#pedro pascal fanfic

[joelsrose]

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

⋆˙⟡♡ just fluff ⋆˙⟡♡

You knew it was coming—that inevitable crash, the quiet unraveling that came not from the cramps or the discomfort, but from something far deeper and more difficult to explain, a sadness that didn’t seem to have a reason, only weight. You were on your period and, truthfully, it wasn’t the physical pain that had you feeling off—it was the heavy ache of emotion that clung to your chest like fog, making everything feel a little too loud, a little too tender, as though your skin itself had gone thin. And so, as you rode past Joel during patrol, perched steady on your horse, you kept your gaze trained on the horizon, your inner monologue on a desperate loop—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry—because if you broke, if you cracked even slightly, you knew it’d all come spilling out like water through a dam.

Still, Joel noticed. Of course he did. He always did. His brow furrowed with that familiar look of quiet concern that he never voiced but always wore when it came to you. You were usually all sunshine and spark—always quick to tease, to laugh, to poke fun at his old-man grumbling—and now you were quiet, withdrawn, barely meeting his eyes. Something about that shift had his stomach twisting in a way he didn’t like.

When you reached the safe house, the air cool and heavy with silence, you didn’t say much—you simply sank down onto the worn couch, feeling like your bones had gone soft. Joel busied himself with the fire, striking a match with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of surviving, but he kept glancing your way, that crease between his brows never smoothing out. He handed you your thermos with a gruff, “Got some coffee,” and usually, you’d grin, maybe roll your eyes and say something like you’re such a softie, Joel, but today, you just took it with a hushed, “Thanks,” your voice too small for the room.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth, warm and golden, but it didn’t reach the chill that had settled inside you. You stared at the flames until they blurred, and then, without warning, the emotion surged like a wave breaking—too big, too sudden—and you buried your face in your elbow, trying to muffle the sound of your tears, trying not to let the sobs show. But Joel had been watching. He always was, even when he pretended not to be. And though he’d told himself—again and again—to keep his distance, to not get involved, to not let his heart get tangled in the softness of you… he was in front of you in two strides, crouched low, his eyes searching your face with a kind of desperation that surprised even him.

He stopped himself from reaching for you—almost put a hand on your thigh out of instinct, like it would anchor you somehow—but instead he coaxed your arm down gently, quietly, his voice low and hoarse as he said your name like it meant something holy. You looked up, cheeks blotchy and flushed, eyes puffy and red, nose pink, your whole face scrunched in embarrassment, and Joel felt something twist painfully in his chest—like seeing you in pain opened a wound in him too.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you hurt?” His mind already racing, already scanning for injuries, for threats, for something he could fix.

You shook your head, sucking in a shaky breath. “No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not hurt, it’s just—” but the words tangled on your tongue, and the tears kept spilling, hot and relentless. Joel hesitated for a heartbeat, then broke his own rule, letting his big, calloused hand settle on your thigh—heavy, warm, steadying. His thumb rubbed slow circles, grounding you with that quiet, gruff tenderness he tried so hard to hide.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmured again, softer this time, like the word darlin’ might make the hurt a little easier to carry.

You shook your head again, eyes brimming. “It’s so stupid,” you said, voice barely a breath. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

But Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t call you weak. Didn’t pull away. He just sat there with you, his hand on your thigh, his eyes locked on yours, like he was trying to shoulder the weight of whatever it was that had broken your heart wide open.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder, gentle in that way Joel rarely let himself be. “You can tell me, sweetheart.”

You hesitated, biting down on your lower lip as a fresh wave of embarrassment crept up your neck and bloomed across your cheeks like heat from the fire. You didn’t want to say it, not because it was shameful, but because it felt so… small. So silly. But when you looked up at him—at his furrowed brow, the set of his mouth, the stubborn kindness written across his face—you knew there was no getting out of it. Joel didn’t let things go. Not when it came to you.

So you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, gaze flickering down to your boots, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I’m on my period,” you mumbled, voice soft and tight, like the words were something to apologize for.

But Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Didn’t even blink. He didn’t say oh, or damn, or anything stupid that men sometimes say when they don’t know what to do with a woman’s pain. Instead, his hand stayed right where it was—broad and warm, circling slow, soothing patterns on your thigh like it was second nature to comfort you. “Okay,” he said simply, his voice still soft, like the word itself was a hand cupping your jaw, steadying you.

“You hurtin’?” he asked after a moment, tipping his head slightly, concern laced into every syllable. “I got some pills in my bag—keep ‘em for my back.” His mouth twitched like he was annoyed with himself. “Should’ve told me earlier, sweetheart. Could’ve done something for you.”

You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, your voice barely more than a breath. “No, it’s not that—” You paused, frustrated with yourself, with your body, with everything. “I’m not even cramping that bad. I just… I don’t know. I feel emotional. Like everything’s just too much all at once and I can’t even explain why.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn’t rush to fill the silence, didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed—he just let it sit there between you, that soft, aching truth.

“It’s silly,” you managed, voice cracking as you tried to blink back another wave of tears, but they burned hot at the corners of your eyes anyway. “I don’t even have a reason to cry,” you whispered, as if saying it aloud might make the emotion stop surging like a tide inside your chest.

But Joel was already shaking his head, his expression carved from equal parts concern and fierce protectiveness. “Darlin’,” he began, and something about the way he said it—low, steady, certain—made your breath hitch. “It ain’t silly. Not at all. Now look at me.” His voice was gravel and honey, and when you finally lifted your eyes to meet his, the sight of him crouched in front of you—this man so famously gruff, so solid and unsentimental—brought a flutter to your chest that felt like it might unravel you completely.

“You don’t need a reason to feel the things you feel, y’hear me?” he said, eyes locked on yours like there was nothing else in the world worth looking at. “You let yourself cry, sweetheart. You’re allowed. You don’t gotta earn it.”

You nodded, sniffling, your whole body softening at the kindness in his words—words no one else had ever said to you quite like that. And then, as if the sight of your trembling smile shattered something in him, Joel let out a quiet sigh and sat beside you with a heaviness that felt less like weight and more like care. “Don’t like seein’ you like this,” he admitted, voice softer now, almost fragile, like it hurt him to say.

Your smile wobbled, small and wet, but real. And that was all it took.

He reached out, one arm snaking around your shoulders with a gentleness that contradicted everything he tried to be, and pulled you into his chest with a quiet, “C’mere.” You didn’t resist. How could you, when the warmth of him wrapped around you like safety itself, his flannel shirt soft beneath your cheek, the steady thump of his heart a rhythm you never knew you needed? It was intimate in a way that made your head spin—tender in a way you’d never dared to imagine with Joel Miller, the man built like a fortress who somehow always made room for you.

“This okay?” he murmured, the words barely brushing your hair.

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah,” you breathed, tears finally beginning to settle. “Thank you.”

For a moment, there was only silence, and then, without thinking, you whispered, “You don’t think it’s… gross?”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not with judgment but with disbelief. “What is?”

“My period,” you mumbled, cheeks flushing as you glanced away.

His brows furrowed, that familiar crease deepening between them, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that always seemed to wrap around you like velvet and smoke. “You serious?”

You looked away, cheeks burning, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything, that the moment hadn’t grown so vulnerable so quickly. But then—his voice again, softer this time, a gentle tug of warmth threading through the rough edges.

“You know I had a daughter, right?” he said, and there was the faintest smile in his voice, like he was opening a box in his mind he didn’t always let himself look into. “And a wife before that. This stuff ain’t new to me, sweetheart.”

You blinked, surprised, your gaze flicking up to find him no longer just the gruff, untouchable man with the heavy boots and the guarded eyes, but someone else too—someone who’d lived through softness, through family, through love.

“Sarah,” he continued, his tone tinged with a quiet fondness that tugged at your heart, “she used to wake me up in the middle of the night, tell me to drive her to the store ‘cause she ran outta pads, even if we already had three boxes in the cabinet.” His lips curved, just barely. “Always said the ones I bought weren’t the right kind.”

And you couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up out of you so suddenly and unguarded it surprised you both. Joel’s smile widened at the sound, just a little—crooked and boyish, the kind of smile that made him look years younger, like hearing you laugh had knocked the wind out of him in the best way. There was something in his eyes then, something soft and unspoken, like the echo of a memory he wasn’t quite ready to name.

Without even thinking, you leaned into him more, your shoulder brushing against his chest, your body instinctively curling toward the warmth he always carried with him. And Joel, for all his weathered composure and hardened edges, tensed for half a second—his breath hitching, barely audible, like he wasn’t used to being held onto, like your closeness stirred something tender he didn’t know where to put. But he didn’t move away. If anything, his arm only wrapped tighter around you, his palm splaying across your upper back, steady and careful, like he was holding something precious.

“Sometimes,” you whispered, the words slipping out like petals falling from your mouth, “I feel so sad. Like... this wave just crashes over me outta nowhere. Like I’m drowning in everything all at once and I can’t breathe through it.”

Joel didn’t speak right away. He just let the silence stretch, let you settle into the space where your sadness could exist without shame. His hand started moving again, slow circles over your back, and when he finally spoke, it was barely above a murmur, low and warm and safe.

“Well, then I guess we’ll just sit right here till the wave passes,” he said. “And I’ll be right here the whole time, alright? Ain’t gonna let it pull you under.”

You looked at him then, really looked—and the wave that hit this time wasn’t sadness but something quieter, gentler, something warm and confusing that settled right beneath your ribs like a secret. It was the kind of feeling you hadn’t let yourself touch in a long time, too raw and delicate to name. But it was there—in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, in the way his arm stayed around you like it belonged there, like you belonged there. And for the first time, Joel saw it in your gaze too—that flicker of something dangerously close to hope, to trust, maybe even to something deeper, something blooming slowly and quietly in the space between your sadness and his silence.

His expression shifted, just barely—a breath caught, a beat skipped, his jaw tightening like he felt it too but didn’t know what to do with it. And then he dipped his head slightly, his voice a murmur made of gravel and care. “Get some rest,” he said softly, not pulling away. “I’ll be right here.”

And somehow, those four little words—I’ll be right here—felt like a promise. Like a vow. Like a home.

So you let yourself lean fully into him, cheek resting against the solid warmth of his chest, lulled by the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart and the way his fingers absently traced over your arm like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. And just before your eyes fluttered closed, you felt it—the way he pressed the softest kiss to the top of your head, so light it almost could’ve been imagined, like a secret he didn’t know how to speak out loud.

But you felt it.

And it was everything.

[orcasoul]

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

[lazysoulwriter]

i'm not jealous of a cat. (except i am) - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, bubssss! - requested are open.

---

You’re lying on the couch, a cozy blanket thrown over your legs, your hand lazily stroking the soft fur of your cat, who has once again claimed your chest as her personal throne. Pedro walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing that grey t-shirt you love on him. You’re too busy cooing at your cat to notice the way his eyes narrow slightly.

"She’s on you again?" he asks, drying his hair with a towel.

You glance up, smiling. "Of course. She loves this spot. Warm, soft, safe." You scratch behind the cat’s ears. She purrs louder.

Pedro lets out a short scoff and throws the towel over his shoulder. "Right. Warm, soft, safe. Not jealous at all."

You smirk. "Are you jealous of my cat?"

"No," he lies, way too fast. "I’m jealous of your chest. She gets more action than I do."

"Pedro!"

"I said what I said."

You giggle, shaking your head. Your cat lifts her head slightly, annoyed at the movement, and then settles right back down like the queen she is. Pedro watches the whole thing, arms crossed, pretending to be completely unbothered.

"Okay, but like," he starts, walking closer, "she gets cuddles all day. She gets to nap on you, make biscuits on your boobs, and I’m supposed to just sit here and respect that?"

"She’s a cat," you laugh. "You’re a grown man."

"A grown man who wants to lay on your chest too!"

You raise an eyebrow. "Do you want me to move her?"

He stares at the cat. The cat stares back, completely unfazed. It’s a silent standoff.

"...No. She was here first."

"Exactly."

He grumbles something in Spanish and flops dramatically onto the other side of the couch, clearly defeated. You reach over with your free hand and run your fingers through his hair.

"I promise you’ll get your turn. Once she’s done being queen of my torso."

Pedro sighs. "She’s always queen of your torso."

"I have room for two, you know," you tease, glancing down. "You could try laying your head here too."

His face lights up like a child at Disneyland. "Really?"

You nod. He shifts quickly, gently sliding your cat a few inches over (with some heavy negotiating), and finally settles his head on your chest — one arm slung over your waist, a content smile on his face.

The cat, now squished between the two of you, purrs louder than ever.

Pedro frowns. "...She’s still touching you."

"Pedro."

"Just saying. I’m in a three-way cuddle with a cat."

You laugh so hard your stomach shakes, and Pedro smiles against you, finally at peace — even if he is sharing.

(For now.)

---

[dilf-docs]

Call It What You Want

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret up to the point you sometimes forget there's supposed to be a golden band on your finger. but then you both get cast in your first movie together. the chemistry is off the charts, and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between shipping and reality finally blur?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (ñom), smut, dry humping, oral (m. receiving) while pedro wears the skirt™️ (welcome to another episode of the writer's barely disguised fetish), p. in v., teeny bit of angst because i malfunction if i don't bring sad vibes to the function, the worst ever attempt of comedy witnessed by human kind, they're so down bad it hurts, jealous!reader, possesive!pedro, reader speaks spanish and may or may not have direct/indirect latino blood somewhere, use of spanglish but no translations ☹️ (boo go do your homework, citizens. that's what u get for making my dieter bravo fic flop BYE), i transcripted two real interviews for this so keep those likes, reblogs and comments up in the air where i can see 'em 🪓🪓

word count: 11,706 words

side note: hello! this is me, sliding my cv to become president of the pedro pascal fics. i'm kidding, just on duty to fulfill another request 🫡 believe it or not, i envisioned something like this but for myself IJBOL we have to keep the delusional levels UP!! i hope this meets ur expectations, it was fun to write :)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Please welcome, the internet's newest darling, Y/n L/n!"

You walk into the set, cameras flashing bright and the band playing on the back. You hug Jimmy Fallon, and when he notices your body trembling he tells you everything will be alright. So did your manager before you stepped inside, but you can't help the nerves. You've never been this big before, and now it's all coming down together without letting you breath.

You take your seat and so does Jimmy.

"Hello, Y/n. This is your first time here, right?"

"Am I being too obvious?" you snort. The crowd laughs with you.

"Don't worry. It happens, especially when you're so young"

"Oh, please" you blush. "I can promise you there are kid actors who could handle this better than I am right now"

"Kid stars?" he lets out one of his famous cackles. "No need to be humble. You are great! Let's just talk about the year you've had: big breakout roles, ascend to fame, you're rocking it!" the crowd cheers, and you again turn into a flustered mess.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's hard to dimension when you've started as an extra for popular shows, to now being, you know, the main face of projects. But I could get used to it" you smile, "it's been a dream. I still can't believe it sometimes, look- I'm shaking"

The camera pans closer to the hand you're showing to Jimmy.

"Oh my God, even big stars like you get nervous"

"Big star? I wish I could feel like a constellation. I'm feeling more like a red dwarf star, baby"

The whole place bubbles in laughter. You feel better, your manager even giving you a thumbs up from behind the cameras.

"So, Y/n" Jimmy says once the laughter dies. "You just got casted in the upcoming Gladiator II movie, directed by Ridley Scott. How does it feel to be on your first big movie, alongside names like Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington and Pedro Pascal?"

You try to steady your heartbeat. "First of all, I have to say, it's such an honor to work with Scott. I grew up watching his movies. Like, Thelma and Louis is definitely my go-to movie. So, like, getting paired with such a talented cast is as awesome as terrifying" you answer with a laugh.

"Talking about that, you see" he leans closer, like he'll tell a secret. "I've heard things about you and a certain future co-star of yours"

You shift your position on the couch, your ring(less) finger itching. You have to avoid breathing in relief when Jimmy pulls out a picture.

"Oh. My. God"

He stiffles a laugh. No way. Has the room's temperature suddenly gotten hotter? Why is your face burning?

"Will you tell us the story behind this?" he asks, the camera focusing on the picture in question. The audience laughs, and you pray to God this is a nightmare, because it's too much embarrasment for a human to bear.

"Okay" you clear your throat, coughing awkwardly. "For my 25th birthday, I uploaded a bunch of pictures on Instagram, including ones where I was a teenager" you begin to giggle, "So. Um, there was this one, you see, that's, me, in my childhood home's bedroom, and my fans were quick to notice the poster above my bed"

"You mean, this one?" and Jimmy points it out. You cover your face with your palms. "It's a... Narcos poster" the audience laughs as you get redder. "A Pedro Pascal's Narcos poster"

"I know" you groan. "Picture this: me 18, and while my friends had posters of their favorite bands and artists, I was so different because I had a whole ass poster of a crime drama show about the world's most famous drug dealer on my bedroom" you recall with a laugh. "It was hard to explain to my mom. I believe she thought I wanted to sign for the DEA or something. When I told her I was going to be an actress, she was so relieved! She said: Oh, well. You'll die, but of hunger! Not a bullet in your head, at least"

"Oh. I'm so sorry. You proved her wrong though!"

"I did! Don't worry, Jimmy. She's my biggest fan now" you look at a specific camera before saying, "Te amo mami!"

"I see you speak spanish. I sometimes forget" he comments. "You've got one thing in common with Pedro, it seems. Think that'll make working with him less awkward?"

"I just hope he forgives me or I'm capable of moving out of the country and changing names" you giggle. "Pedro, lo siento!"

"Well, that's Y/n L/n, everyone! Pedro Pascal's number one fan" you burst out laughing in shame. "More on her lastest movie after the break"

mandoshoney: tell me i'm not the only one who started shipping pedro pascal and y/n l/n PLEASE can't wait to get content of them interacting ㅤㅤann-gell: mandoshoney y/n's pedro pascal's controversially young gf era starts now! i wonder how the press tour for #gladiatorII will go 🤔 unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they are dating ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess ptwt can never tweet like normal ppl…wdym you're betting your grandma?!!!?

You were never a fan of secrets.

But then Pedro waltzed into your life with his charming smile and iconic mustache, and before you knew it, you had married him off in some church in California one random sunday morning ("I love you so much, can't wait to marry you, cariño" "If you can't wait any longer, why not now?")

Flash forward, four years later, and you'd think such event would be plastered all over the internet. But there is a reason why only you, family, a selected number of friends and your agents knew: you kept it a secret.

To the world, he was Chile's most elegible bachelor and you were a young rising star. The public loved both of you for the same reasons: charming persona and acting skills. Yet inside the privacy of your home, he was Pedro and you were y/n, wife and husband; he was yours as you were his.

And of course, no marriage is perfect, and your first real challenge is rather funny: you both get casted in your first movie together.

It shouldn't be hard, but it is. Being inside the Gladiator II set during seven months, so far away yet so close at the same time, was torture. You were Rome's empress and he's Marcus Acacius, yet behind the scenes, the actual married couple were you both.

It was hard to pretend you didn't know what he looked like without clothes when he wore his bathing suit, or that you didn't know his favorite food when Paul asked, or acting like you weren't interested in dating when a local in Malta during your trip at the beach asked you out (he didn't know who you were. You were flattered when he called you pretty in such a hot European accent, but then Pedro appeared from seemingly "nowhere" and you remembered what your real favorite accent was. He immediately called you bonita after that)

It was so hard to keep hands to yourself when he walked by you, covered in fake blood. To not think about licking it all over and under his armour. So was to pretend the thought of dry humping him with his Roman skirt on wasn't tempting. Or that the urge to kiss him got harder and harder to fight each passing day, even getting to a point where you would envy Connie for being able to kiss your husband in the open more, a privilege you didn't have.

You were loosing your mental health here. But Pedro was no better.

It was so hard to see you, the Moroccan sun shining over your features like you were an angel. Otherworldly. That he'd see red when you'd finish filming a scene with Joseph, forcing himself to interrupt the small chat you'd engage in after. He too couldn't keep pretending he didn't want to tear off those silk dresses out of your body, and kiss you out in the open like Joseph did.

He almost failed once, cornering you in the hallway of the hotel you were staying. His hot breath lingered on your neck. I miss you, he had said. You felt his hard brush the inner of your thigh. We can't, you whispered in a dragged out voice.

It was hard.

So you gave him your used panties, and you swear you could hear him jacking off in the bathroom of his room, next to yours. He'd screamed your name, and your hand had found it's way to your dripping cunt, doing what he was supposed to do; touching you the way he did. And you came, drowned out moans against your pillow. But it wasn't like when he did it.

But God has heard your prayers.

For the first time in weeks, you're lucky. You find Pedro sitting alone in the cafeteria, his phone in hand. He's still wearing his armour and skirt, not bothering to change for the break. You aren't God's strongest soldier, but you're trying not to go down on him so badly right here and now.

"Hey" he raises his head when he hears your voice, smile adoringly. It only grows wider when he notices you alone. "Thought you'd never get rid of Paul. He's like, stitched to you"

"Same can be said about you and Joseph" you sit across him, and despite most of his tone being playful, there are still hints of jealousy behind. It arouses you deeply, and with this hot summer day above you, your skin isn't the only thing that's getting sticky.

"In case you haven't read the script, I'm his wife" you wink. "Sorry this is how you find out"

He laughs loudly, and God, how have you missed that laugh. Sure, it's been there when you've been out with the cast together, but it doesn't tingle your chest as when you're the cause of it; it feels like it's for you only, and that's what makes it special.

"I miss you so much" he whispers, his hand sliding across the table, finding yours. His thumb carresses your soft palm, and you melt under Pedro's tender touch.

"I do too" you sigh, but it's instantly replaced by what could only be described as a smug face. You lean closer, whispering on his ear, the warm meeting cold. He shivers. "Wanna know something?"

"I'm all ears"

"I just came back from walking. Guess what?No one is 'round here" you lean back against your chair, shit-eating grin on your face as all his body tenses up. "Made sure of it. The trailer zone is empty too"

Pedro gulps, his adam's apple bobbing as his eyes look at you.

"Y/n" calling your name as a warning.

"What? Can't a girl find ways to have her husband all for herself?" you snort. "Please say yes" you let go of his hand, but the free fingers now travel across his broad chest, taunting him. "C'mon, we both deserve a break"

He can't say deny you anything, can he? You know it, he knows it.

Before you register, his big hand engulfs yours as you run across the set. You giggle at his rushed steps, even more when you stand before his trailer and he's fumbling his slippery hands with the doorknob, sloppy movements erratic.

"But you told me to stop" you tease, and he doesn't even let you add more because he's pushing you inside, forcing you with rough calloused hands to a chair and then you to sit over his lap.

"Fuck, babygirl. I've spoiled you way too much" he groans against your lips. "Lo sabes, ¿verdad? Just can't say no to you"

Your eyes darken dangerously, the hunger on them mirroring his own.

"How could you ever say no to this?"

You press your chest against his broad one as your lip bites into his lower one, teasing. Pedro feels his underwear getting tighter when your tongue finds its way inside his mouth, even getting a glimpse of the taste of the strawberries you had earlier before.

He deepens the kiss, and when you pull away to catch your breath, he doesn't waste his lonely mouth and busies himself with the task of kissing your sun-kissed neck, licking and pressing his lips under your jaw. Pedro goes even lower, down until he's reached your collarbone, making you groan a bit under his wet sloppy needy mouth. He's enjoying how putty you are under his intense kissing, fingers in his curls, that have begun to damp under the ablaze of the small space and pleasure that fills the air.

"Kiss me again in my lips" you whine after a while of him teasing you with kisses that get only rougher. "Pretty please, papi"

You cup his face in your hands, and Pedro's back to kissing you in the mouth, tasting all of your insides as he hasn't had in what feels like a lifetime.

"Of course, baby. Missed this pretty mouth" he mumbles in between hot kisses, his now growing boner pressing into you.

"Baby" you giggle. The skirt he's got on may hide it, but your fingers refused to wait, pulling it up. His bulge presses against the shorts he's got under the skirt, and you can feel your pussy and mouth drool. "We have to do something about this big boy" your hands pull down the short, leaving just his underwear on. He's about to remove the skirt, but your demanding hands stops him. "This stays"

His brown concerned eyes make you laugh, but you don't give him time to think about it, rather grinding against his erection. Pedro's breath hitches when he feels your daring movements, bucking his hips against yours.

The friction is addicting, and he captures your lips once again to make you feel what he can't with words: how fucking good this feels.

You keep moving over his aching dick. Your husband throws his head back, groaning in pleasure at the way your hips move against him, knowingly. His hands find their way to your ass under the flowy almost translucent skirt you chose to change in, gripping the rosy skin tightly, hands almost covering all of it.

"You wore this for me, right, cariño? Knew I couldn't say no" he groans, firm hands on your cheeks, the grinding meeting his hips now harsher. "Less with you walking around with this slutty skirt of yours"

You make little sounds he's obssesed with, dripping out of your filthy mouth.

"Fuck" Pedro groans after a while, "I need to have you, mami. Missed you so much" eager fingers make it to your top. He growls, deep within him―guttural, ready to pull it off as he mumbles naughty wife when he realizes you got no bra on, chastising you for a "rushed" plan that seemed planned all along, when a sound cuts through the air.

You both stop.

The sound gets clearer.

It's a knock. A knock at his door.

A knock in Pedro's trailer.

And you are inside. Both.

While you're grinding him.

With his skirt on.

(It's time to build a bomb and kill yourselves off and whoever is stading behind that door)

"Pedro!" a familiar accent calls. Peudrou. It's Paul. "Hey, man. Just wondering if you are here"

He's debating on speaking up when he sees your red face and rising-falling chest before him.

"Answer" you whisper breathlessly. He tries not to groan when he fills you slip out of the spot in his middle while also trying not to think about murdering Paul as soon as he gets out.

Aside from the order, you're unexpectedly quiet, and Pedro quirks an eyebrow at you. He knows you better―you're his wife after all, and if there's something he's aware of, is your inability to loose.

"I'm here" tone clipped and annoyed. But no footsteps backtracking are heard: the Irish man is still there.

You bite your lip, watching the skirt with his legs spread, a sight too tempting. Also, he was still hard, as hard as the task to not go and keep doing your job.

Oh, fuck this shit.

Your devilish hand equals the grin in your face, fingers making their way toward his unattended bulge.

"What are you doing here?" Paul asks, but Pedro's attention has completely deviated, now focused on how they land right over his clothed dick, skirt pulled up by your other hand. "I thought you were at the cafeteria"

"Yeah?" but it comes out strained, yet the younger man doesn't notice or comment.

His hips raise when your fingers press his member, massaging it.

"Yeah" he uses a tone that equals a duh. "You texted me yourself"

Pedro rolls his eyes, wishing desperately he would go away, annoying him just as much as a fly hovering above fresh food. Talking about food, fuck, weren't you hungry? He tried to warn you, holding your wrist, but all resolve was lost the moment you looked in his eyes: he immediately pulled down his briefs, dick sprouting hard.

"Well, changed my mind" his tone falters in between words, member now free from the confines of his tight underwear.

"Are you tired, man? You sound tired" Paul comments on his tone. "Came to rest?"

You spit on your hand, and he gulps.

"Somethin' like that"

You start to jerk him off, leaving little wet kisses and licks just above his dick. Pedro's eyes are hypnotized, glued to every lick of yours across his girth, the spit making your movements smoother. Sexier. Fuck.

"Well, sorry to break it to you but rest time is over. They want us back on set now"

Your tight needy lips are wrapped around his his length and it's so hard to keep the talk normal when he justs wants to yell at Paul to fuck off. Your hand is there too; you are as of help as much as you aren't.

"I'll be there, Paul, just―Fuck!"

But his attempt to cover a moan doesn't go unnoticed.

"Are you alright in there?" he tries to enter, but Pedro locked the door. He's yelling he's fine, but Mescal doesn't sound convinced. "I can't go inside; it's locked. Are you sure you are okay, mate?"

"Didn't want you to take a picture of me drooling on my sleep" he manages to get out in a monotone voice. A real win if you take into account you've gotten to a point where you squeeze under his cock, massaging his balls.

"Smart move!" he chuckles from outside. "I guess I'll see you there"

Pedro covers a moan with his palm as he's throwing his head back in pleasure. He can feel his orgams looming over, minstrations growing sloppier around his pulsating cock, the need to fill your greedy evil mouth with his seed making him sick. He's a simple man: he just wants his pretty wife to fuck his cock silly and come in her mouth in peace. Is that so hard to get this days?

Paul seems to be finally gone as Pedro can't keep containing his grunts anymore, steps moving: until said steps sound closer again.

"Oh, I almost forgot, have you seen Y/n? I can't find her anywhere" it's coming. His orgasm is coming in the absolute worst moment. He can feel you gagging at his hard rock cock, hitting the back of your throat now. Still, your hands don't loose their grip on his cock and skirt, determination filling that sexy little body of yours. It was rather admirable the effort you were putting in this. "Think she went to the beach? She said she loved it. God, that little rebel. Anyway, if you see her, tell her-"

He leans his head back once again, seeing stars. No one knows him like his wife, truly.

The sight of you drooling from your chin, the wet sounds of him fucking himself onto your mouth as your spit-coated fingers pump his girth, you gulping down the precum from his tip, his fingers holding your face roughly by the cheeks...

"Yes, Paul, yes!" Pedro barks, barely hiding the moan that erupts from his ribcage, thick shots of his hot cum hitting your tongue and deep of the throath. "Fuck off and let me get ready"

"Jesus, mate, chill. I'm sorry. See you there"

And Paul Mescal's hovering fly ass is finally gone.

"Poor Paul" you say as soon as you pull off his length, voice raspy as you huff for air. Pedro lovingly cleans rests of your saliva and his cum from your chin as he chuckles at how much audacity, courage and horniness could fit in such a small young body. "You've ruined the friendship"

"You think?" he licks off some as you sit on his lap again, tongue directly on your face. You feel aroused again, but time's up. "It's your fault. That and this"

He points down.

"Just as you used that pretty head of yours to think of the trouble you just made, think of an excuse for Mr. Ridley about the skirt"

at0michips: wait wdym paul is sick??? ㅤㅤl-u-n-a-m: at0michips he's died vnightx: i'm wondering who'll do now the do you even know me interview with pedro now :( i was so excited!!! hope they don't cancel it :( ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: vnightx i bet my grandma it's y/n ㅤㅤat0michips: unhing3dprincess why do u keep betting ur grandma omg 😭😭😭

"You know what I think would be fun?" Pedro comments while you wait for the interview's set to be prepared.

Tour press has finally begun. That meant you could go home for a while after the filming wrapped, just to be back for the promotion of the film. You were excited of course, the experience new and thrilling. After much needed battery recharging and husband/wife time, you were ready to take over the world.

But then Paul got sick.

Today's interview was scheduled to be him and Pedro, but since he was unavailable, they paired him with you, since you both spoke Spanish (which felt slightly racist in your opinion), and because Fred and Joseph were already paired up for the other.

You leave your coffee, knowing he's about to say something stupid or endearing, perhaps both, brown liquid probably spilling out of your mouth. Or worst, nostrils.

"Tell me"

"What if we left little hints that we're together?" his smile is one of mischief. "Like you could wear my cap, or I could wear a chain with your initial around my neck, like Ryan Gosling did at the Barbie premiere"

"Or as Taylor Swift sang" you counter. "But Pedro, dear, you're underestimating our fans. You don't think they'll match it sooner than we think?"

"Maybe" he agrees. That's just what I want. "What's funny is we're about to do a type of interview where we could blow our cover"

"Maybe" you repeat, "or maybe you don't know all about me as much as you think, Mr. Pascal"

He fake gasps, feigning hurt. "Is this a dare, Mrs. Pascal?"

"No" you try to be mature for once, cutting the banter as much as you'd like to go on and kiss him right there. "Also, remember to answer incorrectly sometimes, you know..."

"There's no way I'm letting you win though"

"Pedro, no seas necio!"

The producers arrive just in time to let you know it's ready.

"After M'lady" he's back to being charming as he is, not as husband charming but just Pedro Pascal charming. The nerve of this guy to do it in front of the LADbible crew.

"Whatever" you grumble, the nerves getting the best of you as you realize this interview may or may not give away more than you've been allowed before.

"Hello, I am Y/n L/n" you present yourself. Wow, the camera is really close. This isn't going to end well.

"And I'm Pedro Pascal"

Hearing his voice soothes you. It's okay, y/n, you got this. "And this is Do You Really Know Me- No wait, it's do you even know me. Okay, let's start again: Hello, I'm Y/n and this is-"

"I don't even know anymore" Pedro jokes, making you laugh. "Do you even know me?" he asks while looking forward, now making the crew laugh.

"This is Pedro Pascal, that'll do" you sigh.

"This is gonna be sad, she's not going to know any of these" he says, but in reality, he's mocking you, the mischief in his eyes glowing as he only looks at you tauntingly.

"Same can be said about you" you tease, "we're like a million years away"

"That's not true!" he gasps, "I watch your every move" punctuating each word. God, you try not to make a face. "I have Google alerts on you"

If he was gonna play, so were you.

"Glad to know I have you alerted" with the sweetest voice ever, seeing how his friendly façade falters for a bit at the tone you've used. You laugh, and Pedro takes the chance to laugh it off too.

After the introduction, they ask one of you to keep score, and you offer yourself because, well, you don't trust Pedro.

"I'll go first" you say. "Which was my first ever role in the industry? As an extra during an episode of Stranger Things, as a voice actor in A dog's purpose" you can't help but laugh, "or as a back-up dancer in Hustlers?"

"In Hustlers?" Pedro inquires in disbelief. "You're telling me you were in Hustlers?! I didn't even know you could dance!"

Lies. You and Pedro sometimes put some bachata and dance in the kitchen. God bless Juan Luis Guerra.

"Jennifer Lopez and I are practically besties" you answer nonchalant.

You know the answer. He does too. But he chooses the last one for comedic purposes.

"I'll go with Hustlers. Now that I'm looking at you, you do have a... dancer face"

"It's okay, you can say the forbidden word. I'll take it as a compliment" you laugh, "you're wrong, though. The answer is Stranger Things"

"No way!" and it sounds as if he genuinely didn't know. Good lying son of a bitch; Jim Carrey on Liar, Liar would've been proud.

"Yes. If you look in the background of season two, on this one episode where Nancy and Steve appear to have broken up during a halloween party, you can see me drinking from a cup on a corner"

"That's so crazy"

"Yeah, I was twenty already, yet playing a highschooler" you giggle. "Wow, time flies by. Anyway, we're both at zero. Your turn"

"What film did my dad not let me see at the cinema when I was, uh, ten years old?" Pedro reads from his card. "Rambo: first blood, The Breakfast Club, Day of The Dead"

"I'm going to base this in the year you were born. Okay, so 1975. Let's see" one of the things Pedro loves about you is that you're like a film encyclopedia, but right now, that'll cost him a point. "They all came out the same year, and they were also R rated. Hmmh, I'll choose The Breakfast Club"

Your analysis was just mindless bragging really. You knew the answer the moment he started reading the question, because the anecdote came during a time he heard you listening to the movie's soundtrack ("Did you know that my dad...")

"You complain about Paul all the time, but you're just the same" he comments. "She's a real competitor, people!"

You flush in embarrasment. "Okay, that's one for me. Next question" you read the card in your hands. "What pet do I own? An orange cat named Louis after my favorite singer, a fish, or a Shih Tzu named after my brother"

The orange cat lives with you both. You're curious as to how he'll answer.

"You aren't naming a Shih Tzu frickin' Fernando" he laughs, so loud, it ends up catching up to you and the crew. "I'll go with the cat"

"That's correct" you lament. "How would you know?"

As if the damn cat doesn't love him more than he loves you.

"I follow you on Instagram" he defends himself. Clever. "We are, um, what do you call it-"

"Oomfs"

"I'm not gonna try to pronounce your made up language. Okay, my turn. Which of these characters I've played in Saturday Night Live? Naughty daddy, protective mom, or weird uncle who has a creepy sneeze" he reads out loud in a confused tone.

This is easy. It was all over your timeline.

"Protective mom" you answer on a beat.

"This isn't fair, that was really popular!" he complains.

"It's still two for me and one for you" you mock. "Now, what is the nickname the internet has given me? I won't give you clues because it's an easy one"

"Easy? You said we were million of years apart and now I'm supposed to know?"

"Well, you seem to manage Instagram so I think you'll be just fine" you tease, and Pedro just wants to rip that smirk off of you. So he caves in first.

"It's people's princess"

"What?!" your eyes grow comically large, shimmering with betrayal as you shout with an incredulous tone. "I can't believe you know" more like can't believe you said it.

"You're royalty! How am I supposed to not know that, internet darling? Besides, told you: I keep my eye on you" and he winks.

This motherfucker. Oh, he's totally sleeping on the couch tonight.

"Talk about internet darlings" your snarky tone comes out, and Pedro knows he's pissed his competitive wife off. "I guess we have a tie. Your turn"

"What are the initials of my full name?" his brows furrow. "I forget. JBPP, JPBP, JBPP"

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite. "B, of course"

"But that's too easy, everyone with Google knows it!" but then he's leaning into your ear, whispering in a very low voice to make sure only you hear. "I'll let it pass, though. Love hearing you pronounce my name, mami"

Your face grows obscenely red. "I'm back ahead. Let's see if you can keep up. Okay, here it goes" you read the card, "what is the director I've stated I want to work with? Greta Gerwig, Pedro Almodóvar, or Quentin Tarantino"

"Pedro Almodóvar, no? You said you were jealous I had already worked with him" he playfully nudges you. Too much contact, face hot again. Maybe in group interviews you'll do better, because right now, you're doing a rather poor job at controlling yourself, even as an actor; you can already picture your agent pulling her hair behind the cameras.

"It's Greta Gerwig, actually"

"What?! No way, you told me this!" he grumbles. "This game is rigged"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still jealous. I just think working with Greta Gerwig is peak womanhood, and I gotta live that. So, Greta, if for some reason this silly video gets to you, call me. I promise I'm not that childish"

"She is" Pedro slips in, "don't call her. So unprofessional" in a mocking exaggerated tone.

"Whatever, you sore looser. Me three, you two. Next!"

"Fine. Which of these songs would I have played at my funeral? My Heart Will Go On, Purple Rain, Nothing Compares To You"

He looks at you, silently pleading you to not answer correctly. Your competitive side screams in agony.

"I have no idea. Why do I feel you've already said it somewhere, though? I'll go with Nothing Compares To You, because the first its too corny for you and the second too epic"

He scoffs, amused at the fact that you did obey, but at what cost? Pedro's well aware his princess can get as competitive, if not worse, than Paul.

"You're saying I'm not epic enough for Purple Rain? Too bad, because that's the answer" you grunt, crossing your arms. "That's right, I am cool enough to have it played. I guess we're tied again!"

"No, you don't loose a point. It's still three to two. This just gives you the opportunity to tie"

"W-wait a minute"

"Settle down" you pat his thigh, "you can still try, handsome"

He gulps when your hand meets his skin, despite the layer of clothes. It's still something that gets him on edge, no matter the years you've known each other. And handsome? You came here for blood.

"Okay, here's your chance: what image of me became trending topic on twitter? An image of me eating a typical dish from my country, an image of me watching Deadpool and Wolverine with glasses while Hugh Jackman's shirtless scene reflects on them or C, me meeting Taylor Swift at the backstage of the Eras Tour"

"The typical dish is tempting" he muses out loud, "but I'll go with the Taylor Swift one because that sounds like something that'd trend"

"You're right" you throw your card. "I'm not complaining though. Best day of my life"

"Does this mean I'm winning?" he beams excitedly. "Oh, in your face Paul! I will finally win something!"

"Slow down, cowboy. There's still some left"

He purses his lips. "Let me have this one thing, would you? Guess not. Here it comes" he starts to read his card, "At school I competed in state competitions, in which sport? Soccer, lacrosse, swimming"

"Swimming" you answer hastily, trying not to think on Pedro wearing tight little swimsuits, as you've only seen him wearing swim trunks.

"Okay, that's dissapointing. Please continue"

"I participated in which play while I was in highschool? Hamlet, The Iliad or Much Ado About Nothing"

You doubt he remembers. The only time it ever came up, was when you visited your parent's house and a photography of you during said play was showed to him by your dad.

"The Iliad, right?" you laugh. The answer is wrong: It's Hamlet. "What? I swear it was that one! It's just you have very..." beautiful is at the tip of his tongue but he refrains himself, "...very greek features"

You can't help but laugh.

"Why of course! This is a face people go to war for"

"I agree" your heart skips a beat, "but I don't think I'll make it that far, if we talk about a war"

"You big fat liar!" you slap his arm playfully. "You've played all sort of characters, from soldiers of all nationalities and places, and like, superheroes, f*****g Joel Miller, even a DEA agent. You at least learned something!"

"Wow, slow down, this isn't a filmography recount" he jokes. Liar, you mouth to the cameras. "Okay, last one: I became a viral sensation for eating what type of sandwhich in LADbible's snack wars: BLT, PB&J, grilled cheese"

You remember the video fondly. Even your brother had sent it to you, along a text that said: Isn´t this your husband?

"PB&J, I win!" you cheer, instantly getting off the chair to do a celebratory dance. Pedro doesn't say anything, just throwing the cards away while the fondness of his eyes betrays him.

pyramiidsf: i want someone to look at me the way pedro looks at y/n mybritishstyle: guys they're just friends 😭 he's like that with all his female co-stars ㅤㅤann-gell: mybritishstyle me when i'm delusional af mandoshoney: where's that girl that's always betting her grandma??? SHE WAS RIGHTFLKRGJ

"Hello, I'm Paul Mescal. I'm here with my friends from the cast of Gladiator II" Connie and you both raise your palms to greet the camera, laughing when you realize you'd done it at the same time, "and we are going to play a game about how well we know each other for Vanity Fair" the irish man introduces the interview you're filming today.

"Did they prompt you?" Pedro speaks up, "or did you just make that up on the fly?"

You laugh a bit too loud, hoping they cut it off in the editing process.

Paul goes first, taking up a card with the first question written on it.

"Okay. Question: What's my least favorite day of the week?"

"Tuesday" answers Joseph once Paul is done reading. "Oh, you're writing it down?"

"Yeah" he answers.

"You just wrote Tuesday" Connie points out, Paul's card on his legs. You laugh along the rest.

"Yeah" he repeats laughing. "I actually, when you said Tuesday" Yeah, he said Tuesday Pedro adds on the background of laughter. "I was like...I'm gonna give everybody a point for that"

"I think I deserve a point for being observant" Connie complains.

Everyone gets a point and Paul moves towards the next question.

"What was the name of my character in Normal People?"

"Connell" both you and Joseph answer, looking at each other before squinting your eyes playfully.

"Callum" Pedro answers out loud at the same time, and you laugh. He clearly had slept when you played it for a re-watch last summer.

"No, you're out" Paul pokes Pedro next to him.

"Connel" Joseph repeats, and Fred agrees to the same answer.

Paul then asks Connie what's hers after he confirms you three.

"Connor?" she asks, confused.

"Incorrect. Three points" while pointing you three.

"You got wrong" he tells Pedro, "Callum's a different character"

"See? You just don't pay attention when you watch things" you blurt out, stopping yourself before adding the with me. It would be harder to come back from that, but so is this as everyone looks at you, even your husband, subtle panic in his eyes. Where the cameras this close? How long had you been silent?

"It's just, quick funny story" you improvise. "Pedro didn't know much about Paul's career, and as I am a fan, I took the time to show him and recommend him your stuff" Paul smiles. "Clearly, my fanatism didn't rub on Pedro but a girl can try"

He laughs, before saying "So the answer is Connell" and you try so hard to remain normal like the energy hasn't shifted.

"He only plays characters with the letter C in the name" Pedro jokes, chewing on a toothstick he seemingly pulled out of nowhere. More laughs follow, and you are so grateful for how he's handling your little metida de patada.

"What's number one on my bucket list?" he asks next, "and don't look at my answer"

The marker is the only sound to be heard, and then Pedro jokingly tries to take a peek.

"No peeking" Connie berates as Pedro laughs.

"You're not gonna be able to see that" Paul replies in an anyways tone.

You repeat the same joke, before Fred blocks you. "Not you too!"

Paul finishes after a while, Connie commenting it was long. Joseph raises his hand.

"Yes, Joseph"

"Is it to see the Great Wall of China?" he asks.

"No, but it's in that-"

"It's close, isn't it?" you interrupt.

"...family of thought" he finishes.

"It's to go and see something" Pedro points out.

"Okay. Rajasthan" tries Connie. "Go to Rajasthan, for a tour"

"Travel to South America" Paul interrupts with the correct answer, "I've never been to South America"

"I'm from South America" Pedro comments, never missing a chance to shout out his dear Chile.

Paul jokes about him getting three points while the rest of you laugh.

"I was born in South America. 17 points for Pedro"

"I want points too" you jump on the joke. "I know Spanish, so I can take you there and avoid you getting lost, mi querido amigo"

"But who was born there?" Pedro counters, "you get no points"

"I think Joseph is the only person who gets a point there" Paul adds, "because everybody just jumped on the bandwagon"

"He said to visit the Great Wall of China" Pedro protests, "which is nowhere near South America"

"It really is not" Connie agrees.

"Qué gente tan tramposa" you complain. "That's unfair. I remove my offer"

"Think about bucket list, and he came up with travel to bit" he tries to reason Joseph's point.

"And by the way, where in South America?" Pedro questions.

"Don't fight, don't fight" pleads Joseph, the calm one. Fred just sits there, enjoying the chaos.

"I want, any, I want to do a big tour of everywhere" Mescal defends himself.

Pedro doesn't back down. "'Cause it's very different"

Paul starts to get angry too. Jesus, men. Competitive men of it all.

"I know it's very different" making an annoyed face.

"Well, different is nice" you intervene, a hand placing in Pedro's left shoulder. "If you stop giving points for free, I'll come with you to the big everywhere tour"

"Alright" Paul agrees. "When's my birthday?" is the next question.

"February" all of you say.

Joseph struggles with the date first, saying seventh, then fourth. Fred tries with ninth, Pedro with eight, and then Joseph starts counting from one to two. Fred counts from eleven to twelve.

"Second" Mescal reveals. "Point to Joseph"

"Oh my God, you guys are good" Connie mentions.

"That's all my questions" and it's time to move on the next one: which happens to be your dear husband, Pedro.

"Paul is like" he brings up while the toothpick dances on his teeth, "Paul is motivated to catch up on points. He's coming for you" to pick on his competitive side as Mescal looks deep in thought.

"He's coming. He's coming" Joseph repeats as Fred laughs.

"What is my full name?"

"Oh! Pedro-" Paul tries in a blink. "Something, J? Jose? Juan?"

"Pedro Pascal, something, something" says Joseph.

"Nope"

"No?"

"Pedro Maria, Jose Maria Pascal" Paul struggles.

Pedro is about to answer when your voice cuts through the air.

"It's José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite.

"It indeed is!" he says, smiling a bit too much. "She gets a point"

"Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" your husband repeats in a more english-friendly pronunciation, looking at the camera while toying with his toothpick.

"I said Jose, I said Jose" Paul protests.

Pedro shakes his head. "You said Jose, but then you put it-"

Connie takes Paul's side. "You did say Jose"

"But then you put it behind Pedro which eliminate- which disqualified you" he replies.

Paul gets angry. That sore looser.

"That's absolute bullshit"

"Don't worry mate, the game has just begun" you joke, making the man more irritated. "Think you can get ahead of me?"

"Joseph is still ahead, y/n" Paul counters, still irritated. "Besides, wouldn't it be cheating? You can speak Spanish!"

"So? Not like speaking a language allows you to know every person's name Paul" you mock. He just snorts, despite still being half angry. Pedro is allowed to continue, trying not to make a face at yours and Paul's banter.

"The question is, who is my favorite actor?" he reads. As the cast members laugh, he uncaps the marker with his mouth, and now you have to try not to make a face, thinking about those teeth sinking into your flesh.

Quinn raises his hand. "It's me"

"That you're my favorite actor?"

"Yeah. You said that to me once" the bald man sounds sure of it.

Paul tries to think in the background. So do you. How can you not know this? he must've brought it up at least once.

"Do you remember?" Joseph insists.

Pedro finally remembers. "I said you were- I said I thought you were special"

"Oh" he sounds rather dissapointed.

"And special can mean a lot of things" he jokes, laughing by himself. Fred laughs with you as Joseph makes a face, your laughter turning even louder when you notice Paul all moody, trying to get this point.

"Who's your favorite actor?" Paul asks, "I think we just have to shoot from the hip here guys"

"Marlon Brando?" Connie guesses.

"Is it Harrison Ford?" Fred guesses.

"Let's go with Harrison Ford just because he's my favorite actor..."

You can't believe you didn't know this. You've re-watched and watched so many Star Wars content together. He gives you a brief look, knowing you're embarrased at your lack of answer.

"As a kid?"

"He's most influent, yeah" Pedro agrees.

"What job did I have before I became a full-time actor?" is next.

"Dancer. You were a great dancer" Paul aswers. Both Fred and Joseph repeat it, adding he was specifically a go-go dancer.

"Oh, he is" you add. "Videos of you dancing are lovely. Ever thought of getting back in the bussiness?"

He laughs, what appears to be a light blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Sure, darling. When you ask me to dance, I'll be there"

Nobody comments on this, too busy waiting for Pedro to say yes or no to the answer they believe to be right. But he isn't saying it is. Now you remember why.

"Come on, come on, come on" Paul begs.

"Can any of you guys remember?" Pedro pleads.

They insist that he danced in Spain, then New York, then settle with Spain again, even Pedro confirming so. But it still isn't the answer written on the card, no matter how much the boys insist.

"Connie?" he tries. She just looks confused.

"The answer in the card is-"

"Waiter" you answer. "You were a waiter"

Now you have three points under your belt.

"Why do you always say the answer at last?!" Paul grumbles. "You are cheating!"

"I'm not" you laugh the accusation off. "You just can't accept I'm better"

"Si que lo eres" Pedro agrees. "Es divertido hacer que se enoje Paul"

"What did you say about me? It's not fair, you're probably sharing the answers!" he's still adamant on insisting with the supposed cheating issue, making you laugh.

Now it's Connie's turn, who starts with: "How many languages do I speak?"

You put a puzzled look.

"You speak seven, eight maybe" Joseph guesses. Pauls says she speaks french, "but most likely seven"

Pedro points his finger at him. "Once he gets going, he's on a roll"

"Joe's got it" Connie agrees.

"Paul, end this reign" Pedro jokes. He looks rather frustrated.

"And the bonus points" Connie offers. "Okay, bonus, what are they?"

"This is an emperor's reign" your husband adds.

Joseph answers: Italian. Danish. English. Swedish. French. Spanish. Norwegian.

Connie agrees she speaks Spanish, making you jump in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't know that!" you beam. "Wait, does that mean you did get what Pedro and I gossiped about you?"

"What?" Joseph asks.

"Nada" you quickly correct yourself. "Yo no dije nada"

"Not that much. I just speak a bit of Spanish. I mostly dominate my own language, German and English"

"You blew our cover!" Pedro nags, hitting your bare leg, yet its devoid of anger.

"He needs a bonus" comments Connie, surprised at Joseph.

"This is horrifying" Pedro says when Joseph gets another point and a fricking bonus on top of that. "This is a slaughter"

"Oh, for which film did I have a gym built in my garage?"

Both Joseph and Paul answer the question correctly, saying Wonder Woman. The latter is quick to state they both get that point.

"That's one for me" Paul says, then looks at you. "And none for you"

You stick out your tongue at him as Connie reads the next card.

"If I were to take this cast on a vacation where would I take you?"

"Ibiza" answers Joseph. Connie agrees in Spanish, with a cute and excited correcto.

Your husband feels the need to crack a joke at Quinn's expense.

"Somebody was paying attention to Connie Nielsen very closely during the shooting of this movie"

"Okay. What is my favorite curse word in Danish?"

"Fuck" Pedro tries.

"No"

"Nobody is going to get that, Connie" Paul bickers.

"Oh, I don't know any Danish" you lament.

"At least now you know how it feels" Mescal drops, making you snort. You playfully kick him on the ribs with your shoe.

"It's very simple" Connie gives as a clue. "It's the same word in every language"

"Shit" Paul tries.

"Satan" she reveals.

Everybody is laughing in confusion at that, saying there's no way you could use that.

"Vos Satan!" Connie curses.

Now it's Fred's turn.

"What is my weirdest on-set habit?"

"I haven't noticed you do anything weird on set" Paul tells.

"I have" Pedro interrupts.

They all get on a small briefing about what could it possibly be, that it was weird, and wasn't part of his character, as you ponder. It was funny before, but now Paul is behind you by a point. So think fast.

"Yeah. I would say being yourself" Pedro jokes, but surprisingly, it works.

"Me! Five points for Pedro" he celebrates as you all laugh. "Love Fred. Oh, Fred"

"Oh, oh, okay" he moves to the next question. "What is my favorite reality TV show?"

Joseph tries with Survivor and Paul with Alone. Truth is, you don't watch any show of said kind, only vagely hearing about Love Island.

"You and I have talked about reality TV" Pedro reveals, "It's just that we never identified one"

They keep guessing shows that sound like a foreign language to you.

"You know what's offensive? That I'm the second youngest of this cast and I have no idea what are you all talking about"

"She's not to be trusted" Pascal quips, "can't trust someone who doesn't appreciate the art of reality TV"

You huff, annoyed.

"Is it A&E stuff?" Pedro asks.

"Yeah, it's the competitive cheapskates" Fred answers. "It's people that really save money on everything"

Pedro gets the point because he mentioned the A&E bit.

"There's like this amazing guy that made a stew out of fish bones, and I just thought it was incredible" he shares. Then, moves to the next question. "What is my go-to crafty snack?"

Nobody remembers eating snacks on set, and Fred gives the clue that it's a drink. Joseph says it's a smoothie, and he does remember it but it isn't the answser.

"I'm thinking of something specific. That Emerge-C that you put in the water"

"Oh, that's very good" you agree, so does the rest, even discussing the best colors

"Who in the cast would I ask to bail me out of jail?"

Everyone even Pedro agree its him. Everyone gets a point, yet Joseph remains ahead.

It's Joseph's turn. "What is my favorite sport?"

"Skateboarding" Paul is so quick to answer, earning him two points for both being correct and time.

"What celebrity do I get mistaken for?"

"Daisy Edgar-Jones sometimes" says Mescal. Of course he had to bring her up.

"No, she gets mistaken for me" Joseph jokes. "Yeah, poor Daisy. But I'm writing it down"

"That was the two letters?" Pedro notices. Still, no one gets it.

It's fucking Justin Timberlake. You'd never guess that.

"What is my favorite film franchise?"

You've probaly named all the existing franchises to no avail. You think fo your dad, a huge geek, trying to remember if there is one missing.

"Oh- Lord of the Rings!" you both answer with Paul at the same time.

"C'mon!" his celebration is short lived when he realizes you tied to him.

"What is my favorite British slang word?"

Pedro says it can't be said, but Quinn insists they can, even adding it's his favorite one too.

"We can say bad words? We can say-?" but the camera beeps over it.

The answer is Bellend. What even is that? Joseph feigns sadness and Pedro keeps apologizing, even as you sit on the chair.

"Okay. I'm last"you wiggle your eyebrows with interest. "Let's see. Okay, first question: what did I take from the Gladiator II set?"

"You took something?" Joseph asks on disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I take something?"

"Is it like an item or memorabilia?" asks Connie.

"It's an item" you uncap the marker, scribbling down the answer.

"It's a short word" Fred points out, but still can't provide a guess.

"You took the rings home" Pedro answers. You snap your had on his way, probably obvious. "What? You told me" he says.

Of course Paul complains. "Hey, that isn't fair! He knew the answer before!"

"Well, if you payed more attention to me, you'd know it"

Lies. Pedro knows because it's sitting in the jewelry box inside your house.

"See? I do pay attention" Pedro playfully hits Mescal.

"I could pay you more attention" he looks at you.

"Alright, then do. Ready? Next question: what is my go-to movie? Oh, this is a good one. I'm always changing it, but most of the time I end up choosing the same one"

They all give you a puzzled look as you scribble.

"C'mon, guys! I've said it on interviews before too. Paul?" the man shrugs. "Thought you said you'd pay me more attention. Heads up, you're doing a terrible job so far!"

"Hey!" he protests. "It's not fair if the answer's changing. Give us a clue"

"You didn't give any clues to yours!" you giggle. "Besides, I don't want you to win"

"Hey, that's against the rules!"

"I'd say it depends on the season" Pedro speaks up. You quirk an eyebrow. "Like, if it's changing, I don't think your Christmas go-to movie is the same as your summer one"

"Actually" you smile fondly, "that is true. On summer, it's Mamma Mia. So I suppose, if you can't guess the one, that'll do"

"No" he smiles, cheeky. "I know it too"

"Yeah?" you challenge, "what is it, then?"

"It's Thelma and Louise" he answers, and your heart beats fast.

"How do you know?" Paul inquires. "Somebody was paying attention to Y/n L/n very closely during the shooting of this movie"

Ah, his joke from earlier. Joseph giggles behind him. Karma, he supposes.

"She said it on an interview, guys. C'mon, learn your sources!"

"Okay" you clear your throat. "What movie got me into acting?"

"Thelma and Louise" Joseph tries.

"No" you laugh, "you're just recycling the answer"

"Is it an old or modern movie?" Connie asks.

"Hmh, old" you pause, "just not... I don't know if you'll ever guess it"

"Is it a Pedro Almodóvar film?" you shake your head. "What? You're always mentioning him!"

Pedro looks into your eyes amid the others' discussion, and you can tell he remembers the conversation.

"There isn't one"

You smile, chest pounding at his soft tone.

"That's correct"

"A trick question?!" Paul yells. "I quit"

"When there's just one left?" you tease.

"Yes, because you've been hiding it all the time but no more" he counters, pointing both you and Pedro. You feel the space getting smaller, breaths going from even to noticeable. "You are sharing answers"

You try to make your breath of relief pass as a chuckle.

"I'm not even gonna win, relax. And drop the charges, please. Loose like a man"

"You didn't explain it though" Connie speaks. "What did Pedro mean?"

"While I have many movies that are inspiration to me, they aren't the reason I chose this path. I did it because I saw an Oscar's ceremony when I was 11" you explain fondly, feeling warm at the memories. "I still remember when they handed the award to Diablo Cody for best original screenplay. I don't know, man, it moved me. What it meant for young artists who came from nothing. I guess I wanted, one day, to be the one standing there, for other dreamers to see it's possible"

"Wow, that's beautiful" Connie says.

"Thank you" you get flustered. "Suppose it was worth it, you know, to do interviews about not really knowing my cast mates" and laugh.

"How does Pedro know, though?" Joseph asks.

"We talk a lot" you clear your throat. "Last one: what indie horror movie did I make a small appearence in? I'm feeling generous because it's the last so I'll give you a clue. It's a Stephen King adaptation"

Paul is the first to speak. "You where in a-"

"Yeah but it wasn't such a huge role. Don't make yourself any ideas"

"I have no idea" Connie surrenders. "Other clue, as in how many words?"

"It doesn't even have any words" you laugh. "You give up? It's 1922. Was an extra as well. Made me think Netflix had my name highlighted in the extra call sheet, because I did so many minor and background roles during that year. Grateful, though, because now I get to be Rome's empress and not fortune teller or highschool #6"

The interview ends, and the camera may or may have not captured the last seconds, Pedro's gaze fixated with you the entire time.

elysyannemimi: we all saw that right? GET PEDRO AND Y/N IN A ROMCOM ❗THEIR CHEMISTRY IS INSANE❗ at0michips: love paul and y/n so much 😭😭 gimme enemies to lovers RN ㅤㅤbobgirllll: at0michips wait what if paul and y/n are secretly dating 😳 ㅤㅤann-gell: bobgirllll quick question are u dumb unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they're married. it has to be. trust me ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess BESTIE U ARE BACK

You arrived in London today. The premiere will be in a few days, and things have been, well, hectic.

Lux couldn't stop talking all the plane ride, but your mind kept going back at the email your manager had sent you before you had boarded the plane.

It's catching upon you, read the haunting message. Attached below, a TMZ article that claimed a regular church attendee had seen you both getting married. It also used a lot of the noise fans had been making on social media, connecting dots or just hyping up the undeniable chemistry. It ended with a little paragraph saying it was obvios, and they're just hoping you'd confirmed it.

You came to realize you didn't care about it anymore. Sure, the pushing around annoyed you, but the thought of still keeping your marriage under wraps feels pointless now. Why wouldn't you shout to the world how in love with your husband you are?

Yet, when you arrive at the hotel, you keep the same protocol of arriving after Pedro, who has already checked in with two keys, claiming its for him and his sister, while you ask for the key to Lux's actual room. After you swipe cards with her, you head over the room you'd be sharing with your husband.

His face appears in your frame, everything happening quickly.

"Get inside. Now"

Your body is dragged inside the hotel room, not even giving you time to swipe the key for yourself.

"Pedro!" you exclaim, between surprised and confused. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Did you read it?"

"What? The article?" your tone is filled with annoyance. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he snaps, voice raising higher. "Don't play dumb with me. You know fans have fuelled the rumors, and tabloids have started digging every corner in fucking California"

"So, what? You're acting as if people finding out is the worst thing in the world" you roll your eyes.

"It is, yes!" Pedro bursts out, caving in to the stress.

It feels like you've been hit across your face.

"Excuse me?" you seethe, hurt etched all across your features. "Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit you're married to the person you supposedly love the most?"

"I love you, y/n. It's just-"

His voice softens, trying to reach for you, yet you pull back, his hand falling to his side in an akward manner. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" he repeats, sounding much more sure this time.

Your frame seems smaller as your voice comes out hoarse, filled with emotion, appearing to be in the brink of tears:

"Then why do you act like you're embarrassed of me?"

He hates himself for making you feel this way, making you think things that aren't true.

"I don't. Never" he emphasizes. Then, tries to reach once again when you move a little bit closer to him, recognizing that's your way of letting him know you're ready. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, don't ever think the opposite" then he sighs, heavy. "I'm just scared"

You silently ask him to explain, rubbing his thumb soothingly across his tattoo.

"You're so young, and I'm, well- I know we're aware of it, but people are cruel and the press is ruthless. I don't want to see your name dragged across the mud because you decided to marry me. Your career is starting, and I'd never forgive myself is something happened to you because of me. Not trying to make this about me, yeah? But this industry is fucked up. You've work hard to get to where you are, and it'll be unfair if you'd loose it. I'm scared because us..." he wavers, words trailing off. "I want us to be. I wouldn't want to live in a world without you, i-it would kill me not to have you be my wife"

You desperately want to kiss off the worry on his face, but let him finish.

"N-not saying our love is weak, or anything! That a couple of opinions or tabloids will- you know? Just, I-I don't want them to break us apart. Mi vida, you're the light of my life. Please, forgive me, I-"

He feels his throat closing up, words failing to come out. You sense the grip on your hand to be stronger, immediately letting loose of it.

"Hey. C'mere" your voice is tender, allowing him to bury his face in your stomach as you comb his messy curls with your fingers. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere"

He lets himself melt under your touch, his mind loosing itself in the soft of your digits and your perfume up his nostrils. He's again breathing normaly, hands now hugging your waist.

"There you go. Better?" Pedro nods, still not being able to talk. "That's okay, take all the time you need. We have all day"

"Do we?" he raises his view, his eyes soft yet there is something else to the brown shade.

You hum as to nod. "We agreed to join Lux for dinner. It's barely 1pm"

"Tell me you're thinking it too" his voice cuts throughout the air, boucing off the tapestry on the walls.

You laugh, nervously. "I don't think I do"

"Hmmh, I see" he stands up, towering over you. "You sure you don't?"

"You sure you want this?"

Before you know it, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, cutting off all words to be said. What a waste of air, anyway. You are quick to reciprocate, whimpering against his lips.

Pedro picks you up like you're as light as a feather, his arms flexing as he carries you and places you on the bed, frame hovering over yours. He breaks the kiss to breath, but you're pulling him back in, his hold on your hips tighter and the wet spot in your panties wetter.

"Look at you, pretty baby. So needy" he whispers against your face, hot breath lingering above your lips. "And mine. Mía. Only mine"

"I am, yes. Yours only. Need you so bad right now, papi" you answer in a rush. "Now shut up and fuck me"

"Con gusto" he chuckles darkly, "gotta keep the wife happy"

"Happy wife, happy life" you recite, stripping him off of his plain shirt, revealing his toned torso, bulging biceps defined by the movements. You gulp. "Fuck, papi. Gotta thank Marvel for this. I love all of your versions, but I can work with this too" you dreamily stare at him, your hands cupping his face.

He strips the rest of his clothing, but a cute blush adorns his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's Scott's fault too"

Your impatient fingers reach the middle of your panties to rub your clothed pussy, letting out a sound that darkens his hazel orbs.

"Fuck that guy" you mutter. Pedro laughs.

"Thought you said you loved the guy"

"Until I learned what he said about your body" you groan, still rubbing. "Connie told me"

His hands now travel to remove your clothes, almost ripping them off.

"Who cares? I just want to fuck you now" he breathes out, practically drooling at the sight of your damp panties. "Lemme take this off too"

He unhooks your bra, seeing the hard nipples. The urge to lick them is so bad, but his desire to fill you silly to the brim is stronger.

You see his hesitation, which is why you grab him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses back fiercely, labored breaths as he struggles to focus on your lips, his wet mouth darting to your jaw, neck and collarbones. His hands roam all over your body, needy.

"Gotta be inside of you, mami. Can't wait any longer"

"Then stop waiting" you plead, tugging at his boxers with urgency.

Seeing you so cockhungry, lips parted and pupils blown wide makes his hard dick twitch with anticipation.

He mutters a labored fuck, aligning himself to enter your sticky folds. Pedro enters your tight pussy with a low groan, burying himself deep inside of you, used to his length by now. You're basically begging for it, nails digging and eyes supplicating.

He can't deny you anything, can he?

A messy whine leaves your widened mouth as you adjust, pleasure mixed with pain.

"Mhmm" you moan.

"Mhmm what?" he mocks. "You asked for it. Now take it, cariño"

He thrusts deeper into you, watching in awe how his dick enters your pussy; it was always perfectly, your pussy made for him.

"You're drippin' baby" his rough voice caresses your cheek. He kisses the are, giving a lick to the sweat starting to form. "S'fucking tight too"

You move your hips towards him, trying to augment the friction. The overstimulation starts to cloud your sense, reducing you to a whiny mess as you grip his steady arms.

"I can't think of anything but you, baby" he confesses between grunts, "filling up your pussy to the brim, you dripping with my seed for days"

You moan at the filthy words.

"Love how you take my dick, amor" stretching you as Pedro moves in and out. "S'made for me"

"Yes" you moan, skin slapping sounds bouncing off the walls. "Fuck, I love your dick..."

His pace picks up, and it comes to a point where he's just fucking you silly, his grip on your hips surely to leave a bruise as you keep spilling obscene sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Your pussy's mine, yeah? No one else gets to have you like this"

"N-no, just you, Pedro. My h-husband" you manage to squeeze, more moans vocalizing the pleasure you felt with each thrust, his big dick inside of you moving in a a steady rhythm, making your eyes roll back further and orgasm closer.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he finds impossible to resist the urge anymore, licking the sensible skin and hard nipples, your hands moving to his back, scratching him harshly, both chasing your release.

"Please!" you whine out loud, not caring how desperate you sound.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

But your husband knows you, so he indeed starts to fuck you harder, heavy breaths and slippy kiss noises hanging in the spaces between each thrusts. He pants with every motion of his dick, a knot forming on his belly.

"Shit, baby. I think I'm gonna cum. Gonna come so hard"

"Do it. I'm on birth control, remember?" you groan, feeling your high approach as well. "Fill me up, please. Give me all your cum"

Your bodies move as one, precise thrusts hitting exactly that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, chasing your orgasm. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with his and then he's saying:

"I love you, y/n. So much"

Your heart skips a bit, his dick twitching inside as his gaze glimmers with adoration and possesiveness, teeth grazing your skin with marks for him to call you his.

"I love you too, Pedro. More than you know"

A final thrust is delivered. Fuck, feels so good you think you hear him say. Just like promised, he fills you with his release, shots of his thick, warm cum inside your sticky walls. You follow soon, back arching, toes curling, and both head and eyes rolling back. Pedro falls on top of you, his broad body collapsing over yours, as you both pant hard, trying to steady your pulse and breath. He then removes himself and positions you to be the one on top now, lazily throwing the covers over your bare bodies. We need to shower, you said, but he argued you'd do it later before going out.

"I needed that" and you happily hum in agreement at your husband's dragged out words.

Your head falls and rises, with the movement of his chest, silence settling on the previously filled with sex noises room. That until he speaks up:

"One day, I'm gonna fill you up so good until you have my babies, mami" he murmurs, just then realizing what he said. But you snuggle closer, hand and legs drapped over his bare body. You look at him closely, seeing nothing but certainty on his eyes.

I choose you. I'll always choose you.

"Whatever it is with you" your nose brushes his, a small sweet kiss on his lips, "I want"

His eyes shine, probably with tears or the glow of affection.

"Let's do it"

"What?" you look into his eyes for any sign of doubt, bull all you see is love. "Pedro, are you serious?"

He nods. "Wouldn't you want that?"

You feel the corner of your lips pull up.

"Never have I wanted anything more"

poppysplayground: Y/N AND PEDRO RED CARPET DEBUT AT THE LONDON PREMIER OF GLADIATOR II WTF I JUST WOKE UP ptwt is in SHAMBLES mostannoyingbillioner: UM HELLO pedro showing up with two hot women on his arms LUX GIMME A CHANCE pompeiianbollockr: WAIT WDYM THEY ARE MARRIED?!??! ALL THIS TIME?@?#? HOW???! NEED BIGGER CAPS TO SCREAM I'M GOING INSANE at0michips: that article better come out now or i'll burn the TMZ building ann-gell: not me thirsting for a married man 😭😭😭 how they kept this a secret for so long?? we should've noticed ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: ann-gell i did. knew betting my grandma was the way all along ㅤㅤpyramiidsf: i'm gonna start betting my grandma too

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

[layaispunk]

storm and solace | joel miller

series masterlist

series description: When Elle moves into her late grandfather's house in a quiet Texas neighborhood, all she wants is peace. A fresh start far from the city and the noise in her head. What she doesn't expect is the Miller family across the street. Sarah, sweet and sharp for her age. Tommy, all charm and sunshine. And Joel - gruff, unreadable, and the kind of man who feels more like a thunderstorm than a neighbor.

But late-night texts turn into porch conversations. Accidental dinners turn into something closer. And somewhere between the silence and the chaos, Elle starts to realize that sometimes, home isn't a place, it's a person.

Tender moments. Heavy hearts. Storms, and solace.

a/n: elle barnes is our protagonist. she's a sweetheart with a very troubled past. I hope you love her as much as I do. This story follows pre-outbreak tlou (tv show) and MIGHT continue with the outbreak and follow game / tv show events. so we are in for a ride. the first collage is a vision board of Elle's house. she spends a lot of time there, so get familiar! This is the first time i've written an original character, i love this universe so much and i promise it's worth the read. ♡ i am still new to writing and english isnt my first language, so i apologize for any confusion 🥹 reblogs, likes & comments are highly appreciated. love u all HOPE U ENJOY

joel is 36, elle is 26, tommy is 32, sarah is 14

warnings: 18+ eventual smut MINORS DNI. legal marijuana use. smoking. age gap romance. very slight love triangle. mentions of abusive parents, verbal & emotional abuse. anxiety and insomnia. each chapter will have its specific warnings. will update as needed

chapters marked with "💋" contain smut

pinterest board

spotify playlist

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

..... to be updated

comment below if you want to be tagged!

[promisingyounglady]

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

_

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

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

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

Word Count: 4.1K

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

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

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

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want one.” 

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

“W-what?” 

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

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

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

“Joel… Really?” 

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

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

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

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To get you pregnant.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Joel.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@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

[megangovier]

There is something awfully wrong with your stepdad

Pairing: Sexsomniac!Joel x heavy sleeper f!reader Summary: Joel walks into your room at night, fully unaware of what he's doing and starts to fuck you in his sleep. Tw: Sleep disorder, dub-con, CW: cream pie, markings, 18+ only, clit play, biting // Minors do not interact! Author's note: Sexsomnia is a Condition in which a person will engage in sexual activities while asleep.

It was gone two in the morning when an orange glow swallowed the dark void of your room. A tall stature entered in and stood at the bottom of your bed glaring at you, even though Joel was asleep his eyes were still open. As unaware of what he was doing, Joel slowly took off his boxers and shirt, pulled back the covers from your bed, grabbed your legs closer towards him and slammed himself into you like a dog in heat.

Sultry moans left your lips without realising, your mind was so deep in the gutter with fantasies that you didn't know that you were being railed by your own stepdad. Even though it felt so real because you could feel something dripping down your thigh. Your hand slipped between your legs, attending to the now sensitive clit that was throbbing with need you could feel yourself getting wetter with each touch. Rapid breaths left Joel's mouth, chest heaving and sweat dripping off his arms and down his back.

You felt so fucking good wrapped around him, the way it slammed into your g spot making you clench around him, he was so close but needed to leave something behind that wouldn't be permanent but would be there the next day. His fingers dug into your hips and his teeth bit down onto your neck. Clenching around him harder this time, continually hitting that sensitive spot of yours you came all over his cock, making him twitch inside you a groan left his throat and his warm seed shot up inside your womb.

But Joel wasn't done with you yet.

@cuntyhunty22 @strang3lov3 @rositaa01xxr 🩷

[etherealeowyn]

"You've Destroyed Me" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Angst & Fluff

Word Count: 889

When Joel and Y/n experienced a glimpse of normalcy while staying in Wyoming, they learn just how much they mean to each other.

It was odd finally being able to lay in bed that had been taken care of, not like the countless other dilapidated mattresses that Joel and Y/n had been forced to sleep on during their trek to Wyoming. That small town was the closest glimpse of normalcy Y/n had experienced since the outbreak first happened, and it was both comforting and saddening. Obviously, it felt good to be able to relax and step away from the horrors of the world, but at the same time, it made her wonder how much different her life would’ve been if none of this happened in the first place.

Joel’s arms were wrapped around her body, and Y/n’s head gently rested on his chest as she breathed in the scent of the cologne that had been left in the bathroom of the house they were staying at. Her body was relaxed, but her mind was still racing, and she could tell by the expression on his face that he was going through something similar.

“You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Joel spoke, breaking through the silence that had overtaken the room.

Y/n jumped up from his chest, hurt washing over her face, confused as to why he’d say something so hurtful to her out of the blue.

“Excuse me why would you say that?” she quipped back, looking at the man with tears forming in her eyes.

“No listen, you’ve destroyed me. Before you came into my life, nothing mattered to me in this fucked up apocalyptic world, but once I met you, I became scared of everything again. I’m terrified of living in this place without you, and though I want desperately to be the guy who doesn’t care, I can’t be him anymore. Because being him means that I couldn’t be with you, and the thought of that kills me,” Joel finished, and it was evident by the shakiness of his voice that he was holding back tears.

There hadn’t been a single instance when Y/n had seen Joel cry, and I think being in a place that provided a sort of normalcy was getting to him. Making him recognize a level of humanity within himself that he hadn’t been in touch with since before the outbreak.

“Joel, there’s nothing wrong with that, trust me I understand how much easier it is going through life not caring, but you’re not going to be happy that way. Everything is going to be monotonous and worthless, it’s scary finally feeling a sense of happiness again because I know how quickly it could be stripped from you. But at the same time, it makes life so much more precious, because you grow to appreciate the people around you even more. It’s bold of you to think you could get rid of me though, as if I’d let go of the one person in my life that I truly love,” Y/n replied, laughing away the couple of hot tears that had rolled down her cheeks.

“Do you really love me?” Joel asked, furrowing his eyebrows and looking down as Y/n’s hand that was resting tenderly on his thigh.

“More than anything else in this fucked up world,” she replied, but this time much more seriously.

He sat there for a moment, in some sort of shock, unable to comprehend that something this good could happen to him.

“I love you too,” he responded, and as the word slipped out of his mouth, it was the first time in a long time that he felt drops of water fall from his eyes.

Y/n’s hand reached towards his face, and ever so carefully, she wiped away his tears with the pad of her thumb. There was a soft smile playing on her lips, and the feeling of her skin touching him made the corners of his mouth pull up into a smile.

Joel began to lead towards the woman, and she followed suit, the pair stopping when his lips met hers. When their mouths connected, it didn’t feel like any of the other times they had kissed, this time there was an overwhelming emotional presence enveloped within it. Something that was there before but never reached this extreme.

When the two pulled apart for air, the atmosphere of the room felt different. The silence didn’t feel so strange anymore, it was comfortable, and for the first time in a long time the pair didn’t want to keep moving from place to place.

“Once we’re done delivering Ellie to the Fireflies, maybe we could come back and stay here. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m at home. Not just staying at a place, but truly at home,” Y/n spoke, and Joel nodded feeling his heart pound fast in his chest.

“I’d like that too, it would be nice to stay put, especially if I get to be with you and not worry all the time,” he responded pulling the woman back down on his chest and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Maybe you could have your sheep too, and if I’m lucky you could sing to me,” Y/n spoke with a smile unable to leave her face. “Now that would be like heaven to me.”

“I’m sure I could arrange something baby,” Joel laughed.

[joelsrose]

I just started watching Narcos and girl, Steve and Javiiiiiii….I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind being in the middle of all of that…

What about something really fluffy with reader being a goody two shoes secretary or something, like really smart but totally shy…and Javi is flirty and teasing and Steve is sweet to her?

Love your writing 💖

i loved this prompt! hope you enjoy x

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It was your first day, and to say you were nervous barely scratched the surface of it. You were practically vibrating with anxious energy, your fingers clutching a notepad like it was a holy text, the strap of your purse leaving a red line on your shoulder as you followed the very pregnant woman you were replacing through the narrow corridors of the DEA field office. The air was thick with heat and the faint tang of cigarette smoke, a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead, as if it too couldn’t be bothered with the pressure of the day.

The woman walked slowly, one hand resting low on her belly like she was holding the baby in place, her voice calm but brisk as she pointed out the important things you’d need to know: the coffee machine that only sometimes worked, the drawer with the good pens that no one else knew about, the printer that jammed if you looked at it the wrong way.

“Here’s the printer,” she said, giving it a gentle pat like a temperamental child. “The agents are usually too lazy to copy their own files, so don’t be surprised if they come sweet-talking you into doing it.”

You nodded quickly, trying to absorb every word and committing them to memory with the panicked focus of someone who absolutely did not want to mess this up.

She paused before heading toward the elevator, shifting her weight with a soft, maternal groan. Her eyes softened as they swept over you. “Buena suerte, cariño,” she said, her voice warm and kind.

“Gracias,” you replied in your quietest voice, the syllables soft and careful on your tongue. She smiled, gave you a wink, and disappeared down the hall.

You took a breath. Then another.

Your new desk sat tucked into the corner, a little nest of organized chaos—files stacked neatly, a potted plant that had seen better days, and a phone that had already rung twice before you figured out how to transfer calls. You were seated there, chewing nervously on the edge of your pen, furiously typing something you hoped was formatted correctly, when a low voice startled you out of your focus.

“Afternoon.”

You gasped and nearly knocked over your water, your wide eyes darting up to find a man standing by your desk—tall, with a calm smile and a gentle glint in his blue eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make him look like he’d had a long day, but still cared.

“Shit—sorry,” he said quickly, hands raised a little in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blinked, heart pounding, already flustered. “Sorry—I, I didn’t see you coming.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and easy. “You’re new, right?”

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. First day. Is it that obvious?” you asked, trying to smile through your nerves.

“Not at all,” he said, with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. “You’re doing great.”

Your eyes dropped to the stack of papers in his hands—typed reports, some of them dog-eared, all of them marked with red pen. “Do you need those photocopied?” you asked quickly, already half-rising from your seat, desperate to be useful.

He glanced at the stack, then at you, like he hadn’t expected you to offer. “Would you? That’d be real helpful.”

You nodded, carefully taking them from his hands like they were precious. His fingers brushed yours for a moment—warm, calloused—and it sent a weird little buzz down your spine.

“I’m Steve,” he added, smiling down at you. “If anyone gives you trouble around here, let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

You flushed again, muttered a soft “thank you,” and he gave you a nod before stepping back toward the hallway. You watched him go, then glanced down at the reports.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The day had dragged on in the way only long, hot days in Bogotá could—the kind that left a sheen of sweat clinging to your collarbones, your blouse stuck to your back, and your legs aching from running errands across the office like a girl with something to prove. Phones rang, the typewriters clacked with relentless rhythm, and you’d barely had time to sip your lukewarm coffee, let alone catch your breath.

Now, with the sun beginning to dip low outside the hazy windows and your shift nearly over, you were at the filing cabinet, quietly humming to yourself as your fingers skimmed over manila folders—searching, focused, tired.

And then—you heard it.

A low whistle behind you, smooth and deliberate.

You turned, startled, your heart skipping before your eyes even landed on him.

He was leaning against the doorframe like he was born to do it—one arm hooked just above his head, the other resting casually at his hip, thumb tucked into the waistband of jeans worn soft at the edges. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, the light cotton clinging to the heat-slicked curve of his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he couldn’t be bothered with formalities, like formality had never once tamed him. The ceiling fan above him turned lazily, lifting the edges of his dark, slightly mussed hair, and a cigarette sat tucked behind his ear.

No tie. No badge in sight. Just the lazy drape of his frame against the door and that impossible calm in his posture—as if nothing in the world could rattle him, but you just might.

His gaze found you instantly, dragging slowly over your frame in a way that made your throat tighten, like he was memorizing the way the light hit your cheek, the soft mess of your hair pulled up from a long day.

“Didn’t know angels came with filing cabinets,” he drawled, voice low and honeyed, like he said things just to see how they'd sound curling out of his mouth.

You blinked, caught off guard, your cheeks already heating like a match had been struck under your skin. The folder in your hand wobbled slightly in your grasp.

He stepped into the room with the kind of ease most men faked—every movement loose and casual, but still impossibly confident. The cigarette stayed tucked behind his ear as he sauntered closer, boots heavy on the floor, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You always this shy, mami?” he murmured, stopping just a foot away, his voice dipped in curiosity and just enough tease to make your stomach flip. The way he said it wasn’t mocking—it was gentle, almost sweet, like he’d stumbled across something delicate in the middle of all this noise and didn’t know whether to pocket it or leave it untouched.

You tightened your grip on the folder like it might anchor you to the floor. “I’m not shy,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

He chuckled—a soft, amused sound that made your spine tingle.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, voice low, something amused dancing behind his eyes. “You blush easy, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to say anything more without squeaking.

His eyes flicked to the way you fidgeted, and his smile shifted—still playful, but a little warmer now. He reached out slowly, not abrupt or showy, and took your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world. You froze as he lifted it, turned your wrist slightly, and brought your knuckles to his lips.

“I’m Javi,” he said simply, brushing a kiss over your skin like it was a greeting he gave everyone, though something in the way he lingered—barely a second longer than necessary—told you maybe it wasn’t.

Your breath caught. “Oh,” you whispered. “Javier Peña?”

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise—and something smug behind it. Like he wasn’t used to people saying his full name so softly. Like he wasn’t used to being looked at the way you were looking at him now, half entranced, half terrified, all butterflies.

“In the flesh,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.

Then, after a beat, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes scanning your face with slow interest. “No te he visto antes,” he said, the Spanish rolling easily off his tongue, like smoke curling in the summer air. I haven’t seen you around before.

Your lips parted, a soft little sound escaping before you could catch it. Your face grew warm—warmer, somehow—and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers suddenly clumsy.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know Spanish. Not yet. I’m… I’m trying to learn.”

His mouth curved again, but this time, it was softer. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.

“Don’t apologize, cariño,” he said, the word slipping out with so much casual affection it made your knees go a little weak.

Your brows lifted—almost instinctively, like your heart was reaching for understanding before your head could.

He leaned in just slightly, close enough that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you—warm leather, smoke, and something unnameably him.

“Cariño,” he repeated, his voice velvet-smooth, “means darling.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your throat tightening like a ribbon being pulled gently.

“Oh,” you said, blinking up at him, your lips curving in shy surprise.

He took one step closer, and you didn’t move away—not because you weren’t nervous, but because something about him made it feel like gravity had shifted in the room and you were being pulled toward him, whether you liked it or not.

“If you’re serious about learning,” he said, tone suddenly low and conspiratorial, like a secret passed between friends—or something more, “I could teach you.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, heart hammering, words tangled in your throat. He was so close. So confident. So intentional. And you were just… a girl with sweaty palms and a head full of butterflies.

“I—um… I mean, if you want to,” you managed, instantly wanting to crawl into the filing cabinet and shut the drawer.

He chuckled, low and rich. “I offered, didn’t I?”

Your mouth opened again, but he was already turning, already walking away with that easy, unhurried gait, as if he hadn’t just unraveled you with a single word. He glanced back once over his shoulder, just long enough to catch your stunned expression, and smirked.

“Hasta luego,” he called, like a promise.

You stood there, your heart beating loud in your ears, wondering how a man could make a single word sound like foreplay.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

By the next day, things felt easier.

You still walked a little fast when someone called your name and still triple-checked the spelling on every file, but the rhythm of the office had started to settle into your bones. You knew which drawer stuck slightly and had to be tugged twice, which phone line belonged to which department, and how to make the coffee strong enough that even Peña didn’t complain. You felt—if not confident—then at least not completely lost.

And then came lunch.

Most of the agents took their breaks out on the front steps of the building, perching wherever the sun fell just right. Some ate in the breakroom that always smelled like reheated leftovers and strong cologne. You could hear the laughter echoing down the hallways sometimes, voices calling out, boots clunking against tile.

But you, quiet thing that you were, stayed at your desk.

It felt safer here. The whirr of the fan. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The comfort of your own little corner in the chaos. You’d made your sandwich the night before—plain, careful, pressed in wax paper—and now unwrapped it slowly, laying the napkin across your lap like you were still trying to be perfect even when no one was looking.

That’s when you saw a figure approach from the corner of your eye.

You looked up.

“Hey,” he said, with a soft, easy smile.

Steve Murphy.

He was in his button-down, sleeves rolled up, his tie slightly askew in that charming way like he’d been too busy solving things to fix it. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it a few too many times, and his eyes—so blue and so gentle—found yours like they already knew how to read your every nervous thought.

“Oh—hi,” you said quickly, startled but trying not to show it, straightening just a little in your chair. “What can I help you with?”

He chuckled, low and kind, as if your question had been sweet rather than unnecessary.

“Nothing,” he said, eyes flicking down to your desk. “Just saw you sitting here. Have you had lunch yet?”

Your fingers curled around the wax paper in your lap. “I was about to,” you said, glancing down at your sandwich, embarrassed like you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Here?” he asked, stepping in a little, brows tugging together slightly. “Alone?”

You shrugged, the heat creeping up your neck again. “I… I don’t really know anyone yet,” you admitted, voice soft as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your napkin. “It’s okay, though. I don’t mind.”

Steve’s expression softened even more. And then, with the same steady calm he always seemed to carry, he leaned forward just a little, one hand braced on the desk.

“Well,” he said, voice soft and laced with just enough warmth to make your chest ache, a small smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes met yours with something quiet and reassuring, “you know me.”

You blinked, startled for a moment by the easiness in his tone, the way he said it like it was a simple truth, like of course you knew him, like that fact alone was enough reason to follow him anywhere.

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and unsure, but already softening at the way he looked at you—gentle, patient, like he wasn’t asking for much, just a few minutes of your time and the tiniest bit of trust.

“C’mon,” he added, his voice low and kind, the words not coaxing but welcoming, like an open door. “It’ll be good to get out of the office for a bit, don’t you think? You’ve been working nonstop.”

Your heart gave a quiet little flutter, a warmth blooming beneath your ribs that you tried not to show on your face. You looked down at your sandwich—still neatly wrapped in wax paper, untouched, suddenly small in your hands—and then slowly looked back up at him.

You hesitated for just a second longer, then nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

His grin widened—pleased, but not smug. Just honest, like he was genuinely happy you’d said yes. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

And then—just like that—he was leading you out into the hallway with that easy warmth radiating off him, like he didn’t even realize how much it meant. Like he didn’t know that, with just one smile, he’d made the noise of the office seem a little less scary, and the world a little less lonely.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Murphy made things easy. He had a calm way about him, the kind that didn’t draw attention to itself but wrapped around you like warmth from the sun. He asked questions that didn’t feel nosy, made quiet jokes that surprised a laugh out of you, and somehow made the walk down the stairs feel like less of a walk and more like… company.

“I know a place just down the street,” he said, holding the door open for you like it was second nature. “Best empanadas in town, no contest.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice lighter than it had been all morning.

“The best,” he grinned. “And I don’t lie about food. It’s sacred.”

You stepped into the humid afternoon together, the city humming with heat and noise around you. You walked side by side on the sidewalk, Murphy keeping just a half step ahead like he was ready to shield you from a rogue taxi or a sudden gust of wind. You were still tucking a piece of hair behind your ear when the scent of cigarette smoke reached you—and then a voice followed.

Low. Lazy. Familiar.

“Bueno, hablamos luego.”

You looked up just in time to see him—Javier Peña, leaning against the edge of the building like a man who belonged to the street itself, phone pressed to his ear, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. His shirt was wrinkled in that unfairly perfect way, tie loose, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. He turned his head, eyes catching on you first—then Murphy—and that easy, smooth line of his mouth shifted.

The phone dropped from his ear. “Chao,” he said flatly into the receiver before hanging up without waiting for a response.

“Well, well,” he drawled, pushing off the wall with slow grace. His eyes dragged over you both, sharp and unreadable. “Where you two headed?”

“Lunch,” Murphy said simply, barely glancing back.

Javi’s smirk curled like smoke. “That so?”

“Yep,” Steve replied, tone easy.

Javi flicked the ash from his cigarette and checked his watch with theatrical boredom. “Damn,” he said. “I’m starving.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he added, voice soft and low, eyes trained straight on you, “So… where we goin’?”

Your heart jumped. Murphy looked over at you, brows raised like he was waiting to see what you’d say. Javi didn’t even bother pretending—he was watching you closely, cigarette still between his fingers, like the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit.

You blinked, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “I… um…”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Murphy said casually, kind as ever.

“Wasn’t asking you,” Javi murmured, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flipped.

Murphy gave him a look—dry, unimpressed—but didn’t argue. He just smiled at you gently. “Up to you,” he said, soft enough that it grounded you.

You glanced between them. The calm steadiness of Steve. The simmering fire that was Javi. And you—stuck in the middle, blushing, trying to decide who your knees would give out for first.

“Of course,” you said, trying to keep your voice from wobbling as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Best empanadas in town, apparently.”

You smiled up at Murphy, and he grinned back, bright and easy like always, a little wrinkle forming at the corner of his eyes, the kind of expression that made you feel like you were someone worth smiling at.

“Damn right,” he said, his hand already in his pocket as if he were checking to make sure his wallet hadn’t somehow disappeared just from thinking about lunch.

And then—of course—Javi.

“That so?” he repeated, his voice lower, slower, and just sharp enough around the edges to cut through the summer haze. He stepped forward, flicked the last of his cigarette to the pavement, and gave Murphy a long, sideways look. “I’d argue I cook better ones.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

Javi smirked, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into the front of his shirt. “What, you think gringos are the only ones allowed to throw meat in dough and call it a meal?”

“Didn’t know you had time to cook between all the—” Steve gestured vaguely, “—charm and cigarettes.”

Javi just grinned wider. “What can I say? I multitask.”

Your face was already warm, but it only got worse when Javi’s eyes found yours again.

“Tell you what, cariño,” he said, voice syrupy, way too smooth, “you come over one night, I’ll show you how empanadas are supposed to taste.”

You blinked.

“Oh,” you said, entirely useless.

Murphy glanced at you, gentle and kind, but there was something knowing behind it now—like he saw the way you shifted under Javi’s gaze, like he noticed how easily your breath caught.

And then—just like that—you were walking.

Down the sidewalk, between the two of them, like it was the most natural thing in the world and not completely insane that you were flanked by two armed federal agents who smelled like warm leather and aftershave and power, one radiating sweet protection, the other lazy fire and smirking danger.

Murphy was all calm presence—his gun concealed under his jacket, his steps steady, his voice warm as he asked you about where you grew up, what you liked to read, if you’d tried any Colombian desserts yet.

And Javi? Javi was chaos in a collared shirt—his sidearm stuffed into his pocket like he didn’t care who saw it, hands in his pants as he walked with that signature swagger, eyes occasionally flicking down to you with that same unreadable heat. When he spoke, it was slower, more calculated. Less about facts, more about watching you react.

And God—they both smelled so good. One like soap and sun-warmed cotton, the other like cigarettes and something rich and musky, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or your own mind playing tricks, but your knees felt a little weak, and your heartbeat was tapping against your ribs like a trapped bird.

They were opposites in every way—Steve with his soft drawl and honest eyes, and Javi with his cigarette voice and sin-soaked charm—and yet… somehow, you were drawn to both.

Two storms. One gentle. One electric.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The lunch spot was small, tucked between a hardware store and an old pharmacy, the kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice unless you knew what magic it held inside. The windows were fogged with heat and the smell of grilled meat and cumin wafted out each time the door opened, mixing with the thick air and the street dust that clung to everything in Bogotá. A faded sign above the door read La Esquina, the paint chipped but still proud, and inside, the radio played something soft and lilting in Spanish, the kind of music that felt like a breeze even in the sweltering warmth.

Murphy reached the door first and opened it for you, stepping back with an easy smile.

You blushed, eyes dropping automatically as you passed. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“Always,” he said, gentle and sweet, like it wasn’t anything special, like it didn’t make your heart do a quiet little tumble in your chest.

And then Javi, right behind you, muttered with a smirk, “Thanks, gringo.”

Murphy gave him a look, but Javi just flashed a toothy, unapologetic smile and followed you both inside.

The place was buzzing with locals, the smell of oil and spice and fresh lime lingering in the air. Ceiling fans turned slow above cracked tile floors, and the walls were lined with old posters, curling at the edges, and handwritten specials tacked to a corkboard. Booths lined the far wall, red leather cracked and faded in places, but they gave the place a charm that felt lived-in. Familiar. Warm.

You were still looking around, taking it all in, when Javi’s hand lightly touched your back.

“Here,” he said, already guiding you toward a booth near the window, the sun slanting just right to catch the soft sheen on his forearms. He slid in first—fast, confident, smooth—and made sure there was only one seat left on the inside.

Next to him.

You hesitated for a second too long.

Murphy raised an eyebrow like he might say something, but didn’t.

You sat down.

You could feel Javi’s leg warm against yours almost instantly, his body stretched out beside you with one arm draped along the back of the booth like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. You kept your hands in your lap, trying to pretend you weren’t entirely aware of every inch of him next to you, of the way his thigh pressed against yours with casual certainty.

Murphy slid into the seat across from you both, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise unreadable.

He gave Javi a look. Subtle. Controlled. But it said Really?

Javi didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he leaned back against the booth with that infuriating, devastating ease—his arm still draped along the backrest behind you, his knee brushing yours like it belonged there, like this seat was his by right.

You shifted slightly, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck.

“Is there… a menu?” you asked, voice soft, desperate to cut through the tension with something normal, something neutral. Your hands were folded neatly in your lap, even as your pulse drummed just under your skin.

Javi let out a low chuckle, head turning just enough for you to catch the flicker of mischief in his eyes. “No need, cariño, they know what to make.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something snarky—but instead, he looked at you, softening instantly.

“They don’t really do menus here,” he explained, voice low and warm. “They just kind of… bring you what they’ve got going today. Usually a few different fillings, whatever’s fresh. You just tell ’em how many you want, and if you want them spicy.”

He paused, his smile gentle. “Trust me, it’s good.”

“Real good,” Javi added, low and smooth beside you. He didn’t look at you when he said it—he was watching Steve, his smirk now laced with something more subtle. Something sharp.

You nodded, trying to focus, trying to stop your eyes from flicking between them like you were watching some high-stakes poker game. The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve, all kind words and quiet steadiness, his hands folded on the table like a gentleman, his badge tucked neatly beneath his jacket… and Javi, sprawled out beside you like a slow-burning fire, gun heavy in the pocket of his slacks, cologne mingling with the faint scent of smoke clinging to his shirt.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The food arrived quickly—hot, golden, impossibly fragrant. The plate was set in front of you with a cheerful "¡Buen provecho!" and the smell alone had your stomach fluttering in anticipation.

You picked one up carefully, the crust still steaming, the edges crisp and flaking at your touch.

And then—without thinking, without meaning to—you bit into it.

The flavor hit you like a wave. Rich and warm, the filling tender and spicy and perfect, the dough crisp and buttery, everything so unexpectedly divine you couldn’t stop the quiet sound that left your lips.

A soft, involuntary moan.

Just a small one. But it hung there. Obvious. Intimate.

Across the table, Murphy’s brows lifted just slightly—barely a twitch of amusement—but it was enough to deepen the lines at the corners of his eyes, his lips tugging into a smile that was half playful, half tender as he leaned forward, resting his chin in the curve of his hand like he had all the time in the world just to watch you.

“That good, huh?” he asked, his voice a low hum of warmth, teasing without cruelty, kind in a way that made your pulse stutter, like he could make your fluster feel less like embarrassment and more like something sacred.

You blinked, cheeks burning hotter by the second, and reached for your napkin, fumbling to wipe at the corner of your mouth as you mumbled, “I didn’t mean to—sorry, it’s just… really good.”

Murphy chuckled, and it was soft and genuine and boyish in that way that made something bloom painfully warm in your chest. “Don’t apologize,” he said, voice dipped in affection. “You’ve got good taste.”

And then—without fanfare, without hesitation—he reached across the table.

Gently, with that easy, steady confidence that came so naturally to him, he took hold of your napkin and dabbed just beneath your lower lip, the soft cloth brushing your skin as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world and not the most intimate moment you’d had since arriving here. His fingers grazed your chin for the briefest second, and you held your breath like a startled deer, too dazed to move, too overwhelmed by the kindness of it to process the closeness.

Your breath caught in your throat.

And then—you felt it.

Javier’s body next to yours, no longer relaxed, no longer lounging—he was coiled now, the shift subtle but unmistakable. His cigarette was back between his fingers in a flash, but he didn’t lift it to his lips. He didn’t light it. He just rolled it, slow and deliberate, between his thumb and index finger, like it was standing in for the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t. His mouth curled into something that might’ve been a smirk or a grimace, sharp and tired and too knowing.

And then, under his breath, low and in perfect rhythm with the movement of his cigarette, he muttered in Spanish, “Claro, el caballero perfecto.”

Of course, the perfect gentleman.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t meant to be. But there was an edge to it—dry and rough and bitter at the core, like the taste of something he didn’t want to swallow. His gaze flicked to you just long enough to notice you hadn’t caught it, and he exhaled through his nose, the tension still rippling under his skin like a live wire waiting to spark.

But you—oblivious and bashful, cheeks still flushed from Murphy’s touch—just gave a soft, nervous laugh and took another bite of your empanada, your lashes fluttering, eyes cast downward like you could hide in the comfort of your food, unaware of the storm rolling in beside you.

And Javi?

He said nothing more.

But his eyes didn’t leave you.

Not once.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet productivity, the kind that lulled you into a rhythm—sorting files, answering calls, typing up reports with the soft click-clack of your keyboard filling the room like a heartbeat. The office had slowly begun to empty as the sun dipped lower in the sky, its fading light turning everything gold through the hazy window panes, dust floating in the air like little flecks of glitter suspended in time. You were tired, but not unpleasantly so—there was still a pleasant warmth curled low in your belly, the echo of the empanadas lingering like a hug from the inside out, reminding you of laughter and heat and Javi’s thigh pressed ever-so-casually against yours in that booth.

By the time six o’clock crept up, the office was mostly silent. Phones had stopped ringing. The fan hummed gently overhead. You glanced at the clock, blinking slowly, your limbs heavy with exhaustion as you yawned behind your hand and leaned back in your chair, spine arching slightly in a stretch that made your blouse pull taut across your chest.

And then you felt it—that shift in the air.

The kind that always seemed to come with him.

“Hola, muñeca.”

Your breath hitched.

He was standing just a few feet away now, half-shadowed in the doorway, and somehow—even after hours of work and heat and sweat—he looked untouched by the day. Javier Peña, tall and devastating as ever, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long forgotten somewhere, sunglasses now tucked lazily into the collar of his shirt.

“Hi,” you breathed, your voice smaller than you intended it to be.

He stepped closer, his boots slow and heavy against the tile, and leaned a hand on the edge of your desk, his body folding toward you in a way that made you instinctively shrink back—not out of fear, but anticipation. Like the space between you was an invisible thread, and any closer would snap it.

“Still here?” he asked, voice soft, the corner of his mouth curling up just a little. “Office all emptied out, and look at you—la buena niña, working late.”

You smiled shyly, fingers twitching near your notepad, though you couldn’t remember what you were even writing. “I just… wanted to finish up a few things.”

He hummed low in his chest, his eyes scanning your face. “Dedicada,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I like that.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken beneath your skin.

And then—almost like he’d read your thoughts, like he’d felt the quiet wanting gathering between you—he reached into his back pocket with a slow, easy motion and pulled out a sticky note, the edges a little worn and curling at the corners, the paper crinkled as if it had been sitting there for hours, waiting to be offered. He laid it down gently on your desk, the soft pap of it landing against the wood far louder in your ears than it had any right to be.

Your eyes dropped instinctively, your breath catching when you saw the scrawl—his handwriting rough and slanted, the letters uneven and fast, like he wrote the way he lived: unbothered, unrushed, with just enough edge to keep you guessing. A phone number, half-smudged at the corner, and beneath it, just two words.

Spanish Lessons.

“I was serious about those lessons,” Javi said, voice low, that familiar smirk ghosting over his lips as he looked down at you—like he wasn’t just giving you a number, but pulling a thread you didn’t even realize had been wrapped around your heart all day.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then tried again. “I—I mean, you’re already so busy,” you stammered, your voice quiet, almost too soft, already half-apologizing for even existing in the orbit of a man like him.

He shook his head, just once, the motion slow, deliberate.

“Not for you, preciosa,” he said, the pet name curling off his tongue like honey warmed over low flame.

Your breath faltered again.

“I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks flushing so hot you were certain he could feel the heat rising off your skin.

And that’s when he leaned in just slightly, his voice dipping even lower, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth like he wasn’t sure where to land. “I know,” he murmured, the words sliding over you like silk, “I’ll teach you at our first lesson.”

And then—of course—he winked.

Slow. Sure. A little devastating.

And just like that, he turned and walked away, his back straight, his gait unhurried, as if he hadn’t just left your entire nervous system in shambles and a sticky note burning like a secret in the middle of your desk.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You slung your bag over your shoulder with one hand, the other reaching back to sweep your hair into a quick, messy twist, your fingers working automatically despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs. Your heels pinched with every step, the ache radiating from the balls of your feet with that familiar, dull throb that came after a long day of being polite, poised, and perfectly put-together. You gathered the last of your things—the folder you’d meant to leave on someone’s desk, your notepad, your pen that always leaked a little ink—and stepped out into the quiet corridor, the office behind you hushed and emptied, bathed in the soft gold light of early evening.

You’d only just started walking, your mind already drifting to the quiet comfort of your apartment, when you heard them—voices. Low, hushed, male. Serious. The kind of tone that slowed your steps instinctively.

You paused, half-hidden by the corner, your body tensing before your mind could catch up.

You didn’t mean to stop. You didn’t mean to linger. But something in their voices—muted, clipped, almost like they didn’t want to be heard—made your skin prickle. You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag, and you knew it was wrong, that you should’ve turned around, kept walking, left them to their conversation.

You were just about to do exactly that—your foot already shifting to step back—when you heard it.

Your name.

Spoken clearly. Firmly. And not in passing.

You froze.

Your brows drew together before you could stop them, a quiet frown pulling at the corners of your mouth as confusion began to twist, low and slow, through your chest. Your heart, which had only just begun to settle from the rush of the day, now beat with sudden urgency, and your breath turned shallow, catching at the top of your lungs. You stood frozen in place, body pressed lightly against the cool wall as if it could ground you, protect you, hide you from the fact that you were—very much—eavesdropping.

“She's not just another girl for you to flirt with, Javier,” Murphy said, his voice low but firm, words sharpened just enough to carry even though they weren’t meant to.

There was a pause. A beat of silence so thick it made your stomach clench.

And then, Javi’s voice—smooth and dry like aged whiskey poured over ice.

“¿Perdón?”

The word was soft, but laced with warning.

“Oh, come on,” Murphy scoffed, not backing down, the tired edge in his voice laced with frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Javi said, his tone cooling all at once, the shift so subtle you could almost miss it—almost. His voice came steady now, sharper at the edges, like a man squaring his shoulders before a fight he didn’t ask for but wasn’t about to walk away from. “Go ahead. Spell it out for me.”

There was a pause.

You could imagine Murphy standing there with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed—not angry, not exactly, but tired in that bone-deep way that came from watching someone make the same mistake over and over. You pictured him dragging a hand down his face, his voice dropping into something quieter—not softer, but more weighted.

“Everyone knows what you’re like, Peña,” he said at last, the words careful, deliberate. “You flirt. You lean in. You get close. You—”

He faltered, and for a moment it sounded like maybe he wouldn’t finish. Like maybe part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Javi didn’t give him that luxury.

“Vamos, gringo,” he said under his breath, a mocking lilt curling around the words. “Dilo completo.” Go on, big boy—say the whole thing.

The silence that followed felt like a held breath.

Then Murphy did.

“You fuck them,” he said, flatly. “And then you leave.”

The words were blunt. Brutal. They landed like a weight in your chest, heavy and cold and unforgiving.

Javier didn’t speak.

But you didn’t need him to.

Even from around the corner, you felt it—the shift in him. The tension coiling tighter. The sharp inhale through his nose. The silence that wasn't surprise, but insult. His jaw must’ve clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides, fighting the instinct to lash back.

And you—frozen behind the wall—felt your stomach drop as your name echoed silently in the air again, because you weren’t just hearing a story about Javier Peña anymore. You were part of it.

Tangled in it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

eeeekkk this was my first narcos fic, im happy to write part 2 if anyone requests it ૮꒰>⩊< ྀི꒱ა

[lonely-ey3s]

Heartlines | Chapter Two

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : After a few moments of close intimacy at your sister's wedding, you begin to navigate and process how you feel about Harry. However, after the wedding, you both realize your work lives are a lot busier than you'd like. Making it hard to find time to reconnect and see each other. You start to get discouraged, but Harry takes that as an opportunity to do what he does best.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, angst, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), reader has a somewhat emotionally abusive mother, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 10.9k

a/n: just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday with ride !! enjoy 💗

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

For the last hour, Harry put tables and chairs away in the dining hall just to be near you while you cleared the tables beforehand. 

You were mostly silent, but occasionally, you’d offer a soft smile to each other or he'd gently touch your arm while walking past each other in a tight area. Something to let you know he was there without saying it.  

Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you craved being around him.

He felt refreshing, and safe. And for the first time in a long time, it was starting to bring out a part of you that you hadn’t seen in a while. 

As the night went on, you slowly started to open up. Being around him warmed you back up. 

You were cleaning up the last refreshment table, packing up the extra food, humming to yourself. 

After you finished, you picked up a few boxes and moved them to the kitchen area. You put them down and grabbed a pen to write some labels. 

Harry walks in and is talking with Ben’s brother, Billy as they were both carrying two buckets that were used for ice and drinks.

“I’d love to talk to you more about it—why don’t you call my office on Monday and have my assistant schedule you a meeting with me? I’ll tell her you’ll be calling…” he said as he came over and grabbed a spare bottle of water that had been set aside from the cooler. 

Billy smiled and scoffed, shocked. “You mean it?” he said excitedly. 

“Of course, " he said, taking a swig of the water. "We are always looking for new ways to invest in our future and upcoming businesses—I’d love to look at yours in more depth.” He winked at Billy, then set the bottle down, took off his suit jacket, and set it on the counter. He started to roll up his sleeves, his eyes casually finding you. 

“Thanks, man. I’ll call on Monday! " He heard his dad call for him, so he cleared his throat and looked your way. “Hey, uh, your mom’s looking for you; she’s packing the car up.” 

You looked behind you and smiled softly at him. “Thanks, Billy, I’ll go find her in a sec…” You turned back and continued writing on the boxes.

After Billy had stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, Harry strolled over and leaned against the counter, looking down at you as you wrote. 

You tried to hide your smile, looking down as you wrote. “Can I help you?” you asked. 

He smiled and hummed softly, tilting his head as his eyes cascaded over your figure, admiring you, memorizing little things about you. “Nope just…” he softly sighed as he tilted his head the other way, his smile growing.

You blushed, feeling what he was doing, and stopped writing. You looked up; his eyes found yours as you straightened to stand. 

You went to say something when you heard your mom call your name. 

You softly sighed, put on the pen cap, and set it down. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me…” 

You went to move past him when he moved as well to leave but instead blocked you both in, his hand landing on your waist as you bumped into each other.

You looked up at him, and your cheeks immediately heated up, your breath getting caught. It was like a spark zapped through your body. 

He smiled down at you. “Sorry, I uhm…” 

You let out a small chuckle, looking down shyly. “Here, let’s…” You gently put your hands on his arms and moved yourself one way and him the other, both of you flustered by the close contact. 

You went to walk past him but then stopped and looked over your shoulder. “Harry?” 

He looked up from shyly messing with his water bottle’s label. “Yeah?” 

You turned around to look at him. “Thanks for helping tonight… well, actually all day. You’ve been a huge help.” You pursed your lips together and looked down at your fingers messing with the seam of your dress, shyly speaking, “I’ve, um, I…” You softly sighed, chickening out, “I know everyone appreciates it.” You looked up at him and softly smiled then turned back to leave. 

His whole being softened. He nodded and smiled softly. “Of course, querida.” 

You stopped and turned back around. You tilted your head at the term he’s used for you a few times today. Your smile grew a tad. “Querida? What does that mean? You’ve called me that a few times…”   

He set the water bottle down, and his smile grew slightly wider. “Querida is a term of endearment in Spanish, " he said, walking closer to you. 

You watched as he walked closer. “Term of endearment?” you blushed and tried to suppress a smile. “So like darling, honey or sweetheart…” You straightened your head. “Which does querida mean?” 

He nodded and came to stand in front of you. “Querida means sweetheart or my darling.” he reached out and tucked at a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes following his hand. “Is that ok? To call you that?” He then looked into your eyes.

Your breath hitched when he tucked the strand behind your ear, and your mind suddenly became mush. “To uhm…” You started to feel flustered, and your throat dried up. “Call me sweetheart or your darling?” you hoarsely whispered, your eyes looking at his lips for a fraction of a second. 

He hummed and nodded as his eyes danced across your face, his hand lingering by your cheek momentarily, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “I can call you other things, like… corazón or mi cielo…” His eyes found your lips, and he swallowed, wanting to step closer. 

His heart was pounding, there was a flutter in his stomach, and his mouth went dry.

You saw where his eyes landed, and everything in you felt like you were buzzing. You couldn’t explain the feeling other than you felt alive. 

You swallowed nervously and pressed your lips together, looking down at his lips. “Harry?” you murmured. 

It was like he was under a spell; he couldn’t think straight. Everything he did was purely fueled by how you looked and spoke to him. How his name rolled off your tongue, how you leaned into his touch. He couldn’t explain it other than he felt this pull towards you. 

Ever since this morning, he’s gravitated to you. 

“Yes?” he muttered, looking up to meet your eyes, his hand still lingering by your cheek. 

“I —” Then you heard your mother shout your name from the reception hall again, followed by Billy opening the door to the kitchen. 

Both of you quickly separated and took a significant step back, blushing and smiling to yourselves as you turned away from each other. 

Billy realized and cleared his throat, “Sorry to interrupt, uhm, your mom is calling for you again, says it’s important…” 

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, sorry…” your voice cracked. You swallowed and cleared your throat. “Excuse me…” You gently pushed past Billy and quickly rushed out to where she was. 

A few moments of silence passed before Billy looked at Harry and grinned. “Lila’s sister, eh?” 

Harry let out a small, shaky chuckle and pushed his hair back, gathering himself. “Uhm, do you need help with anything?” He grinned and ran his thumb against his lip as he processed what had happened, what he thinks could have happened if not interupted. 

Billy chuckled, “Mind helping me load up my dad’s truck with half of this food?” He opened the door a little wider to invite him to come help.  

Harry nodded and chuckled, “Yeah, of course, man.” he undid his bow tie and the top button of his collar.  

During the remainder of the night, you were stuck on going through a checklist and ensuring everything was done per your mother's request.

Harry and you shared stolen glances, purposely finding something to discuss so you’d have a moment together after the kitchen’s interaction. However, you two never found another moment alone, and the tension kept building.

When everything was finalized and you were all heading out with everyone, your dad turned to you and smiled, “Are you ready to head out, kiddo?” Your mom and Ben’s family were already out the doors ahead of him.

You were silently walking beside Harry, your hands inches from each other. The tension between you two was almost unbearable. 

You looked at your dad and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a minute…” 

He looked at you and then Harry and nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Harry. Have a good night.” 

Harry held out his hand, which your dad took and shook. “Have a good night, sir.” 

Your dad smiled softly, then looked at you and smiled, “We’ll just be in the car, Bug.” 

You nodded and smiled softly before he turned and left, leaving you and Harry alone in the foyer. 

He turned to face you and smiled, “So…” he looked at you with those big brown eyes, putting his hands in his pockets. 

You shyly looked down. “So…” You bit your lip and then looked up at him with your eyes, smiling softly. 

He tilted his head; his smile grew a little brighter. “When can I see you again?” 

You titled your head with him and tsked, “I have a busy few weeks coming up, but uhm…” You opened your purse and pulled out a business card, walking up to him slowly. “Call me…” You held out your card and looked up at him. 

He gently took it, your fingers brushing against his.

He grinned and then looked down, seeing where you worked. “The Ritz-Carlton?” His eyes shot up to yours. 

“I’m the manager there.” you smiled. 

He lightly chuckled, “How have we not run into each other before now? I’m there almost every month or so for business meetings.” he looked down at you, grinning. 

You chuckled and shrugged, “I’m not sure, maybe we’ve briefly met?”

He shook his head. “Querida, trust me. I’d know if we had met before tonight…” He looked down at your card and put it into his jacket pocket. 

“Oh really? Why so confident in that?” You grinned up at him. 

He looked down at you and bit the inside of his cheek before grinning wider, “Because the first time I laid eyes on you earlier this morning, I haven’t been able to get you outta my head since…” 

Your cheeks blushed, butterflies erupting in your stomach again tonight, and your heart began beating quickly against your chest.

“All day, huh?” Your eyes danced back and forth between his eyes and lips.

He nodded and went to cup your cheek when you heard a courtesy honk from your parent's car outside, effectively ruining the moment. 

You shyly looked down and sighed then backed up, tucking your hair behind your ear. “That’s my impatient mother who has zero patience…"

He chuckled and bit his lip, watching you back away, "She sure has a knack for interrupting us, doesn't she?"

You giggled and nodded, "We'll have to fix that."

"We will." he said watching you.

You turned a deeper shade of red and breathed out nervously, smiling softly. "I, um, I hope to hear from you.” You walked to the front door and opened it, keeping your eyes on him. 

He smiled at you. “You will.” 

You nodded. “Goodnight, Harry.” 

“Goodnight, querida.” He said softly. 

A few days later

You had a dentist conference being hosted at the hotel for the past few days. Everything had to be in tip-top shape, meaning you had been busy for about 12-14 hours daily. 

Today was the final day of this conference before a wedding was to be hosted, starting tomorrow. 

Since Lila's wedding, Harry tried to call you the next day. Unfortunately, you were in the middle of a meeting with your department heads and were unable to answer. Then, when you went to call him back, he was also in a meeting.

Since then, the two of you have been playing a fun game of phone tag. 

It was about 8 a.m., and you had a moment between meetings when you dialed his number, hoping to catch him. To your disappointment, it went to his voicemail after ringing several times. You opened up the text chain you two had in addition to the back-and-forth voicemails you’d left each other. 

‘Good morning! I just tried to call. I have an hour today at noon and wanted to ask if you wanted to grab a coffee? We’ve been trying to arrange something and haven’t had the best luck lining up our schedules. Let me know! 💗’ 

You continued your day and checked your phone occasionally but never heard from him. 

‘He must be busy today; he mentioned having some big deal happening this week,’ you told yourself, trying to keep the anxious thoughts of rejection out of your mind. 

Noon, the hour you thought you’d have, was sabotaged by a mix-up with one of the executive's suites. You got a call to head up to floor 7 as someone requested a manager.

You went upstairs and started walking down the hall towards the loud noise known as Mr. Jackson. 

He was yelling at one of your maids for putting the wrong thread-count sheets on his bed. He was a regular complainer, someone you hated seeing in the books.

You cleared your throat to get his attention, “Sir?” 

He turned around to face you, his face reddened with anger, a vein bulged on his temple, “Are you the manager?” he shouted.

You could see your maid’s head was down from the way he was speaking to her, and she was embarrassed by her error.

“I am.” You held your hand out, which he took, so you firmly shook his hand. “I’ve been told there was a mix-up with your sheets. Is that correct?” you cut straight to business. 

He tilted his head and cleared his throat, “Yes, this servant has messed up m–” 

You cut him off and smiled politely, “Firstly, she’s not a servant, she’s a maid. She’s also a human being; errors can be made, and no one here is perfect. The important thing is how we can fix them, yes?” 

He nodded, and the color fell from red to slightly pink, he started to calm down. “Yes, ma’am…” he started to lower his voice. 

“Good.” You looked at Selena and smiled, “Selena, let’s get Mr. Jackson’s sheets correctly addressed…” You then looked at him, “And if you’ll follow me, sir, I’d like to offer you a complementary lunch on us– as well as a spa treatment following after. How does that sound?” You gently wrapped your arm around his and guided him towards the elevator. 

He stuttered, “I uhm… yes, that would be great.” 

You pressed the elevator button and then stepped in with him. “Perfect. Now, is there anything else that I can help you with, Mr. Jackson?” 

He cleared his throat. “Uhm, no ma’am…” The elevator dinged at the restaurant's floor, opening up. 

You stepped out and smiled. “Lovely.” You let go of his arm and walked to the restaurant, leaning over the hostess's table. “Rena, please get Mr. Jackson a table. His lunch will be on us today...” you smiled at her.

She looked at you and smiled back. “Of course!” She looked at him and offered to let him follow her. 

You took a deep breath and then rolled your shoulders forward, whispering, “Just one more day with him, just one more day…” 

Your earpiece came on, the main receptionist calling your name. 

You pushed the button to call back. “Yes, Sophia?” You straightened yourself up and started heading back up to the lobby through the service stairway. 

“I’ve got a delivery here for you to sign…” she said back. 

“I’m heading up now. Give me two minutes?” You walked up the stairs to the lobby and exited to the backroom behind the reception desk.

You opened the door and saw Sophia writing something in the check-in book with the phone to her ear. “Hey, Soph, where can I sign?” you whispered, coming up behind her. 

She pointed to a massive arrangement of roses sitting on the counter, but you could see a hand holding it up. You instantly recognized the ring. “Harry?” you said excitedly. 

He peeked around and instantly smiled, “Querida…” he picked up the arrangement. 

You came around the desk and blushed, “What are you doing here? I…” You couldn’t help the smile you had on your face. 

He chuckled and walked up to you. “First, these are for you…” He extended his arms to hand you the arrangement of what you could guess was at least 50 roses.

You let out a small chuckle, blushing, “Harry, these are…” You looked down at them, speechless, taking a small breath to smell them. 

“I… I wanted to see you. I feel we've been just out of sync since Lila's wedding...” he said softly, watching you as you enjoyed the flowers.

You looked up at him and smiled shyly. “Do you… I, uhm, I called earlier—texted, too. I’ve got maybe a half hour—could you do coffee?” You set the bouquet on the reception counter before looking back at him. 

“I got both. I’m sorry I didn’t respond… I kind of wanted the element of surprise…” he walked up to you, smiling softly. 

Your smile grew as you looked up at him. You tilted your head a fraction. “Well, consider me surprised…” 

He looked down at you and tilted his head like you did. “Good.”

He gently took your hand by delicately holding your fingers and intertwining them with his. "Now, did you say coffee?” he raised his eyebrow. 

You nodded. “I’ve got a half hour before my next meeting. Uhm, there’s a shop down the street. Is that OK?”

He backed up and held your hand, pulling you towards the doors, “If I’ve only got a half hour with you, let's get movin’...” 

You giggled and looked back at Sophia. “I’ll be back at 1! Send any messages to my voicemail!” 

She smiled at you sweetly and nodded, “Yes, ma’am…” 

You turned back and caught up with Harry, holding his hand as he opened the door for you. You thanked him and walked out, starting to head towards the shop. “Thank you for the flowers; they are beautiful!” 

He smiled and looked down at your hands as you two walked. “You’re welcome. I didn’t know your favorite flower, so I thought roses were a good place to start.” he lightly chuckled, looking back up. 

You smiled and then looked up at him, raising your eyebrow. “To start, huh? Does that mean I’m to expect more flowers?” you leaned into him playfully. 

He liked seeing you more open today. You were more affectionate, willing to hold his hand and lean into him. You were more playful as well. The walls you’d had up at the wedding were starting to dissolve, and he hoped they would continue to stay that way with more effort from him. 

What he really liked, though, was knowing that he had done something to put a smile on your face after what he knew had been a long week. Acts of service and gift-giving were two of his love languages, and to feel like you genuinely appreciated the effort --made his heart soar. 

“Perhaps. Flowers are just one of many things I have in the rotation.” he leaned back into you and brought your hand to his lips to lightly kiss. “So, with that being said, what are your favorite flowers?” he smiled down at you. 

You blushed at the gentleness he showed you and looked down as you continued to walk, “No one’s ever asked me that before…” you let out a light chuckle, “I’m not sure…” you looked back up at him, “Can I get back to you on that?”

You both approached the doors of the quaint coffee shop, and he opened the door, letting go of your hand. “No one’s ever asked you or given you your favorite flowers?” he scoffed. “That’s a crime in itself...” he grumbled.

You chuckled as you walked past him into the doors and waited for him inside. “Hey, I told you—I didn’t have the best luck with guys,” you shrugged. 

He hummed and put his hand on the small of your back as he walked up to you. “Well, I guess I can get one thing out of you today if I don’t get to know your favorite flower…” He looked up at the coffee shop's menu while you waited behind a few people ordering. 

You looked up at him and chuckled, “Oh? What’s that?”

He looked down at you and instantly softened; his thumb softly rubbed your back. “Your coffee order, querida…” 

You smiled wider. His eagerness to learn the little things about you, to learn about your likes and dislikes-- it was a quality you'd never had in a partner before. You also never had someone put as much effort as he had in just the few interactions you've had, he didn't feel real.

You blushed under his gaze, and his thumb was hypnotizing you. Your eyes darted to his lips for a fraction of a second before the barista cut through your spell. “Good afternoon, folks. What can I get for you?” she asked, effectively snapping you out of the daze you were in.

You quickly turned towards her and let out a shaky breath, again feeling flustered. Your cheeks were on fire with how much you blushed, but you smiled at her and ordered your drink. 

When Harry stepped forward just a tad to order and pay for your drinks, you shyly looked away, trying to get yourself centered. Because for a split second, there was a moment. A small but significant moment when every fiber in you wanted to lean in and kiss him. You’d had one other moment like this when the two of you said goodbye after the wedding, but this was stronger.

Harry’s hand returned to your back, regaining your attention as he cleared his throat softly. “Shall we sit inside or outside?” 

You looked out the window. It was sunny and the perfect weather to sit under a canopy and sip coffee.

You reached behind you and took his hand. “Let’s go outside; it’s a lovely day.” 

He nodded towards the door and lightly squeezed your hand, “Lead the way, sweetheart…” 

You walked out and found a table to sit at. “Will this be ok?” You put your free hand on the back of the chair to pull for yourself. 

He tsked and put his hand next to yours, letting go of your other hand. “Allow me…” 

You looked up at him and stood there speechless for a moment. 

He looked at you, and he chuckled softly. His brown eyes softened as you reacted, and his dimples came out with the smile produced by the light chuckle: “Let me guess, never had your chair pulled out for you?” 

You shook your head and looked down shyly before allowing him to pull it out. 

You sat down for him to tuck it in for you before he walked over to sit across from you.

“I’ll just say this—chivalry has been lifeless for me until you came into my life…” you lightly chuckled and looked down shyly. "In fact, the last time my date drove me home, he got 10 shades of angry when I didn’t invite him in… so forgive me if I ever just stand there and… buffer.” You messed with the tablecloth, avoiding his gaze. 

He leaned back in his seat a bit and looked at you adoringly as you rambled on.

You looked up through your eyelashes and bit your cheek. “What is your favorite flower?” you asked, trying to catch him off guard and get him to stop gawking at you with his gaze. 

His gaze didn’t falter when he softly spoke, “Orchids.” 

You hummed. “Any particular reason?” You tilted your head as you leaned your arms on the able and leaned forward. 

“My mother always had them in our kitchen growing up. They remind me of her…” he smiled and looked down at the cloth, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, “She has… hmm… maybe four now? I lost count.” He lightly chuckled. “She tends to gift them out after she takes care of them; then she’ll buy more.” 

You chuckled and nodded. “She must have a green thumb because the one time I had an orchid, it was dead in two weeks…” 

He chuckled and looked up at you. “To be fair, they aren’t the easiest to care for…” 

You nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. Although I am not the best with plants, it could have been me, too…” you shrugged. 

The barista came out with your drinks and a chocolate croissant for each of you. 

Harry leaned forward after thanking her and looked at you. “I saw you eyein’ the croissants in the display case, thought you’d like one…” 

You shook your head, smiling, “You’ve got like a radar. I didn’t even say anything!” you chuckled. 

“I just pay attention to those that matter to me.” he shrugged and sipped his coffee. 

You blushed and took a sip, then a tiny bite of the croissant, closing your eyes at how good it tasted. Softly moaning, “Good god, that’s divine…” you said as you covered your mouth and opened your eyes to look at it. 

He turned a light shade of pink at the sound you made and adjusted his hips slightly. “That good, huh?” he picked his up and took a bite, humming and nodding. 

You smiled at him. “I’ve always wanted to go to France. You know, have authentic things like croissants, pain au chocolat, macarons…” You took another bite and covered your mouth. “Have you ever been to France Mr. Businessman?” 

He chuckled and looked up at you as he nodded, “I’ve been a couple of times, mostly for business, though… " He winked, then took a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t enjoyed the tourist things, though. I would love to return to the places I’ve been to on business but for pleasure, you know?” he softly smiled at you. 

You nodded and shrugged. “The furthest I’ve ever been outside New York is Jersey…” you chuckled softly. 

He took another bite of his croissant and smiled. “You never traveled when you were a kid?” 

You shook your head and took another bite before sipping your coffee and swallowing. “My parents struggled a lot when I was growing up. It wasn’t until I got into high school that things started to get better for them.” You looked down at the tablecloth and messed with the wrinkles. “It was time to graduate by then, and I started working immediately after to put myself through school. I never had the time or money to travel after that.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

He took another bite while you were talking and then wiped his mouth with a napkin before responding, “Do you ever get time off?” 

You chuckled, “I have a stockpile of time off; I just never take it. There’s no point when you can’t afford anything…” You flattened the wrinkles and looked up at him, softly smiling. 

He hummed before taking another sip of his coffee. “So tell me, what’s goin’ on at work this week? You’ve said it’s been busy and going to stay busy?” he looked at you and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, there’s a dental conference until tomorrow, and then we have a wedding being hosted for the mayor's son for the weekend, so it’ll be all hands on deck…” You took a small sip of your coffee. 

He hummed and nodded, “William’s getting married, that’s right…” he raised his eyebrow as he looked down at his coffee, “That’s on Friday right?” 

You looked at him and scoffed, “How do you know the mayor's son? By name, I might add?” you leaned forward curiously. 

He nervously ran his thumb over his bottom lip and chuckled, “I uhm, I dated his older sister a few years ago…” 

“Oh!” you nodded and smiled softly, “Rebecca, right?” 

He nodded, “Yeah, that’s it,” then stayed quiet as he looked down, not wanting to divulge how that relationship ended. His body language seemed to shrink, and you felt him do what you do, put a wall up. 

You hummed, understanding not to probe. You cleared your throat and took another small sip of your coffee. “What does your week look like? Is it as busy as mine?” you smiled, changing the subject. 

He looked up, and his eyes immediately lit up again. He cleared his throat softly, “I, uh, I’ve got a few meetings over the next few days, but after, things should slow down.” he smiled and leaned forward, “When do things slow down for you, querida?”

You pinched your lips together and looked down, “I uhm…” you stammered and blushed at the nickname again then your phone started buzzing on the table, your works name showing up, “Damn it…” you muttered. 

You looked up and furrowed your eyebrows. “This is work. Would you mind if I took it quick?” 

He shook his head and smiled, “No, not at all…” 

You smiled but then stood and put the phone to your ear, stepping away from the table. You put a finger to your other ear to hear over the sounds of the busy streets nearby. 

Harry sat and watched you, taking a few more bites and finishing his croissant. 

He noticed how you squinted and scrunched your nose when you were deep in thought. He saw how you handled what he assumed was a challenging situation with ease and adaptability. He admired a woman who could take charge and was good under pressure. But he also knew he could make you melt under his touch, which he loved about you. 

You came back and sighed, “I’m so sorry. They need me back at the hotel. There was some big mix-up that they needed me to sort out…” You grabbed your coffee and took another sip. "Can I text or call you later? I feel horrible for cutting this short.” You quickly started to gather your things. 

He stood and watched you. “Call me. I’m done for the day.” 

You looked at him and smiled softly. “Thanks for… this and for the flowers, I…” you chuckled and blushed. "I needed this.” You stood before him with your hands in front of you, holding your phone shyly.

He smiled at you and nodded, “Me too…” 

You looked down shyly and pursed your lips together, not knowing what to do or say. There was that tension between the two of you again- intense and strong. 

There was a slight pause before he softly cleared his throat. 

“Why don’t I walk back with you? Give us a few more minutes?” he offered his hand. 

You looked up and saw his hand, then nodded as you took it. “So… tell me about your meeting earlier. How did it go?” You looked up at him, softly pulling him to follow you as you walked a few steps backward before turning forward. 

He chuckled lightly and started walking back with you, telling you about his meeting as you returned to the hotel.

You didn’t get home until late, around 11 pm to be exact. 

You sighed and fell onto your bed, groaning into the sheets. 

Your feet were swollen, your back sore, your head started to pound, and your eyes began to feel heavy. 

You still had your heels on and were fully clothed. You dropped your keys, purse, and flowers at the door and walked straight to your bedroom. 

There was no time nor desire to do anything else but get to get off your feet. 

You turned onto your back and kicked your heels off while pulling your phone out of your pocket, pulling up Harry’s message thread, and typing: 

‘I’m so sorry. I just got home. I’m sure you’re asleep by now. Thank you again for today. I’ll try to call you on my lunch hour tomorrow to make up for tonight… 💗’

You set your phone down and sighed deeply, “Fuck…” then sat up and started undressing, needing to take a shower. 

You walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, humming a song you’d heard on the radio on the way home, it now stuck on a loop in your head. 

You took your toothbrush from the cupboard and put a line of toothpaste on it before running it under the water. You began brushing your teeth while the shower water warmed up, tapping your foot as you stood against the door, humming to yourself. 

You started to think about the events of earlier today, how everything just felt simple, and it felt so clear around Harry. He brought out a part of you that made you feel lighter, happier, warmer, and more confident. After he dropped you off, nothing brought you down. You were on a cloud. He had a way of making you feel like you were the center of the world, and it was something you didn’t know you needed to feel. You had no idea that feeling valid and desired could change your outlook on so much. 

However, here you were, smiling like an idiot while you brushed your teeth, thinking about your coffee date with Harry Castillo. 

You leaned forward to spit and rinse your mouth when your phone rang in the bedroom. 

You quickly spat out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth before rushing to your bed to find Harry’s name across your screen; he was calling you. 

The fatigue you were just feeling? Gone. You felt a jolt of electricity zapping your central nervous system awake. 

You threw your phone onto the bed and yelped, surprised by the call. 

Fuck. He was calling you!

Wait. He was calling you! ‘Pick up, you idiot!’

“Fuck!” you then quickly grabbed your phone and slid to answer, “Hello?” 

He chuckled, “I wasn’t going to sleep until I knew you were home safe. Who do you think I am?”  

You smiled and bit your nail at the sound of his voice, sitting on the edge of your bed, “You’re right, how silly of me…” you chuckled lightly. 

“Late night, huh?” he said after a moment of the two of you chuckling together. 

“Yeah, the floral preparations for tomorrow came in wrong, and we had to improv a few things.” You let out a soft sigh. 

He hummed and tsked, “You got it under control, though; they’re lucky to have you.” 

You smiled at that like no other; not many people praised you for your work. No one has ever now that you think about it.

Damn, you can’t remember the last time someone had said they were proud of you, that they admired your work, that you did a good job. 

‘Shit, put that trauma away… save that for another time.’ You hummed and bit your lip softly. “Yeah, I got it under control.” 

There was a small silence before he spoke, “What time do you have to be up?” 

You turned to look at the clock on the nightstand and groaned. You needed to be up in less than five hours. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me of when I have to be up…” you whined.

He chuckled. “Not a morning person?”  

You chuckled lightly. “Not in the slightest.” 

He chuckled, “I can’t say I’m not a morning person. I do like to sleep in with the right circumstances.” 

You slowed down your chuckle and hummed, “I like moments when that happens, too.” 

He hummed back, and there was another moment of silence.

You softly sighed, “I hate to cut this short, but I should get to bed…” 

He hummed again. “I understand. I’ll try callin’ tomorrow.” 

You smiled and nodded to yourself, “Ok. I look forward to it.” 

He smiled and softly chuckled, “Before we end this though, I do have one more question..."

"Ok shoot." you softly said.

"When will I get to see you again, querida?”

You blushed and laid back, holding the phone against your ear, letting some silence build up. “Surprise me again?” 

You couldn’t see it, but he now smiled like an idiot. 

He nodded to himself and hummed softly, “That’s all I needed to hear…” he chuckled again, “Goodnight then, hermosa, sweet dreams.” 

You blushed more and smiled, sitting back up. “Good night…” 

You waited a moment before you ended the call and squealed as you fell back and kicked your feet, giggling at the butterfly festival happening in your stomach. 

2 days later 

The wedding that you were hosting was happening today. After the last 48 hours from absolute hell, the most beautiful and essential day was happening. 

The mayor had many friends and family staying at the hotel, all of whom had very particular tastes and preferences. This had you and your staff pretty much on call. In the years working as a hotel manager, you’d never been bused around like this. In a way, it felt degrading and had you and your staff feeling disrespected at times. 

You were in the dining hall helping the wedding coordinator with a few final details when the bride's mother came over and touched your shoulder softly. “Excuse me?” 

You were helping straighten out a few lighting fixtures when you smiled and turned around. “Oh, Mrs. Redmond, you look beautiful!” you smiled softly. "This color suits you elegantly!” You touched her arm gently. 

She smiled and blushed at your compliment. She was one of the nicer ones who had attended this event. The bride's family wasn’t as snooty and had their heads more out of the clouds regarding expectations. She and her husband were also very polite and friendly to you with every interaction. She was pretty much your saving grace this whole time if you were being honest. 

“I just wanted to come over before it gets crazy for you. Thank you for all you and your staff have done for my daughter. We left a gift basket for you all at the reception desk with Sophia.” She smiled as she spoke.

You tsked and hugged her softly, “You are so sweet, thank you so much!” 

She softly chuckled and hugged you back, “It’s nothing big, just something to say thank you…” 

You pulled back and smiled, “Thank you so much…” 

Your vision moved to focus over her shoulder when you saw Harry smiling at you from a distance. He was holding a takeaway bag and another bouquet, this time of tulips. 

Your smile brightened, and you chuckled softly. “Um, will you excuse me?” You looked back at her. 

She looked behind herself and smiled, seeing him and what he had, “Oh, aren’t you a lucky one?” 

You looked at Harry and then her, smiling and blushing, “I am, aren’t I?” 

She smiled at you. “How long have you two…” 

You chuckled and looked down shyly. “We, uh, he’s just trying to court me…” You looked up at him for a moment, and he waved at you, to which you smiled and waved back. 

She leaned over and chuckled, “This is only him when he’s trying to court you?” she tsked. “I can’t imagine what he’d be like when you’re together.” She nudged you and looked up, “Take it from me, he’s a keeper.” 

You blushed and looked at her. “I think so too…” You smiled and touched her arm. “I’ll find you later, okay?” 

She nodded and smiled, then looked at Harry and nodded at him. He winked and smiled at her as you started walking towards him, his gaze focusing back to you. 

You got closer and began blushing the closer you got. “Is this my next surprise then?” 

He chuckled and approached you, leaning in and kissing your cheek confidently. “Mmm, it’s one of many I’ve got in store…” he smiled down at you. "Do you have 5 minutes? I know things are busy, but I brought you some lunch—assuming you maybe didn’t have time today and wanted to make sure you ate.” He softly tucked a loose strand behind your ear, almost like it was involuntary. 

His hand flexed as he put it back down at his side, cursing himself for possible unwanted contact. He was trying to be so careful, treading lightly so that those walls didn’t go back up again on him. 

You blushed and smiled at him. “I can spare five minutes…” You looked down at the bouquet. “Tulips this time?” You gently took them, grazing his hand with yours, bringing them up to your nose, and taking a breath. 

His face softened, and he smiled wider, “Thought I’d bring you every type of flower until we find your favorite…” 

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and smiled brightly, then moved them and held out your hand, “Let’s go into my office, we can eat there…” 

He took your hand and nodded. “Lead the way then, linda.” (Beautiful/Pretty)

Once you entered your office, you shut the door behind you and turned around to find him looking at your pictures and knickknacks. 

He picked you a little crystal giraffe, smiling. “Favorite animal?” he looked back at you. 

You shyly tucked your hair behind your ear and nodded. “Yeah, that’s from when Ben and Lila went to Africa last summer.” 

He nodded and put it back down, picking up a picture frame of you and a little girl, smiling softly. 

You stepped forward and softly cleared your throat. “That’s my goddaughter, Rosie.” 

He turned around and looked at you as you sat in one of your chairs, his features softening. “How old is she?” he set the frame down and walked over to sit by you. 

“She’s three now and had a birthday a few weeks ago.” You smiled and looked down at the hem of your skirt. “She’s a hoot.” 

He sat down and chuckled, pulling out the sandwiches he had brought. “How so?” He handed one to you. 

“She’s in a phase right now, obsessed with dinosaurs. She wants to go to the Smithsonian, you know? See that big T. rex skeleton…” you took a bite and covered your mouth, swallowing after chewing for a moment, “Her mom won’t let her go until she’s potty trained though…” you let out a genuine small laugh, “However, she’s one of those kids that’s terrified of the automatic toilets and they are out a lot and when she needs to go potty… the scary potty is the only one available and she refuses.” 

He took a few bites of his sandwich while you talked and chuckled at the end of what you said, shaking his head. “My nephew had the same fear. Those automatic toilets are a parent's worst nightmare!” 

You chuckled and nodded. “You have a nephew? How old is he now? How did he conquer the automatic toilets?” You took another bite, smiling at him. 

He chuckled and looked down at the rest of his sandwich. “Yeah, I don’t think he ever really got over it. He’s still nervous about public restrooms, but my sister rewarded him whenever he was brave and just went into the stall or by it.” He took a bite and chewed before swallowing and looking back at you. “It was similar to how you teach a dog that the bath is okay,” he chuckled. 

You snapped and pointed to him, giggling, “Positive reinforcement! Why didn’t I think of that?” 

He chuckled more and nodded, “Yeah, he was a sticker kid, so he got a sticker whenever he went into a stall or sat down. He built it up, and with patience and whoever took him in, covering the sensor, he got potty training down.”

You nodded and hummed, “I’ll have to call her mom later and let her know the magical formula…” You took another bite and covered your mouth. “Is he your only nephew?” 

He shook his head. “I’ve got three nieces and two nephews.” He smiled softly before taking another bite and chuckling to himself as he chewed and swallowed. "My younger sister has a boy and girl—Anthony and Esmerelda—and my brother has the other two girls and a boy, Lindee, Savannah, and little Harry.” 

Your face brightened. “Little Harry? As in he’s named after you?” you softly giggled. 

He smiled and nodded, “My brother and I are close. Technically, his little boy's name is Remi, but he likes to go by Harry. He wants to be like his uncle…” He looked down shyly. 

You smiled and finished your sandwich as he spoke, “Remi is a cute name, but I agree with him; Harry is much better.” You winked. 

He opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in?” You stood up and wiped your mouth with a napkin. 

Sophia popped her head in and smiled seeing Harry there, “Good to see you again, Mr. Castillo!” 

Harry looked behind his shoulder and smiled, “How are you today, Sophia?” 

“I’m well, thanks… How are you?” she nodded towards him. 

He smiled at her, then looked at you before looking back at her. “I’m doing better now, thanks.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. Are you…” You cut her off by clearing your throat softly. 

She looked at you and chuckled softly, “Sorry, uhm. The groom's mom and the mayor are looking for you. They need another ‘special request’…” She rolled her eyes. 

You sighed softly and tsked, “Alright. Thank you for coming to get me. I’ll be out in a few moments, Soph…” You nodded for her to leave. 

She nodded and smiled at Harry, “Good to see you again, sir. Have a good rest of your day.” 

Harry smiled and nodded at her, “You as well, good luck today.” he winked and chuckled. 

She closed the door, and you looked down at him. “Sorry, but I should get going. Please feel free to stay here until you’re finished-- have some peace and quiet,” you softly chuckled. 

He set his sandwich down on the table and stood, wiping his mouth with the napkin before putting his hands in his pockets. “I, uh, I was wondering what plans you have next week, you know, just for ‘surprise’ purposes.” He slowly walked up and looked down at you, eyes scanning your features.

You smiled up at him and pursed your lips together, trying to downplay how large your smile wanted to be, how he was once again making you feel everything all at once. 

“Things should start to slow down on Tuesday; after that, I can be more flexible.” You tilted your head a fraction at him, watching his eyes follow you. 

He sighed softly, nodded, and hummed softly, “Tuesday… I can wait that long…” He looked down at your lips and then back up at your eyes. 

“Wait for what?” you giggled softly as you felt vulnerable and exposed in the way he was looking at you. 

He took his hand out of his pocket and gently tucked the pesky strand that kept coming out from your ear, humming softly, “That’s part of the surprise now, querida…” His fingers lingered, and he gently caressed your cheek, causing your eyes to close, and you leaned into his touch. 

He swallowed and felt his heart pound against his ribs. There was an indescribable warmth in his chest from how you leaned into him— the close contact you two constantly found yourselves in. 

You heard your name being called from behind the door.

Your eyes slowly open, and you realize what has happened. You chuckled nervously. Your instincts caused you to step back. Your cheeks immediately turn red, and your throat immediately dries up. “I uh…”  

He chuckled, seeing you flustered. “Yes?” he tilted his head, putting his hand back in his pocket. 

"Tha-" Your voice cracked, causing you to swallow and let out a shaky breath. “Thank you for the sandwich, flowers, and surprise…” You kept your gaze shyly on the ground. “I uh, I’ll call you later?” you ran into the chair and stumbled, “Shit…” 

Harry chuckled a little louder, “Yes. Call me later, and uh… you’re welcome. Expect it to keep coming.” he tried to find your gaze. 

You put your hand on the door handle and opened it, looking at him once more and then softly giggled, suddenly feeling very shy. “Ok… I uh… I’ll talk to you later then…” 

He nodded and looked at you; he could tell you were ruffled by what had almost happened and he was basking in it. He could also tell that the wall was nearly knocked entirely down. “I look forward to it.” 

You frantically nodded and hummed, then nodded towards the doorway, “I, uh, okay. I need to go. See you.” You hurried out and shut the door behind you. 

You shut your eyes and whispered, your face bright red, “What the fuck was that!?” you shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose, embarrassed how you got flustered by the simple act of him touching your cheek. 

You take a deep breath and let it out. Your heart rate was racing. You couldn’t help but smile. “Shit…” you shook your head and chuckled. 

You cleared your throat and straightened yourself up, going to find the groom's parents as you heard them say your name again.

The reception was underway when you and Sophia were at the front desk making Uber arrangements for tomorrow’s group heading to the airport. 

Someone approached the desk and cleared their throat softly, taking you and Sophia out of your focus. You looked up and smiled, “Rebecca…” you stood up, “How can I help?” 

She nodded behind her. “Sorry to bother you. Do you mind if we had a word?” 

You raised an eyebrow, and your smile slightly faulted. “Oh. yeah…” You turned to Sophia for a moment. “I’ll be right back.” You came around the counter and walked with her over to the other side of the reception area. 

You held your hands in front of yourself and smiled tightly. “How can I help?” you tilted your head curiously. 

She smiled tightly as well. “I uhm, I don’t mean to overstep or anything. But I just feel like, girl to girl, I should say something, you know?” 

You furrowed your brow and chuckled lightly. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” 

She took a breath and looked down briefly before looking back up. “I saw earlier you were with Harry Castillo. He’s your boyfriend, right?” she guessed. 

You tilted your head back to being straight and cleared your throat, “Uhm, yeah, Harry was here earlier.”

She nodded and tsked, looking down and muttering something you couldn’t hear under her breath. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you said softly.

She looked back up at you and sighed softly, “Sorry I, um, ok. I’m just going to say it. Be careful with him.” 

You purse your lips and squint a little, chuckling nervously, “I’m going to need a little more context than that.” 

She nodded and took a dramatic breath in. “I don’t know if you know, but… we dated a few years ago.” 

You nodded, but your gut suddenly dropped. You didn’t know how things ended or why they did, but the way he acted when she came up the other day, you knew it didn’t end on a good note. “Yes, I know. It’s come up in conversation.” 

She looked surprised momentarily, then shook her head slightly and let out another dramatic breath. “I just want to warn you, is all. Take what you want with it, but… I saw what was happening, and let me just say it’s not like that after an amount of time passes.” She tilted her head and tutted. “The fairytale magic Harry tends to sprinkle in the beginning of the relationship, well, it stops.” She clasped her hands together.

You nodded and shrugged, “Well, I suppose that’s how most relationships are. There's the honeymoon phase, then you get comfortable, and then every day is a fairytale, so it doesn’t seem that way anymore when you’re with the right person, right?” 

She scoffed at your logic, “Not exactly. At least not with him.” She rolled her eyes a bit, acting annoyed. 

“Again— context?” you said a little short. A part of you was bothered; she was sticking her nose in your business— your personal business. 

Who was she to take you aside and ‘inform’ you of what Harry might be like? A person can change over a few years. Hell, she could have just been the wrong person, and the right one could come along and change the outcome. 

You could be that right person. Right?

“Well, he’s all in when things start up. He was big on ‘surprises’ and spoiling me with gifts and flowers— experiences too…” she sighed softly. “Then he will start to pull back, make excuses that work was late or that there’s a business meeting overseas, basically start to ghost you slowly.” She folded her arms over her chest and bit the inside of her cheek as she looked at you.

You hummed, “Do you mind me asking how the two of you ended?” 

“You don’t know?” She let a small grin slip before correcting it by biting her bottom lip. 

You saw and raised your eyebrow, taking the challenge. “I do, I just feel it’s fair to know both sides of the story, you know?” you lied but damn did it do the trick.  

The stench of her arrogance disappeared the moment that came out of your mouth. The power of the conversation lands back to you.

She nodded, tried to play it cool, and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not sure what he’s told you, but for the record, I broke up with him,” she tutted arrogantly. 

You tutted back, “Yeah, that’s what he said.” 

She hummed and pursed her lips, looking bothered by that.

You shrugged. “Well, thank you for the heads-up, Rebecca. I’ll be sure to take it into consideration.” He smiled tightly and nodded towards the reception, “But if you will excuse me, I have some tasks to complete for tomorrow’s travel accommodations.” 

She took a deep breath through her nose and touched your arm, acting nice. "Just be careful. I wouldn’t want someone as kind as you to get your heart hurt.” She lifted her eyebrows up and then returned to the reception hall. 

You scoffed and shook your head as she walked away, muttering to yourself, “Nosey bitch…” 

You didn’t want her to get under your skin, but lo and behold– she did. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about what she said the rest of the night. Your past anxiety about him being like every other relationship and guy slowly crept back into your brain. 

As the night went on you started to analyzed every piece, moment, and interaction you two have had over the last week. You began to pick it apart to the bone. 

By the time you got home, it was late—later than it was the other night—so you excused that it was too late to call or text him. You convinced yourself he’d be asleep at this hour.  

You got straight into bed and pulled the sheets over your head. You shut your eyes to sleep, to melt into your bed, to sleep this feeling away-- but your brain continued to run laps.

You sighed and rolled over on your back, shoving the covers off yourself, whispering, “Fuck…” you slammed your fists against the covers, frustrated.

You looked at the clock; it was 1 a.m. You sighed and picked up your phone off of the nightstand, seeing the notifications. 

About an hour ago, Harry sent three missed texts and a missed call. Your stomach sank, and you slid your phone open to type something, but then you talked yourself out of it.

It was all too much.

You sat up in bed, pulling the blankets into your lap, and dialed your sister's number. She’d know what to do or at least talk you through this madness. 

Her sleepy voice picked up a few rings later, “Hello?” 

You sighed and felt tears edge your eyeline as soon as you heard her voice: “Code red…” 

She cleared her throat and sounded more alert, “Shit. Ok, I’m on my way.” then hung up the phone.

Within 10 minutes, she was there.

“I just got back yesterday. What the hell happened since I’ve been gone?” she asked as she entered the bedroom, concern written all over her face.

You sighed heavily and looked at her. “I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to freak out or judge or be… all….” You waved your hands at her. “Lila-ish about it, okay?” 

She laughed softly and came into your bed, pulling the covers onto herself, “Spill your guts.” 

You looked down at your phone for a second and then at her and bit your bottom lip before spewing out, “Harry and I have been flirting ever since your wedding, and at your reception, we danced and at one point he asked me out… and then when Damon pretty much made me cry, I ran out to the vineyard and he followed me. Not in a creepy stalker way, like in sweet, charming way… but he followed me out, and comforted me, and then we ended up dancing by the fountain... and there was a moment, a small moment where I think he wanted to kiss me and I for sure wanted to kiss him... but it was gone as fast as it came because mom interrupted when she texted me about your lights!" you tsked and looked at her, "And then there was another moment when were cleaning up together after you went home in the kitchen and Billy saw it and we just… fuck!" You started to hysterically chuckle, looking at your phone which still had his name on the notifications you saw when you woke the screen. "We had a coffee date the other day and have been texting back and forth and calling here and there and he surprised me with flowers and lunch today but then there was another moment there at the coffee shop and then another when I went to leave after he brought lunch.... and fuck, Lila fuck! I like him… I like him a lot but his damn ex got under my skin today and I’m freaking out because what if he doesn’t like me and this is all in my head an–” 

She cut you off, “Woah, woah, slow down!” She waved her hands to silence you. “You and Harry?” 

You paused and looked at her, slowly nodding. 

She smiled, “You and Ben’s Harry? Ben’s best man, Harry?” 

You nodded again and let out a chuckle, “Yes, Lila, yes! Your Harry!” 

She gasped and held her breath for a moment. “Please, please, can I have just a small, tiny moment to freak out, please?! " She rambled off quickly. 

You sighed and then covered your ears. “Go on…” 

She squealed and giggled, getting up and jumping a few times, “Oh my god! Oh my god! You and Harry! Harry and you!” She punched the air a few times and then slammed the pillow against the bed a few times, clearly excited. 

You smiled and chuckled, keeping your hands on your ears. “You get it all out?” 

She jumped back on the bed and sat under the covers, moving her hair out of her face. Then, taking a deep breath and holding her hands in her lap. She presented herself as calm and cool. “Ok, I’m good.” 

You chuckled and removed your hands, then looked at her. “Lila… what do I do?” You raised your eyebrow. “I am so scared…” 

She smiled. “You really like him?” 

You nodded and pursed your lips together. “He makes me feel so much better about myself. He’s done more in the few times I’ve seen him than anyone, and I mean anyone, has done! Lila, he showed up to my work with an arrangement of at least 50 roses…” 

She furrowed her eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

You chuckled and pulled up your phone's photo album, showing her a picture. “See? Look at this!” 

She took your phone and her mouth hung open, “What the hell!? Wait–” she looked up at you. “Did you say something about his ex?” 

You sighed and nodded. “She was at the wedding we hosted tonight. She tried to ‘warn’ me, girl to girl…” You rolled your eyes. 

Lila chuckled, “Warn you? About what?” 

“She said he’d slowly pull away and eventually ghost me. I don’t know, she got under my skin…” You looked down and bit the inside of your cheek, feeling frustrated by the whole thing. 

“What’s her name?” she asked. 

You looked up. “Rebecca. The mayor's daughter.” 

She chuckled and nodded, “Yeah, I know who you’re talkin’ about! That bitch…” she scoffed. You perked up. “What do you mean? How? How is she a bitch?” 

She tsked and moved to better tell you the knitty-gritty details, spilling it all for you. 

“So you’re telling me he didn’t ghost her? She ghosted him after he realized she was a gold digger and slowly cut down on spending money on her?” You asked, trying to connect all the details she just told you. 

She nodded her head slowly. “Yep. And then she dared to show up to his company’s Christmas party with some other dude! Pretty much breaking Harry’s heart as everyone at the party knew they were together. So when she showed up with someone else, it was humiliating for Harry.” she said sadly then rolled her eyes, looking back down at your phone, seeing the flowers, “She’s something else… don’t trust anything she told you,” she scoffed. “She probably saw you with him and got jealous.” She looked up at you and raised her eyebrow.

A wave of relief washed over you and you started to chuckle, “Fuck…” you pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head, “I’m so stupid to take anything an ex said and think any piece of it is true…” you sighed. 

“Hey, no…” she put a hand on your arm and sighed, “You are just so used to shitty guys. When a good one comes along, you don’t know how to process it…” 

You nodded and rolled your eyes and fell back against your pillows. “I just… I’m so nervous that I’m the only one feeling something or that everything is too good to be tru–” 

Your phone started ringing, cutting you off. 

Lila picked it up and gasped, “Shut the fuck up!” she held it up to you, showing you it was Harry. 

You sat up and grabbed your phone, “Fuck! Fuck… what do I do!?” 

She giggled and started softly hitting your legs, “Answer it! Answer it!!” 

“I can’t! I didn’t call him, and he pro–” she held her hand to your lips.

“Stop it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now, get it together. You’re going to put on a sleepy voice and act like you fell asleep as soon as you got home and play it that way.” She nodded. “Yes?” 

You nodded with her hand on your mouth, muffling back, “Yes.” 

She smiled, took her hand away, and nodded, waving at you quickly. “Hurry, answer!” 

You let out a breath and nodded, sliding it to answer. You cleared your throat, putting on a sleepy voice, “Hello?” 

“Shoot, did I wake you?” he said sadly. 

You looked over at the time, it was almost 2 am.

“No, it’s okay. I must’ve fallen asleep when I got home. I meant to call you… I’m sorry.” You looked at Lila, shrugging, hoping it was doing the trick. 

She gave you a thumbs up and nodded encouragingly, smiling. 

“There is no need to apologize. I was just concerned you hadn’t made it home yet. I wanted to make sure you got in safe, is all.” 

You mouthed to her, covering the receiver, ‘He wanted to make sure I got home safe…’ you put out your bottom lip like you were crying. 

She put her hand over her heart and sighed happily. This is all she wanted for you. 

“You there, querida?” he asked softly after you didn’t answer. 

You cleared your voice and hummed like you’d fallen asleep. “Yeah, I’m here.” You smiled. “You’re sweet to want to make sure I get home safely. Have you been up this whole time?” 

You could hear his smile on his face by his voice as he said, “Of course! I didn’t want to miss our call…” he chuckled softly.

You blushed and bit your nail, smiling widely at Lila. She waved at you to keep talking, which you swatted towards her before softly asking, curled up against the wall, “What have you been doing? It’s close to 2 a.m…” you fake yawned.

“Well, up until midnight, I watched the sports highlights and news, and then the last couple hours I got desperate and have been playing this game on my phone…” he said shyly. 

You chuckled sleepily. “Oh? What game?” 

There was a moment of silence, then he shamefully said, “I don’t wanna say…” and chuckled a little more. 

You chuckled a little louder at his admission. “We’ve all been there. Come on! Sharing is caring…”

He laughed softly. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I can’t make those promises in this context, handsome. Come on, let’s hear it.” You giggled softly. 

He couldn’t help but smile at you calling him handsome. 

You were always so careful with your words. He could tell there were times when you held back. There were small moments where he felt that invisible pull of your thoughts or bite of your tongue. It was like you wanted to say or do something, but your body wouldn’t let you. He knew it was something like anxiety or perhaps habit – but that was gone. That wall is broken down now. 

Lila noticed too. However, instead of calling you out and possibly embarrassing you to backpedal, she kept quiet and just smiled, seeing you this open with him. 

“Alright, alright…” he let out a soft chuckle, then cleared his throat and paused before inaudibly mumbling, “Candy Crush…”

You giggled softly. “I’m sorry, I missed that. What did you say?” 

You heard his hand slap his face, and then he sighed a chuckle before he took a breath and groaned, “Candy Crush…” 

A small squeak came out as you tried not to laugh. “Sorry, give me a moment…” You softly cleared your throat and breathed deeply, holding in your laugh.  

He could tell what you were doing and was smiling the whole time. He couldn’t begin to imagine how cute you looked doing it. “You good?” 

A high-pitched, “Yeah, yeah…” You cleared your throat again and nodded, lowering the tone of your voice back down. “Yeah, I’m fine! So, Candy Crush? What level are you on?” you held in a laugh.

He chuckled and smiled at your attempt not to laugh. “I think somewhere in the 300s…” he slowed down his chuckle,

You thought you misheard him, so you reclarified, “Did I hear that right? 300’s?”

He hummed and yawned, “Yeah, I think somewhere near 370 to be more exact…” he said nonchalantly. 

You snorted then chuckled, “Harry, how– 370 in just a couple of hours? How? Its taken me like years to get close to 300…”

He chuckled softly, sounding sleepy, “I’m good at puzzles, always enjoyed ‘em…” 

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. He’d waited up all night, and now that he knows you're safe, he’s finally able to relax enough to fall asleep. You hummed softly. “Puzzles? I’ll remember that…” 

He hummed and mumbled something as he dozed off.

You yawned yourself and smiled, whispering, “Get some sleep handsome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You paused, “Goodnight…”  

He hummed, and then you could hear a soft snore, which made your smile grow even bigger. You let out a soft chuckle before you hung up the phone. 

You tossed it onto the bed and couldn’t help the smile and blush plastered on your face.

You looked to Lila who was sitting there with a shit eating grin on her face. 

You pointed at her. “Shush! I know I’m red!” 

She slowly started to giggle and tackled you into a hug. “You’re so into him!” she squealed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh and nod because she was right. You were 100% undeniably into Harry Castillo. 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @sp00kymulderr @brittmb115 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927 @spacelatinos4life @pedge-page @pedropascalfab @readingiskeepingmegoing @sincerelywithheartt @youusunshineyoutemptress @lilasskicker-23 @melsuns00hine @wencontre @pedrofan @suzysface @orcasoul @misstokyo7love @bitchyfestnight @galotti7 @locaparapedrito @harrysrosetatto @bluenightmarepost

[theweightofmercy]

good for you - a joel miller fic

after three years away in los angeles, you return home in austin to spend the summer with friends & family. what comes as a surprise is the new way you're treated by joel, a close family friend. something in the air has shifted and you're not sure what.

{ chapter three }

the oh-so-dreaded dinner with joel.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

notes: no outbreak, age gap, reader is early 20s while joel is late 40s, angst, joel is still an asshole (who could have guessed), joel is a pervy asshole though.

divider from @lavendergalactic

You: What the hell do you mean you’re not coming!?!

Sarah: You know I’m sorry! I promise I’ll make it up to you!! :)))

Annoyed is the best word to define how you’re feeling right now. It’s 10 past 7 and Joel’s already downstairs with your dad talking something along the lines of “Hell, you might as well just fuckin’ order somethin..”, and Sarah has let you know that she is completely ditching you and the dreaded dinner for her latest situationship. 

The acrid smell along with the sound of the smoke detectors cause your eyes to snap toward the bedroom door. 

Oh, for the love of god.

You’re sure whatever your dad was attempting to cook for dinner has already made itself out the window. You take one last look in the mirror and wipe away some of the smudged eyeliner before heading downstairs to investigate.  

Your dad and Joel are fanning out the kitchen when you walk through the door; all windows open and one of them even using a hairdryer to push the smoke out the window. “Is that my blow dryer??” you yelp in your dad’s direction, snatching it from his hand and shutting it off. 

The two of them aren’t exactly the brightest duo. 

On top of the kitchen commotion, it’s raining outside so you’re certain the only thing that the open windows are doing is causing a wave of humidity to pass through the house. “Jesus Joel, shut the damn windows!” you huff, not sparing a glance in his direction. 

You go to shut the porch door and can see the charcoal outline of what may have once been meatloaf, sitting out in the yard. You hold in your laugh and turn to look at the two men, still swatting rags through the air.

“Guess we oughta just go somewhere, huh?” your dad grumbles, staring out at his failed attempt for food. Joel nods in agreement, a response to your dad, but you feel him staring at you. 

You look to glare over at him, still fuming about the conversation from the evening prior. He not so subtly clears his throat and looks away (a little too quick to not seem suspicious) ...and you realize he was staring at the points of where your nipples are now poking through your shirt. The windows are still open and a cool breeze is coming through.

Immediately flushing red, you turn from Joel to close the windows. “Didn’t realize you’ve gone deaf, Joel.” you say, trying to mask the embarrassment with annoyance. 

“Didn’t realize LA turned you into such a brat.” he jabs back almost immediately.

You can feel how hot your face is as you try to ignore the ever-so-subtle feeling between your legs, along with the thoughts running through your head:

Dude he’s like 50, get over yourself. 

He’s your dad’s friend. 

He’s a father figure. 

He’s a dick!

Okay but why did he say it like that though. 

Your dad walks back toward the kitchen table and grabs his keys; you’re unsure if he even heard the sneers between you and Joel just now. “Let’s just go sit down n’ eat somewhere..” he shrugs and you can tell he’s a little embarrassed. He’s never been a good cook, but you always appreciate his efforts. You put a light hand on his shoulder, 

“I’m gonna change my shirt before we go, wait for me in the truck.” you smile at him sympathetically. Your brush past Joel’s shoulder on your way upstairs. 

Dinner is so agonizingly boring and you wish nothing more than for Sarah to be here next to you. Your dad and Joel have been too caught up in their own conversation to spare any attention in your direction for the past twenty minutes. Sarah’s not answering any of your SOS texts and you swear you’re about to get up and walk home through the rain, until the conversation shifts to you. 

“When does school start up again?” your dad asks. You look at him and shrug, frowning slightly. “Sometime in August I’d imagine… doesn’t matter. M’ not going back anyways.” 

“‘The hell do you mean you’re not goin’ back?” Joel derides, staring at you with what seems to be genuine confusion or maybe even concern. Your palms are sweating a bit and you really don’t want to open this can of worms here, especially with Joel. It’s none of his business. 

“I guess I’m just not passionate about my art anymore. Plus I don’t really wanna be stuck as an art teacher for the rest of my life…” 

Bullshit. 

Everything you just said is bullshit, and they both know it. You’ve been passionate about art for as long as you can remember, always on the sidewalk with chalk or with a pad and pencil just drawing whatever you find interesting in the woods behind your house. It’s bullshit, but they don’t press; just giving each other a broad look. 

“Alright–Whatever you say, kid.” your dad sighs. “Guess we oughta get back to the house, gettin’ late.”  Everyone shuffles out of the booth and makes way for the truck. You’re glad the conversation ended there. 

The power is out when you get back to the house, the storm outside is getting pretty nasty. The rain had mostly stopped but the wind was really picking up.

You can’t help but notice how pretty the sky looks like this. You’re standing out on the back porch to take photos, you will definitely be painting this. You get about 2 photos in before your dad is calling your name.

“Go help Joel look for some flashlights, would ya’? I gotta check the breaker box.” he says. You groan and roll your eyes, mentally punching yourself for not heading straight to your room when you came home. 

“Why is he even still here? He has a house, you know,” Your dad gives a dismissive look and urges you to the house. 

You find Joel looking in the hallway closet. “They won’t be in there,” you say, watching as he stops shuffling through junk to look back at you. The second he’s standing to face you, you can feel your body paralyze, oh god he’s looking at me.

What?

No shit he’s looking at you, you just said something to him. 

“Well’re you gonna tell me where they are or just stand there starin’?” he says staring right back at you, his words laced with a hint of sly suggestion. Thank fuck the lights are out, the shade of pink that’s now painted your face is downright embarrassing.

You, very cooly, clear your throat and point upstairs, “In my dad’s bedroom–probably the closet or something. He keeps all of his ‘end of the world’ shit in there.” 

“So.. you gonna keep standin’ there over explainin’ shit or lead the way?” You swear you can see a glimmer of something in his eyes, even through the dark of the hallway. He’s such a fucking asshole. What the hell is wrong with him?

You say nothing as you huff in displeasure and spin on your heel, walking upstairs. 

You and Joel are searching for those damn flashlights for what feels like an eternity. Thunder has started outside, causing you to jump occasionally and bump into Joel when you do. 

“What happened while you were gone?” Joel lets out, so quiet that you second guess if he’d actually said it. Your hands stop rummaging through the drawer, but you keep your eyes glued to the items inside. “What..? What are you talking about?” you ask, horribly feigning confusion. 

Joel can tell that you're holding something back. Don't want to talk about it? Fine. He'll give you something to talk about, though.

“I said, what happened while you were gone? You been actin’ all different, don’t leave your room… stare a little longer than you should sometimes.” You clench your jaw and turn your head opposite of him. 

I’m the one with a staring problem? 

“You’re one to talk about staring,” you hush. “Everytime I turn around you’re pretending like you weren’t just staring at my ass.”

It’s silent for a moment; you can tell he’s carefully picking out what to say next. You know you got him with that one, and he does too.

“You’ve turned into a real perv, Mr. Miller.” you whisper, finally. 

Better to turn the steep tension into something slightly darker instead of talking about LA, right? Anything to not have to think about that again.

Before he has a chance to respond, the lights are back on. You’re looking in his direction now and your eyes widen as you realize how close he’d gotten. Embarrassment drains your face; it feels like you just got caught with your hand in your pants. 

 A dark expression plays across Joel’s face now, a corner of his lip quirking ever so slightly. He leans closer, lips barely brushing your ear. “Tellin’ me you don’t like it when I look at you? ‘Cause it sure as hell’s been looking like you do.” he mumbles, breath warm against your cheek. “I see the way you look at me, pretty girl–when you think I’m not lookin’... the way your legs shift a little when you catch me?” he hums, softly. 

You have no thoughts in your head right now, and before you’re even processing his words he’s walking out of the bedroom and back downstairs.

What just happened. 

Joel.

Joel.

Out of everyone on the fucking planet, it had to be him.

You don’t follow him back downstairs. You take yourself straight to your bedroom, slipping into something more comfortable before crawling into bed. 

As you lay in bed, you can’t put your mind on anything except him. Mind wandering, imagining how he looks getting ready for bed right now… shirt on or off? … is he thinking of me now, too? Sleepiness and arousal lead your hand under your panties and before you know it, you’re falling asleep to the thought of him. 

i'm sorry that this chapter was so short!! chapter 4 will be a lil freaky >>:)) please feel free to leave your thoughts and opinions on my story! likes & shares are always appreciated x

[lazysoulwriter]

someday... not today. - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, honey! - requested are open.

-

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the studio lights and the occasional shuffle of papers as the interviewer shifted in their seat. Pedro was sitting comfortably across from them, relaxed but still looking as charming as ever, flashing his signature grin that had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room.

"You’ve talked a lot about your personal life, Pedro," the interviewer began, glancing down at their notes, "and we all know how much you adore Y/N. But let’s get into something a bit more personal, shall we?"

Pedro raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright," he said with a teasing smirk.

The interviewer smiled and leaned in a little, clearly eager to dive deeper. "We’ve seen how you two are with each other—so much love, so much warmth. The question everyone’s wondering is: Do you two want children someday? Is that part of your future?"

Pedro’s face softened at the mention of you. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes momentarily drifting to the floor as he thought about the question. It was clear he wasn’t rushing to answer, taking his time, reflecting on what that future could look like with you by his side.

"Maybe," he said slowly, glancing back at the interviewer with a gentle smile. "But you know, it’s not something we’ve actively planned. Y/N and I… we’re very happy just the way we are, right now."

He paused, the warmth in his gaze evident. "We’re two people who love being with each other. Just living, enjoying each other’s company, and creating a life together. That’s enough for us, for now." He chuckled lightly, shrugging. "I think... if it happens, it happens. But it’s not something we’re rushing into. We’re perfectly content in our little world, just the two of us."

The interviewer, clearly taken by his sincerity, nodded with a smile. "So, you’re happy in your little bubble together?"

Pedro’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, exactly. I’ve never known peace like this before. We’ve built something beautiful, and I’m not in a hurry to change it. But who knows what the future holds?"

He glanced toward the camera as if to speak directly to you, his voice softening just a little. "We’re just so in love, and that’s all that matters. For now, that’s our future."

-

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 8

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: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Miscommunication, fluff, flirting, surprises. Summary: The first party you and Javi throw at the house turns out be to much more eventful than anticipated! Notes: As a heads up for next week, I'll be taking Sunday the 20th off from posting. It is birthday weekend for my beloved @julesonrecord and I'll be in VT with her to celebrate. Enjoy your holidays if you celebrate, and enjoy the triumphant return of TLoU!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

Saturday, May 24, 2025

“Sweetheart, did you want the stack of towels outside?” Javi asks. The pool is done, beautiful and perfectly balanced chemically thanks to the pool company that you had hired. Now the moment that everyone had been waiting for. The pool party that you had offered to throw. Combining the celebration of breaking ground on the house and finishing the pool.”

“Will you put them on the table behind where we have the chairs set up?” For all the flirting around you’re doing, the outside observer might think you’re nervous about this party. But in the last few weeks you’ve felt more yourself than ever.

Javi is wearing one of the new shirts you made him with the linen you picked up a few weeks ago, and you made yourself a wrap dress to use as a swimsuit cover up. There are plenty of drinks, tons of food, and a plethora of friends coming over. It’s really the first party you’re throwing at the house, and the house isn’t even built yet — but the excitement is here.

"Did Billie say that she would be able to make it?" Filming is done for the week and he knows that everyone is looking forward to relaxing. Alex joked that he might never get out of the pool and Tamara agreed whole heartedly. The production was close and it was a good time, something that Javi loved. Nick was out of town, but Olivia was coming, so he couldn't complain.

“She said she would be here after work.” You check your watch as you shift pillows on the brand new lounge chairs around the pool. “So that should be around one o’clock.”

"How is the outdoor kitchen working out?" Javi asks. "Martin said he was going to check in with us in a few days to make sure there's nothing we want to change or add after we used it a few times."

“Today will be the real test.” Everything is at least functional, but it will take a party to make sure that it flows well and that nothing needs changing. “It’s noon now, so people should start showing up any time. Is there anything else you need to do to get ready, mi amor?”

"Just to give you a kiss and tell you that I want to strip that swimsuit off of you." He smirks, and moves over to pull you into his arms.

“I’ll let you tonight,” you promise him, moving easily into his side and sighing at the nearness of his soft warmth.

"I love my new shirt," your fingers slide across his chest and stroke the fabric gently. Making him smile as you do it almost unconsciously. "It is probably the best fit I've ever had."

“It probably helps that I know your body better than any seamstress you could have gone to.” Flirting with your husband is more than second nature at this point. It’s as easy as breathing. “But…you really like it? You’re not just saying that?”

"Sweetheart, I love it." He promises, his hand covering yours in reassurance. "Honestly? I was going to ask if you could make me another just like it."

“I’ll make as many as you want.” Starting to design and sew and mend again has brought you so much comfort and joy over the last few weeks that you can’t possibly express it. It’s like someone reached into your chest and held your rib cage open, giving you the space to breathe. “Pants, shorts, anything you want.”

"I just don't want to load you down." He leans in and kisses you softly.

“You couldn’t possibly.” The notebook you carry on set is starting to fill with dress designs just like your notebooks did when you were younger, you’ll be glad to add other things alongside.

"What do you think about making me something to wear to the premier?" He asks. It's still a long way off, but he wants to encourage you as much as he can.

“Seriously?” You perk up at that idea, eyes wide with surprise. “You…on a red carpet? You want to wear something homemade?”

"Why not?" He asks, smiling confidently at you. "All designers were homemade at one point."

The way your heart swells almost makes it feel like you’re floating. “You really have that much faith in me?”

“I really have that much faith in you.” He repeats with a nod and a small wink. “Whatever you want. I trust you completely. Match us too if you can.”

“If I start designing now, I’ll have enough time.” The suggestion — and the support — earn him a grateful kiss. One that you sink into happily and let the world melt away.

“I will help you in whatever way I can.” He promises with a happy smile. The idea was planted and he loves encouraging you. What’s even better? You have true talent.

"Can I show you my sketches when I have a few ideas?" That's the stage you're in now -- ideas and concepts -- and you're not going to claim otherwise.

“You can show me anything.” He shares his pages with you sometimes, uses you as a sounding board when he is hung up or unsure of where to go with a scene, and he would be honored if you did the same thing. “I promise I will never be anything but honest with you.”

"And that is the very best thing that you could possibly be." There is time for a kiss lasting just a few seconds, but the doorbell sounds from inside the house before you can sink into it. "I'll go get that."

“Okay.” You had already set out some snacks, so Javi goes to the outdoor bar to start setting out drinks, ready for the party to get underway.

It's Moira at the door, squealing with excitement and ready to hug. "Hi gorgeous!!" You squeak, throwing your arms around her the second you open the door.

“I am soooooo ready to lounge by your pool and pretend it’s mine.” She teases with a huge grin and pulls back to press the bottle of cheap champagne she had bought into your hand. “Shouldn’t we break a bottle over the grill or something? Like they do ships?”

"Mi casa es su casa, bitch. Get in here." You tug her inside, giggling, and practically fly through the house to the back porch.

"Oh god, it's gorgeous." She's seen pictures, but she's not seen the final product until now. You and Javi had teasingly kept everyone away until the big reveal tonight. "It's- babe- you now live the dream!"

"I've been living the dream for months." Sighing softly – happily – and looking back at your best friend, you grin. "Welcome to paradise, babe. Construction on the house is fully underway!"

"How do you feel about the plans?" She asks, brows raised and her lips twisting into a grin.

"What do you know about the plans?" Her reaction to the final design for the house makes you raise your eyebrow in turn. "Don't tell me you were Javi's consultant?"

Her shrug is just a little too casual. "I don't know what you are talking about." She hums innocently.

"You sneaks!" It's pure blustering, of course, but you had been so excited to unveil the house plans to Moira and your friends this weekend. For a moment you can't tell if you're more touched or bewildered that they managed to coordinate everything without you knowing any of it. "Javi, it was Moira? You got my dreamhouse plans out of her with no effort, didn't you?"

Javi looks between you and Moira and there is a little bit of a conspiring grin that is twisting his lips, but he just shrugs just as casually as Moira did earlier. "Don't know what you are talking about."

"Amor de mi vida." There is already a drink in your hand, as you automatically started pouring for Moira and then for yourself, and you brandish the cold glass at him with fervor. "You sneak!" You repeat, breaking out into giggles.

"I wanted to make sure that I was not doing too much." Javi admits, grinning and moving over to you again to steal a kiss.

"He absolutely did too much," Moira promises you.

"Oh, I know." If you're a little teary, neither your husband or your best friend is going to call you out on it just yet. "I finally saw the plans. I thought I was going to be surprising you with the mini-modified Hazelwood that my soulmate is building for our family. But you knew. Sneak!"

"He wanted to make sure you wouldn't hate it or think he was insane." She throws her arm around you and laughs wildly. "I cannot believe that you are going to basically create history with this house."

When you had at last joined Javi and your architect for the finalization of the plans for the house and seen what your husband had created, you had wept with surprise and love. Javi, who had given up building one dream house already, had swept in and picked up your dream with wild abandon. The big difference, he had said, is that the landscaping he had in mind was from his family's home in Mallorca. Your suggestion of olive trees on the property went along with his wish to recreate some of the gardens from home, and all at once the decision had been complete.

"It still needs a name," you remind both of them, caught happily in the middle of a husband-and-best-friend hug sandwich. "Javi insists it has to have a name."

"Whatever it is, it needs to pay homage to the original Hazelwood." Moira taps her finger on the edge of the glass you had given her and takes a sip. "Why not something like Olivewood or...." She shrugs. "I don't know."

"We thought about Olivewood." It was the first idea, in fact, but it had been vetoed fairly quickly. "But we thought Olivia would hate it. It sounds a little too much like it's named after her."

"Almas Gemelas." She smirks at the romanticism of it. "You can't say no to that."

"Almas Gemelas." You look up to Javi, with the hum of the words on your lips. Soulmates. Surely a house built by love can be named for it, too.

He tilts his head and smiles. "You like it?" He asks softly. "Because I do."

It only takes one step to move into his side again, sliding your arms around his waist and lifting your chin up to place a sweet kiss on his lips. “Then it’s settled.”

“We will have to have it written on the gates.” He’s going to make sure that the property is secure for his family.

“Oo, gates?” Moira grins. “Fancy schmancy.”

“Yes, but you will have a code for the gate.” He promises with a quick smile. “Family is always welcomed anytime.”

“What did I tell you?” You wink, giving her arm a squeeze when you hear the doorbell again. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Jason is next, greeting Javi happily when he comes inside and bringing a bottle of booze that he swears is the best.

Tracy and Tandy arrive not longer after, practically dragging Heather in tow. While the costumer claims not to be much for parties, she does love all of the people here, so she let herself be talked into accepting the invitation. Olivia and Tamara arrive nearer to one o'clock, and then the last arrivals of the day are left to be Alex and Billie.

"If they get here at the same time, my cousin might combust," you joke to Moira, who fully understands the being at a party with your celebrity crush craziness. She seems to be avoiding Jason still but you're trying not to press.

“She likes Alex?” Moira hums, knowing that the man is technically attractive, but she just finds him sweet.

"I think most people in America who are attracted to men like Alex at least a little." But you just grin, shrugging one shoulder in faux innocence. "All I know is that she keeps asking about him and her voice gets all squeaky and pitchy when she does. So am I gonna intentionally throw them together like a meddling old granny? Of course I am."

She rolls her eyes and then freezes for a second before grabbing your arm. “Please don’t throw me with- uh, um—” she stops when Jason moves closer, within hearing. “Never mind.”

The way Moira just about freezes and Jason looks like a kicked puppy fully activates your bullshit meter, and you nab your best friend's hand. "C'mere," you insist. "I need help grabbing something from inside." You drag Moira inside before she can sputter a protest, and close the sliding glass door behind you. "Talk." You insist. "It's been weeks since the boob graze. Is it still making shit weird?"

“No……” she rolls her eyes and huffs before you practically growl at her. “No.” she insists when you look skeptical. “I fucked up, okay?” She hisses, grabbing your arm and turning you away from glass door so no one outside can read her lips. “I humiliated myself in front of him, so it’s best if I just never talk to him again.”

"I can't believe that." You shake your head, but lead her away from the windows to sit down at the table. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Whatever it was."

She lets out snort. “I wish.” She sighs, shoulders slumping as she gives in. She’s been too embarrassed to say anything. “He- he came by the desk a couple of days ago.” She admits. “He asked me out.”

“Oh my god!” The massive screech you have to immediately smother is nothing like her reaction in any way. “I thought you would have been excited! Why aren’t you excited? You’ve had a crush on Jason for years!”

She closes her eyes and groans as she buries her face in her hands and mumbles something you don’t quite catch.

“Babe,” you reach forward to hold her hand. “You gotta use your big girl words and tell me what happened.”

She can’t help but laugh at your comment and sighs again. “Are you sure you want to know?” Her tone is playfully dramatic but you just wait, “I opened my mouth to answer him and guess who had just finished her Sprite.”

"That's it?" That's all? That can't be all! Your wrinkle your nose but tilt your head, trying to fully take in Moira's embarrassment. Because she clearly is. She's mortified just retelling the moment by half. "You burped? That's all?"

“Then I started laughing and ended up snorting.” She groans. “And I just…decided to run away.”

"But..." You lean forward and set your chin expectantly on your upturned palm. "You never gave him an answer."

“Seriously?” She huffs. “That’s what you’re focused on? Not that I completely embarrassed myself? I can’t even look at him, let along give him an answer to a question he has to regret.”

"Why in the hell would he regret asking you out?" Her hand is easy to catch in yours with all of her flailing, and you bring it back to the table to attempt reeling her in. "You're smart, sweet, hot as hell, and oh no! You're human, too. If he regrets asking you out just because you burped and got embarrassed then he's less than a quarter of the person I thought he was and it's him who should be embarrassed instead."

“Don’t be mad at him.” Even though she’s completely embarrassed and not maybe a little ashamed of her running away, she’s defending Jason. He doesn’t deserve you talking bad about him.

"I'm only going to be mad if he deserves it." That part, at least, deserves clarification. "But my bet is, he's either still waiting on that answer or he's mortified that he made you feel bad."

“There’s no way.” She doesn’t believe it for a second but it makes her feel slightly better. “I mean-“ she shakes her head, “he’s famous and gorgeous and smart…..”

"And he likes you, dumb ass." With the hand that isn't tightly gripping hers, you pinch Moira's arm and grin when she huffs at you to smother a laugh. "You should go talk to him. Apologize for being a weirdo and let him take you out."

“And what are you going to say when you’re wrong about something?” She demands, wanting to know when you became so fucking reasonable.

"I will apologize for meddling, and then meddle again very quickly after." As if to prove the point, or at least punctuate it, you press a kiss to the knuckles of her hand that you're still holding and wave toward the door. "But angel, that boy looked like a spurned hound dog out there. He's yearning, Moira Elizabeth Keene. Yearning!"

“He’s not yearning.” She huffs even if it does make her actually look outside at where Jason is staring into his drink like it will give him the secrets of the universe. “Is he?”

“That is not the face of a man who has all the things in life he wants,” you insist. Just because you said you were getting something, you get up from the table and take out The rest you had packed of things to throw in the grill. It’s not too early to start making lunch. “Yearning. Pining. Moping. Whatever you want to call it, he’s doing it. And if he asked you out then my guess is he’s wishing he’d at least gotten an answer.”

“Shit.” She sighs and hangs her head. “So you’re saying I should go talk to him?” She asks, even though she knows that’s exactly what you are saying.

“And more than that,” you wag a finger at her. “You should say yes.”

“Yes mom.” She groans and hangs her head for a moment before she takes a deep breath. “When this backfires, I’m blaming you.” She grumbles, walking to the door to go back outside.

"You're welcome," you hum at her back, waiting two beats before you follow so that she doesn't feel hustled.

Moira bites her lip, happy that she hadn’t had anything to drink yet as she slowly approaches Jason. “Hey…” she murmurs softly.

Startled by what is definitely the first time ever that Moira has spoken to him first, Jason looks around in every direction before pointing at his own chest. "Hey me?"

She huffs out a small laugh before letting it die in her throat and swallows. “Yeah, you.” She nods. “Um—”

"Do you wanna..." He nods his head away from the pool where there is a little privacy. "Walk?"

“Sure, yeah- I mean—” she shakes her head again. “I think we should talk.” She manages.

Jason's normally easy smile has been absent the last few days, and he chews on his lip as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He's just going to savor walking beside her and soak up her aura and he'll nurse his surprisingly devastated broken heart in private. "Yeah," he nods his head. "Sure."

Both of them are awkward and Moira lets Jason lead here wherever he wants to out, even though it’s just on the other side of the pool so far. “I-- I’m sorry.” She blurts out after the silence between them starts driving her insane.

"It's okay." He shakes his head, jumping onto the apology like Steve Rogers onto that grenade in Captain America. "You're not interested. I—it's fine. I get it."

“What? No! I mean, not no, I mean that I—” she sighs in frustration. “I’m sorry that I was so gross and just- burped and then laughed about it.”

He laughs reflexively, swallowing the chuckle when she looks genuinely upset about the whole thing. "I'm not one of those 'girls shouldn't have bodily functions' kind of assholes," he tells her, hands squirming where they are still shoved in his pockets. He wants to reach out and reassure her but can't be certain the gesture would be acceptable. "I was more upset when you Road Runner-ed out of the room like a rocket was after you."

Relief rushed through her like a tsunami and she manages to laugh. “I had just made a complete ass out of myself in front of Jason Grant.” She reminds him. “God, I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.”

The shade of pink that overtakes Jason's cheeks is nearly cartoonish. "I don't see why it should matter," he mumbles, one hand combing through his hair nervously. "I just...I like you. A lot. And I thought maybe you might like me too..."

“You—” Moira frowns. “You still want to go out with me?” She can’t react to that ‘a lot’ part, otherwise she’ll start squealing.

Jason just shrugs. "If I was gonna give up just because we're both human enough to be awkward around each other then I never deserved a chance in the first place." It's the first time in days that a smile returns to his lips, and he blushes even harder because of it. "Plus...ya know...you're cute when you do that laughing-snort thing."

“Really?” It’s her turn to fluster, completely floored by the fact that this man, this gorgeous man, is blushing and thinks she’s cute. “I— don’t—” she laughs nervously and does the little snort, which only makes her laugh harder. “I didn’t— d-do that on pur-purpose!” She promises while giggling.

The full, bashful smile that blossoms on Jason’s face is beaming. “I know.” There is a chance, he hopes, and he gently touches her arm with barely enough fingers to count as his hand. “That’s why I like it. It’s just…you.”

The giggles calm down, sobered by the look on his face that could only be described as yearning. She’s never going to hear the end of this. “I—” she licks her lips and can’t help but laugh at herself again. “If this was a movie, this would be the scene where I don’t answer you, I just throw myself at you and kiss you.” She admits. “But since this isn’t a movie…” she smiles back at him. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

“It can be a movie if you want it to be.” He’s teasing — probably — mostly because he’ll do whatever he can to get her to keep looking at him like that. But he’s just ecstatic to have gotten a yes, so he’s not going to push his luck. “Tomorrow? Or is—is that too soon?”

She nods, grinning because she feels a little more confident knowing that Jason still wants to go out with her and apparently wants a kiss. “Tomorrow’s good, tonight is better.” She admits. “What better date than a Hollywood party?” She teases, gesturing around the back yard. “This is my kind of date.”

He had a whole thing planned. A romantic picnic, flowers, stargazing. He’ll save the plan for date number two. “Then this is perfect,” he agrees, opening up the hand that was just touching her arm in invitation. She can take it if she wants — and he hopes she will — or he’ll go as slow as she wants him to. All that matters is that she’s giving him a shot.

It’s like something out of a fairy tale and she presses her lips together to keep from squealing. “If I- uh- pinch myself occasionally….” She ventures. “Don’t think anything of it. Just making sure this isn’t some kind of Inception dream.”

“How about you pinch me and I’ll pinch you?” It comes out just a tad flirtier than he meant it to, but he doesn’t correct himself or apologize. She’s said yes — he’s going to flirt. “Just to make sure we’re both awake.”

“Well you can just pinch me whenever and wherever you want.” She’s bolder now, especially with the way that he’s eyeing her. Now she can let herself believe those looks are actually meant for her.

Jason smirks, scoops her to his side with an arm around her waist, and pinches her side playfully. “Good to know,” he hums, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“I’m sorry I pulled a Houdini and just left you hanging.” She admits. “I should have tried to say something.”

“We’re only human.” He gives her side a squeeze, still smiling. “I’m just glad you said yes, even if I had to wait to hear it.”

“I guess that I just didn’t believe that you would want to go out with me.” She admits. “And I just got stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” He would argue that point with her if necessary, but for now he shakes his head and starts to lead her back to the party. “But you are cute when you blush. For the record.”

“And you’re just…cute all the time.” She huffs, her arm sliding around his back cautiously. Still slightly overwhelmed that she can touch him.

“Are we going to get into one-ups-manship this early in the relationship?” He raises an eyebrow at her, and suppresses a little shiver of excitement. The early stages are full of the thrills of new attraction and he’s been pining since the very first day of filming. “Noted.”

She bites her lip and hums as she motions towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

Alex is at the bar when Jason and Moira wander over with their arms around each other, and he smirks but momentarily suppresses his impulse to tease mercilessly. “This is gonna be the party house,” he observes instead, waving his hand at the way the full bar is set up. “They really went all out.”

“Yeah they did.” Jason can easily agree and he looks down at Moira. “This is the perfect place to socialize without worrying about paps.”

"And the place isn't even fully gated yet." Moira accepts the glass of sangria that Jason pours for her with a blushing grin. Have you guys heard about the plans yet?" Now that the secret is out in the open, she doesn't mind sharing anymore. Especially since you're so delighted with the house that Javi is building for you.

“Nothing.” Alex huffs, pouting slightly. “I’ve been trying to get Javi to crack, I know the man has taste, but he’s not said a word.”

"He wanted to show her first." Your best friend nods in your direction, where you're laughing by the other end of the pool with Tamara and a woman with pink hair that she's never met before. That must be the cousin you mentioned.

“Who is that?” Alex drops the rag he was holding and leans in, eyes narrowing as he looks at the new addition to the party.

"Her cousin, I think?" Moira's head whips back around to see Alex practically gawping and she has to cover her mouth to cover a snorting laugh. "She ran into her cousin a couple of weeks ago and they've been hanging out again." Is Moira your best friend? Of course. She doesn't doubt that for a second. But she also knows that this friendship is older and complicated, and has been consciously giving you the space to work through any complications.

“Her cousin, huh?” Alex is a flirt, a social butterfly, but this girl just draws him in naturally. “I swear I’ve seen her before somewhere.”

"Do you ever shop at Sew Far, So Good in Burbank?" Moira asks, stifling another giggle at the idea of hulking movie star Alex Powell with knitting needles.

Alex snaps his fingers. “That’s where she’s from!” He snorts before he rolls his eyes at Moira. “I buy my yarn online, Moi.” He teases, looking back over at Billie.

"What fucking yarn?" Jason demands, though he is doing nothing at all to hold in his laughter.

Alex flips Jason a bird and huffs before he mutters under his breath.

"Alex," Moira's grin spreads. "Do you have secret crafty grandma tendencies?"

“No.” Alex crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “I just— I occasionally go down to the nursing home near my apartment and let the ladies teach me how to crochet.” He confesses, blushing furiously.

"That..." Moira and Jason exchange a bewildered look of surprise and she looks back at Alex with an entirely new perspective on the man in front of her. She knew he was sweet, but this is a whole extra level to things. "Is incredibly nice of you, actually."

He looks genuinely embarrassed by the compliment. “It’s fun.” He promises. “They get to teach me something and socialize.” He shrugs. “And they don’t care if my latest movie flopped or not.”

“And when their granddaughters visit, they try to set you up?” Jason guesses. “I used to go play chess with the grumpy grandpas in Central Park between shows when I was on Broadway. They started bringing their granddaughters around after a while. It got slightly uncomfortable.” He shrugs. “Hopefully your thing doesn’t get like that.”

“Hope not.” Alex shakes his head. “I think a lot of them don’t talk to their family. Or not a lot.” He sighs, hating that for them. They are a good group of ladies.

Jason nods solemnly, as if he knows that situation all too well, and Moira reaches out to give Alex’s arm a tender squeeze. “It’s even sweeter, then. That they have someone to come and visit them.”

“Let’s uh, just keep that between the three of us, okay?” Alex isn’t ashamed of what he does, but he doesn’t want it interrupted.

“Sure.” Moira and nods at the same time Jason says, “Of course.” They all know that if any media outlet got ahold of that portion of Alex’s life it would be ruined with unwanted attention, so mum’s the word.

"They probably should." Alex admits. His laughs is heartier this time. Fuller. "Alright. I guess I should give it another go, huh?"

“Yeah.” Javi grins. “Apologize first. Then explain.”

"Sounds like the right order to me." It sounds like it's going to be fumbling as hell, but that's okay. If humbling himself in front of that goddess is what it takes to talk to her again? He'll do it.

Javi stands when Alex does and he dutifully takes the empty beer bottle after the other man finishes it. Smirking slightly as he tells Alex that Billie is in the bedroom and walks with him just as far as you are standing.

Billie is adjusting the tie on her bikini when a knock sounds on the door. She's inspecting herself in the mirror to make sure that everything is tied properly and she didn't miss any smears of sunscreen, and wonders if you've come up to talk about Alex some more. "Come on in."

Alex opens the door halfway, poking his head in. “Hi.” He clears his throat. “Can I, um, come in?” He asks, wanting to make sure that she didn’t want to talk with him somewhere else.

"Oh!" That is a hundred percent not who she was expecting, and considering she was planning on spending the rest of the afternoon avoiding him? She's not really sure what to do now. "Uh...if you were looking for my cousin, she hasn't come upstairs."

“I know.” He doesn’t come into the room any more, but he does push the door open a little wider. “I came to talk to you.” He tells her, “to apologize.”

"Oh..." The same small word but with such a different meaning behind it this time. Billie looks around, but it's just them up in the bedroom you and Javi share. Probably better that there are no witnesses for this, she reflects vaguely. "Yeah. Okay. Go ahead..."

“I wasn’t trying to hit on you.” Alex promises before he immediately takes it back. “I mean, I was but I was trying to flirt with you. Playfully, um- and my stupid manager said that women liked the character voice so I figured I would give it a shot, since I was nervous.” He doesn’t rush through his explanation, but he is talking fast like he’s racing a teleprompter. “That being said, I’m sorry that I caused any hurt feelings or upset.” He switched orders on the explanation and apology, but Javi doesn’t have to know that. “I got nervous and stupid.”

“I walked away because I have no interest in being anybody’s one night stand.” Billie hears him. She does. And frankly she appreciates the fuck out of an actual apology even if it’s a little twisted around. “From the way you were starting out, it sounded like — or it felt like — that was what you were going for. So I apologize too, if I assumed wrongly.”

“I don’t…really…like one night stands.” Alex admits. “They feel a little dirty? Like I’m shorting myself of getting to know someone.” He shakes his head. “No excuse, except that I was trying to make a good impression.” He chuckles, flashing a small smile. “Fucked that up.” He sighs and wipes his hands on his trunks. “So, yeah. I’m sorry, and I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Hey Hollywood.” It’s a little trite, but a treating cliche every now and then never hurt anybody. Plus, he turns around so the little tease did its job. “You could get to know me now, if you still wanted to.”

“Yeah?” His face lights up, eyes widening in surprise and gratitude that she is willing to talk to him for another moment. “I’d like that.” He promises.

"Did I miss any sunscreen on my back?" It takes a small act of bravery to ask him to possibly touch her when she knows full well that the last time he did, it almost turned her legs to jelly. But she's feeling bold now that things have been cleared up between them.

He hesitates before he nods. “There’s a big patch missing right in the middle.” He admits. “Do you want me to—”

"Can't very well do it myself," she pauses a second after saying it and laughs. "Obviously. Or it wouldn't be there." She turns slightly, willing herself not to freak out, and waves him over. "Would you mind?"

“Yes madam.” He nods and flashes another grin as he rushes over and grabs the tube of sunscreen. “Hold still, I’ll get you all lotioned up.”

"Thanks." Billie swallows thickly and turns her face away from the mirror, telling herself not to watch. That feels a little too much like the beginning of a porn.

Alex squirts some of the lotion on his hands and rubs them together to warm it up. He knows he hates cold suntan cream. “Here we go.” He murmurs softly, so she can expect to feel him. He bites his lips to keep from groaning at the innocent touch, but her skin is so soft and warm that he has to remind himself that she thinks he’s a tool already and not to embarrass himself.

For her part, Billie feels like she’s about to spontaneously combust the second he touches her, but she hides her face and manages not to make a sound and frankly? That is top notch self-restraint in her book.

“You have soft skin.” Alex comments, before he huffs at himself in annoyance. “I mean—”

Billie barely stifles a giggle. “It’s okay. I mean— I know you’re not a dick now.”

“You make me nervous.” He chuckles softly, relaxing because she isn’t stiffening up or taking it in offense.

“Any particular reason for that?” Her hair isn’t long enough that she needs to move it out of the way, but it gives her something to do with her hands. Something besides twist her fingers around each other over and over again because she’s nervous too.

He snorts softly. “You’re gorgeous.” He tells her, “but you know that. More importantly? You have this…aura.” He never talks about this kind of thing, since people will look at him like he’s crazy. “You seem like you are an amazing person and I – I don’t know.” He admit. “I just know I don’t want to fuck up - again.”

“Hell of a way to flatter a girl.” Her cheeks are as red as they can possibly get when she glances over her shoulder at him, and she wonders if she’s imagining that he’s blushing as well. “Should have led with that, gorgeous. Then we could have skipped the awkwardness.”

He hums, grinning slightly and shrugs. “Hopefully there’s no lasting harm from being a dumb man.” He jokes. “You know we are simple creatures.”

“I might tease you about it a little,” she admits, smile blossoming a little wider on her face. “But that’s only funny if we like…actually end up dating or something. Then it’s a cute story.”

“So why don’t you go on a date with me?” She opened the door and he’s gonna bust through like the Kool-aid man if possible. “Make it that cute story.” His hands are still rubbing her back, even though the cream is worked in.

Billie’s eyes widen and she swallows a hiccup of surprise. “Seriously?”

His hands still before he reaches up for her shoulders to gently turn her around. “Seriously.”

“But—” The protest is inarticulate, practically tripping over her lips as she lets it tumble out. “You—you could date anyone. Literally anyone you wanted to?”

His brow furrows slightly, confused by her reaction. “And I would like to go on a date with you.” He stresses. “Unless you aren’t interested?”

“Oh no, I am.” That probably came out way too fast, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. “I just…it’s a little…” Billie blows out a sigh. “It’s a little surreal, honestly? Like I’ve got a magazine with your face on it in my kitchen table at home and actual you is helping me with sunscreen and asking me out in my cousin’s bedroom.”

“Have you ever seen someone and just…instantly knew they were going to be important to you?” Alex asks, staring at her seriously.

“Once.” She nods slowly. “But it felt…silly.”

“Why is that?” He frowns and wonders if she’s had her heart broken.

“Well…” Even though she’s standing right in front of him with his hands still on her shoulders and the smell of whatever cologne he favors hanging in the air, she feels embarrassed enough to spontaneously combust when she admits, “because you were on a movie screen at the time. It’s not like I’d ever met you. Not…at that point, anyway.”

“Really?” Alex’s eyes widen in surprise before he breaks into a happy smile. Looking just like that human Labrador that you had claimed he was.

“Don’t get cocky on me again, Hollywood.” Billie huffs, but it’s clear now that that little sound of impetuousness is just for show. “I like the sweet, silly version of you a lot better.”

“I can be sweet.” He promises. “I’m just really happy.” He confesses easily. “Happy I didn’t completely bomb out.” He chuckles at himself now.

“I am too.” It would have been a hell of a disappointment, if she’s honest. And she wasn’t looking forward to living with that. “But we should probably go back down? Swim a little? Have a bite?”

“That sounds good to me.” He nods and smiles again. “We can decide when and where we are going on the date later on.” He tells her before stepping back and opening the door. “After you.” He offers.

When they make it back down to the patio, the air smells like grilled meat and there is dance music playing — something pop-ish with a salsa beat that Billie doesn’t recognize but people seem to be enjoying. Frankly she doesn’t really care. She’s just floating on a happy little cloud right now and not too much in the world could ever hope to pop it.

Alex meets both Javi and your concerned looks and gives a small nod and an even smaller wink. His hand drifting to Billie’s back as he guides her towards the outdoor kitchen. “Thirsty or hungry?” He asks.

“Thirsty,” she decides, mostly because she can see the grill from here and the burgers look like they just went on. “Is that okay with you?”

“Perfect.” He decides to grab a bottle of water since he’s already had two beers. Not wanting to spend the day getting wasted. “What do you want?”

“I think I saw iced tea earlier?” From past his shoulder she can see you trying and failing not to spy on them and she flashes you a thumbs up.

“Tea sounds good.” Alex moves over to the drinks and spies the pitcher with the lemons and ice in it. “I think this is it.”

“She used to dream about throwing parties like this.” Her tone is a little wistful but she’s smiling when Alex hands her a glass of iced tea. “And bigger. The bigger, the better.”

“And from what Javi’s told us, he’s thrown some huge parties.” Alex chuckles. “So I expect they will have people over all the time.”

“Good.” Billie likes the sound of that, still of the mind that you deserve nothing but your dreams. “That’s exactly what she loves and she’ll have so much fun.”

“They are perfect for each other.” Alex’s pang of jealousy isn’t quite as pronounced as it normally is. Excited for a date with Billie overriding that.

“Soulmates.” She smiles and sips her tea. “They’re lucky that they found each other.”

“Yes they are.” Alex sighs softly, wishing that somehow he would just know when he met his soulmate. If it could just be that easy, it would be amazing.

"It's not the only way to be happy, though." She sees the look on his face. It isn't hard to tell that that is what he wants. And for a second she wonders if dating is a waste if they don't have matching marks.

“No, it’s not.” His gaze shifts back to her and he’s hit with that same certainty that she is important to him. “Tell me, what’s your version of a perfect date?” He asks innocent enough except he’s grinning.

“Live music.” They start to wander toward the pool. “Food that’s either not good for you or something totally new.” She thinks for a second and grins guiltlessly. “Has to at least end with a kiss. But preferably that part starts somewhere in the middle.”

“Good food and live music.” He hums. “Sounds like a good dive bar and a band.” He turns his head and winks at her. “Kissing is always acceptable.”

“There’s something to be said for enjoying life—” she starts to say, but finds herself cut off by the unexpected and complete change in the mood of the party after a shriek sounds from the far edge of the pool.

Alex’s head snaps up, but it’s not in anxiety. That shriek is one of happiness and joy. He sees Jason and Moira, touching and kissing frantically and he shakes his head. “Holy shit.” He huffs. “I did not see that coming.”

“What happened?” Billie missed it, whatever it was, but hears you squeal in equal joy just a second later.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“They are soulmates.” It’s the only logical conclusion and he chuckles at the starstruck look on his friend’s face.

“Two sets at one party?” Billie half-laughs, but feels a sting regardless. Quiet jealousy, but it’s still there.

He hears the undercurrent in her voice. The same longing that was probably in his own if he was honest. “Only thing that could make it better is if it was three.” He jokes.

Billie hums, sure there’s no chance, but offers him a smile anyway. “That would make it a hell of a party.”

“Yeah it would.” He feels like she’s not interested in discovering that, so he touches her back. “Why don’t we go say congrats?” He asks. “You know Moira, right?

“We just met today, actually.” She takes his hand when he offers it. It’s a sweet gesture that she appreciates. “But we should still go and say congratulations.”

“You are just meeting all kinds of new people today, aren’t you?” He squeezes her hand gently.

“I seem to be,” she agrees with a small laugh, ready to be swallowed up by the celebrating.

Alex guides her over to the group, not letting go of Billie’s hand, but he throws his other arm around Jason when he reaches him. “Holy shit! I knew it!” He lies, laughing the entire time as he pounds his costar on the back.

"I'm glad someone did!" Jason is crying ecstatic tears, refusing to let go of Moira by accepting the hug as easily as the whirlwind around him. "Because I sure didn't!"

Alex laughs and lets go of his friend to move towards Moria, still holding onto Billie as he folds her into a hug. “Congratulations, beautiful.” He murmurs. “He’s a good man.”

"It's just so crazy." Moira's tears are more of a watery eyes situation and she's sniffling away anything more as she laughs in continuous disbelief. "it's completely crazy."

“Crazy and perfect.” Alex insists with another quick hug before he steps back and draws Billie into his side. “Just like this entire movie has been.”

"I knew I had a good feeling about you guys for a reason." After ducking back into the house to grab champagne, you have reappeared by the pool with the bottle in hand. "This is absolutely cause to celebrate."

“Ohhhh! Let me go get the glasses!” Billie volunteers, wanting to help with the festivities. Maybe it will squelch the tug of jealousy in her.

"Cupboard to the left of the sink!" You call after your retreating cousin's back, just in case she's forgotten.

Alex watches her walk back into the house before he turns back to Jason with a wide grin. “So are you getting married today?” He asks them with a chuckle.

"This group of friends has already had one on-the-spot wedding." Jason laughs, though he leans down and kisses Moira's forehead softly. "Maybe next week."

“It worked for us.” Javi chuckles, taking the champagne bottle from you when you want him to open it. “But I like to think we are special.”

"Very special," you hum, leaning in to kiss him before he fusses with the champagne.

Billie comes back with the glasses while Tamara scoots next to Alex. “Sooooo.” Her voice is dripping with humor. “The cousin, huh?”

"Yeah." Alex smirks an raises an eyebrow at her. "And?"

“Nothing.” She shrugs innocently. “Nothing at all.”

"C'mon Tam-Tam," Alex laughs. "You can say it. What's on your mind?"

She rolls her eyes playfully, but she reaches out to touch his arm. “You look like you’re halfway in love already.”

Unashamed, Alex casts his eyes back toward where Billie is handing out glasses of bubbly with you while Javi pours. "Maybe," he admits dreamily. "She's...I can't explain it. She's special, Tam."

“Wow.” His confession makes her eyes widen and even if she is cautious, she won’t try to dim the light in his eyes. “Good for you.” She murmurs honestly.

"Besides," Alex laughs, nudging his friend. "At this rate, we'll all have met our soulmates before filming wraps."

“Oh I doubt it.” Personal doubt had her scoffing, but like everyone else, she wants to find her person. Soulmate or not. “But it’s a nice thought.”

“You’ll find your person.” Alex loops an arm around her and hugs her to his side. “Or people. Who knows? Maybe you’re lucky enough to have two.”

That makes her laugh. “No one has two.” She huffs. “Not at the same time at least. And I’ve only ever heard of a few cases where someone gets another soulmate after their first one dies.”

“My point,” he nudges her again. “Is don’t give up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She knows he’s meaning well, but it makes her uneasy. With the billions of people on the planet, how is she supposed to find her one? “I won’t, but I’m not gonna focus on me, tonight.” She nods towards Jason and Moira. “My guy looks like he just won an Oscar.”

“He feels like he did.” Or, at least, Alex knows that’s how he would feel if he was in the same circumstance. “Good for them. They’re sweet. And they’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

“I’ve been telling Jason to ask her out.” Tamara rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t listen.”

“You know how he is.” When you appear beside your friends with glasses of champagne for them, you’re all smiles and good cheer. “He’s shy when he’s not sure of something. But he doesn’t need to be shy anymore.”

“No, no he doesn’t.” His eyes are on Billie, smiling as she talks with Moira. “He’s lucky.” He admits, hoping that he could be as confident as Jason with her, even if she isn’t his soulmate.

“He’s not the only one, ya know.” The meddling grin on your face is unmistakable. “You guys like a lot of the same music, but the way.”

“That’s good.” He shrugs innocently. “So I can hope I pick a good live band when I take her out.”

Immediately, you light up with excitement. “Did you already ask??”

“Yeah.” He blushes a little. “When we were in your room, and I was groveling.”

“Good boy!” You squeak with happy approval and practically dance from all the excitement today. “She’s the best. You’re going to have such a good time.”

“She doesn’t understand why I was nervous, but she accepted my apology.” He hums, grinning at you.

"Be as good of a date to her as you are a friend to the rest of us, and you'll be just fine."

“Oh, I will be better.” Alex winks at you. “You missed out.” He teases. “You coulda had all this but you had to find your soulmate.”

"You'll have to make it up to me by being amazing to my cousin." He gets another squeeze from you and a beaming smile. You have a good feeling about this.

“I have to be.” He huffs, shooting you a wide eyed look of terror. “You’ll kick my ass if I don’t!”

"Damn right!" You flash him a wink and stride away again, ready to hug the shit out of your best friend all over again, then tuck yourself under your own soulmate's arm.

“I can’t believe you are my soulmate.” Jason murmurs again, his thumb sweeping over the small patch of skin that tells the world the two of them belong together. “We’ve been around each other for weeks and wasted so much time.”

"It wasn't wasted," Moira insists, though her arms are up around his neck like they never would have been even yesterday. She'd taken off her suit cover and slipped into the pool and Jason had seen the lily tattooed on her hip, the small memorial of her grandmother that she had had for years. And now here they are. "Because we had that time we know things about each other. We know we get along. We have mutual friends. That's not a waste at all."

“Not a waste.” He concedes, albeit a bit begrudgingly. “I want you to move in with me.” He tells her quickly. “We can wait for sex, however long you want, but I want to sleep beside you. Hold you.”

Moira laughs, not because anything he said was wrong or necessary funny, but because she can feel the change in the air already. "You think we're going to be able to sleep next to each other and not have sex?" She poses, smirking at him.

“No.” He admits, grinning even though his voice is a little raspy. “But I didn’t want you to think I expected it.” He shrugs. “I was just hoping you’d jump me in my sleep.”

“If I’m going to jump you, I’d vastly prefer you to be awake,” she laughs, but she’s pulling him in for a kiss all the same.

His own laugh is cut short by her lips. Serious when he draws her closer, feeling like he will never get enough.

Even the little kisses so far have been deep and sweet, and this one is no exception. It’s like the little part of her that’s been missing was in him the whole time and she doesn’t know how she didn’t see it before.

Jason pulls back after a moment and presses his forehead against hers. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Already?” She teases. She’s breathless every time she gets to kiss him but now that they’re real soulmates she feels lighter than air. “The day is barely half over. There’s so much more to go.”

“It feels like it can only get better from here.” He laughs. “But how? When right now is perfect?”

“I guess we’re just going to have to see what happens next.” Moira says. But really? It would take a hell of a lot for this day to get any better.

------ 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

[dilf-docs]

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.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Tonight’s the night Joel Miller finally let’s his feelings for you show. Or; Joel Miller half-assedly teaches you how to ride him.

Warnings: PWP. UNPROTECTED P-IN-V, big age gap, Joel is 57, Joel takes your virginity! Wow! Riding/lap riding, tummy bulge, daddy kink, creampie, pussy and cock pronouns, mentions of female masturbation, Joel, BIG DICK Miller.

A/N: Here, take this no beta’d word vomit while I work on reqs! ;)

wc: 2967

It was Joel’s neck covered in kisses, stained the color of your muted red lipstick. 

It was Joel’s hands firmly purchased on your waist as you humped his denim-clad thigh. 

Kissing him with a will and invite for his tongue. Vibrations of your moans shook down his throat. Your body finally starting to settle into his lap as he sat in the middle of your bed, your white shabby comforter detailed with a pattern of little pink flowers pooling around him, his legs tucked underneath his thighs. 

You sure as fucking hell are bound to lose the daughter-of-the-year award if your daddy comes home to a dirty house and a Joel in your sheets. 

He pulled away, the kiss ending in a sharp, wet sound. 

“This. Off.” He ordered, his eyes flicked to your top.

A free hand came up, his fingers curling underneath the hem of your tank –the same impossibly tight one that your tits have been threatening to spill out of all fucking day. Rolled over your head and thrown to the floor beside your bed, bound to be forgotten about and eventually hidden away underneath your bed skirt to be found again in the coming months.

Willing and ready you found yourself leaning in on your knees, hovering over his lap as you squirmed out of your shorts. Joel’s hands reached to pull it down your thigh at his best attempts to help you. Quickly those hands came in focused on his own clothes, his dick suffering underneath the confines of his tattered jeans.

He worked the clasp of the belt with his thumb, struggling to manage precise movements while the only light spreading into the room would be the pale glow of the moon that snuck through the slit between your curtains. Finally with a click the belt had loosened, able to thread out from the loops of his jeans, falling to the carpeted floor with a muffled sound of metal clanking against itself. 

Leaning back you awaited what you knew was to come- nearly whimpering just from the twisting low in your belly. Thick digits clamped the zipper of his jeans as he pulled it down. After a few difficult tugs down his thighs his cock sprung out. Quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it motion accompanied by the sound of the thick length slapping up against his tummy.

Luckily, you didn’t blink. 

You couldn’t sit, not yet at least. Your body stilling as your brain faltered for a moment, the sight of his painfully blushed tip, precum crying from the slit– well, was distracting. It made you ache.

You stood up, your legs bucking as you tried to fight off the dizziness, giving Joel time to kick off his jeans as you kicked your shorts off of your ankle, your panties followed up. It was slow, it was fucking messy. It was two seconds away from his palm and your waist already missed the warmth. Luckily, he was quick to the scene.

His hands squeezed into the plush of your thighs, pressing his nose into your navel, craning his head forward to draw a path down to your pelvis, pressing a firm, sweet kiss to the soft skin. The pull his hands were giving your legs was silently telling you he was ready. His bare chest inflating and deflating with every long, deep breath. 

Something different twisted in your gut now. You were anxious. 

“You know I haven’t–” 

“I know.”

He did know. But he also knew a couple other things too. He knows how you fuck your pillow every night to the thought of this, he knows how you make your fingertips abuse your clit till your wrist burns. Secrets that had flurried out of your lips as you two stumbled through the doors earlier that night. 

Things you most definitely admitted to too quickly, though, you felt it couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sit. He ain't goin’ in on his own.” He said simply. Truthfully, he made a good point. 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you slowly began lowering yourself, his hand splayed on your lower back. Closer… Closer. Until you were there, your warm, wet, bare pussy pressed against his writhing dick, now bowed between your folds. Safe and warm but not quite happy. 

Joel was shocked he hadn’t lost his mind yet.

His fingers crawled up behind you, finding the clasp to your black push-up bra and undoing it, letting it fall into his grasp before– you guessed it, throwing it to the other side of the fucking room. 

He brushed your hair out from blocking your breasts, the flesh tender, swelling with each breath. 

“Fuck me. Why’ve you been hidin’ these from me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, an act of attitude turning into one of pleasure half way as his calloused thumb runs over a half-hard nipple. 

“I wouldn’t have minded if you noticed them before.” 

You knew your pussy was making you say that. Though, there lied some truth. You couldn’t say if Joel did walk up to you and grab your tits before all this that you wouldn’t have slapped him across the cheek. 

He swallowed as he let his face nestle between your breasts, his nose dragged up your sternum before halting at your collar.

“You would’ve.”

He stated. Simply. The palm of his right hand soothed down your waist, running his thumb across the divot between the top of your thigh and your hip before working over to your cunt. Pressing the pad firmly against your clit. Swelling up under the hood. 

“You like touching yourself here?”

Oh great, he remembers. 

Oh fuck, he remembers. 

“Yes.” You breathed. The feeling making your hips stutter into the touch. 

You were quick to get impatient especially in your pretty little head beneath every other disgusting thought, you really knew you didn’t need the foreplay, or, any more at least. You came for the real deal and that’s exactly what you wanted from him. Needed.

“Fuck me Joel, c’mon.” You were frustrated.

He would’ve told you to wait another minute, get real ready which is what he was making sure you were. He could feel how you pulsed against his cock. The pressure he felt in his length was unbearably numbing. 

He guided your legs to tie a knot around his hips, wrapping a strong arm against your lower back. 

“Gonna put your hand here– right on my chest.”

Your fingers had clung around his thumb as he guided your hand over, splaying your palm flat against his chest, his nipple pressed between your middle and index. 

“Like that?” You questioned, bordering innocence. 

“Like that.” 

Your other hand rested on his knee, that light touch turned into a firmer grip at the feeling of his cock jumping between your slit. It was a warm, sticky mess of precum and your own juices. 

“Lift.”

His breath fanned out against your neck, a warmth already creeping up your skin there. You obeyed once again, lifting your hips just a bit so he could grab ahold of his base. Trying to ignore the pulses, he glided his cockhead through your labia. Puffy, aching, leading a path to your opening. Drenched. 

It’d be a tight fit, that was for fuckin’ sure. 

He started slow, pushing– pushing. His head in a constant nod to check between your entrance struggling to stretch around his bulbous head and your beautiful, little face. 

“Breathe.” He reminded. “C’mon babygirl, let ‘Im in.”

Your hand moved up, cupping his nape instead of contently settling on his chest. You had to breathe. 

You let out another mewl as it got heavier– the pressure, the feeling of him invading your cunt. He was unnaturally large. You could excuse that maybe the female body wasn’t built to take a cock so over the six-inch mark. 

That was until you felt it: Your muscles relaxing enough to take him in with a tender inhale. Popping past your virginity, your eyes glossed over as you finally let out the moan that had been stuck in the middle of your throat since you got in his lap. Your fingers threading between the damp curls that fell against the back of his neck. 

“There she is.” His breaths were quick to turn shallow, feeling your muscles clamp down. An unwelcoming-welcome into your walls. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl…” 

“Joel–” You’d whimper, the feeling was heavy, tight. You could only imagine how he felt. 

A broad hand finds your hip, guiding you into quick, strong movements as you worked your hips back and forth, soon enough– bouncing. Joel’s balls were heavy, hitting your ass in a staccato rhythm. He was a pleaser, there wasn’t a second doubt about that fact. He fucking needed you to feel every. Last. Inch. 

Though, there was a dichotomy. Fucking your brains out or trying his best to find the words to help you. Teach you. Ultimately, it had to be the second option. Another deep pump and his head curved to kiss a soft give on your gummy walls making you moan. Loud.

If only your eyes had the strength to open– turn your head to the side to look at the hands of your clock, though in the dark room you wouldn’t have much luck anyway. Dad would be home around one– AM, Jesus Christ, It’s not that you had hoping that Joel’s old cock would be outta you soon. But at this rate, you’d need to clean, do the dishes– wash your fucking sheets now, apparently. Worry was quickly fucked out of your head, an uncontrolled rut of Miller’s pelvis led to his tip bumping into your cervix, grazing along the tissue. Fuck, that made your head spin. 

“Don’t think.” He noticed. His lips pressed against the top of your breast, hands sliding to your ribs.

“He’s too big to think, daddy.” Shaky. You had enough in you to tease him. 

His lips traced all the way to the tip of your nose, planting a firm cloying kiss there. Then your cheek, your eyelid as it fluttered shut. He could’ve came right there. He pulled you closer, his hips jumping into yours. Every now and again the rocking would get fast– thrusts mean before they slowed to calm again. His brows knitted together before he found himself taking your hand into his again. Sacredly bringing it to his chest for the second time, right below his clavicle. 

“Right there– feel that? Feel how fast you got my heart goin’, baby?” 

At first you could think the worst and assume he was trying to insinuate he was going into cardiac arrest– no, he wasn’t that elderly. W–was he? 

“I– I do.” You stammered. Nodding quickly as you pressed your hand deeper.

But once you really felt it. Heavy bumps against the middle of your palm. A fast thump-thump-thump–. It wasn’t long until you felt your gut twist. Your mouth fell slack with a sharp whine, you could feel every motherfucking vein throbbing, your walls gloving him tight, giving him zero room to breathe. 

“I do.” 

You repeated. Your thighs felt hot. Hot as in; like all the blood in your body decided to all go there. Making them buzz, your legs occasionally kicking out. Now with your body ready and begging, screaming to just reach that climax already, you were really fuckin’ struggling. It was a war between you, your body and Joel’s cock. You’ve never tried harder to keep a poker face in your life. You were teetering the line, you were gonna cum. Joel could see that. See your facade slipping. 

“She’s real good, y’know.” He said, “Squeezin’ me like she needs it.” 

“She does.” You were quick to reply to his praise, it sounded more like a cry than anything. Something that was making his ego inflate. And his cock. 

“Hurry– my– Jesus. Christ.” It was like he was waiting for your next words to push deeper, harder. His thrust pausing midway to really drive himself in. “Dad– dad’s gonna be home soon–” 

Joel bit back a smirk at the mess he was making of you. Understanding how it must’ve felt for you. Poor, pliant girl. Completely cock-drunk and there was no way around the fact. Your body squirming, wriggling against him. His fingers dug into the soft plush of your ass. 

“Hm? Daddy’s right here, baby.” He cooed.

Oh, you were gonna fucking kill him after this. 

He withdrew, his jaw slacked as shallow, shaking breaths puffed out from salvia slicken lips. The slick, glistening head of his dick quickly forced right back into you, continuing the rhythm he had found that perfectly suited. Back and forth. Back. And. Fucking. Forth. 

His eyes locked on you. Not your face: your thighs, him between your thighs. The bump-out in the low of your tummy showing just where his cock was. His thumb ran right above where his base was buried, up, up, finding that pretty pink pearl hiding beneath the surface. With a firm pressure, he began thrusting his thumb forwards and back. Your cunt fluttering every time.

“Feel that? Feel me?” His cock curved up, pressing against yet another dizzying spot.

Your slender fingers moved down your highly sensitive body, haphazardly ghosting over your low stomach. And there you felt– him. So close, so intimately close. 

“C’mon, cum f’me, baby. I know you need’ta…” He urged.

It was your final straw, apparently your body’s as well.  

“Fuck, fuck–Joel–!” You felt the knot in your pelvis pinch tighter. “Daddy– fuck–!”

It was a choked cry as your hands spastically found his shoulders, fingers squeezing into the muscle painfully hard. A thick, pulsating numbness that made your walls spasm around Joel’s cock, forcing your head to be thrown back, eyes squeezing shut. You wanted to scream. Your body scorching hot, every damn inch of you. It wasn’t an orgasm you had given yourself from pure clitoral. No, so fucking different. It was– wetter. Joel’s hips slammed upwards a final time. This time faltering, stopping to press right into you as he came. Balls drawing up as thick, hot ropes of semen filled your poor, abused cunt. Painting your walls an opaque white. 

“Shh shh– s’okay.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, salt and pepper facial hair tickling, testing your sensitivity. 

Your clit rubbed against the greying, wiry curls crowning his base, a mixture of your orgasms dripping down his shaft, your lips parted, heavy pants mixing with whines continued to shamelessly drip off your tongue. And suddenly, Joel stopped, you swore, from what you could see, the color drained from his face– 

“Pill?” 

Pill–? The fuck was he– oh.

Oh, motherfucker. 

The aftershocks of your climax still buzzed throughout your body, clouding every inch of your breathing– the fog especially swelling inside your head, though, you mustered up enough to reply.

“I thought I told you. No.”

You stated. Firm.

Funnily-e-fucking-nough, you did tell him. Granted, maybe it was mutterings of a half-baked version of you, but, inevitably, still you. Your head fell forward into his chest as his hand wrapped around his base, wincing as he pulled himself out of you. His dick throbbed, aching to bask in your warmth once again. It was one helluva way to kill a moment. Whatever moment that was supposed to be. 

Your body still bloomed with warmth as he laid back with you, soothing his palm down your arm.

“The pharmacy is right on my way here.” He murmured. “I’ll pick up Morning After’s before you even wake up.”

His promise was calming to you, a lazy smile came over your face as you relaxed with him. He was trustworthy, this wouldn’t be a man who’d say something like that and not follow through, this was, well, Joel. It was Joel. 

You could always rely on Joel. 

Sweet silence was soon rudely interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling into the asphalt, Fuck fuck fuck! That was your dad’s truck, the brights shining blindingly through your sheer drapes, you and Joel laying in bed, well, like deers in headlights.

You so rudely pushed away from Joel, stumbling over to the bath robe hanging on the knob of your closet door– and Joel, well, was too fucking slow is what he was.

“You need to get the fuck out!” You hissed.

Joel, standing in the middle of your room with a cock still slick with both of your cum, scrambling to find his fucking boxers– did you have a fucking void in your floor?! He picked his jeans up, tripping into them as you placed your hands on his arms, pushing him towards the window–

“Jesus, sweetie– h-hold on–!” 

That’s the thing, you couldn’t. As soon as you heard the front door open your stomach sank, nauseatingly low.

“Out, NOW!” 

You were harsh, sure. But for all the right reasons. You felt bad kicking him out in unzipped jeans and no shirt, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead only forcing him to do the walk of shame alllllll the way back to his house. Which luckily was only a block away. Anyone with eyes and a window facing the sidewalk could see him– so theoretically, everyone in the neighborhood. 

You were just about to slam the window shut into his fingers before he stopped you, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb running along your bottom lip like he had the time. 

“See you in the mornin’.” 

He smiled. Lazy, tired. But genuine. It made your stomach flutter. 

“See you…” You returned the smile. Shutting the window as silently as you could as you watch him stumble his way out of your yard. 

The fact you had turned this poor, fifty-seven year old man into a hormonal teenager again was starting to set in.