#pedro pascal smut

[4ever-feral]

Instant turn on: Pedro lighting up a cigarette 😩

[littledes1re]

Neighbours help

Pairing: Neighbour!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Summery: when your Fridge breaks down in the middle of the day, what can you do other than ask your grumpy old Neighbour to fix it? aka thigh riding🫠

Warnings: 18+, praise kink, pet names, teasing, fingering, slight overstimulation, thigh riding, MEAN!joel, but a softie at the end, big age gap! (reader is 25-26/ joel is 60), kinda naive!reader, Dom/sub undertones, somewhat pervy!joel, mocking, joel embarrasses reader, reader get’s called dumb little girl twice, reader is really sensitive and cries in this, slight darcyphilia

A/N: I know nothing about repairing fridges y‘all. Also english is not my first language, feedback is very much appreciated. First time writing a bigger fic piece, bare with me please😭

Watching your neighbour sit down on your table after trying to fix the fridge in your apartment. His reading glasses on, looking trough the little instructions book that came with your fridge, a grumpy huff leaves his mouth. Your eyes fall to his white scruffy mustache and beard and then to his slicked back hair.

He looked so old— he was old.

Too old for you to sit there and stare at him while clenching your tights. But could you blame yourself? Grumpy face, pinched eyebrows, that tall and big build, his big biceps (you saw him once in a tight shirt in summer and your breath hitched), his ability to take everything into his hands and the stern demanding personality.

„What‘cha staring at, girl.“ he grumbled, clearly annoyed, his brown eyes landing on you.

Well, one contra point was, that he was so mean to you. Always rolling his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips, seeing you in the floor to your apartment, always having something rude to say even if it‘s mumbled under his breath. Always so impatient, never saying thank you and thinking he knows everything better than you. You tried your best to be nice and friendly to him, but he just didn‘t want you around, grumpy, irritated and so god damn—

„cat got‘ya tongue?“

You came back to your senses, realising you just have been staring at him like a fish out of water, mouth gaped and focused just on one spot. A little breath left your mouth, then a cough. Trying your best to be annoyed with him, you rolled your eyes.

„N-no. I‘m just waiting for you to finally do my fridge“ putting an attitude, but failing miserably because you were so so nervous around him.

„Can just leave, whenever I want y‘know…“ he starts „leaving you there with your rotten food in your fridge because we both know you can‘t fix it yourself, didn‘t even try it yourself, before coming up to my door bein‘ all ‚joel this‘ ‚joel that‘“

Oh he sounds so annoyed. But you can‘t help but feel more turned on than you already are, just the way he mocks you and knows that you can‘t talk back at him because you need your fridge to work again. He has a stern face on while he watches you, the little book lying on the palm of his huge hands. Your eyes slowly wander to his legs and torso, the way his lap looks so huge and so comfortable for sitting.

He coughed.

Your whole face turning red, you just wanted to crumble and roll into a ball so he didn‘t see you anymore. The worst of it all, his eyes landed on your tights and he saw the way you clenched them. There was no doubt he understood what was happening and you needed to get a grip and stop with those weird thoughts.

„Come over here and make yourself useful, c‘mon“

You stood up, your legs wobbling and the your silky short pyjama wasn‘t helping as he stared down your torso his lips forming into a little smirk, making you question his motives, scared that he will make fun of you again or worse, just straight up ask you what you want from him.

Standing besides the table you looked at him, trying your best not to look nervous and but it was all crumbling as he shifted in his seat and parted his legs just more, leaning into the chair and tapping on his thigh. Was he teasing you?

„C‘mere read this to me“ he tapped on his thigh again and your mouth dropped open. You looked at his smug face and then his thigh, not knowing that to do.

„Y‘have better eyes than me, girl“

So you moved around, holding on into his board shoulders, looking into his eyes and sat down on his lap. His hands gripping you, holding you tightly to make you sit comfortably, you moved a little bit, feeling his buldge underneath you grow. You don‘t even know what you were doing. As you comfortably sat down and grew silent, looking into his face, his eyes scanned your body, eyebrows pinching and he started…laughing.

„Dumb little girl, seeing a mans lap and immediately wanting to sit on it. Completely forgetting that I asked you to read this, huh?“‘

He held the book up, swaying it from left to right in front of you. Your face heat up again, blood rushing trough you because of what he called you. You couldn‘t help but buck your hips slightly, your panties earning a wave of gush, making him chuckle because now it was visible, your shorts were incredibly thin.

„oh i know. I know, baby. C‘mon turn around and read this f‘me will you?“ he cooed, making your shoulders drop your bottom lip turning into a pout and your inside‘s into mush. He rubbed down your back and pat slightly on to your bum, making you stand up again. Breathing heavy you stood there and looked at him, completely dumbfounded, not used to being handled like that.

He grabbed your hips again, sitting you down this time the right side, so the table was in front of you. His legs were together and you sat on top of them, your legs dangling from the sides and his head coming on your left side nuzzling into your neck, prepping few light kisses on your jaw and neck. The heat between your legs just growing more and more, feeling yourself get desperate for every touch he gives, getting dizzy at his smell and the beard tickling on your neck.

„There’s something written here in small print, my eyes not been the same the last 10 years, girl. Can make out what it says hm?“

His talking right into your ear sending shivers down your back, you wanting to just nuzzle into him more, not wanting to read and not wanting him to tease you anymore.

„mhm. S-says…—that it can happen that if too much food is in there, it can get too cold and it shuts it self down.“ you mumbled, your voice coming out small and shaky, even tho you didn‘t want it to be. Yes, he was making you feel absolutely feral but you still felt stubbornless, didn‘t wanna give in so easily but your body was betraying you. His buldge was just growing more and more against you. Pressing up into your wet panties, slowly but surely getting you off with just small movements on your clit.

Biting back a whimper, a moan, everything.

„Look at ya, can think well and do something you get told when you want it huh?“

You didn‘t answer, his hands on your body exploring your chest, rubbing circles everywhere, going down to your tummy, the warmth making you feel too much, you start to slightly move on his buldge, a whimper leaving your lips, another gush soaking your panties.

And he just laughs. Fucking laughs and goes back with his chair, suddenly removing his hands and you almost fell into the ground, holding tightly on the table, legs shaky and breathing heavily. You turn around angry, wanting to punch that smugness off his face. You felt embarrassment running trough your body, anger, but also a pulse on your clit, hating yourself for that, your body betraying you once more.

Feeling defeated you just looked at him, the fabric of your shorts now clinging with the wetness of your undies, totally visible. Tears coming up, trying your best to suppress them, that‘s what he wanted wasn‘t it? Just making fun of you for wasting his time like that, he couldn‘t stand you and you totally got off to that.

„Oh, poor baby.“ he mockingly coos, „standing there all embarrassed, with soaked panties and tears in your eyes.“

„Can y-you just go? you already did enough.“ you mumbled, deep down hoping for him not to go, to really mean it and to take care of you. But he wasn‘t that kind of man.

At least you thought so.

Suddenly his hands reached for the hem of your shorts, looking into your eyes a unexpected curiosity and genuineness. His eyebrows quirked up, like he was asking for permission, the room fell silent and he waited patiently for your answer. You could not longer take it, so you nodded your head.

His hand gripped your shorts and pulled them down, your hands coming and gripping his shoulders to balance yourself. He helped you get away from them and as you stood there with only your panties he took a good look at you, his glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose as he enjoyed the sight.

„yeah, you need this“ he mumbled, suddenly thumbing at your mound over your undies, making you a whine leave you. You latch on to his shoulders just more, your shaky legs not knowing how to act as he rubs little circles on top of your clit.

„p-please. Just please“ you whimper.

„Begging an old man to take care of you, aren‘t you ashamed huh?“

You shook your head, no. Because everything was just forgotten but his fingers on your heat. He cupped your pussy, slowly sliding your underwear down, big string of sticky wetness leaving you, as you held your breath.

„God damn it, girl. Dripping like a faucet.“

Nodded your head impatiently, his gaze fixed on your pussy, while his one hand was palming himself trough his jeans.

„Just needed someone to treat her like the dumb little girl she is and she starts to absolutely gush.“

His words were spinning inside your head, the pleasure was too much to bare, you could almost feel yourself coming from his words alone, the tears and embarrassment long forgotten, you just wanted him.

„Sit down, not gonna repeat myself. That‘s all you will get“ he told you, stern, tapping on his thigh. You pouted, not liking the tone of his voice and not wanting only his thigh but his cock.

You slowly sat down on his thigh, him allowing you to get comfortable, your hands on his biceps, his hands on your waist stabilising you. After you sat down you could finally could take a good look at his face. The age spots, all those wrinkles, big puppy brown eyes and his beautiful white hair. You neared your hand to his glasses and slowly took them off, closing them and putting it on the table. His smugness was gone, but his eyebrows were still pinched, he still looked mean and grumpy.

While your juices soaked his thigh he cupped your cheek, wiping the almost dried out tears away, giving you a kiss on top of your forehead. You pouted, wanting him to kiss you on the lips, but he shook his head.

„Gonna give you something to pout about, if you don‘t stop. Y‘just need to get this little pussy off and that‘s all what i‘m gonna give you. Not want your annoying little ass anywhere near my apartment anymore, s‘that clear?“

The pout on your lip going away, a sting on your heart appears. He was just a mean man. He didn‘t want you and he still found you annoying. But that was quickly forgotten, as the pleasure was not longer to bare, you would take everything he gives you at this point.

„Uh-huh“ you nodded your head, but him noticing your disappointment also.

„Yeah, s‘a good girl.“ his hands gripped your hips, slowly but surely he started to move you on his thigh. The rough and textured jeans on your swollen pussy felt just right. You mewled; biting down on his jacket, his lips grazing on your temple „shhh, shh“ calming you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, suddenly becoming soft and sweet to you.

„please.“ you whisper, not even knowing what you are begging for.

„so desperate aren‘t ya, sweet girl. That no enough for you hm, my thigh?“ he coos, shaking your head fastly, scared that he will take away his thigh and leave you high and dry so it‘s better to just take his thigh and get off. In which he chuckled, while rubbing all over your back, your ass and stroking your hair simultaneously.

„joel..“ a whimper.

Your hips started to buck uncontrollably, chasing your high, while he helped you with his hands, holding your ass tightly, kneading it. You didn‘t had the courage to look at him, your eyes were squeezed shut as sweet little moans fell from your lips. Joel was concentrating on not to cum in his pants like a teenager, his gaze was on your face. Enjoying the way you were getting off, cheeks flushed, eyes all swollen you looked troughly fucked and he didn‘t even give you his cock. Yet.

„little pussy all rubbed raw and swollen…“ he murmed and this was all it took for you to release all over him. Gushing down his thigh, your legs shaking and moaning so loudly that joel put his hand on your head and brought you to his shoulder so you could bite down.

„That‘s it, that‘s it. Atta girl.“

You were a whimpering mess as he let you rode out your orgasm, stroking your hair and tapping his thigh.

„Was a good one, hm? Yeah that was a good one, baby.“

You mewled loudly, telling him to stop tapping with his leg on your pussy, earning a little chuckle from him, his leg slowing down.

„Too much, eh? So sensitive sweetheart.“

The room fell silent as you buried your head into his chest, small breaths leaving your mouth, his hands soothingly storking your back, noticing your sweet breaths just becoming slower and slower, knowing you fell quietly asleep on him.

Smiling to himself, his cock was stiff hard, leaking in his pants, knowing he will get off to this scene later in his room. Just like you always do, moaning his name and getting off. The wall were thin.

I think this picture with the glasses left us all in shambles✋🏻 reblogs are appreciated!! <3

[fifers05]

officially beekeeping age 🐝

[aurorawritestoescape]

CHERRY LIPS

Clint Flood x f!reader || 4,5 k

Summary: Clint and you have a simple relationship - you fuck each other and go on with your lives. Can it stay that way? What if one night changes everything?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, age gap (the size is up to you bb), stripper!reader, Cherry is her stage name (mentioned once), Clint is in love, protective!Clint, canon typical violence (not towards reader), bratty reader, lots of banter, praise kink, FEELINGS, mention of m!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, swearing, alcohol consumption (Clint has a beer). Reader has hair.

A/n: this started as a pwp but as usual turned into something else. I hope you’ll enjoy it❤️ Sweet kisses to @milla-frenchy for coming up with the title (inspired by the song Cherry Lips - Garbage) and for beta-ing! ILYSM!😘 Dividers by @huraxy

MASTERLIST || more Clint

You walk out of the club late at night after your shift and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp air. It’s a little cold outside and a shiver runs down your spine, your skin erupts with goosebumps, but after heavy cigarette smoke of the club you relish the freshness of the night. Besides, you don’t have time to get really cold - a hot flash burns your insides when you see him waiting for you.

Clint is leaning against his blue Chevy, huge arms crossed in front of his chest, broad shoulders straining a black leather jacket. His glare tells everyone to ’fuck off’ and only to you it whispers ‘C’mere’. You bite your lip at the sight, your desire pulling you to him like a magnet.

“Hey, Cherry! How much for a bj?”

You roll your eyes, hearing some asshole shout behind you. Of fucking course. The motherfucker had the pleasure of seeing your tits, so now he feels entitled to trying the other goods out.

“I’m not a hooker, asshat. I’m a dancer,” you throw at him, not turning back, heading to the man you would give a hundred bj’s for free.

Clint’s scowl turns extra threatening when he hears the guy talk to you.

“Hey, Cowboy,” you purr, reaching the car, and Clint opens the door for you to get in, but his eyes are set on the man following you from the club.

“Are you her pimp?” the fucker asks, coming up to the car and getting into Clint’s face.

“Big mistake,” you mumble under your breath, already in the passenger seat. Through the window you watch him show Clint his index and middle fingers and yap,

“Your bitch owes me two lap dances.”

“Don’t call her that,” you hear Clint’s growl, quickly followed by a crunch of bones.

You look away in disgust and then see Clint walking around the car to the driver’s seat. The asshole is squealing on the ground, cradling his broken fingers, and you pop your head out of the window to smirk into his crying face, before Clint drives you off.

“How’s work, baby?” Clint asks as if nothing has happened, giving you a quick up and down look. After watching him stand up for you, there’s a risk of you sliding off the leather seat, but no way you’d show him how much his protection turns you on — you’re a strong independent woman after all.

“Uneventful,” you reply, grabbing a cassette tape from the glove compartment and sliding it into the player. “Well. Until you broke my client’s fingers.”

A song you love starts playing and you bob your head to the beat, humming under your nose. Clint seems to be focused on the road ahead but then he asks,

“Should I apologise?”

“No, he deserved it,” you reply with a shrug. “And I loveeeee when you’re protective of me.”

“Don’t say this word.”

“What? ‘Love’?” You furrow your brows, hearing his growl. “C’mon Cowboy, you said it, I didn’t, what’s the big deal?”

Clint doesn’t reply and keeps silently driving you through the empty streets, but electricity in the air is palpable.

Familiar feeling crawls into your chest - a mixture of guilt and anger, and as soon as it pangs your heart, you get defensive.

“Quit working for the mob and maybe I’ll change my mind. Your life's too messy for me.”

“Messy,” he repeats slowly, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel. ”Yours isn’t? That dick coulda attacked you.”

“I doubt it. But if he had, I would’ve used a pepper spray. And the mess you’re in—,” you pause, pointing a finger at the man, ”no amount of pepper spray would help with that.”

Clint chuckles bitterly, glancing your way.

”You’re too wise for your age, you know that?”

You smirk and turn to him in your seat.

“Oh, I bet you’d want me to be a lil bimbo, huh?” You make your voice higher and squeeze your breasts together between your arms, pushing them out, as you blabber, “Big clever man, please, teach me life, while I’m sucking your fat cock!”

Clint chuckles, shaking his head, but his paw darts down to adjust a prominent bulge in his jeans.

“You’re funny.”

“So what am I? Wise or funny?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Ok. Whatever you say, handsome,” you shrug and throw your shoes off. You put your feet on Clint’s lap and he rests his free hand on your ankle. His warm touch makes you purr like a cat and you melt against the seat.

You two are driving in silence, only music filling the car, both in your own thoughts, until you see his house.

Clint’s place is simply decorated, clean and always dimly lit. You love it- after strobing lights of the club your eyes and mind can finally rest, your soul feels at peace. There you’re always on high alert, your guard is constantly up - half naked, glitter on your skin and in your hair, you can’t help but feel like a prey that’s inviting a predator, grinding on some guy who would have happily taken you by force if not for the security.

At Clint’s house you unwind, relax, take a deep breath of his scent and feel yourself protected, cared for, loved.

‘Loved’.

Clint never says it now, the word alone makes his chest rumble with thunder. He did once and your reaction surprised you both. You laughed. Then you got furious.

You’d been seeing each other for a few weeks and his confession was unexpected but also cruel. Those three little words made your relationship complicated and dangerous for you. Like a rope tied around your wrists, bonding you to him. How long till that rope would be around your neck?

Clint always thought that he was invincible, a warrior no one could fuck with. But what about you? You’d seen too much shit happen to girls because of their men and you didn’t want to be one of them. So you fucked him and went on with your life. He fucked you and went on with his.

“Gonna take a shower. Wanna join me?” you purr, pressing your palms to Clint’s strong chest, when you two step into his place.

”I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. Soon they part and he hums at the taste of cherry, your favorite lip gloss flavor.

You come back soon wearing his band tee, big enough to cover your ass, and a black thong. Clint’s waiting for you on the couch, nursing a beer in his hand, deep in thoughts as usual. His leather jacket discarded, you bite your lip seeing him in a flannel shirt over a grey Hanley. The broadness of his torso, the spread of his thighs make you gush into your fresh panties.

“How was your day, honey?” you trill with a smile, padding to the cassette player on the drawer. Clint sighs and takes a sip of his beer.

“Fine.”

“Sounds like it,” you mumble and slide the cassette you made for him into the deck. You rewind it to the song you sometimes dance to at the club and smile, enjoying the sexy tune. As if by itself your body starts moving and you turn to Clint, seductively swaying your hips, your hands slowly pulling the hem of your tee up, exposing more of your body.

You saunter to the couch and stop between Clint’s legs.

“You don’t have to dance for me,” he utters, but his eyes take in everything you’re giving him.

“I know I don’t have to-,” you smirk, turning around. “I want to.”

With your back to the couch you bend over, showing off your ass, your palms gliding over your naked legs, your skin erupting in goosebumps. You bring your hand to your covered pussy and trace your seam over the wet fabric. A moan falls out of your mouth, loud enough for Clint to hear even through the music. The man growls, his obsidian eyes set on the place that’s throbbing desperately for him.

You straighten up and turn around, facing him again. Clint licks his lips, his Adam apple bobs, and you feel giddy inside seeing how turned on he is because of you. Making people horny is literally your job, but only with Clint you feel a thrill as if you’re dancing for someone for the first time.

To push him further you lift your bare foot, put it on his denim-clad thigh and slowly drag it up, up to his big bulge. When your foot slightly pushes his clothed cock, you take a sharp breath - he’s rock hard under his jeans.

Suddenly Clint grabs your ankle and pulls you to him, making you fall on his lap with a gasp.

“Bad Cowboy,” you scold him, giggling and straddling his thick thighs. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a punishment but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Quit your teasing.”

He sits up, holding you close with one arm wrapped around you, and places the unfinished beer on the side table. His strong body against yours, the way he holds you like a doll, sends a bolt of lightning to your core, and you bite your lip, suppressing a needy whimper.

Clint leans back on the couch and slides his hands under your tee. They’re so big and warm on your hips, that you purr at the feeling.

Then you bring your index finger to his face and trace a line that goes from the bridge of his nose down to his cheekbone.

“When are you gonna tell me how you got this scar?”

Clint scratches the place that you’ve tickled and gruffs,

“When you behave.”

“Never then. ‘k.” Your laughter lightens up the room and Clint shakes his head with a soft smile.

After a few moments of silence you ask,

“Why do you never come see me dance at the club?”

“I don’t go to strip clubs.”

Your brows shoot up as you remind him,

“Didn’t we meet there, Cowboy?”

Clint shifts his jaw and replies,

”Yeah, but I was working. You know it.”

“Oh, yes!” You tilt your head to the side and reminisce, ”You were so cute. Trying not to stare at my tits when I was dancing for your boss.”

You remember that day like it was yesterday. The pull you felt when you saw Clint for the first time - tall and broad, dangerous-looking. A pair of grabby hands were creeping over your body, no one would dare to stop a mob boss from groping a stripper, but you didn’t care. All your attention was focused on his enforcer, standing in the shadows. You weren’t dancing for the asshole in the chair, you were dancing for Clint.

After the lap dance, you managed to sneak a paper with your phone number into his palm and he called you the next day.

A smile tugs at Clint’s lips as he mumbles, looking almost shy,

“‘Cute’. No one ever calls me ‘cute’.”

“That’s because you’re cute only for me.” You slowly lean down and give him a teasing peck on the lips. When your eyes slide down his chest, you see that his bulge has gotten even bigger. God, you want it inside!

You grab the hem of your tee and take it off, freeing your naked breasts, your nipples diamond-hard.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Clint groans and bucks his hips up at the sight.

Your dance continues as you’re moving back and forth on his lap, bringing your tits closer to his face and then pulling away. Your clothed pussy grazes his bulge, whimpers fall from your mouth at the sensation of the rough material against your heat.

Clint’s eyes are dark as he’s watching you, they trail over your naked breasts, your heaving belly, a small triangle of your thong, stuck to your wet folds. You tease yourself with your fingers and press your lips to his thick neck. Your tongue darts out, his skin salty and hot. Suddenly Clint growls and pushes you to sit up.

“What?” you whine, already missing the feel and the taste of him on your tongue.

He is rubbing your arms up and down and says,

“Lemme look at you first.”

“Perv.” You roll your eyes, and Clint huffs a laugh but his gaze is full of longing, his hot palms trail over your skin with a softness only he gives you.

“Don’t look at me like this,” you whisper, feeling a lump in your throat.

“Like what?”

You leave his question hanging in the air, too hard to answer, to say the words out loud.

A corner of Clint’s mouth rises up but his eyes lack humour. His hand slides from your hip to your back and he pulls you closer. He presses an open mouth kiss to your collarbone, making your heart beat so hard and fast, he surely can feel it on his lips, as they trail down to your naked breasts. He kisses a spot just above your nipple and your eyes flutter shut, your body lighting up at the feeling of his soft touch and scruffy facial hair, his big hand keeping you in place.

Clint tilts his head up, his eyes are dark with lust, but there’s something else there, something warm and real. You push him back slightly, clinging to your power, refusing to accept his vulnerability, but your walls crumble when he murmurs three simple words,

“You’re beautiful.” All of a sudden, you stop breathing as he continues, “Do they tell you that?”

“Who?” You croak and clear your throat.

“Assholes you dance for.”

He leans back against the couch while his eyes are staring into your soul.

“Sometimes.” You’re not lying. Some men shower you with praise when you dance, but their words are tasteless, only Clint’s compliments make your heart flutter.

He hums, narrowing his eyes at you.

Your voice is shaky when you tell him, “I’d love to give you a dance at the club. Wanna show you what I can do.”

“You’re showing it now, baby. Doing a damn good job,” Clint smirks, watching you straddle him. He brings his hands to your tits to cup them and grazes your perked up nipples with his thumbs.

“Could I touch you like this in the club?” he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“No, I’d ask you to sit on your hands, bad boy.” You give him a smile but you don’t feel like laughing - the lust sends hot flashes through your core again and again, your pussy aches to be filled.

“Do you want me to sit on my hands?” Clint’s husky voice makes you shudder and goosebumps cover your skin as you shake your head.

Clint hums in approval, his hands now grabbing two handfuls of your ass and squeezing them. A sudden slap follows right away, not hard but strong enough for your asscheek to jiggle.

“Could I do this?”

He’s challenging you, waiting for you to beg him to fuck you.

“No,” you reply, your voice small, barely audible through the music.

He tuts as his hand snakes to your mound and he cups your heat over your panties.

“What about her? Could I touch this little pussy? So wet,” he adds, massaging it with his paw.

The reply gets stuck in your throat, you’re drunk on him, with the way he’s masterfully playing with your body, with his scent enveloping you, his obsidian eyes focused on you. Clint lightly slaps your mound to get your answer.

“Could I?”

“No,” you mumble, “you’d be asked off the premises immediately.”

He smirks, his thumb slides under your thong, and when he swirls your clit, your needy moan rings loudly in the room.

“Why the hell would I go to the club, then? If I couldn’t make my girl happy.”

“I’m not your girl.” Your whimper has just a trace of defiance.

“Keep telling yourself this,” Clint gruffs, taking in every sign of your pleasure. His thumb begins rubbing your puffy clit under your panties, but his touch is feather-light, torturous, up and down, up and down. “Lie all you want but she can’t. Always wet and warm for me, always ready to take me.”

“Huh, bet you want it to be just you and her right now.“

It’s difficult to tease him when he’s working your pussy like this but you can’t help yourself. Clint’s eyes are set on your cunt as he smirks,

“No, I like you.“

“Oh. Only like me?”

“Not only. But…” His hand leaves your heat and he brings it up to glide his thumb over your lower lip. “Sometimes you make me wanna shove something big in this pretty mouth of yours, just to shut you up.”

Clint’s words set your core on fire, the ache getting unbearable. You dart your tongue out and lick the pad of his finger, tasting your own juices on it.

“What’s stopping you, Cowboy?”

“I guess I’m a gentleman, baby.”

“Huh. So that’s why I’ve been grinding against you forever and you still haven’t fucked me? Cos you’re a gentleman?”

A thunder rumbles in Clint’s chest and he tilts his hips up, his bulge poking your centre.

“No, it's just— you always leave as soon as we’re done and…“

“And you wanna keep enjoying my amazing company?“ You finish his sentence with a giggle but he’s not laughing. It seems that you’ve hit the bullseye and the realization makes you melt.

Who has ever wanted you like that? Fully, unconditionally, sincerely?

You feel tears well up in your eyes and, hiding them, quickly push your face into the crease of his neck.

“Fuck me, Clint, please, just… just fuck me.”

Your hips start to grind against his cock bulge, your pride be damned, you need him with every cell of your body.

A fresh surge of wetness floods your core when you hear his belt buckle clank. You lift your hips so Clint could unzip his jeans, tug them down together with his boxers and pull his cock out.

You’d never tell him but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever had or seen. Long and thick, two veins bulging on the sides, a wet red tip curved upwards for your pleasure - it looks like it was made for you.

You hover over his length, your hands planted on his broad shoulders, and he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your needy pussy.

“Fuck, these are soaked. She’s less stubborn than you, beautiful. Needs me bad,” Clint smirks, brushing your dripping folds with his bruised knuckles. It’s impossible to deny that you are desperate for him, you both see it.

“Yeah, she wants it real bad, Cowboy.”

“She’s gonna get it, beautiful. I’ll give it to you both nice and hard.”

His big hand darts to grab your waist and he pulls you down. When his hot tip notches your tight hole, you brace yourself- taking him is always a challenge. You begin slowly sinking on his length and Clint grunts through his teeth when your pussy starts swallowing his cock inch by inch. When you take all of him, your ass flush with his heavy balls, a moan falls from his parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m so full,” you mewl, sitting pretty on his cock. Clint leans against the couch and thrusts his hips up, making his dick plunge even deeper into you. You cry out, the dull ache making the pleasure extra delicious. Clint’s hot wet breath fans your tits as he shudders and twitches inside you, his thick fingers digging into your soft hips.

“Haven't had any since our last date, Cowboy?” you gloat, giddy with the idea that you’re the only girl he’s fucking.

Clint retorts through heavy breaths,

“You sucked my dick at the backseat, baby. You calling it a date?”

“Fuck you,” you bite back and, feeling spiteful, rock your hips, massaging his cock with your walls, making him lose his mind.

“Easy, tiger,” he growls but how can you stop now? “Little minx…” Clint gruffs, when you start enthusiastically riding him. He pulls you flush against his chest, wraps his huge arms around your torso, rendering you completely helpless, and keeps you still.

“Ya heard me? I’ve had a hard day. Let me get used to her first.”

“Or what? You gonna bust too soon? Guess it’s normal at your age, Cowboy.”

You playfully kiss his neck but your teasing finally pushes the man to the limit. Clint plants his feet wider on the floor, the grip around your torso tightens, and he starts thrusting his cock up into your cunt with fast and rough strokes. His breathing is hot and shaky against your temple, you’re moaning and whimpering while your pussy is being ruined. You feel the stretch like never before, his thickness splitting you in two, and your eyes roll back into your head, thanks to the divine angle of his pounding. His stiff cock is rubbing the pleasure button inside your wet heat, and you rise so high and so fast, that your head starts spinning.

“Take it—take it—take it,” Clint grunts, his voice husky and strained. “ ‘s all you want, uh?— to be fucked hard?—like I don’t give a shit about you— like I don’t love you…”

You freeze in his arms, his hips still moving, his cock still jackhammering your pussy. For a few moments he keeps fucking you until you wiggle out of his iron embrace and sit up.

You’re both panting, blown out eyes locked, and you lean in and kiss him, his scruffy cheeks in your hands, your mouths desperately swallowing each other’s air. Always knowing what you need before you do, Clint begins caressing your body, his fingers writing confessions all over your skin, your tongues licking into each other’s mouths. His lips leave yours for a moment so he could say,

“Ride me, baby. Take what you need, I got you.”

You know he does. He always does. But you need to feel all of him now. So you push the flannel off his shoulders and Clint hastily takes his Hanley off.

You hungrily take his naked torso in and start dancing on his cock, slowly, sensually, gliding your palms over his broad chest, muscular arms, ruffling up his pushed back curls.

Clint’s hands don’t rest either - they start kneading your breasts, palming your hardened nipples, twitching and pulling them. You drop your head and see how perfectly your pussy is stretched by Clint’s thickness. The sight mesmerizes you, your lips part and you moan watching her swallow Clint’s glistening shaft again and again, your pearly cream sits like a ring around his base.

“Hey, keep your pretty eyes on me.“

Clint pinches your chin and tilts your head up to face him. Here it is again. That look of his that tells you volumes without words, that terrifies you, excites you, makes your heart flutter.

You don’t fight it this time. Don’t tease him, don’t throw a joke to dilute the feeling, don’t shut his wordless confession up. You let his gaze take you to your peak, make your thighs shake and pussy quiver.

You come with his name on your lips, not ‘Cowboy’, not a cold ‘handsome’.

“Yes, baby, like that, doing good for me,” Clint encourages you and bounces you on his cock, prolonging your shuddering orgasm. Then he freezes with a moan and begins exploding inside you, painting your walls with his warm load. You cling to his chest and his arms envelop you again but he’s not restraining you now, he’s holding you close, while ecstasy is rippling through your bodies. Your lips meet and you’re making out lazily, getting down from your highs.

Feeling exhausted, still spasming on his cock from time to time, you put your head on his shoulder and close your eyes with a satisfied sigh. Clint’s gentle hands glide over your tingling skin and soon they put you to sleep.

You wake up when the morning sun is peeking through the drapes in his bedroom. Clint’s on his back next to you, his breathing deep and slow. For a few seconds you’re watching him, his dark lashes fluttering, his chest rising and falling. You take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him, trace his scar with your lips, run your hands over the vast expanse of his body. You want it so much your chest hurts, but you fight it and get up. Not seeing your clothes, you grab Clint’s flannel off the chair and put it on.

“Hittin’ and quittin’ and stealing my favorite shirt,” Clint croaks behind you and you turn around with a smile. “Bad girl.” His lips are slightly curved too, sleepy eyes sliding up and down your half naked body.

“I need to go. I’ll give it back to you, don’t worry.”

Clint hums and then stretches. He spreads his big arms, huge muscles bulging, and a sheet slides off his leg, exposing his thick hairy thigh. A pronounced shape between his legs makes you salivate and you bite your lip.

“Stay,” Clint says softly. “We can go again.. Or just cuddle.“

Your eyebrows shoot up as you giggle,

“You wanna cuddle?”

“I wanna cuddle the shit out of you, baby.”

Your laugh rings loudly in the bedroom, but you’re hesitant. You’ve never stayed till the morning, never made breakfast for you two, never let him pull you too close. Yet something in you has changed tonight, the strong feeling sits warm and heavy in your belly. You crave all of that now.

The flannel shirt falls on the floor and you jump into the bed. Clint wraps you in his arms with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him and holds you close. And you let him.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💜

MASTERLIST || more Clint

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @toxicanonymity @sawymredfox @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @tateypots

[lotusbxtch]

Put My Body To Work

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader Word count: 622 Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI Tags: PWP, squirting (like this is a central part of the fic so if you don't like it, keep scrolling), unprotected PIV (do better, they're doing their best in an apocolypse), pulling out as a BC method, cum, fluids, seriously messy, allusions to fingering and oral (f receiving), Joel is a menace per usual, age gap implied but not specified, Reader is able bodied and has female genitalia but otherwise undescribed. a/n: the horny demons hath possessed me. don't know where this came from but it materialized in a group chat with @for-a-longlongtime and @mountainsandmayhem. happy hump day! bonus points if you can guess which Hozier song this is from.

Masterlist

Headcanon: Jackson!Joel finding out you’ve never squirted before — and after the apocalypse happened you didn’t really have access to any instructions on how to — and now he’s obsessed with being the first one to make you squirt. Once he gets you to do it the first time, he wants to get you to do it more often than not. 

After a little practice, he knows your body cues well enough to bring you to that peak easily using his fingers and tongue. Rhythmic, fast flicks of his wrist, his thick fingers buried in your sopping cunt, toying with your clit just right, and pressing right above your pubic bone has you crying out his name, your ecstasy spurting and soaking him at his command. Getting you there makes his chest puff with pride and salacious desire.

But now he wants you to do it on his cock.

He’s got you straddling him reverse cowgirl on his bed, both of you sitting up and facing his bedroom mirror, because he wants you to watch yourself as you squirt. 

“Y’look so beautiful when you do it, baby, want you to see for yourself,” he murmurs, encouraging you to work yourself on his dick, your body rolling and grinding and your whimpers like the sweetest song to him. Presses his big hand on your lower belly to help increase the pressure, your fingers swirling around your swollen clit.

Your thighs start to shake with exertion and he takes over, holding your hips up as he hammers into your sweet spot. Your brows knit together and your lips pop open, panting and moaning his name. Sweat shimmers like a veil across your skin and his, the scent of sex as thick in the air as the sound of your squelching cunt.

“C’mon sugar, you can do it,” Joel grunts into your ear, fingers dimpling your supple skin. “I feel you squeezing me so tight. Pretty pussy’s so soft and wet f’me.” His voice is tight with his impending release, but he’s holding himself back for you, for your pleasure. 

You feel the pressure mounting, and your whimpers become whines, louder and louder until you’re nearly screaming. Joel pumps his thick cock into you at the perfect pace, rocketing you higher and higher. Suddenly, you feel your nerves gathering at your core, strung taut like a bowstring.

“Oh fuck, Joel…” you whimper, “I think… I think I’m gonna… oh GOD…!”

The drop happens, and you shatter for him, orgasm rippling through your veins. Then, that delicious tension snaps. Just as Joel moves one hand from your hip to grip your chin, turning your face to the mirror, you squirt. Your wide eyes watch yourself in fascination as clear liquid sprays from the apex of your thighs across your lap, Joel’s cock, and the bedsheets. It is a sight to behold.

Joel moans devotedly. “Perfect little pussy squirting all over my cock… good girl, baby… so pretty….” he babbles. Then he’s biting a moan in half as he pulls out, cock pulsing and cum shooting across your pussy lips and inner thighs, dripping onto the bed.

You both collapse against each other on your sides, bodies slick and sticky. Breathing heavily, Joel whimpers as his cock gives one more small spurt against the small of your back, and then he’s kissing your neck, running his hands across the combination of fluids marking your bodies.

“Made a fuckin’ mess,” he huffs, holding you close against him anyway.

Your ass grinds against his lap, reveling for a moment in the debauched sensations. You hum contentedly, then turn your head to smirk at him, because you don’t give a damn this time. “Ain’t my turn to do the laundry, honey.”

Taglist (assuming you like horny menace Joel): @sin-djarin @penvisions @perotovar @mermaidgirl30 @whocaresstillthelouvre @jeewrites @joelmillerisapunk @qveerthe0ry @qunariagenda @syd-djarin @goodwithcheese @guiltyasdave @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @campingwiththecharmings @reallyrallyauthor @itwasntimethatdidit40 @baronessvonglitter @evolnoomym @hoeruiness @hellishjoel @kedsandtubesocks @luxurychristmaspudding @nicolethered @notjustjavierpena @javierpena-inatacvest @julesonrecord @slimybeth69 @chaotic-mystery @missdictatorme @max--phillips @ozarkthedog @oonajaeadira @ohhoneypascal

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Have mercy 🫠

✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world. 

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too. 

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own. 

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death. 

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage. 

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns. 

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath. 

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles. 

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet? 

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall. 

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight. 

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret. 

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.” 

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again. 

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you. 

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest. 

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room. 

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory. 

He softens only when his gaze meets yours. 

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter. 

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?” 

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear. 

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear. 

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—” 

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw. 

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do. 

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks. 

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself. 

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood. 

Twice, once, three times. 

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers. 

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,”  he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway.  “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,”  Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan. 

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window. 

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths. 

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?” 

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving. 

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it. 

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel. 

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you. 

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you. 

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,”  the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body. 

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.” 

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids. 

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing. 

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress.  He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life. 

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone. 

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in. 

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you. 

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor. 

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams. 

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you. 

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him. 

You find none. 

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze. 

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—” 

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks. 

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue. 

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.” 

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you. 

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender.  “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come. 

“Was it a lie?” 

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!” 

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes. 

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away. 

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat. 

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention. 

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?” 

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth. 

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity. 

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response. 

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room. 

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights. 

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist. 

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt. 

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him. 

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap. 

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering. 

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you. 

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you. 

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

[lazysoulwriter]

husband!Pedro ♡

♡ husband!Pedro that holds your hand around the house like he’s scared to lose you between the kitchen and the couch.

♡ husband!Pedro that kisses your temple every morning before you open your eyes, whispering “good morning, baby” in the softest voice.

♡ husband!Pedro that keeps one hand on your thigh during every drive, his thumb stroking lazy circles over your skin.

♡ husband!Pedro that watches you get ready like you’re magic, constantly murmuring “how the hell did I get you?”

♡ husband!Pedro that texts you “come home soon” and includes way too many heart emojis for a man his age.

♡ husband!Pedro that insists on carrying all the groceries because “my wife doesn’t lift anything heavier than her skincare.”

♡ husband!Pedro that lets you steal all the covers and just pulls you closer when he’s cold.

♡ husband!Pedro that gets drunk and rambles about how you saved his life, how young you are, and how much he loves being yours.

♡ husband!Pedro that groans like a sinner when you kiss his neck, and swears you’re going to be the death of him.

♡ husband!Pedro that grabs your chin mid-argument just to kiss you rough and shut you up because he can’t stand seeing your mouth move without tasting it.

♡ husband!Pedro that pulls you onto his lap at dinner parties and pretends it’s casual while his fingers slip just under your dress.

♡ husband!Pedro that can’t keep his hands off you when you wear anything tight, muttering “you’re trying to kill me, baby” as he palms your ass.

♡ husband!Pedro that takes his time undressing you like you’re the most expensive gift he’s ever been given.

♡ husband!Pedro that fucks you slow just to watch you beg for more, praising you with every thrust like you’re his religion.

♡ husband!Pedro that bites your shoulder to keep quiet when you ride him, because the neighbors already know your name.

♡ husband!Pedro that looks at you after sex like he just conquered something holy, whispering “mine” over and over against your neck.

♡ husband!Pedro that makes love to you like a promise and fucks you like a threat.

♡ husband!Pedro that wraps a hand around your throat and says “be a good girl and open your mouth” like it’s just another form of saying I love you

♡ husband!Pedro that keeps a photo of you naked in his wallet, not for the thrill, but because he swears it's his luck.

✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

[pedge-page]

Dream a Little Dream of Me…Getting Absolutely Railed by My Giant Stuffed Teddy Bear.

Plushies!Joel x F!Reader

Idk if anybody remembers but I had written a blurb about Plushies!Joel dreaming about Giant Teddy coming to life and fucking reader. The post got flagged so I don’t remember exactly what was on it, however I decided to re-write something based on it again. 

Warnings: Freaky Shit. Giant Studded Teddy bear comes to life and fucks you. heavy breeding kink. Cuck!Joel. Masturbation. Pregnant sex, riding, doggy and missionary style besties we do it all. sex dream. Daddy kink. dub to non con if you count sleeping Joel fucking awake reader.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

“You ever tried taking melatonin?”

Joel rolled his eyes. Jesus, all he wanted to do was rant to his brother about his sleep problems, not be prescribed some drug—

“—they sell it in gummy form. Aint a drug.”

—Alright fine, some mythical gummy bear, that will help him sleep.

“S’fine.”

“They’re pretty good. Got different flavors—“

“It ain’t the gummy bit I care about. I’m a grown man. Can swallow a regular pill.”

“Then try it.”

So that’s how Joel found himself shrugging down two fairly large sized pills, gulping it down with a glass of water.

You had just finished your shower, your skin glowing with a sheen of moisture. “You ready for bed? I brought kitty back!” You wave the infamous squishmellow out in front of you temptingly, hoping to entice your very grumpy, back-aching boyfriend into a soothing slumber. 

Joel snatches Kitty. “I’ll use her again, but I expect that ass up front.” He’d spent the last 10 minutes neatly removing most of your bed plushies and organizing them along the bench, their beady little eyes staring back at him.

With a kiss to his scruffy cheek, you drag him into the now available bed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

So there he is, with a plush shoved under his back, your body curled against his front, facing him. 

He breathes heavily, slowly, inhaling your fresh shampoo and body wash. You smelled of vanilla and mint, and it instantly soothed the rough edges of his brain. He didn’t expect the pills to do much, still a little worried that tonight would be yet another restless night. 

He’s about to just close his eyes, lie there and will himself to sleep, until he feels your fingertips lightly tracing the outline of his face.

His eyelids flutter open. “Whatchu doin’?”

“Just relax.” You press your soft lips to his nose. 

Joel grumbles but closes his eyes again, taking a deep breath. 

Your gentle touch strokes along his hair, around his ear, down his jaw, and drawn across his chin before circling round again. It did feel kinda nice. Tickled, but in a soothing way. He cleared his throat, shifting a tad bit.

“Stop squirming and just relax.”

“I am,” he grumbles back, his eyes fluttering open. he’s greeted by your sweet grin coaxing him under your charm. 

He loves lookin’ at you. 

Quite frankly, he loves living with you. There was something domestic about it he hadn’t experienced in a long time, since he was just a kid. Home. That was where you are. Despite his current sleep troubles, albeit a life of a poor and inconsistent sleep routine now catching up to him in such a newly domesticated, routinely life with you, he loves being able to say 'I’m going home to my girl.' 

…And his 200 stuffed animal roommates. But he had already become so intimately familiar with them, they didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Joel can still see Big Brother Teddy slumped in the corner of the room behind you. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Been a minute.” He nods towards the abandoned giant bear.

Your thumb glides over his cheekbone. “Yeah. But I got the next best thing right in front of me.” He smiles with you, pulling you in for an honest kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, his breath so warm and familiar against your face.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Now close your eyes damnit or I’ll blindfold you next.”

He tuts but obeys. Whatever makes you happy. Who knows, maybe this little face tickling thing will help you fall asleep, and that’s all that truly matters to him—

- - - -

He’s snoring loudly like a grumbling bear, drool trickling out of his mouth and on to his pillow. Nothing is able to stir him awake, not even your little pokes to his puffy cheeks.

Stirring his loins awake, however…

He doesn’t know he’s dreaming, although the site to behold in front of him should be a clear indicator.

Joel stands at the corner of the room, like he always does when he watches you, his little porn star, perform depraved acts on your innocent little plushes. This time was no different.

Except Big Teddy wasn’t under you. He was on top of you. 

And he was fucking.

The bear gripped your sides with his rounded arms, his hips pumping wildly between your legs. You were sprawled out, gorgeous, moaning and tossing your head in ecstasy as the bear absolutely railed you with his—his—

His giant teddy bear cock.

It was massive, filled to the brim with what he can only hope is copious amounts of cotton, and yet the fur on it matched that of the rest of him. Curly and short and fluffy, drenched in your fluids as he plunged back inside your sopping cunt.

“J-J-Jooeeellll,” you whine hoarsely.

Joel opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He has no words. Teddy’s beady eyes turn towards him. It would be creepy were it not for the way he starts fucking you harder, pounding that pussy like his teddy life depended on it.

“oH-OH fuck me Teddy that’s it..right there—yeah-yeah—uughhh fuck me Teddyyyyyyy,” you whimpered, grinning up at the bear. You cradled your arms around his thick, stuffed neck, and he embraced you. You body wrapped around him like a mating press, heels thrusting in the air, Teddy working his massive bear cock in and out of you. He can hear the squelching, like you were dripping and his member was soaking it all up.

It was the most confusing boner Joel had ever had in his life.

He was transfixed by the press of his cotton belly rubbing along your stomach, beefy arms engaging you. You looked so helpless under your big and full-of-life Teddy, yet you clung to him like someone safe and comfortable, much like how you hold on to Joel in that very same position. 

Joel could even tell when you came: your body seizing up, lips agape as your orgasm tore through you. Teddy slowed his pace, rutting into you deep and pausing there so he could feel that pussy spasm around his dick. You finally let out raspy moans, groaning with a smile, pulling Teddy’s big round ears down. And you kissed him. Tongue and open mouthed on his sewn shut string curved into a simple smile, all while your eyes looking hungrily towards Joel. Slitted and aroused in the same way you always look at him when you’ve just squired on any of your other stuffies that Joel talked you through.

And suddenly, words fall from his mouth like natural. “You ain’t done givin’ it to Teddy, yet, are ya baby?” Joel asks rhetorically. “Show Teddy what you can do.”

“I wanna ride it, Teddy,” you rasp at Joel. 

You flip the two of you over, with you now straddling his massive soft tummy. Joel finds himself seated, his cock out and painfully hard in his fist. Teddy lies back, enjoying the view of your sexy body poised above him. 

It was so oddly familiar. Joel had definitely been in that position before.

Teddy had also been in this position many times too. He could practically feel the way you ran your palm flat against his fuzzy chest, fingers sifting through the tufts of hair. Teddy rubbed his—and I cannot stress it enough myself—fingerless paws(?) across the expanse of your thighs before trailing up your waist and onto your tits.

You placed your hands over top his, letting him grope your breasts. “Teddy Bear.” You let out little pants and coos, giggling as you began rocking your hips, working him back inside you.

“Yeah, yeah that’s it babygirl. Show Teddy what that pussy can do.” Joel keeps his eyes poised ahead while he started stroking his member. “How does Teddy feel? Tell him. Tell him what you want.”

You let out a hoarse cry, riding the giant stuffed and lively animal faster. “Fuck Teddy, FUck me right there! I wanna show Teddy a good time, show Teddy what a —ugh—a good fuck I am. Mmmm It feels sooooo good inside. He’s so fucking big. I want Teddy to touch me here—“ You squeeze his paws firmly again over your breasts—“right on my tits while I ride you. I feel so safe with you, Teddy. I want you to put a baby right here—“ 

Teddy’s palm drifts lower until it’s positioned over your belly, and Joel lets out an audible groan.

“Right here Teddy, Wanna be bred with your cubs. Want your cotton filling me up till I’m bursting with your babies—fuck—fuck please—please breed me Teddy!”

Joel pumps his cock faster in the same rhythm that you’re bouncing on top of Teddy. Your thighs strain, tits jumping with each rise and fall of your sweaty body. Eventually you place both arms on Teddy’s chest, trying your best but failing to stay upright as you grind your mound on his fuzzy belly, working yourself tirelessly to release. The fur was sticky and damp with your fluids. Teddy gripped you harder, urging you back and forth, using him to get yourself off. 

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Joel groans under his breath. The schlick sounds of his fist over his dick can be heard across the room. “Fuck Teddy, FUck your Teddy bear like Daddy fucks you—make him breed you, get ya all round with his cubs—fuck baby you’d look so fucking hot pregnant with Teddy cubs…”

He feels he’s ready to burst any second now. He closes his eyes, leaning back, ready to cum, but when he reopens them, the scene has changed:

It’s like a new day, but Teddy’s fucking you from behind. Your cheeks is pressed into the duvet, ass in the air with Teddy’s paws slapping you, a satisfying smack echoes in time with the way it jiggles. You look a bit—thicker around the hips too. It’s the first thing he noticed, right before you get up on your arms slowly and reveal the very prominent second thing—

Your rounded, pregnant belly settling low. You stare at Joel’s dumbfounded expression, biting your lips with a smirk. “Do you like it, Daddy?”

Teddy wraps a possessive paw around your middle, showcasing your beautiful swollen belly. Your hand reaches behind you to sift through his fuzzy head, his button nose nuzzling your ear as he slowly grinds your ass into him.

“I—I—“ Joel’s panting really hard. He hasn’t blinked in what feels like forever. He may have thought about what you would look pregnant, but he’d never actually been able to put an image to it until he dreamed about Teddy getting you there.

Your tits swayed with each pound too, the weight of your new body forcing each pounce to have a slow reaction. 

You looked fucking amazing.

“Teddy filled ya with his cotton, did he?” Joel got up from his chair, his hand never leaving his aching member. “He get ya filled with those cubs?” 

You nod with a giggle. “Feel it, baby.” dragging his hand to your belly, Joel instinctually splays his wide palm and fingers over the heft.

“Fuck me,” he hums, amazed. He was expecting a squishy feel to it, genuinely thinking Teddy had just filled you with cotton, but instead it was hard and heavy.

“How many cubs do ya think you got in there?”

You bring your hand down to Joel’s cock, replacing his to start jerking him softly. He lets out an audible whimper. 

“I don’t know. Teddy stuffed me so full.” 

The Bear continues to pound your ass, but your attention was entirely on Joel Miller’s blazing erection.

“Say it again,” he growls, thrusting into your hands.

“Teddy bred me, Daddy.”

“Again.”

“Filled me with his cotton, knocked me up with his baby cubs—“

“Again!”

“I’m so fucking full of babies, Joel, feels like I’m gonna burst any minute—Teddy filled me with his love, I love Teddy so much daddy fuck—!”

Joel grips the back of your head and pulls you, smashing his lips onto you. He shutters all over before releasing his load, hot, sticky and blindingly good all over your swollen belly and tits. You keep stroking him, forcing him to give it all, making a white ropey mess over your beautiful body. “Fuck-fuck baby you’re so fucking hot, getting bred by Daddy’s Teddy—Daddy gave him to ya, didn’t I? Yeah—fuck babygirl fuck, knew you’d be perfect like this—!“

“JOEL MILLER!!!!”

He lets out a sudden snort, eyes fluttering open. He feels his senses come back to him: your body pressed snugly against his chest, his cock nudged between your thighs, ass hugging his balls. He has his arms wrapped around your front, caging you against him. You’re both sweating, hot and wet especially under the covers. The outline of your shoulder comes into focus, and there’s Teddy sitting lifeless in the corner still.

“W-what…?” He blinks a few times, his hold on you not letting up. He can still feel the aftermath of that glowing orgasm, his dick pulsing against your sopping pussy.

You let out a sigh. So he definitely was sleeping through it all: the humping against your ass, mumbling words and moans, then grasping your body right against him in a frenzied fuck fest. You’d thought he was gonna squeeze the air out of you. No matter what you tried, he wouldn’t get out of this trance, and started sliding his leaking cock between your legs. You were too confused and even more so aroused to be able to really put up a fight. Pumping in and out of your wet folds with desperation. It wasn’t until he was splashing his cum on your thighs, and you falling prey to your own orgasm that you heard him distinctly murmur something about your ‘pregnant Teddy cub belly’ that you had finally given up all decency and screamed, forcing him to wake.

“What…the fuck…were you dreaming about???”

- - - -

Ok found Original content i wrote!:

Based on @survivingandenduring 's wonderful find:

-----

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @romanarose

[joelsrose]

Messy

saw someone request @gothcsz for a javi version and I had to write it with joel

warnings - smut !!!!

You’d stopped trying to talk to him three orgasms ago.

Joel hadn’t looked up at your face in over twenty minutes—hadn’t asked how you were doing, hadn’t kissed your mouth, hadn’t said your name once. Because he wasn’t talking to you. Not really.

He was talking to her.

And right now, his broad shoulders were wedged between your trembling thighs, his palms holding your hips down firm, and his mouth—his goddamn mouth—was buried between your legs like he was making up for lost time. You’d lost track of how many times he’d made you come. Everything was slick now—your thighs, your stomach, his beard—and you were so overstimulated your legs shook violently every time his tongue slid up your soaked center again.

Joel’s voice was rough and gravelled as he pulled back for half a breath, looking down at your swollen, glistening pussy with something like adoration in his eyes.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he muttered, not to you—to your cunt, like she was the one answering his prayers. “So goddamn pretty like this. All messy ‘n’ twitchy for me, drippin’ like you need me down here.”

You whined something—his name, maybe—but he didn’t hear it. Or didn’t care.

“Nah, not talkin’ to you, babygirl,” he rasped, dragging two thick fingers through your folds, watching the slick stretch between them. “M’ talkin’ to her. She’s the one beggin’. Look at this mess—fuckin’ soaked.”

He groaned like it pained him to look away, then leaned in again, licking a fat, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, moaning against you like he was tasting something forbidden.

“You make me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your folds, lips dragging over your inner thigh, beard scratchy and wet. “Pussy this sweet should be illegal. What am I supposed to do, huh? Ignore her when she cries for me?”

You reached down, tried to tug on his hair, tried to pull him up toward your mouth—but he just growled and shoved your hand away.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get my mouth, baby. She does.”

And with that, he dove back in, tongue circling your clit with maddening precision, fingers thrusting into you with wet, obscene sounds, your body arching off the bed as the next orgasm built too fast, too sharp—

“She wants it,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I can feel her. Clenchin’ around me like she knows she belongs to me.”

You were crying now—shaking, begging, and he still wasn’t looking at you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered again, almost reverent. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. So fuckin’ messy. And all mine.”

[tanzthompson]

What in the blazes it's this amazing thing. And where is more?

The boyfriend act ✦ series masterlist

Summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.

Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.

Rating: EXPLICIT (+18) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Paiting: Frankie Morales x F!reader

WC: 105k (oops)

✦ fic content ✦

PART ONE: "The one with the proposal"

PART TWO: "The one with the purring traitor"

PART THREE: "The one with the birthday party"

PART FOUR: "The one with bruises and blue excuses"

PART FIVE: "The one with the Red lights"

PART SIX: "The one with the late night talk"

PART SEVEN: "The one with the unexpected visit"

PART EIGHT: "The one with Dante and Beatrice"

PART NINE I: "The one with the wedding"

PART NINE II: "The one with the wedding"

PART TEN: "The one with the skydiving"

PART ELEVEN: "The one with the things we shouldn’t talk about"

More parts to be announced!

EXTRAS:

The Boyfriend Act timeline

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics <3

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 22 pt.1- Plus One

Summary: One weekday in September, you and Javi learn that your family is getting a very welcomed addition to your family

Word Count: 15.2K

Warnings: SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving) vaginal fingering, praise kink, breeding kink (listen... she's already pregnant, but Javi's an optimist LOL), general talk of pregnancy, doctor's appointment, nausea/morning sickness, Dad to be!Javi makes me weak in the mf'in knees (I'm being so fr, the man is built to be a dad), The Murphy's/Chucho/Your family may have a gambling problem

A/N: This is me bracing myself for y'all to throw rotten fruit at me in the public square while you boo and his because this literally took 6 months AND I AM SO DEEPLY, TRULY SORRY ABOUT IT 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 Me and this chapter have been in a wrestling match since November, but she's finally here!!! I'm planning on splitting up Javi and Osita's pregnancy journey by trimester, so this chapter is months 1-3, next chapter will be months 4-6, etc... I know I sound like a broken record, but the love that you guys have shown this story and these characters legit makes me want to cry, I think part of the reason this took so long is bc after this, there's only two more chapters before NTL is a wrap, and that's a very weird thing to say. So regardless, I just wanna say I love y'all and love getting to share this story with you and I'm just feeling really sappy about it 🥹💛 OKAY ANYWAYS, YOU CAN CONTINUE WITH THE BOOING AND TOMATO PELTING, I'M SORRY AGAIN!!!!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

Month 1 

“I swear to God, if I’m already getting sick two weeks into the school year, I’m gonna cry.” 

Finding yourself hunched over your toilet bowl at 6:30 A.M. was not the way you were planning to start your Wednesday morning, but after tossing and turning for the past hour in bed with a terrible pit in your stomach, you didn’t feel like you had much of a choice. 

Being the light sleeper and worry wart he was, Javi was up with you, despite your best attempts to tell him to go back to bed, considering there was nothing he could do for your upset stomach besides watch you vomit repeatedly into your toilet. Trying his best to stay awake without his mandatory dose of morning coffee, Javi sat on the bathroom floor next to you, still in nothing but his boxers as he simultaneously rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with one hand and your back with another. 

“I think I’m just gonna start wearing a hazmat suit to school.” You sighed, sitting up a little straighter, starting to feel at least a little bit of relief after feeling like you had finally emptied the last of anything left in your stomach. “I think that’s the last of it for now. Fuck, I gotta take a shower before I do anything else to get ready.” 

“Get ready? Osita, you just spent an hour throwing up. You should be taking the day off.” Javi shot up, your proposition now making him fully awake, shocked that you would even consider going into work after the events of this morning. 

With a remorseful grunt, you pushed yourself off the bathroom floor, trying to stretch and shake out any remainder of your sickness  as you stepped over Javi to turn on the shower. 

“Jav, it’s more work for me to call in sick and make sub plans than it will be for me to just go into school. I don’t even have my normal plans ready since it’s the beginning of the school year. Worst case, Maria can watch my class if I need to throw up again, or very worst case, I bring in the rolling TV cart and put on Bill Nye the Science Guy for them.” You sighed, stripping yourself of your pajamas and tossing them on the floor before pushing open the shower curtain and slipping under the steaming flow of hot water. 

“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration at your stubbornness. “Honey, I’m just worried that-” 

“Javi, I’ll be fine. You gonna write my sub plans and teach for me today? If that’s the case, go right ahead and I’ll stay home. Seriously?” You snapped, a little more sass in your tone than you had intended, your frustrations more at the circumstances of your job and less at Javi’s suggestion. You stood in silence for a moment, the rhythmic splash of the water from the showerhead hitting the floor of the tub as your stomach began to fill with guilt in the way you had responded to Javi after he had spent his whole morning sitting beside you in the bathroom while you threw up. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” You muttered, pushing back the shower curtain to look at Javi, jaw shifting back and forth as he grinded on his teeth, trying his best to make sure his lack of sleep and coffee didn’t turn the rest of the morning into a war zone because of your comment. 

“It’s okay, Osita. What can I do to help?” 

“Can you make me breakfast?” You asked sheepishly, tears starting to well in your eyes that you had taken your anger out on Javi, and despite that, he was still offering to help. 

“Of course, baby. What do you want?” 

“Just eggs and toast.” 

“Okay. Just worry about getting ready and I’ll take care of everything else. I love you.” Javi smiled, giving your arm a little squeeze. 

Suddenly, a wave of emotion seemed to crash through your body, your wet, teary eyes now transforming to full on sobs, feeling such an intense combination of guilt and appreciation for how wonderful your husband was, and how terrible you felt that you had reacted to him the way that you did.

Just as soon as Javi was about to get up and make you breakfast while you fought to get yourself ready for work, he was back, crouched down next to you as he heard the sound of your soft sniffles and tears. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Javi asked, concern flooding his face, reaching up to wipe your wet cheek with his thumb as he cradled your jaw. 

“I’m so sorry I was so mean about that, I- I- I know you’re just trying to help. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You sighed, shaking your head and trying to laugh off your teary state. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to get so mad at you, I don’t know why I’m so all over the place right now.” 

“Hermosa, it’s okay. I promise. Why don’t you get in the shower, I’ll make you breakfast, and pack up all your stuff for this morning.” Javi smiled softly, pressing a soft kiss into your messy, morning bed head before exiting the bathroom, leaving you to finally start getting ready for the day. 

After a pain-stakingly nauseous shower, followed by eating approximately two bites of toast and no eggs, you somehow managed to make it to school on time, but spent the entirety of the day fighting for your life as waves of stomach pain and exhaustion crashed through you. As if teaching wasn’t tiring enough in itself, trying to wrangle 26 3rd graders while holding back the little you ate of your breakfast was enough to completely knock you on your ass by lunch time, leaving you to lock yourself in your room after dropping your students off at the cafeteria, praying that the hour of peace and quiet would help you make it through the rest of the day. 

Unfortunately, even with your door locked, your nosy co-workers needed to investigate why you hadn’t shown up to the staff lounge to eat, and were soon knocking on your window to demand answers for your absence. 

“Mija, what’s going on? Why aren’t you at lunch?” Maria demanded as she barged through your door, quickly followed by Estelle and Linda. “I’ve been dying to tell you about what Carlos’s younger brother did today during math and- Oh, cariño, you look terrible.” Maria’s train of thought seemed to come to a complete halt as soon as she locked eyes with you, hunched over your desk with heavy eyes and grimaced face. 

“Rude, Maria, dios mío.” Linda groaned, giving Maria a sharp jab to her ribs at her friend’s bluntness before looking over at you, trying her best not to comment as directly at your disheveled appearance. “No offense, honey, but you look like you do not feel well at all. Are you okay?” 

“It’s fine, I feel terrible so I’m sure I don’t look any better.” You huffed, scrunching your face as you stood up, trying to fight your nausea as you came to your feet. “I’ve been throwing up all morning, and when I’m not throwing up, I feel so nauseous that I want to throw up.” 

“Mija, why are you not at home?! I need to come over and smack some sense into that husband of yours for letting you go to work today.” Maria scolded, glaring at you with disapproval, arms crossed against her chest. 

“It’s not Javi’s fault, he tried to get me to stay home today too, but you guys know what a pain it is to make sub plans. It was just easier to come in today.” You sighed, your eyes traveling back and forth between your co-workers in front of you and the trash can beside your desk, feeling an uncomfortable lump creeping up from your stomach and into your throat. 

“So Javi’s not sick?” Estelle asked, shaking your head no silently in response. 

“Well it’s probably not food poisoning then…” Linda pondered, trying to diagnose your ailments, “unless you ate the grilled cheese they were serving in the cafeteria yesterday, because that definitely looked questionable. No kids in your class with the stomach bug? Chucho’s not sick?” 

You shook your head no again, this time, your eyes solely locked on the trash can, trying with everything in you to keep down whatever was bubbling up. 

The women stood quietly, thinking to themselves to try and come up with a solution for your sickness, seemingly stumped, until an ear to ear grin began to creep across Maria’s face. 

“Maybe it is Javi’s fault.” 

“Aye, aye, aye, Maria, what do you think the man did, try to poison her?” Estelle asked, the rest of you staring at Maria in complete confusion as to how Javi had anything to do with your current state. 

It was then that Linda suddenly seemed to catch on to Maria’s subtle suggestion, her smile lighting up just as bright as her co-workers while you stood there in an ever nauseous confusion. 

“What am I missing?” Estelle  asked, looking back and forth between Linda and Maria, the two ladies both standing with arms crossed and brows raised, smirking and nodding at their friend. 

“Mija, any chance that you don’t just feel nauseous, hmmm? Perhaps, emotional, tired, achy?” 

“I- I mean, yeah, but it’s the second week of school, Maria, I think everyone is tired and emotional and probably achy, too.” You groaned, scrunching your face and swallowing hard to keep the unpleasant feeling creeping up your throat at bay. 

“Oooooooooohhhhhh.” Estelle cooed, connecting the dots of Maria’s cryptic symptom description, the 3 ladies standing in a giddy mutual suspicion for your current state. 

You stood there, in a silent stare down of confusion, eyes darting back and forth between your giggling co-workers, waiting in an anxious anticipation for you to read their minds and understand why they were suddenly filled with so much glee watching you practically keel over at your desk. 

Suddenly, it hit you. 

A final, violent wave of nausea crashed through you, frantically reaching for your trashcan to bury your face in as you threw up what little you had managed to eat today, your newly emptied stomach making way for a new, very different type of wave than the one you had just experienced. 

An inevitable wave of clarity. A surmounting wave of realization. A wave of piecing together all of the little clues your body had been leaving you. 

Nauseous. 

Tired. 

Emotional. 

Sore. 

And now that you were thinking about it, your period was supposed to have started 3 days ago. 

“Oh my god…” You whispered into your trash can, hands shaking and heart racing out of your chest. “Do you think- Do you think that I’m-” 

“Mija, all I will say, is that when I found out I was pregnant with all three of my boys, I didn’t feel much different from how you are now.” Maria smirked, cutting off the rest of your drawn out thought.

Trying to find any words in your haze of disbelief, the shrill ringing of the lunch bell flooded your classroom, the 4 of you realizing that despite your new revelation, you had classrooms full of children you needed to go retrieve and teach for the rest of the day. 

“Oh, of course this is when the lunch bell decides to ring…” Linda huffed, rolling her eyes as the dinging continued, the ladies now quickly scampering towards the door to avoid getting a scolding from the cafeteria workers about being late to pick up their class because they were chatting. 

“W-wait-” You stammered, slowly trailing behind them, trying to catch their attention before they were too far gone, “Please don’t tell anyone about this. If Chucho or Javi find out before I can tell them, I-” 

“Oh honey, I know we gossip and gab like it’s no one’s business, but all of us have been in your same shoes before and wouldn’t dare ruin your special moment for you, if that’s what it turns out to be.” Estelle smiled, gently rubbing your arm in reassurance, her eyes glistening with a genuine confirmation that your secret was safe with them. 

“Besides,” Maria laughed, subtly lifting her gaze towards the sky, “If we ruined this moment for you and Javi, I think Lucia would find a way to come back from the dead, strike us all down where we stand, then drag us all back with her.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed, softly smiling at your co-workers, grateful for their understanding, a small twinge of sadness behind all of your laughter, knowing how excited Javi’s mom would have been to find out there was a chance she was finally getting the grandchild she had always longed for. 

“Now go, get out whatever is left of your lunch before the kids come back. We’ll get them from the lunchroom. Lord knows that you could be crawling towards your death bead and those little monsturos (monsters) wouldn’t show you any mercy.” 

As if perfectly on cue, another unpleasant grumble began to growl in your stomach, hunching back over your poor trash can as your co-workers scurried away, leaving you to ponder how in the world you were going to make it through this afternoon if the nerve wracking suspense, or more likely, knee-buckling nausea, didn’t kill you first. 

Some way or another, you managed to make it to the last bell, locking up your classroom and sprinting out to your car before the last busses had even left, driving like a NASCAR racer to the nearest drugstore. You left CVS with no less than 3 different types of pregnancy tests, not wanting to take any chances that something strange or faulty was going to stop you from getting the answers you had been dying to know since lunch. 

The rest of your ride home was a terribly unsettling mixture of nerves and anticipation, wondering if the pounding feeling in your gut was because you actually needed to vomit, or you were just so anxious that you felt like you could at any second regardless. 

As you pulled into your driveway, you were thankful to find that there wasn’t some strange reason that Javi had beaten you home today, grabbing your shopping bag of pregnancy tests from the front seat, and foregoing anything else you had to bring in from your car as you bolted to the front door. 

Your dog, Bear, was ecstatic to greet you upon your return home, his tail wildly wagging and thumping as you walked through your entryway, feeling guilty for not giving him the same amount of prolonged love and attention you normally would when you returned home, rushing him to the backyard to go to the bathroom after being inside all day so you could do the same. 

While Bear trotted around in your backyard, finding a good place to do his business, you were rushing over to your kitchen, rustling through your cupboards to find a cup you wouldn’t be mad had to go to waste because it had been filled with your pee. Eventually, you were able to find an old, chipped “Everything is Bigger in Texas” mug, with letters so faded that you honestly were even unaware of its existence until this point. Worst case, if it was a special mug that Javi secretly loved, you were sure a positive pregnancy test would warrant its use to be filled with your urine. 

Bear let out a happy bark at the backdoor, stumbling his way into the house and immediately gluing himself to your side, practically in lock step with you as you grabbed your mug and CVS bag before making your way up the stairs to your bedroom, plowing open the attached bathroom door to spread your contents all over the countertop. 

Normally, you would have been a little annoyed that Bear had followed you into the bathroom and plopped himself down right next to your feet as you sat on the toilet, awkwardly shifting the mug between your legs, focusing as hard as you could to pee, but there was something calming about your big, goofy, golden retriever settling right beside you, keeping you company. 

After you had finished peeing way more than probably needed into the cup, you carefully set it next to you on the counter, grabbing each box of pregnancy tests and opening them to read the instruction manual inside before plucking a wrapped test out of each. 

Your hands were shaking so badly at this point, you were shocked you hadn’t dropped anything yet, because knowing your luck, it would have been the cup of pee all over your bathroom floor. Carefully, you unwrapped each of your 3 tests with trembling hands, uncapping each before dipping them into the yellow liquid, ready to embark on the longest 5 minutes and 15 seconds of your life. 

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” 

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” 

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” 

With all of your tests dipped, you flipped them face down, looking over at the digital clock by your toothbrushes to see its bright red numbers read “4:52”, readying yourself to count down the seconds until it reached “4:57”. 

Years may have well been passing with each minute that went by, anxiously pacing back and forth across the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, every single emotion you had ever felt in your entire life now festering at the forefront of your mind, feeling like your life was flashing before your eyes, time ticking down before 3 little plastic sticks determined if the course of your life was about to be forever changed. 

The excitement of picturing your belly grow, carrying life that you and Javi had made, knowing what a good father Javi would be, and what an amazing family the two of you, maybe soon to be three of you would have together. 

The anxiety of wondering if you were fit to be a mom, all the mistakes you could make in raising a tiny little human and bringing them into a world you wouldn’t always be able to protect them from. 

The bittersweet melancholy of watching your friends and family embrace your child into their lives, showering it with love and joy, when some of the people that you and Javi had cared about most wouldn’t be there to partake. 

The indescribable feeling of knowing that your life would never be the same- for better, for worse, through the highest highs and lowest lows, your journey would no longer be just about you or Javi, it would be for your own little family. 

You could feel your heart practically beating out of your chest as you paced up and down the length of your bathroom, Bear trailing behind you in lock step as you took your final lap, watching the clock finally hit 4:57. 

For as badly as you wanted to look, you almost couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, the first test you grabbed still flipped over in your hands, test results facing the bathroom counter. 

You took three deep breaths, each one longer and slower than the last, holding the test in your trembling hands before opening your eyes to see the fate of yours and Javi’s future laying in your palms. Because there in your hands, was the start to the rest of your lives. 

Two pink lines. 

You almost couldn’t believe it, frantically scrambling for the other two tests, flipping them over much more haphazardly than you had the first, praying with everything in you that the first test wasn’t just a fluke. 

Two more sets of two pink lines. 

“Oh my god…. Oh my god?!” You whispered to yourself, tears beginning to well in your eyes in blissful disbelief, mouth shooting over your hand to cover the audible gasp that escaped your lips, now stretched in the widest smile to have ever graced your face. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Oh my god?!” You couldn’t stop chanting it, the phrase spilling out of your mouth as the only sentence your brain could manage to comprehend. 

Holding each test up one at a time, over and over, you kept inspecting them, making sure your eyes weren’t playing some sort of dirty trick on you, that you were imagining the extra line you had wanted so desperately to be there. After holding up each test in every corner of your bathroom, triple checking under any different lighting you could find, there was absolutely no denying that you weren’t crazy or imagining things in the slightest. 

You were pregnant. 

You stared at your tests for what felt like hours, so overwhelmed with joy and emotion by those two pink lines, that there was nothing else in the world that existed in that moment besides you and the new life you had beginning to grow inside you.  Tears welled in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks as you tried to process everything you were feeling, body trembling with astonishment and shock. 

You were going to be a mom. Javi was going to be a dad.  

Javi was going to be a dad. 

Javi. 

Oh my god, you needed to tell Javi. 

The realization struck you enough to rattle you out of your staggered state, heart racing even faster as you came to the realization that you needed to let your husband in on the happiest news of your life. 

So lost in your own world upstairs, you had been paying no attention to the time- For all you knew, past 4:57, time simply didn’t exist anymore. But for everyone else that wasn’t living in your blissfully unaware bubble, including Javi, time existed just as it did on any other day, and the all too familiar of his truck pulling into the garage as the door rumbled open meant that the time of day he made his arrival at home had come. 

When you thought about telling Javi about your pregnancy, you had imagined some sort of cute surprise for him- Balloons, a cute baby onesie, a pregnancy test wrapped up in a box, maybe even a mug with #1 dad on the side. But as Javi’s key turned in the door, his footsteps trailing downstairs, you knew there was no way you could keep your news a secret long enough to even make it out of the bathroom without telling him, and in all actuality, your body was still in such a state of shock that you don’t think it would have let you move, even if you tried. 

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Javi shouted, tossing his keys and work bag on the kitchen counter, pausing for a moment as he waited for your response. Hearing Javi’s voice, Bear barreled through the bathroom door, sprinting downstairs to greet him, leaving you alone, still frozen in place, pregnancy test in hand. 

“Hey, buddy!” You heard Javi greet your dog from your statue-esq position from the bathroom, “How’s my good boy, huh? Where’s your mom? Osita? Where are you, baby?” With a few happy barks, Bear was scrambling across the hardwood of the kitchen floor, bolting his way back up the stairs, paws thumping with every step. You could hear Javi beginning to follow behind, pace quickening as he followed the path of your dog. 

“Hermosa? You upstairs?” You could sense the concern growing in Javi’s voice at your lack of response, making his way to the top of the stairs. 

It was like the pathway from your brain to your mouth had completely shut down, trying to speak, to say anything to let Javi know where you were, but the sudden wave of nerves that had overtaken your body had only left you more stuck, praying that where you were was the first place he’d come to look. 

“Baby, are you up here? Are you okay?” Javi asked, hearing his voice travel closer to you as he nearly sprinted down the hallway, finding his way to your shared bedroom. Seeing the light beaming out of your bathroom gave him some sense of relief that he may find you there, trying to steady his nervous breathing as he peeked through the doorway. 

“J-Javi-” You sobbed, your tears immediately making Javi wrap his arms around you, embracing you in the tightest hug he could, cradling the back of your head as he held you pressed against his chest. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Shhhhhh, baby, it’s okay. I’m here.” Javi cooed, gently swaying you back and forth in his grasp, giving you a moment to collect yourself as he felt your tears begin to subside. “What’s wrong, Osita? Got me worried sick when I couldn’t find you.” 

His hand shifted to cup your cheek, forcing your gaze up at him, carefully wiping the tears streaming down your cheeks with his thumb, the concern pooling in his big brown eyes only overwhelming you with more emotion. 

You were honestly shocked that Javi hadn’t noticed the test still in your hand or the other two on the bathroom counter, quietly laughing through your happy tears, making Javi cock his head in utter confusion. 

“Osita, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Javi asked, completely puzzled by your response. 

You gently tilted your head towards the bathroom counter where your pregnancy tests lay scattered across its surface. At first, you were convinced that Javi was so concerned about you, he didn’t notice anything suspicious, his eyes quickly darting over to the counter before shifting back to you, his face even more confused than before. 

You nodded back to the counter again, this time making the motion a little more obvious, staring at the tests until Javi’s gaze wandered in the same direction as yours, heart pounding in your chest as you watched his expression shift from complete and utter confusion to absolute disbelief. 

Javi’s hand was trembling as he reached down towards the counter, carefully picking up one of the tests. With two glaringly obvious pink lines staring back at him, Javi’s jaw all but hit the floor while you watched in real time as he put together the pieces of your puzzle. 

“Oh my- Holy Fuck. Holy Fuck. Osita, baby, oh my god. You’re- Oh my god. Baby, are- are you serious?” Javi whispered, his voice trembling in disbelief, convinced that what he was seeing was too good to be true. 

“I took 3 different tests. They’re all positive. Javi… We’re gonna have a baby.” You smiled, wetness streaming down your cheeks as you beamed at your husband, watching the gears in his mind turn as he processed that what he had heard was real. 

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He repeated, whispering it like the world’s most precious secret, the look on his face shifting from disbelief to pure and utter joy with each word. 

“You’re gonna be a dad, Javi.” 

“I’m- I’m gonna be a dad? I’m gonna be a dad. We’re really gonna have a baby?” He choked out, his smile so wide you were convinced his face had to hurt with how hard it was scrunched. 

“We’re really gonna have a baby.” You confirmed, just as much as yourself as for him, reaching up to grab his face, making sure he watched your head nod in the happiest agreement you’d ever made to anyone. 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, he hoisted you up to let your legs lock around the small of his back, spinning you around the bathroom, the two of you exploding his blissful laughter, giggles and tears while he peppered kisses all over your face. 

“Oh, I love you so fucking much, Osita. I love both of you so fucking much. You're gonna be such a good mom.” Javi beamed, carefully setting you back down as he dropped to his knees in front of you, both hands splayed across your stomach while his peppering of kisses moved to your belly. “Oh my god. Holy fuck. You swear you’re being serious? You’re really pregnant?” 

“Yes, I’m being serious, Jav! That’s why I bought 3 different tests. I wouldn’t have believed it either.” You giggled, cheeks sore from your smile. 

“When did you- When did you find out?” Javi questioned, expression still plastered with the best bewildered astonishment you could imagine, hand still resting on your stomach as he stood up. 

“Literally, like, 10 minutes before you got home. Sorry, I didn’t have a better way to surprise you, I picked up the tests on the way home and I-” 

“Baby, why are you apologizing? You literally just gave me the best surprise I could have ever asked for. I’m so fucking happy. So, so, SO fucking happy.” Javi grinned, unable to keep from kissing you, barely letting you breathe with the way he was smothering you with excited pecks of his lips. “Holy shit. I can’t fucking believe it. We’re gonna have a baby.” 

You could feel your heart swell at the way Javi’s hand had become instantly glued to your stomach, thumb rubbing across the cotton of your shirt, over and over, already filled with so much love and adoration for the soon to be new addition to your family. 

“Makes a little more sense why I was such a jerk to you this morning when I was getting ready to leave.” You sighed, apologetically rolling your eyes at Javi for your snappy behavior before leaving for work. 

“Honey, first of all, you were not a jerk, second of all, you’re pregnant, and even if you weren’t, I felt bad and just wanted to help you feel better.” Javi smiled, boyish grin still stretching ear to ear as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Is that what made you take a pregnancy test when you got home?” 

“Oh you’ll get a kick outta this one.” You laughed, playfully raising an eyebrow at Javi, “Obviously I felt like shit at work today, which makes sense now, but the rest of my team came in during lunch time and were asking me how I could have gotten the stomach bug if no one else I knew had it, and you weren’t sick either, so it couldn’t have been food poisoning, either. Then of course, someone-” 

“Maria?” Javi scoffed, knowing exactly where your story was heading

“Are we shocked? Yes, of course it was Maria.” You shook your head, the both of you laughing, “Anyways, she asked if I felt anything other than just nauseous, and after thinking about it, I realized that I’ve been crying at everything, my boobs hurt like a bitch, and I was supposed to get my period 3 days ago. She may be crazy, but sometimes, she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if she insisted that regardless of being a boy or girl, this baby needs to be named Maria.” The two of you chuckled, Javi’s hand never leaving your stomach, thumb gently stroking over your t-shirt, his goofy grin subtly shifting to a more serious scrunch. 

“You okay, Jav?” You asked, tilting your head at Javi’s new look. 

“We should call the doctor’s office, right? Do you think they’re still open? Do we have to schedule an ultrasound or do they do that? Do you want me to go get you vitamins or did you already start taking those? Should I-” 

“Easy, Papa Bear.” You snickered, somehow not surprised in the slightest that Javi had shifted into “Dad Mode” immediately, his mind automatically shifting to what would become the never ending worry of making sure that you and your baby got everything you’d ever need. “We can call tomorrow. We won’t even have an appointment for the next few weeks so it’ll be okay.” 

“Few weeks? What do you mean?” Javi replied, looking even more distressed. 

“Normally you don’t have an ultrasound done until like, 8 weeks along.” 

“That’s way too long. 8 weeks?! How are we supposed to know everything’s okay?!” 

You knew Javi’s panic was genuine, but you couldn’t help but giggle. You were well aware that Javi would make a great dad, but you had no idea that his protective dad instincts would set in only minutes after finding out the news that you were pregnant. 

Your laughter only lasted so long until the same, uncomfortable feeling began to build in your throat, reaching down for the trash can next to the sink, wrenching up the nibbles of your lunch you thought you’d managed to keep down. 

“Oh honey, shit- it’s okay, Osita.” Javi cooed, gently rubbing your back with your face still buried in the trash can.

“This is really adding to the magic of the moment, isn’t it? Oof, this baby is gonna give me a run for my money, huh?” You grimaced, pulling your head out of the waste basket, one of Javi’s hands on the small of your back, the other over your stomach. 

“Nah. I do think she’s gonna end up being strong willed like her mom, though.” Javi smirked, gently kissing your forehead. 

“Javi, I’ve been pregnant for all of 30 minutes, there’s no way you know if it’s a girl or not.” 

“She’s a girl. I have a feeling.” 

Month 2  

“Javi, baby, I love you, but if you keep holding my hand this tight, I think you’re gonna break it.” 

You were almost positive that Javi had been keeping a better track of the days counting down to your first ultrasound appointment than you had. He had even insisted on taking the entire day off work even though you weren’t leaving school until 12:00, and your appointment wasn’t until 2:00. Now that it was 2:15, sitting in your OBGYN’s office, waiting for your name to be called to see your doctor, it was clear that your husband was much more of a nervous wreck than you figured you needed to account for. 

“S-sorry. Sorry. I just really wanna see ‘em, ya know? Make sure everything’s okay.” Javi sighed, knowing he most definitely was more anxious than he needed to be, the hand not easing its grip on yours, gently rubbing your nearly invisible bump. 

“I know, me too.” You smiled, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his palm for a few moments before lifting it up to your mouth to kiss it. 

“Peña?” a voice called from the front of the waiting room, you and Javi perking up instantly at your last name. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the fact you knew it was taking everything in Javi not to sprint to the door the nurse was holding open for you, so excited to see your baby for the first time, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he would have jumped up on the exam table himself once you got to your room. 

“How’s it going, Mom and Dad?” The nurse asked, smiling at you as you followed behind her down the hallway leading towards the exam rooms before stopping at a small cove at the front of the path. “We’re just gonna take some quick vitals and then we’ll get you all set up in the room okay?” 

“It’s been good! Well besides feeling super nauseous and exhausted all the time, but ya know.” You laughed, giving the nurse a little shrug as you sat down in the chair next to the blood pressure machine as she began to take your vitals. 

“But that’s normal though, right? Like, we shouldn’t be worried about that?” Javi asked, leg bouncing as he stood next to you, propped up against the wall. 

“Yes, it’s all perfectly normal. Unfortunately, growing a baby isn’t always the most pleasant experience, so it’s very common, especially in the first trimester, for Mom to feel pretty worn out.” The nurse nodded, writing down some information before gesturing for you to step on the scale, taking a few more notes. 

“Told you I’m okay.” You snickered, giving Javi a little nudge. 

“I know, I just feel awful that you feel so miserable, ya know?” Javi sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling that this would be the first of many worried I told you so’s during this appointment. 

“Alright, well we’re just gonna draw some blood and take a urine sample, and then we will have you all ready to meet with Dr. Davis, okay?” The nurse grinned, helping you back over to the chair to have your blood drawn, cocking her head at the pained look on your face. 

“Is it um- can I do the urine test first? I need to pee so bad.” You grimaced, not wanting to throw off your nurse’s pattern of practice, but also worrying you were going to pee your pants if you didn’t go to the bathroom in the next thirty seconds. 

“Oh, of course, my bad, go right ahead. Down the hall and to the left.” She smiled, handing off the collection cup as you practically sprinted down the hallway, your nurse and Javi laughing at your need for speed. 

“First baby?” Your nurse asked, smirking at Javi, nervously gnawing on the inside of his cheeks. 

“Y-yeah. How’d you know?” He asked. 

“I’ve been doing this job for a long time, honey. Nine times out of ten, the dads are way more nervous than the moms are.” She grinned, tilting her head with a little shrug. 

“Yeah, I’d uh- I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my mind, but I- um, God, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to be a dad.” It’s a good thing you were still in the bathroom, because seeing the way Javi was beaming from ear to ear at finally becoming a father probably would have sent you into a spell of hormonal sobs. In the past few weeks, his adamant enthusiasm about his journey into fatherhood had you on the brink of tears nearly every day from how thankful you were for your amazing husband. 

After your return with your very full cup of pee, and squeezing Javi’s hand extra tight through your blood draw, you were escorted down to your exam room, leaving you and Javi to patiently wait for your OBGYN’s arrival to let you get a first glimpse at your baby. 

“You look really hot in that paper skirt.” Javi teased, raising his eyebrows at you, gently tugging at the thin covering you’d been offered for your bottom half to give your doctor easy access for your exam. 

“You just like it because you can keep peeking underneath it and I don’t have anything on.” You sighed, playfully rolling your eyes back at him. You paused for a moment, taking a quiet deep breath as you stared down at your feet, Javi immediately picking up on your silent shift in tone. 

“You okay, Osita?” He asked, gently grabbing your hand and interlocking it with his while his free hand splayed across your stomach. 

“Yeah. I think all the nerves are actually starting to really kick in now, ya know? Like, we’re about to see our baby today for the first time.” 

It would have been easy to blame your pregnancy hormones for the emotional rollercoaster you were experiencing in the OB’s office, but with the way Javi’s eyes were welling with tears too, you felt a little less crazy for being so overwhelmed by the thought of getting to see the tiny human you were growing inside you. 

A quiet knock on the other side of the door was enough to startle you and Javi, turning your attention as a figure peeked through the small gap with a soft, and sweet voice.  

“Mr. and Mrs. Peña?” 

“H-hi, yeah, come in.” Javi stammered, eagerly inviting in your doctor, Dr. Davis. 

“Hello, it’s so nice to see you two! How exciting that we’re here for our first visit!” Dr. Davis grinned, giving you and Javi each a friendly nod before settling into her rolling chair next to her desk, “How’s everything been going so far?” 

The way Javi had begun to squeeze even tighter on your hand was making it nearly impossible not to giggle, giving him a little pinch of reassurance back before answering. 

“Good so far. I mean, tired and nauseous, but other than that, can’t complain. I mean, obviously nervous, but also just really excited too.” You beamed, Dr. Davis smiling at your response before looking over at Javi, anxiously drumming the fingers of his free hand against his leg. 

Well that’s good to hear. It most certainly is a very exciting and nervous time, especially with your first. How about you, Dad? How have you been doing?” 

“Oh- m-me?” Javi asked, pointing to himself, shocked that Dr. Davis would have any interest in asking how he’d been, “Oh good, yeah, I mean, nervous as hell, but like, the good kind of nervous. Just wanna make sure I’m doing whatever I can to help.” 

“Well Mr. Peña, it seems like you very clearly care about your wife and your baby, and if you keep that up, you’re doing everything you can.” Dr. Davis grinned, shooting you a little wink at the providing the reassurance your husband very clearly needed. “Alright, well I know one of our nurses already took some blood and urine samples, but we’re just gonna check a few things out and ask some questions, but after we finish with that, we’ll do our first ultrasound and get a chance to look at Baby, okay?” 

“Okay.” You and Javi answered in sync, smiling at each other from your timely response. 

It seemed that Javi’s nerves had at least eased a little bit, until you watched him fumble around in the back pocket of his jeans, face growing panicked at the lack of whatever he seemed to be looking for. 

“You okay, Jav?” 

“Yeah, I just, shit-” He paused, grimacing at his empty pocket, “I thought I bought a notepad and pen to write stuff down on, but I must have left it in the car…” 

Quietly chuckling to herself, Dr. Davis reached into a drawer in her desk, pulling out a sheet of blank paper, along with one of the pens from her coat pocket to pass over to Javi.

“T-thanks.” Javi sighed sheepishly, trying to hide his embarrassment as he took the pen and paper. 

“Mr. Peña, if there is one thing you most certainly do not need to worry about, it’s how loved this baby of yours is going to be.” 

While you had truly considered giving Javi shit about how hell bent he was on documenting every single word that came out of Dr. Davis’s mouth, 45 minutes into your appointment, you couldn’t have been more thankful you had someone there taking notes for you, all of the information, questions, and hypotheticals of bringing a new baby into the world making your head spin. 

All of the questions you had planned had seemed to have magically disappeared from your brain, overwhelming anxiety about trying to plan for the health and safety of your future child throwing everything else in your mind out the window. 

While it had taken a moment for you to even realize how stressed you were, Javi had picked up on it immediately, suddenly shifting to become the anchor in your storm that you had been for him. With one hand on your stomach, and the other furiously scratching down notes, Javi had managed to remember every question the two of you had talked about, making sure to have Dr. Davis elaborate on anything you even seemed slightly concerned about. 

Even though you had felt like a terrible mother for already being too overwhelmed to remember a few simple questions, the way Javi had switched into Dad Mode without a single thought or ask had filled you with such calm and relief, falling even more in love with him at how immediately protective he became without so much as a second thought. 

After an hour and two full pages, front and back, filled with Javi’s chicken scratch, Dr. Davis had finished with her part of the exam, and Javi had asked enough questions to fill a small book. You weren’t sure it was because you physically couldn’t fathom coming up with another question to ask, or if both of your brains were just too overwhelmed with information to come up with anything else, but after a confirmation you and Javi had nothing else to ask as of right now, she lit up as she asked the question the two of you had been dying to hear since you booked your appointment. 

“Would you like to see Baby Peña for the first time?” 

Despite how badly your hands were shaking, as Javi intertwined his fingers with yours, you were convinced his were trembling even worse, his eyes locked on on every move Dr. Davis had to make as she set up for your ultrasound. 

“Alright, this is going to be a little bit cold here, sorry.” Dr. Davis apologized, squirting a small glob of gel onto your lower stomach, trying your best not to squirm and giggle at the ticklish sensation. 

After a few more clicks on her keyboard, Dr. Davis had grabbed the ultrasound transducer, gently beginning to rub the tool back and forth across your belly as fuzzy, black and white images began to appear on her screen. 

“Now, with you almost being nine weeks, we’re most likely only going to see a blob of a head and a body, but I’m hoping that we may also get to hear Baby’s heartbeat for the first time as well.” Dr. Davis smiled, watching yours and Javi’s faces light up. 

“I’m sure whatever they look like, they’ll be the most perfect little blob I’ve ever seen.” Javi grinned, squeezing your hand even tighter, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“I’ve never been more excited to see a black and white blob in my entire life.” You giggled softly, Javi and Dr. Davis snickering right along with you. 

“Oh, give me one second, I think we found ‘em.” Dr. Davis muttered to herself, clicking on a few more buttons on her keyboard and turning the screen back towards her to get a better view. 

In the few moments of silence, you looked up at Javi, trying your best to fight the tears you had welling in the corners of your eyes at the thought of finally being able to see your baby for the first time. As Javi looked back down at you, you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at the way his eyes were already welling too, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from bursting into full blown tears. 

Although you had never known Javi before his newly settled life in Laredo, it was moments like these where you couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that a man who had once chased down the most hardened Cartel criminals in the entire world, who had written off any chance at a ‘normal’ life for himself, had turned out to be the biggest softie in the entire world, head over heels in love with you, trying to keep from sobbing as he prepared himself for seeing his baby for the first time. 

Watching you snicker to yourself, Javi rolled his eyes, shaking his head as you teased him, quietly mouthing a playful “Shut up”  to you, knowing damn well he was already a mess without even seeing your black and white blob for the first time. 

“Alright Mr. and Mrs. Peña, are you ready to see your baby?” 

The two of you quietly nodded, each taking a long, shaky deep breath as Dr. Davis slowly turned her screen back towards you, finger pointed at a small shape in the middle of her display. 

“There’s Baby Peña.” She smiled softly, gently circling around where her finger had been  pointing. 

As yours and Javi shifted your gazes from each others’ to the small screen beside you, a tiny, bean shaped form appeared, gently shifting with the black and white static of the machine. 

There, in front of you, was your baby. 

“T-that’s- that’s really them?” Javi stuttered, eyes excitedly darting back and forth between you, the screen and Dr. Davis, smile beaming so wide, you wouldn’t be surprised if his cheeks hurt for weeks after. 

“That’s really them.” Dr. Davis answered, smiling at the pure bliss radiating off of you and Javi. 

“That’s our baby, Jav.” You whispered, disregarding any attempts to keep from crying, too overwhelmed with the joy and excitement of seeing your child for the first time, “That’s really them.” 

You and Javi could have stared at the screen for hours, taking in every single detail your minds could commit to memory, streams of happy tears continuously flowing from the both of you, completely overjoyed to finally get the first glimpse at the life you had created together. 

“Would you two like to hear the heartbeat? I think I’ll be able to pick it up!” Dr. Davis asked, clacking on a few more keys. 

“Only if you wanna make me cry more.” You sniffled, “God, sorry I’m such a mess.” 

“Honey, after 20 years at this practice, I’ve seen just about every reaction under the sun. Do not worry. I was the same way when I had my first, too.” She paused, typing on a few more buttons and focusing on her screen, giving Javi a few seconds to help console you with sweet kisses across your temple, “alrighty, baby seems to be cooperating, so here is the heartbeat!” 

You and Javi held your breath, time standing still, until a light, rhythmic thump began to echo throughout the room, eyes going wide hearing your baby’s heartbeat. 

“Holy shit…” Javi whispered in disbelief, looking down at you with an ear to ear grin and watering eyes. “Baby, holy shit, that’s- that’s ours. That’s our baby.” 

You and Javi sat still, time seeming to freeze around you as the soft thump of your baby’s heartbeat flooding you with a wave of love and excitement you had never felt before, so overwhelmed with euphoria, you could have sat and listened to the sound for hours. 

“Everything about the baby looks absolutely great so far. Glad we were able to catch the heartbeat as well. I’m guessing you’d probably like some ultrasound pictures to take home with you?” Dr. Davis asked, smiling with a grin that very clearly told you she already knew the answer. 

“Yes.” You and Javi agreed in unison, barely letting Dr. Davis finish her sentence before you answered. 

“Alright. Let me capture a few images here,” Dr. Davis paused, focusing in on the screen while moving the ultrasound around on your lower stomach before saving the image displayed next to you, “and we should be good! We’ll have these ready for you when you go to check out. Any other questions before I send you two, or should I say, three, off today?” 

“N-no, I think I’m good. You have any other questions, honey?” Javi asked, interlacing his fingers with yours before gently kissing your forehead. 

“Well, um- actually- I uh, I guess I do have one more.” You stammered, quietly laughing to yourself, catching Javi’s attention, “Is it um- It’s okay for us to have sex still, right?” 

You looked over at Javi with a sheepish grin, snickering at the way his eyes had gone wide in pleasant surprise at your question. With how nauseous and tired you had been feeling, combined with Javi’s rampant nerves that even if you were up to it, he was going to hurt the baby, it had been over a month since the two of you had last gone at it. Sweet Javi had never brought it up once, so concerned with your well being that you knew he’d stick to taking care of himself by himself as long as he needed to- a small price to pay for  you literally growing his child inside you. But now that you were finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel for feeling like you had been hit by a bus every day, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer until you were going to need to break your self-induced run of pregnant celibacy. And when that time came, you knew even then, Javi wasn’t doing anything unless it had a doctor’s seal of approval. 

“Perfectly normal question. Yes, as long as you feel up to it, it’s absolutely safe. If you feel any discomfort or pain during intercourse, just give us a call and let us know and we can schedule an appointment, but other than that, yes, it’s perfectly okay.” Dr. Davis smiled, laughing at the way Javi was trying his best to keep from smirking. 

“Y-you’re sure it’s okay to-”

“Yes, I’m sure, Mr. Peña.” Dr. Davis chuckled, cutting off Javi’s sentence before he could finish asking his question. “Alright, why don’t we get you two checked out, and Laura at the front desk can get your next appointment scheduled for you. Have a wonderful rest of your day, and I’ll see you soon. Feel free to call if you have any questions.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, you and Javi both giving Dr. Davis a wave as she exited the room, letting the door quietly close behind her. 

“I hope you know I would fuck you right here, right now in this doctor’s office, paper skirt and all.” Javi smirked, eyeing you up and down as you slid off the edge of the table, bunching up your thin, crinkly covering to throw into the trash before reaching for your pants folded up on the chair next to you. 

“I knew the doctor’s office paper skirt would really do it for you.” You giggled, shimmying up your underwear and pants as you playfully rolled your eyes at Javi. 

“I hope you didn’t ask because of me. You know I’ll do whatever you need me to. If you don’t want me to touch you for the next 7 months, I truly am okay. I just want you to feel comfortable, baby.” Javi sighed, his tone shifting to genuine and sincere, hitting you with his big, brown puppy dog eyes as he wrapped his arm around your waist, thumb softly stroking your stomach. 

“I know, Jav. Now that I’ve actually been starting to not feel completely awful and can focus on something other than not needing to throw up every 5 minutes, I wanted to make sure that I had the okay, so, ya know.” You grinned, raising your eyebrows at Javi, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s go get this paperwork.” Javi smirked back, giving you a quick peck on your lips and a playful wink, collecting all of his notes as he opened the door for you, making it incredibly obvious that he was checking you out as you passed by him. 

“Horndog.” You giggled, pretending to scold him. 

“I’m not the one who asked, Osita.” 

You were positive that Javi’s hand hadn’t left your hip, hand, stomach or thigh from the moment you had left the doctor’s office, his thumb gently rubbing in soft circles against you, accompanied the dimple creasing in the corner of his cheek from the way his boyish smirk was plastered across his face the entire drive home. 

It was almost comical at the way Javi was so eager to help you out of the car and into the house, carefully helping you to put away everything from the appointment, asking you if there was anything that you needed, following you around the kitchen like a wide eyed puppy. 

You felt butterflies swirl in your stomach in a way that wasn’t about to make you vomit for the first time in weeks, heart swelling at the way you could tell Javi was patiently and nervously waiting for you to make a move before he dared to do anything, knowing he would keep good on his promise to let you take the lead.  

“Y-you sure you don’t need anything else? Lunch? More water? A nap?” Javi asked, resting his hip against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, trying his best to act nonchalant as you approached after noting down your next appointment date on your calendar. 

“Nope.” You grinned, popping the “P” at the end of the word, reaching out to grab at his waist, toying with the belt loops of his jeans, watching the denim of his pants begin to tent. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Just because the doctor gave you the okay, if you’re not comfortable, I-” 

Before he could finish, you cut him off with a kiss, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your lips lock with his, practically feeling him melt under your touch as his bulge poked at your thigh, continuing to grow as you rubbed against it. 

“Javier Peña, if you don’t take me upstairs and put your dick inside me right now, I swear.” You giggled in between kisses before you let out a gasp, Javi scooping his arms under your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist, frantically but carefully carrying you across the living room and up the stairs, letting his back push open the bedroom door. 

Carefully, he laid you down on the bed, caging his body over yours while he planted soft kisses down your neck and chest, feeling his lips smirk as they gently pressed against the barely there swell of your stomach. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” Javi murmured under his breath, fingers toying with your waistband to tug your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them fall into a crumpled pile on the floor below you. “So fucking beautiful growing our baby.” 

Javi settled himself between your thighs, gently parting them to reveal the mess of slick and arousal coating the inside of them. You propped yourself up on your elbows, breath already heavy as you watched Javi run his fingers through your soaked folds, throwing your head back in delight while he slowly began to rub at your throbbing clit. 

Because you had been so preoccupied with the constant nausea and fatigue from the first few weeks of creating another living human being inside of you, it wasn’t until now you were becoming blatantly aware of how much more sensitive you were down there, your stomach already swirling with heightened sensation after a few seconds of Javi touching you. 

“Holy fuck-” You stammered, jaw going slack in pleasure, immediately catching Javi’s attention. 

“Good holy fuck or bad holy fuck?” He asked, concern flooding the sweet chocolate brown of his eyes. 

“Good holy fuck, oh my god. I feel like I’m about to cum already.” You whimpered, the worry washing from Javi’s face at your response, his once furrowed brow quickly replaced with a delighted smirk you could practically feel as buried his head between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit. 

If his fingers weren’t enough to make you feel like you were already on the edge of collapse, the slow and calculated drags of his tongue up and down your cunt most definitely were. One of your hands was instantly shooting down to brace yourself in the thick curls of Javi’s hair while the other one fisted at your bedsheets for dear life, readying yourself to face the rapid tingle growing at the base of your spine. 

The response to warmth and wet of his tongue swirling against your sensitive bundle of nerves was enough to make you whimper like he had been fucking you with his mouth for hours, not mere minutes, coil tightening in your stomach with every lick. 

“Fuck, Javi. Oh fuck, baby.” You moaned, grip tightening around your bedsheets, soft fabric curling between your fingers. 

All it took was a little more pressure from the flat of his tongue before you could feel yourself on the brink of collapse, pleasure starting to creep up your legs and through your core. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck- fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-ahhhh!” You sobbed, throwing your head back in bliss as your orgasm crashed through you, every inch of your body lighting up as you came. You could have sworn you were seeing stars, cutting some slack to your pregnancy hormones after weeks of being keeled over in exchange for one of the most intense orgasms you’d had in a while. 

Javi pulled his head out from in between your legs, smirking in awe of the way your moans fell from your slack jaw as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mustache soaked with your slick. 

“You okay, baby girl?” He asked, peppering soft kisses to the insides of your thighs as you came back too, emerging from your post orgasmic fog. 

“Javi, holy fuck.” You gasped, still panting, “Oh my god, that felt so good.” 

“Yeah? Came so well for me, Momma.” Javi cooed, letting his lips trail up your hips and stomach, taking extra time to let his lips linger on the barely there swell of your belly before shedding your top and bra, dropping them next to your crumpled up bottoms. 

“Fuck- Need you to fuck me, Javi. Please, baby.” You moaned, reaching out to unbutton Javi’s jeans, erection already straining at the denim and zipper of his pants. Javi grinned, happily helping you tug his pants and underwear from his hips, quickly followed by his shirt, giving you a chance to gawk at his handsome, naked figure. 

You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his already hard length, pumping him a few times with your hand before gently guiding him towards your entrance while both your bodies fell towards the mattress, Javi hovering over you. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Javi whispered against your skin between gentle presses of his lips against your neck, “If you’re uncomfortable or anything, just let me-” 

“Javier Peña, if you do not put your dick inside me right now, I might cry.” You giggled softly, giddy smiles growing across both your faces as Javi ran his tip between your folds, collecting the slick pooling between them. 

Gently, Javi pushed himself inside your heat, letting him slowly pump in and out of you a few times before you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with a confused stare, feeling that something was off.  

“You can put it all the way in Jav.” You laughed, realizing Javi was barely pushing himself inside of you with each movement of his hips. 

“I don’t- I don’t wanna hurt the baby.” Javi grimaced sheepishly. 

“Javi…” You giggled, titling your head at him, “Baby, you’re big, but you’re not that big.” 

Javi sighed, quietly laughing to himself at your playful scolding before leaning down to softly press his lips to yours. 

“Just trying to be gentle, Osita.” 

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass.” You teased, biting down on your lip as you laughed, only for your jaw to drop as Javi slid deeper into your cunt, pressing his entire length in you. 

“Fuck, Javi…” You whimpered, head hitting the back of the mattress, trying to compose yourself from falling apart right then and there.

“Fuck, I missed this.” Javi whispered, nibbling at your ear as he slowly began to thrust his hips, taking his time with each stroke. “Driving me crazy every fuckin’ day with how beautiful you look carrying our baby.” 

Javi’s hand trailed down your front, softly splaying across your stomach while his thumb circled your skin, the familiar movement catching your attention enough to peak your head up at your husband, looking almost as disheveled as you in terms of self-preservation.

Javi took a long, deep breath, furrowing his brows in concentration as he stared at the ceiling, the rhythm of his hips coming to a standstill. 

“You alright there, big guy?” You giggled, knowing damn well the cause for the holdup. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I feel like a fucking teenager. First time we’ve fucked since we found out you were pregnant and I’m about to show up like some sort of fucking two pump chump ‘cause I can’t keep it together.” Javi groaned, eyes still glued to the drywall above him in embarrassment. 

 “Javi, baby, look at me.” You smiled, smirking at him. 

“I can’t, unless you want this to be over right now.” 

“While that’s very flattering, I find that very hard to believe, considering I threw up twice before we left for this doctor’s appointment and ate half a jar of pickles on the drive home and smell like I’ve been living inside a pickle factory for the better part of the past year.” 

“Jesus Christ.” He laughed, your joke enough to make him break, shifting his gaze down back at you. 

“Baby, you’re fine. Considering you deliver 99.9% of the time, and this is the first we’re having sex in a month and a half, I was planning on cutting you some slack.” You teased, giving him a little nudge, “Also, did you forget how you made me cum like, crazy hard 5 minutes ago? I didn’t realize how sensitive I was gonna be, and not to boost your ego any more than I have, but it’s not gonna take much for you to get me there.” 

Javi smiled, pecking kisses along your neck and collarbone as he brought the pads of his fingers to your clit, circling with just enough pressure to already send you reeling, beginning to pick back up the pace he had forgone. 

Your breath instantly hitched in the back of your throat, sucking the air out of your lungs as the head of Javi’s cock rammed perfectly into your g-spot. That, accompanied by the pads of his fingers swirling against your clit, had you absolutely reeling, whimpering and moaning with each snap of his hips. 

“Fuck me. Feel so fucking good, Osita.” Javi grunted through gritted teeth, his free hand running up the back of your leg, gently pressing your thigh closer to your stomach, stretching you out in the way he knew drove you absolutely crazy. 

“Oh Javi, fuck, baby, holy fuck-” You whined, pleasure already swirling in your stomach. 

“That's my girl. Fuck, I can't wait to get you pregnant again, let everyone see how you're all mine carrying our baby. Gonna be such a good Mom, giving us a family, making me a dad. Oh fuck-” Javi groaned, his words hot against your skin between kisses along your neck and shoulder blade, shifting his grasp to cup one of your swollen breasts in his palm, fingers gently toying with the hardened buds of your nipples.

The added sensation was all it took to send you over the edge, orgasm crashing through your body with an unforgiving wave of intensity, pleasure radiating through every inch of you as your cunt clamped down around Javi's cock, gushing with your arousal as you came.

Knowing you had reached your end, Javi began to chase his own high, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as your body melded with his, nearly going limp in his grasp from how good he had made you feel. 

“Mierda- fuck, baby. Gonna fill you up, I have- fuck- so much cum for you, and I- oh fuck!” 

Before he could ramble on any further, it only took a few more thrusts of Javi’s hips before he was spilling inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls as he came, palm splayed across the barely there swell of your stomach, holding you in place against the mattress. 

Your chests heaved in sync, breathless from a fast and furious performance after weeks of no sex, the both of you laughing at yourselves for your record breaking timing of the events that had just occurred. 

“That may be the fastest that either of us have came.” You giggled, giving Javi a playful nudge before your face fell from a happy grin to sheepish frown, “Sorry that it’s been so long. You’ve been so patient, and with how nauseous I’ve been and-” 

“Nuh uh,” Javi shook his head, the plush of his bottom lip in a serious pout, “None of that. You do not need to apologize for anything. Honey, you’re growing a whole person inside of you. Our kid. All I wanna do is be there for whatever you need. Regardless of if that means this or not.”  

It should have been no surprise to you that tears were already beginning to well in your eyes, Javi’s consistently gentle and caring demeanor towards you with anything you’ve needed these past 8 weeks bringing you to the verge of tears from his sweetness practically on demand. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s good tears,” You sniffled, sighing at your own dramatics from your hormones as Javi wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks with his thumb, “You’re just always so good to me, and I love you so much, and you’re gonna be such a good dad.” 

“I love you too, Osita.” Javi smiled, softly cupping your belly in his grasp, “Whatever you need, you know I’ll always be there, okay?” 

“Okay.” You smiled back, rolling over to press your head against his chest, laying for a moment in serene silence until a low and long grumble sung from your stomach. “Does that include bringing me up the bag of sour gummy worms so I can eat them in bed and then take a nap?” 

“Of course it does.” Javi chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pressing himself up off of the bed with a grunt and slipping his boxers back on, “Anything else Baby wants?” 

“Whatever’s left of that chicken sandwich I had yesterday. And a glass of water. Please.” You grimaced sheepishly, shrugging at Javi as you tacked on to your list of requests. “And can you make sure the water is, like-” 

“90% ice cubes and 10% water?” Javi smirked, finishing the rest of your sentence and laughing to himself as you nodded your head. “Be right back.” 

Hey, Jav?” 

“Yeah, baby?” Javi answered, peeking his head back in the door he had just exited from. 

“We love you.” 

“I love you both of you too, Osita. More than you fucking know.”

3 Months 

“I swear I think they already know.” 

“Honey, how could they know?” 

“I don’t know, Connie just keeps giving me this look like she knows something.” 

After last year’s Thanksgiving extravaganza at Chucho’s ranch, where your family and the Murphy’s had joined together to celebrate your engagement, it seemed like an easy choice on everyone’s part to rinse and repeat for this year. 

It had been killing you and Javi to keep Baby Peña a secret for this long, but now that you had finally broken free of the first trimester and everyone you wanted to be the first to hear the news gathered together, Thanksgiving had seemed like the perfect day to announce that in a few months, a third member of the Peña family would be arriving. 

That is, if someone didn’t spill the beans on your surprise based on their intuition. 

With you and Javi alone in the kitchen finishing up the rest of the mashed potatoes before dinner, he discreetly ran his hand across your stomach, smiling at the barely there bump hidden under your sweater. 

“It’s just Connie being Connie.” Javi smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “Besides, won’t be a surprise for that much longer.” 

“There’s a surprise?!” Your niece Olivia exclaimed, her sister and the Murphy girls barging into the kitchen behind her, scaring the daylights out of you and Javi. 

“Holy sh- cow, Liv, I didn’t see you there, sweetie!” You gasped, clutching your chest in shock, Javi’s hand immediately dropping from your stomach and diving into the pocket of his jeans. 

“Surprise?” Steve asked, following behind the girls, arms crossed over his chest, “is the surprise that your aunt and uncle are actually cookin’ instead of smoochin’ back here?”

“Ewwwwwwww!” The girls exclaimed, giggling as they stuck out their tongues before scampering away back to the living room. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Javi replied dryly, rolling his eyes at his friend. 

“Glad to see we’re keepin’ it PG in here.” Steve chuckled, giving Javi a little nudge of his elbow, “Seriously though, is there a surprise I should be knowin’ about?” 

“The surprise,” you grunted, lifting up the giant pot of potatoes you had just finished mashing and passing them off to Steve, trying to catch his balance with the newfound weight in his hands, “is that you get to carry these potatoes out to the table! Thank you so much!” 

“Pretty shitty fuckin’ surprise, if you ask me.” Steve groaned, scoffing at his newly appointed task while you and Javi laughed. 

“Tell everyone it’s time to eat, too. We just have a few more dishes to clean up!” You added, smirking at Steve’s annoyance. 

“Now I’m on wranglin’ duty, too? Damn, I regret ever comin’ in here.” 

With Steve mumbling to himself as he wandered out of the kitchen, potatoes in hand, you and Javi found yourselves alone again, smiling at each other and shaking your heads at your close call encounter. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’m sure Steve has no fucking clue, and it’ll be a complete surprise to him.” Javi chuckled, grabbing a few dishes off the counter and throwing them into the sink. 

“Now that, I’ll believe.” You giggled, nodding in agreement as you brought the last of the pots and pans over to be washed. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous to tell everyone, I should feel relieved that we don’t have to keep this a secret anymore.” 

“Because it’s kind of a big deal, mi amor.” Javi laughed, giving you a little nudge, “I’m nervous too, but excited nervous, ya know? Can’t wait to tell everyone about ‘em.” 

“Stop it, or you’re gonna make me cry!” You sighed, trying to hold back your tears and Javi’s sweet smile. “Okay, everything’s good to go right? We should probably get out there before Steve comes barging in again.” 

“Good to go, Osita. Let’s get Baby some mashed potatoes.” 

Thanksgiving at Chucho’s was quickly becoming your favorite new tradition, your heart overflowing with so much love and joy to have everyone you cared about together in one place, the best parts of your life overlapping so perfectly. 

On top of your meal being absolutely delicious, your family, the Murphy’s and Chucho nearly had you shooting the better part of your spoonful of mashed potatoes out of your nose, hearing the story of the time a toddler Javi nearly got his head stuck in a Thanksgiving turkey. 

If you weren’t already pregnant, you had most certainly eaten enough food for several people, thankful you had chosen a dress instead of any sort of pants where you’d have to wrestle with the better part of a waistband for the rest of the night. 

Despite their hungry appetites, all of the kids at the table had disappeared post-dinner time, running off the rest of their energy before dessert, leaving the rest of the adults at their seats, still weighed down by their digesting dinner. 

“Damn, that was so good. Props to you on the turkey, Chucho, that bird’s about to put me in a coma.” Your brother David sighed, leaning back in his chair to unbutton his pants. 

“Jesus Christ, you animal, we are in someone else’s home! Button up your goddamn pants!” Your dad groaned, slapping David in the chest and nearly knocking him out of his seat. 

“No, he’s onto somethin’. I’m ‘bout to do the same. Shit, I’m stuffed.” Steve agreed, trying to reach down to unbutton his own pants, quickly stopped by Connie with her own slap to the chest for her husband. 

“Don’t encourage him, Steve. He’ll be pantless before you know it, and when he is, that’ll be your problem.” Your other brother, Charlie laughed, making David roll his eyes to the back of his head. 

“Not my fault! I feel 9 months pregnant after eating all this, and after dessert, you can all meet my adorable food baby I’m about to give birth to.” 

David’s comment had you and Javi nearly choking on your food, trying your best to conceal your coughs of shock and surprise at his comparison. It didn’t take much for the entire table to swing their heads towards the both of you, concerned by how you’d suddenly been so off-put, your food had become indigestible. 

“Oh my gosh, are you two okay?” Connie asked, her nurse instincts kicking into high gear at the way you were trying to dislodge the chunk of mashed potatoes from the back of your throat. 

“Yup- uh- yup, yeah, all um, all good.” Javi coughed, letting out one last hack, trying to make as little eye contact as possible, hoping they would assume the redness in his cheeks was from his poorly swallowed food. 

“Yup, we’re uh- all good. Totally fine.” You chimed in, sneaking a desperate look at Javi as if to say “I swear they know and they’re just not telling us”. 

“Jesus, don’t die on us. Didn’t know the birth of my Thanksgiving food baby would be so upsetting to you. Rude.” David teased, giving Charlie a little nudge as the two chuckled to themselves. 

Despite the fact that you and Javi were planning on telling everyone about the addition to your family any minute, the shock and timing of it all seemed to have both of you frozen, eyes peeled to the ground and faces flushed, unsure of what to do. 

The seconds of your silence seemed to drag on like hours, the both of you panicked as your eyes darted back and forth between each other’s, unable to do anything but shrug and let out a half laugh as your bodies grew hotter and hotter. 

“Wait…” Connie hummed, her breaking of the awkward silence filing the room gathering everyone’s attention, watching her silently piece together everything that had just happened in her head. You knew it didn’t take long for her to solve the puzzle, her once confused demeanor now shifting as an ear to ear grin spread between her cheeks in delight, “Are you?” 

“Is she what?” Steve asked, still completely oblivious to the clues Connie had been unraveling. 

After a few more moments of staring at the two of you, one by one, you could see the subtle changes in everyone’s expression, now all looking at you with intense interest, ready to hang on your every word. 

Well, everyone besides your brothers, dad, and Steve. 

“What the hell do all of you know that we’re not getting?” Your dad asked, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Javi, you in on this, bud?” Steve questioned, observant enough to at least recognize the smirk Javi was trying his very best to hide. 

“Steve, seriously?!” Connie sighed, rolling her eyes at Steve’s utter lack of ability to read the room, “David just made a comment about being so full he felt pregnant, and the two of them just about choked on their food.” 

“I dunno?! I mean, they ate a lotta food, too? Why are y’all actin’ like I’m supposed to be a fuckin’ mind reader?” Steve protested, trying to save his own ass from looking like a complete idiot. 

After a few more seconds of more intense thinking than should have been necessary, you watched your brothers start to comprehend enough that they had begun smiling and nodding along with everyone else. 

“No wait, I get it, ‘cause like, if she was pregnant, that like, she’d probably be all thrown off that I said something, right? So I mean-” David paused, a lightbulb finally going off in his brain, sending him into a wildly frazzled state, “Wait. Wait. OH MY GOD!” 

At this point, your shock had disappeared, giggling and grinning at everyone’s realizations, looking over at Javi with the happiest of smiles as he splayed his hand across your stomach. 

“What in the actual fuck am I missin’ out on?!” Steve groaned, still bewildered how everyone else at the table had seemed to figure out whatever mystery was unfolding before him. 

“Jesus Christ Steve, I love ya, man, but this is almost getting physically painful.” Charlie laughed, giving Steve a little nudge. 

“Lord help me.” Connie sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed her husband by the shoulders, “Steven Murphy. If they were shocked about David’s joke about being pregnant, that could probably mean that the two of them are…” 

“WAIT, HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT, ARE YOU TWO HAVIN’ A BABY?” Steve exclaimed, shooting up out of his seat, at long last putting together everyone’s hints after everyone at dinner needed to all but spell it out for him. 

“Took you long enough.” Javi smirked, laughing at his friend as his thumb rubbed gently over the swell of your stomach. 

“We’re having a baby.” You grinned, everyone standing up and cheering in excitement for the both of you, rushing to where you and Javi were sitting to wrap you and Javi up in a smushed blob of a group hug, gently shaking you in their grasp. 

You could feel your heart swell at the overwhelming love and joy that filled the room, tears pooling in your eyes at how much your future baby was already so loved by so many people. 

“Oh honey, we’re so excited!” Your mom squealed, kissing both you and Javi on the cheeks as she wrapped the two of you in a bear hug. 

“Does that mean we’re the aunts now?!” Olivia screeched, pointing at herself, her sisters and the Murphy girls with a giddy grin spread across her cheeks. 

“Guess so, Kiddo.” You beamed, rustling her hair with one hand as the other wrapped around her to squeeze her in your grasp. 

Despite the overwhelming chatter and excitement buzzing around the room, you couldn’t help but notice a soft sniffle of tears somewhere behind you, turning around to see Chucho, eyes watering and a smile beaming from ear to ear. 

“Oh mis hijos (my children). I am so happy for you both. So happy.” Chucho hummed, gently wiping the tears streaming down his cheeks. You and Javi both stood up from your seats, letting Chucho’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight, “I never thought I would live to see the day I would be an abuelo (grandpa). Lucia would- dios mío (oh my god), she would be so thrilled. I know you two will be the best parents. I already love my nieto (grandchild) more than words can say.” 

“Thanks, Pops.” Javi nodded, trying his best to fight back his own tears, looking back and forth between you and Chucho, overwhelmed with the love and joy of a life he’d never thought he’d live 10, 5, hell, even a year ago. There was never a world in which he thought he’d be happy, let alone in love, married and a father. 

“She would be so proud of you, Javier. Your mamá would be so proud of you. And mija, I know she must be up there with your brother, the both of them smiling down on you with the biggest grins. Perhaps they didn’t have a chance to meet in this life, but I know without a doubt they are together, celebrating, and they will be every step of the way. ” 

Chucho’s sweet sentiment had nearly everyone in tears, well, everyone but you, your tears shifting to full blown sobs from the overwhelming emotion and pregnancy hormones of knowing that even though two of the most important people in yours and Javi’s lives were no longer here, that there were still so many who loved your growing family with all of their hearts. 

“Damn, who’s cuttin’ all the onions in here?” Your brother, David, asked, trying to laugh off the obvious tear lines streaming down his face, his joke enough to lighten the spirits of the rest of your friends and family, now all following suit with their soft chuckles and face wiping. 

“Y’all gonna let us have a Thanksgiving where we don’t cry about how happy y’all are?” Steve joked, stepping over to give Javi a little nudge. 

“Well, maybe next year. At least we can promise you the baby won’t steal the show and be born on Thanksgiving.” You chuckled, shaking your head at Steve’s ask, not realizing that everyone had gone back to a suspicious silence, looking around at each other, like they were all in on some secret you weren’t supposed to know about. 

“So…. When’s uh, when’s the baby supposed to be born?” Your dad asked, raising an eyebrow at you and Javi. 

“Oh Greg, seriously?” Your mom asked, slapping your dad across the chest. 

“What?! Like you weren’t thinking about it, too!” 

You looked over at Javi, the both of you confused why everyone suddenly now seemed to be doing silent calculations in their head, counting across their fingers until their conclusion either lead to hope, or disappointment. 

“I’m already out, I know it.” Your brother grumbled in disappointment, consoling with your nieces, also shaking their heads. 

“I gotta good feelin’ about this one.” Steve chuckled, rubbing his palms together in excitement, nudging a very clearly embarrassed Connie. 

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Javi asked, scrunching his brow in confusion at everyone in the room. 

“Oh my god….” You sighed, finally putting all of the pieces of the puzzle together, “Is this about your stupid bet that you made about how quickly we were gonna have a baby?!” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it’s stupid if I win my two hundred dollars…” Chucho admitted sheepishly, almost giggling at the way you and Javi rolled your eyes to the backs of your skulls that every one of your friends and family knew the two of you had about as much self control as two pent up, horny teenagers. 

Next to you, Javi’s head was buried in his hands, cheeks bright pink with embarrassment, glancing over at you with a sincerely apologetic grimace that couldn’t help but make you laugh. 

“Okay fine,” You sighed, everyone’s eyes lighting up as they waited on your every word, “we’ll tell you, but whoever wins this stupid bet better be buying us something incredibly nice for our baby shower. Okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, tell us so can profit off you two goin’ at it like rabbits.” 

“Steven Murphy!” Connie scolded, stiff arming her husband, almost as embarrassed by his comment as you and Javi were by this whole ordeal. 

“Sorry, sorry! Yeesh, god forbid a man give his buddy some shit! C’mon! Spill the beans! As long as the due date is the closest one to May 15th.” 

“July 4th! July 4th! July 4th!” Your nieces and the Murphy girls began to chant, unsure if they really understood the concept of the bet at hand, or if they really just wanted to pick the Fourth of July because they liked it. 

“Unless you’re growing the world's tiniest baby, I’m guessing it’s not April 22nd.” David sighed. 

“Exactly nine months from our wedding? Really David?” You groaned, unamused by your brother’s prediction. 

“What?! Miracles do happen! And it’s best that they happen when I’ve got money on the line!” 

“Jesus Christ…” Javi muttered under his breath, the two of you having no choice to laugh about your current predicament. “Fine. You wanna tell them, honey?” 

“Okay. Baby Peña’s due date is….” You paused, playing into the anticipatory silence, “June 7th.” 

“YES! I KNEW IT! PAY UP SUCKERS!” 

With everyone’s teasing and taunting about the state of this bet, Connie Murphy’s voice would have been the last either of you would have guessed to be so excited about having the most educated guess about the day your baby was conceived. 

“What?” Connie asked, giggling at your shock and surprise, “Can’t blame a girl for making an educated guess! And yes, I will buy whatever you want off your baby registry, fair?” 

“Fair.” You and Javi agreed in unison, glad to at least be the bearer of some benefit from your embarrassment. 

What you hadn’t noticed was the pack your brothers, Steve, Chucho and your dad had formed, quietly whispering to one another, nodding their heads in agreement as their eyes darted back between the group and you. 

“What are all of you up to back there? Because if I know anything about the 5 of you, it’s probably nothing good.” You sassed, arms crossed over your chest, tilting your head in disapproval at the sheepish crew. 

“Well… Do y’all know if it’s a boy or a girl?” 

“We lost all of our bettings on the due date, we need to make it back up somehow!” 

“Plus, 50/50 is pretty damn good odds, if you ask me.” 

“You all need help.” Connie sighed, pointing to the boys with a disgusted look on her face, making everyone else laugh. 

“Says the lady who just won a bet we all were in on!” Steve retorted, throwing his hands up in defense. 

“Well at least I wasn’t harassing them about it!” Connie protested, scolding the five with a stern look before turning back to you and Javi, “I mean… they do have a point though, 50/50 is good odds and I’ve already got a winning record.” 

“You all are the worst, I hope you know that.” You sighed, shaking your head at everyone, unaware of the goofy grin spread across Javi’s face as he stood behind you. 

“Oh! Oh! He knows somethin’!” Steve stammered, happily pointing at his friend and his ear to ear smile. 

You couldn’t help but smile too, heat creeping through your cheeks at Javi’s adamant prediction and how happy it made him. 

“I swear he doesn’t,” You promised, despite Javi’s glee, “Javi’s just absolutely convinced it’s a girl.” 

You swore Javi’s smile grew even wider as his hand slid across your stomach, gently cradling it in his grasp as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. 

“I’d bet all my money it’s a girl.” Javi grinned, sweet brown eyes locking with yours, twinkling with enthusiasm at the thought of having a daughter. 

“Better save that money then, Peña.” Steve huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “I hate to admit it, but you’re sure as shit never wrong. And lord knows if you’re endin’ up a girl dad like the rest of us, you’re gonna need to save all the money you can get.” 

Giving your belly the softest squeeze, Javi looked you up and down, in complete adoration and shock that somehow, regardless of money, he had ended up the richest man alive with you by his side, and a baby on the way. 

“It’ll be worth every fuckin’ penny.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae

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@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

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@the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper

@nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk

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@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3 @survivingandenduring @meetmeatyourworst

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[layaispunk]

HOLY MOLYYYYYY

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.9

Chapter Nine: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking, Cecilia deserves her own warning lol, Confrontation,

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: SOOO… lol, this is the longest I’ve gone without writing/posting, I deeply apologise and I’m so sorry T^T I literally had to lock the fuck in with school, each week I had at least two exams/deadlines. I blame our profs for their poor planning lol. Anyways, I have a little bit of a lighter load now since it’s almost finals season… I’ll keep ya’ll posted, and I humbly ask ya’ll to be patient for the next update and oh god, TLOU season 2… Uneven Odds… My backlog is insane right now, oh naur. Pedro babes I love you, but go on vacation boo. 

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

Song: Silver Lining by Laufey

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS, LONDON — MORNING

You were hella nervous. Pedro held your hand the entire car ride to the studio, his thumb softly brushing over your knuckles, grounding you even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

"You're quiet," he murmured, watching you from the corner of his eye. "You okay, baby?"

You forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… y’know. Nervous."

"About what?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I dunno. Just… going back on set. Seeing everyone. After, y'know…"

The accident.

Pedro squeezed your hand tighter. His jaw clenched, and you could tell — he was still haunted by it too. The way you had thrown yourself in front of him. The way he had watched you collapse under the rig. The way he had screamed for help — like his entire world was falling apart.

"Hey." His voice was soft. "I'm not leaving your side, okay? The second you wanna leave — we leave. I don't care what anyone says."

And you believed him. God, you did. But there was still this gnawing pit in your stomach. Something you couldn't shake.

Because something still didn't make sense.

The rig was never supposed to fall like that.

The air in the studio felt wrong the moment you stepped inside.

Too still. Too watchful.

The crew was polite — too polite — but cagey. Their gazes flitted toward you, then away. Conversations hushed behind clipboards. Even your supervisor couldn’t meet your eyes. Something was off.

And Pedro… he never let go of your hand.

“Hey.” His thumb brushed against your knuckles, voice low. “You okay?”

You weren’t sure. Your stomach coiled, dread sinking deep into your bones. “Yeah. Just—”

“—Glad you could make it,” a voice interrupted.

You both turned.

Rob, the production’s safety manager, stood stiffly at the entrance. His face was a heavy mask of professionalism, but his eyes… there was something hard in them.

“Rob?” Pedro said, stepping forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

Rob’s jaw flexed. “We need to speak with you both. Privately.”

Your stomach flipped. “Both of us?”

A beat of hesitation. “Yes. It’s regarding the rig accident.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.

The meeting room was small and clinical. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the walls in a cold, sterile glow. A long table stretched across the center, surrounded by a few empty chairs — and at the end of it, a large television screen.

You sat next to Pedro. His knee pressed against yours, grounding you — or maybe grounding himself.

“What’s going on?” you finally managed, trying to sound casual despite the dread in your throat.

Rob didn’t answer immediately. He set his clipboard down and exhaled heavily, gaze flicking between you and Pedro. We reviewed the footage from the accident. We also conducted a full inspection of the rig.”

Your chest tightened. “And?”

Rob hesitated, his throat working. “We found something.”

Silence dropped like a hammer. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“What did you find?” Pedro’s voice was tight, protective.

Rob didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed a remote and clicked it. The television flickered to life.

And there it was.

The accident.

Your throat closed.

You watched yourself on the screen — laughing softly as you secured the cast into their harnesses. Pedro stood beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he said something that made you smile. The light rig swayed subtly above you, unnoticed.

And then—

It happened.

The exact moment the rig detached.

A sharp, metallic snap. Your body jolted, instinctively pushing Pedro out of the way as the light came crashing down.

Your mouth ran dry. Every muscle in your body seized.

“Wait—pause it,” Pedro rasped, his voice cracking. “Right there.”

Rob froze the footage. Pedro shot to his feet, pointing at the corner of the screen. “Zoom in.”

The image expanded.

And there — in the background — was someone.

Half-hidden behind a metal panel. But unmistakable.

“Cecilia,” you whispered, ice flooding your veins.

Pedro went rigid beside you. “What the fuck—”

She was watching you. Her gaze locked solely on you. And then — her hand moved.

A deliberate pull.

And that’s when the rig snapped.

“No.” Pedro’s voice broke, his entire body jerking back as though burned. “No — she—” His hand raked through his hair. “She did that on fucking purpose.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Why—why would she—”

And then Rob’s voice cut through. Low. Grave.

“…She wasn’t trying to kill Mr. Pascal.”

The room dropped into an unbearable silence.

Your head snapped toward Rob. “…What?”

Rob’s throat worked. “The investigation revealed the rig was deliberately tampered with during your lunch break. Cecilia was on set when no one else was. We believe she… adjusted the release on the rig.”

Your entire body went cold. “But it didn’t fall on me,” you rasped. “It— it almost hit him—”

“Because the timing was off.” Rob’s voice was heavy. “…It was meant to fall when you returned. She was waiting for you to get under it.”

Pedro’s hands were shaking. “You’re saying—”

“She was trying to kill her,” Rob confirmed grimly. “And when it didn’t happen — she didn’t react. She just… watched.”

Your stomach lurched.

Pedro stumbled back a step, his face ashen. “Where the fuck is she?” he demanded, voice raw.

“We have her in a separate room. Security’s questioning her now.”

Rob’s words sat heavy in the air.  

The room was suffocating. You could hear the hum of the air conditioner, the faint chatter from outside the closed door, the scratch of Rob’s pen against his clipboard. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.  

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself.  

"I know she and I don’t get along…” you started, your voice unsteady. “But this is a lot.”  

Pedro’s head snapped toward you. His eyes—wide, dark, still brimming with the horror of what he just saw—searched yours like he couldn’t believe you were saying that.  

“A lot?” he repeated, voice tight. “A lot?”  

You swallowed.  

“Pedro, I—”  

“No.” He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck, his whole body strung tight with barely restrained fury. “She tried to fucking kill you. And you’re standing here acting like it’s just—what? Office drama?”  

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”  

“No,” he cut you off, stepping closer. “She planned this, waited for the right moment, rigged that thing to fall exactly when you’d be standing there—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “She watched it happen.”  

The words made your blood run cold.  

Because he was right.  

She had watched. You’d seen it in the footage—the way her head barely moved as the rig came loose, how she didn’t even flinch when it nearly crushed Pedro.  

If anything… it had almost looked like satisfaction.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro saw your expression shift, and his own softened just a fraction. He sighed, running a hand down his face before reaching for you again, his fingers sliding against yours.  

“Amor,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “You can’t downplay this.”  

You hesitated—but you didn’t pull away.  

“I just—” you licked your lips, eyes darting toward Rob. “I need to know why.”  

“Then let’s find out.” Pedro’s grip tightened. He looked at Rob. “I want to see her.”  

Rob hesitated.  

"Mr. Pascal, I don't think—"  

“We need to see her.”  

There was no room for argument.  

Rob exhaled sharply, glancing between you both before nodding. "Follow me."  

SECURITY ROOM — PINEWOOD STUDIOS

The moment you stepped inside, the air felt wrong.  

Cecilia didn’t look up at first. She just sat there, fingers tapping lazily against the metal table, the picture of boredom. But when the door clicked shut behind you, her lips curled into something sharp, something mocking.  

“Well, well.” She leaned back, exhaling a slow breath through her nose. “Look who survived.”  

Pedro’s hands clenched into fists.  

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had questions—you had so many questions—but standing in front of her, seeing the absolute lack of remorse in her expression, your stomach twisted into knots.  

“You were trying to kill me.” It wasn’t even a question.  

Cecilia tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something twisted. “You make it sound so dramatic.”  

Pedro lunged.  

Security was on him before he could reach her, two guards stepping in to block his path. His breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving, but he didn’t take his eyes off her.  

“You tried to fucking kill her!” he spat, voice raw with barely restrained rage.  

Cecilia let out a soft, breathy laugh.  

And then she looked at you.  

The intensity of it made your stomach churn. There was something ugly in her gaze, something simmering beneath the surface.  

“Don’t act so shocked,” she mused, her voice sickly sweet. “You had to know I hated you.”  

You took a shaky step forward. “Why?”  

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”  

“Why, Cecilia?”  

Her smirk dropped.  

And then—  

"Because you don’t belong here," she snapped.  

The air seemed to still.  

Pedro stiffened beside you.  

Cecilia leaned forward, her nails scraping against the metal table. "You’re nobody," she sneered. “Some random, awkward little nobody who just lucked her way into all of this.” Her eyes flicked to Pedro with something scathing. “And somehow, you have him wrapped around your pathetic little finger.”  

Your breath hitched.  

Pedro’s hand found yours, squeezing tight.  

She saw it. And laughed.  

"Oh, wow," she drawled. “That’s fucking hilarious.”  

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off.  

"You walk onto this set like you belong here, like you’re one of us—but you’re not." Her voice was venomous now, her eyes wild. “You think people don’t talk about you? You think we don’t see it? The way you cling to him like some shy, pathetic little puppy?”  

You flinched.  

Pedro stepped in front of you instinctively, his body a shield. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”  

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Look at you. Protecting her. It’s honestly nauseating."  

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.  

"Here’s what really pisses me off," she continued, voice low and sharp. "I worked my ass off to get where I am. I have connections, I have talent, I belong here. But you—" her lip curled "—some quiet, nothing of a girl, you get handed everything. People like you shouldn’t get to win."  

Your throat tightened.  

Cecilia sat back, exhaling through her nose. "So yeah," she murmured. "I wanted you gone."  

Silence.  

And then Pedro moved.  

Not toward her—but toward you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His touch was gentle, but his voice was firm.  

“She’s everything you’ll never be,” he said quietly.  

Cecilia’s eyes darkened.  

Rob, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. His voice was sharp, cold.  

“You’re done.”  

Cecilia blinked, her head snapping toward him.  

“Legal is handling the rest,” Rob continued. "You’ll be formally charged. The company will pursue legal action for endangering crew and tampering with safety equipment. And as for Mr. Pascal and Miss—”  

Pedro cut him off. “We’re filing charges too.”  

Your heart skipped.  

Cecilia laughed. "We’re?” Her eyes flicked to you. “Oh my god. You’re actually letting him do this for you.”  

Pedro didn’t even hesitate. "No," he said. “She’s not letting me do anything. I’m doing this because she deserves better.”  

Cecilia scoffed, but it was weaker now.  

Security moved in. "Time’s up," one of them muttered, gripping Cecilia’s arm.  

She didn’t fight them. Didn’t struggle. But as they led her out, she turned, eyes locking onto yours.  

And then she smiled.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro felt it. You knew he did—because his hand never left yours.  

Rob cleared his throat. "You two need to come with me. Legal will brief you on the next steps."  

Pedro nodded, already leading you toward the door.  

But your feet felt heavy.  

This wasn’t over.  

Not by a long shot.  

And somehow… you had a terrible feeling that Cecilia wasn’t done with you yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — LATER THAT DAY

To say the rest of the workday was exhausting was an understatement.  

The meeting with legal had been a blur—signing statements, reviewing footage again, going over protocol and next steps. There was so much red tape, so much legal jargon, that it all started to bleed together in your head.  

And then there was Cecilia.  

She was officially gone. Fired. Out of the studio.  

No one was exactly mourning her departure. In fact, you quickly realized that she hadn’t been all that liked to begin with. Crew members exchanged knowing glances, a few even muttering things like, “About damn time.” It was a strange kind of relief, knowing you hadn’t imagined the way she’d treated you—that you hadn’t been overreacting.  

Still, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your gut.  

There was something about the way she had smiled before she left.  

Like she knew something you didn’t.  

But you pushed it down. You had to. There was still work to be done, cameras to prep, lights to check. The show had to go on, and the last thing you wanted was to make everything about you.  

So you pretended.  

You focused on your job, gave polite smiles when necessary, forced your hands to steady when they trembled. If anyone noticed how stiff you were, they didn’t say anything. And if Pedro noticed—well.  

He was watching you.  

Constantly.  

Even as he ran through his scenes, even when he was talking to the director, even when he was across the damn set, you could feel it—his eyes lingering, his brow furrowed in quiet concern.  

And honestly? It was starting to make you nervous.  

So, during a break between shots, when he finally cornered you near the equipment table, you weren’t exactly surprised.  

"Are you okay?"  

You swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I’m fine."  

Pedro raised an eyebrow.  

Damn it.  

"I’m trying to be fine," you amended, shifting awkwardly under his gaze.  

He sighed. "You don’t have to try with me, you know."  

Your stomach twisted.  

Because that was the thing about Pedro—he was safe. You had known that since the moment you met him. It was in his voice, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he never pushed too hard, never made you feel like you had to be anything other than what you were.  

And that—that terrified you more than anything.  

Because what if you fell into that safety? What if you leaned too hard? What if you needed him too much?  

You bit your lip, glancing down. "I just... I don’t want to make this a big deal."  

Pedro was silent for a beat. Then—  

"But it is a big deal," he murmured.  

Your breath caught.  

Pedro reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before he really touched you—slow and gentle, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.  

You didn’t.  

"Someone tried to hurt you," he continued, voice low, careful. "I need you to understand that I—" He broke off, his jaw clenching like he was trying to rein himself in. "I don’t take that lightly."  

You exhaled shakily.  

"I know," you whispered.  

His fingers tightened around your wrist, warm and steady.  

For a second, neither of you moved.  

And then—  

Someone called Pedro’s name from across the set.  

He swore under his breath but didn’t let go right away, his thumb brushing absently against your pulse.  

"We’re not done talking about this," he murmured.  

And before you could protest, he was gone.  

Leaving you standing there, heart racing, hands aching with the ghost of his touch.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EARLY EVENING  

The day dragged on like a ghost of itself.

After Cecilia was escorted off set and Pedro’s legal team assured you everything would be handled, you forced yourself to keep working. You were quiet. Careful. Mechanical. Going through the motions like a wind-up version of yourself.

People tried to be nice. Someone handed you a protein bar. Someone else asked if you were okay in that awkward, nervous way people do when they don’t know how to talk about something awful.  

You smiled. Nodded. Said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You weren’t.

By the time the lights dimmed and crew started packing up, the hum of the studio felt deafening. Pedro had been across the lot filming a short pickup scene—he’d looked back at you three times as he walked off, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but you waved him on with a soft, forced smile. Told him you’d be fine.

You lied.

Because now you found yourself sitting on a lonely bench just outside the studio’s back lot, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in golden haze, but none of it touched the growing pit in your chest.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You almost died.

He almost died.  

You didn’t even remember moving—your body just acted, just lunged toward him before the rig collapsed. You could still feel the heat of it brushing past your back as you shoved him out of the way. The sound of it crashing. Pedro yelling your name. The weight of it all hadn’t sunk in until now.

You sat there, heart pounding, staring at your hands like they belonged to someone else.

Then—Footsteps. Familiar ones. Heavy boots on pavement.

Pedro.

“…There you are,” he said softly.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide. He frowned when he saw your face.

“You said you were going to the parking lot,” he murmured, kneeling down in front of you instead of sitting beside you. “You’ve been out here alone?”

You nodded. Barely. “Yeah. I just… I needed a second.”

His gaze flickered over you, reading all the things you didn’t say.

“You’re not okay.”

You tried to smile again. Failed. “No.”

That one word cracked something open. Your voice wobbled. “I’m really not.”

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just reached for your hands, gently prying them from where they were clutched around your middle. His thumbs brushed your knuckles as he held them, grounding you with his warmth.

“I keep thinking,” you whispered, “If I was just a few steps slower—if I hadn’t looked up, if the timing was different… you could’ve been—”

“Hey.” He reached up, cupping your cheek. His voice was low and firm and steady. “But I wasn’t. You were there. You saved me.”

You blinked hard. Your throat tightened. “But you shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. None of this should’ve happened. I don’t know how she—how someone I used to know—could hate me that much. It’s like… like I did something wrong just by existing.”

Pedro’s brow furrowed. His thumb brushed gently under your eye where a tear had slipped free. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You’re not the problem, cariño. She is. Whatever’s broken in her, it has nothing to do with you.”

You dropped your gaze. “I’ve always been the weird one. The quiet one. The ‘who even let her in here?’ kind of girl.”

Pedro let out a breath like it hurt to hear you say that. Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his chest without hesitation. You didn’t even think—your body just curled into him like it was home.

“I don’t know who made you feel like that,” he said quietly, “but they were all wrong.”

His arms were wrapped around you tight. Solid. Safe.

“You belong here,” he whispered. “You’re good at your job. You’re kind. And brave. You didn’t even hesitate today. You didn’t think about it, didn’t flinch—you just moved.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your temple.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life,” he admitted. “Watching that rig come down, seeing you throw yourself toward me—” His voice cracked, just a little. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt.”

Your heart thudded painfully at that.

You shifted slightly, your face still tucked against his shoulder, your voice small. “But I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It was full of unspoken things. Of feeling.  

You pulled back just enough to look at him. He didn’t let go.

“…You really scared me too,” you whispered. “More than I expected. And I—I don’t think it’s just because I like working with you.”

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You don’t?” he asked gently.

Your cheeks flushed. You glanced down, shy and awkward. “No. I think… I think I like you in the stupid romantic way.”

Pedro didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned in—slow, careful, giving you every chance to back away.

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, it was soft. Warm. Like the sun finally touching your skin after a long, cold day.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “That’s not stupid.”

You smiled, still tearful, still trembling—but for the first time all day, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—just… full. The kind of silence that settles in after your body’s been wrung out by adrenaline and nerves. You stared out the window, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Pedro sat beside you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your wrist with his thumb, like he needed to keep reminding himself you were still there.

He didn’t ask you anything. Didn’t push. Just stayed close.

By the time the keycard clicked and the hotel door swung open, your shoulders felt like they were being held up by thread.

Pedro locked the door behind you. You stood there for a beat too long, not sure what to do with yourself. Like you were suddenly a guest in your own body.

“Hey,” his voice came from behind, soft. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?”

You nodded, toeing off your shoes and sinking onto the edge of the bed. The moment your weight settled into the mattress, your spine curled forward. You didn’t cry. Didn’t break. Just sat there, small and still, trying to hold it all in.

Pedro crouched in front of you.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he reached for them.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You looked up, eyes glassy, and gave the smallest nod.

He took your hands into his, warm and steady, his thumbs brushing slow circles over your knuckles.

“Pedro…”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, eyes focused entirely on you. “Hm?”

You hesitated. Your heart fluttered in your chest—nervous, raw, still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. But his hands felt like an anchor. His eyes were kind and open and safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly. Barely more than a whisper.

His lips parted—just the smallest bit—and then curved into something achingly tender.

“Anything for you, mi amor,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

The way he said it—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t performative. There was no teasing lilt in his voice. It was soft and full of meaning, like every word had been carefully chosen. Like he meant it with his whole chest.

You tried to look away, but he was already watching you with that gaze that always made you feel like the most precious thing in the room.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you said quietly, your voice cracking just a little. “I’ve been weird all day, I barely said anything, and I just—there was this moment where I couldn’t stop shaking. I still feel like I can’t breathe right.”

Pedro didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he brought your hands up and pressed a kiss to your fingers, slow and reverent. Like you were something delicate and sacred.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said gently. “I know what today was. I saw what it did to you. And I saw how hard you still tried.”

Your throat felt tight.

“You didn’t shut down,” he continued. “You showed up. You protected me. And then you went right back to work like nothing happened. But sweetheart… that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot.”

Your lips trembled.

He let go of your hands just long enough to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks. “You don’t have to be okay right away. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t think it’d affect me this much,” you whispered. “It’s just… I felt so stupid for freezing up earlier.”

“You weren’t stupid,” he said immediately. “You were brave. You were human.”

You looked down, unsure of what to say to that. You were still getting used to how he talked to you—like you mattered. Like your feelings were real and valid and worth holding space for.

Pedro tipped your chin up with a gentle finger. “Hey.”

Your eyes met his again.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You don’t owe anyone a perfect reaction. You don’t owe me anything except exactly who you are.”

“I don’t know how to be that around you,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I still feel like I’m tripping over my own feet when I talk.”

His smile turned playful—just for a second.

“I think it’s cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed softly, arms wrapping around you again.

“I’m serious,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re so hard on yourself, mi amor. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully in your chest. You stayed like that, pressed close against him, letting his warmth sink into your skin like sunlight through linen. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, and he held you like you were something he didn’t want to let go of.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Will you stay?” you asked softly.

Pedro’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Of course.”

“No, I mean…” You hesitated. “All night.”

He reached up, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You want me here?”

You nodded. “I feel safe when you’re here.”

His chest rose with a quiet breath, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead—slow, lingering, warm.

“Then I’m staying,” he said simply.

And he did.

You both climbed under the covers a few minutes later, your back to his chest, his arms around your waist. He held you gently, like a promise. You were still a little shy, still unsure of how close to be—but when he murmured, “I’ve got you,” into your shoulder, something deep in you finally let go.

You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, the world softening around you.

End Notes:

I know, it's not a super long chapter update, for that I am so sorry, but I swear the next one will be longer tehe!

Will they catch a break?!?! I dunno. There’s a lot of things that come with dating a celebrity… and soon enough, the public will find out. I’m sure it will be fine! ...Right?

Anyways, I apologize once again for the wait and thank you for your patience! See you soon 🤍

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66 @bunniboo0015 @kneelforloki @sarcasticamentegiulia @joelmillerpascal

[notjustjavierpena]

Hello, i hope this isn’t too much but i really admire your courage to write the hard stuff that goes on between javi and his wife. would you ever write something about the struggles they had about conceiving lucas?

Crazy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya, anon! This was such a rollercoaster to write but thanks so much for giving me the needed push. Also tysm for the compliment 🥺

Summary: Thoughts of infertility take a toll on you and Javier's marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Infertility, arguments, apologies, hurt/comfort, angst, emotional sex, lots of kissing, pussy eating, piv sex, mating press, creampie, pillowtalk, aftercare

Word count: 6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64569853

Crazy

You can’t help but count the months. Seven long ones with still no baby growing in your belly. Seven and counting since you went off your birth control, a ridiculous thought that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth since it turned out that you hadn’t needed it anyway in the first place. Okay, maybe you had but it is your exhaustion talking, whispering it in your ear.

You remember the conversation that Javier and you had in the kitchen that one time a while back, where he promised you that if everything else failed, you would let Steve and Connie set an example and find your own Olivia. Yet neither of you has dared go into the discussion of exactly when it’s time to stop trying, or if you’d truly be ready to adopt. 

However, now as you anxiously pace around the kitchen, waiting for Javier to come home and cleaning off stains that aren’t actually there from yesterday’s dishes, you wonder if you should call Connie to hear her opinion. 

You stop halfway to the landline to stare at the calendar on the door to the refrigerator. The red circle around today’s date mocks you and you lift your hand up to flip it off, giving it a roll of your eyes now that you’re at it. Seven fucking months of anxiously charting your cycles, tracking ovulation windows, and feeling hope slip away with each negative test. 

What if it never happens at all? Connie hadn’t seemed to entertain your worry the last time you brought it up, had shaken her head with a smile you wanted to wipe off her face, and pulled out her authority as a nurse to reassure you. There’s still plenty of time before you need to start worrying, she keeps saying, and it feels like it is the only reason you are still taking vitamins, avoiding caffeine, and doing your exercises. 

You’ve reached the phone now, your hand hovering over it in midair. It would be so easy to ring Connie right now and tell her every worry that is constantly going around in your head, every frustration of being in a battle with forcibly loving your body when it isn’t working the way it should. But then you think of Javier and decide against it, convinced by the guilt that nags at you. It feels like a betrayal to begin that particular and very tough conversation with anyone else but him. 

You stand there for a moment longer, staring at the phone, silently hoping it will ring and Connie will be on the other end of the line. It would make it easier to justify running your mouth to her. 

“Don’t look at me, it just happened,” you would say and still know it wasn’t okay.

Keys being inserted into the front door and the handle rattling makes you tense up in nervous anticipation. Javier is home from work. This is the day you’ve been waiting for a whole month, the one you’ve rearranged your entire schedule around and taken off work because if there’s any chance of being a mom, it has to be now.

“Baby?” He calls when he’s inside the house. You can hear the thud of his bag hitting the floor and the sound of his footsteps going towards the living room. 

“I’m here,” you answer through the house. You peek into the living room and see him shrug out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch and letting himself fall into the cushions with a contented sigh. You know you’re supposed to go in there and spoil his relief. 

“Come in here,” he says and taps his fingers on his knees, eyes soft from hoping to see you materialize in the doorway. He always tells you he misses you at his job.

Carefully, you enter the room and approach him with urgency in your body. You have a single mission today and it is a delicate matter. 

Get pregnant. 

Getpregnantgetpregnantgetpregnant. 

Get fucking pregnant.

“Hey,” he says with a tired smile when you stand right in front of him, glad to see you. He holds out his hand for you to take. You don’t reach for it and his smile fades.

“We should have sex,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, staring down at him as he reaches for his tie instead. 

“Baby, I just walked in. I just sat down,” he says softly and tugs at the knot on his tie, pulling it loose with a small noise. There’s an underlying emotion to his voice, a hint of frustration to his tone even if he doesn’t want to upset you. 

Your focus, your tunnel vision, makes you ignore his complaint as if it isn’t a ticking bomb right between your hands, “If I’ve calculated right, it’s been twelve hours since we last had sex, Javi. I’ve read that it’s a good idea to—“

“We have sex all the time, baby. Three times yesterday. Once at night. We fuck a lot,” he reaches up to run both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands afterward. He does a quick inhale and then sighs.

“Yes, but we have to do it today too to be sure. Connie said that—“ you quickly argue but his jaw muscles flex as you talk. Javier pushes himself to stand with exasperation in his next breath.

He pushes past you as if he cannot take being in your presence for a second longer despite just having arrived home, doesn’t even look at you as he throws back a sarcastic comment, “Oh, Connie said? Really? Wow, you really know how to turn me on.”

“That’s not funny. Hey, come back here,” you say as he starts walking towards the kitchen instead, leaving you with your mouth a thin line. You follow him but don’t go any further than standing in the door, “I’m the only one who initiates sex lately. What if my ovulation is peaking right now? The day is over soon.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, reaching back to grip the edge of the table, “The day isn’t over yet. It’s five in the afternoon. I just got home. We can have sex tonight.” 

You finally step fully into the kitchen now and it feels almost like you have crossed enemy lines. You can feel your tears build inside of your chest, crawling steadily up into your throat till they burn but you don’t allow yourself to cry. Why doesn’t he understand the pain of losing another month to grief? Why is it not as important to him? You look desperate, “Connie said it’s best during the day.”

“Stop,” he suddenly commands, causing you to flinch. He looks angry at you, unable to register the impact of the tone of his voice because of his own state of mind but it makes you tremble. He is never this way, “I can’t fucking take another fucking word about eggs and sperm and fertile windows. It’s too much now. You’re being crazy.”

Something breaks inside of you at those words, a beast that’s been hidden inside a cage in your chest threatening to escape and go for the kill. You watch him carelessly turn away to open the fridge, detachment on his face as if he has just argued with you about what you’re having for dinner. He leaves you feeling in complete disbelief and disarray, your heart ticking like a bomb. You need out right now or you might suffocate in the large, childless space that you moved into with the idea that you would be a family of three soon. 

You leave the room with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The walls feel like they are closing in on you, close to trapping you here in this feeling forever if you don’t hurry up and reach the front door quickly. 

You slam the door behind you, no shoes on your feet, and then suddenly you are close to running down the street, breathing harder and harder while your arms swing along your sides in your haste. 

He has never called you crazy before. The word feels like he has just spat in your face, wrapped you in barbed wire, as if he sees you as just one more woman suffering from hysteria. Dismissible and unserious. Crazy. You swear you can feel all of the women before you right behind you, giving you the wind in your back to run faster than ever even with no destination. You don’t even feel your feet hurt from being bare against the harsh ground. 

However, you are barely a few blocks away from your home when you hear Javier’s voice calling out your name with the same desperation that you have felt since the first negative pregnancy test. 

The second you hear him, you automatically start running faster, determined to escape something you can’t quite pinpoint what is, but it only lasts a few seconds. Eventually, you finally slow down. Not because you want him to catch you but because your chest is heaving and your eyes are burning with tears, blurring your vision and disorienting you. 

He grabs your arm firmly when he reaches you and tries to pull you into an embrace. You resist at first, stiffening against him as he wraps you in his arms. 

“Stop!” You sob violently but he doesn’t let go even when you start crying loud enough to attract attention. Instead, he tightens his grip around you to calm your nervous system. How odd it is to want comfort from the man who also made you cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he says repeatedly, his cheek against yours while you try to hit his chest. You can hear the regret in his voice but your pride makes you unwilling to soften. 

You struggle further, almost like a panicked animal, wanting to kick and scream to escape a trap, but the fight is going out of your body quickly, gripped by exhaustion and making you sag. Another sob rips itself from your throat, “If I’m so crazy then there’s no reason we should be together let alone have a baby.”

When you’re less resistant, he cradles your head in his hand to make you look at him, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not crazy. Dios, soy un pendejo (God, I’m an idiot). I’m so sorry, mi amor (my love).”

You sink to your knees but he catches you before they hit the sidewalk.

“I’m not crazy,” you insist weakly as you slump into his embrace.

“You’re not crazy,” he confirms quietly, “I’d take that back if I could.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too… You were frustrated and tired,” you sniffle and your bottom lip trembles, “I shouldn’t have pushed you the second you walked through the door. I’m just worried that we have to wait a whole month before we can try again because we’re too lazy to have sex. And I hate that it is ruining our sex life because I love having sex with you.”

Javier says your name but it’s clear that it has caught him off guard.

You pull back to look up at his face. His brown eyes are soft and full of apologies, like the impact of his words only hits him now, “Now I’m scared that this is all responsible for you not finding me sexy anymore. I know it’s stupid but what if I’m the reason why we never get there? What if all this pressure makes you stop wanting me? What if I–”

“Now that’s crazy,” he says in an attempt to smooth things over with a joke but that one crease in his forehead, the one that he gets when frustration hits, is back because it doesn’t work.

You compose yourself enough to step back and give him a warning look, a look that says don’t you dare say that word again. He holds his hands up in surrender and then just reaches for your wrist, tugs it until he can entwine your fingers.

“What?” You’re the one to bite now, "I'm serious. I don’t want to lose you in this."

"You're not going to lose me,” he groans in exasperation. A few heads have popped up in the windows of the houses surrounding you. 

“Then why aren’t you upset like I am?” You ask harshly and pull your hand away to hug yourself. You avoid his gaze. 

Javier looks at you as if you’ve cracked him wide open right there on the sidewalk. He furrows his brows, opening his mouth without any words coming out. He turns away then, needs to gather himself without staring at your face. 

You know immediately that you have crossed a line, that you have hit a nerve that wasn’t supposed to be as exposed as it suddenly is. 

“Javi,” you murmur shamefully. 

“Is that what you think?” He turns back to you, the look in his eyes frantic and desperate. He also looks furious but for some reason, you can tell it isn’t directed at you, “That— That I’m not scared or upset enough? I’m terrified all the fucking time but if I let myself be as scared as you are, I’d be fucking useless to you.”

The realization hits you like an oncoming train, making tears start falling from your eyes again. You don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you. Javier feels the exact same way as you but he simply hides it better.

You want to say something but he beats you to it, pointing at you to stress his point, his chest heaving, “And for the record. There’s no fucking universe where I stop wanting you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you do the next best thing and show him. You reach to cup his face, your thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and then you kiss his lips. 

He sighs against your mouth, his broad palms finding your waist and tugging you as close as possible until he can wrap you in the harbor of his arms. Then he kisses you deeper, several times too, each brush of his lips releasing more of the tension between you. 

You’re here. In the same boat. And you love each other so much. That should be enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it is.

When the kiss is over, you don’t draw away from each other. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you protectively close to his chest and stroking the back of your head. You link your arms around him, clinging tightly to him with a few tears staining his shirt because you have hurt each other so much. 

“I want to go home,” you murmur softly into his shoulder while he strokes your hair, “Por favor (please).”

“Okay,” he answers just as gently, placing a kiss on your forehead before drawing back, “We’ll go home.”

You walk home side by side, no words spoken between you. The tension is still there, sizzling in the air but it is charged with something else too. You almost feel like a teenager again, back when you were too scared to speak to the person you’ve decided late at night that you’d go through fire for. 

The first block is spent with your hands brushing as they hang by your sides and the both of you holding your breath when it happens but then Javier laces your fingers together and a quiet understanding settles over you. 

When you enter the front door together, none of you even glance in the direction of the kitchen or the living room. There's no hurry to move on from the storm of intense emotions that you have just been through, no hurry to busy yourself with anything that’ll simply push it down or bottle it up. 

The only urgency now is that storm, your hearts tense but only with the need to reassure each other. His mouth finds yours again, his body pushes you against the wall and the intensity behind his kiss grows from how he had kissed you in the street. Your lips meet in a kiss so deep that Javier coaxes a moan from your mouth. 

For once in all of this, you’re not scared of the outcome of being together, entwined. The need to conceive a child with your husband is still very much there but right now, it is overshadowed by a need to connect fully, to lick each other’s wounds even if you caused them. 

You reach to untie the knot on his tie completely. He hesitates for just a breath, a hand on your wrist to gain your attention. 

“Are you sure?” He asks despite how you still pull the tie out from underneath his collar. 

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate a second and drop the tie on the floor, desire ignited in your belly, “I’m so sure. I want you.”

He lets out a shaky breath with a smile, nodding his head while you move in to kiss his throat where his pulse thrums. His eyes close at the contact, his head tilting back just a little until a soft moan escapes his mouth. Your body grows warm from hearing it and you take it as a cue to move in silence, sharing searing kisses all the way to the bedroom. 

When you get there, Javier closes the door behind you and turns the lock, not because there’s any chance that you will be disturbed but just to keep the outside world at bay for a little while. It feels more intimate like that, like you are the only two people in the world.

You stand by the end of the bed, watching him do it and feeling your heart pounding in your chest from anticipation. You smile softly when he approaches you, too afraid that words might mess up the way that air crackles with intimacy and tenderness. 

He reaches out first as if promising to take the lead of you, curling his fingers around the edge of your top to lift it up. You raise your arms in the air to let him peel it over your head, goosebumps erupting on your skin where his knuckles brush you. He drops your top on the floor. 

You finally reciprocate by moving to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Your hands tremble slightly as you do it but Javier is patient, just reaches to gently steady your wrist by holding it. 

When you have reached the last one, he takes over and shrugs the fabric off his shoulders to reveal his warm and safe chest. You step closer, hands finding his shoulders as you lean in to kiss along his collarbone. He takes the opportunity to unclasp your bra while you’re at it, a palm skimming up your back while the other rests at your waist. 

When your breasts are bare, your nipples have hardened at the sudden exposure to the colder temperature. He undoes his belt and jeans, and when he bends slightly to take them off along with his boxers, he presses a tender kiss right over a nipple and skims his nose and lips across your chest to do the same thing with the other. 

You moan softly. He grabs around your waist and helps lowering you down onto the bed. You sit on the edge but not for long, moving back until you can lay down spread out. He follows you like a magnet, ends up kneeling between your legs so he can undo and yank down your pants. 

You help kick them off and then bend your knees briefly to let him drag your underwear down too. His mouth is everywhere he can reach; your ankles, your calves, knees, and thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly on his way down your inner thigh, breaking the silence, and while he says those words a lot, there’s something different behind them today. It is almost like he is telling you something else; you’re not broken, not defined in your femininity by your body’s ability to carry his child.

You hold tears at bay and run your hand over his hair, looking down at the top of his head as his face disappears down between your thighs. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp when he first mouths along your cunt. 

“Javi,” you sigh a moment later, your head knocking back into the bed so you can look up at the ceiling while focusing on the velvety feeling of his mouth. 

He eats you slowly, the flat of his tongue gently moving over your clit until you can’t help each sigh and moan that falls from your lips. His fingers spread your cunt open, his other hand squeezing your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart to dive in. 

“Please,” you hear yourself say. It’s the moment you realize how long it has been since you last were together like this; he hasn’t gone down on you for months because it doesn’t make a baby. The room is quiet except for your labored breaths and the filthy wet sounds of his mouth teasing you towards the edge. It feels so good to be wanted like this, reassured of how sexy you are without all the pressure to procreate. 

Hearing that soft plea makes Javier wrap his lips around your clit to kiss it repeatedly. He moans into you when your legs start to tremble in his peripheral vision. He switches it up and sucks. It makes you whimper, your back arching off the bed as he worships you between your thighs.

You are sure that he’ll pull away when you lift your pelvis up to meet his mouth further, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he just slides the hand on your thigh down under the small of your back to hold you there, then breathes heavily through his nose and hungrily continues to make you inch closer to the edge. 

Like always, he can hear your orgasm knocking by the way you begin to hold your breath between small gasps of pleasure. He intensifies the pressure and the precision just so, and you slide both hands through his hair - something he has clearly been waiting for with the way he groans - while your toes start to curl. 

When you actually come, it drags a sinful groan out of the both of you. Your thighs lock around his head and you pull at his hair. It’s not pretty and polite. It’s pure release, and it is ripped out of you like it has been buried under your prickly skin, underneath heartbreak, forever. 

You say his name until it makes no sense anymore, swallowing down desperate gulps of air. He lets you ride it out on his tongue, making sure to tease out every little aftershock before releasing you from his grasp. Yes, you needed this but it is almost like he needed it more. 

“You don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes heavily while you come down. He trails off and rests his forehead against your thigh, “You don’t fucking know what it does to me… when you look at me like you did earlier… Like you’re done.”

“I’m not,” you whisper in reply, voice shaky with tears that have finally found release. You cry softly, “I’m not done. Never done.”

“Don’t cry, baby,” he looks up at you with those brown eyes that are so hard to resist because of the silent plead within them. It hurts your chest to watch him so full of remorse, hurts to be loved this much. 

“Come here,” you whisper softly and hold your arms open for him but he wants to take it slow. 

He kisses his way up your body instead - a kiss to your hip, your belly, one right beneath your ribs - and you use the opportunity to slide your fingers through his hair. His mustache is slick with you, scratching just slightly as he treats you like you might not be in his bed tomorrow. 

But while he wants to savor you, you feel the growing impatience within your chest. You need him closer, your hands going repeatedly from his hair to his shoulders and then to his back because you are unsure of where to touch him when you want all of him. 

When he has his knees between your thighs again, he doesn’t crush you with his weight. Instead, he hovers above, eyes roaming over your face to check if you’re still letting him have you. In response, you settle on cupping his face. He automatically turns his face to press a longing kiss into the palm of your hand. 

You pull him to your mouth in a kiss that steals his breath away, his hand cupping the side of your neck. You kiss him like you should have done the moment he came in through the door and he meets your mouth like he needs to feel forgiveness in his very bones. Maybe a kiss like this would have avoided the pain that you inflicted upon each other. You cry in his arms. He wipes tears away with his thumbs and doesn’t rush you. 

Eventually, you are panting from the intensity of what feels like one of the deepest kisses of your life. Your lips are swollen and sensitive, and his cock is hard against your thigh to the point where you think he must be aching. The occasional kiss to your throat makes your whole body tingle with want, your cunt fluttering in interest. The pressing issue, however, is that you need to put all of these feelings somewhere. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper with your fingers in his hair, breathing hard against his mouth, “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

Javier swears quietly under his breath as if he has been waiting for those words, nodding repeatedly with his stare fixed on your lips before giving you another desperate kiss. 

He reluctantly pulls away, your hands slipping out of his dark locks, to sit back on his knees. You let your palms lay flat on the sheets and stare up at him, his face full of determination while he slides his hands around the back of your knees. 

At first, you think he wants to drag you down on the bed and closer to himself but then he lifts your legs and you gasp because you immediately know what he is doing with you. He pushes until your thighs are pressed against your chest, your cunt on full display and at his mercy. 

He doesn’t speak as he moves over you again, not stopping until his chest brushes the back of your thighs and your ankles are resting on his broad shoulders. He folds you even further in when he leans down to kiss your throat, the soft sound that escapes you vibrating underneath his lips.

You grip the sheets and hold on for dear life as he enters you slowly, giving you the full length of his cock inch by inch. He holds your gaze as he bottoms out and it makes you so aware of everything he does to you. There's no space between you now. Not physically. Not emotionally. He looks at you as if telling you that you and he belong together, like he is ready to rewrite the last seven months of your sex life. 

You can’t speak, can’t even think because you’re still trembling and sensitive. The stretch of his cock is almost too much inside of you but he is gentle with you, letting you adjust while kissing his way to your mouth again. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You nod as if to reciprocate and then whimper as another tear escapes, “I love you. I missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too,” he whispers and gently kisses away the salty tear. 

The ache of need catches up to you as you get used to feeling him inside of your cunt so fully, the thick head of his cock resting against the spot where you need him the most. An impatient flutter of your walls makes him give in and move inside of you. 

You moan feebly while he takes you slowly and full of precision. The angle of this position has you breathless in seconds, your back arching with each stroke against your g-spot. Your moans mix together with the sound of skin slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet room. You hold onto his biceps, feeling the muscles of his arms flex beneath your touch as he strains his body to give you everything he has. 

“I’ve got it now, mi amor (my love)” he lets you know through ragged breaths, resting his forehead against yours, “You don’t have to start it anymore. No need to ask.” 

“Don’t stop. Javi— oh, don’t stop,” you plead him with a steady stream of teardrops falling from your eyes. They roll down into your hair faster than he can kiss them away but it doesn’t matter, you think to yourself, because you want him to see what he does to you; that his words move you, that you needed to hear them because you’re exhausted and fuck, he loves you so much. 

“Shh, don’t cry, baby, you’re okay,” he coos with another soft kiss to follow. You turn your head afterward to press your face into the side of his head, brows furrowing as the first hints of your climax being within reach show. 

He barely pulls out anymore, just grinds down into your cunt and hits the right spot repeatedly. There’s no talking either. Instead, just the sound of your sweat-slicked bodies moving together, your breath hitching in your throat as your belly tightens even more, and his growls every time your cunt squeezes around him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re making me come,” he grits out, sweat gathering on his brow and concentration all over his face. 

“I’m close,” you gasp with your thighs starting to tremble from how intense it is going to be. You let your head bump into the mattress, your spine arching in a bow as it creeps up on you and your breathing begins to stutter. 

You come with a silent cry towards the ceiling because all air is knocked out of you. It takes a few moments before noise catches up to you but when it does, you absolutely sob underneath the weight of his body. The intensity makes you clamp down on his cock, your walls going into rhythmic squeezes that make Javier hiss and his pace falter from how you milk him. 

“I’m coming,” he near-whimpers before going off into a satisfied groan while his hips stutter, “Fuck, baby. You’re— I’m coming.”

He buries himself to the hilt before spilling inside of your wet, oversensitive heat. You gasp at the feeling of it, the weight of it settling inside of you. He trembles above you, enough for you to slide your hands up to his shoulders and cup his face. 

He holds himself up with one hand and holds one of yours with the other, breathing rapidly. His chest is broad and glistening with sweat, warm and nearly suffocating but he is yours. You want it like that, want to drown in the intimacy that you feel. 

Without a word, he straightens and pulls out his softening cock. It makes you tense up, looking down where you have been connected with worry on your face. You don’t want it to slip, to not work this time either, but he guides your legs together and then shifts slightly on the mattress. He lays them gently on one shoulder, making sure that no drop spills from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he coos, almost shushing you like a child. His arms cradle your legs, “Don’t worry.”

You can do nothing but whimper. He rubs your belly with his free hand and you place your palm on top of it, an unconscious gesture of hope between you. 

“This is the most important thing,” he says after weighing his words for a moment, “You and I.”

“Javi,” you protest but there’s no exasperation building up beneath the surface this time. He shakes his head to stop any words at the tip of your tongue. 

“I will give you anything you want. A house, a baby, anything you want,” he tells you, whispering it as if there are other people in the room besides the two of you and he wants privacy. It feels safer to hear him lower his voice, “But not if it costs me you. We are not meant to fight like that.”

Your bottom lip trembles because he is right. You’re not meant to fight like that at all, chests heaving with adrenaline and bloodlust from grief over the fact that something is getting the better of you. It feels as unnatural as snow in August and rivers running dry. 

“I want to give you a baby,” you say quietly and feel a tear slide down your cheek. Javier reaches to brush it away with his index finger, shushing you once more with the gentleness in him only reserved for you. 

“And you will,” he promises and cups your cheek afterward, his thumb stroking your face where another tear has fallen, “It’ll happen. This way or another.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You nod. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks and lets his mouth graze the side of your ankle. 

“I love you too,” you say back without much thought that he is actually asking a question. 

“Yes, but do you know how much? Look at me,” he waits for a moment.

Your gaze locks onto him, your eyes big and teary.

“I don’t think you know how lucky I am to have you in my life after all the stupid shit I’ve done back in Colombia. I hurt people. I watched people die. No wonder I wasn’t all here when I came back. I thought I was just gonna float through the rest of my life being angry or drifting in some bar like a ghost. You were the first thing that felt like… like the world could be soft again. And now you think I could ever stop wanting you?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re the only place I’ve ever felt like I could put my feet down and not run. When everything starts to weigh down on me, you breathe life back into me. Whatever happens next, I want it with you, okay?”

You cry with your heart feeling too big for your chest, words lost on you because how can he still love you when this takes such a toll on you that it brings out the worst in you? Probably just how you can love him just the same too.

You sniffle, “Yes, me too.”

He looks serious and soft, “Even if it’s not how we imagined. Even if we gotta go knock on Connie’s door and ask for the number of that adoption agency… or do IVF… or whatever the hell else it takes.”

You nod. When you speak, it is nothing but a squeak, “Yes.”

“But right now,” he caresses the skin of your calf and murmurs into another kiss to your ankle, “I just wanna stay here. In this bed. With my wife… and let the world wait a little while longer. Can we do that?”

“Can I get my legs down, so we can cuddle?” You shift a little, still slick between your thighs and sore in the best way, but there’s no rush to clean up or face anything other than the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He smiles, “Of course. Lift your legs, I’ve got you.”

He does. He always does.

.

.

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

[adelliet]

Harry Castillo x f!reader

WORTH THE RISK

Summary: Your best friend offered you a job at the restaurant she worked at. It was your last chance to climb out of the hole you’d been stuck in for way too long. But along with the new job came someone new.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, age gap, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), nicknames, praise kink, aftercare, prejudices, reader is poor (sorry)

A/n: Hi! So, this is not that long (I hope) than my other fic's, but it's still good, trust me. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

“Can you take that guy’s order?” your friend asked, pointing discreetly at a man sitting alone at a round table draped in a crisp white tablecloth.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the fact that he was sitting at a table meant for six, completely alone. But hey, this was a fancy place, and he looked like a fancy guy. What did you know about rich people and their habits anyway?

“Sure,” you muttered, grabbing your notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. As you approached, you put on your best customer-service smile, stopping at a polite distance, close enough to hear each other over the background noise, but not so close that it felt inappropriate.

“Good evening. What can I get you?”

The man was still holding the menu, one finger resting against his lips, visibly lost in thought. It took him a second to register your voice. When he did, his eyes flicked to yours, then did a quick double-take.

His pupils dilated slightly. His previously distant expression softened. And then, just the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

You wouldn’t call him unattractive. Not at all. His sharp features were framed by a neatly trimmed brown mustache and slightly wavy hair that fell just past his ears. His eyes, deep and warm, like freshly brewed coffee, held a certain weight, an intensity that was hard to ignore. He looked like comfort. Like stability.

But you weren’t about to fall for that.

A man with money was a dangerous thing. You knew that all too well. So you pushed down any flutter of attraction, forced yourself to focus on what mattered.

He was just another customer.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet… Do you have any recommendations? Maybe the most expensive wine on the menu?”

Ah. There it was. The casual flex. You inhaled deeply, suppressing an eye roll.

“Yes, we have a few top selections. There’s the Château Margaux for $1,500, the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon for $3,000, and—”

Before you could finish, he nodded, already deciding.

“I’ll take the Screaming Eagle.”

Of course he would.

You gave him a polite nod and jotted it down, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the first or last time someone ordered it. Not because of the taste, but because of the price.

“Anything else?”

“Not for now, thank you.”

You nodded once more before walking away. The second you were out of his sight, you let out a deep breath, pulling a face, something between Are you kidding me? and Of course he did.

By the time you finally had the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine in your hands, you knew you had to be extra careful. One wrong move and you’d be responsible for spilling a small fortune onto the restaurant floor.

In one hand, you held the bottle. In the other, a wine glass, filled just about a quarter of the way, some weird restaurant tradition, offering a ‘preview’ sip before pouring the rest.

Anyways, you weren’t sure what did it.

Maybe it was the chaotic energy of the restaurant, the tension in the air. Maybe it was the way your manager had been snapping at everyone all night, dumping his stress onto the staff. Or maybe, maybe you were just having one of those days.

Either way, the second you opened your mouth to speak, the glass slipped from your fingers. And the wine? Right onto his lap.

“Oh, fuck—” you cursed, immediately realizing your mistake.

Not only had you just sworn, loudly, in a high-end restaurant, but you had also spilled a glass of the most expensive wine on a man who, with one phone call, could probably have you fired and blacklisted from every fine dining establishment in the city.

Oh, you were so getting fired.

“I—I am so sorry!”

In a rush, you set the now-empty glass and the bottle onto the table, grabbing the nearest napkin in sheer panic.

He just chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over. But it was definitely not okay.

Before your brain could fully process what you were doing, you had already dropped to your knees in front of him, frantically dabbing at the fabric of his pants with the napkin. It wasn’t until a second later that you realized how it looked.

How bad it looked. How absolutely, utterly humiliatingly wrong it looked. Oh, you were definitely getting fired.

“Sh— I am sorry, I—”

The panic in your voice was impossible to hide. He definitely noticed. But somehow, he didn’t seem the least bit upset. If anything, he looked… amused. Which he shouldn’t be. Not after getting drenched in the most expensive wine on the menu. Not after his server nearly touched his-

Oh god. You wanted to die.

You shot up from your knees so fast, you nearly lost your balance. Your face was burning. Absolutely on fire from the sheer humiliation of it all.

But no. You were not about to let your embarrassment control the situation. It was time to act like a real server. A professional. Definitely not a panicked, flustered mess.

“Sir, I am so, so sorry,” you started, quickly pulling out your notebook and pen, trying desperately to salvage the situation. “As compensation for this incident, you have the right to order anything on the menu, completely free of charge.”

Before you could jot anything down, you suddenly felt his hand on your wrist, stopping you.

“Sweetheart, it’s fine. I don’t want anything.”

He looked like he didn’t want anything. Unlike you, who was still visibly spiraling, he seemed completely unfazed. Relaxed, even.

“Sir, it’s my responsibility to—”

“Really, it’s nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice carrying that effortless confidence. “Money’s not an issue for me.”

Well, that was obvious.

His face held that same unwavering calm, like he could simply talk his way out of this, and honestly? He probably could. But your conscience wouldn’t let you walk away that easily. You had ruined his expensive suit pants. An apology alone didn’t feel like enough.

“Alright, sir, but there must be something I can offer you. I can’t just—”

“You know what? There is something,” he leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the backrest as a slow, knowing smile curled at his lips. A smile that was dangerous. A smile that could strip a woman down to her lingerie with just a single glance. And god, you were so close to being one of them.

But no, you held your ground. Barely.

“Dinner,” he finally said, his voice smooth as silk. “That’ll make up for it.”

You froze. Like, actually froze. Did you hear him right? You blinked, still frozen. Did you understand him right? But when he kept looking at you with that same flirtatious expression, you realized. Oh, you definitely understood him right.

“Oh—no, no, that’s—”

“It’s the only offer I’ll accept,” he cut in, leaving you zero room to argue. Which made this so much harder. On one hand, this man, this incredibly rich, insanely attractive man, had just asked you out.

On the other hand, he was a customer. A snob. And men with money? They were dangerous. And yet against your better judgment, your head gave the tiniest nod.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. His eyes lit up. His smile stretched wider. Still confident. Still composed. Still oozing wealth and charm.

“Great. Tomorrow, 8:00 PM. Dinner at this place. Don’t be late.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card, which he handed to you. You took it carefully. It was fancy. Even the texture of it felt expensive. A white business card with bold, black print, the name of a restaurant you had never even heard of.

You stared at it for a second, studying it. Then, finally, you nodded, shifting your eyes back to him.

“Harry, by the way. Harry Castillo,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. You quickly tucked the card, your notepad, and pen into the pocket around your waist before shaking his hand in return. It was more out of politeness than interest.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The moment your hand slipped from his, you practically fled from his presence. And judging by the heat in your cheeks, you were definitely as red as a tomato.

“Hey, what the hell just happened out there?”

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, your friend was on you. She looked way too eager, like she was dying to hear whatever mess you’d gotten yourself into, just so she could laugh in your face. Honestly? You couldn’t even blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d laugh at her too.

“That guy just asked me out to dinner,” you admitted, breathless but also, exasperated. Your tone completely threw her off.

She glanced back through the small window in the kitchen door, looking at the man in question before turning back to you, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re joking, right?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the nearest table. She let out a short huff, then took a step closer. “Him? He asked you out?” There was a clear emphasis on who asked who, and that, unsettled you.

“I can’t believe it either—”

“So why aren’t you screaming right now?! He’s probably a multimillionaire, and instead of jumping for joy, you’re—what? Having a meltdown?” She grabbed your shoulders, looking way more excited about this than you were.

You just sighed, shaking your head, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know… it doesn’t feel real.”

You shrugged, finally meeting her eyes. And she got it. She understood why you weren’t letting yourself be excited. Because you’d been broken one too many times. And if you just expected nothing, you wouldn’t be disappointed.

“I get it,” she said, softer now. “But listen to me-he means it. That guy comes here all the time, and not once has he asked a server out before.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, turning you toward the door, both of you peeking through the window. “And, ugh, god, he’s so sexy.”

You nudged her playfully with your shoulder, but deep down? Yeah. You agreed, he was sexy. Maybe a little older than what you’d typically go for, but still, workable.

The two of you watched him, not-so-subtly, until more men approached his table. Black suits. Slicked-back hair. Money so rich you could smell it all the way from the kitchen.

And just like that, the excitement. That tiny flicker of hope. Gone. Your stomach dropped. You turned away immediately. Your friend lingered at the window for a second longer before following after you, now completely confused.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Frustrated. “I knew this was bullshit,” you muttered, adjusting your uniform, glancing at her again. But she still didn’t get it.

“The guys sitting with him,” you nodded toward the door. “I guarantee he made a bet with them. A bet to see if he could land the most pathetic desperate whore in the area.”

Your friend’s face went blank before she groaned, rubbing her hands down her face in pure frustration. Then, she fixed you with a deadpan stare. “You cannot be serious right now.”

You stared at the floor, still fussing with your uniform, still seething.

“Oh my god. Do you have to overthink everything? Babe, that definitely didn’t happen—”

“You don’t know that.” You cut her off. She could see how pissed off you were. But more than the anger, it was fear showing in your eyes. Fear of another failure. Another rejection. And whether she believed it or not, you just didn’t have the capacity for that.

Not again.

She sighed, then pulled you into a comforting hug. She didn’t say anything at first. Just held you, tightly. Then, when she finally pulled back, she started speaking.

“Listen. Go to that dinner. Take the opportunity. And if that asshole hurts you in any way? I swear to god, I will break his fucking face.”

You laughed, even though you knew she meant every word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, smiling as the two of you hugged again. And despite the doubt clawing at the back of your mind, despite wanting to pretend like you never even got that stupid little card, you decided to take her advice.

To ‘Take the opportunity’ or however she said it.

The evening air was cool, streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet city. The sky was a deep navy blue, speckled with the first few stars peeking through the clouds. A gentle breeze kissed your skin as you stepped out, the distant hum of traffic blending into the soft rustling of leaves.

You looked breathtaking.

The black dress you wore wasn’t anything extravagant, but god, did it know how to hug your body in all the right places. The way it shaped your waist, the way it flowed down your thighs, teasing just enough skin to be dangerous. Every curve was perfectly framed, every movement of yours had a new level of grace and temptation.

And your makeup? Flawless.

Even after all the failed attempts, the frustrated groans, the “I’m not going!” breakdowns, the questioning-your-entire-life-choices moment, you pulled through. And damn, you looked stunning. Before stepping out, there was one last thing left to do. Selfie, and a private one for your best friend.

Her reply never miss.

A text so filthy you nearly threw your phone across the room. Something about how she’d absolutely devour you if she were into women. You gagged. You laughed. You loved her.

But right now, it was 7:50. According to Google Maps, the restaurant wasn’t too far. Except, you didn’t have a car. And a taxi? With what money? So, your only option was to power-walk like your life depended on it and pray you’d make it in ten minutes.

Even though you felt like every second of running had stripped away another layer of makeup and drained the last bit of life from your body, you made it.

You stood before the entrance. And yes, this was the place. And damn, it looked the part.

Marble stairs. Massive wooden doors that looked like they belonged in a palace. Golden accents along the walls. Flower-shaped lamps. A fountain right at the entrance. It was the kind of detail that made you feel both impressed and slightly terrified.

With a small stumble in your heels, which thankfully, no one seemed to notice, you approached the reception desk.

“Reservation under… Castillo,” you said softly.

The receptionist smiled, as if he’d been expecting you all along.

“Of course. Table fifteen. He’s already here.”

“Thank you,” you murmured before making a sharp turn toward the restroom. A quick pit stop was absolutely necessary.

Facing the mirror, you launched into full recovery mode. Fixing makeup, fluffing your hair, making sure you didn’t look like you had sprinted here. A touch of gloss, a final tug at your dress, and there you were again. Put together. Ready.

Then you stepped inside the dining hall and everything shimmered.

The chandeliers sparkled like frozen light. The pristine white tablecloths, the waiters in their spotless uniforms, the golden silverware—it was overwhelming in the best and worst way. Moving carefully, like someone who both belonged and absolutely did not, you scanned the room. Searching.

And then, there he was. Harry Castillo.

Sitting effortlessly poised, elbow resting on the table, finger near his lips, just like yesterday. He looked composed. Unreadable. Devastatingly attractive. You inhaled deeply and walked toward him.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not late,” you said, voice softer than you intended. It took him a second to register your presence. But when he did…

His entire demeanor shifted.

The moment his gaze landed on you, his thoughts simply ceased to function. That dress. The way it sculpted around your curves. The delicate line of your neck. The subtle, hypnotizing sway of your chest as you moved, yes, he noticed. It was right then that he realized: keeping his thoughts entirely proper tonight? Yeah. Not happening.

Fuck. If this was your backup outfit, he'd kill to see what plan A looked like… without the dress.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, standing immediately like a gentleman from another era. Taking your hand, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. A shiver ran down your spine.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot how to breathe, and when you finally managed words, they came out in a breathless, “Thank you.”

You settled into your seat, praying the chair wouldn’t make an awkward screech, and picked up the menu, doing your absolute best to not embarrass yourself in the first five minutes.

“Was it a long trip?” he asked, reaching for his glass of water.

“Uh… no,” you lied smoothly. Absolutely no way you were going to tell him you walked here, face half-melting and muttering curses under your breath.

“And you?” you asked in return.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Nah, I live just around the corner. I know most of the restaurants around here.”

“I believe that. This place is… a different level.”

He nodded, leaning in just slightly. “Yeah, but you know what? People forget that food is just food. Great company is what makes it unforgettable, even in the smallest, messiest little pizza joint.”

That was surprisingly sweet. And unexpected.

“So you’re telling me you could’ve taken me to a kebab place by the train station?”

“Exactly. And if I’d known you’d show up looking like my most expensive investment, I’d have worn a tux.”

You laughed, glancing down at the menu. The tension in your shoulders was starting to ease. For the first time tonight, you felt… comfortable.

“I swear the food here’s good,” he added. “But if you ever want real pizza—I know a guy. One tooth, slaps the dough with his bare hands.”

“That sounds… hygienic.”

“It’s the best pizza in the city. But yeah, I only take people there if I know they’ve got a strong immune system.”

You laughed again. And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to play a role. To impress, to overthink, to be perfect. You just felt like yourself. And that was refreshing in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Have you decided yet?”

You shook your head, lips pressed into a tight line. The menu was a battlefield of options. So many dishes, so many exotic names, and those prices? Just looking at them made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to come across as some broke girl who had no idea what foie gras was, but also not like a high-maintenance snob who’d order truffle oil on a toothpick just to impress.

Making a good first impression was hard, though technically, you already blew it the moment you spilled wine on his very expensive pants and ended up scrubbing his legs like some panicked Cinderella with a death wish.

“I get it,” he said with a slight nod. After a few seconds, you let out a quiet sigh and finally gave up. “Pick for me. I’m sure you know what’s good way better than I do.”

He looked up at you with the sweetest puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and your heart melted.

“Are you sure? It’s only polite to let the lady choose.”

“I’m sure, Mr. Castillo,” you said with a soft smile and a small tilt of your head.

“Well then,” he replied, closing his menu with a confident snap, “let’s hope you won’t regret it.” And just like that, he turned his full attention to you.

The dinner went surprisingly normal. Actually, scratch that—wonderfully.

Harry wasn’t the snob you half expected him to be. He didn’t name-drop luxury brands every two sentences, didn’t mention his bank account once. In fact, he didn’t flaunt anything at all, except maybe the way he actually listened to you.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him everything.

Like the fact that your restaurant job was the only thing keeping you from ending up on the street. Or that your family had basically washed their hands of you. Or that you’d once come dangerously close to selling weed just to afford rent.

Those charming little details didn’t need to make it to the dinner table.

But your favorite color? Rose type? Chocolate preference? You gave him those happily.

By the time you were halfway through your second glass of wine, your tongue was definitely loosening up. Your boldness had grown legs and was strutting confidently across the room.

“Mr. Castillo,” you said, setting your glass down, eyes twinkling. “I have a question for you.”

Harry turned toward you instantly, his posture subtly shifting as if bracing for something wild.

“This…” —you made a slow circle with your finger, gesturing at everything around you— “this whole thing. Is it… a bet?”

He blinked a few times, clearly not expecting that. Then a slow smile curled on his lips. But when he saw how serious your expression was, his smile faded slightly. “No… Why would you think that?”

You hesitated, then shook your head and waved it off. “Never mind, it’s nothing—”

“No, wait. If something made you think that, I want to know.” He wasn’t letting it slide. And honestly? That little fire in his eyes? Kind of hot.

You paused. Should you say it and sound like a complete idiot? The wine in your bloodstream whispered, screw it.

“I saw you yesterday. With a couple of guys. And I just… thought maybe you bet with them about this. About… me.”

Harry laughed. Not just a polite chuckle, he actually laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep, warm, and ridiculously contagious.

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing too. Not at the situation, but because his laugh was so good, it practically reached inside you and pulled it out of you.

“Oh no,” he said, still smiling, “those were some of my coworkers. And I promise you, we don’t do things like that.”

The relief hit you like a wave, and you nodded slowly. Sure, he could be lying. He could be playing a game. But in that moment, you chose to believe him. No overthinking. No spiraling.

Just a beautiful dinner with a man who made you laugh, who looked at you like you mattered, who, somehow, made you feel like the main character in a life that wasn’t always kind.

And tonight? Tonight felt like it was finally giving you a break.

You laughed. You weren’t even sure what at anymore, but laughter had become the most natural reaction to anything that came out of his mouth.

Harry was… different. Unpredictable. Smart. And most of all, he listened. Not the fake ‘I’m nodding but thinking about steak’ kind of listening. No. He actually paid attention. Remembered things. Asked follow-up questions.

And the more you opened up, the easier it felt. Like you didn’t have to be anyone else to be enough.

You laughed at your own awkward moments, told him stories from your childhood, even admitted you used to eat sand when you were little, with chocolate ice cream, of course.

And he listened like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.

And one thing you had to admit, throughout the whole dinner, you caught him stealing glances at your chest more than once. At first, he tried to be discreet, quick flicks of the eyes when you were sipping wine or looking at the menu. But later on? Yeah, he didn’t even pretend anymore.

But it wasn’t a gross, sleazy kind of stare. No. It was something else entirely. It was elegant, intense… reverent. Like he admired you, every curve, every breath, the way your collarbones caught the light, the subtle movement of your chest when you laughed.

It didn’t make you shrink. It made you pulse. Around nothing, yet. And if something shifted down there, let’s just say a full-blown waterfall was now a national emergency.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted you gently. “But we’re closing in ten minutes.”

One of the waiters had appeared beside your table. He spoke softly, his voice almost trembling. You didn’t blame him. You were, in a way, just like him, same position, same nervous awe around someone like Harry.

“Oh!” you gasped. “God, we’re so sorry! We totally lost track of time.”

Harry looked at you with a smile. But not the usual charming, practiced one. No, this one was warm. Genuine. The kind that makes your heart flutter… and maybe something else too.

You both started gathering your things. Harry reached into his coat, pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them on the table, no counting, no hesitation.

You almost choked. What you’d give for that amount of money? Better left unsaid.

“Thank you. Keep the change,” Harry said, patting the waiter gently on the shoulder.

You gave the poor guy a quick smile and followed your dinner date like he was leading you into battle… or heaven.

He walked with ease. Command. Confidence. You? You felt like a princess being led by her knight out of the ballroom. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in ages, you actually felt like you yourself.

The moment you stepped outside, cold air slapped your skin.

“Are you cold? Where’s your coat?” Harry asked, brow slightly furrowed.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, unintentionally pushing your boobs up a bit more in the process, bonus points, apparently.

“Oh… I forgot it at home,” you said innocently. Truth was, you didn’t own one. Couldn’t afford it. But he didn’t need to know that.

Harry gave you a look. The kind that didn’t need words. Then, like a man on a mission, he took off his jacket.

“Oh wait, you really don’t have to—”

“Yes I do,” he cut in gently. “Can’t have you freezing, can we?”

Before you could argue, he was already draping the warm fabric over your shoulders. No asking. No drama. Just… doing.

And suddenly, you were warmer. Not just from the jacket, but from the man himself. And yeah, another point for Harry Castillo. And damn, was he stacking them up fast.

You pulled your phone out of your purse, pretending to check the time, but in truth, you were stalling. “I should probably go,” you murmured, still a little breathless from the whole evening.

Harry tilted his head. “Let me take you home. I’ve got a car waiting.”

Shit.

Panic crawled up your spine like a vine. You couldn’t let him see where you lived. It wasn’t horrible, but it also wasn’t this. Not this golden-drenched world of chandeliers and silk napkins. You bit your lip.

“Actually,” you blurted before you could stop yourself, “what if we went to yours instead?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly—just a flicker—but enough for your face to burst into flames.

“Wait, no—I didn’t mean it like that!” you rushed out. “I mean—God, I’m not trying to come off like… like one of those girls. I’m not, I swear, I just…” Your words tangled into a panicked mess. “It’s just complicated. My place is, well, complicated.”

Harry blinked once, then twice, and slowly, smiled. The kind of smile that made your stomach dip and your pulse skip a beat.

“I get it,” he said softly. “Believe me, I’m not one of those guys either. I don’t usually bring someone over after the first night.”

You exhaled in relief, feeling like your entire soul unclenched.

“That’s why,” he continued, stepping closer, “I booked us a suite for the night. Neutral territory.”

Your heart did a front flip.

It sounded crazy, no, was crazy, but in that moment, it somehow made sense. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way he said it with zero pressure in his tone, like it was just a comfortable, no-expectations solution.

The drive was smooth and silent, your heart hammering against your ribs the closer you got. And then the hotel. Oh. My. God.

From the outside, the hotel didn’t just whisper wealth, it screamed it, elegantly. The building towered above the street, wrapped in sleek black glass that reflected the city lights like diamonds scattered across velvet. The entrance was framed by golden accents that shimmered under the glow of artfully placed spotlights, and a long crimson carpet stretched from the sidewalk all the way to the rotating glass doors, guarded by men in tailored suits and pristine gloves.

It wasn’t just a hotel. It was an experience. And you were suddenly part of it.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were swallowed by soft lighting and opulence. The marble floors gleamed under your heels, catching little stars from the massive crystal chandelier that cascaded from the ceiling like frozen rain. There were velvet armchairs in deep emerald green, tall indoor plants trimmed like they belonged in a palace, and staff that glided across the space like well-trained shadows, every movement graceful and hushed.

The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air, sweet, musky, seductive. Even the air conditioning felt richer here.

You couldn’t help but glance at Harry, who walked beside you with that calm confidence like he owned the whole damn place. And honestly? He might as well have. And of course, everyone at the front desk knew him. Knew his name, his favorite drink, his room preference. Harry Castillo wasn’t just rich. He was a regular.

When you reached the elevator, the doors opened with a soft chime, revealing an interior wrapped in mirrored gold and black marble. You stepped in first, and the second the doors slid shut, something shifted.

The air between you thickened, like velvet, like smoke, like something unnamed but entirely understood. It was silent, except for the hum of the elevator. And yet your heart beat like a drum.

Harry stood next to you, close but not touching, his cologne crawling over your skin like a secret. His reflection in the mirror caught yours. He smirked slightly, nothing cocky, just that quiet kind of power that says I know exactly what I’m doing to you. You could feel it in your chest, in your stomach, between your thighs.

The elevator didn’t just take you up floors. It lifted something else. Something electric. Something that buzzed under your skin and begged to unravel.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, Harry stepped forward, pulling a sleek black card from his wallet. In one smooth, practiced motion, he swiped it through the lock. There was a quiet click, and the door unlocked.

“Ladies first,” he said, voice low and velvety. You stepped inside and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

The suite was massive. Not just hotel-room massive, penthouse massive. The kind of place you only see in movies or on Instagram when influencers casually spend the night with billionaires.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, revealing the glowing skyline of the city. Thick ivory curtains were pulled back like theater drapes. The bed wasn’t just king-sized—it looked like it belonged in a palace. Silk sheets, a gold-accented headboard, and pillows that probably cost more than your entire rent.

A marble bar gleamed in the corner with tiny gold bottles lined up like jewelry. Plush velvet sofas sat near a sleek fireplace, and a massive flat screen was mounted on the wall. There was even a balcony, shimmering with the reflection of city lights.

Jesus Christ.

You turned slowly, breath caught in your throat. “This place… I don’t think I could afford it even if I lived five lives.”

Harry stepped in behind you, quietly shutting the door. He leaned against it with that signature casual confidence. “Do you like it?” he asked, watching you, not the room.

You turned to face him, still half in disbelief. “I mean, yeah. It’s like stepping into a dream. I didn’t even know places like this existed outside of Pinterest.”

He chuckled, stepping further inside. “I figured if we’re not going home, we might as well do it right.”

You nodded, heart fluttering in your chest like it had a mind of its own. “You really know how to set the mood, Mr. Castillo.”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “I try.”

You both wandered through the space, giggling and pointing at ridiculous features like the heated floors or remote-controlled curtains. He poured you both glasses of champagne from the minibar, something expensive you couldn’t pronounce, and you toasted to, whatever this night had become.

Then it happened.

You turned too quickly mid-laugh, champagne in hand, and your heel caught the edge of the rug. You stumbled, not dramatically, but enough to make your stomach lurch. You gasped and instinctively reached out for balance. Harry was already there.

One hand caught your wrist, the other your champagne glass, and in the span of a breath, your bodies were inches apart. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell his cologne. Your laughter faded.

The air between you thickened. Your heart thudded in your chest as your eyes met his. Time slowed, or maybe just stopped. You weren’t thinking anymore. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t holding back.

You leaned in.

So did he.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle, uncertain. But it deepened quickly, growing warmer, more assured. It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t rushed. It felt like everything that had been building between you had finally reached its breaking point.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was release. Tension melting. Electricity sparking. Breath shared between two people who, for some reason neither of you could explain, felt like they needed this moment. And maybe each other.

The kiss deepened with every passing second, slow and simmering, yet charged with a hunger you hadn’t realized was burning under your skin all night. His lips were soft but confident, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had, maybe longer.

His hands slid to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, and yours found their way to the collar of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

There was no fumbling. No rush. Just the smooth, dangerous rhythm of something that felt inevitable.

He pulled you closer, guiding your body against his with a quiet, reverent care. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, or maybe it was your own pulse echoing everywhere, especially in places it had no business being so loud.

It was too much. Too good. Too fast.

You pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, your fingertips pressing lightly against his chest. He looked at you immediately, concerned, respectful, but still burning.

“I—I can’t,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “I mean… I don’t sleep with someone on the first date. That’s not… me.”

His expression didn’t falter. He didn’t pout or try to convince you. Instead, he smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your knees weak all over again.

“I don’t either,” he said softly. “Which is probably why I don’t go on dates often.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your nerves starting to untangle. Then he leaned in, kissed your forehead gently, and looked into your eyes like he was seeing straight through you.

“But… maybe tonight we both break a rule.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, your hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled him in, youd lips met again, hungrier, messier. Passion had cracked open the surface, and now it poured out like wildfire.

You felt wanted. Desired. Seen. And above all—you felt alive. Tonight wasn’t just a night. It was a beginning you hadn’t expected. And it was burning.

Your heels tapped softly against the polished floor, the long black dress hugging every curve as you let him guide you toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but reverent—like he couldn’t believe you were real, and didn’t want to risk you slipping away.

He guided you backwards, one slow step at a time and you let him lead.

The soft lighting from the minibar flickered behind him as you moved through the luxurious apartment, every step closer to the bedroom thickening the air between you. Your hand slid up to his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt as your fingers moved to the buttons, undoing them one by one, never breaking the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair and the other settled firmly on your waist, fingertips pressing into the silk of your dress. You gasped softly, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss, growling just enough against your lips to send a jolt straight through you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered between kisses. You smiled into his mouth, pulling him closer.

“I could worship this mouth all night,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, “and still not get enough of you.”

With each step back, your bodies collided, heat to heat, and he couldn’t stop touching you. His hand slipped behind you, running down your spine as the zipper of your dress gave way under his fingers.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, his voice lower now, thicker. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping it just enough to make you bite your lip, and his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and grazing teeth just enough to pull a shaky moan from you.

“I want to ruin you,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.” Every word made your knees weaker, every kiss made your pulse wilder.

Your dress slipped off one shoulder. His bowtie came undone and fell somewhere behind you. Buttons popped open under your fingers as you walked, kissed, stumbled your way to the bedroom.

And just before the bed, he paused. Pulled back. Looked at you like you were carved out of stardust.

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” he said, his hands gliding down your waist, then gripping your thighs. “So fucking good. Like a dream I didn’t know I had.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he kissed you again and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. The world tilted, and the next second, you landed on the bed in a pool of silk sheets and undone kisses.

Looking up at him, shirt halfway open, hair slightly messed, and desire radiating off his skin, you knew. You weren’t just about to be touched. You were about to be fucked, in the most sweetest way possible.

You still technically had your dress on, but it was a complete mess by now—half-unzipped, one strap hanging loosely off your shoulder. Harry didn’t look much better; his usually perfect hair was tousled, and a few buttons of his shirt had been undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his toned chest.

But what truly caught your attention was the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his tailored pants. It knocked the air right out of your lungs.

Your pulse stumbled, your breath hitched, and you felt your mouth go dry, yet somehow flood with need at the same time. You tried to say something, anything, but words failed you. You were completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Harry caught your stunned expression and simply smiled, a quiet, knowing smile that made your core pulsating ever more. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your skin as he carefully slipped the rest of your dress down. The fabric pooled silently around your ankles, forgotten.

The moment you laid there, almost fully exposed to him, he dropped to his knees without hesitation. Soft, open-mouthed kisses landed against your legs first—hot, wet, and breathtaking. His lips traveled up slowly, lingering in places that made your whole body shiver and gasp. Some kisses were featherlight and ticklish, others deep and lingering, stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

By the time he reached your hips, your entire body was burning, vibrating with anticipation, and you realized just how desperately you craved every single touch he gave you.

As his mouth traveled over your body, Harry’s hands didn’t stay idle. They roamed your curves with a deliberate, possessive touch, sometimes gliding smoothly, other times gripping firmly enough to make you gasp his name and let out a soft, high-pitched squeal that made him chuckle low in his throat. Every reaction you gave him only seemed to encourage him more, fueling a dark gleam in his eyes.

Every so often, he murmured things against your skin, his voice rough with arousal.

“You’re unbelievable… so damn beautiful,” he whispered into the hollow of your hip, sending shivers rippling up your spine.

“I wanted this the moment I saw you.” His words fell like hot velvet, wrapping around you and making you feel even more helpless under his touch.

After what felt like an eternity of teasing and worshipping your skin with kisses, he leaned in again, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly reached behind you to unhook your bra.

The moment he threw it away, he let out a low, appreciative breath. His hands immediately found your breasts, cupping and caressing them with a mixture of reverence and hunger, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks until you whimpered and arched into him, desperate for more.

Harry took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you like you were the most exquisite treasure he’d ever laid eyes on. His kisses grew hungrier, his hands a little rougher, but always careful, always worshipful.

When he knelt again to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his gaze flicked down and caught sight of the wet patch soaking through the delicate fabric. A wicked smirk curled his lips.

“Already this wet for me, darling?” he murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn with embarrassment and excitement all at once.

He peeled the panties down torturously slow, making you shudder with anticipation. Once they hit the floor, you were completely bare for him, trembling under the weight of his gaze. Harry looked at you like you were something rare, precious, something he could never get enough of.

And despite how exposed you were, you had never felt more wanted, more craved, than you did in that moment, laying there trembling, your skin marked with his kisses and your heart racing wildly in your chest.

“You have the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen,” Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and molten with desire, as his hands slid slowly up from your ankles, gliding along your calves and thighs. His touch was firm, claiming, yet never rough. When he reached your inner thighs, he gripped them tightly, split them, grounding you, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

It wasn’t painful—far from it. It was commanding, reassuring, a silent way of saying you’re mine right now. Your breath hitched, your body trembling with anticipation. You were already so sensitive, so worked up, that even the brush of his fingers made you whimper.

Soft, desperate sounds slipped from your parted lips almost constantly now, tiny moans and gasps that Harry drank in like a man starved. His smirk deepened, pride flickering in his gaze at just how undone you were under his touch.

He gave you one last, heated look, a look so intense it made your stomach flip, before lowering himself between your thighs, disappearing beneath you with a predatory grace.

The moment his mouth met you, you nearly sobbed. His tongue was hot, deliberate, and devastatingly slow. He tasted you with a reverence that made your head spin, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter whenever you tried to move away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“F-fuck Harry—“ one hand of yours flying to his hair, gripping it as if it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

Harry wasn’t in a hurry. He explored you like he had all the time in the world, dragging his tongue through your folds, pausing only to plant slow, sucking kisses that left you panting his name. When you cried out particularly loud, his hands tightened just a little more, keeping you firmly against his mouth.

His tongue was thorough, not missing a tiny spot, licking all your juices from just the surface of your labia. From time to time, he looked at your expression, at your tightly shut eyes, eyebrows furrowed upwards, how hard you were trying to be quiet by biting your lower lip, and how you were trembling under his touch.

You could feel his pleased growl vibrate against you, the sound shooting straight through your core and making you arch off the bed. The world blurred around you, your only focus the man between your thighs, the relentless, exquisite way he worshipped you with his mouth.

Harry groaned low in his throat as he pressed his mouth harder against you, his tongue slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your entire body jolt.

You let out a desperate, broken moan, as he moved his tongue deep and slow at first, teasing, exploring, savoring every reaction he dragged out of you.

Every time he curled his tongue just right, your hips bucked involuntarily against his mouth. His hands on your thighs tightened their hold, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, utterly at his mercy.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against you between strokes of his tongue, the vibration of his voice sending new waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. “You’re doing so fucking good for me. Tasting so sweet…”

You couldn’t even form words. Only desperate whimpers and high, keening moans fell from your lips, one after another, growing louder the deeper he went. Your whole body trembled beneath him, your fingers tugging harder at his hair in a silent plea for more, for everything.

Harry’s cock strained painfully against his trousers, throbbing with need, but he didn’t stop. No, he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Watching you fall apart under him, hearing those beautiful sounds pouring from your mouth, feeling the way you clenched around his tongue—it was better than any release he could imagine.

His tongue moved faster now, plunging and flicking, occasionally circling your clit just to hear the wrecked cries it tore from you.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you know that?” he panted between kisses, his voice rough with hunger and awe. “So fucking perfect for me, angel. Look at you…”

You glanced down through heavy, lidded eyes and the sight of him between your thighs—his dark hair tousled, his lips slick and red, his eyes burning with adoration and hunger—nearly broke you.

The pressure in your core tightened unbearably. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth against your sensitive skin, every whispered praise in that low, sinful voice pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Your moans turned into cries, your body tensing, hips rocking against his face as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter, until you were right there, teetering on the brink, completely and utterly lost in him.

It was messy. It was wet. It was dizzyingly perfect. And Harry seemed addicted to every second of it.

Your body was trembling uncontrollably, every muscle tight, every nerve alight with pure, overwhelming pleasure. With a final, deep stroke of his tongue, Harry sent you flying over the edge.

You cried out his name, back arching off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair. Waves of ecstasy crashed through you, one after another, leaving you gasping, moaning, trembling beneath him.

Harry didn’t stop. He slowed, soothing you through the aftershocks with soft kisses and gentle strokes of his hands along your thighs, grounding you, worshipping you.

“There you go, beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked but so full of love. “Tasted even better than I though… fuck, you’re everything.”

You could barely catch your breath, your entire body humming, still quivering. Harry pressed a few more soft kisses to your thighs before slowly rising, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

It was only then that he began undoing the rest of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders with slow, deliberate movements. His skin was flushed, muscles flexing under the low light, and you couldn’t look away.

When he kicked off his pants too, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, the sight of him nearly made your heart stop. Something primal lit up inside you.

The exhaustion from before was gone, replaced with a burning need so fierce you didn’t even recognize yourself. Hormones raged through you, clouding every thought except for him.

When he crawled on top of you, you barely gave him a chance to react before you grabbed him and flipped him onto his back, your body moving on pure instinct.

Harry let out a surprised, delighted laugh. “Oh, so I’ve got a little dragoness here, huh?”

You just smirked down at him, your eyes dark with lust, and then you began your own form of sweet revenge.

You kissed down his chest slowly, teasingly, making sure your lips barely brushed his skin, feeling him shiver under you. You trailed even lower, biting gently at his hipbone, smiling when he let out a low, desperate groan.

His hands fisted the sheets, muscles straining as he tried to keep himself still for you.

“Tease,” he rasped, but there was nothing but pure worship in his voice. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane, baby.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, painfuly slow. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed and so ready for you, making your mouth water.

You took your time, pressing soft kisses along his thighs first, deliberately avoiding where he needed you most. He kept murmuring under his breath, calling you “so good,” “so beautiful,” “my perfect girl,” between ragged breaths.

Finally, finally, you let your mouth wrap around him, slow and deep. But only at his pink tip, already leaking with pre-cum.

Harry threw his head back with a broken moan, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, like he needed you to stay connected.

Then you went deeper, making him hissed and jolt. You moved at your own pace, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, occasionally pulling off just to tease him with slow licks along his length. Every time you did, he cursed under his breath, voice rough and needy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart… fuck, keep going,” he gasped, hips trembling as he fought not to thrust into your mouth.

You loved it. How undone he was for you, how he melted under your touch, how every sound he made was raw and real and just for you. The more you moved, the louder his breathing grew, the more his thighs tensed under your hands. His praise became broken, desperate:

“So good… my good girl… my sweet, sweet girl—ah, fuck—don’t stop—”

You could feel him getting closer, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a bowstring, his dick twitching inside your spongy mouth. His hands gripped you tighter, his voice wrecked and pleading.

“D-darlin' I am gonna cu—“ but before he could finish his warning, he threw his head all the way back and with every force in his body he tried not to move his hips upwards and pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

When he finally came, it was with a loud, wrecked cry of your name, his whole body shuddering violently beneath you.

It was messy and hot and overwhelming, and you didn’t mind it one bit. You stayed there, swallowing every bit of him. He tasted sweet yet bitterly, but the combination itself was tasty. You felt his fingers stroke through your hair in shaky, adoring motions as he tried to catch his breath.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” he panted when he finally managed words, looking down at you with a gaze so full of love and awe it made your heart ache. “You were absolutely insane…” you chuckled, before pulling him out of your mouth, slowly, but he still groans. The sudden cold air touching his swollen tip, it's always a shock.

You slowly licked your lips and fingers clean, tasting him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor of him. Harry’s gaze darkened instantly. He looked absolutely wrecked, completely undone by the sight of you. Wild, messy, glistening just for him.

Without warning, he couldn't help himself and he surged forward, grabbing your face and kissing you hard.

The kiss was filthy and desperate, your mouths colliding, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you both tasted each other fully, the unique mixture of your essences fueling the fire even higher.

Harry groaned low in his chest, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough. His dominance returned in full force, his hands strong and sure as he rolled you onto your back, covering your body with his own.

His eyes locked with yours, burning with love and raw hunger. He cupped your cheek, breathing heavily, giving you a moment.

“Are you ready, beautiful?” he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough. “You’re doing so good for me. I'm so proud of you.”

You nodded breathlessly, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. He kissed you once more, softer now, full of unspoken promises, before positioning himself carefully at your entrance.

His tip brushed youe folds, your juices served as a natural lubricant, so it wasn't really hard for Harry to go in. The first push was slow, cautious, his body trembling with restraint. You whimpered at the initial stretch, clinging to his shoulders.

Harry immediately started stroking your cheek, murmuring against your skin. “That’s it, sweetheart. Doing so good for me. Let me in, yeah? Breathe, baby… I’ve got you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, from the intensity, from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to him. He moved slowly, giving you time, whispering soft encouragements, letting you adjust to the fullness of him.

You felt like he was endless. He kept pushing deeper and deeper, reaching places you could only dream of, stretching you out so much, that he left no room for anything else, barely for air.

When he was fully inside, he stilled, pressing kisses along your jaw and neck, both of you panting heavily, your bodies trembling from the connection. For a moment, it was pure intimacy, your bodies fitting together perfectly, hearts beating wildly against each other, soft whimpers escaping both your mouths.

Harry rocked into you with slow, shallow thrusts, just enough to keep you connected, to let you feel every inch of him.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re mine.”

But as the minutes passed and your body relaxed around him, the pace shifted.

Harry’s movements became deeper, stronger, pulling moans from your throat you couldn’t have held back if you tried. The bed began to creak with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room alongside your gasps and desperate cries.

Harry didn’t let up with the sweet words. If anything, he poured them over you even more, his voice hoarse and wrecked with feeling.

“My beautiful girl… so tight, so good for me… fuck, taking me so well.”

Inside, you felt completely lost—lost in him, in the pleasure, in the overwhelming love radiating from every touch, every thrust. You clung to him like a lifeline, nails digging into his back, head thrown back in ecstasy as he hit deeper, harder, dragging whimpers and desperate moans from you.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Harry shifted one hand between your bodies, expertly finding your clit with his fingers. You gasped, your body jolting under him, the added stimulation sending electric shocks of pleasure through your entire being.

“That’s it, baby… let go for me,” he murmured against your neck, his voice shaking with how close he was too. You were spiraling fast, the pleasure building higher and higher, unstoppable.

But then Harry suddenly slowed, breathing heavily, and with a gentle grip on your hips, he flipped you over onto him, guiding you into his lap.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, smiling up at you, still breathless. “Ride me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You were shaky, overwhelmed, but Harry’s hands on your hips steadied you, supporting you as you sank down onto him again.

The new angle was deeper, more intense, and when he reached down and found your clit again with his fingers, you nearly sobbed from how good it felt. He was doing regular circles, at the same speed as you were bouncing on him, creating a perfect balance that won't hold you back for too long.

You moved together, messy and desperate, the sounds of wet skin and desperate gasps filling the room. Harry’s praises continued, slurred and broken with pleasure:

“So good… so fucking beautiful… look at you, riding me like a goddess.”

You clung to him, barely able to keep moving as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your nails dug deeply into his shoulders, definitely leaving a bruise there, but he didn't care. He takes it as a souvenir from this night. You screamed so loudly, your core clenching around his twitching dick, every muscle, every nerve in your body tensed and you swear in one particular moment, you saw white stars.

When you finally came, your entire body locked up as you shattered around him. The clenching of your walls around him pulled Harry over the edge right after, his hips jerking up into you, his arms wrapping tightly around your trembling form. He buried his head in your shoulder and growled loudly, his voice stammering and jerky.

He held you close in a bear hug, not letting go, grounding you as you both rode out the aftershocks together. Breathless, sweaty and completely ruined.

Your body feels like it’s melting into his. The aftershocks are still rippling through you both, and neither of you moves for a long moment. Harry’s chest rises and falls against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breathing uneven.

Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are soft, a little dazed, full of something so raw it makes your heart ache.

“Hi,” he whispers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. You laugh quietly, feeling shy and overwhelmed all at once. You reach up and brush a strand of hair off his forehead.

Harry kisses your fingers and then, with a soft grunt, carefully pulls out of you, making sure he’s gentle, murmuring soft apologies against your skin when you wince at the sensitivity.

Before you can even blink, he’s scooping you up into his arms, carrying you like a princess, strong and secure. You squeal softly, burying your face against his neck, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.

The bathroom is warm and steamy within seconds. You step into the shower together, the hot water raining down, and he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He treats you like you’re made of glass, tender, slow, patient.

Neither of you says much.

It’s just quiet touches, soft kisses along your damp skin, the shared breaths between you. He washes you gently, his hands steady, his touch reverent. You tilt your head back against him, letting your eyes close, feeling completely weightless in his care.

Every once in a while, he whispers something into your ear. Sweet things, praises, promises you can barely catch over the sound of the water. You feel worshipped. Safe.

When you’re both clean, Harry grabs a towel and dries you off himself, smiling softly the entire time like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. Without a word, he lifts you into his arms again, carrying you back to the bed.

He lays you down gently, crawling in next to you immediately, not letting you go for even a second. He pulls the covers over both of you, wrapping himself around you like a protective shield.

Your head rests against his chest, and you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat, feeling your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Harry’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your back.

“I’ve got you.” he whispers against your hair and without minutes, you fall asleep wrapped in him, both naked, both tired but both happy.

The morning sun beamed into your room, which still smelled like sex. It hit you right in the face, so you had no choice but to wake up. You opened your eyes, sunlight spills across the room, highlighting every little detail: Harry’s messy hair, his relaxed face, the way he’s still smiling even in sleep.

And suddenly, the guilt hits you like a tidal wave and you can't breath. You slept with him. On the first night. Harry Castillo.

He belongs to a different world—wealth, fame, endless connections—and you’re barely scraping by, struggling just to keep up with bills. What if he wakes up and realizes? What if he thinks you used him?

Your chest tightens painfully. You need to leave. Before you ruin everything. Slowly, carefully, you begin to untangle yourself from his arms. The cool air prickles against your bare skin as you quietly pick up your clothes from the floor, trying not to make a sound.

Just as you slip into your dress, you hear his sleepy voice behind you:

“Where are you going?”

You freeze. Turning around, you see him blinking up at you, completely disheveled and adorably confused, reaching out a hand to pull you back into bed.

“I… I have to go,” you whisper.

He frowns, sitting up, the blanket pooling around his waist. His bare chest is bathed in the soft morning light, and he looks almost too good to be real.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “Just stay…”

You want to. God, you want to. But the guilt is too heavy. It weighs down your every breath.

“I… I have to,” you say again, voice shaking. You grab your heels with trembling fingers, your heart breaking with every step away from him. But Harry is already getting out of bed. He walks straight to you, no hesitation, and cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them.

“I feel awful,” you manage to say. “I feel like… like I used you. I don’t want you to think I’m only here because of who you are, because of your money, your name, your connections. I don’t want to be that person.”

For a long, terrifying second, he says nothing. And then Harry smiles. A soft, heart-melting smile.

“I would never think that about you,” he murmurs. “Not for a second.” His thumbs brush away your tears, his touch achingly tender.

“From the moment I saw you — messy apron, tired smile, kind eyes — I knew you were different. I knew you were good. You have no idea how rare that is.”

He pulls you into his arms again, holding you tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’m not letting you go just because you’re scared,” he says quietly, meaning every word. And this time, you let yourself stay. You bury your face into his warm skin, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, and you finally allow yourself to exhale, to trust.

When he finally pulls back a little, his smile is soft and teasing.

“You’re not seriously thinking about sleeping in that, are you?” he says, glancing pointedly at your half-buttoned shirt and crumpled jeans.

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “No,” you murmur.

“Good,” he grins as you drop your things on the floor, not caring where they land. Holding intense eye contact, you start removing your dress.

He helps you, his face once again filled with surprise as he sees you bare—like it’s the very first time all over again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whimpers, brushing his nose against your neck and making you laugh.

Before you can even catch your breath, he lifts you up and throws you both back onto the bed, your laughter echoing through the room.

When you wake up, again, you blink sleepily and stretch, only to find Harry already awake, propped up on one elbow, smiling down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. You can’t help but smile back. He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head. “I’m making you breakfast.”

You pad after him into the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but his white shirt, that hangs down to your thighs. Harry looks completely at home, hair messy, only wearing boxers, barefoot on the cool floor.

He moves around the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times, making pancakes from scratch, humming under his breath. Every so often he steals a glance at you and smirks when he catches you staring. You sit on the counter, legs swinging, watching him.

And somehow, sitting there in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, laughing with him like you’ve known him forever, you realize you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

Hi!! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! This was my very first fic about Harry Castillo and I’m absolutely freaking out because he’s just so RAAA. Anyway, if you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a beautiful day,

Love ya🦋🩵

[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