you kept up the stubborn facade treating him coolly although you believed that he might have noticed a small change in you.

The longest Acacius was gone was for two weeks and it felt strange to be in the villa without him. Of course you usually avoided his gaze and barely said anything to him when he entered your chambers in the evenings but there was a familiarity to it that you now seemed to miss. It had been your ritual; sitting by the table either writing or reading something and then watching him walk or stumble into the room depending on how much he had drunken.

You had even come to say goodbye to him, letting him kiss your hand and bringing out a quiet "Take care, Acacius. I'll be looking forward to your safe return."

It seemed like your husband wasn't sure whether you had actually meant these words or just said them for custom but either way, it looked like you had figured that you had no choice but to adjust to this new life and had gotten used to having him around you.

But now you spent the nights alone and although you would never admit it, it again took you some time to adapt and there were moments when you wondered if you had been unjust. He wasn't manipulative and vicious after all and sometimes you asked yourself why you had even believed him to be that way.

He was kind to you. Patient and undemanding and had never asked anything of you. It only got worse the next couple of days and when Acacius finally returned you felt something new. It was like things had changed between the two of you and you saw him in a different light as he stepped through the door, his hair messy, his face once again covered in dirt and wounds and his eyes so incredibly tired.

"My lady," he said slightly bowing his head but you didn't listen to him. Instead you smoothly rose to your feet slowly approaching him your eyes fixed on his harmed face.

"Acacius," you whispered seeing his forehead furrow at the unfamiliar softness in your voice.

He clearly hadn't been blind to the way you had started to accept this union and even seemed to tolerate it, by not hardening your face every time you saw him but now your eyes searched for him which was something new.

"I…," you started almost shyly lowering your head.

"What?" he softly asked you craving to run his thumb over your cheek but stopping himself before he would scare you off.

"I want to clean your wounds," you then breathed and Acacius couldn't help himself but smile at your words. Who would have thought that going away for a few days would be enough for you to start trusting him?

He didn't want to spend too much time wondering what had provoked this change in your though and instead finally allowed himself to touch you even though he just did so by briefly brushing over your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

You nodded dropping your gaze feeling both intimidated and reluctant about what you had just asked. But when your husband encouragingly offered you his hand you bit your lip and took it.

"Do you want me to sit down then?" he asked doing his very best to help you, sensing how nervous you were but you determindely shook your head which surprised him.

"You don't want that?" he demanded to know brushing with his thumb over your fingers while you escaped his piercing eyes once more.

"No," you whispered so quietly he had to concentrate really hard on the sound leaving your mouth. "I want to take a bath with you."

To say that Acacius was surprised was an understatement but he couldn't deny the excitement growing within him. Days ago it had looked like you were cursing him by merely observing him and like he was the last person you wanted to see after a long day and now you wanted to show yourself in your most vulnerable state and additionally look after his wounds.

"Whatever you like, my lady," he said taking in how beautiful you looked in the dim light and then offered you his hand once more guiding you to the huge bathtub in the room right next to your bedchambers.

Acacius was just about to start to peel off the layers of his armor but you were faster putting your hands on his broad shoulders staring at him almost as if you were mesmerized. Then you took on the task of undressing your husband and when his breeches were all that covered his body you gave your best not to stare at him but of course he noticed your wide eyes as you regarded his muscular upper body.

There was something so incredibly intimate and close about the scene that you felt your hands starting to shake even though it also might be caused by your nervousness.

Acacius gave you a smile before entering the bathtub leaning his head against the edge and sighing in pleasure clearly giving you the privacy to get rid of your clothes without having to feel his eyes on you.

The truth was that he wanted nothing more than to see and feel you but he wanted you to be in charge of everything that would be happening between the two of you so he closed his eyes hearing the swishing of your clothes and then the next thing he noticed was the water splashing a little.

Acacius opened his eyes a little and looked right into yours as you sat in front of him in the bathtub your eyes on his cuts and wounds again.

"Do they hurt?" you asked your voice barely more than a breath while getting closer to your husband.

"A little," Acacius truthfully answered his eyes following you reaching to a shelf close by to grab a ointment that would soothe the burning pain.

Your pupils were widened when you started to examine the wounds on his face and Acacius couldn't quite recognise whether you were still in awe by how damaged his body looked or scared of him.

He hissed out quietly when the salve made contact with his flesh which instantly made you flinch but Acacius was quick to run his hand over your arm signalising you that you were doing fine.

"It's alright. It's going to help me with the pain."

You nodded reducing the distance between the two of you again and your lips were so close to him now that he wished he could kiss them or at least trace them with his thumb. And then there were your hands that so gently and carefully applied the ointment on his skin that one could confuse you for a life-long and loyal wife instead of a little girl that despised him. There was softness and love in your touch, so much that Acacius closed his eyes giving himself to you and allowed himself to stay in the llusion.

"Acacius?" your voice cut through the air all of a sudden which made him lift his eyelids making out your face in front of him.

"Yes?"

"You are a good warrior, right?" you carefully asked stopping applying the salve for a second to wait for his answer.

"Yes. I'm experienced. I've been doing this for almost 40 years."

You drew your face like you were thinking and then bit your lip.

"But… But there must be a point when one… I mean one can't do this forever, right?"

Acacius chuckled and it was a low and deep, yet friendly sound. "Are you trying to say that I'm old, love?"

You broked into a shy smile as well shrugging your shoulders and then continued to lubricate the little cuts on his neck.

"No," you nevertheless answered your eyes on his neck while Acacius took in the beauty of your face that looked so concentrated right now.

"I'm trying to say that everyone gets old some day. And I'm just asking myself when a warrior stops fighting in battles and retires."

The corner of his mouth lifted again but his smile faded as he felt your knees against the inside of his thighs. You were kneeling between his legs and definitely were too close right now so he cleared his throat trying to collect himself and only then answered you.

"It's his choice. When he decides that he's not able to keep up anymore, he retires."

In addition to the closeness of your body it was also hard not to look up to that little amount of your skin that was exposed. The water covered most of it but the swell of your breasts peaked out and it took everything in him not to stare inappropriately. He could swear that this was harder than any battle he had ever fought in his life and closed his eyes to force himself to breathe properly.

"Acacius?" your soft voice spoke once again and he was absolutely smitten with the way you finally seemed to enjoy his presence and said what was on your mind.

"Yes?"

You stopped your hand movements again chewing on your bottom lip while staring at the water as though it was the most interesting thing you had seen in your entire life.

"I think I want you," you whispered with a surprisingly stable voice and now Acacius was officially speechless lifting his eyebrows and slightly leaning back against the wall of the bathtub.

"Are you sure, love?" he asked after a while caressing your bare shoulder to signalise you to look at him but you still avoided his eyes too embarrassed by your confession.

And yet you nodded which made him break into a smile. Suddenly his hands were on your waist his thumb drawing patterns over your skin as you finally had enough courage to look him in the eyes.

"Let me take care of you then," Acacius whispered his heart pounding loudly in his chest at how you nodded again your hands reaching up to hold on to his broad shoulders. He cupped the side of your face finally feeling the softness of your skin and then gently pulled you towards him to connect your lips.

It was a careful kiss. Like the two of you were getting to know each other and slowly explored the other person. There was nothing demanding or rushed about it; Acacius carefully nibbled at your bottom lip leaving small kisses and when he pulled back your face was flushed and your eyes were glistening with a new adventurousness.

"You want more?" he asked his hands lingering at your cheeks and after an airy "Yes" had escaped your mouth your husband sat up straight in the bathtub his hands at your waist again.

"Let's get you out of here then. The bed is going to be a lot more comfortable."

You followed his movement grabbing the edge of the tub to support you and managed to rise from the slippery ground with Acacius' hand assisting you. You stepped out of it waiting while he followed you but kept your eyes on the floor not wanting to stare too obviously either.

The air was thin now, filled with your louder breathing and the heat your bodies radiated. And still there was such a gentleness in everything he did so that nothing about it felt too fast or intense to you.

Your husband picked up a towel from a shelf which he wrapped around your upper body so carefully that you almost started to pur like a cat. He made sure that you were properly covered and then rested his hands on your shoulders.

"Turn around, love."

His voice was like a curse and a gift at the same time because it embraced you like a warm blanket but seemed to enter your body heating you up from inside and causing your core to throb and pulsate so uncomfortably that you craved to rock yourself against something. Or someone.

You followed his voice like you were hypnotised without even questioning what he was going to do. It was strange because a few weeks ago you had believed that you would never going to be able to trust him and now here you were offering yourself to him in such a vulnerable state.

But all Acacius did was collect your wet hair and then comb through it with your wooden comb. Never would you have thought that his rough hands could do something so precisely and carefully but you found that you could fall asleep to this feeling.

When he was done he turned you around brushing with his thumb over your chin and stole yet another kiss from your lips. You smiled against his lip feeling yourself melt in his arms which scared you to some extent but right now you couldn't bring yourself to fight the urge to give your body and soul to Acacius.

The man you had sworn to marry because you hadn't been able to refuse your dying father's wish. The man you had despised from the moment you had walked down the aisle. The man you had avoided at all costs these past weeks but right now something about it felt right. You were a stubborn and proud person and hated to admit that you had been wrong but perhaps you had been mistaken this time. At least you hoped so because you simply couldn't believe that an evil man's touch could be this tender.

Acacius' hand glided over your arm all the way from your shoulder to your hand and then invited it to lay in his while his eyes had followed the motion.

"Do you want to go to bed?" his voice brought goosebumps to your arms and of course you nodded.

It was all it took him to guide you to the center of the room and once there he turned to you giving you the softest eyes you had ever seen and you wondered if these could actually be the same you had been so scared of in the beginning of your marriage. He took your face in his big hands and you unconsciously snuggled your head against him.

"Let me take care of you, sweetling," he murmured holding you as if you were made of glass and would break at the slightest roughness.

"Yes. I want it. I need you."

You really didn't want to beg him but it felt right to you to show him that you wanted him after having treated him so coolly. Acacius gave you yet another kiss on the corner of your mouth and then pushed you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

"Lay down for me," he spoke, his voice just a slight whisper that brushed over your skin like a light feather.

Mesmerized by his radiating warmth you climbed on the bed resting with your head against the cushion and awaited his next move.

He regarded you lovingly keeping his eyes on you at all times almost as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn't vanish into the air and then took off the towel covering his center that you hadn't even noticed he had wrapped around his body.

By now you couldn't bring yourself to feel ashamed by the way your eyes glanced to his cock gulping at how massive and heavy he looked but your attention was drawn to his beautiful face again when Acacius approached you.

Everything was slow and slight, giving you the time to stop him if need be but you didn't even think about it. You craved to be embraced and loved by him. You wanted to feel his hands on your body, melt with him and become one. You wanted him to whisper things in your ear that that were only meant for you and praise you until you forgot your name.

"You look so pretty, darling," he said and then you saw his face coming closer to yours as he climbed on top of you his hands instantly reaching down to graze over your cheeks.

You smiled, light-heartedly receiving the compliment and spread your legs for him so he could settle in between them. Then he kissed you again your lips feeling beyond swollen by now but he tasted like cinnamon and pepper and so you gladly parted your lips letting him devour your mouth.

His hands were on a mission feeling every naked inch of your skin which mostly was your face and neck and shoulders and finding pleasure in the way Acacius teasingly rubbed over your skin and traced your veins you soon noticed your core yearning for stimulation which led to you buckling up your hips in search for anything he would give you.

Your husband obviously noticed how he enhanced your desire with each stroke and brush and soon kissed his way down your neck until his mouth was on your collarbone.

"You're perfect. The most beautiful girl I've ever laid my eyes upon."

His words were muffled by the way he pressed his face against your body but you heard them clearly and felt the blood rising in your cheeks. You let yourself go completely concentrating on how his mouth savoured your neck and shoulders until his hands traveled to the hem of the towel that still hid most of your body.

"Can I take this off?" he politely wanted to know and although you didn't hesitate when you nodded with your head you were glad he asked for your permission every time he did something. It made you feel like you were in control of everything that was happening and you could stop him at any point.

Acacius slowly removed the fabric until you were completely bare underneath him and it seemed like he was now too eager not to stare as well. His gaze fell upon your chest and then wandered down to your stomach and your core taking his time to examine you as though he didn't intend to bed you but paint your picture. It intimidated you because no man had ever seen you like this so you nervously clutched the bedsheets keeping your eyes on him to try and read his facial expression.

When he noticed it he let out a quiet chuckle and then grabbed your hands next to your body. You bit your lip as he lifted them up in the air and then pressed kisses alternately to the back of your left and right hand.

"No need to worry, my love," he said soothingly tracing the delicate veins on your wrists with his thumb. "No need to worry about anything. I got you. You're looking so beautiful like this and all you have to do is listen to my voice. I'll take care of the rest."

Acacius dropped your hands again so your arms fell to the side of your body and a shiver ran down your spine seeing how he looked like he was about to eat you alive. Not in a bad way though.

The blood in your veins was quivering, making your mind blank and utterly in awe of the way his mouth curled up at the view before him. He ran his eyes over you again for a brief moment before lowering his face to your collarbone tenderly kissing and biting your skin and then he dared to travel further south.

Your perky nipples simply looked too delicate and pretty not to lick over them and soon Acacius was addicted. The best part about it was perhaps the way you squirmed underneath him and then there were the little moans escaping your mouth when you were too lost in pleasure to concentrate on surpressing the noise. If it were up to him he would have wanted you not to hide anything and instead let him listen to all of your little squeaks and sighs.

He took his time teasing you although his mind drifted to your perfect pussy that he only had seen for a short moment thus far every few seconds. But this was about you after all. This was about making you feel comfortable and safe and slowly teaching you everything there was to know about the act of making love. Because this was what tonight was about; making love.

Acacius knew that he could be dirty and primal in bed, making his partner break and beg and getting off on a little power-play. Perhaps he would introduce you to this side of him at some point if you were up to it but definitely not tonight. Tonight he wouldn't make you beg for anything. He would fulfill your wishes even before you would be able to express them, gift you indescribable pleasure all while looking out for your comfort. He would go slow, test your waters and give you time to adjust to anything that he did and Acacius had a feeling that it was just what you needed after having treated him with such coldness these last weeks.

His tongue was twirling around your left nipple sucking it into his mouth every now and then but he made sure not to neglect your right breast. His hand massaged your flesh gently grazing the outline of your breast and rubbing over your nipple or taking the nub between two of his fingers. It was heavenly to him and Acacius had a feeling that you didn't enjoy it any less.

He hadn't estimated you as a very vocal person so he was thrilled by your quiet moans that he was sure he would be able to turn into cries if he continued like this.

Soon he made his way further down though leaving wet kisses on your stomach which made you lift your head slightly questioningly flickering your eyes at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you feel good, my love," he replied softly caressing your waist and giving you these warm eyes of his. "All you have to do is relax and feel my touch. I promise it will feel divine."

You narrowed your eyes not yet fully trusting his words and heaved yourself on your elbows.

"But-But I thought you would…"

You left the sentence unfinished but Acacius seemingly knew what you were alluding to as he gave you an assuring smile his hands stroking the curve of your hip.

"I can do that if you want me to. But you need to be prepared because otherwise it might be painful to you."

"Painful?" you repeated with round eyes feeling frightened as you hadn't expected the act of love to be hurtful.

"You are a virgin. The first time can be painful but I'm going to try my best to make it pleasant for you. I'll give you my fingers first and make sure you're properly lubricated and then I'll go slow."

Your eyes hectically wandered over his face taking in each of his words with a trembling feeling in your stomach but Acacius was quick to soothingly kiss your stomach.

"It's going to be fine. But if you want to stop that's fine as well."

Did you want to stop? Did you want him to roll off you, take out the lights and go to sleep? Definitely not. You were scared of the pain but you needed to feel him now and with the slight fear came also a curiousity about what the act of bedding was about. He seemed so certain and confident in everything he was doing so you wanted to know what he would be capable of making you feel. Therefore you shook your head helplessly reaching down to him and felt your heartbeat fasten at the way your husband instantly took your hand.

"No. I don't want you to stop, Acacius."

Hearing his name roll off your lips awakened a new form of lust in him and he bit down hard on his bottom lip in order to prevent himself from growling lowly.

"I'm glad to hear that," he then said gliding his hand down your side after carefully putting your hand back on the bed.

He crawled even further down your body until his face was almost on the same level as your most intimate part and if Acacius hadn't given you another tender smile you would have felt anxious and fearful about letting him see you like this.

You had learned that this wasn't the way of things. A husband wasn't supposed to see his wife's sex this close but concentrate on his duty. What Acacius was doing right now made the blood in your veins throb and you knew that a part of it could be traced back to the nervousness and uncertainty about what he was going to do to you while another part was simply craving to feel him with every inch of your body.

"Just relax, sweet girl."

With these words he lowered his face to your center and you curiously lifted your head attempting to see what he was doing but you suddenly gasped for air as you felt his tongue on this special little spot between your legs grazing over it carefully almost as if he wanted to get to know your body.

"Ah," you sighed digging your toes in the mattress next to him and instantly pressed your lips together in order to stay quiet from now on. But that didn't align with what Acacius wanted because he looked up to you his brown eyes full of warmth mixed with a hunger that drove you insane.

"No need to stay quiet, love. I want to hear you. Don't you hold back anything."

Then he licked over your slit quietly humming at your taste which sent vibrations all throughout your body.

"Acacius. Fuck, that's so good," you moaned your hands reaching down to hold on to his locks while trying to keep a clear mind.

He concentrated on your clit for the most part, circling it with the tip of his tongue, gently pressing into it and sucking on it. He soon noticed that you found a special liking in feeling him blow air over your little nub and was happy to comply watching your little squirms and your trembling legs with pleasure.

Only when you writhed beneath him restlessly shifting with your hips he firmly grabbed them pushing you down and letting out a growl that told you to stay still for him.

"Stay here, love. Let me enjoy you," he said at one point and you felt your cheeks heat up at his words.

You followed his command because when you did so, Acacius showered you with praise and compliments telling you how good you were for him and it never failed to make your heart flutter and your pussy uncomfortably clench around nothing.

But your husband soon changed that as well, literally touching you just where you needed it without even having to ask him to. He kept his mouth on your clit kissing it as if it was the most precious and delicate little spot in the world when you felt one of his thick fingers at your entrance tenderly inserting it inside of you.

You jolted at the intrusion and narrowed your eyes as this was something you had never felt before but Acacius knew just what you needed running his left hand over your hip in a soothing manner while whispering sweet things against your pussy.

"It's alright, darling. You're doing so good for me. I'm just gonna open you up a little bit, hmh? So you'll be able to take me."

You let out yet another moan and Acacius, feeling you relax around him, went deeper until his digit was fully buried in you.

"That's a good girl…," he growled rewarding your clit with a skillfull twirl of his tongue and then as he started moving his finger in you your hands in his hair tightened pushing him closer to your center.

"Oh," you gasped bending your neck to watch his activities between your thighs but all you could see was his head pressing himself so close to you, you would assume he was looking for heaven.

Acacius fingered your cunt while continuing to give you pleasure with his mouth, now gliding his tongue over the underside of your clit which earned him tugs at his hair by your demanding hands. You needed him, wanted to feel him in more ways than you did right now and forgot that it simply wasn't possible.

"I want you to come for me, darling. I want you to soak my face," his voice cut through your clouded mind and you made out his face through half-litted eyes.

"How?" was all you asked which he reacted to with a low chuckle.

"Listen to my voice. And do what feels right. Your body will know what to do."

You couldn't deny that you trusted him, your body and mind completely surrendering to him and so you did just what he had asked of you.

You let your head sink back in the cushions sprawled out underneath him and let him do with you as he desired. He was like a magical creature bringing you so much pleasure with just the tip of his tongue that you asked yourself if sex was always supposed to be this way because if yes, you thought you might never want to do anything else in your life. Or perhaps he was just a god or a witch and had enchanted you.

There was this prominent tense in your thighs that seemed to grow the longer your husband kept going and soon you knew it was about to burst and take utter control of your body. You hummed to yourself feeling your core clench and almost couldn't hear Acacius whispering to you, his mouth still busy smearing your wetness all over your clit.

"That's it… you can let go. I'll catch you, my love. You're a fucking dream, baby, god…"

And then the tension was freed spreading in your body like a disease and you felt like your whole world was shattering into a million pieces; but in the best way possible. You closed your legs around Acacius, buckled up beneath him and squeezed your eyes while trying to deal with these overwhelming and new emotions.

"I'm right here, just breathe for me, sweetling. There you go… Just like that," he talked you through it and crawled up to you again to hold you through your high.

Your hands clung to his shoulders welcoming him so close to you and you heavily panted in his ear while he tried to calm you down.

"That's right. You did so wonderfully for me, darling and I'm so proud of you."

Slowly, you came back to him your eyes still a little glossy but you smiled up to him feeling high on this peacefulness and the effects of your release. Acacius ran his thumb over your cheek and then kissed your forehead endearingly.

"You're so perfect. I wanna make you feel good all the time."

You nodded eagerly still not able to process how good this had felt. Never had you believed that being with a man could be that amazing and you truly wondered if everyone was as good as Acacius or if he was merely talented.

"I want that too. But now I want you to take me, Acacius. I want you to take my innocence."

He bit his lip which was so hot to watch that it felt obscene and smiled looking at the ceiling as his mouth came down to your neck once more sucking on your veins and your sensitive thin skin.

"I will, sweet girl. And then you're gonna be mine until the end of time. You want that, love?"

You nodded although you probably would have agreed to anything he asked of you right now.

"I want that. I wanna be yours."

You didn't know what it was; maybe just his appealing aura or the confidence in everything that he was doing, either way, you felt this craving to be his alone. The desire to snuggle against his chest and feel protected and cared for.

Acacius parted your legs a little more so his hips pressed you down into the mattress and when you felt his finger at your throbbing entrance again you jolted.

"Shh sh," he cooed you starting to fuck you with his finger again. "I don't want you to be in pain when I fuck you."

That was the moment when you were reminded again of what he had told you earlier and Acacius could instantly see the slight panic in your eyes.

"Please be careful, Acacius," you begged him which made him feel stitches in his stomach.

"I'll go as slow as you need me to. I'll be careful and stop if you change your mind. I promise."

You nodded feeling a familiar warmth in your lower belly despite the little part of you that feared the inevitable pain. He steadily thrusted his finger in you until adding a second one that stretched you but you listened to him and focused on breathing.

"There you go, love. I know what you need, you just concentrate on me, alright?"

"Yes, Acacius," you panted clasping at his broad shoulders that felt so strong beneath your touch.

Your husband let you adjust to his thick fingers for a while before fucking you with them as well and it didn't take long until sweat was covering your forehead your pupils dilating. It definitely wasn't as good as feeling his mouth on your clit but his presence so close to you and his body caging you underneath him as though he had just found the most precious and treasured price that he never intended to let go already made you go feral.

You forgot the time fully giving yourself to the way his fingers filled you up, hyperaware of every contact his skin made with yours but at the same time feeling your mind relax, and then hazily blinked a few times when you felt him pull out of you.

"Are you ready to take it, sweet girl?" he asked his voice sounding rougher and thinner now as well.

"Yes. I can take it, please."

He chuckled lowly the vibration transferring over to your body and you possessively wrapped your arms around his back; as if there was anything that could possibly make him stop right now.

"I know you can. Because you're being such a good girl for me all the fucking time."

Goosebumps covered your arms at his words which made you wonder if this was a normal and natural reaction to such simple words but you didn't question it any further as you heard him nestle between his thighs and then you glanced at his cock that was beautifully lit by the dim lighting.

He had wrapped a hand around the shaft his red tip glistening with precum and groaned as he dragged it through your folds collecting your wetness. He noticed the way your body had stiffened up a little your eyes wide open and made sure to soothe you by kissing your shoulder and embracing you in a soft hug.

"It's alright, darling. It's going to be fine. But we can stop if you want to."

You were quick to shake your head helplessly clinging to his arms.

"No. Please do it."

And then Acacius didn't need any further permission and guided his cock to your hole his hand lingering at your cheek.

"Breathe in. Just like that…" he mumbled and felt the way your body tensed.

"And now out…"

Just when you felt the air escaping your lungs there was a sharp pain in your center making your eyes go as round as coins and you choked on a gasp.

"It's alright, it's alright," he quickly purred making sure your eyes were on him. "It's gonna be better soon. You're doing so wonderful for me, just breathe and try to loosen up."

It burned incredibly and you wondered if he was completely inside because it already hurt so badly although it seemed like he had only pushed inside a little thus far. Your nails dug into his skin surely leaving marks but Acacius didn't mind solely focused on talking you through the pain and comforting you.

"Look at me, y/n. Look at me, darling."

Your stinging eyes searched for his pupils hectically flicking over his face but something about him made you forget about the way you felt like your pussy was being ripped apart. Time stopped and you just watched his beautiful face slightly drawn with pleasure but clearly concerned about you as there was a deep crease between his eyebrows.

"Good girl. How are you feeling?" he wanted to know and despite feeling incapable of delivering a coherent sentence you nodded your fingers firmly holding on to him.

He waited like this until he felt you relax your muscles the pain beginging to fade and then pulled out just a little bit only to thrust back in, still very slow and careful and yet the intrusion was enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes.

"You feel perfect. And I promise you it's gonna be better soon."

You tried to believe him forcing your center to welcome the pain rather than fighting it and in addition closed your eyes breathing steadily just like he had told you. And he turned out to be correct; a few more minutes later the pulsating burning ache started to disappear until you eventually felt confident enough to arch your hips a little.

Acacius had tried his best to hide how much everything about you affected him the whole time but this gave him the rest. The way you buckled up trying to get him to move and how your eyes rolled back when he slid his hand between your thighs again finding your clit and rubbing a few comforting circles around it. He needed to claim and devour and he just hoped that it was what you wanted as well.

At first your husband followed your gesture backing out again and then filling you and this time it was so much better that you gave him a wide smile.

"That's good, Acacius. I want more, please I need you to fuck me."

Perhaps it was the additional stimulation on your clit that made you grow eager instead of his thick cock stretching you but either way, he intended to give you just what you wanted.

"Alright, love," he replied and then began to fuck you at a slow pace.

In the first few minutes it was still a strange and unfamiliar feeling to melt with someone this way but along with his skillfull fingers he actually managed to envoke new noises leaving your mouth soon. Acacius was blind with lust almost feeling like an animal that intended to lay claim to his prey and picked up the pace while still looking out for your well-being of course.

"You like that? You like me fucking that sweet pussy like that?"

Although the phrase was meant to be filthy and wild, your husband made it somehow sound warm and gentle. If it was his voice or the soft features of his face you didn't know but a new wave of pleasure hit you.

"Yes I like it. Oh fuck, I need you," you cried against his shoulders that were now gently pressing you into the bed.

It was dirty, primitive almost begging and urging your husband to go quicker, reach deeper inside of you to hit that magical spot but you didn't care. All you cared about was Acacius who was so tender with you and at the same time awakened these intense feelings in you that you had never felt before.

And he complied, his tip repeatedly grazing over that spot in your body and there was something so delicate about it like he intended to kiss it just the way he had kissed your clit earlier only that this time it was his cock making you feel that way.

You couldn't deny the slight stretching burn that still ran throughout your body every now and then but it was nothing compared to the accumulating tension that now wasn't new to you and told you that you were about to burst again. His touch on your clit became lazy, rapidly rubbing over it and when he kissed you sloppily you knew that he probably was just as close as you.

"Come for me, darling. Give me a second one, I know you can to it. You respond to me so beautifully and I know you want it."

You had difficulties comprehending him as his voice was muffled by your chin which he covered with kisses and yet you did just as he had told you reaching your second high of the night at the same time as he came inside of you, ropes of his sticky cum filling you to the brim. He collapsed on top of you in the moment you arched on the bed the weight of his body pushing you down as you shivered and trembled and little sighs escaped from your mouth.

"Acacius," you cried tasting every sweet second of this divine release and then just listened to both of your loud pantings while watching him savour the effects of his orgasm.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he cursed inhaling deeply as he watched your red face that made you look like you had just exhausted yourself but in his mind you had never been more radiant. This was his work. He had been the one to make you feel like that and his heart seemed to explode in his chest almost incapable of believing his luck.

"I don't think you're aware of how fantastic you are," he whispered in your ear which made you smile like an idiot.

"Thank you," you answered wanting to bump your head against the wall because why couldn't you think of something more clever?

He rose his head again taking in your face and each detail like your swollen lips or your flushed cheeks and then kissed you upon your brow.

"You need some sleep now in order to be fit in the morrow."

You pursed your lips in disappointment feeling how he rolled off you but when Acacius offered you his arm you were quick to wrap your arms around it and clench your body against it.

"You will not leave me, right?" you anxiously asked which made your husband run his hand over the back of your head his fingers playing with single strands of your hair.

"Never."

This was just what you had wanted to hear and you contently closed your eyes feeling like this was a position you could find some sleep in.

"If something troubles you, you're going to wake me up, alright?" he asked but you almost couldn't perceive the content of his words anymore as you were slowly drifting to sleep.

"Yes, Acacius," was the last thing you whispered before you entered the lands of dreams, firmly clinging to your husband and a smile on your lips.

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readingiskeepingmegoing · 5 hours ago

Text

It's really kinda cool going back to the beginning and revisiting all of my favourite bits of this story.

I pursed my lips and shrugged, “It’s fine. I’m used to it at this point.”

That line still kills me 😭

My eyes widened. I do not need to think about her watching me dick someone down on screen. Focus, Bravo. I chuckled nervously, “Yeah, I’m not usually looking directly into their eyes during those. I tend to stare between their eyebrows.”

And that still makes me cackle 🤣

Closed Position: Week 1 (Introductions)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Chapter Word Count: 7.1K

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

Week 1 Quote: "Fuck. I might be in trouble."

Dieter’s POV

“Lenny, have you seen this fucking schedule? It’s seven days a week for twelve weeks. When do I get a break?”

Lenny, my agent, sighed through the speaker phone, “D, I told you this was going to be a lot of work before you agreed to do it. You shouldn’t be surprised…and besides, that’s only if you make it to the finals.”

I scoffed, “Thanks for the vote of confidence…asshole.” Lenny chuckled on the other end of the line. We both went quiet for a moment as I continued to flip through the packet of paper that Lenny had sent over for review, “I don’t even get to have any say on the wardrobe or music. Such bullshit…sucking all the fun out of it. Did you at least drop a bug in their ear about who I’ll be partnered with? If I get stuck with someone I don’t want, I’m gonna be fucking miserable.”

“I did, but the producers said they always do the partner matching themselves. They have a formula…or something. Maybe bring it up again at this morning's meeting and explain why. They may listen to you on it.”

I huffed as my eyes continued skimming over the weekly schedule, “I have to get a fucking spray tan every week? You have GOT to be kidding me…Lenny, you know I don’t like using carcinogenic chemicals on my body.”

“Uhhh, no comment on that…Look, I’ll put in a call and see if they can use something natural for that.”

I relaxed some, “I would appreciate that. Thank you. Tell them I have an allergy or something…just make it happen.”

I tossed the packet onto the table and picked up my phone, taking it off speaker and putting it to my ear - now pacing as I spoke, “Well, it looks like I’m gonna be pretty busy for a bit. That’ll be a nice distraction. It beats being locked inside the house at least.”

Lenny hesitated, but still asked, “How are you doing with everything? Still managing ok?”

I sighed, “Yeah, I mean I’m going to therapy and all the meetings still. I’ve been doing ok…just trying to keep the stress levels down. That’s what gets to me the most.”

“How long has it been?”

I looked at the date on my watch, “Eight months today…actually. It’s the longest I’ve ever been clean, and I plan to stick to it this time. I’m feeling good and I want to keep it that way.”

“Everyone is really proud of you, D. You know that, right? Keep at it and we'll have you back on top in no time.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing that it was an uphill battle, “I appreciate that, but good luck getting people to change their opinion of me. I’m not sure if my reputation is salvageable at this point. Everyone seems to think my sobriety is some sort of joke. No one is taking it seriously.”

I could hear Lenny inhale deeply on the other end of the phone, “It’s just going to take time, D. Don’t give up yet.”

I pursed my lips in thought, “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I need to get ready for this meeting. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely let me know how it goes.”

Once I hung up the phone with Lenny, I took a quick shower, then spent longer than I should have staring at the clothes hanging in my closet - trying to pick something that says I have my shit together. My therapist kept reminding me that if I dressed like a slob, people were going to treat me like one. So, I was putting more effort into making myself presentable before I left the house these days. Since it was a work meeting, I went for a business casual look, figuring I couldn’t go wrong with that. After styling my hair and getting dressed, I grabbed my keys, phone, wallet, and sunglasses and headed out the front door.

As I approached my car, which was parked in the driveway, I noticed there was a dead bird on the hood. The fluffy gray, brown, and white stray cat that had been hanging around my house was sitting next to it, looking rather proud of himself. I sighed, “Come on dude, really?” And this is why I need to get the garage cleaned out. I hit the clicker to open the garage door so I could get a broom to knock the bird off the hood. As I waded through the mountain of empty boxes from my move six months ago, I cursed myself for taking my sweet time getting that stuff out of the house. Finally finding the broom, I quickly moved to get the dead bird off of the car and shooed the cat away. He didn’t look happy about it as he moved to sit on the pathway in front of the house, watching me until I was finally on my way to Television City Studios to meet with the producers of Dancing with the Stars.

When I arrived at the studio, I was met by the two executive producers, Stacia and Joe and led into a conference room. I let them do their spiel about what’s expected and the schedule. Nodding along in all the right places, being as polite as possible even though I hated how little say I had over anything. Once they moved on to the topic of how they choose partners, I spoke up for the first time, “I would really like to have input on my partner.” They both moved to speak before I held up my hand to signal that I wasn’t finished talking.

“Look, I know you all have your formula or whatever, but I have a legitimate reason for asking. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been trying to clean up my image. I’ve been sober for eight months and I would really like to be placed with someone that doesn’t have a reputation for partying…someone who isn’t gonna be a negative influence on me. It’s actually really important to me because I’m actively avoiding being around anyone who is into that kind of lifestyle.” Which is why I spend most of my time alone.

Stacia and Joe looked at each other, obviously surprised at my reasoning for the request. They were actually stunned into silence. Since neither of them said anything, I continued, “I had my team check into the dancers, and based on their recommendation…I’m requesting that Katarina Stamos be my partner. She has a good reputation and I’m also told she’s very professional and isn’t judgmental…because that’s been an issue here lately that I’d really like to not have to deal with.”

Stacia’s brow furrowed, “Are you looking to actually win? Because Kat hasn’t won a single season that she’s been with us.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. What an asshole thing to say about someone. “Well, maybe that’s because you keep giving her shitty partners.”

I gave Stacia a sarcastic smile. She had the audacity to look offended by that statement. I had watched the show and seen the people Katarina was partnered with. It was always the older guys that could hardly move. Stacia’s attitude made me more determined to have Katarina as a partner just to prove a fucking point on her behalf.

Joe interrupted the silent standoff that Stacia and I now seemed to be having, “Alright, let’s think about this…” He turned to Stacia, “Physically, they work together. Their height and proportions are a good match…and Kat is very patient. She would work well with him. Also, if he wishes to be with someone who isn’t into partying, Anika is not the person he needs to be with.”

Stacia looked frustrated and unwilling to give in as she glared at her counterpart. Joe smirked, “If you're worried about the change in narrative, it’s possible there may be other options we haven’t considered.”

What the fuck does that mean? I leaned forward on my elbows, “What narrative?”

They both turned to look at me, Stacia now had a sly smile on her face. It was Joe who answered, “We always consider the possible narratives that could come up between partners. How they’ll interact and get along personality wise. It’s an important factor for the show.”

I felt a crease form between my brows, “So basically, you try to manufacture drama for TV.”

Joe shook his head, “Not exactly, I mean ultimately, yes. We just take personalities and such into account when we pair the dancers with their celebrities. I mean, we do want everyone to get along with their partner, obviously.”

So, you’re fucking meddlers. Got it. I arched my brows, giving them a tight smile as I nodded, going along with what they were telling me. I now realized I would have to keep an eye on these two. I didn’t feel like they had my best interest in mind. Especially if they were initially planning to put me with the known party girl.

I cleared my throat before speaking again, “So what does that mean…do I get to work with Katarina or not?”

Stacia looked at me, now smiling, “I think that may actually be a good match now that I think about it. So yeah, we’ll let you work with Kat. Hopefully you’ll both make it through to finals.”

What is this woman’s deal? Geez Louise. I eyed them both suspiciously for a moment, “Ok, good. Now I’m finally a little excited about this.”

They went over a few more details about the schedule before taking me out to meet with a production assistant, who was tasked with giving me a tour of the building and showing me where my dressing room would be. This part of my day couldn’t end soon enough…

Katarina’s POV

As I was pulling into the Television City Studios parking lot for the first day of my last season on Dancing with the Stars, my phone pinged with a text from Alec, my fiancée.

Alec: I finished up my meeting with production. Are you here? Have you had yours yet?

I leaned my head back against the seat. What the hell has he been doing? I know his meeting was over an hour ago.

Me: Just parked, I have mine in 10 minutes. I’m on my way in…Meet you in the lobby.

A few minutes later, I found Alec in the lobby. He seemed more excited than he normally was on the first day as he greeted me with a quick kiss on the cheek.

I leaned away from him, “What’s got you so smiley this morning?” I could tell he was trying to temper it down and have a more neutral expression on his face as he shrugged, “I didn’t realize I was. Guess I’m just excited to see you.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. What are you hiding now you asshole. He didn’t know how well I could read him at this point.

I arched a brow instead of returning his smile, “So, I assume you found out who your partner is gonna be?”

He continued his attempts at a neutral expression, “Yeah, Lana Thompson…she’s an actress, I think. There was apparently a last minute change to the lineup this morning. You know her?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Yeah…I know her. She has a bit of a reputation…”

He feigned ignorance, “Oh? I don’t know anything about her. I’m sure she’ll turn out to be one of those stuck up, bitchy types like the rest of ‘em. Ya know, you’re lucky it’s your last season so you don’t have to deal with these people anymore.”

And there it is. He doth protest too much. He was excited to be paired with her, I could tell. He saw it as an opportunity. As far as I knew, he hadn’t strayed to another woman in some time, but that didn’t mean he had changed. He still hadn’t earned my trust back and his current excitement only made me more suspicious of his commitment.

Alec could sense the tension taking hold of my body as he rubbed at my lower back, “Everything ok, baby?”

I gave him a half-hearted smile, “Yeah, just peachy. I’ve gotta go or I’m gonna be late. I’ll catch up with you after.”

As I was walking down the hallway toward the conference room, I saw Lana Thompson exiting the bathroom. I suspected Alec had already met his partner and liked her more than he let on. Which probably explains why it took him as long as it did to text me.

When I entered the conference room, Stacia and Joe sat huddled together. They seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were whispering about, but abruptly stopped talking once they realized I was lingering in the entryway. They both smiled, almost over enthusiastically as they welcomed me and motioned for me to have a seat. They studied me for a moment before Stacia finally spoke, “How are things going with you?”

That’s an odd question and an odd tone. I wasn’t sure what kind of answer she was looking for, “It’s going good, why?”

She gave me a small smile, “I know it’s your last season because you have things going on…but do you think you’re feeling up to the possibility of making it to finals?”

I gave her a confused look, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Joe leaned forward, “What Stacia is trying to say is…the person we have you partnered with this time is going to be a little more physically able than your usual partners. So, you may be in it for the full twelve weeks…if you can pull it off. Are you physically able to handle it?”

Should I be offended by that? It’s not like I can’t function. It was just painful some days, especially when there were a lot of rehearsals. My joints couldn’t handle the Latin dances like they used to - the jerky movements exacerbating the inflammation and discomfort. That didn’t mean they had to treat me like a fragile porcelain doll though.

I narrowed my eyes at them, “Of course I can handle it. I could handle it this entire time…which is why I’ve been asking for more capable partners.”

Joe smiled, “Well, good. Maybe you can go out with a bang this season.”

What the fuck was this about? I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I tried to figure out their angle. There was always an angle with them, “Why do I feel like you’re trying to sell this to me?”

Joe grimaced slightly. “We’re not trying to sell it, but we do worry you won’t be happy about it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back into the seat, “Who is it?”

Stacia smirked, “It’s Dieter Bravo.”

I looked between the two of them, “You’re joking?”

They shook their heads in unison. This didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t he be better suited with one of the girls that enjoyed a lifestyle similar to his?

“What makes you think he and I will work well together? I know I have a lot of patience, but it does have its limits.”

Joe chuckled, “His people requested you specifically. He’s actually eight months sober and they want him with someone who isn’t going to get him into trouble. He’s trying to clean up his image.”

I scoffed, “I thought you didn’t let the celebrities have any say in who they’re partnered with?”

Joe leaned forward onto the table, “We don’t normally, but given his request and the reasons for it, we felt we should make an exception. We were thinking of putting him with you anyway.”

I shook my head, “You are aware of his reputation, right? Alec is gonna lose his shit over this.”

Stacia smiled, “It’s not your or Alec’s choice. We run the show.”

It dawned on me then. Alec had said there was a last minute lineup change this morning and that’s why he was put with Lana. I had somehow managed to fly under the radar when it came to the producers' manufactured bullshit, but now I was right in the middle of it. They were making moves to create an underlying narrative for the show.

“Who was he partnered with originally? I know it wasn’t me.”

Stacia looked surprised by my question, “He was never partnered with anyone else before you.”

Stacia was lying. She couldn’t look at me directly when she answered my question - it was her tell. I knew how their minds worked. Dieter Bravo had a reputation for causing trouble and they were looking to exploit it. I’m sure his request caused a hiccup in their plans, so now they were making adjustments to cause drama surrounding him any way they could.

My eyes shifted between the two of them, “I don’t know what your endgame is here, but I have no intention of playing, just so you know.”

Stacia and Joe sat expressionless, not giving anything away. I assumed they expected this sort of response from me. My tendency to push back at their plans was one of the reasons I wasn’t a favorite of theirs and most likely part of the reason they always worked to get me off the show as soon as possible, every season. Which sucked for my bank account. To add to their reasoning, I wasn’t interesting enough since I never had issues with my partners or whirlwind romances that made for good TV. However, this season they were taking a chance, throwing two bombs in the form of Lana and Dieter into my already tumultuous relationship with Alec. Hoping for an exciting outcome that would play out behind the scenes to stir up tabloid fodder and result in free promotion for the show.

Joe sighed, finally speaking to break the tension in the room, “For what it’s worth, we met with Dieter earlier this morning…he was actually very pleasant and agreeable. I don’t think he’ll be an issue for you, so long as he continues to stay sober.”

My brows furrowed, “It sounds like you have a lot of faith in him. Good to know.” I moved to stand, “Well, if there isn’t anything else you need from me…”

Joe smiled weakly in my direction, “No, I think that’s it for now…just make sure you review the schedule and let us know if you have questions.”

I gave them a sarcastic smile before moving to leave the conference room. As I rounded the corner in the hallway, looking down at the floor lost in my thoughts and frustration, I ran into someone. I started mumbling my apologies as I looked up at the stranger. I was met with a mess of curls, piercing dark eyes, and a dimpled lop-sided grin. It was Dieter fucking Bravo looking like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle with his hands on my shoulders to catch me from running head first into him. We stared at each other in silence for a moment. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he can’t call me that.

He had a slight smirk on his face now, “Katarina, right? Looks like we’re gonna be dance partners.”

I shook my head, my lips set in a tight line, “Don’t call me that.”

His brow furrowed, “What? Katarina?”

I scoffed, “No, sweetheart. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. It’s inappropriate. You can call me Kat like everyone else.”

He was obviously taken off guard by my cold demeanor as he gave me a confused look, “I didn’t…mean anything by it, I-I call everyone sweetheart.”

I nodded, “Well, you're not gonna call me that.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a beat, “I guess I’ve earned that. Sorry, I won’t do it again.”

I inhaled deeply, biting my bottom lip as I did so. It didn’t go unnoticed that his eyes shifted down to my mouth. “Look, this is my last season and I just wanna get through it without any drama, ok?”

A crease formed between his brows as his jaw ticked to the side, “What makes you think I’m gonna cause drama?”

I shook my head, now realizing how big of a jerk I was being, “Umm…I…”

He continued to stare at me with a burning intensity, “Just so you know, I’m sober…have been for eight months. Drama is not my thing these days…”

I gave him a tight smile, “Good…hopefully you can stick to it.” Fuck. That did not come out how I meant for it to.

I could see his jaw muscles flex before he let out a small laugh. His eyes finally shifted downward. He almost looked hurt by that comment.

I sighed, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

His brows arched as he peered at me through his lashes, “You know, I requested to be partnered with you because I was told that you're professional and wouldn’t be judgmental about my past…I guess I heard wrong. I suppose I should just expect it at this point, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have such high expectations of others.”

My mouth fell open as I shook my head. I’m such a fucking asshole. He didn’t give me a chance to say anything before he spoke again, “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsals tomorrow. Have a good afternoon.” He gave me a sad smile as he brushed past me. I stood there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot watching him as he walked toward the exit. That was a great first impression. Good job, Kat.

“Who was that?” Alec asked from behind me.

I turned, running my fingers through the top of my hair out of frustration, “That was my new dance partner.”

Alec squinted toward the figure standing near the exit, now stopping to look at his phone, “Is that Dieter Bravo?”

I could feel my jaw tighten as I took in Alec’s expression, “Yes, it is.” Alec’s head snapped toward me, “I don’t want you working with him.”

I smiled sarcastically, “Really? And you think I have a choice in that? They made it clear, there is no other option. I asked.”

Alec shook his head, “You could just not do this season. You're quitting anyway. Why not go ahead and drop out?”

My eyes widened at his suggestion, “Because I need the fucking money, you know that.”

He chuckled, “Right, for the dance studio.”

I scoffed, “Yeah, for the dance studio. I don’t understand why you can’t support me on that.”

Alec didn’t acknowledge my question, “This guy is a known womanizer. I’m not comfortable with this.”

My head tilted to the side, “So you don’t trust me. That’s rich coming from you. You know…I’m not excited about your partner either, but I didn’t tell you to drop out. If anyone has a right to be concerned, it’s me.”

Alec moved in closer, causing me to back up against the wall as he got in my face. His eyes were blazing with anger, “You’re never gonna let that shit go, are you? That was ten months ago, and I have been loyal to you ever since. Yet here you are…still throwing it in my fucking face.”

I had a sudden defiant streak hit me, “You’re the one who brought it up by insinuating that you couldn’t trust me. I’m just reminding you who the problem is in this relationship.”

Alec moved to put his hand on the wall next to my head as he leaned in further - his nose nearly touching mine as I turned my stoney face away from him, “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again,” he spat out.

I could feel his eyes drift over my face for a moment before he pulled away and walked off.

I huffed out a quiet “Fuck” as I exhaled a shaky breath and watched him walk toward the dressing rooms. When I glanced back toward the exit, Dieter was still standing there, frozen in place with his phone halfway to his ear. Once he realized I was looking his way, his head dropped downward, and he slowly turned to exit the building.

Dieter’s POV

As I walked out into the scorching afternoon sun, I ended the call to check my voicemail, deciding I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. I was frustrated by my first interaction with Katarina. It didn’t go how I expected, and honestly, she had hurt my feelings. Based on everything I had heard about her, I didn’t think she would throw my past up in my face like that. At least not immediately, if at all. She did seem a little flustered, maybe she was just having a bad day?

What followed after our exchange was even more bizarre. It looked like she was having a tense conversation with the man that I assumed was the one she was dating. Lenny had mentioned she was engaged to one of the other dancers. When the man first leaned in, I initially thought they were just having a private moment, but then I noticed the look on Kat’s face as she turned away from him. Something about it was unsettling and for a brief moment, I considered interrupting them. Luckily, I didn’t have to. However, I was left feeling that I had witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to.

Even though our conversation didn’t go as well as I hoped, I was still struck with how beautiful Katarina was in person. Pictures and TV didn’t do her justice. It was probably a good thing she was seeing someone, otherwise I would be in danger of making a fool of myself. Then again, I probably would anyway. My sober self didn’t seem to know how to act around a pretty lady. My confidence and self-assurance definitely weren’t on the same level these days.

When I got home, I spent more time than I would like to admit staring at my reflection in the mirror - trying to remind myself that I was no longer the piece of shit that everyone still saw me as. It was still hard for me to accept that the old me and the new me were two very different people. Some days it really did seem like it was easier being the old Dieter Bravo, because he didn’t care about how he was perceived by others. I often longed for him to come back, just to quiet the thoughts of self-hate and inadequacy. Those thoughts really could be suffocating and hard to overcome. It was near impossible living with myself on those days.

The anticipation of how our first rehearsal would go was starting to get to me. So, I decided to spend the rest of the evening trying to relax and take my mind off things. With classical music blaring from the sound system, I moved through the house to check in on my plants - watering, misting leaves, and pruning. It was a new hobby I had picked up since rehab. It started with one succulent plant that had seen better days. My neighbor had left it sitting next to the trash bin on garbage collection day. For some reason, I had an urge to attempt to save the shriveled mass. After a few weeks, it was showing new life as the deep purple hues started to form on the leaves. My plant obsession bloomed from there. Now I wasn’t even sure how many I had. I was fairly certain my housekeeper was going to quit if I brought any more home.

After I was finished with the plants, I spent some time painting until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. It was nearing midnight by the time I had showered and crawled into bed. Even though I was completely exhausted, I couldn’t shut my mind off. The anxiety was now building to problematic levels. It was always at this point that I thought about using the most. By now, the old Dieter would be a couple lines in and a few drinks deep to block out the thoughts. The new Dieter suffers through it as he lay in bed alone, staring into the darkness. I drug both hands down my face and huffed loudly before moving to switch on the lamp beside the bed. I reached for my latest self-help book and began reading.

I was startled awake by my 7 AM alarm. I groaned as I felt around next to me on the bed for the shrilling phone to shut it off. I sat up, still half out of it, causing the book that had been lying on my chest to fall to the floor with a loud thump. I got up from bed, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I walked toward the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I stood staring at my reflection again, “You look like shit, Bravo.” It was clear I hadn’t gotten much sleep from my dark circles and puffy eyelids. I threw a warm rag over my eyes for a few minutes in hopes that would help.

Standing in my closet staring at the pile of gym clothes my stylist had picked up, I selected a random pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then pulled the tags off. We weren’t allowed to wear anything with brands or logos on filming days, so I had to break down and buy more clothes. It was probably for the best, my old gym clothes were looking a little ratty anyway.

Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack that had a few essentials in it and headed toward the front door. As I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me, I was greeted by my furry squatter who had left another gift near the steps - a dead mouse. I sighed, “Well, at least it’s not on top of the car this time…” The fluffy menace meowed at me as he rubbed against my legs, as if to say, “Look what I did!”

I was determined to not give in to the furry intruder, so I disregarded his attempts for pets. “Don’t you have a family somewhere to annoy?” I muttered to him as I continued toward the car. He followed me halfway down the pathway before sitting down and flicking his tail around as he watched me get into the driver's side and shut the door. He didn’t look happy about being ignored.

I gave myself a quick glance in the rearview mirror, reaching to comb down my hair with my fingers. I hadn’t bothered to fix it, knowing it was going to turn into a mess no matter what I did to it. Then, I started the car and drove in silence to the dance studio, not even really sure how I got there as I pulled into the parking lot. I found myself wondering if I had run any redlights as I walked through the main entrance. I felt like I was in a haze as the camera team talked to me in the lobby to fill me in on the plans for filming.

They wanted to do a brief interview with me before I went into the studio with Katarina. They wanted me to give the whole spiel about how excited I was to be here and working with my dance partner. Truth is, I wasn’t excited. I was nervous as hell, and I was supposed to act like this was the first time I was meeting her. I was unsure of how to act toward her, so when the time came for me to walk through the door to greet her and act excited, I turned on the Dieter Bravo charm the best I could and pretended like yesterday’s conversation never happened.

I was surprised to find how well Katarina did the same thing as she came over to greet me with a smile and a hug and gushed about how excited she was to work with me. However, we were both avoiding looking at the other directly. Clearly there was still some lingering awkwardness between us. After they filmed the introduction, they wanted to get some quick shots of us rehearsing.

These first few days of rehearsal were meant for learning the basics. We were not actually getting into the first routine yet. We started with some simple stretches and moved into learning the proper frame, the different types of positions, and spacing for the different types of dances. It was all very high level and fast, but Katarina had promised that we would go over it in more detail once the film crew left for the day. The quick pace was mostly for the benefit of the film crew so they could get what they needed and move on to the next couple.

Once filming was done for the day, we took a seat on the floor for a water break as the crew gathered up all of their gear to leave. We mostly sat in awkward silence until we were finally alone. I could feel Katarina’s eyes on me as I stared at the water bottle in my hand. She spoke first.

“I feel like I should apologize about yesterday…I was having a shit day and kind of took it out on you. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean what I said.”

I pursed my lips and shrugged, “It’s fine. I’m used to it at this point.”

She reached out and grasped my wrist with her left hand, the heat of her touch raced through me as I looked at the glittering ring on that finger for a moment before meeting her eyes, “It doesn’t mean that it should keep happening though. It’s not right and it’s not fair to you. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

I huffed out a small laugh, “Yeah, except I’m on like my tenth chance. I understand why no one takes me seriously. Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Her face softened as she stared at me for a beat, like she was trying to decide what she wanted to say next. Then she shifted her body to face me as she crossed her legs, “It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me because I know better. You know…”

She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. I moved to lean back on my hand and face her more fully with my legs stretched out to the side. My teeth bit into my bottom lip as I watched her face shift to a somewhat pained expression. It was brief, but I still caught it before she gained her composure.

“My uhh…my dad was sober for about 14 years before he passed. I know how hard it was for him in the beginning…with everyone doubting him and not giving him a chance. It’s one of the reasons he relapsed the first few times. It can be hard when you don’t have any support from the people around you. I know that…and I don’t wanna be one of those people. You haven’t given me any reason to doubt you, so I wanna make sure I’m giving you a fair shot and support you as long as you’re actively trying to better yourself. I know first-hand that people do change.”

Is she fucking serious? I couldn’t move or speak. She had stunned me again for the second day in a row. I never would have guessed she would share something so personal, especially on our first day together. She seemed sincere in her apology.

I finally managed a curt nod before I reached to rub at the crease between my brows, “Thanks…I uhh…I appreciate that.” I let out a small laugh, “I appreciate it more than you probably realize, actually.”

She gave me a tentative smile, “Does that mean I’m forgiven for being an asshole then?”

I chuckled, “Of course…and I didn’t think you were an asshole. Not really. I had a feeling you were having a bad day.”

“Whew…ok. Good. I was worried I had already fucked this whole thing up before it started.”

Ok, it’s kind of hot when she says fuck. I smirked, “Does this mean I get to call you sweetheart now?”

She narrowed her eyes on me and shook her head, “No. No sweetheart.” She laughed quietly, “But, I might consider a different nickname if you come up with a good one.”

My lips spread into a cheeky smile, “I think I can come up with something.” She laughed into the top of her water bottle as she took a sip with a slight flush creeping up her neck. Am I flirting right now? I don’t even know what I’m doing. Geez. I looked away in an attempt to reign myself in. I can’t be doing that.

We were soon back at it, now with a more relaxed atmosphere. We again started with getting my frame right. I stood in place as she moved my arms to the proper position, pushing in between my shoulder blades to straighten my posture. After several minutes in the position, I couldn’t help the groan that slipped out, “This is gonna do a number on my back muscles, isn’t it?”

She snickered, “You will definitely have better posture by the time I’m done with you. Now, elbows up, you should have a horizontal line from elbow to elbow…and hold it there.”

She then stood in front of me, taking in my form for a moment before manipulating my hands into the proper position.

Smiling, she nodded in satisfaction as she stepped closer, “Ok, now let’s go over the hold. The hold is important because it’s how we connect…how our bodies communicate movement to lead and follow.”

As she spoke, she moved closer, placing her arm along the top of my right one and clasping my left hand in hers. She was very matter of fact with her words as her eyes bore into mine. It was almost distracting.

“I need you to make sure there’s no space between our arms…here, so keep your elbow flush against mine.” She bounced her arm against the top of my right one to emphasize what she meant. “This is an important connection point because I can feel the pressure from your arm, which will tell me how to follow. As for your left hand, keep it at my eye level. We apply pressure here as well for another connection point.”

All I could do was nod along with her words, completely mesmerized by her intensity. Once she felt we had the hold down, she began to explain the differences in spacing for standard ballroom versus Latin dances.

“So…in Latin style dances, we’ll have more space between us…like we are now. It gives us more room to move. We’re gonna be slightly offset from each other while maintaining this closed position. Got it?”

I nodded again as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to look at her directly, but I couldn’t. Between her eyes burning into me and the tingling from her touch, I felt like my skin was on fire. I didn’t know what to make of it and it was sort of fucking with my head.

Then she stepped even closer, the front of our bodies nearly flush as she slightly adjusted the position of our arms. I swallowed hard over her proximity and the tangy citrus scent that was now invading my senses. Fuck. I might be in trouble.

“For standard dances, like the Waltz and Foxtrot, we’re gonna be closer…like this. Our frame will be a little wider and our arms will be positioned slightly lower. We’ll both be looking off to our left instead of directly at each other.”

I cleared my throat, stepping back slightly, “Sooo…umm…do we look off to the left for Latin dances?”

Her brows arched as her eyes widened, “Good question. I should have mentioned that. There’s typically more direct eye contact in the Latin dances. It’s actually another form of connection…another way for us to communicate without words.”

She moved back into the Latin dance hold, now making direct eye contact with me. I couldn’t help how my eyes roamed over her face, taking in the minor changes in her expression as she spoke. I wasn’t sure if the close proximity of the standard hold or direct eye contact with the Latin hold was worse. They were both a little overwhelming.

“Alright, let’s try some steps. We can start with the Rumba.”

She broke away for a moment to show me the foot movement, then had me give it a try. After a successful attempt, she positioned us back into the Latin hold and we began moving together. Once it seemed we had the footwork down, she backed away with a smirk on her face.

“You’re actually really good at this, you know. We do need to work on eye contact though.”

I smiled nervously as I looked down at my feet and rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m sorry…I know. Direct eye contact is a little weird for me.” I glanced up at her through my lashes, slightly embarrassed by the admission.

She smiled and arched a brow in my direction, “Really? I never would have guessed that based on your love scenes.”

She gave me a sly smile now, snickering, “Oh, is that why you usually look cross eyed then?”

My brow furrowed as I gave her a mock look of offense, “I don’t look cross eyed. That’s rude.”

She cackled over my response, “I’m joking. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one of your love scenes to know how your face looks.”

I scrunched up my nose, “Ouch, ok…so you don’t watch my movies. Got it.”

Her laugh had simmered to a quiet chuckle now as she lightly smacked my shoulder, “I’ve seen some…just not any with a love scene. So don’t be so offended. I’ve seen those TikTok videos though…they gave me a good idea of what I’m working with.”

I rolled my eyes, “Ugh…those fucking TikTok videos. They’re so bad.”

I had to admit, it was nice to be joking around with her after all the tension that had built up from yesterday. I took it as a good sign that this might actually go ok. What I didn’t expect was the attraction that I was starting to feel as our day went on. However, the obnoxiously sized engagement ring she wore on her finger helped keep that in check every time I saw it sparkling in the light when she moved. As long as that shiny reminder was there, I would be ok...

Right?

Next: Week 2

✨FUN FACTS: All cast members on Dancing with the Stars are in fact required to get a weekly spray tan. They also do not get to choose their partners, costumes, music, or themes. They can make recommendations obviously, but the producers do not have to honor the requests. When it comes to pairing partners, the producers do have a "formula".

A/N: I wanted to take a quick minute to welcome all of my new and old readers! So happy to have you all with me for my next adventure with Dieter Bravo. For the new folks, I'm a sucker for predictions and theories. If you have them, drop them in the comments so we can discuss. Now on to my normal nonsense...how are you guys feeling about the first chapter? How do you feel about Dieter and Kat's first couple of interactions? What about all the characters that were introduced? I'm curious to know who you want to throat punch more, Alec or Stacia? I'm already in love with these two and I can't wait to share more of them. This Dieter is...something else. I love sharing things from his point of view. He is going to be a good time, as expected. Kat is...kind of a mess, but also not? It's been interesting being in her head. How do you see things progressing with these two? Lastly, a quick thank you to @maggiemayhemnj for giving this first chapter a quick read through to make sure all these plot points were introduced in a way that made sense...because seriously, there is a lot going on here. She also found the perfect disco ball looking dividers for this...and I fucking love them. 😘 👉 I did a fun post about Dieter's plant hobby and his furry visitor. Check it out HERE. 👉 In case you missed it, I also did a character introduction post, which you can find HERE. Until next time, 💜 Mysty

Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter @burntheedges @stevie75 @pedrostories

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Credits: Support/MDNI Dividers: @cafekitsune Disco Divider: @deadbranch

#re-read reblog #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #closed position series

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

Text

jealousy breeds contempt

warnings smut proceed with caution lile this kinda lewd asff joel is a major meanie like so mean, also pls practice safe sex omg im the worst at warnings - also sorry tess i promise i dont hate u xx

The heat was oppressive, the kind that made your skin sticky and tempers short. You dragged your feet behind them, eyes squinting against the sunlight as Joel and Tess moved ahead of you through the QZ’s crowded streets.

They walked close, too close, shoulders brushing as they murmured in voices low enough to be swallowed by the commotion around you. A muscle in your jaw ticked. Their connection—whatever it was—always grated on you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Joel turned abruptly, his sharp brown eyes slicing through the haze. “Keep up,” he barked, his voice rough, worn down by years of shouting orders and never being questioned. Tess glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smirk that was as condescending as it was victorious, like she’d won some silent competition you weren’t even playing.

You hated Tess. She didn’t like you either; she never had. But the thing that really bugged you, that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts like a stray dog on a bone, was her relationship with Joel.

It felt... strange. Intimate in ways you didn’t understand, or maybe didn’t want to understand. You liked Joel—though God only knew why. He wasn’t nice to you. Not really. But he had his ways. He looked out for you when no one else did, fixed your messes, patched you up when things went south. It wasn’t soft, but it was something, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

The walk felt endless, the sun beating down relentlessly until you finally reached the run-down building they used to stash their contraband. Inside, it was cooler, the peeling wallpaper and damp air making it feel like a tomb. Tess disappeared into the grimy excuse for a kitchen, and Joel dropped onto the sagging couch beside you. His presence was heavy, commanding, like he could fill a room without trying.

“Here,” he grunted, shoving a sandwich into your hand. It was rough around the edges, hastily made, but it was the kind of thing Joel did.

“I don’t want it,” you snapped, pushing it back toward him. The bite in your tone surprised even you, sharp and ungrateful. You didn’t know why you were acting like this.

Or maybe you did.

The tension had been simmering all day, coiling low in your stomach like a knot of barbed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Neediness, frustration, something primal that made your skin feel too tight.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand freezing mid-air as he processed your rejection. “’Scuse me?” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the kind of weight that made you want to shrink under it.

“Don’t be a brat,” Tess called from the kitchen, her tone dripping with disdain. You clenched your fists, heat crawling up your spine as the familiar burn of shame and anger flared to life.

“Stay out of it,” you snapped at Tess, the words cutting through the tense air like a whip. For a moment, everything stilled. Tess froze mid-step in the kitchen, her hand gripping the edge of the counter as her jaw clenched. The heat of her glare burned into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not today.

You looked at Joel, his eyebrows lifting, just for a split second. A flicker of something almost playful, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or impressed. Amusement, maybe, though it was gone before you could be sure. His lips pressed into a hard line, but the corner twitched like he was fighting the urge to smirk.

“You ungrateful little—” Tess started, her voice sharp and venomous.

“Stop.” Joel’s voice cut through hers, low and commanding. Tess turned her glare on him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, locked on you with that same unreadable intensity that made your stomach twist. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone carried no softness, no reassurance. “She can go to bed hungry.”

The words stung, and your throat tightened. Joel turned, grabbing his pack from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said to Tess, already heading for the door.

Tess huffed, her irritation radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t argue. She shot you one last icy look before following Joel out, her boots heavy against the worn floorboards. The door slammed behind them, leaving the room eerily quiet.

Your eyes drifted to the counter, where the sandwich sat untouched.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the cracked blinds. You lay on the mattress in the corner, curled on your side, the silence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

The muffled sound of boots on the hardwood floor broke through the stillness, steady and deliberate, before stopping just outside the doorway. You knew it was him before he even spoke.

“You eat the sandwich?” Joel’s voice was low, rough with exhaustion. He stepped into the room, the faint creak of the floorboards following him as he settled down beside the wall. He slid down until he was sitting, one knee bent, his broad shoulders resting against the peeling plaster.

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “Where’s Tess?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Outside,” he said simply, nodding toward the living area. “Cleaning up.”

You rolled onto your side, looking at him in the dim light. His head was tipped back against the wall, his eyes half-closed.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat, but the day’s tension—weeks of it, really—forced them out. “I hate her,” you said, your voice flat, but the edges of your words were jagged.

Joel’s head turned, his gaze locking on you. His eyes flicked over your face, searching, reading you in that way he always did—like you were a puzzle he didn’t quite know how to put together. He let out a breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh but close, and scratched at the scruff along his jaw.

“She’s not so bad,” he said finally, though his tone wasn’t convincing. He looked away, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. “She’s just... Tess.”

You huffed, turning your face back to the wall. “She’s awful,” you muttered, the heat in your voice undeniable. “She’s bossy, mean, and she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel said, though the weight in his voice betrayed him. He sighed, long and slow, like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, right,” you replied, the bitterness laced thick in your tone as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Joel shifted, his knee creaking as he adjusted against the wall. “Hey,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “Why are you actin’ like a brat?”

“I’m not,” you shot back, sitting up slightly, the mattress creaking beneath you. “She’s weird with me because of you,” you added, your voice sharpening, each word cutting like glass.

His head tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowing in that way he did when you said something he didn’t like or didn’t understand. “What?”

You huffed, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you leaned forward, staring him down. “She likes you, Joel. That’s why she’s always a bitch to me.”

Joel blinked, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. And then he laughed. It was dry, humorless, and sharp, like the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t even begin to entertain it.

“You’re fuckin’ delusional,” he remarked, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall again, arms folding across his broad chest.

“I’m not,” you snapped, glaring at him. “She looks at me like I’m some kind of... threat or something. Like I don’t belong.”

Joel’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he chewed on your words.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joel said gruffly, his tone sharp and edged with irritation. “You don’t gotta like her. Just don’t act like a brat about it.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, your temper flaring hot and unchecked. “You’re not my fucking dad, so don’t tell me what to do.”

That did it.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and in one swift motion, he pushed himself up from the floor, his boots scraping against the wood as he rose to his full height. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist firmly as he pulled you up from the mattress like you weighed nothing.

“What’d you just say to me?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, his body towering over yours, unrelenting as he waited for your answer.

“I said you’re not my dad, so fuck off,” you hissed, your eyes locking with his in defiance. But your voice wavered, trembling at the edges, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.

Joel’s nostrils flared, and in one swift movement, he pushed you down back into the mattress and leaned down over you, bracketing you in with his broad shoulders and forearms. His presence was overwhelming, his weight shifting slightly as he hovered above you, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

You froze, your breath hitching as his knee pressed into the mattress between your thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against your core. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through you, sharp and unexpected. A sound escaped your lips before you could stop it—a soft, needy whimper that felt deafening in the tense silence between you.

Joel stilled, his brows knitting together as his dark eyes flicked to your face, searching for something. “The fuck was that?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp, more curious than angry.

Your cheeks burned, your breath catching as you tried to will your body under control. But then his knee shifted slightly, brushing against you again, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched instinctively, a traitorous whimper slipping free once more.

His gaze hardened, his lips twisting into something between surprise and smugness as he looked down at you, reading every inch of your flushed face. “You just fuckin’ whimper?” he asked, his voice rough and almost disbelieving, like he didn’t trust his own ears.

“No,” you stammered, your cheeks burning as you squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away. “Get off me.”

Joel didn’t move. If anything, he seemed even more planted, his presence overwhelming as he leaned closer. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something else—something darker, something that made your stomach churn and flip all at once. “Oh,” he drawled, his voice slow and dripping with condescension. “So that’s what this is about, huh?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. The way he looked at you, like he could see right through you, made it impossible to breathe.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, each word cutting deeper. “So wound up you don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” His thumb brushed lazily over your hip, the contact light but enough to make you squirm. “That’s why you’ve been actin’ like a goddamn brat all day, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t—” you started, your voice shaky, but Joel cut you off. His hand came up, rough and steady, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up toward his. The motion was firm, commanding, leaving no room for protest.

“Don’t even try to lie to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting and sharp, as if he could see right through you, peeling back every layer you tried to hide behind. “I’ve got you all figured out. You’ve been beggin’ for attention, haven’t you? Too damn stubborn to just ask for it, so you throw a tantrum instead.”

"Fuck off Joel," you said, but your words lacked conviction, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and something else—something darker. There was no fight in your tone, no real weight behind the demand.

Joel laughed, low and rough, the sound rolling from his chest like thunder. It wasn’t warm or comforting; it was sharp, mocking, cutting into you with ease. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he drawled, his tone thick with condescension. His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he leaned in closer. “Knew I could hear you at night. Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Horny as hell, weren’t you?”

“Joel!” you shrieked, mortified, your voice cracking as your face burned hot with embarrassment. You squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away, but his weight pinned you down, unyielding. “Stop it! Oh my God, stop—”

But Joel didn’t stop. If anything, his smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “That why you don’t like Tess?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing cruelty.

“What?” you sputtered, whipping your head toward him, your voice high and defensive. “Of course not!”

“Thought maybe you were jealous,” he continued, his tone slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Thinkin’ I was fuckin’ her.”

Your glare sharpened, your hands balling into fists at your sides, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed your frustration. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with her,” you spat, your voice laced with defiance.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he studied you, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Admit it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing but sharp enough to sting. “You’ve been wantin’ this—wantin’ me—for a long time. Haven’t you?”

“You’re a freak,” you snapped, twisting beneath him in what you tried to pass off as resistance. But it was half-hearted at best, your body betraying you completely.

The heat pooling low in your stomach, the electric buzz coursing through you—it all told the truth that you refused to say out loud. And you knew Joel could see it, could feel it.

His smirk widened, cruel and smug, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. Without warning, he stood up, dusting off his jeans with deliberate nonchalance, as though nothing had just happened. The sudden loss of his weight, his heat, left you reeling, your skin still burning where his touch had lingered.

“Alright,” he said, his voice casual, dismissive, as he turned toward the door. “Sleep well.” The words were thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought, his tone dripping with indifference, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“What?” you blurted, sitting up so fast the mattress shifted beneath you. Your voice was laced with panic, confusion. “Where are you going?”

Joel stopped in his tracks, turning his head just enough to look at you, his expression smug and infuriating. “Where am I goin’?” he repeated, his voice rich with mockery. “Thought you didn’t want me here, darlin’. Thought I was a ‘freak.’” He let the word roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate.

You opened your mouth, your pride fighting against the words clawing their way out. “Come back,” you said softly, barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your voice betraying you. It hung in the air, raw and desperate, and you hated yourself for how much you meant it.

Joel stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiffening before he turned his head just enough to look at you. His smirk returned, slow and lazy, as he pressed a hand to his ear in exaggerated mockery. “What was that?” he drawled, “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Magic word, maybe?”

“Please,” you bit out, your voice sharp, but the heat in your stomach betrayed the anger in your tone. When he didn’t move, you groaned, throwing your head back against the wall. “Fucking hell. Please, Joel.”

That did it. His smirk softened, his eyes darkening as he took a step back toward you, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he stood before you again, towering over you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him.

"Alright, lay back," Joel said, his voice low and rough, a command, not a request.

You didn’t hesitate, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate you. You ripped the covers off and leaned back against the mattress, your body buzzing with anticipation. Joel settled beside you, one knee pressing into the bed as he took his time, his dark eyes trailing over you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you.

Excitement coursed through you, and you shifted, your legs falling open instinctively, one thigh brushing against his leg. It was bold, shameless, and you didn’t care. Not when he was this close, not when his gaze was this heavy.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered under his breath, shaking his head as his eyes flicked down to where your thighs parted. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Your face burned, the words cutting through you like a knife, sharp and cruel. “Don’t be mean,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of indignation and need.

He snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Mean?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “You were the one actin’ like a brat all day, weren’t you?” His hand reached out, rough and calloused as it slid up your thigh, his touch firm and unyielding. “So that’s how I’m gonna treat you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved higher, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense, daring you to argue. “You think you deserve nice?” he drawled, his voice soft but laced with a cruel edge. “After the way you’ve been runnin’ that mouth all day?”

“I didn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh.

“Don’t even try,” he said, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh in a way that made your legs tremble. “You wanted attention, didn’t you? Well, now you’ve got it, darlin’. So be a good girl and take it.”

Joel’s thumb pressed firmly against you, the rough fabric of your clothes doing little to dull the sensation as he dragged it slowly over your aching, wet core. The friction sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop the soft, desperate sound that escaped your lips.

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered, his voice low and thick with disbelief. His dark eyes flicked to your face, studying your side profile, your lips parted and your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “How’s it possible to be this wet?” he said, almost to himself, his tone rough, like he was mocking you for being so undone already.

You groaned, the heat in his voice igniting something primal in you. Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the pressure of his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through you like a current.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone mocking but laced with something darker, something hungrier. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Drippin’ all over yourself like this. You really are just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your pride burning at his words but the ache between your thighs drowning out everything else. His thumb moved again, slower this time, teasing, torturous, as he watched you squirm beneath him. “Joel,” you breathed, his name slipping past your lips in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Take ’em off,” Joel said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver straight through you.

Your hands moved instantly, no hesitation, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs, clutching the flimsy fabric in your hands, your body buzzing with a mix of anticipation and shame.

“Give ’em to me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, just a second, before you placed them in his palm. He didn’t even look at them, just shoved them into his back pocket like it was nothing. The action, casual and deliberate, made your cheeks burn.

“Pervert,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him even as your stomach twisted in want.

“Hey,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it. I can walk out that door right now. That what you want?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “No,” you said quickly, your voice soft and desperate as you shook your head.

“Good,” he said simply, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly. “Sit back.”

The cool air hit you, and you flushed even hotter, knowing how exposed you were, how much of a mess you must look.

Joel’s gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re drippin’ all over yourself.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core, not quite touching but close enough to make you squirm.

“You touch yourself?” he asked, his tone low and almost mocking, his fingertips brushing just barely against your slick skin.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your hips twitched toward his hand.

He hummed, nodding slowly. “How much?” he asked, his voice thick, his fingers still teasing, never giving you what you wanted.

“Every night,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You didn’t care how filthy you sounded, didn’t care how his lips curled into a smirk at your confession. You just needed him to touch you. “Every single night.”

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his fingers grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicked back up to your face, dark and intense. “What do you think about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest, before your gaze locked with his. “You,” you admitted, the word barely above a whisper. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He stiffened for half a second, the shock evident, but then he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he let you kiss him. That alone surprised you—Joel wasn’t the type to give, not like this. His lips were warm, firm, and they lingered against yours, almost tender in a way that made your chest ache.

“Hm,” he hummed when you pulled back, his eyes still half-lidded. “Sweet,” he said, the word muttered so quietly it felt like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

A small smile tugged at your lips, the warmth spreading through you despite the tension still coiling in your stomach.

But Joel wasn’t one to stay soft for long. His smirk returned, sharp and teasing. “Still a fuckin’ brat,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And brats get punished.”

You groaned, the words sending a shiver through you as your hips lifted instinctively, begging for more of his touch. His dark laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he leaned back just enough to watch you squirm.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. “So desperate you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you glared at him, frustration boiling over. “Joel—”

“I’ll do you one better,” he interrupted, sitting back slightly, his legs spreading slightly. His smirk deepened as he saw the confusion flicker across your face.

“Take my pants off,” he said simply, his voice commanding, like he didn’t expect you to argue.

Your breath caught, the tension in the room growing impossibly thicker as his words sank in. His gaze never left yours, heavy and unwavering, daring you to hesitate. But you didn’t. Your hands moved almost on their own, reaching for the button of his jeans, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with it.

Joel chuckled low and dark, his hands resting lazily on his thighs as he watched you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “Good girl.”

The praise made your heart stutter, your cheeks flushing as your hands trembled, tugging his jeans down slowly, the fabric dragging over his muscular thighs. Joel shifted slightly to help you, lifting his hips just enough, the casual dominance in the movement sending a thrill racing through you. He made it look effortless, like he was still in control even when you were the one undressing him.

Your hand moved instinctively to touch him, but his voice stopped you cold. “Nuh uh,” he said, his tone low and firm, a quiet command. His eyes darkened as he leaned back slightly, watching you. “Shirt off too,” he instructed, his voice steady but thick with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, and you hesitated for just a moment before obeying. Your shirt joined the pile of his clothes on the floor, leaving you bare before him. Joel’s eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his teeth catching his bottom lip as his hands shot out, rough and deliberate. He grabbed your breasts, his large palms squeezing, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive nipples. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice low and full of reverence, though his touch was anything but gentle.

Your back arched instinctively into his hands, a gasp escaping your lips as the roughness of his calloused fingers sent shocks of heat spiraling through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, your entire body trembling under the weight of it all—the tension, the teasing, the slow build that had been driving you to the edge for what felt like hours.

“I need you,” you blurted, the words breaking free before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I need you bad, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice rougher now, low and dangerous, like he was savoring every second of your unraveling. “You that needy, huh?” He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist firmly as he smirked again, this time sharper, hungrier. “Gonna cry for it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill as you nodded, your hands clutching at the fabric of the mattress beneath you. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m—I’m begging you, Joel.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if he were testing you, seeing how far you could unravel before breaking completely. His eyes roamed your face, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “So desperate you’re fallin’ apart.”

His thumb caught the edge of a tear sliding down your cheek, and his smirk returned—soft but laced with condescension, sharp enough to make your stomach twist. “You’re a mess, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, though there was something deeper, darker beneath it.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you tried—and failed—to hold back a sob. “Joel, please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking, trembling with need. You hated how small you sounded, but the ache inside you drowned out the embarrassment.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his thumb trailing down to press against your trembling bottom lip. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, the words drawn out slowly, like he wanted to savor the sound of them. “I’ll take care of you. That what my baby wants?”

You nodded frantically, tears spilling over as relief and anticipation coursed through you, lighting up every nerve in your body. His thumb lingered on your lip for a moment longer, pressing gently, teasingly, before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a fresh shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against your temple, and the warmth of his words melted into you.

“You wanna see me?” Joel asked, his voice dropping even lower, thick with teasing. “Or you wanna be on your knees?”

“Wanna see you,” you answered quickly, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, pleading, raw with need. “Please.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes dragging over you with that slow, deliberate intensity that made your skin burn. “Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still carrying that rough, gravelly edge. “Lay back for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking into the mattress as your legs fell open, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching out to roam over his chest, your fingertips brushing against the heat of his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch as you brought one hand lower, trailing down his abdomen to the back of his thighs, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more of him.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich as his hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Be patient,” he drawled, his tone thick with amusement, his grip firm but not cruel. His free hand slid down your thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in slow, teasing strokes that sent shivers racing through you. “I know you’re eager, darlin’, but I gotta take my time. Don’t wanna break ya.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath his touch as his words settled over you, calm and confident in a way that made your heart pound even harder. The ache between your thighs was unbearable now, your body so wound up you couldn’t think straight. “Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “I’m ready. Please.”

He raised a brow, his smirk twisting into something wicked as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I know you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart, I don’t even need any spit.” His words were filthy, teasing, and they sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

And then, with no warning, Joel sunk into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, a deep, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he pressed flush against you. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him overwhelmed your senses, and a loud, unrestrained yelp tore from your throat. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” Joel said sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your face. His dark eyes burned into yours, his voice low and rough, the command in his tone making your chest tighten. “Wanna hear those sweet noises, baby. Don’t you dare hide ’em from me.”

You whimpered, your mind spinning from the fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of him. “But… what about…” you stammered, your thoughts hazy and scattered, trying to cling to something, anything. What was her name? The thought flitted through your mind, faint and distant. It slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a whisper of a worry clinging to the back of your mind.

Joel stilled for half a second, his lips curling into a wicked grin, his amusement clear. “So cock drunk you forgot her fuckin’ name,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a sharp tease that only heightened the heat flooding your body.

And then, without warning, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty, the sudden loss of him making you gasp. Before you could even register the thought, he slammed back into you with a force that had you screaming, your back arching off the mattress as your nails raked down his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing grounding you.

Joel laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating through your chest as his breath fanned over your face. He leaned closer, his smirk sharp and cutting as his hips snapped against yours again, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Don’t you want her to hear ya?” he teased, his voice dripping with condescension and something darker, something possessive.

“Joel,” you gasped, the sound of his name raw and unrestrained as he drove into you, each thrust more intense than the last. His hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Let her hear those pretty little screams, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Let her know I’m in your pussy, not hers.” His tone was cruelly teasing, but the heat in his words, in his eyes, made your entire body tremble, completely at his mercy.

Your breath hitched, a potent mix of embarrassment and raw, unrelenting desire coursing through you. Joel’s words were filthy, taunting, cutting straight through your defenses, but instead of pushing you away, they only made you cling to him harder. Your nails dug into his back as your body arched into him, every nerve ignited, desperate for more. His pace quickened, each thrust harder, more deliberate, his movements rough and dripping with possession.

“Bet you like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, each word a teasing caress against your ear. His lips brushed the shell of it, his breath hot and ragged. “You want her to be jealous? Want her to hear and know exactly who you belong to?” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, rough fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. “Say it,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond him—his body, his voice, the way he consumed you completely. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking, trembling. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something primal. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gripping your jaw firmly. “Open,” he ordered, his tone rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

You obeyed without question, your lips parting as your gaze locked on his, wide and eager. His smirk turned wicked, his hand tilting your chin as he spat into your mouth, slow and deliberate.

The act was filthy, raw, and utterly consuming, sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body. Humiliation and desire burned together, each feeding into the other until there was nothing left but the aching, desperate need for more.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your voice breaking, echoing through the room as your head fell back, your body trembling beneath him. Your eyes rolled with pleasure, the tension snapping in waves that left you gasping, completely at his mercy. Joel wasn’t satisfied with just having you; he wanted to take all of you. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, strong and commanding as he pushed your legs up to your chest, spreading you even wider.

“Thereee ya go,” Joel teased, his voice rough and dripping with mocking satisfaction. His lips twisted into a smug smirk, his dark eyes locked onto yours as his hips rolled, his pace faltering just enough to make you squirm. As he pulled back, slick and glistening with your arousal, he chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you like a current. “So damn wet, I can’t even stay in,” he muttered, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Without warning, he guided himself back inside, filling you again in one smooth, deliberate motion that left you gasping. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, and a desperate moan ripped from your throat as he set a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with relentless force.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, loud and obscene, mingling with your cries and Joel’s deep, gravelly grunts. His breath was hot and heavy against your ear, his chest pressing against yours as he drove into you, each thrust dragging you closer to the edge again.

“You feel me, baby?” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your neck. His scruff scratched against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine, your body arching beneath him as you clawed at his back. Your nails raked across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake, but Joel didn’t flinch. If anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

“All in here,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less commanding as his hand slid down your stomach. His palm pressed firmly against you, his dark eyes flicking between your flushed face and the place where your bodies met. “Feel that?” he muttered, his tone thick with pride and hunger. “That’s me, baby. All of me, deep inside you.”

You whimpered, your hips lifting desperately to meet his thrusts, each movement of his body sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Joel braced himself on one elbow, his chest brushing against yours as his free hand moved between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, and he began rubbing harshly, no hesitation, no regard for how sensitive you were. The intensity made you scream, your vision going white as your body jerked beneath him.

“Joel,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a trembling plea, the sensation overwhelming you, consuming you whole.

Your thoughts scattered like ash in the wind as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his relentless touch unraveling you piece by piece. His rough hands anchored you, grounding you to the bed even as his gruff voice pulled you further under his control. You were pliant, trembling, utterly at his mercy, and all you could do was hold on as he drove you past every limit you thought you had.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you screamed, your voice cracking, trembling with the weight of it. Your body tightened around him, the pleasure building higher and higher, unbearably close to breaking.

Joel’s lips curled into a wicked smirk, his thrusts becoming even more relentless, faster, deeper, like he was chasing his own edge just as much as he was pushing you toward yours. “Good,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear like a promise. “Go on, baby. Cum for me. And make sure she hears you.”

“There you go, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, milk my cock, baby. That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

The filthy words broke you completely. “Joel,” you cried, your voice cracking as the tension snapped, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your body arched off the bed, your nails biting into his skin as your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation so intense it bordered on too much, yet you couldn’t get enough.

Joel moved quickly, rolling onto his back with a fluid motion, his chest heaving as he looked up at you. His hand reached for yours, pulling it toward him with a firm, commanding grip. “Stroke me,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, rough from the strain of holding back. His dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’m close.”

Your body was still trembling from your release, weak and unsteady, but you obeyed him without hesitation. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking upward at the first touch, the reaction sending a thrill through you.

You started slow, dragging your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over the head with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. Joel’s grunts and muttered curses filled the room, spurring you on as you quickened your pace. His head tipped back slightly, his neck exposed, his lips parted as he let out a low, drawn-out moan that made your thighs clench.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, surprising yourself—and him. For a moment, he froze, his eyes flicking open. But then he gave in, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was hot and sensual, his lips rough but responsive. The taste of him, the way he let you take control, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your strokes quickened, your hand moving with more purpose now, your fingers tightening around him. Joel’s hips jerked in time with your movements, his groans growing louder, deeper, until his head fell back against the pillow. His jaw clenched, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his body tensed.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice rough and raw, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as he let go. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath uneven as he sat up suddenly, shifting onto his knees. With one final moan—your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—he came, his release painting your stomach in warm, messy streaks.

Joel stayed there for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained closed, his lips slightly parted, and for once, he looked completely undone—vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. It was mesmerizing, the way his defenses slipped, the way he seemed to let himself just feel.

You smiled at him, tender despite the heat still coursing through you. Joel’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze locking on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might soften. But instead, he leaned forward, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kissed you roughly. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t waned, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled you closer. It wasn’t sweet or soft—it was commanding, possessive, like he was staking his claim all over again.

You started to lean back, your chest heaving, ready to catch your breath. But Joel wasn’t done with you.

“Nuh uh,” he said suddenly, his voice steady and firm, a sharp contrast to the rawness from moments before. His hand caught your wrist, his grip firm as he pulled you upright, drawing you back into his control. “Be a good girl for me,” he said, his voice low and rough, laced with authority. “Go out there and get us some water.”

You blinked at him, dazed and still catching up, confusion flooding your mind as you started to reach for your discarded clothes. “Okay,” you murmured, your hand brushing against your shirt. But before you could grab it, Joel’s hand shot out again, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you cold.

“No,” he said sharply, his voice low and commanding. His dark eyes gleamed with something wicked, a dangerous amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips curled into a smug, teasing smirk as he tilted his head toward the door. “You’re goin’ out there butt naked, baby, with my cum all over your tummy.”

Your eyes widened, heat flooding your cheeks as your stomach flipped with a potent mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “What?” you practically squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Joel, are you serious?”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his smirk widening, dripping with smug satisfaction as he spread his arms lazily, utterly at ease. He looked at you like you were a challenge he’d already conquered, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “You wanted her to know you’re mine, didn’t you?” he drawled, his voice slow, mocking, every word cutting into your resolve. “Well, go on, then. Let her see where I just came.”

The heat in your cheeks burned impossibly hotter, your body stiffening as his words sank in, settling heavy in your chest. Humiliation twisted inside you, curling around the raw, unrelenting need he’d left you drowning in. You wanted to argue, to snap back at him, to yell something defiant—but the way he looked at you, so commanding, so utterly unapologetic, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t ignore. His confidence was maddening, overwhelming, yet it drew you in like a magnet.

Your breath hitched as you stood there, frozen, your mind spinning with indecision. And yet, deep down, you already knew. You’d do it. Because he asked. Because it was Joel. Because the way his voice dropped, low and full of authority, sent shivers down your spine. And because, in the end, you wanted her to know just as much as he did.

You hesitated at the door, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Each beat felt like it might shake your body apart, your legs trembling as you fought to muster the courage to take the next step. Behind you, Joel leaned back further, watching you with that maddening, infuriating smirk, his gaze heavy, unrelenting, and impossibly smug. He was waiting, savoring the moment, dragging it out just to see you squirm.

“Go on, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, honeyed drawl that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let her see.”

His words were slow, deliberate, and they left no room for disobedience. Your breath caught, and despite the knot of humiliation twisting in your chest, you reached for the doorknob. The cool metal was grounding, but it did nothing to stop the heat crawling up your neck as you pushed the door open and stepped out.

Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and stepped out, your skin flushing hot as the cool air of the main room hit your bare body. You prayed—begged—that Tess would be asleep, her usual scowl absent, but of course, the universe wasn’t that kind. She was right there, sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and her jaw set like she’d been expecting this exact moment. Her fiery eyes locked on you the second you stepped into view.

You could feel the weight of her glare, sharp enough to cut, as you walked toward the kitchen. Each step felt agonizingly slow, your bare feet padding against the floor as your tits bounced slightly with every movement. Joel’s release still slicked across your stomach, glinting faintly in the dim light, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, her nostrils flaring as she stared at you, her gaze flicking from your flushed face to your exposed chest to the mess on your skin. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, but you kept moving, refusing to meet her eyes. Your legs felt weak, your breath shallow, and every inch of your body burned under her scrutiny.

As you reached the kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water with trembling hands, you could feel Joel’s presence even from behind the closed door. He was enjoying this—every second of it.

You could practically hear Joel’s low chuckle echoing in your head, dripping with smug satisfaction. The weight of his gaze lingered on your bare back even from behind the closed door, the unspoken command still tethering you to him. He knew exactly what he was doing—forcing you to obey, knowing it would leave Tess seething with jealousy. It was all a game to him, and the thought only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“You’re a whore,” Tess spat, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

You froze for half a second, your fingers tightening around the glass as your throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

But you didn’t look at her. You didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you poured the water calmly, the sound of it filling the suffocating silence, and then turned on your heel, walking back toward the bedroom with your head held high.

Her eyes burned into your back as you left, the weight of her words pressing against you like a boulder. But all you could hear in your mind was Joel’s voice, smooth and commanding, telling you what to do, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

When you stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you, Joel was right where you left him—lounging on the mattress, his cock still out, his head tipped back like he had all the time in the world. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, his relaxed confidence utterly maddening and undeniably magnetic. His dark eyes flicked to the glass in your hand, and a slow, pleased smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he drawled, his voice rough and full of pride. The praise made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t deny, even as your cheeks burned. He sat up slightly, one arm bracing him against the mattress as he watched you cross the room, his gaze trailing over every inch of your exposed skin. He took his time, his eyes heavy and unrelenting, like he was savoring the view.

“She say anything?” Joel asked, his tone casual, but his eyes gave him away—dark, sharp, with a glint of knowing amusement that made your stomach flip. He leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing against the headboard as if he had all the time in the world.

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the memory of Tess’s venomous words replayed in your head. Joel noticed, of course—he always did. His brow lifted, his smirk twisting into something sharper, darker. He reached for the glass in your hands, taking it from you with deliberate ease before guiding you down onto the mattress. The movement was firm yet unhurried, his grip on you steady.

“She call you somethin’?” he pressed, his voice dripping with mock curiosity, like he already knew the answer. He set the glass aside and grabbed an old rag, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped the remnants of his release from your stomach. The action, almost tender, sent shivers through you, your skin hypersensitive under his touch. His fingers tapped lazily against his thigh, waiting. “Lemme guess. A whore?”

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” you muttered.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through the room and settling in your chest. It wasn’t a comforting sound; it was smug, knowing, dripping with the satisfaction of being right. “Course she did,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. His smirk deepened as his hands found your thighs, pulling you closer, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “Think she’s a bit jealous.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his grip tightened, grounding you. His smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with something darker, something possessive. “But she’s right about one thing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, each word sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “You’re my whore. Aren’t you?”

The weight of his gaze burned through you, setting every nerve in your body alight. Your chest tightened, the tension unraveling as you nodded, your body trembling under the force of his presence. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—there was only him. His smirk widened at your silent admission, his hands sliding further up your thighs, gripping you firmly.

“Good girl,” he hummed, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your lips as his fingers dug into your skin. “You ready for me again?”

The question made your breath hitch, your body already aching with anticipation. You nodded frantically, your lips parting as your heart pounded against your ribs. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking, raw with need.

Joel’s smirk deepened, his lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, “That’s my girl. Let’s see just how much you can take.” And with that, he pushed you back onto the mattress, his hands pinning you down as he took control all over again, his dominance overwhelming and addictive.

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tokkiwrites · 3 months ago

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game show host!joel miller x contestant f! reader ▪︎summary: it's the late 1970s, and you're fresh out of college. for your graduation gift, your parents got you a special ticket to be part of your favorite game show, 'Love Jive'. They didn't know you didn't like the show itselfㅡ but it's smooth talking MC, Joel Miller. ▪︎tags: pwp, age gap (pretty hefty one), super flirty joel, shy/lovestruck reader, afab!reader, pet names galore!!, p in v (unprotected), mirror sex kind of, slight breeding kink, creampie, joel kind of has an innocence kink idk.

▪︎this has been sitting in my drafts for two months now. Hopefully, you enjoy this short and silly 2.45k words one. There is no plot for it honestly, just thought it would be a cute concept. maybe a series might come from it. Who knows? anyway!!! love ya!!

It was the summer of 1979, and the air felt heavy with possibility. You were fresh out of college, diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world—or at least that’s what you told yourself when your parents asked what came next.

Their graduation gift to you? A surprise ticket to Love Jive, the hottest game show on TV. You’d tried to hide your awkward smile when they handed it over, the envelope sparkling with glitter that matched the show’s logo. What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t the show’s ridiculous premise that had you tuning in every week.

It was him.

Joel Miller.

The man was a legend, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. The way his Texan drawl slid over those ridiculous love-related catchphrases? You swore it had ruined you for men your own age. He had to be at least twenty years older than you, but that salt-and-pepper hair, that sly smile, those broad shoulders stretching under his velvet blazer? They didn’t make men like Joel Miller anymore.

So here you were, standing nervously behind the curtain in the Love Jive studio.

“Contestants, ready?” a stagehand called.

Your stomach did a flip as the warm-up announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The audience clapped and cheered, the excitement infectious. Before you could second-guess yourself, the curtain lifted, and the stage lights bathed you in gold.

And there he was.

Joel Miller stood center stage, microphone in hand, looking like he owned the room— and maybe he did. That million-watt smile lit up his face, his dark eyes sweeping the contestants before landing on you. He did a double take so subtle you almost missed it, but when his smile softened just a fraction, your heart skipped a beat.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice rolled through the air like warm molasses, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some fine contestants tonight. Y’all ready to find love and maybe a little bit of fun?”

The audience erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to join them. Not when Joel Miller was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“And what’s your name, darlin’?” Joel asked, pointing the microphone toward you.

You blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—uh, it’s—” You blurted out your name, voice cracking slightly. Joel chuckled, low and smooth, his dimples deepening as he grinned. “Well now, ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Y’all hear that? Even her name’s cute as a button.”

The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d, but Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning ever so slightly closer, “what brings a lovely little thing like you to Love Jive? Lookin’ for romance? Or just here for the spectacle?” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you prayed the lights were too bright for anyone to notice. “Um, I—I guess you could say both?”

Joel’s eyebrows lifted, and his grin turned downright wicked. “Both, huh? Well, darlin’, I can promise you this much—you’re in for one hell of a show.” The crowd roared their approval as Joel winked at you, leaving your heart thundering in your chest. You’d come to Love Jive expecting to admire Joel Miller from afar. You hadn’t counted on becoming the center of his attention.

And as the game began, one thing became crystal clear: Joel wasn’t just hosting tonight. He was playing a game of his own— and you were the prize he had his sights set on.

Fast forward to the 15-minute commercial break.

The knock on the door came firmly, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. You glanced at the mirror, smoothing down your blouse and trying to will away the redness on your cheeks. “Come in,” you called out, voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Joel Miller, the man of all your desires.

The sight of him so close took your breath away. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment, his dark eyes settling on you. His smile, warm and teasing, was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Well, there you are,” he drawled, his voice like velvet. “Thought I’d come check on you, see how my favorite contestant’s holdin’ up.” You blinked, trying to find your voice. “Oh, uh—fine! I’m fine,” you stammered, your hands twisting nervously.

Joel stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The dressing room wasn’t large to begin with, and his presence filled it completely, making the space feel even smaller.

“Fine, huh?” he said, leaning against the vanity, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Can’t blame you for bein’ a little flustered. All those lights, all those people… and me.” His grin turned teasing, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not—I mean, you’re not—”

“Sweetheart, relax,” Joel interrupted, his voice a low chuckle. “I’m just messin’ with you.” His eyes softened, and he tilted his head. “But if I’m bein’ honest, you’ve got somethin’ about you. That’s got me wonderin’ if maybe I’m the one a little flustered tonight.”

Your heart skipped at his words. “Me?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. Joel’s grin deepened, his dimples on full display. “Yeah, you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Pretty little thing like you walkin’ in here, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, got every man in the audience wishin’ he was sittin' in my shoes tonight.” You felt like your face might catch fire. “I don’t think that’s true,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel reached out, gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His hand was warm and firm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Well, I do,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding yours. “And I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweet girl."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “I was thinkin’... maybe once this show wraps up, you and I could get outta here. Go somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you felt dizzy under his gaze. “You mean… like a date?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Exactly like a date,” he murmured. “What do you say, sweetheart?” You nodded before you could overthink it, your shy smile breaking free. “I’d really like that.” Joel’s grin turned downright wicked. “Good,” he drawled, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek. “’Cause I’ve been dyin’ to do this all night.”

Before you could say another word, Joel leaned in and kissed you. His lips were warm and sure, moving against yours with a perfect mix of confidence and tenderness. You felt your hands instinctively grip the vanity behind you, your knees going weak as his other hand settled lightly on your waist.

The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, but with just enough heat to leave your head all dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Damn,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, “even better than I imagined.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you, shy and giddy all at once. “You imagined kissing me?”

Joel grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, I imagined far more than kissing you, darlin’. Hard not to when you look at me the way you do.” Your heart felt like it might burst, but before you could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Miller, we’re back in two!”

Joel sighed dramatically, giving you a wink as he stepped back. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still lingering on you. “Don’t go runnin’ off after the show, y’hear? I’m not done with you yet.” You nodded, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence. With one last smirk, Joel turned and strolled out the door, leaving you breathless.

The show had ended in a blur of applause, flashing lights, and the announcer’s booming voice thanking everyone for watching. Contestants and crew mingled briefly as everyone prepared to leave. You’d just stepped to the side of the stage when one of the other contestants, a bubbly blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit, sidled up to you with a knowing smile.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like you really got Mister Smooth swooning all over ya.”

You blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t think—”

“Oh, honey,” she interrupted with a laugh, crossing her arms. “Everyone could see the way he was devouring you with his eyes. I swear, I was worried he might forget the rest of us were even there.” Your face went hot, and you shook your head quickly. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” she said with a wink, already walking away. “If by ‘imagining things,’ you mean watching him look at you like you hung the moon. Enjoy it, sweetie. A man like Joel Miller doesn’t come around every day.”

Her words echoed in your head as you made your way back to your dressing room. Closing the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, desperate for a moment to collect yourself. The quiet was a relief after the chaos of the show. You slipped out of your stage outfit and into the dress you’d brought for afterward. A soft yellow dress with bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flowing A-line skirt covered in a delicate floral print. It felt like something out of a sunny dream, and you hoped it might give you a touch of the confidence you sorely lacked.

You were smoothing the fabric over your hips when the door opened without warning.

“Oh, wow.” The single word made you whirl around. There he was. Joel Miller, standing in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes were locked on you. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, the words leaving his lips like a breath. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you managed a shy smile. “Oh, it’s just… just a dress,” you murmured, brushing your hands nervously over the skirt.

Joel stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he approached. His gaze was unwavering, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Just a dress, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you could be wearin’ a paper bag, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the room.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Joel stopped in front of you, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his touch warm and steady.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before closing the space between you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. Where the earlier kiss had been soft and tentative, this one was sure, filled with hunger and intent. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only feel. His touch, his warmth, the way he held you like you were something rare. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ that since the first time I saw you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket for balance. “You’ve kissed me twice tonight, Joel,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly. Joel grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Yeah, I have a soft spot for sweet girls like yourself. ” he said before pausing shortly. “And if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d be doin' a lot more than kissing you.”

Stopping him was the furthest thing from your mind.

"I'll let you.."

Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of submission and maybe a little defiance. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. " You're a good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches. Without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Joel groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the vanity, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous, angel."

you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your flowy dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties, white with laced blue details. "Fuck, look at her." His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. In mere seconds, you hear the material rip and then feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.

"What a pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge, to say the least. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the wet tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low in embarrassment. this doesn't last long, as his rough palm grabs at your face pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the lit up mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, baby. You watch while I wreck this pussy, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly.

"Speak, sweetheart." you breathe out. "Yes, Joel." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, Joel starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns. every prick of discomfort is soon replaced by an unexpected surge of delight.

Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're alright..." he assures you, asking you to surrender.

"Take it all. Atta girl, just like that..." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Joel moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements. His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you.

Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, little girl, look how tight she's suckin' me in." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time. your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around him.

"Oh, god, please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts chuckling. "Am I your god, baby? Ya like beggin'?" While thrusting relentlessly into you, jelly like legs barely holding you up anymore, your knees buckle. Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, this allowed you to take in a big gulp of air before you feel him deeper in your guts.

"Want me to breed this young pussy, huh? Fill you up with my babies? let people inside this roomㅡ let them film it for the whole world to see?" the room spins around you, vision blurry with tears and brain all fuzzy. you try your best to reply. "yes, oh, p-lease, please! "

"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, Joel!" you cry out, praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into your pulsing cunt. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. then he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. You looked perfect, like a carved our porcelain doll. With a few more snaps of his hips you feel he's close, his nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your velvet walls with white ropes of come. "God fuckin'ㅡ!" you know that will leave bruises.

the dressing room feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Joel watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him like the most beautiful piece of art.

You're both quiet for a bit, before he breaks the silence. "You're still up for that date, little lady?"

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