#pedro pascal smut

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐭

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel jerks off to the knowledge of you taking a bath after waking up with a hard on.

Warnings: Male masturbation, pervy ass Joel, you are unaware that the horny old man is jerking off! [ Under water ] Unprotected PIV, No foreplay no nothin just straight up fuckin’. Dirty talk. No beta, ya girl dont got TIME!

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts so I just thought I’d wrap it up and post it while im sleeping over my grandmas 😒 ALSO IK I JUST POSTED DAMN.

Word Count: 2,070

Joel didn’t remember falling asleep like this.

How the thin sheet he had wrapped himself in now formed a tent over his thighs.

Oh, fuck. 

Morning– or, I guess for him it was afternoon wood. Off from work the idea of a nap sounded mouthwatering for once, the way his back sunk into the mattress no matter how firm it actually was. Feathery softness of the pillow behind his head. He hadn’t even bothered to much as wash his hands let alone take a shower.

Now aware, sentient his mind came to that familiar feeling of the need to plunge his cock into his fist. Shaft sticking straight up with his tip pushed against the cotton of his briefs. Leaking.

“Goddamn– fuck.” 

It wasn’t ideal. 

Neither was the dewiness of the sweat that had seeped uncomfortably into his skin. A musk that steamed off of him. 

He threw his legs over the side of his mattress, running worked fingers through his greying curls. Fuckin’ inconvenient. His palm slapped down onto the back of his phone that slept face-down on his end table. Picking it up to check the time. 

2:44 PM 

Before he left for work it was almost as if he could still hear your sweet voice telling him you were going out with your friend ‘til three. Sixteen minutes until you were back home. Sixteen minutes to jump into the shower and fuck himself. Unfortunately in the literal sense.

He popped up from his bed with a long rumbling moan that followed. 

Jesus Christ. He was fucking hard.

It was a heavy footed march towards the bathroom– out his door. Down the hallway. To the door on the right. 

The door was closed while he remembered leaving it open. Not that it mattered. Honestly he was so fuckin’ screwed right now he didn’t know his left from his right let alone when or if he actually closed the bathroom door.

He was just about to turn the knob when he heard something.

The grinding squeak of the faucet.

Water pouring out into the tub. Slapping against the pearly porcelain.

Just his fucking luck.

It would figure you’d be home now outta all times. It was out of the ordinary for you to actually come and leave the time you said you would. Joel got lucky sometimes. The days you actually did so.

Today, unlucky. More than usual. 

All the while you were meandering around the bathroom. Looking through every cupboard and drawer for things a fifty-seven year old man would never EVER store in his bathroom let alone go out of his way to buy.

But then one pull of the cabinet underneath the sink you saw it, the holy grail of this old man’s bathroom. One singular, milky white bath bomb. 

Oh my god. In a home like his it was as if you were a miner who had struck diamond. A rarity, absolute gem. 

You picked up the round chalky bulb within your palm, bringing it over to your bath. Using your pointer as a thermometer to check the water. Hot, steaming. Perfect. Stripping yourself from your clothes as you stepped into the tub one leg at a time. Soon enough it was your full body swimming within. Dropping the bath bomb in, biting your lip down to contain the ecstatic smile on your face as it fizzed.

Blissed.

Joel heard all of this. 

Shocks wracking to his cock just at the simple sound of the clanks of your belt as it dropped to the tiles of the bathroom. 

The water of the tub swishing back and forth as you sunk in. He could only imagine the sight. How much harder he’d be if he got to saw you slippery and wet, your naked body glistening with the hot water of the tub, face flushed from the warmth.

Fuck he’d give anything.

For weeks it was you in his dreams. The girl makin’ his cock stick up every time he woke up. At first the thoughts would make his stomach sink, chest tightening at the thought. He was sick. 

He was still sick. Although, he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed. 

He moved closer to the door as his breath hit the chipping, white painted wood. His hand moved down to squeeze his dick pulsing in his boxers. Gripping it, fuckin’ hating it for the ruthlessness. The cruelty. 

“Oh, baby.”

Whispering to no one as he pulled himself out of his boxers. His tip drippin’ with precum. Eyes screwed shut. Joel Miller was a sore fucker to in his head to tell you how he felt. Although he could easily bounce his fist up and down his stiff cock as you washed your pretty body that he spent his free time watchin’. Craving. Only separated by the door between. 

“Fuck. Makin’ daddy’s cock so damn hard you don’t even know.”

Moving lips pressed against the cold door. 

“You don’t even know, babygirl.”

No, you didn’t. And if this man wasn’t such a pussy those unspoken fuck-feelings that you damn well both felt for each other wouldn’t have to be so unspoken. 

He could tell you. He could tell you how you were gettin’ him harder than any disgustingly vulgar porno could get him. Than any pill he could swallow dry to get his dick workin’ again. The thought of you his own personal Viagra without needing to consume anything. 

The mind was a powerful thing. 

His fist pumped. Sloppy with himself as he had no need to go at a pace that made sense, that had that rhythm. He didn’t need to give himself that. Twitching as his bulbous head sputtered out slick that trickled down the length. 

His throat was tight as his hips jerked. Fuck fuck fuck. Pushing the tip of his cock into the door, already so close as if he had any need to control himself as he was trying to get this done. Get the job finished so he could go back to normal.  

Gaudily clutching, hugging his fat dick with his fist. His hips stuttering til–

“Oh, f–fuck–!”

Too goddamn loud.

The hand that he had braced against the thick trim surrounding the door now palm his mouth. Oh this was really stupid. He was making it even stupider, riskier. 

If he continued to hold this sounds deep within his throat it’d explode. Or– at least it’d feel like that. His balls were drawing up, tightening uncomfortably taut. His pace slopping, slowing as ever quick yank and pull turning into a long, drawn stroke down the length. 

Another bubbled up. This time as he reached that peak. 

Cumming into his palm. Opaque seed spitting out onto the door.  

“Sweetie. Fuckin–!”

“...Joel!?”

The curses were the most obvious, seemingly too ashamed to really drive home those so-very-cute pet names as he moaned. 

You knew the sound of a moan, though. Maybe you were young but you weren’t a fucking dumbass. The sound of a male orgasm was much different than that ‘I stubbed my toe’ type groan. Even yell.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantaneously. He had no more excuses left in him unless he were to sputter meaningless claims. Begging you to believe he had just stubbed his toe on the bathroom door.

Aftershocks still running through his body in waves. Panting like a dog. Sweating like a pig.

You were basking in the warm water. Your heartbeat took quickly to picking up. Joel Miller. The man old enough to be your fucking father standing outside your bathroom jerking off to the little splashes of the water? Imagining your naked body on the other side.

And you. You were just a girl after all. Couldn’t help the curiosity that pumped in your veins.

“Joel, come in!”

He’d hesitate. How could he not? His breathing still ragged. His cock had hardly even gone soft. But goddamn if he didn’t see you he knew he’d absolutely be killing himself. Turning the knob like heaven was on the other side of it. —For him, it was even better than that. More exciting than eternal life.

The door was kicked open as he singled you out. Staring. Your body was slick as the lighting from the window sheened over your body. He was in there quick. Ripping his briefs off his thighs. By five seconds his cock began to stiffen again. Your tits glazed with the bubbly, soapy water that filler the bath. The normally clear bath water milky, fizz bubbled to the top from the bath bomb that had evaporated as Joel worked himself to his orgasm.

You’ve got his body overworked and you haven’t even touched him yet.

So worked up he forgot he even had his flannel on as he got into the tub. Water that just barely reached the top spilling out onto the tiles, he’d have to wipe that after. The thick fabric of his shirt clinging onto his skin like a fuckin’ lifeline. Hugging the soft muscle.

Stiffed. Once again stiffed. Slapping up against his belly as his hands gripped at your thighs.

“Joel—“ You’d mewl, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He had you.

“This pretty pussy. I ain’t never fuckin’ seen her before.

Why you been so cruel, huh?” He was rambling.

He pushed his head into you. Seeing you stretch out, getting used to the feeling of his tip first. Then he’d slowly let himself sink into your cunt. Gripping your thighs, his his spasmed.

“Joel!” Another moan. Desperately clinging to him, wet hands placed on his fabric-covered shoulders.

“Got me jerkin’ off out there like a fuckin’ teenager.”

He whimpered, his pace already taking no time to quicken, expeditious and brisk. The man wanted to fuck you senseless. Taking your lips to his, pushing his tongue down your throat. Every moan between the two of you vibrating between your lips. Joel’s cock plunging in and out.

In. And. Out.

Rutting into you with every fiber of his fuckin’ being. He never felt a girl like this— so good, so beautiful and so fucking tight.

Joel Miller has never been so fuckin’ pussy-whipped.

The water of the tub was splashing, spluttering, it was messy. It was quick. Yet he knew afterwards, once the aftershocks yet again dissipated maybe he’d fuck you again. And again. And again—

“God— Fuck yes, Joel! Right there. Right there.”

Nibbling his neck every time his head curved up to kissed that soft spot that made you wanna squeal.

“Daddy’s gonna fuckin’ fill this sweet little cunt.”

He’d moan

“Fuck you S’good.”

His brain was mush. The filthy fucking words uttering from his lips weren’t ones he necessarily put thought into— or, better yet. He put none at all. His thrusts were getting tighter, rigid. His stiffy painful with every clenching, the contraction of the muscles in your hole.

You felt your climax right there. Right. There. Every time his fat dick carved a line right on your cervix you’d cry again, your fingers clawing, ripping down the fabric of his now soaked flannel. He was so practiced. Intently watching the contortions of your face. Your pelvis blew with the intensity of your orgasm, panting into the side of his neck, feeling that familiar euphoria you had always found by the touches of your own hand.

His peak followed close. Spilling his semen into your cunt shamelessly filling you to the brim. He didn’t fuckin’ care about the risks. Not now, definitely not now. All he cared about was how good you felt around him, deep within the hot water of this tub. His tub.

“Oh fuckin’ shit. Baby.”

Momentarily you felt as your eyes would roll back into your skull at the feeling of his cum being beat into your cunt, your orgasm forcing ecstasy making you smile against his neck. His hand braced on your belly, feeling the heat and tightness in your gut settle now that it was all done.

All done?

Miller’s been waitin’ months for this, ain’t no way in hell you were all done. He was gonna make you feel it again. Feel all of it again. Once, twice, three times over— all until you’re squirmy, all until you’re beggin’ him to let you take that breather.

“I fuckin’ love this pussy. Can’t get enough.” He’d drawl.

His face buried into the crook of your neck. Tongue flicking in light, lazy kitty-licks against the skin.

This’ll be lasting til’ the water’s cold.

[mrsmandalorian]

short n' sweet tour

--pedro pascal x singer!f!reader

summary: on the debut night of your arena tour, you pull out all the cheeky tricks to grab Pedro's attention while the crowd goes wild.-this fic features a tiny bit of 'Bed Chem" and the whole song of 'Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter !!

lyrical genius masterlist / main masterlist / wc:4.9K

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, smut!!!, and fluff!, p in v, hard and quick FUCK, sexual TEASING, pet names, pillow humping, dry humping, wandering hands, makeout.

a/n: the next part is finally here! thank you for all the love on this series. hope you guys enjoy this part! pls leave some feedback and let me know what you guys might be interested in seeing in the future! much love, maddie <3

The electricity from the crowd vibrates backstage as you nervously wait for your cue to run onstage. All the hard work throughout your career has led to this moment—the first concert of your North American leg of the arena tour. It started in  Staples Center in Los Angeles and concludes in Sweden next year. 

The pre-show recording starts as your team quickly helps you with your earpiece and offers words of encouragement. Take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves as you hear the team start a countdown to your entrance over the earpiece. 

“Three, two, one-go, go!” the stage manager says from behind you.

As the crowd roars, you dash onto the elaborate stage to begin the show with one of your many comedy bits, acting as if you are half-ready for the show to start, still in your sequined bath towel. You finally end up center stage to find your microphone and strip from your fake towel to a custom sparkling bodysuit with sheer sparkling tights, which causes an uproar from your fans. 

Looking into the sea of people and phones, you give your best smile and take the moment as best as possible. The tune of your first song starts as your dancers slowly come out to join you on stage. It was showtime. 

The crowd was whole of thousands of fans and familiar faces from family, friends, and celebrities. The cheers and joy in the room made all the struggles and hard work behind the music worthwhile. The impact your music has on people truly makes it all significant. You released your album, and it was a fantastic experience; it topped the charts for weeks and went viral on social media. It has undoubtedly been the best year of your life. Your career has already taken off, but the overwhelming success you've experienced in the last six months has been remarkable in more ways than one.

Your nerves disappear as you sing through the setlist and entertain your fans with your cheeky comedy bits and lovable personality. Your setlist consists of songs from your new album, older hits and gems, and karaoke from your favorite artists. Much like your most recent singles, your latest album is very sex-positive and cheeky, which sets your performance to the same tone. You were expecting a good reaction from the crowd, especially someone. 

After a few songs and the addition of a sheer robe, it was finally time for one of your more sexual songs off your album, Bed Chem, which had a very sensual tone of dance to it. The lights dim as you get into position on a retro circular bed part of your elaborate makeshift apartment stage. You position yourself seductively in the middle as you stare up at the camera above you, which will project onto the large screens for the audience. 

The song starts as you twirl your hair with a massive smirk. As you go through the first few lyrics on the set bed all by yourself, you can't help but imagine your bed chemistry with your lover, Pedro, which causes you to blush heavily. 

Your imagination halts as your dancers join you on the bed to continue the song and choreography. The canopy opens to the audience, but you have been so caught up in your performance that you haven't taken a second to look at those chocolate eyes in the audience. 

As you continue the song sensually and playfully, you are met at the edge of the bed with your dancers. Staring into the crowd to find his eyes, you meet them with a large smirk, holding them as you sing the following few lines. 

“And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time (bed chem)

And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine (bed chem)

And I bet it's even better than in my head (my, ooh).”

Your gazes hold until you give him a wink, which earns you a smirk and wink back from him. The tension between you and him burned hotter than the stage lights, igniting every inch of you—even in a room packed with thousands. You were so smitten with him as you continued your choreography with your female dancers. 

During the song's outro, the ladies leave you to dance with the guys as you kneel on the bed. One of the male dancers joins you, holding a camcorder that projects onto the screens, and he joins you on the bed. Playfully actingout a scene with him until the canopy curtain closes and your reflections show you both undress and embrace onto the bed as the lights dim to darkness. 

After the song ends, the crowd erupts, and you run backstage for your first outfit. As you change, one of your few mini videos and dancers entertain the audience. Touching up your makeup and dabbing the sweat from your brow, you quickly grab your phone to send Pedro a selfie of you winking and making a kissy face: “All for you, baby.” 

The concert flows on—another outfit change, playful banter, and electrifying moments with the crowd—all in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts of your irresistibly fine man. After an intensely emotional song, your setlist picks back up with cheerful, fun music that has gone viral for your whole tour. You walk yourself down in your long, custom, sexy dress down the catwalk of the stage as you talk with the crowd. You compliment and express your gratitude to your fans as you prepare for the next song. Before the song, your team and you have been doing a comedy bit before to give the spotlight to a fan. 

You complimented the crowd on their fabulous outfits, which you knew took them a while to pick out or make. The best part of the bit happened once your dancers joined you just off the main stage onto the catwalk. 

“Oh my, everyone, look! Who is this hottie in the front row right here?” You let out a shocked expression as you fan your face dramatically. The camera for the large screens directs the camera to the person you are referring to, who happens to be Lux Pascal. The crowd goes wild as Lux starts to blush. “ You are breathtaking! Whoever made you, God bless them. God bless their genetics.” You joke with her as you twist your hair in a fake, flirtatious way. “Um, what's your name, gorgeous?” 

The camera pans back to Lux, where she plays her part and screams, “Lux!” to you. You both laugh together. “Such a beautiful name! Our names would be perfect for us to be in a relationship together. Oh my god! My clothes just fell off thinking about us. I will have to arrest you for being too hot!” You say as your long skirt falls to reveal your shorter skirt underneath. A brief glimpse of Pedro standing beside his sisters and your friends sends the arena into a deafening uproar, the sheer volume making you giggle into the microphone.

Your dancer hands you a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, which you give to the security guard with a wink and blow a kiss to Lux before you start to get into position for the next song, which the intro has begun. 

The dancer brought a chair for you to sit in between them to start the song. They all still wave and send Lux flirtatious signals as part of the bit. The music begins, which causes you to smirk because of the context. 

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it (get it)

Whole package, babe, I like the way You don'tt

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

You promise yourself just one glance. Flashing him your brightest grin, your eyes meet him—and the instant connection sends a deep blush rushing to your cheeks. It remains on your face throughout the song as you continue to sing. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

Your blush never fades as you pour yourself into the sultry song about your lover, every lyric a teasing confession. Your movements are sensual and playful, and the choreography pulls the audience deeper into your world. They sing along to every word, their energy electrifying, reminding you that moments like this make it all worth it.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself; hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

You quickly make your way down the catwalk as you sing and dance, smiling at the sea of people around. You get right to the tip of the heart at the end of the stage and give your cheekiest smile. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

As the lyrics leave your lips, you drop to your hands and knees at the center of the heart-shaped stage, rocking your hips in a slow, sensual tease. With a playful bite of your lip and a cheeky wink to the crowd, the message is crystal clear. The arena erupts at the bold display, but you’re already back on your feet, slipping seamlessly into the next move. The cameras cut to Pedro—his head shaking, a knowing smile on his lips as he chuckles with your friends. The stage slowly rises above the crowd as you continue to sing. 

I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love

“Alright, LA, sing this next part with me at the top of your lungs!” you exclaimed to the crowd, shimmering in the air. “Let me hear every single one of you!” You seamlessly kneel and place your hand on your chest as you sing the bridge. 

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)

Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

Behind you, the screen flashes the song’s lyrics in bold, glowing letters, each word pulsing with the rhythm. As you reach the bridge, your mind drifts—those lyrics, once just melodies, now feel like a private confession, each line a tantalizing reminder of your lover. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep singing, letting the emotion seep into every note.

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

The concert rolls on for a few more songs, each moment more electrifying than the last. A hint of sadness creeps in as the night nears its end, but the thrill of an unforgettable show lingers. Still, excitement bubbles within you—soon, you’ll be backstage, ready to celebrate a night that was nothing short of magic.

“LA, this has been the most unforgettable night of my life. My first big tour, my first night, and I got to spend it with you. I can’t even put into words how much this means to me—how much you mean to me. Thank you for believing in me, for screaming with me, and for making this dream a reality. I’ll never forget this night… unless the adrenaline wears off and I completely black out. But seriously, I love you all more than words can say. Thank you for everything!” You express your gratitude, trying not to get too emotional about the overwhelming feeling. You gently wipe your few happy tears from your face.

You blow kisses and wave as you gracefully go backstage with your dancers. Your team is waiting for you to help take your earpiece out and celebrate with you. They all give you compliments and congratulations. If there is any criticism, they will let you know tomorrow. 

After returning to the greenroom, the energy from the performance is still buzzing through your veins, and your friends and family pour in from the audience. Laughter and praise fill the space as they hug you and gush about their favorite moments of the show. Their words warm your heart, but before you can respond to them all, a familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine.  

Strong, warm hands settle on your hips, grounding you instantly. You turn swiftly, already knowing who they belong to, and are met with Pedro’s soft, adoring smile. Before you can say a word, he pulls you into his embrace, his scent wrapping around you like a comforting haze.  

“You were incredible, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride. His hands trail down the fabric of your outfit, savoring the texture beneath his fingertips. The simple gesture sends a wave of goosebumps across your skin, and you can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch.  

Still basking in the moment, you slowly pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whisper, the connection lingering between you.  

With his presence still humming through you, you turn back to your loved ones, laughter, and conversation effortlessly filling the space once more.

As the last of your friends and family trickle out of the arena, heading off to prepare for a celebratory late dinner, you stay behind in your dressing room, savoring the moment. Pedro remains by your side, a comforting presence as you decompress from the night. The air between you crackles with unspoken energy, and it’s clear you both can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were quite the tease during your set, angel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His warmth envelops you as you sit on the small couch, his hands exploring your body with a playful familiarity. You giggle at his words, nodding in agreement, the tension between you both palpable.

“You knew exactly what you were doing to me,” he adds, his fingers dancing along your waist, drawing you closer. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that sends your heart racing. “I’d love to see your stage set.”

A rush of excitement floods through you, your smile growing as you meet his gaze. “I’d love to show you,” you say, your voice soft but laced with promise. Taking his hand, you lead him toward the stage door, the lingering buzz of the night still thick in the air. A few crew members move about, cleaning up and prepping for tomorrow’s show, but your focus is entirely on him.

Waltzing onto the stage, you gesture to the elaborate setup, walking him through the details as you chat about your performance. His hands never leave you, fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin as he listens intently, slipping in jokes that send both of you into laughter.

But as you near the infamous round-shaped bed at center stage, warmth floods your cheeks. His smirk deepens. “You looked blissful the whole night,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. “But there were two moments you looked absolutely delectable.”

His lips brush your neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses that send a shiver through you. A nervous giggle escapes as you instinctively tilt your head, granting him more access. Slowly, he eases you back onto the bed, his touch growing more assured, guiding you into surrender.

That’s what you do—surrender to him. It had been weeks since your schedules aligned, since you’d had a moment like this, and you weren’t about to waste it. You let him take control, guiding your body with ease, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips capture yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

A soft whimper escapes as he presses closer, his hands trailing down the front of your body, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “You were such a tease tonight, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with amusement. His grip tightens around your thigh as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body and how he moves against you sends a shiver through you, the anticipation crackling between you like electricity. “I think you might have been trying to get a reaction out of me.”

His hips dip into yours as you feel his warmth glide against yours, which causes you to squeeze your legs around me. His hands wander down to your bum, and he holds you close for a moment. With one swift movement, he flips you and positions you on top of him. Gripping your ass before giving a quick slap against your behind, which causes you to let out a yelp. You bury your head into his chest because you are embarrassed by being too loud and getting caught.

He gives you two more slaps that make you whimper against him and cause him to snicker. “Two can play the game, love,” he says as he grips your hips and pushes you against his clothed member. You buck your hips to create some friction between the two of you, which makes you let out the slightest whimper in need. His hand remains on your hips as you throw your head back as you let yourself hump him against him. He enables you to ride him as his hands roam towards your breast and knead them roughly, which causes a noise of frustration to erupt out of you. The slickness in your panties makes your determined hips work furiously against his hardened member. 

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice Pedro’s smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes. He had a plan—one carefully crafted to make you pay for every playful tease, every bold move you pulled on stage.

Your breath hitched as his hands moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both gentle and commanding. “You had your fun tonight,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Now it’s my turn.”

With a wicked smirk, he tightens his grip for just a moment before effortlessly sliding you off his lap, the loss of his warmth sending a desperate ache through your body. His hands linger—slow, deliberate—tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you. Then, just as your breath catches in anticipation, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, almost reverent, yet it only leaves you craving more.

As he rises, his gaze locks onto yours, dark with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he’s done. Without another word, he strides off the stage, vanishing into the shadows, leaving you there—breathless, flushed, and utterly undone, your body still humming with the need only he can satisfy.

For a moment, you lay there, catching your breath, your mind racing. You wouldn’t let this old dog win—not yet. Your teasing wasn’t over. But damn him, he’d left behind something deeper than just a game. The ache he ignited wasn’t one to be toyed with; it demanded more than just playful taunts. It needed to be answered.

Your body still burned from his touch, every nerve alive with the memory of him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin, the soft press of his kiss on the top of your head—a contradiction of tenderness and control that made your pulse quicken.

No, this wasn’t over. But first, you had to deal with the fire he’d so effortlessly set ablaze.

And that’s just what you start to do. 

Slowly, you push yourself up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch. A quick glance around confirms what you already suspected—the crew has cleared out for the evening, leaving the stage bathed in dim, moody light, the perfect setting for what you’re about to do.  

A wicked smirk tugs at your lips as anticipation curls low in your stomach. If he thought he could leave you like this, aching and undone, he had another thing coming. This wasn’t just about need; it was about control and claiming the upper hand. And what better way than here, on his stage, where every move was meant to captivate an audience?  

Especially when that audience was him.  

With a slow, deliberate breath, you step back onto the fluffy pillow-covered bed, already imagining the look on his face when he realizes just what kind of show you’re about to put on.

You glance across the bed, your eyes drifting over the pleasurable options laid before you, each a temptation, a promise. The sight alone tugs you back to past nights, to the moments when distance kept you apart but never truly separated. You’ve performed this wicked little act for him before, in the privacy of your own home, a sinful display meant only for his eyes—his voice in your ear, coaxing, commanding, praising.

But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, this is your stage. Your domain.

The empty venue hums with silence, the stage lights casting a soft glow, illuminating the space where you captivate crowds with every note you sing. But now, there’s only one audience member you care about. He thinks he’s won, leaving you breathless and aching, but you smirk to yourself—this game is far from over. 

Your hands find the subject to your pleasure, which happens to be the firmest and fluffiest pillow on the bed. You mount the pillow as you had just previously mounted your lover. Your determined hips start at work again, creating your own friction against the softness of the pillow against your soaked panties. You couldn't hold back your soft moans as you rode in a familiar rhythm. 

Caught up in your own pleasure, you barely registered the weight of unseen eyes on you—though deep down, you felt it. That familiar heat, that electric prickle along your skin, warning you that you weren’t alone. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.  

The game, the teasing, the push and pull—it all faded into something raw, something uncontrollable. You weren’t performing anymore. This wasn’t for show. This was need, pure and aching, a fire burning too hot to be tamed.  

Your breath hitched, your body surrendering to the moment, lost in sensation, in the hunger that refused to be ignored. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, he watched. Silent. Waiting. Taking in every movement, every sound, every unguarded moment of you unraveling before him.

Before you knew it, rough, familiar hands were on you—firm, possessive, claiming what had always been his. A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, quickly followed by a frustrated groan. You had been so close, teetering on the edge, almost lost in your own pleasure, only to have him interrupt just as you were about to tip over.

But even through the frustration, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

His touch and presence were precisely what you had been craving all along. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the unmistakable dominance in his grip, the way his breath fanned hot against your skin. He had been watching, waiting, letting you think you had control. But now, he was done watching.

His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you finish without me?" His fingers tightened, his body caging you in, making it clear—you weren’t going anywhere. "You put on quite the show, sweetheart… but now, it’s my turn."

Hands worked quickly, rough and unyielding, as he maneuvered you with ease—his strength undeniable, his intent unmistakable. Before you could catch your breath, you found yourself in the position you had so proudly displayed in your performance tonight, the one meant to tease, torment, and tempt him beyond reason.  

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, his grip firm as he held you there, ensuring you understood exactly what would happen. His lips barely grazed your skin, his breath hot and taunting. "You wanted my attention, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice laced with hunger. "Now you have it. Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

His boldness caught you off guard as you felt your slickness become bare, and the sound of pants unzipping rang through your ears. Before you knew it, his thickness probed at your walls, determined to finish what you both had started. His fingers make quick work to find your bundle of nerves, forcing you to moan deeply into the pillows. 

His hands gripped your hips firmly, but his eyes flickered to the pillow beneath you—still damp with your wetness, carrying the intoxicating scent of your need. The sight of it, the evidence of just how lost you had been in your own pleasure before he caught you, sent a dark, satisfied smirk across his lips.

"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers ghosted over the damp fabric. "You were really putting on a show for me, weren’t you?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his hands worked quickly, positioning you exactly how you had so boldly displayed yourself during your performance. "But now that I’m here," he continued, voice dripping with wicked promise, "let’s see if you can handle what you were begging for."

His promise was quickly answered as his hips brutally thrust into trying to relieve his ache of desire as well as yours. All at once, his thrust and fingers worked you up to mold effortlessly beneath his movements. You were moaning and gripping onto the fuzzy bed before you knew it. You heard his groans as you both were about to finish in sync. There was no more game at play, so you relinquished it and rode out your high together as he moaned heavily into your ear. His heavy moans are replaced with deep gasps from exhaustion, which match yours, and an adoring smirk on both of your faces. 

"I guess this means the war is over," you murmur, your breath still uneven as he eases away gently, cleaning himself off with slow, deliberate movements.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, his smirk softened but still present. "Maybe," he muses, casting you a knowing glance. "Or maybe we just found a new way to fight."

His fingers trail over your skin one last time before he leans back, watching you with the kind of satisfaction that promises—truce or not—this was far from the end.

In quick motion, he finds your discarded panties, using them to clean the two of you the best for the situation. He leaves kisses down your body as he does so, being the gentle lover again. He might fuck hard, but he is always a gentleman in the end (literally). 

The two of you return to your dressing room, the air still warm with the remnants of what just transpired. There’s a quiet intimacy in how he lingers, watching as you slip into something more comfortable, his hands occasionally brushing against you in small, affectionate gestures.  

You take a moment to clean up, smooth your hair, and touch up your makeup while he stands behind you, his presence steady and familiar. Every now and then, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a silent reminder of just how deeply he adores you.  

Falling into your usual rhythm, the playful teasing and gentle touches return, the two of you wrapped in the sweet comfort of each other. As he helps you fasten a necklace, his fingers grazing your skin, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ready, beautiful?"

With one last glance at yourselves, you take his hand, feeling nothing but warmth as you step out together, heading off to meet your loved ones for a late dinner—still lost in the afterglow of the night and of each other.  

As you settle into the car, the city lights flickering past the windows, he suddenly turns to you with a smirk, his tone light and teasing. “I do have a question: why are all the songs you write about me pertaining to  sex?” 

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shove his arm playfully. "Oh, shut up and drive." 

His chuckle fills the space between you, the perfect sound to end a perfect night.

[paulyenvol6]

Yours To Keep

This is just full of fluff and cuteness and Pedro and reader being all over each other which I hope you enjoy!!

Pedro takes you with him for the 50th anniversary of SNL and shows off your engagement to the entire world.

Contains: smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, soft and very slight dom Pedro, aftercare, tooth-rotting and domestic fluff, Pedro being the sweetest human on earth, established relationship, mentions of marriage and engagement

Masterlist

Wordcount: ~8.60k

"You look nice."

You smiled and chuckled squeezing Pedro's hand twice before kissing his cheek.

"Thank you. So do you."

You slightly crouched against his shoulder burying your face in his jacket that smelled a little different but you were still able to make out his familiar scent.

"Are you nervous, honey?" he instantly asked sensing how you absolutely couldn't sit still in the car seat and wrapped his arm around you.

"A little…," you said but it sounded like a question. "Don't be."

"That's easy to say," you pouted poking him in the side.

"It's just a concert and we're guests. Nothing's gonna happen, we'll just be in the audience and have a good time."

His words gave you comfort but when your gaze dropped to your hand the nervous fluttering in your stomach returned.

"But… I mean they will notice this, right?"

Pedro grabbed your hand determinedly and pressed kisses to one finger after the other starting at your little finger and giving a special amount of attention to your ring finger that wore a breathtakingly beautiful silver ring that was both glamourus and elegant. Your engagement ring.

"They might. But there's no need to worry about it. I love you and I'm ready to share it with the world. What could possibly go wrong, mhm?"

You had turned away from him but Pedro gently took hold of the side of your face capturing your attention.

"I don't know. I really don't, I guess it's just general anxiety."

He smiled softly pulling you closer to him to kiss your forehead.

"Oh baby," he whispered so quietly that no one in the car except you could possibly hear these words. "You know I got you, right? I won't leave your side for a second. Except maybe when you go to the bathroom but if you want to I'll wait right by the door and I'm not even kidding, okay?"

You couldn't help but scoff and in a matter of seconds you gave him a genuine smile. That was the thing about Pedro Pascal. He never failed to make you laugh and brighten your mood. He was your safe space, your comfort person and when his thumb brushed over the back of your slightly shaking hand you actually believed him. He was all that mattered after all. And now the two of you were engaged and why shouldn't the world know it as well?

"I love you," you whispered and then leaned in for a kiss on his mouth.

"I love you too, y/n. And I promise you we'll have a good time tonight. If you're not gonna enjoy the concert I'll make your night good afterwards."

His crooked smirk indicated what he was alluding to and you felt the blood rushing in your cheeks.

"Pedro…," you whispered fearing that the driver might have heard him but as if he didn't have a care in the world he kissed you right next to your ear which made you giggle and feel like a teenager on her first date of her life.

"I'll make it up to you if you have a really bad time. But… actually I think I'm also gonna make it up to you if you have a semi good time. And maybe, just maybe also if you're gonna have a good time."

His hand was definitely resting too high on your thigh now and you shifted in your seat.

"Pedro. I don't think this is helping right now," you complained with a smile that gave your true feelings away.

Before he could answer you the car stopped and suddenly your heart pounded loudly in your chest again although Pedor had just been able to calm you. He immediately noticed the way you tensed and tightly gripped your hand.

"It's fine. It's gonna be fine, baby. It's just you and me and a bunch of other people."

You bit your lip raising your hand like you were going to punch him but then ran it over his arm instead.

"Shut up. Oh and by the way, I swear to god if you're gonna get drunk tonight and embarrass us both AND basically leave me alone I'm gonna be so angry."

You started to climb out of the car and heard him following close behind.

"Don't worry, honey. You know what they say about alcohol and erectile dysfunction…"

Now you couldn't help but smirk back at him while you adjusted your dress and he straightened up next to you.

"Have I told you already how pretty you look?" he asked while placing his arm around your waist.

"Yes. But it's nice to hear it again."

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything happened very fast.

You were confronted with what seemed like a thousand cameras taking pictures of Pedro and you all at once and now it was obvious that the little secret the two of you had been carrying around for the last two months was out. Someone would surely notice the identical rings on both his and your left hand and one didn't have to be a genius to connect the dots. But who cared? Pedro was right, the love between the two of you was the most important thing and you wouldn't hide it anymore.

Once at the door, it was a matter of seconds before you were waved in, then you handed over your jackets at the cloakroom and were then led into the avenue by a woman in a black dress.

"There is food and drinks outside if you leave the hall through the main door. I will lead you to your seats now and then you'll have about… 30 more minutes until the show starts."

Pedro nodded friendly and squeezed your hand every now and then until you arrived at your seats in the second row.

"Wow, these are really good seats," it broke out of you and the woman gave you a wide smile.

"I should hope so. Now, I'm in a real hurry but I wish the two of you a lovely night and… congratulations."

She winked mischievously and at first you were too stunned to speak let alone thank her and only when she was already gone you stared at Pedro.

"Did you hear that?"

He nodded and opened the buttons of his jacket. "Very good eyes."

Then the two of you sat down admiring and examining the concert hall while also taking a look at the celebrities that were already there. Of course you spotted a lot of familiar faces like Paul Rudd and Anya Taylor-Joy so the next minutes were filled with chatter and laughter and you had to admit that you were having a very good time.

You especially enjoyed going crazy about Meryl Streep who had been an inspiration to you for so long. And your boyfriend, no, your fiancée would be doing a skit with her on Sunday. You really couldn't have been more proud of Pedro and didn't move an inch away from him the whole time no matter how clingly or ridiculous the two of you might look.

Pedro didn't seem to mind at all which didn't surprise you as he was the touchiest person you had ever met. His love language was physical touch and he didn't waste an opportunity to rest his head on your shoulder or toy with your fingers, especially when he got excited or nervous.

When the concert was about to start the people began to find their seats and Pedro and you finally sat down again as well.

"How are you, baby?" he asked stroking your back with his left hand.

"I'm very good, Pedro. But I want you to have a good time now without worrying about me. I'm good, really. And I'm even better when you're enjoying yourself so please do that now."

He lifted the corner of his mouth leaning with his forehead against your arm for a brief moment before adjusting in his seat. "I will."

And as it turned out, he did exactly that. The show was opened by Jimmy Fallon and while your personal highlight was Arcade Fire's performance of 'Heroes' Pedro absolutely lost it during Robyn's and David Byrne's rendition of 'Dancing on my own'.

You could only giggle and feel the butterflies in your tummy going insane while watching him record the performance with so much devotion that he almost seemed to tear up. How could you possibly love this man next to you more?

Towards the end of the show the two of you stopped sitting down and instead gave yourself to the music moving and dancing as if you were the only two people in this room. Your heart skipped a beat when Pedro held your hand during 'This Must Be The Place' toying with your engagement ring all while giving you these chocolate brown eyes of his that never failed to take you out.

If happiness could be defined by a moment it would definitely be this one, you thought and when the concert was over you still felt like you were on a cloud.

Your head was buzzing and Pedro didn't exactly do anything to help you leave your high.

"THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME," he screamed in your ear shaking your body by your arms.

"I KNOW," you answered equally excited and almost crushed under his weight when he threw himself in your arms. The two of you giggled and raved about the musical acts like teenage girls while leaving the building which turned out to take quite a long time as you were stopped by familiar faces every few seconds.

When you finally stepped out into the cold it was long past midnight and you greedily inhaled the fresh air feeling overwhelmed with the sudden silence. Well, it was still New York City and even at this time the air was filled with the sound of cars and chatter but your dizzy head seemed to finally get a moment of peace.

Pedro seemingly was swimming in his own thoughts as well, a dreamy wide smile on his face but his grip around your waist was firm. When the two of you entered the car, leaving the lights of the cameras of the papparazzi behind he clenched your hand.

"I fucking saw Robyn, y/n. And Nirvana. And Arcade Fire. What the fuck?"

You put your seatbelt on slowly feeling how your soul fully returned to your body and nestled up against Pedro's side.

"It was so amazing. I think I'm in love with St Vincent."

"That's okay but only because I think I'm in love with her too."

He held you the whole car ride back to your hotel. You exchanged a few words and expressions of excitement but the both of you seemed to be busy processing the concert at the same time. So a huge amount of the time you stared ahead of you replaying this incredibly evening and somehow trying to comprehend that it had actually happened.

Only when you arrived at the hotel did Pedro's attention shift again because while you walked through the lobby his hand on your hip traveled a little lower and you blushed nervously looking up to him.

"I tend to keep my promises, babygirl," he whispered against your hair and you cursed yourself for not even caring about the fact that someone could see you or even worse, take a picture of the two of you snuggled up like this. Instead your throbbing heat seemed to take control over your mind and your glossy eyes searched for his.

"I need you, baby," you said clenching his white shirt tightly to show him just how much.

"I know. And I'm gonna give you what you need. Trust me."

It wouldn't have been necessary for him to say this because obviously you knew what he was capable of making you feel. And yet his thoughts enhanced your desire for him even more and the last 20 meters to your hotel room felt like an eternity.

Once he had pulled you inside the room with him he quickly locked the door and then started to devour you like a wild animal. His lips were on yours, his hands all over your body and he was quick to press his knee between your legs knowing your body so damn well.

You wore a silk dress that revealed quite the amount of skin but of course it wasn't enough for Pedro so he slipped the straps of your dress over your shoulders pulling it down until your bare chest was revealed.

"You're telling me you didn't wear a fuckin' bra all night?" he growled against your forehead pressing you closer to the wall he had pushed you against.

"Pedro," you whined your arms entangled behind his back.

He smirked smugly enjoying the way he had you wrapped around his little finger. You were so incredibly responsive to his touch and the sound of his voice and he knew that not the largest movie role could give him a bigger ego-boost than your little sighs and whimpers that were only meant for him.

He kissed his way down to the swell of your breasts gently burying his teeth in your flesh so deep that he could feel you twitch but not so much so that he would seriously hurt you. When he started to take care of your nipples you threw your head back feeling grateful for the wall behind you and buried your hands in his hair that started to look more and more messy and curly the longer the two of you made out.

Not wanting to neglect your left breast his big hand took care of your other bud and enclosed it between his fingers which made you rock your core against his leg between your thighs.

"Pedro," you sighed again feeling almost too weak on your knees to stand but luckily he sensed it and steadied you by holding you by your waist.

"I know babygirl. I'm gonna make you feel so fuckin' good. 'Cause you deserve it. I love you so much and I want you to feel it."

This was probably the clostest to heaven you would ever reach because both his mouth and his hand was occupied with exploring your chest with so much delicacy that you felt like you were the most precious thing Pedro had ever held in his arms.

That was one of the attributes about him that you had fallen in love with first. The way he made his opposite feel as though they were the only and most important person for him. And he was especially good at doing so while devouring your body.

"You're so fucking pretty like this, baby. I don't know what I did to deserve all of this."

You widened your eyes because the question was what did you do to deserve this?

"I need you Pedro," you whimpered, seriously close to crying not only because of the gentleness of his words but also because you were so desperate to be closer to him, seeing and tasting every part of him while being utterly consumed by him.

"Patience, y/n."

Your nails lightly scratched over his shoulders hinting at the fact that you weren't in the mood to wait right now but he placed a messy kiss on your collarbone while soothingly caressing the side of your chest.

"I know, I know. Just lemme have a little more time with you, mhm? Afterwards I'll make you come as many times as you want, okay?"

You nodded because what else were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to deny him when he looked at you with these puppy eyes? You would probably agree to anything he was asking of you right now.

And so Pedro continued his explorations on your abdomen kissing and biting every inch of your skin. His big hands kneaded your flesh and rolled your buds between his fingers gifting you indescribable pleasure and if you hadn't been too fucked out already to articulate your words you probably would have repeatedly sighed his name over and over again.

His mouth additionally traced the outline of your breast and seeing this perfect man savouring you like you were the most beautiful and stunning creature he had ever laid his eyes on gave you more confidence than anything else in the world.

Soon, you had lost every sense for the passing time, he let go of you and guided you to the big bed in the middle of the room. Pedro gently pushed you on it but didn't immediately followed as he started to take off his shirt which he threw on the floor joining his jacket that he had already pealed off earlier. Then his pants followed and he eventually crawled, only wearing his boxers, on top of you.

You were mesmerized by his stunning body that you had seen more times than you could count and yet never failed to make you drool for him. His broad shoulders, the small waist and his muscular arms… Obviously he noticed the way you were staring and put a finger under your chin.

"Naughty girl…," he purred and then kissed you softly but pulled back way too soon.

"You're gonna let me eat that pussy?" he asked and you gulped feeling his hands on your hips. He was good at giving oral sex but you knew that in the kind of mood he was in tonight it would be sensational. Electrifying. You really were in for a ride.

Almost feeling scared of the reaction he would provoke in you you ran your hands through his hair.

"Yes, Pedro. Please," you whispered nevertheless and watched him make his way down your body.

He stopped at your stomach kissing the softness of your belly which made you giggle and then he pulled down your dress, took it off your body so the only thing separating him from what hid between your legs was your panties. He stroked your bare thighs looking at your body almost proudly as if he was dreaming about what would come now.

"Please. I really need it, Pedro, like really."

His eyes shot up to your face again and a smile formed on his face.

"Someone is a little impatient tonight."

You rolled your eyes though not entirely capable of hiding your inner peace.

"Someone is a teasing ass tonight."

That made him chuckle but he finally pealed off your underwear which you considered a success and you apprehensively pressed your legs together.

"You know you need to open your legs in order for me to make you feel good," he smirked gently and yet firmly parting your thighs. Then his eyes darkened at the sight of your pussy and you could hear his breath catching in his throat.

"Will you look at that…," he panted caressing the insides of your thighs. "The best fuckin' pussy I've ever tasted and smelled and touched."

The butterflies in your stomach were wakened once more and you blushed at his words. You couldn't believe that you had been anxious about him seeing, let alone eating your pussy at the start of your relationship just because your past partners had either not given you oral sex at all or expressed their dislike for it very clearly. But Pedro wasn't like them. He was absolutely crazy about making you come on his tongue and ever since you had let him dive between your thighs for the first time you realized what douchebags your exes had been.

You snapped back to reality when Pedro lowered his head and licked a strip from your hole up to your clit collecting your arousal and swallowing it with relish.

"For fuck's sake," he growled his eyes rolling back at your divine taste. "You're drippin', babygirl."

"Pedro, fuck… Please…," you whimpered already feeling like pudding beneath him.

This time he instantly followed your request, perhaps feeling addicted to your taste so much that he didn't care about teasing you anymore.

He wrapped his soft lips around your clit applying light pressure while circling his tongue around it, which was an intoxicating combination. Sometimes you believed that he knew your body better than you did because he seemed to know exactly where to touch you and when to go faster but if you slept with someone almost every day for more than 3 years you grew to know each other's likings and dislikings.

It didn't take you long until you realized that he was especially hooked tonight. He was always good, of course but tonight you felt like he was eating you alive. You wondered how he had the energy to get lost in you like this after having spent almost three hours dancing and exhausting himself at the concert but who were you to complain? It felt like he was trying to suffocate in your pussy and when he took your clit between his teeth to lightly nibble at it you let out a long whine.

"Fuckkkk," you whimpered gripping the bedsheets and feeling your toes curl.

"Ohh fuck, Pedro. S-So… fucking… good."

He smiled which you couldn't see and then started to circle your entrance with his pointer finger. His mouth didn't leave your clit for a second while he inserted his finger in you gently opening you up. He curled it just right and you choked on a moan.

"Please. Please, I need to…," you whined unable to finish the sentence but you honestly didn't know what you were even asking for.

"Yes, baby. I got you, you see? S'alright, I know what you need. Just listen to my voice and relax. I'll take care of you."

His voice was so soothing and mesmerizing that you allowed yourself to close your eyes. He really was taking care of you because minutes later you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm. He kitten-licked your clit now getting the hood that covered your little nub out of the way so it was even more intense for you. In the way your body tensed and your muscles tightened he was able to see that you were about to burst so he became faster.

"You're gonna cum for me, y/n? Gonna soak my face?"

You could only nod too focused on not letting out a shriek that was definitely not appropriate for an entire hotel to be heard and dug your fingers into his broad shoulders.

"Then come. Give it all to me, c'mon."

It was truly magical how you reached your high right at his words and arched beneath him.

"FUCK," you cried out buckling your hips and uncontrollably shook while he licked you through it.

"S'right. That's a good girl…"

The intense orgasm completely took you out and you needed a moment to collect yourself but once you did you realized how his touch had started to feel overwhelming.

"Pedro…," you whispered pulling at his strong arms.

"Feelin' a little overstimulated?" he asked raising his head from your cunt.

"Yes. But I need you now, please. Need you inside of me."

Pedro was more than happy with your request and crawled up to you again so your faces were on the same level.

"Yeah, you do?" he asked with flashing eyes and you couldn't wait to feel filled by him any longer so you wrapped your legs around his waist and crossed them behind is ass.

"Please. I want you so badly."

He looked down and your eyes followed him to where he pulled his boxers down to reveal his cock that stood hard against his stomach. The precum on his tip looked tempting and you were just about to demand to suck him off when he wrapped a hand around his shaft dragging the tip through your folds.

You instantly forgot everything and his dick quite literally took hold of your actions and thoughts. When he circled your aching clit your eyes rolled back and now you really were completely fucked out and at his mercy.

"Pedro…," you whispered almost feeling pathetic for begging him all the time but you really needed him now and he just couldn't make you wait any longer. Fortunately he finally released you from the torment and started to push into you with the tip.

"That's it… Oh jesus christ…," Pedro sighed his face drawn in pleasure.

"Breathe, sweetheart," he reminded you as he saw you staring up to him with eyes round as coins. "You're so fuckin' amazing, y/n. And you feel so goddamn good around me."

He was only with the tip inside but you already felt like it wouldn't take a lot more to make you come again so you applied pressure to his ass gesturing him to push deeper so the two of you could orgasm at the same time.

"I'm not gonna last long, babygirl, I'm sorry," he grunted in your ear his hands groping your right breast.

"S'okay," you managed to press out. "I won't either."

Pedro smiled softly and left kisses on your jaw while picking up the pace of thrusting in you. He still didn't go as deep as he could fearing that he might hurt you as he wasn't exactly small but it was enough to drive him dangerously close to the edge after an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Pedro swiftly reached down between your legs to search for your clit and started to rub you in messy circles so he wouldn't burst before you.

"Are you close, honey?" he breathed and you felt his thrusts getting sloppier.

"Yes. M'close, m'so fuckin' close."

He pushed inside of you three more times while stimulating your clit and then you came. You shrieked loudly and the feeling of your pussy clenching around him made him burst as well. Pedro let out a deep growl, collapsed on top of you and you felt his cum filling you up to the brim.

"Oh jesus fuckin' christ…," he moaned and bruied his face in your neck.

You on the other hand were powerlessly sprawled out underneath him enjoying the way his weight pressed you down into the mattress and soothingly ran your hands through his locks.

"That was so good, baby," you whispered and kissed his sweaty hair.

He didn't answer you but you were familiar with the way he always needed a moment to collect himself after a crushing orgasm like this. So you decided to shower him with the love your felt for him that was so intense currently that it almost cut off your breathing.

"I love you, Pedro. So so much. And I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. I want you by my side all the time, forever."

That was the point where he lifted his head glancing at you with wet eyes.

"How did I deserve you?" he asked for the second time tonight pretending to break down and cry and you cradled his head.

"C'mere," you whispered gesturing him to crawl up to you and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Pedro?" you asked against his lips after a while.

"Mhm?" he spoke sounding just as exhausted as you felt.

"I'm so tired. Can we just clean up tomorrow?"

He gently bit you bottom lip and caressed your cheek. "Of course. Just wanna sleep now."

With these words he rolled off you but was quick to embrace you again by moving your body around so your head could rest on his chest. When his hand began to stroke your hair you almost started to pur like a cat but you didn't find out whether you did because you fell asleep before it could happen.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you woke up late the next day which wasn't a surprise considering the concert had ended at around 1 am and instead of sleeping you had fucked afterwards.

So it was almost noon when you opened your eyes and glanced at Pedro to your left who was still fast asleep. You decided that the two of you deserved a lazy morning like this and moved over to him so you could crouch against his upper body. The sticky feeling between your legs reminded you of how you both had been too lazy last night to clean yourselves up but you were still not eager to leave Pedro so you pushed the thought of going to the bathroom away and instead inhaled his scent greedily.

You were able to dooze away for a couple of minutes again but were woken up when Pedro moved next to you and you smiled as he opened his eyes into yours.

"Mhmmmm… what's the time?" he asked and yawned open-mouthedly.

"Almost 12."

He sighed, but made no attempt to get up, instead grabbing your waist so that your body crashed against his.

"I just wanna stay here," he mumbled his eyes closed but you poked him in the side.

"You have a rehearsal later, baby."

His lips formed a pout and he opened his left eye. "I can skip it."

You smirked and kissed his ear while crawling on top of him.

"Yeah you can. But then I'm really curious to see how you're gonna do tomorrow."

Pedro let out a frustrated hum and took hold of your waist. "You can jump in for me."

You had to laugh at his morning-dizziness that almost made him act like he was high and pressed kisses on his neck.

"No one will notice, right?"

He shook his head finally opening his eyes and smiled at you. "No. Because we're basically the same person 'cause we're getting married, you know?"

"Mhm, yes, I know."

You leaned down to kiss his nose while your hand caressed the side of his face.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

Pedro closed his eyes again breathing steadily while you spoiled his face and neck with kisses.

"Where do you wanna get married?"

You chewed on your bottom lip and thought about your answer for a few seconds.

"I haven't really thought about it yet to be honest. Have you?"

He shook his head slightly moving up in the bed so he could pull you closer to his chest.

"No, not really. But if you could choose right now, what place would you pick?"

"Mhmm… You know that I'm a big Italy fan, right? Just imagine it. Italian coast preferably in autumn so it's not too hot. And then our families and friends and we could go take a swim in the ocean at night." You laughed and pinched his cheek. "Or we could do a karaoke night."

Pedro rolled his eyes and grimaced which only made you giggle harder.

"Don't remind me of it. I really don't know why I agreed to do it for SNL. I just don't get why people are doing it, I mean someone has written the song and sang it, why are people now ruining it by giving us their drunk version of it?"

You pretended to frown and stroked the hair out of his face. "You're not gonna be drunk while perfoming it, are you?"

"Well maybe I should be. Ohhh fuck, y/n why have I agreed to this?"

Pedro buried his head in your neck and dramatically shook your body while you soothingly ran your hands over his naked back.

"Shhhh. You got this. I know you do. And you're not terrible when it comes to singing. You might not have the perfect timing, but…"

He interrupted you by lifting his head and showing you the middle finger. You quickly took hold of his hand pushing it against his chest and seriously looked at him.

"What I was saying was… You might not have the perfect timing, but I know that you're gonna do amazing, Pedro, because you're incredible. And you have time to practice today which brings me to the next important matter: We need to get up now."

He let out a disapproving cry and was quick to roll the two of you over so you were trapped underneath him.

"No," he whispered and narrowed his eyes at you. "I'm not finished with my morning routine yet."

You laughed out placing your hands on his shoulders. "Your morning routine?"

Pedro nodded with an important look on his face.

"Of course. Don't you know that it gives stability to have a morning ritual?"

You bit your lip with relish as you felt his hand traveling up your waist.

"Is that so? What is your morning ritual then?"

Pedro answered you with a deep kiss that completely cut off your air supply and left you breathless once he pulled away.

"Now I'm finished," he smirked and rolled off you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day was quite peaceful and eventless. Pedro ended up attending the rehearsal for the anniversary and returned to the hotel room when you had just started to read a book. His eyebrows were drawn together and dramatic as he was he dropped his head to his chest acting like he was crying.

"I messed up my entry a million times, y/n."

You put the book down stood up and pulled him into a hug. "Oh my love… I told you, the timing."

Pedro instantly pushed you away but couldn't hide the amusement on his face.

"Shut up. You don't know a thing about acting anyway," he prenteded to sulk and crossed his arms in front of his chest which made you laugh.

"How was it apart from your failure?" you then asked with flashing eyes. Pedro ignored your teasing and nodded while sitting down on the bed.

"It was good. I mean you know, I don't particulary enjoy karaoke but it was still fun. I was happy to see Marcello again and Sabrina was also very nice so, yeah. I think it's gonna be fine. I hope so."

"It will be fine, Pedro," you said insistently and truly meant it. "And even if you make a mistake it doesn't matter. This is the anniversary and it's supposed to be fun for everyone. No one's gonna care if you, I don't know, mess up the timing once or twice. Really."

He nodded again pulling you towards him by your hips until you stood between his legs.

"You're right. Somehow you're always right. How do you do it?"

You smirked and only now noticed how gorgeous he looked despite being exhausted from rehearsal.

"Keep talking, baby."

Pedro's hand were suddenly on your ass squeezing you softly which made your smile deepen. He was such a flirt and it sometimes drove you mad.

"Seriously though, we're gonna do what you wanna do tonight. I want you to relax. Even if it means watching an old film in bad quality on your iPad because you can't stream on Netflix on the hotel TV."

Pedro chuckled pushing you even closer to him until you lost your balance and landed on his lap.

"You're givin' me ideas, baby."

"If that's what you wanna do, let's do it."

And so the two of you actually spent the night watching 'Dirty Dancing' probably for the sixth time. You fell asleep once towards the end but woke up again before Pedro could even notice and then afterwards his hand on your thigh drove you insane but you didn't initiate anything as he was probably too tense and nervous to relax.

Tonight you went to bed early which you thought was exactly what the both of you needed and so you didn't fight the sleep creeping up on you as the sun hadn't even touched the horizon yet.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Pedro woke up early which was no wonder considering how stressed he was about his SNL performance. You didn't mind being waken up by his restlessly shifting body and although you had problems keeping your eyes open you decided to get up as well while Pedro took on his bathrobe.

"When are Coco and Julia gonna be here?" you asked rubbing over your tired eyes.

"They said they would be at the hotel at 4 pm I think. But I'm gonna check again."

"Alright," you yawned and opened your phone answering a few messages.

The both of you were still very tired so you didn't exchange a lot of words, well-aware of the fact that you just needed a few minutes of silence so you could properly wake up until you were fully ready for the day.

Despite feeling so excited and nervous Pedro knew about your habits and granted you these peacful minutes before the two of you decided to have breakfast downstairs.

It turned out to be a relaxed and beautiful meal, sipping on your cappucino while the sun shone inside despite the cold weather. Yet you worriedly watched your fianée only taking small bites from his pancake which made you speak up at some point.

"Pedro, you have to eat. You're gonna need the energy."

"I know," he sighed tapping with his finger on the table. "But I feel like I'm too anxious."

That made you take his hand and you traced his tattoo just like you always did when you attempted to make him calm.

"There's no need to be scared, baby. You practiced the skits, you are so fucking talented and they're gonna help you with the words if you forget. And you know that all these people performing with you love you and they're gonna try and make you feel comfortable. And I don't know if that helps but I'll be in the audience and I'm gonna cheer for you."

Your words elicited a smile from him and he stared down to where your hands were locked.

"It helps. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Both your rings reflected the incoming sunrays and you watched them taking in their beauty. You felt amazed and excited every time your eyes fell upon the ring because it still was so surreal to be engaged to him. Not in a way that you felt appalled or rejecting but more in a state of disbelief. You had been dating him for more than three years now, getting to know every aspect of his personality and had grown to love him like you had never loved someone before. And now he was engaged to you because he claimed to enjoy your presence just as much as you did his. It was simply perfect.

"You're never gonna know 'cause I'll always be with you," you replied to his previous words and blared your teeth. "Oh and besides, another important point: You already hosted SNL and you were absolutely incredibly and so we know that you can do it."

"Yeah but do we…?" he scoffed lifting his eyebrows playfully.

"Yes we do. Just promise me that you'll try and have fun. Because then it's gonna be a success."

He nodded looking like he truly appreciated your words for once and thoughtfully moved his thumb to his mouth.

"Once again, I don't know how you always know what to say."

You leaned back in your chair crossing your arms in front of your chest and shrugged your shoulders.

"90 percent of the time I don't know either. Or let's say 80."

Pedro curved the corner of his lips glancing at you with those brown eyes that you wished you could sink into.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pedro and you spent the morning reading and listening to music as there simply wasn't enough time to really do something like going to the city. Then around 4 pm his stylists Julia und Coco arrived and started to take care of the both of you. It was always fun to have the two of them around and you didn't mind sitting still in your chair at all as you were getting well entertained.

You now wore a green gown and a matching scarf around your neck that highlighted your red lips. You looked elegant and classy, you found and had to smile when your pupils danced over your reflection in the mirror. Pedro was currently in the other room getting ready and you couldn't wait to see him all dressed up.

You had to be patient for another 30 more minutes until you heard steps coming closer and you sat up in your chair turning your head to the door to the other room.

When Pedro opened it your eyes lightened up and time seemed to be frozen for a brief moment. He looked handsome, like a literal dream.

Pedro wore a brown suit and a light brown seater underneath. The colours went perfectly with his hair and skin tone and you thought that you probably wouldn't get bored staring at him for the rest of your life. But now Pedro seemed to want to see something himself and gestured you to stand up.

"Let me take a look at you, honey." You rose up twirling for him while giving him a shy smile. Pedro's eyes softened and before you could register him coming closer his arms were around your back.

"You look fucking amazing. For god's sake, I don't know how to concentrate on anything that isn't you tonight."

You hid your face in his neck that smelled of his favourite perfume holding back tears of happiness.

"So do you, baby. You're gorgeous."

You got lost in time and only slowly pulled away from each other when Pedro's publicist cleared her throat.

"Sorry to interrupt. But we need to get going soon."

He pressed one last kiss to your cheek and then watched you proudly running his hands over your sides.

"Of course. I think we're ready."

Minutes later you found yourself in the car again next to your fiancée just like you had before the homecoming concert.

You simply couldn't take your eyes off him, he really was glowing tonight and the drive to the studio flew by. Outside you were greeted with even more flashing lights than two nights ago and you almost wanted to cover your eyes from the photographers.

Your heart pounded loudly being well-aware that your engagement would be obvious now at latest. The two of you proudly wore your rings and right now it seemed like every newpaper in the world would have a photo of you on their front pages tomorrow.

Pedro tightly held your hand and you weren't certain if he did it to comfort you or seek comfort from you but either way you were happy about it and ran your thumb over his knuckles. The two of you waved to the papparzzi letting them take their pictures and then you were led inside by his publicist, Anna.

Inside the whole procedure started again with what seemed like a million cameras capturing every gesture and twitch of your eyes and soon your mouth hurt from smiling so much.

Of course Pedro was a lot more interesting to the papparazzi and interviewers than you and you let him take the spotlight with pleasure. You smiled watching him on the red carpet so the photographers could take a few pictures with him alone and then waited while he gave a couple of interviews.

You really hoped he knew how much he deserved all of this. Not just because he was an incredible actor and entertainer but also because he worked so hard to get here. You didn't even pay attention to anyone else on the red carpet although there were the most famous people in the world walking past you because you only had eyes for Pedro. Your loving perfect Pedro. The one who had turned your life upside down three years ago and the one you wanted to get old with.

You saw how he scratched his nose at one point during an interview and couldn't help but think that it was intentional as the engagement ring was on display for the camera to catch it. He had also shown it off very clearly on the red carpet putting his hand on his hip so the whole world would find out that he was with you. Suddenly it was you who asked herself what you had done to deserve him.

When Pedro was done after a couple of minutes he quickly walked over to you and offered you his arm which you gladly took. Anna guided the two of you further until you passed the famous glambot which he did as well and then you finally found yourselves in front of the SNL stage.

Of course you would have loved to enjoy the show snuggled up against his shoulder but as that wasn't possible Pedro quickly pulled you in for a hug pressing kisses to your head.

"I'm sorry but I think I have to leave already. Hair and makeup, you know… Will you be okay?"

You smiled cupping his face and once again admired his beauty.

"Of course, baby. I can't wait to see you on stage. And once again, you got this. I'm already so fucking proud of you and there's absolutely no reason for you to be stressed, okay? We're all here to celebrate and have fun and even it something goes wrong please don't beat yourself up. But it doesn't matter anyway because you'll do amazing. Just try to enjoy it and don't think too much about it."

He nodded at you with these puppy eyes that made you want to squeeze his face but this definitely wasn't the time and place for it right now so you just kissed him one last time goodbye and then he left to go backstage where it certainly was a lot more stressful than here in the audience.

You passed the time with chatting to both people you knew and didn't know and you had so much fun that you didn't even notice the place getting more crowded. You met people you had never even dreamt of seeing in real life such as Jenna Ortega whom you repeatedly told how much you loved her in 'Wednesday' or Scarlett Johansson who from now on would probably be one of your favourite people in the world as your conversation felt so natural from the start. She hugged you in the end telling you how much she was looking forward to seeing you more frequently from now on glancing at your engagement ring and you felt the heat rising in your face.

When the show finally started you already felt high on your emotions very exhilarated and at peace at the same time.

You enjoyed Steve Martin's monologue, laughed at the first skits of the night and then it was finally time for Pedro's first appearance of the night so you dug your nails into the palms of your hands holding your breath.

Of course he did amazing. You noticed how he actually messed up the opening line just as he had predicted which you reacted to with widened eyes but he managed to keep going and in your opinion delivered a hilarious performance. You laughed and almost lost it when he had his reunion with Marcello and clapped and cheered loudly at the end.

Pedro seemed to search for you in the crowd as his eyes were dancing over the ranks and as you fortunately weren't seated too high up he spotted you and gave you wide smile that gave away how he relieved he was.

You returned the smirk and to show him how proud you were you blew him a kiss which he reacted to with a cheeky wink of his eye. Then the show proceeded so Pedro left the stage with the other actors which meant you had to wait now for his second skit.

It was a great show, you really had to admit that and you felt perfectly entertained watching all of these actors and singers putting their talents to show. But in the end it was Pedro you were here for so when his second skit was about to start you straightened up once again balling your hands into fists, muscles tensing.

You were nervous for him although you were telling yourself there was no reason for it. The performance turned out to be absolutely incredible and you couldn't hold you laughter for a moment.

Not only did Pedro do it flawlessly, no, you were also in awe of Woody Harrelson, Kate McKinnon and Meryl Streep and their ways of delivering their lines. You laughed tears, shook your head at the ridiculousness and genius of the jokes and even stood up in the end to show how impressed you were.

You even took a mental note to watch every single skit there was that included Kate McKinnon because she really had blown you away.

This time Pedro didn't have the time to make eye contact with you but you nevertheless followed his figure leaving the stage and exhaled loudly. He made it and he had done a hell of a job.

You couldn't wait to tell him how proud of him you were but first there were a lot more skits and musical performances to come so you once again relaxed and watched the show with a stupid smile on your face that just didn't seem to leave your face for a second these past days.

When the whole cast and guest performers appeared on stage in the end you finally saw Pedro again and rose to your feet alongside the other audience members. The cheers and clapping didn't seem to stop and a warmth spread throughout your body thinking about how wholesome and beautiful this whole night had been.

But now there was only one thing on your mind and that was to finally jump in Pedro's arms and never let him go again. And so as soon as the cameras were turned off and the celebrities seated around you started to move you swiftly gathered your jacket and purse and rushed down the stairs of the rang.

Pedro had seemingly already waited for you because he had opened his arms widely embracing you firmly while spinning you around. Neither of you initiated ending the hug so you enjoyed each other's warmth while you whispered sweet things in his ear.

"You did so amazing, Pedro. I loved it so much and you were so so incredible. I loved every fucking minute."

He pulled away a little to look at your face and formed his lips in a pout. "Thank you, y/n," he said clearly emotional and stroked the side of your head.

"But I messed up. Just as I said I would."

You strictly raised your finger lifting your eyebrows in a serious manner.

"No one cares. And don't you start with this now. It was a hilarious skit and you starting a little too early doesn't change anything about it."

He pressed your face to his neck swinging the two of you slightly.

"If you say so… It really was fun to be honest. But I was sooo nervous before, you won't believe it."

"But you did it. And I'm proud of you."

Pedro once again pursed his lips. "Thank you. This means so much to me. And I don't know how I would've done all of this without you."

In the way his voice broke you sensed that he was on the verge of crying and it made you tear up as well. Pedro quickly blinked them away pulling you in for yet another hug and then you stood like this for you didn't know how long but when you ended the hug a lot of people had already left the stage.

"Hotel?" you asked never having felt more content in your life.

"Hotel," he answered tightly gripping your hand and pulled you with him.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary: Your brothers take you and Javi out to a local bar when you're home to visit. When you run into one of your old childhood friends, Javi can't help but feel jealous

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v (whoops), creampie, breeding kink (only in the sense that there's no way in hell Javi's pulling out I know, who is she?), semi-public sex (gettin nasty in a grimy bar bathroom), two ass slaps, drinking/alcohol consumption, Jealous Javi, lowkey Javi is a dick (again, who is she writing nothing but fluff?!)

A/N: Shoutout to @yxtkiwiyxt for more horny Javi ideas rotting my brain at all hours of the day!!! 🤠 I can't believe that there has never been a jealousy one shot for these two in the great wide world of the NTL universe, but you bet your ass that Javier Peña is a possessive man to his core and tolerates zero bullshit from any man who dares to even look at you too long 😌 poorly beta'd bc I'm horny and impatient

Can be read as a part of the It's Never Too Late series!

"Another one?"

"Are you trying to make sure I have miserable hangover tomorrow?"

"Me? Never. Just tryin' to make sure you have fun." Your brother David teased, voice oozing with sarcasm as he popped off his barstool, giving you a playful nudge for your accusation.

While you and Javi had made a few trips back to your hometown of Chicago to visit your family since your move to Laredo, most of it had either been spent at your childhood home with your entire family, or at other family events, like your cousin's wedding a few months ago.

And of course, while your brothers, Charlie and David, were a part of your family, there was a substantial difference between spending time with your whole family together, and spending time with just your brothers.

So when they had convinced you and Javi to come out with them to Rossi's, your favorite dive bar in the city, under the guise of a few drinks and time to catch up, you shouldn't have been shocked to find yourself 4 beers and two shots of whisky deep, and preparing for a much longer night ahead of you than originally anticipated.

"'Nother one for you, big guy?" Charlie asked Javi, following behind David to make their way through the hot and sweaty mess of bodies crowding behind the bar for another drink.

"And before you answer, no isn't an option." David added, sneaking up behind Javi and shaking his shoulders.

"God, you are so annoying." You sighed, rolling your eyes at your brother, jabbing your elbow into his side to keep him from wrestling Javi out of his seat, "Just do two more beers. And I swear, if you come back with another shot, I'm pouring it over your head."

The four of you laughed before your brothers disappeared into the sea of bar patrons, leaving you and Javi giggling at your table.

"Fuck, I haven't drank this much since- God, I don't even remember." Javi sighed, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his head, rubbing the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"Me either." You replied, followed by a long, low burp and more laughter, "I think the last time I was this drunk, I was here with David and Charlie and all their friends watching the Blackhawks lose in the playoffs, but all I remember is Charlie telling me I threw up in a bush and that he had to carry me to our taxi to get home. But don't worry, I promise not to get that drunk tonight."

"Sounds good, party animal." Javi smirked, placing his hand on your thigh under the table, rubbing it back and forth along the denim of your jeans, snickering at your drunken giggles.

The two of you both reached for your drinks, finishing off the last of what was left in your beer bottles, startled when you swore you had heard your name from a voice you knew wasn't Javi's, Charlie's or David's.

"Cubby? Holy shit, is that you?!"

Setting down your drink, you swerved your head over your shoulder, jaw dropping in complete surprise to see Frankie, one of your brother's best friends you had known for as long as you could remember.

"Frankie?! Oh my god, what the fuck?! Hi!" You squealed, shooting up out of your seat to give him a hug, the alcohol already in your system perhaps making you a little more enthusiastic about your greeting you would have been otherwise.

"What the hell are you doing here?! I thought the goons said you moved to Texas after everything that happened!" Frankie asked excitedly, parting from your hug to take a step back and look at you, shocked by your presence.

"I did, but I'm here visiting for the week! Charlie and David are at the bar right now getting drinks, but they'll be back in a second! Frankie, oh my god, I'm so happy to see you!" You grinned, giving him a playful shove.

"Me too. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever! You- You look great-" He paused, trying his best to play off his comment, quickly shifting topics, "Things uh, everything's been going good for you?"

"Yeah, things have been great! How about you? Wait, we have a table right here, do you wanna sit down and catch up? Unless you're busy, I don't wanna keep you!" You offered, gesturing towards the table behind you where Javi was sitting.

"Yeah, yeah, that would be fuckin' great! I'm meetin' a few buddies here later, but I have plenty of time to catch up if you guys have some room to squeeze me in!"

While you knew there would be plenty of room for one more person at your table, even after your brothers returned, what you didn't know is that since the moment Frankie had shown up, everything about Javi's once happy and carefree demeanor had completely changed.

And not for the better.

As soon as you turned around to face Javi, you could immediately sense the shift in tension, watching his brow furrow and hand wrap tighter around the neck of the near empty beer bottle he was nursing, practically burning a hole through Frankie with the way he was staring him down.

It seemed like Frankie could immediately sense it too, looking over at you before looking back at Javi, as if to silently ask who the hell was sitting with you and your brothers, looking like he was ready to commit murder, at the very least.

"Who's uh...." Frankie paused, awkwardly laughing as he nodded at Javi, trying his best to not seem off-put by Javi's clearly uncomfortable expression.

"I'm so sorry, Frank, this is my-"

"Fiancé. Javi." Javi stated, cutting off the rest of your introduction as he stood up out of his seat, sizing up Frankie as he offered a forceful handshake.

"Fiancé? Lucky guy." Frankie replied, forcing a friendly smile as he shook Javi's hand, "Congrats, I had no idea you were engaged." He shrugged, looking back at you with a more genuine expression before awkwardly shuffling around the table to find a seat across from you and Javi.

"Thanks, we got engaged in November and the wedding's in July!" You chimed in, hoping to try and ease Javi's obvious, unwarranted hostility towards Frankie.

"Oh nice!" Frankie nodded, smiling at both you and Javi, the crinkle in his cheeks dropping at Javi's still unamused facade, "Where you guys gettin' married? Here or Texas?"

"Texas." Javi answered, short and snappy with his response.

"Frank the Tank? No fuckin' way man! What's up?!"

The three of you all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at David's voice, turning your head to see him and Charlie making their way back, beers in hand.

"What's up, you goons? Long time, no see!" Frankie grinned, standing up to greet your brothers with happy pats on the back.

As the three of them said their 'hello's' you stayed put next to Javi, whapping his shoulder with the back of your hand, forcing him to face the frustrated frown plastered across your expression.

"What the fuck was that for?" You whispered to him, not wanting to draw any attention from your brothers and Frankie as they caught up.

"What?" Javi asked, shrugging nonchalantly before taking another sip of his beer, setting down the empty bottle with a forceful thud.

"W-what- What the fuck do you mean, 'what'?" You frowned, quickly realizing that Javi was trying to play dumb about the clearly uncomfortable interaction he and Frankie had just been through.

Javi silently shrugged again, jaw ticking from side to side as he looked back and forth between you and Frankie before speaking again.

"Just have never heard of Frankie before today. Didn't know you'd be so excited to see someone I didn't even know existed until five minutes ago."

"I've known Frankie since I was like, six years old. He's been one of my brother's best friends for like, ever. So yes, I was excited to see him. Would you like me to disclose every other person I've ever met and not mentioned to you, too?" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling your scowl sink deeper into the wrinkles of your forehead.

Both groups of conversations seemed to lull at the same time, Frankie, David and Charlie all turning back towards your table to see the sour looks on both yours and Javi's faces.

"You good?" Charlie asked, handing a beer to you and then one to Javi.

"Listen, it was super nice to see all of you guys, but I don't wanna overstay my welcome or anything. I can just wait at the bar for my buddies if the four of you wanna hang out." Frankie suggested, clearly realizing he must have been the shift for the change of tone at the table.

"What, you're gonna catch up with these two idiots and leave me hanging? Seriously, please stay, we haven't hung out all together in forever!"

While Javi was able to make it subtle enough to everyone else, you could clearly tell that your invitation was the exact opposite of what he was hoping to hear.

"Only if you're-"

"Yes, I'm sure, Frankfurter, get a drink and sit your ass down!" You insisted, shooing Frankie towards the bar along with your brothers, the three of you howling over Frankie's long forgotten childhood nickname.

If he hadn't made it blatantly clear before, your avid encouragement for Frankie to join your group certainly had.

Right now, Javier Peña was one thing, and one thing only.

Jealous.

"I still can't believe you won't admit that I beat you!"

"Because you didn't!"

"I did, and you know it, David! C'mon you guys, back me up here!"

It hadn't taken much for the five of you to down a few more drinks- For four of you, you let the alcohol flowing through your veins loosen you up even more, laughing and reminiscing about your favorite shared childhood memories, teasing and taunting each other over the silly trials and tribulations of your youth.

For the other, the few beers and glasses of whisky swirling around in his stomach were nothing but a way to keep from saying (or doing) something out of spite that he'd regret.

"I'm gonna be honest with you here, Dave, I'm not gonna say that your sister's right, buuuut...." Frankie smirked, holding up his beer bottle to you, giving you a silent cheers of approval.

"See?! Told you! Thank you, Frankie, at least someone knows what they're talking about." You teased, giving David a jab in his stomach as he rolled his eyes at you.

"Dare I say, Cubby is more of a badass than either of you two clowns, but I don't know if you can handle that conversation yet." Frankie smiled, reaching across the table for a fist bump, "She's a pretty kick ass hockey player, ya know."

Javi had been so focused on picking at the waterlogged label of his beer bottle, he hadn't even noticed that Frankie was trying to talk to him, only looking in his direction after a nudge from your brother.

"Hmm?" Javi hummed, barely bothering to look in Frankie's direction to acknowledge his comment.

"I said your fiancé is a badass. Didn't know if you knew how good she was at hockey, that's all." Frankie shrugged, before taking another sip of his beer.

"Yeah, why the fuck would I not know that? She's my fiancé." Javi huffed, jaw clenching.

"Javi, seriously?" You whispered, shooting him a stern look as you had to quite literally bite your tongue to keep from causing a scene at the way he was behaving.

"Sorry, man, I- I was just givin' her a compliment." Frankie grimaced, shooting you an apologetic look from across the table.

"Yeah, I think you've made it pretty fucking clear how much you like complimenting her." Javi grumbled, just loud enough for you to hear and to having you fuming at your fiancé's enraging behavior.

You took one long, low deep breath, trying to compose yourself as the rest of the table sat in uncomfortable silence, wishing they had a chainsaw to cut through the palpable tension shrouding the air.

"Can I talk to you for a second, please?"

Javi knew just as well as you that even though you had phrased it as a question, he certainly had no choice in the matter, begrudgingly trailing behind you as you silently excused the both of you from the table.

In a stark silence, Javi followed behind you through the sea of drunken strangers that filled the bar until you reached a semi quiet hallway near the back of the building by the bathrooms.

You let out a frustrated sigh as your back bounced against the wall, using it to prop yourself as you stared at Javi, arms folded over his chest and eyes wandering in anywhere but your direction.

"What the fuck is going on, Javi? And don't bullshit me and say that you don't know what I'm talking about because you clearly do." You demanded, nostrils flaring and fists clenched.

"Like I really need to fucking say it." Javi huffed, shaking his head with a sarcastic laugh.

"You don't, because you've made it very clear, but yeah, I'd like to hear you say it."

You could feel the heat seething through your veins as Javi chewed at the inside of his lip, trying to bide whatever time he could to keep from bruising his pride.

"Wow, I really cannot believe this. You're seriously that threatened by Frankie?" You scoffed, stunned that Javi couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"I'm not fuckin' threatened by him." He spit back, eyes peeled to the ground. "He's just way too fucking comfortable with you."

"Oh, you cannot be serious. Because I've known him forever and he's a nice guy? Jesus Christ, Javi."

"I've been watching the way he's been fucking looking at you since the moment he said hello to you. How he's talking to you, acting with you, it's like- Jesus, it's like he trying to-"

"What? Like he's trying to flirt with me? Like he likes me?" You questioned, raising your voice enough to finally get Javi to look at you, letting him feel the frustration you were engulfed in.

"Yes! Jesus fucking Christ, yes!" Javi groaned back, growing more heated by the second.

"And what if he was, Javi? What if he was trying to flirt with me? Do you really in your right mind think that I would ever, EVER pick him above you?" You asked, throwing up your hands in defeat, voice trembling as you fought back tears, "So what if he was? I'm yours, Javi, and I've got the fucking ring on my finger to prove it."

You and Javi stood in silence for a moment, watching each other's chests rise and fall on beat. You swear you can see it in his eyes, the way everything about Javi seems to shift, realizing how badly he'd fucked tonight up.

Before you can get in another word, you can see Javi's eyes lock on the single stall bathroom door that's swung open at the end of the hallway, looking once at you and once again at the bathroom. You weren't even able to protest before he had grabbed you by the hand, checking once over his shoulder before ushering you inside and locking the door behind him.

As the lock clicked, you could feel the heat in your cheeks burning, and not just with anger like they were a few moments ago. The dim light of the bathroom flickered over the shadowy figure of Javi's broad body until he had your back flushed against the sink, pinning you between the porcelain and him.

"Javi, what are you-"

Suddenly, Javi had one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your hip as he craned his neck down to let his lips collide with yours.

The angry part of you wanted to push him off you, to berate him with your frustrations until he apologized for how childishly he had behaved tonight.

Every other part of you that was so turned on by the fact Javi was so worked up, he had no other choice than to fuck you in the bathroom to prove that you were his, couldn't have cared less about it.

"You're all fucking mine, you know that?" Javi growled, his words warm against your skin, muffled between messy kisses.

"I'm all yours, Javi." You moaned, fighting to let each word escape from your lips as your mouths became frantic, colliding with tongues and teeth.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as Javi's hands slid down your sides, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper on your jeans until he the denim and your underwear pooled around your ankles.

After your jeans had dropped to the ground, his hands were back on your sides, fingertips digging into your skin as he flipped you around, your stomach pressed against the countertop, ass flushed against his hips where you could feel the strain of his cock beneath his pants.

"No one else gets to have you like this. Gets to make you feel like I do." Javi groaned, your core aching at the clanking of his belt coming undone behind you, watching his brow furrow in concentration in the reflection from the mirror in front of you, "Do they, baby?"

"N-No." You whimpered, feeling him run his tip through your folds, collecting the slick that had already begun pooling between your thighs.

"You gonna let me fuck you right here in this bathroom, hermosa? Let everyone here know that you're mine?" Javi mewled, whispering into your ear as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

"Mhmmmhh." You nodded, whining as Javi teased you with the head of his cock, prodding at your entrance, "Please."

Javi chuckled softly to himself, hearing you gasp as he filled you with every inch of him, hips pressed firmly against your ass. You could practically feel your eyes roll to the back of your head with how full he felt inside you, despite how easily you had taken him from how wet and worked up you were.

"Love this pussy so much, baby. Always so fucking wet and tight for me."

Your eyes opened as Javi began to thrust into you, startled by the already deliberate pace he was setting with each snap of his hips. Staring back at the mirror, you could see the smug smirk spreading between Javi's cheeks, knowing how quickly he could make you crumble.

Your hands shot back behind you, wrapping around Javi's stomach, trying to grab fist fulls of his shirt to brace yourself as he fucked into you. With the grip Javi had around your hips, you shouldn't have been worried about going anywhere, only about the marks that he'd leave in the pump flesh of your skin after he was finished.

"Oh fuck, Javi! Fuck, oh my godddd-" You moaned, all consumed by the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, perfectly pounding at your g-spot with every thrust.

You tried to let your head dip back, but before you could tilt it any further, one of Javi's hands had shifted, snaking up your front and wrapping around your jaw, forcing your gaze back in the mirror to meet his.

"Nuh uh, mi amor," he paused, gritting his teeth as he swore under his breath, trying to compose himself, "need to see you, Osita. Wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum and fuck you so fucking full of me, you're gonna feel me dripping out of you all night."

His words had seemed to spark something feral in the both of you, moaning his name as you backed your ass up further into him, taking everything that he had to give.

With your eyes locked in filthy glass reflection, Javi's hand slid back down your sides, smacking your ass before reaching around to your front, slotting himself between your thighs to find your clit, puffy and aching to be touched.

"Fuck, Javi! Feels so fucking good." You whined, the newfound pressure of his fingers against your clit causing the tingle building at the base of your spine to grow rapidly.

"Yeah? And who's the only one that gets to make you feel this good, baby?" Javi grunted, hips slapping against your ass, each thrust feeling harder and deeper than the last.

With the way Javi was fucking you, you felt lucky that your brain could manage to string together a coherent thought, let a lone a comprehendible sentence, your words heavy and breathless as you fought against the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm starting to creep through your body.

"You! It's- fuck- it's you Javi! Only you!" You sobbed, praying that the music and chatter of the bar was loud enough to drown out your volume.

"That's my girl." Javi devilishly grinned, feeling the way your cunt was clamping down around his cock, sensing how close you were to finishing, "Gotta cum first for me, hermosa. Fuckin' soak me before I cum so deep inside of you."

Javi began to circle your clit faster, putting just enough pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves to push you over the edge, your vision going white as your orgasm began to crash through you.

"Fuck, Javi! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-ahhhhh!"

You could feel how instantly limp your body had gone, so drunk on pleasure, that if Javi hadn't been behind you, holding you up, you were convinced you would have collapsed over the edge of the sink you were fucking on.

You knew Javi wasn't far behind you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and frantic as he chased his own high, desperate to make good on his promise to fill you with every last drop he had to give.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, I'm- mierda- I'm close. Gonna give you everything. Let everyone know who this pussy belongs to. Feels so fucking- fuck- so fucking good. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

With one last pump of his cock, Javi was spilling inside you, painting your walls with his spend, burying himself inside your cunt until he you had taken everything he had to give.

The warmth and wetness of your mixed arousal pooled where your bodies met, making a mess between your thighs as Javi began to pull out.

The both of you watched as your bodies rose and fell in the mirror, trying desperately to catch your breath in your post orgasmic haze. It wasn't long until your unhinged jaws were replaced with devious smirks, Javi grabbing you by the waist to flip him back towards him, pulling you to his chest as he kissed you.

"Damn, maybe I should make you jealous more often." You teased, biting down on your lip as you gave Javi a loving poke on his chest before reaching down to pull your pants back up your legs.

"Whatever." Javi sighed, playfully rolling his eyes at you as he did the same, looping his belt back through his jeans. He let out another deep breath, arms crossed over his chest as he looked up at you with a sheepish shrug, "I'm- fuck. I'm sorry about tonight. I was a dick."

"It's okay." You smiled, pressing up on your tiptoes to drape your arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his lips, "I love you. And only you. I don't think you could get rid of me, even if you tried. And I think that me letting you fuck me in this dirty ass bar bathroom proves that."

The two of you laughed, turning back to the mirror to readjust the sweaty mats of tangled hair and crinkled clothes in hopes of avoiding any suspicions when you made your way back to the table.

"I know. Still shouldn't have been an asshole about it." He shrugged, stepping behind you so that his chest was pressed against your back and arms were draped across your front, his mustache tickling your neck as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, "This was fucking hot, though."

"It was. Feel sorry for the next person who has to use this bathroom." You grimaced, hoping that you hadn't managed to leave a trace of the ways you had further disrespected the dingy restroom.

"You wanna head out first, or should I?" Javi asked, rocking you back and forth in his grasp, swaying you just enough to make you burst out into giggles.

"It's so late and I'm sure everyone here is hammered, we probably just could sneak out at the same time and no one would notice." You suggested, still drunk enough to not care enough about a proper escape plan.

After one last kiss and smack of your ass, Javi quickly cracked open the door, doing one swift scan before giving you the nod to note the coast was clear.

Javi grabbed you by the hand, looking back at you with a stupid smirk as the two of you left the bathroom, unsuspecting and assuming that you'd be able to make it down the hallway without any run ins.

Unfortunately, Javi hadn't noticed the body across the bar, making a B-line to the bathroom through the drunken crowd towards the bathrooms after his half-assed check.

Before any of you could process it, Javi collided with the other person, both people grunting and stumbling backwards, mumbling apologies as they collected themselves, until they locked eyes.

"Oh, uh- Sorry. Didn't uh- Didn't see you guys coming." Frankie stammered, looking back and forth between you and Javi and the bathroom you had just emerged from, quickly piecing the puzzle before him together.

"All good. See you, uh- see you back at the table." Javi winced, trying his best to keep from laughing as both your cheeks began to turn a bright shade of pink as you slid past Frankie.

"Looks like you may not end up being the only jealous one tonight, Jav."

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

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

[jazzy96scorpio]

SNL Spark: A Backstage Romance

Description: A rising singer [You] gets the chance of a lifetime to perform on SNL, but the real magic happens when you meet guest star Pedro Pascal. From a hilarious skit to a sizzling after-party, your connection ignites, proving that sometimes, the greatest performances happen off-stage.

Pairing: You / Pedro Pascal

Warnings ⚠️: Adult content, fluff, age gap, dirty talk, oral sex (m/f rec), unprotected sex, explicit sex description, creampie, SMUT

Word count: 1272

The Meet-Cute (Saturday)

The SNL studio buzzed with energy. You clutched your script, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in your stomach.  You found your seat at the long table, the names of the cast and guest written on place cards.  Pedro's was next to yours.  Just as you sat down, he walked in, his easy smile lighting up the room.  "Hi," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "You must be [Y/N]."

"Hi," you replied, your voice a little softer than you intended. "Yes I'm [Y/N]."

He extended a hand. "Pedro Pascal. It's great to meet you. I heard you're a fantastic singer. I'm looking forward to hearing you perform."

"Thank you," you said, shaking his hand. His touch sent a surprising jolt through you.

"I'm a little nervous about the skit, to be honest."

Pedro chuckled. "Me too. I don't like to sing in front of people." He winked, and you couldn't help but smile.  "But hey, we're in this together.  We'll make it hilarious."

The table read began, and as you read your lines, you couldn't help but notice Pedro's reactions. He laughed at your jokes, and his eyes lingered on you when you weren't speaking. 

When it came time for the musical number in the skit, you sang a few lines a cappella, and Pedro's eyebrows rose in surprise.  "Wow," he breathed. "You're incredible."

Later that day, you and Pedro rehearsed the skit. The scene called for you to playfully bounce your rear near him as he attempted some awkward hip thrusts and dance moves.

The contrast between your smooth moves and his hesitant ones was comedic gold. During one particularly close encounter, Pedro stumbled, his face turning a shade of red.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I'm not used to this kind of choreography."

"It's okay," you said, giggling. "Just feel the rhythm." You demonstrated a simpler hip movement, and he tried to mimic it. He was still a bit stiff, but his efforts were endearing.

"You're a natural," you complimented.

"Thanks," he said. "Maybe after this, I'll take some dance lessons.  Anything's better than… well, than singing."  He grimaced playfully. "Karaoke is my personal hell."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.  "You seem like someone who'd be great at it."

"Oh, I can act like I'm having fun," he said with a wry smile.  "But inside, I'm dying a little.  Give me a dramatic monologue any day.  Just don't ask me to carry a tune."

The rehearsal continued, and with each take, Pedro became more comfortable with the choreography (though still decidedly not comfortable with the idea of singing). The laughter between you grew, and the playful banter made the atmosphere light and fun. There was a definite spark between you two, a connection that went beyond the skit.

As the rehearsal wrapped up, you and Pedro gathered your things. "Want to grab some coffee?" he asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I need some serious caffeine after all that… dancing," he said, wincing playfully.

"Definitely," you replied. "My treat."

You found a small cafe near the studio and settled into a quiet corner.  "So," you said, stirring your latte, "about your aversion to singing…"

Pedro chuckled. "It's a deep-seated trauma, I tell you.  One particularly disastrous karaoke night involving a Bon Jovi song and a spilled drink… it's scarred me for life."

You laughed, picturing the scene. "I can just imagine," you said.  "But seriously, you have a great voice.  You shouldn't be so shy."

"Easy for you to say," he retorted. "You're a natural. I'm more of a… shower singer.  Where no one can hear me."

The conversation flowed easily, moving from funny anecdotes about past gigs to more serious discussions about the challenges of the entertainment industry.

You discovered a shared passion for your craft and a mutual understanding of the pressures that came with it.  He was surprisingly down-to-earth, and you felt comfortable and relaxed in his company.

As the conversation lulled, a comfortable silence settled between you.  You met his gaze, and for a moment, time seemed to slow down.  His eyes, warm and brown, held a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher.  He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"You know," he said, his voice softer now, "I'm really glad I met you. You're… amazing."

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "You're pretty amazing yourself."

The moment hung in the air, charged with unspoken feelings.  He reached across the table and lightly touched your hand.  The contact, brief as it was, sent a jolt of electricity through you.

"I should probably get going," he said, finally breaking the spell.  "Big day tomorrow."

"Right," you replied, a little disappointed that the moment was over. "Good luck with the show."

"Thanks," he said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer.  "And you too.  I can't wait to see you shine."

He stood up, gave you one last smile, and then walked away.  You watched him go, your heart still fluttering.  The shared laughter, the deeper conversation, the lingering look – it all pointed to something more than just a casual acquaintance.  You had a feeling that this was just the beginning.

Sunday - The SNL Show

The backstage area buzzed with nervous energy.  Makeup artists flitted between performers, hair stylists worked their magic, and stagehands rushed to prepare for the live broadcast.  You were in your dressing room, putting the final touches on your makeup, when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," you called.

The door opened, and Pedro stood there, looking incredibly handsome in a perfectly tailored brown suit with a glittery shirt peeking out from beneath the jacket.  "Wow," you breathed, your eyes taking in his suave appearance. "You look amazing."

He grinned. "Thanks. You clean up pretty nicely yourself," he said, his eyes sweeping over your outfit. "That color looks incredible on you."

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "You seem a little nervous."

"Just a bit," he admitted. "It's live TV, after all.  But I'm excited too.  Especially for our skit."

"Me too," you said. "I think we're going to kill it."

Pedro's first skit was a hit. He was hilarious, his comedic timing impeccable. You watched from the wings, admiring his talent and charisma.  When he came off stage, you gave him a high-five. "You were fantastic!" you exclaimed.

"Thanks!" he said, beaming. "Now it's your turn.  Show'em what you got girl."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took your position on stage. The music started, and you launched into your performance, your voice soaring through the studio.  Then, Pedro joined you.  He started to sing (a little nervously at first, but with growing confidence), and you danced together, the chemistry between you undeniable.  During a particularly suggestive dance move where you were grinding near him, he playfully but subtly touched your waist, sending shivers down your spine. 

He was good, surprisingly good, and even though you could sense his initial nervousness, he quickly relaxed into the performance.  The audience roared with laughter and applause. You felt so aroused near him.  The look on his face, his hips, his hair, his beard, everything about him was simply amazing.

After the skit, you both collapsed into laughter backstage. "We did it!" you exclaimed.

"We did!" he agreed, still chuckling. "You were really good.  Like, really good."

"You weren't so bad yourself," you teased.

"Hey," he said, feigning offense.  "I'm a triple threat.  Actor, dancer… and reluctant singer."

"Right," you said, laughing.

"So," he said, his voice dropping a little. "About the after-party… would you like to go together?"

"I'd love to," you replied, your heart skipping a beat.

He was so kind, a little flirty, and definitely touchy – in a good way.  The connection between you was growing stronger with each passing moment.  The night was young, and the after-party promised even more excitement.

The After-Party

The after-party was a blast. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, and you and Pedro were right in the thick of it. You laughed, you talked, you danced.  His hips were so close to yours on the dance floor, the proximity sending shivers down your spine. His hands rested lightly on your waist, just enough to guide you, but also enough to make you feel his touch.

Leaning closer, you whispered in his ear, "I have to say, I'm really enjoying all this… touching."  You let the word hang in the air, a playful challenge in your voice.

He grinned, pulling you a little closer.  His eyes sparkled with mischief.  "Oh, really?  Well, I'm glad. Because I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot more of it."

He whispered back, his breath warm against your ear, "Eres irresistible." (You are irresistible.)

A thrill shot through you.  He really did like you.  The feeling was definitely mutual.

"This is fun," he said, after a particularly energetic dance.  "But… I'm thinking something a little more low-key.  My hotel room is just across the street. We could grab another drink, maybe actually talk without shouting over the music.  Interested?"

"Definitely interested," you replied, your heart pounding a little faster.

His Hotel Room

The walk to his hotel was filled with playful banter. You joked about the SNL skit, about his "reluctant" dance moves, and about the crazy after-party.  But as you reached his door, a different kind of energy crackled between you.  He seemed a little nervous as he unlocked the door and ushered you inside.

As he closed the door behind you, a hush fell over the space.  The music from the party was now just a distant thumping.  He turned to you, and you noticed a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

You stepped closer, your hand lightly brushing his arm. "I had a really amazing night, Pedro," you said softly.  "Thank you."

He leaned closer, his gaze intense.  He cupped your face gently in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks.  "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice husky.  "Absolutely increíble."  He paused, his eyes searching yours. Then, he leaned in and kissed you, a gentle, exploratory kiss that sent a wave of warmth through you.

You pulled Pedro closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue danced with his, a spark igniting between you. You trailed kisses down his neck, your breath hot against his skin, and began to unbutton his shirt.

He returned the favor, his fingers deftly unzipping your dress, the fabric falling to the floor.His gaze was intense, filled with desire. "Me gustas mucho," he breathed, his voice husky. "You are fucking amazing."

You slipped his shirt off his shoulders, your eyes tracing the lines of his chest. You leaned down and kissed his nipples, eliciting a soft groan from him.

"Mmm," he murmured. "That's… that feels so good."

As you knelt before him, a wave of anticipation washed over you both.

"Your lips are so soft," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Preciosa." He reached out and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

"I’ve been thinking about this all night," you confessed, his eyes locking with yours. "Since Saturday, actually.  You’re… captivating."

You unbuckled his belt, your fingers trembling slightly. You pulled down his boxers slowly, revealing his arousal. His breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. "You're… you're breathtaking," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

You leaned in and kissed the tip of his cock, you began to suck him gently, your hand caressing his shaft. He moaned, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "Oh, God," he breathed, his voice ragged. "Yes... Dios mío. You feel so good." The room was filled with the sounds of your breath and his soft cries of pleasure.

He pulled you up by your arms and kissed you gently, a soft smile playing on his lips.  Then, with a slow moves he lifted you onto the bed.  You unclasped your bra, and he helped you slowly remove your panties, his touch feather-light and reverent.  He was so gentle, so attentive.

He started to kiss you, his lips tracing a path down your body, teasing and sucking on your breasts.  Then, he moved lower, his tongue exploring your tummy, before finally reaching your most sensitive spot.  He licked your clit, working his tongue with a masterful rhythm that sent shivers of pleasure through you.

"You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

"I've been wet since the moment you touched me on the set, Pedrito," you whispered back, your eyes half-closed.

He smiled, a look of pure adoration on his face, and continued his ministrations.  "Oh, God," you breathed, your body arching towards him.  "Fuck, I can't wait anymore.  Please, fuck me."

He moved above you, his eyes locked on yours.  Slowly, he entered you, filling you completely.  He started to move his hips, his movements majestic and controlled.  You felt him deep inside you, your pussy milking his cock with every thrust.

He groans " Oh..fuck...Qué rico se siente." (How good this feels.)"

He started to thrust faster, his rhythm building.  "Fuck," you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders.  "I knew it… I knew you fucked good… just like you dance…"

"Oh, please, harder, Papi," you begged, your voice laced with desire.

He moved faster, his body a symphony of motion. He leaned down and kissed you, his lips capturing your moans.  "I want you to ride me," he whispered, his voice rough with passion.

He pulled out slightly, just enough to reposition himself.  He sat up on the bed, and you straddled him, your legs wrapping around his waist.  You took him inside you again, slowly, deliberately.

You started to ride him, your hips moving in a circular motion that drove him wild.  "You like this, don't you?" you purred, feeling him pulse deep inside you.  "You like it when I'm in control."

He hugged you tightly, kissing your neck.  "Yes...You're driving me insane, Cariño." (Darling)" he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

"I want your cum inside me," you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation.  "Make me yours."

You started to move faster, your rhythm intensifying.  He started to breathe heavily, his body tensing. 

"I will," he promised, his voice rough with passion. "I'll make you mine, completely."

"Eres mía....Preciosa" (You are mine..precious.)

You came on his cock, your pussy squeezing him tightly.  And then, he came, his release filling you completely.

He kissed you, gently cupping your face in his hands. 

"Te deseo con toda mi alma." (I desire you with all my soul.)" he murmured.

You kissed him back, your bodies still entwined.  You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms.

Later, you took a shower together.  The mood was light and playful, the intimacy of the moment lingering between you. He was gentle and goofy, his earlier intensity replaced with a relaxed, happy demeanor.

As the warm water cascaded over you both, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.  He kissed your forehead, his touch tender. "Eres mi dulce tentación." (You are my sweet temptation.)" he said softly.

"I haven't felt like that in a long time..."

"Me has robado el corazón." (You have stolen my heart.)"

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest.  "Me neither," you whispered. "You are the most incredible person I have ever met Pedro....You have eyes and that cute smile that hypnotize me."

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back.  "I have a feeling this is just the beginning," he said, his voice laced with promise.

After the shower, you dried each other off, the comfortable silence between you speaking volumes.  You wrapped yourselves in towels and went back to the bed, collapsing into each other's arms.

"I'm exhausted," he murmured, his eyes already drifting closed.

"Me too," you replied, snuggling closer to him.

He pulled you closer, his arm draped across your waist.  "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I'm not going anywhere," you said, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep in his arms.

Thank you the reading 💜 Please like, share and comment. Send me your requests and reviews.

I apologize if I made some mistakes. My native language is not English.

I tried my best with the Spanish 🫣

Request by @bonneyzsk Thank you I hope so you are gonna like it. ❣️

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

A/N: Hope you enjoy this one 🤍 and don't forget to let me know what you think! I looove reading your comments <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[megangovier]

This is amazing @aurorawritestoescape 🤍🤍

HOLD MY HAND || Clint x f!reader

Summary: you have good news for Clint and it seems that you two are ready for another big step in your relationship.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, ANGST, unspecified age gap, gun violence, death, soft!Clint, Clint in love, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, pregnancy, mention of puking, swearing.

Word count: 1,4k

A/n: I’ve been obsessing over this story since this morning when I saw the ‘Freaky Tales’ trailer and I need it out of my head otherwise it’ll explode lol Kisses to my baby @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and helping me😘 Love y’all! Don’t hate me. Bye❤️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“No, please, too much.”

“C’mon, jus’ one more, baby.”

You try to push away Clint’s massive hands on your hips, pinning you to the bed, but to no avail. You smile weakly, watching him rub his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh, his eyes glinting with lust in the dim light of the bedroom.

“For me, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and your heart melts when he asks you like that, looking at you like that.

“I need to tell you something.” You barely hear yourself, your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“You’ll tell me when I’m done with you.”

And he winks at you.

“Motherfucker,” you mumble and he chuckles before diving back in.

Your head dips into the pillow when Clint’s lips latch onto your poor puffy clit, but knowing how overstimulated you are, he laps at it gently, then carefully sucks your bud into his wet hot mouth, and you moan so loudly, you’re sure your neighbors can hear. To hell with them! You’re in heaven.

A little sob escapes your mouth when you feel yourself on the brink of another climax— third or fourth that night, you lost count, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his caress, drunk on him.

“Please, Clint,” you whine, asking for more or less, you have no idea.

“Here, hold my hand, sweetheart.”

His sweaty palm slides up your naked belly to your sternum, and you grab it, wrap your fingers around it tightly, ground yourself to him, while he’s eating your pussy out with his whole jaw, his thick digits pumping into your drenched cunt — in and out, in and out. Your core tightens, your nails scratch his hard skin and you come hard, your walls clamping around his fingers. Clint growls into your pussy, feeling the grip of your ecstasy,

“Mmm, yeah, good girl.”

You’re shaking against the damp sheets, crying— fuck — you’re really crying.

When your body relaxes, Clint immediately climbs up the bed, lies next to you and pulls you into his embrace.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, baby.” He cups your wet cheek and carefully wipes your tears off with his thumb. ”Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, sniffing.

“No-no, you didn’t. I’m fine.”

You reach up and kiss him, thanking him for the pleasure, silently confessing your love to your man.

He’s rock hard against your thigh, his hot tip smears wetness over your skin. Still making out, you pull him over yourself and he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” he asks, breaking the kiss, and you nod eagerly, tilting your hips up for him.

“Ok, sweetheart. Here we go.”

He feeds you his cock, slowly pushing it into your pussy, and then begins languidly fucking you, grunting into your mouth, your legs wrapped around his hips.

You feel him everywhere all at once and you love it. Love his tongue in your mouth, his chest hair caressing your nipples, his body caging you to the bed, his damp curls between your fingers, his cock kissing your soft spot. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You break the kiss and take a deep breath.

“I love you,” you exhale, so quietly, you think he doesn’t hear you. You just can’t not say it right now.

“I love you too,” he echoes and you smile, nuzzling his jaw.

He makes you come on his cock and only then spills his cum inside you.

You make out while he’s softening inside your stuffed pussy, until you pull away and search for his warm eyes. A little smile curves your lips as you whisper,

”The thing I wanted to tell you. I’m pregnant.”

You knew Clint wanted your little family to grow as much as you did but you never expected him to fall so deeply in love with the bean growing inside you. He began cooing at your stomach as soon as he heard the good news, making you giggle with happiness.

He was next to you every step of the way - getting you to and from the doctor, caring about what you ate, holding your hair when you were puking out what you’d just eaten, patiently listening to your complaints about morning sickness, heartburn, raging hormones and anything that was making you irritable that day. You always found comfort on his lap and in his arms, big and strong, and when you inevitably would begin grinding your pussy against his thighs he’d give you as many orgasms as you pleased, carefully making you unravel on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He was a perfect father-to-be.

For you, for the three of you, he retired, and when bad guys offered him one last job he always told them to go fuck themselves.

Clint helps you to get into his car and you plop into the seat with a huff.

“Told you everything’s fine,” he gruffs, getting behind the wheel.

“Yeah.”

You give him a little smile and look down at your huge belly. You rub it, deep in your thoughts after a doctor’s appointment.

“She’s gonna be here soon,” Clint cooes, putting his palm over your hand. His touch calms you down a bit but it still feels like you’re suffocating.

”Yes, very soon,” you nod, your eyes downcast. ”I can feel it.”

You try to steady your shaky voice but as usual Clint reads you like an open book.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks and you stay frozen. You’re afraid you’ll cry if you meet his eyes. His eyes full of excitement and happiness. ‘Of course,’ you grumble inside your head, ‘he‘s not the one getting ready to push out a giant baby. You are.’

You shake your head and stare in front of yourself.

“Hey.” He pinches your chin and gently turns your head to him. “Tell me.”

He doesn’t command. He begs. This huge dangerous guy begs for you to talk.

“I’m scared,” you finally squeak and tears well up in your eyes.

He leans closer to you and pulls you into his embrace. You push your face into the crease of his neck and let it all out. She’s gonna be here soon but you’re not ready. How can anyone be ready for it?

You’re crying quietly in his arms, enveloped by the scent of his cologne and his leather jacket as he’s hugging your shoulders, his hand on your stomach. He’s silent.

When your sobs get quieter and less frequent only then Clint starts talking. The vibrations of his chest make you sink deeper into his embrace as you listen to him.

“I know you’re scared. I’m terrified too. But you’re strong and — yeah, I’m not a fucking prize. I’m older and — shit, there’s so much blood on my hands. I—I don’t know how I’m gonna hold our babygirl with these hands.”

You lift your head off his chest and look at him. His eyes are slightly red, glossy with the emotions he’s been holding inside, for your sake, and now they’re spilling out.

“I’m done with that shit, sweetheart, but — .”

He’s shaking his head, his lower lip trembles and you take his face into your hands, your wet eyes darting between his.

“No. Listen to me. My fears are never because of you. Never. I know you’re gonna be the best dad for our girl. I’m sure of it.”

You shake his head a little and you both smile. He takes your hand off his face and presses a kiss to your palm.

“I love you, Clint. Your past— it’s behind you. And I’m happy that your future is with me. And her.”

You bring his hand to your belly and you both feel the second heartbeat under your palms.

“I love you. Both of you,” Clint mutters and kisses you. His chapped lips move slowly, his tongue pushes between your lips and tangles with yours. The taste of him ignites your core and you gush, squirming in your seat.

“Need you,” you whine against his mouth and he chuckles, pulling away from you.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

He sits straight and puts his hands on the wheel.

Suddenly you see a man, standing by the car.

A muzzle of a gun pushes into the window. Clint reacts fast and grabs it.

Bang!

You feel pain. So much pain.

You hear Clint. He’s talking to you. He’s crying.

“Hold my hand, baby. Hold my hand.”

His voice gets quieter and quieter until it disappears altogether and your world goes black.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST

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

[landslidelovesyou]

Bucking!

Pedro Pascal x fem! Reader Friends to lovers

Word count: 1.8k!

Content warning!: stong language,Explicit sexual content (18+), mild vomiting, alcohol consumption,public sex

Everywhere you look you find a heart staring back at you- cute little cutouts of cherubs amongst half-wilted rose petals laying flat and trampled on the grimey bar floor. The place seemed to radiate a loving spirit, although it was a half-assed version you thought to yourself as you peeled away a pink streamer that caught itself on the bottom of your heel.

“I told you it's got a charm, you just needed to warm up to it,” Pedro said, hand sliding around your shoulder as he handed you your drink. There's a coyness in his tone you didn't recognise before- something which made your stomach falter that you blamed on the sub-par quality of your watered-down whiskey.

“By charm, are we talking about the banner that says Happ Vtine dy—because if so, I'm smitten?” You grumbled over the rim of your glass as you looked into his dark brown eyes. You watched as he squinted—a soft aaahhh erupted from him.

“Bombón, you wound me” he jokes, clutching his heart. He pushes a strand of your hair past your ear. “ I mean this is a pretty good Valentine's Day if you ask me.”

“ Pedro- we are both single and in a bar that's been playing Be My Baby for the past half hour” you retorted as you picked the saggy heart balloon next to your booth.

He smiles, his grip releasing on the side of his drink as he looks into your eyes. “But at least you've got a hot date,” he enthuses, his hands ghosting from the top to the end of his body, almost showcasing himself like a new car as he wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“Vey funny- but we aren't dating” you stated before continuing “There needs to be some effort when it comes to a date y'know? Like flowers or maybe some chocolates”

“I mean if we go by your standards then this is a date” He muses, eyes trailing down to your feet.

“How so?” You question, brows knitted.

“You put the effort in to wear your ‘fuck me’ heels,” He remarks, his head tilting to the side before letting out a soft giggle.

“I am not! ohmygod” You defend, checking over your shoulder to see who overheard,“- I told you that in confidence” you whisper, playfully hitting his shoulder.

You watch as his lips stretch into a wide grin as he begins to let out a wide laugh, but the worst part of it all is that he is telling the truth.

The ‘fuck me’ heels were bought the night before your first-ever date. It was this guy in your acting class, with these wide-rimmed glasses that hung so low on the bridge of his nose as you ran through lines together deep into the night in his apartment, and when he finally invited you on a date you expected perfection- or at least an enjoyable night. Instead, you found yourself getting touched up the back of a cinema as the bright white flashes of some obscure Godard film blared in the background.

He dropped you off a half mile from your dorm- explaining he “didn't have enough gas” to drive both you and him to your respective apartments. So there you were cold, pissed off and so close to just throwing those goddamn heels into the Genesee River.

But by the time you got home- it all seemed to fade as you slammed the door and saw Pedro lying sluggishly against your shared couch, with a beer in his hand. As your eyes met, he rose up in concerned hands cupping your cheeks as you ranted about it all, mascara running down your cheeks as you stuttered out what occurred.

He carried you to the couch, his hands prying the heels off your feet before throwing them into the corner of the room. That was what made him so different from the other guys- he would listen, there was never a moment where he would ridicule you or mutter out an ‘I told you so’- he was just there when you needed him.

And even years later, with those damned heels, it felt as if maybe you always needed him- even when you thought you didn’t.

You watched as his gaze shifted off you and focused on something behind you.

“Oh now that looks like fun” he states, poorly feigning innocence. As you turn around you see a mechanical bull, the seat is worn out and frayed as it surrounds itself with drunk patrons, while a bright neon sign flashes above it saying ‘RIDE OR DIE’.

“-Yeah that's not happening” you reply, cutting him off before he even has the chance to ask.

“You scared?” He snorts, clearly trying to taunt you.

“Why would I be scared? It's just-” you pause, watching as a guy on the bull pukes into his pitcher of beer..while somehow not falling off “It's just the fact that I'm not really wearing the most appropriate attire for that kind of gig” you explain, looking down at the hemline of your dress which barely met the middle of your thighs.

He rubs his hand against his face, clearly debating his options.

“I'll hold it down for you.”

Your stomach lurches.

“I'll go with you and I'll just make sure your skirt doesn't go flying up” “Y’know? Don't want to give everyone a show” He continues casually- almost too casually.

“That's a very..direct approach” you quip sarcastically.

“I'm a direct kind of guy” he shrugs, taking your hand, leading you through a crowd of drunken strangers to the bull.

As you both sit on the bull, bass thumping against your ears as Pedros hand rests in between your thighs, pinning you down, you can't help but feel a little nervous.

“Stay still, sweetheart” he whispers against your ear “If you keep wiggling I might start thinking you're teasing me.”

Before you could conjure a response, the voice of the operator rang out with a countdown before the bull sprung to life.

You hear Pedro yelp before coughing and playing it off like a giggle. His arms flex as he presses your dress further into the saddle; his grip on you is so tight and protective. As the bull lurches forward again you feel him whisper in your ear “I've got you, just enjoy yourself”

Your heart thumps against your chest as the bull gains momentum again; you feel his chest pressed so deliciously close against your back, that you feel every ridge of him through his thin shirt.

The bull begins to slow down, as do yours and Pedro's breathes. You feel his grip on your body loosen as he lets you down but as you et off he holds you in front of him as you make it back to the booth.

“Pedro, what are you?”

Oh.

You look up at him as he avoids your eyes, ears burning red.

“Don’t.”

But you ached for him, you felt your thighs squeeze together as he covered his lap in the booth.

You hear him hiss as your hand trails down to his buckle, softly tugging on the belt “I want to help.” His hands move from his lap and grab onto your wrist and before you knew it you had no time to stumble through the crowded bar floor until you reached the bathroom.

“Pedro-”

“Before we do this I need you to know that we can’t go back, if you want to stop we need to stop now.”

The room hung in silence as you locked the door.

He grips your waist hastily, pulling you onto the counter of the bathroom as he leans in for a kiss. His hands roam freely across your body as the kiss deepens- his teeth grazing your bottom lip playfully. As your bodies collide, you feel your hands wander back to his belt “I wanna make you feel good” you whisper, pushing yourself off the counter.

“Okay hold on” He starts, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders onto the floor “I dont want you to catch something from this place”

“Oh I thought this place had charm” you retort as you settle onto his jacket on your knees”

“not enough charm to protect you from ringworm” he quips, unbuckling his belt in front of your eyes. You ran your tongue along the underside of his dick as he threw his head back and cursed. He watched through his lashes as your head bobs teasingly, fingers digging into his soft thighs.

“Fuck, that mouth,” he groaned, voice rough, wrecked. “Always running it—should’ve put it to use sooner.” He grabs your hand with his hands and you watch as he drags your head back and forth against his cock, watching you splutter and drool.

You could feel him getting closer, the way his hips kept bucking against your face, just as you expect him to cum you feel him pull out.

“Not like this- I wanna feel you” he whimpered, barely above a whisper.

Then you were lifted again, breasts pushed against the countertop, your panties being pulled away from your body. He was all over—palming your ass, sliding between your thighs, growling as he inspected your soaked underwear.

“How long have you been like this baby?” he asks, tossing the lingerie onto his jacket.

“A-all night.” you pant out, pushing against his body.

“Gotta keep quiet for me,” he warned, voice thick with lust. “Think you can do that?” You didn’t have time to answer before he was sinking into you, stretching you open inch by inch. The stretch was intoxicating, burning in the best way, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink so tight your knuckles ached.

Pedro let out a low, broken moan, his forehead dropping to the back of your neck. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips, holding you still as he bottomed out. For a moment, he just stayed there, breathing heavily, like he was trying to survive the feeling of you wrapped around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way, before snapping his hips forward, setting a relentless, filthy pace that had you gasping.

The bathroom smelled like sex and sweat, the sound of skin meeting skin barely drowned out by the muffled music outside. One of his hands snaked around your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you trembling.

“Pedro—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me—fuck, I wanna feel it.”

It only took a few more strokes before you shattered, clenching around him so hard he cursed, his hips faltering. His grip on you turned bruising as he chased his own high, thrusts growing erratic before he buried himself deep with a guttural moan, spilling inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both panting, trying to catch your breath. Then Pedro let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured against your skin. You snorted, head dropping forward. “Romantic as hell, Pascal.” He grinned against your neck, hands smoothing over your hips. “I can buy you chocolate after if that helps.”

"Shut up."

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: The Ice Cream Fiasco

Summary: Wifey's first pregnancy cravings hit, and Joel has to troubleshoot options. (takes place early on first pregnancy)

Warnings: Fluff, crazy emotions flying, swearing, and vulgar sexual language at the end.

- - - -

Ya’ll might think that Joel had always been the perfect husband, suited to adapt to your any and all needs like he was born with it the moment you were pregnant.

I’m here to tell you, he wasn’t always that on top of it. In fact, the man had quite a bit of failures at first.

There’s also a reason why Clive’s Creamery is the go-to destination for all your desserts. In fact, its the same reason the Dairy Queen right next door is excommunicated in the Miller Household…

He remembered when the first cravings started. You had wanted a blizzard. Cookie dough. Chocolate ice cream. LARGE.

Easy Peasy.

He gets just that, plus a small chocolate ice cream dipped in hard shell for himself. 

Well, you didn’t know he was going to get himself something. Something that, quite frankly, as soon as you saw him holding it for himself as you greedily accepted the jumbo cup of blizzard, you suddenly wanted more.

He is about to take a bite of his ice cream when you loudly shout, “Ah ah!”

He almost drops the damn thing. “What’s wrong?”

“Can—can I have some…whatever you don’t finish?” You ask politely. You were still holding yourself accountable from any outburst that might want to…burst out.

Though, you doubted you'd reach that point ever.

He nods. That’s reasonable. He can just… eat the shell, and you could have the filling part!

When he hands you his saliva-melting ice cream, licked and bitten clean of the hard shell, you face sours.

“What the fuck Joel. Why would I want this?”

“What do you mean…you said you would finish it?” 

You stomp your foot down almost like a tantrum ridden child. “I WANTED THE HARD SHELL. WHY WOULD I WANT THIS.”

“I didn’t know! You didnt say—!”

“DO I HAVE TO, MILLER?” You roared, getting on your heels with threatening eyes, diminishing him. “DO I HAVE TO BE EXPLICIT ABOUT SOMETHING SO OBVIOUS?”

He’s half scrunched to fear, never having seen you so ferocious over some measly ice cream, when suddenly the loud gurgling from your stomach cuts the air.

You look down briefly at your tummy. Your hand clasps it gently before you're quickly wobbling off to the bathroom. 

He stands there, a bit confused, but now he knows for next time. Joel just finishes off the rest of his cone, chucking the honey coated wrapper when—

“DID YOU JUST FINISH IT?????????” You bellow, returning from the hallway.

“Y-you--said you didn't want it now!”

“JOEL. MOTHERFUCKING. MILLER.”

But before you start another shout, your face quickly softens, down turning into a trembling mess as you let out a devastating wail. “I—j-j-just—wa—wanted!—hiccup—it!” You cry. 

And holy hell, you cried. He’d never seen you cry so hard, let alone for a half eaten ice cream cone.

You fell to your knees and gripped his forearm, tears splashing down your cheeks as you huffed.

This might be... a lot more difficult of a pregnancy than he originally thought.

-

Ok so Joel learned very quickly — bring the wife next time.

His next trial came very soon in the face of the next evening.

As he rolls up to the drive-thru window, you announce quickly “CHOCOLATE. DIPPED IN HARD SHELL. WITH—“

But the young worker quickly interrupts “We’re out of chocolate.”

He didn’t know why, but something chilly just ran right through Joel’s soul right there.

You blinked at the clerk. “Excuse me?”

“Um—we don’t have chocolate. We’re out—“

You lean over Joel. “What. Do. You. Mean. You’re. Out?”

“Um—we’re… just… out—“

“Say it again.”

Visibly shaking now, the kid says softly, “there’s… no more… choc—“

Like a dog off her leash, you lunge over Joel’s lap, your palm crashing down on his crotch, causing him to slam his head on the roof. You pay no mind, ready to tear the poor kid to shreds.

“WHAT KIND OF ICE CREAM PLACE DOESN’T HAVE CHOCOLATE??? YOU GOT VANILLA RIGHT? RIGHT????”

“Y-yes—?” The kid said frighteningly, looking around for help.

“YOU GOT SOME CHOCOLATE SAUCE?”

“Y—“

“THEN WHAT’S thE PROBLEM HUH? WHERE’S THE CHOCOLATE? HUH YOU GOT VANILLA? AND CHOCO--WHAT'S SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND? WHY ARE YOU EVEN OPEN—“

Joel finally regains his composure, his arm protectively holding you back as you lament, eyes crazy and teeth foaming like a rabid raccoon.

“I’msorryimsorryimsorryimsorry—“ he repeats to the kid, just as he puts the car in drive and leaves the line.

You settle back down in your seat grumpily.

Joel stares forward, frightened by the beast next to him. 

“Okay. Where are you taking me next for some ice cream?” You ask innocently, as if you weren’t about to be charged with assaulting some teen for no chocolate ice cream.

Joel hesitantly glared back at you.

What kind of demon baby was brewing inside you?

-

So now we’re back to making sure you DON’T participate in your own snack runs. Joel gives you a menu ahead of time so you can mark off the items you want like a sushi checklist. Then he calls you right before he orders to make sure it’s still what you want.

But Dairy Queen was on day 3 of no chocolate ice cream.

He finds you furiously typing on his desktop keyboard when he gets home, slams the print button, and tears off the sheet.

“Mail this,” you seethe, scribbling down the address on a note sheet.

Joel takes on look at the first line and knew immediately he’s putting this in the shredder:

DEAR MOTHERFUCKER.

It was a letter addressed to the Dairy Queen corporate head office, specifically, the CEO’s desk.

He scanned briefly: lots of “you motherfuckers” this and “chocolate is a birthright” that. Even a sentence that read “I will personally pop my baby out in your lap and eat your innards alive if you do not provide the chocolateS to the local church [the address of the Dairy Queen next store]”

The “signature” line was your signature alright, with a hefty spit you had personally left.

He looks up at you, only to see you’re beaming with pride. 

“It’s good right? That’ll get their attention. No more of this ‘no chocolate’ nonsense.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that it wasn’t the chocolate that was missing. He had stopped by this afternoon and asked if there was an update, only to find the machine that mixed it was down and missing a spare part. Said it would be another week before it would be up and working though.

He had to find an alternative and fast. Preferably before you find out he never mailed that letter, and definitely before you storming into the building with a torch and gasoline.

“I don’t even LIKE Dairy Queen!” You shouted in the middle of the house, folding your arms with a pout. “I DON’T EVEN LIKE —"

“Who are you talking to?” Joel asks, bringing you your lemonade. 

“The Dairy Gods.” You drop your voice to a whisper, “Maybe they’ll think if I’m not on to them, they’ll bring it back.”

You were officially going insane.

So Joel started asking around. Something that only had good reputation, welcoming to kids and adults, extended hours… None of his friends had any idea. Even Tommy, so immune to your wrath, asked simply "What about that dairy queen next to your--"

"Don't even say it."

He needed some inside scoop (sigh) from some hardcore locals...

He slides a crisp $5 bill to the one 7 year old boy down the block. “What you got?” Joel asks, looking around as if they’re making a criminal deal.

“I know a place…” he brags, checking the authenticity of the bill.

“Ain’t got all day kid. Where?”

“It’s called Clive’s…Clive’s Creamery.”

Joel hadn’t heard of it. “S’good?”

“The BEST.”

“How about chocolate? They got that?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“You wanna make the drive out there and find out?”

Joel grits his teeth and ponies up another $5.

The kid flicks it satisfyingly. “Chocolate is their speciality. I recommend the milkshakes…I’m sure there’s one for ya lady.”

Joel rubs his curly head with a stern look. “Alright. Get on ya bike. And don’t be coming’ over to my house in 9 months askin’ if my newborn can play with ya. You’re too old.”

“Likewise, silver!” The kid shouted, poking his tongue out before peddling away on his bike.

Joel scoffed, but then took a moment to feel his beard and stubble…wondering if those stray grays were getting less stray…

-

Gentleman Joel helped you into the passenger seat.

“Where we goin’? You ask, cooke crumbs cascading from your open mouth and all over the car seat.

He settles in and turns on the car.

He smirks. “Somewhere new. Its gonna be a surprise, baby—“

You grip his hair and yank him down to your nose. “Don’t pull this shit Miller, tell me where ya takin’ me,” you growl.

“ICE CREAM.  ITS ICE CREAM!” He shouts, and you quickly let go.

“Ooh yay!” You clap your hands together and face forward, excited once again.

It’s a 12 minute drive, not nearly as long as he thought. He’s taking a big risk, bringing you here without testing the goods first.

God, those $10 bucks he lost to that kid better have been worth it…

He parks along the side of the street. The shop is small on the outside, almost unnoticeable amongst the rows of boutiques and thrift stores.

He opens the door for you, and is instantly greeted by a heavenly, sweet, but tolerable gust of chocolate scented air.

Your jaw drops: “THE MOTHERSHIP!”

The place looked like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory.  Rows of handmade bite sized sweets and candy encrusted chocolate bars, with walls adorned with endless tubes of M&M’s, truffles, and caramel bites. The main eye catcher was the handmade ice cream section right in the middle with its rumbling state of the art soft serve machine and benders running a hundred miles a minute whipping up a decadent array of all sorts of flavors.

Joel should have paid that kid $50.

He loses you for just a moment ,but you’re already repeating your order while looking at the board at the cashier. “Yes the—Fudge Cookie Dough Chocolate Gooey Fantasy milkshake please. Can you add extra rainbow sprinkles?”

That sounds like death in a cup, Joel thinks.

She rings it up. “That’s $11.98.”

Your feet immediately shuffle to Joel.

It takes him a second to clear his ear out. “12 bucks for a milkshake??” He says a little too loudly. 

You stare at him with incessant, almost deadly eyes.

“I mean yeah. Here—“ he hands the cash.

They whip it up in no time. You’re too giddy standing at the receiving window, foots stammering back and forth like a little marcher as you’re handed an absolute chocolate monstrosity in a tall glass.

You tear the straw wrapper with your teeth, puck it in, and take that first sip.

This better have been worth it…

He waits for your reaction.

At first, nothing, but then a shiver runs through your entire body, not quite like a cold one but like an orgasm resetting your brain.

“Joel.”

“Yeah? How is it?”

“Let’s go home.”

“Why? What’s wrong.”

“Take me home now.”

Ah shit, it wasn’t good? What now? Why—“

“I want you to fuck me in the ass while I drink this—“

He covers your lips with his burly hand. “Alright just—lets use quiet voice—“

But you mumble through, with no care: “I want your big fat meaty cock absolutely devastating my pussy and rearranging my guts while I drink this, and then I’ll give you the sloppiest hand job known to man—“

He’s pushing you out the door as quickly as possible.

Guess even when it’s a good experience, he still shouldn’t be bringing you out in public.

You slurp your creamy shake all the way home. At one point, you offer him some, and he gladly dips his head so his tongue can capture the straw. He’s dying to know what all the fuss is about, especially since you’re rubbing on hand on your crotch while the other holds the shake.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t even have a second to start sucking before you pull it out of his mouth. “Don’t drink it all!” You scold, sucking it back down for yourself. 

Anyway, you two end up having some of the best sex of your life. 

And Joel learns $12 for a milkshake is a fantastic deal.

- - - -

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 @jeewrites

[fifers05]

it’s true 😔😔

[for-a-longlongtime]

Coming Soon... Renaldo x Matthew

and WIP Wednesday too, I guess! Thanks for tagging me, @mountainsandmayhem

He sees Renaldo leaning against the sink, arms folded, head tilted as he’s watching Matt, a smirk playing over his face.  “Lock the door, Matthew.” “I think you misunderstand me. I didn’t mean to give the impression that…” Renaldo sighs, then walks over to him - pressing Matt against the door, hand splayed against his chest while he locks the door with his other hand. “I’m gonna kiss you,” voice softer than you’d expect from his exasperated sigh from moments earlier. “So you can decide whether you want to continue freaking out, or if you’re gonna be honest with yourself, hmm?” Matt nods, at a loss for words as his glance drops down to Renaldo’s mouth. He can’t help but stare at those lips, clinging onto the sight as a lifeline - because it’s the only thing that distracts him from just how close Renaldo is, and how good he smells. “I can’t. I’m not like…” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I’m married,” he manages eventually, but he’s painfully aware of how quiet the words sound, even to himself. “That’s not my fuckin’ problem, baby.” Renaldo laughs as he leans in even closer, brushing his nose against the curve of Matthew’s neck. “But you know what’s a problem? The way you’ve been looking at me. All. Damn. Day.” His breathing is slightly heavier now, and Matt is so focused on it that he doesn’t initially register Renaldo’s hand moving. Only once his fingertips brush down Matt’s stomach, all the way down to his pants, does the reality of it hit him - perhaps most of all because Renaldo’s eyes are back on his now, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’understand me?” Renaldo’s voice is hoarse as he cups Matt’s dick through his pants - a full on groping, those thick fingers confident and determined as he sounds. “So you’re gonna make up your mind right now.”

NPT @sin-djarin @perotovar @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @ozarkthedog

@oliveksmoked @penvisions @magpiepills @arcanefox207 @youandmeand5bucks

@exquisiteserotonin @sp00kymulderr @auteurdelabre @alltheglitterandtheroar @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@avastrasposts @din-cognito @djarinmuse @lady-bess @frenchiereading

@musings-of-a-rose @nerdieforpedro @gothcsz @trulybetty @chronically-ghosted

@covetyou @demonsandbullets @ghostofaboy @crowandmousewritingco

[lazysoulwriter]

daddy incident. - pedro pascal.

You and Pedro were hanging out with a few of your friends at a cozy café. The conversation was light, filled with laughter and chatter, and you felt completely at ease—until you slipped up.

It wasn’t even intentional. The words just spilled out, the nickname you and Pedro had casually adopted in the privacy of your own home, now slipping out in front of everyone.

“Daddy, can you pass me the...”

The moment it left your lips, your eyes widened in horror. Your hand froze mid-air, the awkwardness settling over you like a thick cloud. The conversation came to an immediate halt, and every single person around the table looked at you with raised eyebrows.

The silence stretched on, the weight of your slip-up sinking deeper into your chest.

"Oh my god," you whispered to yourself, your face flaming red. “Did I just—?”

Pedro, ever the savior, didn't even flinch. He smiled, the mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, perfectly unfazed by the blunder. His voice was casual, teasing, as he met your gaze across the table.

“Yeah, mama? What’s up?” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

The tension in the air broke immediately, and your friends burst into laughter. You covered your face with your hands, hiding your embarrassment, but the warmth of the moment made it all feel okay. Pedro had this way of making everything feel normal, even when you messed up.

“I'm dying,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your hands, but you couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips.

Pedro chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “You know I’ve got your back,” he said with a wink, effortlessly easing you back into the moment. “Besides, it’s not like they don’t know we’re... close.”

Your friends, still laughing, nodded in agreement, but the teasing smiles were no longer judgmental—they were more understanding than anything else.

“Whatever you two call each other, I’m just glad we’re all friends,” one of your friends said with a shrug, still grinning.

You sighed in relief, feeling your heart settle. Pedro was always there to cover you, to turn something awkward into something sweet.

“Thanks, Daddy,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Pedro raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m always here, mama.”

And just like that, the moment was over. The laughter continued, and you felt an overwhelming sense of love for him, for the way he made everything easier, even the embarrassing moments.

[mianieaaa]

begging on his knees to leave your hell hole of a town with him because the town wouldn’t agree with the age gap.

“Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?” He’d ask on a random hot night on your porch.

You’d agree and leave and y’all make love every night.

[andy-15-07]

can you please writee pedro or any of his characters having a tickle fight with reader fluff fluff 💙

 Tickle Fight

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 645 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The air in Javier's apartment was warm, thick with the scent of old leather and cigarette smoke, the soft hum of a fan cutting through the silence. It was late, and the two of you had spent the night tangled on the couch, watching some old Western that neither of you were really paying attention to. His arm was draped lazily over your stomach, his fingers tracing light patterns along the fabric of your shirt.

"You look tired," you murmured, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were half-lidded, and he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

"Long day," he admitted, voice husky with exhaustion. "Murphy wouldn't shut up about some report. Thought my head was gonna explode."

You grinned, shifting slightly beneath him. "Poor baby. Should I write him a strongly worded letter?"

Javier huffed out a chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That'd scare him more than the cartel."

The weight of the day still clung to him, his usual tension evident in the furrow of his brow, the stiffness in his shoulders. You wanted to help, to pull him out of his head, even if only for a little while.

Your fingers trailed down his side absentmindedly, and you felt the tiniest jolt in his frame. It was barely there, but you caught it. Your lips curled into a slow, mischievous smile.

"Javi," you whispered, testing the waters, your fingers ghosting over his ribs again.

"Don't," he warned, a sudden sharpness in his tone that only made you more determined.

"Don't what?" You feigned innocence, your hand moving with more intent, fingertips dancing lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

Javier twitched, trying to shift away, but you were quicker. Before he could escape, you dug your fingers in, right at his ribs, and he practically jolted off the couch.

"Damn it—Y/N!" he barked, trying to grab your wrists, but you were laughing too hard to stop.

"Oh my God—Javi Peña is ticklish?" you gasped, eyes wide with delight. "This is the best day of my life."

"I am not—" He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his dignity, but his body betrayed him, another suppressed laugh breaking through as you doubled down on your attack.

"Oh, this is gold. Why didn’t I know this before?" You straddled his waist, using your advantage to keep him pinned as your fingers worked mercilessly along his sides. Javier was struggling now, squirming beneath you as laughter—actual, unrestrained laughter—spilled from his lips.

"Y/N—fuck—stop—" He wheezed between laughs, his hands grabbing your wrists in a desperate attempt to fight back.

"Say you surrender," you taunted, grinning down at him.

"Never," he growled, even as his body betrayed him again, his laugh breaking through his resolve.

You leaned in closer, your nose nearly brushing his. "Then you leave me no choice."

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before you resumed your tickling, and in an unexpected twist, he managed to flip you over in one swift motion, trapping your wrists against the cushions.

"You play dirty, cariño," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

"Me?" You huffed, wiggling beneath him. "You were the one hiding this vital information from me."

Javier smirked, releasing one of your hands just so he could trail his fingers down your side in retaliation, and suddenly it was you who was thrashing against the couch.

"Oh, now look who's laughing," he teased, his deep chuckle sending warmth straight through you.

"Javi!" You shrieked, laughing uncontrollably, trying to push him away.

He finally relented, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his arms, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your spine.

"You're lucky I love you," you muttered into his chest, still catching your breath.

His lips curled into a smile against your hair. "I know, cariño. Believe me, I know."

[magpiepills]

FUCK YEAH MALLORY

This is awesome! I love you for this and many other things.

The person you called out for the stupid flag thing has now deactivated their account and we've lost a brilliant writer and a very nice person. You couldn't just have contacted them via DM instead of making a big thing of it in public?

Hi there, anon. Perhaps you haven’t seen my post about “the stupid flag thing” from this morning! It’s right here.

Yesterday, some people were concerned about the use of a confederate flag in a fic. A discussion was had about how this was surprising and out of character and a couple people DID dm the writer out of concern. They were empathetic and polite and sincere. I saw the screenshots.

Here is my own contribution to that early conversation.

Unfortunately, the responses the writers got back were not encouraging. In one she said (and again, I saw the screen shot and this is a direct quote from the writer of the fic in question. Multiple people saw this and can verify that they were her words) “I am fully aware of the history and connotations of the flag and how it can be/has been percieved throughout history.”

Only after this very distressing response did anyone “call her out.” Nobody jumped the gun. No one was especially unkind considering the touchy and emotionally charged subject. She hurt a lot of feelings and disappointed people who liked and respected her, including me.

Could you not have dm’d me to talk off anon if you’re so bothered by what has happened? Are you more mad at me for shining a light on problematic behavior than you are at the people doing problematic things? Do very nice people use racist imagery to set the scene in a fic and completely disregard how their audience will feel about that?

I’m sorry she left too, because now people like you only take away that she was somehow “bullied off the app” by people who are rightfully upset at her actions and response and not that she couldn’t be big enough to listen, learn, grow, and use her platform (much bigger than mine by the way!) to elevate anti racist messages in this community and amplify the voices of the writers here who have been saying for ages how they no longer feel welcome or safe here because of racism?

Some people take criticism and are thankful for the opportunity to do better, and end up being great allies and we all benefit and grow. Some people just run. We saw what happened.

[umadosedepascal]

Pedro pulls you into his arms, his embrace possessive and comforting at the same time. "Good girl," He murmurs against your hair. "You're mine now, completely. I'll take care of you, love you, and cherish you... But you'll also obey me, no matter what."

You just nod.

"Good..." His voice drops to a deep, commanding tone. He rolls you over onto your stomach. "Hands above your head. Now. And spread those thighs for me..."

"Like this," He spreads your legs wider with his knees, then smacks your ass hard, making you jolt. "You like being dominated, baby?" He asks softly, smacking your bottom again, watching it jiggle beautifully. "Answer me."

“So, are you into submission?” You whisper to him.

He lets out a low, dark laugh, his hand trailing possessively over your reddening skin. "With you? Fuck yes. There's something about seeing my queen submit to me that drives me crazy." He runs his thick cock through your folds, but doesn't enter you yet.

"Are you wet for your man?" He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Want me to fuck you hard from behind?" *His hand moves around to smack your ass again this time harder "Every time I smack your ass, I notice how you jump when I do it."

Pedro slowly slides one finger inside you without warning, making you arch your back and moan loud. "Oh you're soaked, shhhh…not my cock yet, you already crying?” He murmurs, adding another finger, pumping them in and out slowly. "Spread your legs wider," He orders softly, his free hand spreading your bottom cheeks apart.

"You like that, don't you?" He curls his fingers inside you, hitting that special spot. "You like when I finger fuck you from behind?" He smacks your ass again, this time using his other hand to spread your cheeks even wider. "Say it,"

“You really into submission, Pedro…” you say in a low and breathless voice…

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and wanting. "I'm into submission…” He says firmly. He grabs your hips roughly and slams into you from behind without warning, filling you completely. "Fuck..."

Pedro starts pounding into you relentlessly, each powerful thrust accompanied by a sharp smack to your ass. "So fucking tight..." He growls, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to flick your clit.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" He snaps, his voice low and commanding. He increases his pace, fucking you harder and deeper, his fingers working your clit in tight circles. "Come on, baby. Give it to me."

Feels your walls tighten around his thickness as you cry out. "That's my girl," He growls possessively, smacking your bottom again, making you jolt and milk his length. "So sensitive..." He realizes as your body convulses. "You like being spanked?"

…