#the World's Dad mug is so funny to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 2 years ago

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It’s Been a Long, Long Time ❥

Pairing: Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re the school nurse at Sarah’s middle school and you’re volunteered to chaperone the school dance alongside her father, Joel Miller. After some other teachers upset you there, he makes a point of showing you how he feels while also teaching those assholes a lesson.

A/N: okay so i know i just wrote one but you guys were so sweet in the notes :) *sobbing* and im obsessed with him so another Joel Miller fic for you, this one’s more fluffy tho here’s a sweet, smutty one, inspired by that one scene in “The Lost Husband” YALL KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT, enjoy and feedback as always is appreciated >~< i cant stop writing him PREPARED TO BE SICK O’ ME

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fluff, cheesy, just absolute fuckin fluff, mentions of death, months pre-outbreak, language, reader is insulted, slight angst, mentions of alcohol, slight age gap, reader has panic attack, public making out, jealous!reader, Joel loves his pet names, he talks you through it, oral f! receiving, p in v, praise, unprotected sex, y’all it’s a lot

You sip on your mug full of sugary coffee and rub your temple, tired from a night of little sleep. That’s when Sarah Miller, your favorite student, patient, and professional instigator, strides through your office doors with a big smile on her face.

You open up your snack drawer with an affectionate roll of your eyes, grab a pack of skittles, and throw it her way.

She catches it mid-air and sits down on the bed by your door, kicking her feet while she pops only the red ones into her mouth.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days, hun,” you breathe a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she sighs, still grinning. “I’m on my lunch break and I finished it fast so I could come see you.”

You smile softly behind the rim of your mug, “Well, I’m glad to see you. What is it that you’re smiling so much about?”

“Awe,” she points to your mug. “You’re using the mug I got you.”

You look at the front of the mug, the words, “World’s Greatest Grandma”, on the front of if it with the word Grandma scratched out with a wash-proof marker and replaced with “Nurse”. She claimed she couldn’t find one that said what she wanted so she had to get creative. It makes you laugh every time you pick it up.

“It’s my most prized possession,” you nod, matching her expression. “Now answer my question.”

She leans forward, having finished off all the red skittles, and hands it back to you so you can eat the rest.

She says it in one, hyperactive breath, “I got my dad to volunteer at the school dance!”

You choke a bit on your coffee.

Setting down the bag of skittles and your mug, you look up at her and chuckling, “Why would you want to do that? Don’t most kids want their parents far away from their homecoming?”

She shakes her head like you’re not getting what she’s saying, exasperated, “I invited him for you, Nurse y/n.”

“I- Why would you-” you let out a nervous laugh before pulling yourself together. “Sarah. Why would you invite him for me, sweetheart?”

“Because you like him,” she props her head up against the wall behind her, a sly little smirk on her lips. She crosses her legs. “Obviously.”

You sip your coffee, a small scoff leaving you, “I don’t have a crush on your father, Ms. Miller. Since when do you play matchmaker, huh?”

“Since he asks about you like all the time,” she groans. “I told him that you’re coming and he basically dropped everything to come.”

Heat blooms in your face but you clear your throat and feign nonchalance despite it. It would be incredibly unprofessional for you to have a juvenile, little crush on a student’s father. Even if he is incredibly handsome, sweet, charming, funny, and a wonderful, single father to his little girl who you also have a soft spot for.

But you do and you’re convinced it’s a bit bigger than a little one. You don’t act on it though because you’ve kidded yourself into thinking it would go away, wither from neglect like a dying plant with no sun. However, that hasn’t worked out very well so far.

Sarah doesn’t miss the flush in cheeks and the small smile you dawn before maintaining your composure once again. She decides to hold onto this information instead of call you out because she’s nothing if not devious. She’s very observant for a 14 year old, you’re sure she gets it from her sharp father.

He doesn’t let anything get past him, like hair in your face that he pushes away for you, a fallen eyelash on your cheek, your shoelace undone, your ponytail getting loose and about to fall out, and whatever else. It’s been almost an entire school year of this, going on field trips, meetings, him picking Sarah up from school when she’s sick (whether she fakes it or not), and around your shared neighborhood because even if it was big in Austin, Texas, he made it feel so damn small.

And now Sarah says this and you can’t contain your excitement. But also your nerves were shot, you haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. It scares the hell out of you.

“I’m not volunteering,” you laugh. “Why’d you lie to him?”

“Because I’m going to convince you to come,” she raises her eyebrows. “Please, please, please, please!” she clasps her hands together. “I’ll buy you all the skittles you want, I’ll take the red ones out of all of them for you, too!”

“What if I’m busy?”

“I know you’re not.”

You gasp, “Rude, Sarah! I should write you up for that,” you tease.

She smiles, “Come on, you can come and wear a pretty dress, drink punch, and eat free food. What’s not to like?”

“The bitchy moms and other teachers, for one thing-” you put a hand over your mouth. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I shouldn’t have said that,” you chuckle, embarrassed, with your face in your hands.

She waves you off, “My father cusses like a sailor and I won’t tell. I don’t like anyone that works here besides you, anyway.”

“Well, now I feel like I have to,” you relent with a sigh, mulling it over. She was right in that you didn’t have anything to do, so what was the risk here?

She looks at you expectantly, mustering up puppy dog eyes to persuade you.

“If I go... no teasing me and your dad. He and I are just good friends,” you say, which is at least half true. “We enjoy each other’s company, nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” she says in a sing-song, knowing voice, fingers crossed behind her back. “Sure, Nurse y/n. I promise.”

“I’m serious,” you point at her, taking the last sip of your coffee just as the class bell rings. “Now get out of here and go to math.”

She groans in protest but hops down from the table anyway and fakes being dizzy, “What if I have a fever?” She coughs.

“Then walk it off,” you chuckle, knowing she’s lying. “See you tonight, Sarah.”

She grins widely, waving, running out, “Bye! Dad and Nurse Y/n sitting in a tree-”

“Sarah!”

~~~

Walking into the schools’ gymnasium, you’re almost shaking with nerves when you walk in. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and waiting for someone to ask you to dance.

You slipped on a black slip dress with white trim at the ends and the sweetheart neckline, it hugs your body nicely and accentuates curves, dips, and makes your skin glow with a red sweater that hits at your waist and matches your red, strappy heels. Your hair is pulled back with barrettes to show off your makeup and fresh curls.

The dance has already started thirty minutes ago, so everyone’s already dancing and having fun to the child-friendly music that the DJ spins for the room. You pick up a red solo cup filled with crappy fruit punch and spot Sarah in the crowd with a few of her friends.

She waves enthusiastically in your direction before running over to you and hugging your side. “You look so pretty, Nurse Y/n!”

“Thank you, sweetheart. So do you!” you hug her back, trying the punch and wincing at the off-taste. “Tonight, you can just call me Y/n, if you want.”

She smiles, glowing at your arrival, “My dad’s over there talking to another parent. I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

You look up when she says this and meet his eyes from across the room, which means he was already looking. Joel Miller cracks a lopsided smile at you, excuses himself from his conversation with a pestering mom, and crosses the room to the two of you.

He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, rolled up on his burly forearms, tucked into a pair of dark jeans with a black belt holding the pants up. His hair is slightly wet from a shower, you presume, and he smells of aftershave and smoke and cedar wood. He looks so good, standing in front of you with those all-encompassing brown eyes, you think you might cry.

Those said eyes fall over you, and admire your dress, your hair, your everything. He looks down at his daughter, watching you both with avid attention.

“Don’t you have friends to get back to, chick?” he cocks an eyebrow down at his scheming daughter.

She rolls her eyes, smoothing out her blue dress. Her hair is braided into a bun at the back of her head, matching teal flowers pinned in her curls. “Okay, dad. Have fun!”

She races back to her group of friends and leaves you and Joel alone, two awkward adults who feel like kids again.

“You did her hair tonight?” you smile softly, gushing a bit now. “It looks so nice.”

He flushes and scratches the back of his neck, “Thank you. I tried my best, she did most of it. I just wanted tonight to be perfect for her. She forced me to come, though.”

“She got me, too,” you tilt your head, biting back a grin. “She should be a lawyer when she grows up, this kid.”

He looks out at her dancing with her friends and smiles fondly, “She would be great.” His eyes fall back down to you, “You look beautiful... by the way.”

You beam, “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, too, Joel.”

A blush spreads across his nose and cheeks, “Thanks. I was worried it was too simple and that I should have worn a suit... I didn’t know if it was nice enough to-”

You place your hand on his arm to stop his rambling, “You look great. Seriously. Don’t worry, all the moms and teachers will still drool over you.”

He pinches his brow when he stares down at you. You get the sudden urge to smooth out the small wrinkle between his eyebrows, ease his tensions.

“Really?” he pins you down with his stare, but his dark eyes are glittering with amusement. “You’re way off base, sweetheart, I promise you. None of them think of me like that.”

You ignore the heat blooming in your chest at the nickname, he used it often but it never failed to make your brain short-circuit, “They all talk about you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You’re joking.”

Jealousy swirls in your belly at the thought of these women and the things you’ve heard around school, but you pull it together with a quick tilt of your head, “I’m not laughing, am I?”

He notices your jaw clench a bit and how you gulped before speaking, logging the observations for later, “How do you notice?”

“How do you not!” you say, moving to his side and unintentionally brushing your arm against his. He shivers. “It’s obvious. It’s hard not to.”

His eyes linger on your lips before glancing back up your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been distracted.”

You grow flustered under his gaze and look ahead, stammering, “Yeah... maybe. And well... Sarah tells me that they ask her about your life in the pickup line after school. So it’s proving to be borderline obsession,” you laugh.

He smiles softly, seeing past your nerves, “Poor Sarah. She must love that,” he says dryly.

“Sarah might say some choice words about them,” you shrug your shoulders. “She’s fine, though. I probably shouldn’t have told you, we tend to share secrets,” you look at him, filled with care for his daughter, for him.

“She adores you,” he says sincerely and you can tell by the warmth in his tone that he means it and appreciates it. “You’ve quickly become one of her favorite people within a little over half a school year. Tommy thinks you’re great too, from the few interactions you’ve had when he picks her up sometimes.”

You grin and his chest seizes at the light that exudes from your sweet expression, “Tommy’s a wonderful uncle. Good brother too. He talks about you often.”

“Oh yeah?” he looks at you, his voice sends shivers straight through you. “And what does he say?”

“Can’t betray a friend’s trust,” you shake your head, teasing.

He discreetly shows you his flask of whiskey, “Not even if I let you drink from my emergency flask?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one thing,” you hold up a finger and he slips you the flask, cracking a dazzling smile, while you turn around and take a long sip. The DJ transitions the E.D.M to a slow song, something sweet and best to sway to.

He takes a long sip himself and tucks it away in his pocket again, holding out his hand to you, “Do you want to tell me while we dance, darlin?”

You look around the room, your boss nowhere in sight. There was technically no rule against dating a student’s parent, but you didn’t want the judgement. You knew the people around here talked and there would be rumors, shaming. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, putting himself out on a limb just to ask you to dance.

It didn’t have to mean anything anyway, it could just be two friends sharing a dance. You’ve danced with friends. It’s the same thing. Your internal monologue was racing a mile a minute.

“Are we allowed to? I mean, as chaperones.”

“We’re watching the students more closely.”

“Yeah, I just...” you pause, pinching your brow.

His face falls slightly. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” he starts to pull his hand away. “It’s really no-”

You put your hand in his, “I’d love to dance with you, Joel.”

Warmth blooms in his handsome face and he pulls you into the crowd of dancing people. Joel pulls you gently towards him, placing his hands on your waist as you wrap your arms up and around his neck. You both try to keep your distance, make a good example for the kids, but it’s growing increasingly harder for him not to hold you close and kiss you right here in front of all these people.

You catch Sarah giggling excitedly at you both dancing, whispering with her friends. You roll your eyes with a small smile.

You look up at Joel, resisting the urge to lay your head against his chest, “You still want to know something Tommy said?”

“Desperately,” he laughs.

“He told me you said I’m pretty.”

Rosy color spreads across his nose, but his eyes are darkened, his lips part slightly, “I should’ve known he’d tell you.”

“So he’s telling the truth?”

His eyes soften, “Of course he is.”

“Well... thank you,” you flush, blood rushing to your face, making Joel smile. You feel like a schoolgirl again.

He chuckles, eyes searching your face, “You’re welcome.”

You tilt your head, “You’re pretty, too, Joel.”

He spins you as the song picks up a bit and pulls you back to him, your dress spinning as you do. He pulls you back against his chest, hands in against shirt and his around your waist. Warmth radiates from his broad chest, his hands are calloused even through the fabric of your slip dress, and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t pay any mind to the stares he gets for doing it, but he lets his head drop to your shoulder, writing love letters in your skin when he lets out a breath. He says nothing about the compliment but he’s holding you closer, and that’s all he needs to do. A quiet understanding washes over the two of you in that moment.

Joel’s always been the strong and silent type, but the longer the two of you have known one another, the closer you get, he’s begun to let more things slip. He begins to ramble, his nerves making an appearance when he’s near you, a teenager again. Then there are times like now when his actions do all the talking for him and neither of you need to comment on it.

Then there are others when he won’t shut the fuck up.

“People are looking,” you whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you care what they think?”

There’s a beat of silence before you sigh out the three words, “I don’t know.”

“We’re not Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey over here, the kids will be fine,” he teases. Then he lifts his head to bring your joined hands up to his side, moving you to the changed song with the more upbeat tempo.

You snort, “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“If we were somewhere else...” he muses, looking at you to gauge your reaction.

You meet his eyes, your own crinkling with amusement, “You’d do the lift?”

He throws his head back with a thunderous laugh, “I’d try for you.”

“Think I’m too heavy?”

“God, no,” he spins the two of you, dodging a pair of kids dancing. “I’m just old.”

“You’re like 35, Joel.”

“You’re only 27, you don’t get it yet,” he whispers into the side of your hair and you laugh, not even bothering to glance in the direction of the judgmental moms and teachers.

Joel Miller had a talent of making you feel like the only person in the room.

The song ends and you feel out of breath just from being this close to him. You step away from him and smile softly, “I gotta run to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

His eyes sweep over you, then he nods, “Okay.”

“What?” you grin. “No dad joke about not falling in?”

“I’m classy Joel tonight,” he chuckles. “No bathroom jokes.”

You shake your head with a laugh as you walk back towards the restrooms. Stepping inside, you move to stand in front of the mirror and grab your lipstick from your bag, fixing up your makeup. You try to calm your nerves, hands shaking when you bring the golden tube to your lips.

After taking a deep breath, your mind begins to wander about how his hands felt on your skin and how he thinks you’re pretty. The thoughts fill your head and litter your skin with goosebumps.

You don’t usually like being the center of attention, but with Joel around you, it was hard not to be. And you couldn’t say you minded it.

A few other women walk through the door and you recognize them to be Bethany, Sarah’s rude math teacher, Cara, a mom who gives you trouble constantly, and Kristina, another mom who thinks Joel is hot and constantly asks Sarah questions about him.

“Hey, y/n!” Bethany draws out in a sing-song, forced way that sends a chill through your body. “Saw you out dancing with Mr. Miller. Ain’t y’all cute?”

You look at her blankly in your reflection and she clears her throat.

“Adorable,” Cara’s shark eyes roam you over in the mirror, making you feel small as you fix your foundation. You don’t let it show though, you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Such a shame about Joel’s wife,” Kristina hums, putting on her own bright pink lipstick. “Wonder if he’s still looking for a stepmom for sweet little Sarah.”

The three of them laugh together and you feel your blood pressure quickly rise. Three wild vultures circling a carcass, kicking it while it’s down.

“Can we not tonight, ladies?” you turn around to look at them. “Let’s just forget this and have fun.”

“What do you mean, dear? This is fun,” Bethany blinks her stark, blue eyes, red lips curling. “This must be a lot for her though, girls. She’s probably having a rough time considering what happened to her.”

You freeze.

“Oh yeah...” Cara finishes her makeup and frowns at you. “I remember hearing your fiancee passed away before you came here, how sad.”

Your blood runs cold, sirens going off in your head, and a pounding begins in your skull. No one’s brought up Rick since you’ve gotten here, you’ve dodged the questions from the nosy parents, the gossiping neighbors, and the rude coworkers. You don’t know how they figured it out, and now you feel it, being back in the car with Rick the night that it happened.

Joel and Sarah didn’t even know, you had pushed it to the back of your mind so you would never find it again. Now it’s coming back like a wave, full force, and pulling you under the current until you’re drowning.

“Then you moved here to Austin in July,” Kristina slits her eyes at you and cocks her head to the side. “Now you’re trying to get back out there with Joel, huh? Like you’d really have a chance with him.”

She looks in your direction and it’s as if she sees right through you, past your carefully created facade and into your core, that sad, broken girl with no family left and nowhere to go.

Your eyes fill with hot tears, you want to run away, but you can’t move. You’re frozen, feet glued to the linoleum tile.

“I knew Rick... your fiancee,” Bethany says. “He was so sweet. We went to college together.”

“So sweet,” Cara looks at you and flashes another sickly sweet smile.

You inhale sharply, tears falling down your face. You hastily wipe it away, “I... I gotta go.”

You grab your purse off the counter and rush out of the door, slamming into a hard chest and a pair of hands that fly to catch you by the waist.

Joel stares down at you, grounding you, and your eyes begin to brim with tears, “What’s wrong, sugar? What happened?”

The words tumble out of you, wiping away the tears that slip out while you ramble on, “Nothing, I just... the women in there, they’re horrible, they hate me, and they make me feel like shit. They brought up Rick and they think you’re hot and they think we’re dating and I just wanna go. I’m just gonna go home-”

He looks over your head at three women leaving the bathroom, waving in his direction.

Joel looks back down at you before tucking his fingers into the straps of your dress and pulling you into a searing kiss. Your inhale sharply when his soft lips meet yours, and your hands grip onto his flannel shirt, sighing into his mouth. He slips his hands up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to kiss you more completely, unraveling you in his capable hands.

Bethany stares at you wide eyed, getting the other girls attention, all jaws dropped in utter shock at the image before them.

His tongue dances with yours as he moves his lips expertly, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheekbone as he coaxes your lips open. He hums small praises while tracing shapes into your skin. You let a small noise slip past you, unable to contain how good he’s making you feel, swallowing your sadness and helping you breathe again.

He groans as he forces himself to pull away from you, struggling not to kiss you again. Forgetting you’re not alone.

Joel’s hands slip down to rest on your shoulders, lips flushed and swollen from the kiss, voice gravelly, “I hate terrible people.”

You look at him, mouth parted, lipstick probably smudged. He licks his lips before glaring at back at the women before they scoff and walk away, muttering under their breath.

Neither of you get the time to speak of it before Sarah is running down the hallway, after hearing the commotion. You and Joel split apart when she comes up, and she’s smiling widely.

“Kelsey asked if I could sleepover, can I go get my stuff at the house and go to her place? Pretty please,” she begs her dad, clasping her hands together.

He tears his eyes away from you and nods, smiling, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll head home and I’ll walk you there.”

Sarah grins happily before looking up at you. “Everything okay, y/n?”

You force a smile and fix a flower falling out of her hair, “Yeah, I’m good. And I think I’m ready to go, too.”

“Do you need a ride?” Joel asks. “I know you walked here cause we all live so close, but I don’t want you walkin’ home in the dark. Also Sarah’s got control of the radio on the way back,” he offers you a grin. “She’s got good taste.”

“We’re listening to 80′s hits,” Sarah nods, taking her job very seriously.

You nod, feeling better just by being near the two of them. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

~~~

“Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears is blaring through Joel’s truck and you’re humming under your breath while Sarah is screaming it in the backseat. Joel laughs at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

Grieving your boyfriend’s death has been something you’ve pushed aside for a long time. You knew these women could be catty, but you never thought they’d be downright cruel to you, bringing up Rick the way they did. Looking out the window, you think back to the moment you felt frozen in that bathroom, unable to speak or move. You feel embarrassed for not standing up for yourself, blaming yourself instead of them and their hateful words.

Joel notices your faraway expression and rests his hand on your thigh in a way so Sarah can’t see. He rubs his thumb over your bare skin and it both calms and excites you, heat rushing to the apex of your legs.

You let out a small sigh and lean back into the chair, resting your hand on top of his. He has to rip his eyes off of you, willing himself to ignore your pleased exhales if he was going to drive properly.

He pulls the car into the driveway one-handed and comes to a stop, turning around to talk to Sarah, “Go grab your stuff, chick, and we’ll go to Kelsey’s.”

She nods and hops out, running towards the house.

Joel turns to you, hand still on your leg, clearly nervous, “Do you want... do you want to come inside? I have wine and some clothes you can put on, if you want something more comfortable.”

You search his set features for confirmation, “You sure? I can just walk next door to my house, I don’t wanna put you out-”

“Y/n...” he stops you. “You should know by now that if I say something I mean it, I promise you.”

You didn’t know if it was a good idea being with him alone like this, but you honestly didn’t want to be by yourself right now.

You relent with a nod, “Alright. You had your chance to change your mind,” you flash a sneaky smile.

The two of you step out of the car and head into his house. Sarah’s already tumbling down the stairs, changed into pajamas with a packed bag slung over her shoulder, “Ready to go when you are.”

“Damn, you got ready fast, kid,” he laughs despite himself. “Let’s go.”

Sarah runs up and hugs your side, “Bye, y/n!”

“Have fun with Kelsey, be safe, okay?” you squeeze her shoulder.

Joel whispers to you as they walk to the door, “There’s shirts upstairs and some shorts you can borrow. Make yourself at home, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile softly.

They head out and leave you alone in the dimly lit house. You exhale slowly and head up the stairs to go to his room. You look around at the messy bedroom, one king size bed with blue covers, and minimal decorations. It felt like him, smelled like him, cedar and oak and smoke. You open one of his drawers to grab one of his big tee shirts from work, and a pair of baggy gym shorts.

You slip out of your dress, let down your hair, and set your red shawl down on top of it. You tug on the big tee shirt and pull on the gym shorts. As much as you had liked that dress, you feel like you can finally breathe now, much more comfortable in your sleepwear now. The clothes smelled of him, too, and it filled your chest with heat, a red glow pouring out of you.

You’re in Joel Millers room... wearing his clothes.

You can’t help but look around at the photos of Sarah and him in framed photos, some hung on the wall and others propped up on his drawers. There’s one photo that catches your eye in particular, though, the side of it folded in and tucked into the frame. It’s Joel smiling down at Sarah, just a baby in his arms, and there’s a part of the photograph hidden. But you spot a glimpse of a yellow dress in the corner, the rest of it hidden away.

You wonder if it’s Sarah’s mom. You don’t know much about her, just that Sarah says she never got to know her, and hardly remembers anything about her. It broke your heart hearing that, wishing she could have, but also selfishly wanting to be that person for her.

“Found what you needed?”

You jump at Joel’s sudden presence in the room and turn around to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop, I-”

He smirks and it feels like a lit match to your insides, “I know, darlin. Nothing to be sorry about.”

His eyes trail over you in his clothes, your arms folded under your chest, “You look good in my clothes, sweetheart. Better than I do, that’s for sure.”

You smile, “Thank you. And thanks for letting me borrow them. I feel better.”

He pinches his brow together, “Do you want to talk to me more about what happened? We don’t have to, but just know I’m here.”

You take a step towards him, “I know, I just haven’t talked about him in a long time.”

“Him?” his eyebrows raise.

You laugh at his shock, moving past him so he follows you downstairs, “Down, boy. I’m single, wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I wasn’t.”

He blushes. “Well, then, what about him?” he trails behind you to his kitchen. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

You love his Texan drawl and voice a bit too much, how deep and molasses like it was, how it coated you in sweetness and didn’t let up. Maybe it was because you weren’t from here and you weren’t used to it. But his was different and it affected you all the same.

“I might tell you,” you hop up on the countertop. “Over a glass of wine.”

Joel cracks a smile, happily obliging your request with one of his wine bottles, “I can do that.”

He pours you a glass of red and hands it to you, “So... who’s Rick?” He sips his own.

“My um... my ex fiancee,” you say, taking a long sip of your wine. “It feels weird calling him that...” you let out a dark laugh. “-since the two of us never ended it ourselves, it sounds wrong. But he uh-” your voice gets thick. “He died the beginning of last year.”

His face falls, genuinely on your behalf, wanting to wrap you in his arms, but also wanting to let you continue, “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

You’ve heard that more times than you can count from friends, family, and strangers alike, but from him, it’s one of the most sincere you’ve ever heard. You actually believe he truly cares and you wonder why you didn’t tell him sooner, maybe worried you’d scare him off. You wanted a fresh start in a place where no one knew Rick, where no one knew what happened.

“Thank you,” you sniff, mustering up a small, grateful smile before you continue. “It was New Year’s Eve. I didn’t know he had been drinking... he really seemed fine,” you recount like it was just yesterday that it happened.

“He didn’t see the ice on the roads,” you take another long sip, hands shaking again. You clear your throat, “I tried to help him, I thought we would be fine. But there was a bridge... and we went off. He got me out,” you blink the tears away, breathing out the words as if expelling them from your person. Like you wouldn’t have to hold onto them anymore. “He didn’t.”

“I’m alive because of him,” you inhale sharply, finally looking at Joel. “And he’s dead because I didn’t notice...”

He frowns, “It is absolutely not your fault, y/n. It’s a horrible thing that happened and it is not because of you.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and it breaks Joel’s heart a bit more and more, “I haven’t thought about it in so long. And they brought him up in the bathroom. I don’t know how they found out, I haven’t told a soul here.”

Protectiveness slips into his deep tone of voice as he steps towards you, it sends a shock through you, “What did they say about him?”

You shake your head, letting out a laugh, “It’s not important.”

“It is absolutely fucking important,” his eyes darken when he speaks to you, you’d never seen him so worked up before. “I’ll go to the damn superintendent if I have to, they’re grown ass adults. They shouldn’t use the death of your fiancee against you.”

You can’t help but let a smile slip through, “It’s cute how mad you are about this.”

He scoffs, mirroring your amused expression, “Believe me, I’ve dealt with the wolves before. They ask you inappropriate questions and dig into your personal life, pushing your boundaries like it’s nothing. No one can have any secrets around here.”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “I noticed that.”

There’s a beat of silence before he sighs and says quietly between the two of you, “When they found out about Sarah’s mom leaving her when she was a baby, they brought it up to her at a school picnic. Made her feel small. She ran home, crying her eyes out. I’d never seen her so upset. I was scared what I would do. It broke me.”

You nod in understanding, “That’s awful, Joel. I’m sorry. For you and for Sarah.”

“The next time they brought it up, Sarah asked Bethany why she’d been divorced six times. You should have seen the look on her face,” he laughs and you join him, throwing your head back at the mental image of Bethany’s pinched, angry face.

“Oh my god, I love Sarah so much,” you let your head fall into your hands, still laughing loudly in the otherwise silent kitchen.

“I was very proud,” he grinned.

“I’d hope so,” you tilt your head slightly. “She gets it from you. I wonder how she got that information about Bethany.”

“Beats me,” he smirks and you narrow your eyes affectionately in his direction. “Smart kid, that one.”

The two of you let the moment sink in for a bit in the silence. Joel’s standing between your legs now, hands on either side of your thigh, steadying himself. He searches your face like he did at the start of the evening, fingers itching to touch you again.

“Should we...” you finally say, pulling you both back into reality. “Should we talk about the kiss back there?”

“What’s there to talk about about?”

You frown, filling with a sense of dread that you’ve misread this entire night, “What do you mean?”

He jumps to fix what he said, hands falling to splay out on your thighs, “No, baby, wait not like that-” he sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m out of practice with this, sweetheart-”

You press a kiss to his lips, causing him to abruptly cease his rambling. You tilt your head and pull away from hm after just a couple seconds. He leans against you even after you’re away from him, lips trying to follow you.

“I just meant...” you whisper with a small smile, looking up at him through your lashes. “Like what does this mean? Because I haven’t done something like this since Rick and I’m trying not to feel guilty...”

“Guilty bout what?”

“For moving on.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” he shakes his head, lowering his voice. “I understand if you’re not ready though. It took me awhile, to open again, I still haven’t completely... But I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. And I know I’ve never met Rick, but I believe he’d want you to be happy. With whoever, even if it’s not me.”

Your heart cracks open at the sweetness of his words, splitting you in two right in front of him. You know you shouldn’t feel bad, even if you’ve moved on from loving Rick, a part of you will always mourn and have a place in your heart for him. You needed to realize there was more than enough room to let other people in too.

Your eyes soften, “You’re more out of practice than I thought if you think I’ve moved on with anyone else but you, Joel Miller.”

His eyes darken with something like raw desire and complete adoration, something like love that you haven’t seen in a long, long time. You don’t know if he’s been looking at you like this all along and if you’ve just now begun to notice.

Joel leans down to whisper to you, hand on your neck, thumb tucked under chin and other fingers on the side of your throat, squeezing just so. You dreamed of this, thought if he would be rough or sweet, when he was really a stunning, swirling mix of both.

“You were so jealous earlier,” his voice is wrecked in your ear, low and gravelly. “I thought I was just imagining it at first, but talking about those moms that think of me, you got so red. It was so sexy, sweetheart.”

You gasp a little, wanting to deny it, tease him. But who were you both kidding? You were jealous, and now there’s a warm satisfaction in the center of your chest at the fact they were wrong. Singing insults, saying he wouldn’t want you. Now you’re in his kitchen in the middle of the night wearing his shirt and he’s in between your legs, pressing against you.

“They said I didn’t have a chance with you,” you tangle you hands in his shirt, tugging him closer.

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving you, “I’m only yours, baby. Always have been.”

You all but pounce on him in that moment, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. He laughs just before you softly press your lips against his, the rumbling, beautiful sound vibrating against you. You’re tugging at each other almost immediately, his hands pulling and sliding up and down your waist while your arms wrap around his head. You fingers slide through his brunette curls, pleasantly humming at the satisfaction of knowing his hair is just as soft as you imagined, how even his rough hands feel gentle, and how his lips move with yours, slowly, languidly, painfully.

“You’re beautiful...” he kisses the words into your neck, repeating it over and over. “My beautiful, beautiful, girl.”

“Joel...” you sigh out and tilt your head back.

“Puts your arms around my neck, baby,” he whispers, arms pulling your legs up so they wrap around his torso. “What I want to do to you won’t work exactly on my kitchen counter.”

You quickly oblige him and he carries you up his stairs, your hands and lips never leaving each others. He stumbles while holding you, making you giggle into his shoulder, shrieking when he almost drops you.

“Was this the kind of lifting you had in mind with me tonight?” you smile softly into his skin.

He kicks open his bedroom door, “I’ve always had this in my mind, sweetheart.”

You both drop onto the bed, wanting to take this slow but also get to what you’ve both been wanting as soon as possible. He’s atop you, hands on either side of your head while you kiss like college students, handsy and messy and surprisingly amazing. How fast you two fit together, how good it feels. He grinds his lower half into yours. You moan into his mouth, earning one from him, both enjoying and exploring the other.

“I wanna taste you, sugar,” he lifts your chin up with his fingers, kissing down your chin then your neck then your collarbone and chest.

You wordlessly slip off your, his, shirt revealing that you have nothing on beneath it. He inhales sharply, taken aback by you. Your fingers scramble for the buttons of his flannel and you honestly think you break a few, moving so quickly.

“Impatient, are we?”

You look up at him through your lashes, “Just know what I want.”

Joel shrugs off his shirt, undoes his belt, and pulls off his jeans. You barely have time to admire his toned body, broad shoulders before he descends. He tugs off your, his, shorts, tosses them, and kisses everywhere his fingers leave, wet, open mouthed whispers against hot skin that make moisture pool between your thighs. His lips trail from your belly to your inner thighs and back up again.

“Nothing underneath?” he kisses the soft flesh, noting the slick at the apex of your legs. “This all for me, darlin?”

You nod when he licks a stripe up your cunt, “Only you, Joel.”

He buries his face in you, eating you out like a man starved, rutting against the bed like he’s enjoying it as much as you are. You all but scream at the way he’s unraveling you with his tongue, circling your clit, accompanying his skilled mouth with his equally capable fingers, bigger than yours

When you tug at the ends of his hair, he groans into you, the noises fueling the coil in your gut, begging it to splinter and snap. He sucks hard and you let out a loud moan at the feeling. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. Joel’s tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks.

Your orgasm washes over you, the pressure relieving through every nerve and vessel, his name a prayer leaving you over and over. Wishing for him to come fix you again.

You pull him up to you and bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places while you taste yourself in his kiss.

“Can I...?” you ask him, hands slipping down to palm him through his boxers.

He groans, head falling into the crook that meets between your neck and shoulder, “As much as I would enjoy that, baby... we’re gonna need to do that later. Need to be inside you.”

You look at him for a moment, just breathing him in as cheesy as it sounds. It’s only hit you now how much you’ve been longing for this.

“You have all of me,” you tell him, moonlight sculpting his handsome features.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that, y/n...” your name is blanketed by his voice, delivered to you in the way Zeus gives the world lightning. Simple bursts of electricity that can tear the earth.

You hold his stubbled jaw in your hands, rubbing his cheek with your thumbs. He doesn’t remember a time anyone has ever looked at him like you do, gently, adoringly, openly.

Joel puts his lips near your ear, kissing your temple, “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

Your hair is in messy tendrils in every which way and you’ve never been more breathtaking to him. The color of your eyes brighter, skin flushed with warmth, and lips puffy. His eyes scan over your face, committing your soft and sharp features alike to memory. Lust blown and glowing with dewy sweat.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he holds your jaw in his hand, kissing you again.

He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises in your ear, littering kisses across your jaw. “Wanted you for so long...” he find your lips again with his own.

You mewl into his lips, licking his tongue as he pushes inside you again and again and again.

This past year of stolen glances and touches seem so pointless when it could have been this, this beautiful mess of limbs and lips and tongue. You never knew euphoria until this moment.

Joel’s hips begin to stutter and you’re both already close to release. You lick up his throat and kiss a constellation across his jaw, feeling him gulp under your touch.

“Keep kissing me like that, sugar, and I’m done for.”

You can’t help yourself, overwhelmed with feeling as the two of you reach your climax together. Blissful and stupid. His lips wander down your neck and nipping that sweet spot, as you arch into him.

As you both lay there, chests heaving slips parted, he smiles down at you.

You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, continuing on in euphoric waves, leaving you aching and wanting more. He kisses you through it and it aches, all of the love you have pouring into him and him into you.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal joel miller #fanfiction #smut #bella ramsey #ellie the last of us #ellie

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haveihitanerve · 4 months ago

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Oliver Queen was quite certain he was going to die. He had been holding in a laugh for the past ten minutes, which was dangerous under any circumstances, and downright fatal if it was an explosive, loud and hearty laugh, which this one was. Especially considering that no one else seemed to be as tickled as he was, and if he did laugh, he would be laughing at the Batman. The thing was, that Batman had brought his own coffee mug and thermos to the Watchtower (because apparently their coffee wasn't good enough, or something, as batman hadn't exactly offered an explanation) and both had phrases on them that would be amusing belonging to anyone, and were downright hilarious due to the fact that they belonged to Batman. The thermos said “I’m not saying I’m Batman, I’m just saying you’ll never see me and Batman in the same room together” which, sadly, no one else seemed to have even looked twice at, and his mug, which had a large black bat on it, which said “We’re a Batty little family”. Both items were very much not helping Oliver to win his fight with his mirth, when Batman caught his eye. “Oh shit.” he muttered when the Bat began to move towards him. Well, he was bound to die anyway. “Nice mug.” Oliver greeted the second Batman got close. To his surprise, Batmans lips twitched upward. “Thank you. My children got it for me. I’m surprised you're the first to mention it.” Oliver looked at him in surprise. “Oh my freaking gods.” Batman, the Batman, wanted people to comment on his mug. He was proud of it. Oliver finally released his cackle, and Batmans smile grew marginally in delight. “Oh man that is priceless.” Oliver chuckled when he had finally gotten himself under control. “But hey, kids are like that. I mean, mine got me a shirt with two arrows pointing up, with a bow that was sideways beneath it to make a simile face.” Oliver sketched on his own shirt with his finger to display the image. Batman chuckled lightly. “Thats… quite funny.” “Yeah.” Oliver agreed, thinking back with a smile how often he wore it, and Roy’s delight every time. “My kids,” Batman added, drawing Oliver out of his thoughts. “Got me a tie that says, uh, “Worlds Best Dad In Gotham. Which… o-k i guess..” Oliver stared at him agape before absolutely losing it at the tone with which Batman had quoted his tie. “That is… brilliant.” Oliver wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow.” Oliver smiled with relish. “I love that.” Batman smiled back. “I do too.” “Uh, green arrow? Whats so funny?” Green Lantern called over. “Oh nothing, nothing.” Oliver called back. “Just some uh.. Dad jokes.” Hal made a noise of confusion, but Batman chuckled lightly. “Dad jokes?” Green Lantern asked, utterly befuddled. Batman and Green Arrow grinned at each other.

Oliver Queen was quite certain he was going to die. He had a meeting in Gotham today, which was always long and boring, especially since he usually only dealt with the lower members of Wayne Enterprises. Not that he had anything against status, not really, it was only that they were always such a drag, and it was clear they wanted a higher lifestyle. But, to his surprise, when Oliver walked into the meeting room, the CEO of WE was actually present, sitting at the head of the table in deep discussion with a man Oliver vaguely remembered was named something Fox. Lucy? “Ah, Ollie, so good of you to meet with us!” Boomed a voice and Oliver turned in surprise to see Bruce Wayne. “Bruce? Hey man! I didn't know you’d be here!” Oliver grinned in surprised delight, offering the other man a quick hug. Bruce shrugged, sipping some coffee. “I’m just here as a chauffeur. I’m taking Timmy out after this, but I’ll be a part of the meeting if you want some decent conversation.” He winked and Oliver laughed. “Not that my son isn't a good conversationalist.” He added. Oliver waved a hand, moving to his seat and offering the kid a quick smile. Tim glanced over, offering a wave before returning to his heated debate. “Naw I know he is. Wasn't expecting you guys to be here. Glad you are though.” Oliver sighed in relief. Bruce hummed in acknowledgement, taking a seat next to him. “Well I’m glad to see you too Ollie, theres, actually something I want to tell you.” At that, his son finally looked over for more than a second, something gleaming in his eyes. “Oh?” Oliver asked intrigued, leaning forward. That was when he saw it. Tucked just barely beneath the lapel of Bruces suit jacket…. A tie. A tie that said “Worlds Best Dad in Gotham. Which… O-k I guess..” Oliver sat back like electrocuted. Bruce and Tim watched him carefully, and Fox gave a very good impression of looking out the window. “You- uh- you're.” Oliver cleared his throat and Bruce leaned in intently. “Yes?” “Your tie.” Oliver blurted. “Its… nice. My friend has one too.” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Does he?” He lifted his mug, which had a large black bat on it, and sipped. Oliver swallowed. “W-why me? Why now?” Bruce shrugged, glancing over at his son who was now also doing a very good job of admiring the ceiling tiles. “Because I trust you. And because I need a good friend.” Oliver smiled weakly. “Well, you already had that in Brucie.” Bruce smiled softly. “I know. But friendship requires trust. And Batman needs all the friends he can get.” Oliver chuckle lightly. “So… Dad jokes was the way to go huh?” Bruce smiled, pleased, leaning back. “Yep. Dad jokes.” Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen grinned at each other.

#i needed some ollie bruce friendship #hopefully you do too #so here you go #batman #batfam #yes the kids kinda made him do it #“i want uncle Ollie back!!!”#-dick #besties #bruce wayne #oliver queen #you have no idea how many times i acidentally wrote Wood instead of queen

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coffeeshades · 2 months ago

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART X

—lay all your love on me

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). lots of smut, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

February 25, 2023

London, England

London felt different this time. The city hummed with its usual, muted energy—the overcast sky casting everything in a soft, diffuse light—but for you and Pedro, it was like being in your own world, hidden in plain sight. The press tour for The Mandalorian had begun, but this time things had shifted. You were together now, and the stolen glances, soft touches, and subtle smiles painted your days in colors no one else could see.

Five days of interviews and cameras, but you didn’t waste a minute when you were alone. London became your playground, with dinners tucked away in quiet corners and late-night walks along the Thames. Photos of the two of you surfaced online, of course—your laughter caught mid-frame as you leaned into him outside a restaurant, Pedro’s arm draped casually over your shoulders—but to the world, you were still just friends.

There was an unspoken ease, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before. It was in the way Pedro’s hand would brush against yours when no one was looking and how you’d catch him staring at you with that quiet, knowing smile that made your heart do somersaults.

One interviewer joked about Pedro’s tendency to play father figures on screen. "It’s funny," they said, "you keep playing these fatherly roles. What’s the draw?"

Pedro chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glancing at you before answering. He wasn’t just answering the question—he was letting everyone into his head, just for a moment. "I like the idea of it," he said, his voice mellow and thoughtful. "Being able to imagine that responsibility, that kind of love. It’s... comforting."

You nudged him playfully, lighting up the moment with a grin. "Comforting, huh?" you teased, leaning in. "You’re really gunning for that ‘World’s Coolest Dad’ mug, aren’t ya?"

He chuckled again, the sound low and amused. "Oh, absolutely," he replied, mock serious. "But, let’s be real—I’m already cool dad material. Look at me." He spread his arms like he was showing off some award-worthy masterpiece.

You shifted on your seat, eyebrow raised, and whispered, “Honey, they want you to be the daddy, not the dad.”

Pedro froze for a split second before bursting into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, still laughing. "I’m multi-talented, I can be both."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you the mug.”

The room erupted in laughter, and the easy banter between you two was back, but there was a difference now. Every joke, every shared smile held a layer of intimacy that no one else could decipher.

March 14, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

The night was electric, as it always was, a celebration of film and glamour.

Pedro looked gorgeous in his black Zegna suit, the sharp lines contrasting with the softness of his hair, longer than usual, curling slightly at his collar. His face lit up in that way you loved, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled. You, too, had dressed for the occasion in a stunning black Oscar de la Renta gown, the fabric hugging your body like a second skin. But it wasn’t the dress or the cameras that made you feel beautiful—it was the way Pedro looked at you from across the room. He looks at you, not at anyone else. It feels very nice when he looks at you. It's grounding.

You arrived separately. The decision had been mutual—to keep your relationship private for just a little longer. Inside the Dolby Theatre, you texted each other relentlessly, your phone lighting up every few minutes.

Pedro: You look unreal.

You glanced across the room and spotted him, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room worth watching.

You: Have you seen yourself? Ridiculous.

You watched him bite back a smile. You knew what he was thinking, that playful look he got when he was trying to be serious but couldn't quite manage it around you.

Pedro: Wanna trade seats?

You glanced over at your seating arrangements, aware that the cameras were everywhere. It was almost torturous not to be able to sit next to him, to lean into his side and steal private moments.

You: Don’t tempt me.

He raised an eyebrow from across the room, his smile lazy but full of warmth. You could practically hear him saying, "Try me," without even needing the words.

At one point, your phone buzzed again.

Pedro: I think the guy next to me just tried to flirt with me.

You: Well, tell him he’s got competition.

Pedro: Should I let him down easy?

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head and glancing toward the stage.

You: Maybe let him sweat it out first.

The night wore on, and he presented an award with Lizzie Olsen, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him—his smile, the way he owned the stage with that effortless charm. Every now and then, you’d steal moments—walking to each other’s seats under the guise of casual conversation—but there was thrill in the secrecy. It was fun, this private world you shared, just for the two of you.

Later, during one of the commercial breaks, the both of you managed to slip away backstage, away from the sea of people. The hustle and bustle of the theater seemed to fade as you both found a semi-dark corner. The dim light cast shadows on the walls, but all you could see was him—the soft smile on his lips, the playful glint in his eyes.

Pedro wasted no time. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until there was barely any space between you. His scent, familiar and warm, wrapped around you as he leaned down, stealing a kiss from your lips. It was quick but full of tenderness, his lips brushing against yours as if he couldn’t help himself.

You laughed softly, half-heartedly trying to push him away, knowing you had only a few minutes before you’d be called on stage to present the next award. “Pedro, stop,” you whispered, your hands gently resting on his chest. “We only have a few minutes, and I have to go soon. They’ll call me any second.”

But he wasn’t deterred. His lips found yours again, a bit more insistent this time, kissing you deeply before pulling back just enough to breathe. “A few minutes of you,” he said in a low, almost reverent voice, “would be enough to keep me going for years.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, the world outside your little bubble disappearing as his thumb grazed your cheek. You tilted your head up, your lips brushing his once more, a tender kiss that lingered just long enough to make you want more. His hand rested on the small of your back, the heat of his touch soothing you in the moment.

“You’re making this really hard, you know?” you teased softly, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as his forehead rested against yours. “Good,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips. “Let them call you. I’m not letting you go until the last second.”

You smiled, leaning into him, allowing yourself just a few more stolen seconds. His lips found your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, as if trying to memorize the feel of you before the moment passed. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of him, the safety of his arms around you.

Then, reluctantly, you heard the distant call of your name from the stage manager. Pedro sighed, his hand slowly sliding away from your waist. “My time's up.”

You looked up at him, a dangerous grin spreading across your face. “Don’t worry,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll get to have me for the rest of the night.”

March 31, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

By the time the PaleyFest rolled around, Pedro was already feeling the weight of keeping everything hidden. He wasn’t a man who liked to keep secrets—especially not something as big as you. You sat so close to him, so near yet so far, and it took everything in him not to reach out and show the world how much he loved you. Instead, he found himself compensating, channeling his feelings into every casual touch, every stolen glance that was meant for only you.

He showed up that night in a brown and beige cardigan, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, paired with green pants and black Chelsea boots. You had told him once how much you liked them. His scruff had grown fuller, darker, and he knew you liked it like that. It drove him crazy when your fingers brushed against it, soft touches that sent flames all the way to his chest.

The night had gone by swiftly enough. Interviews, panels, the usual public-facing routine. Yet, every moment felt charged with the knowledge that you were there, just inches away. You were sitting beside him during the Q&A session, your knees touching. His hand would occasionally ghost over yours, brushing against your fingers, almost accidentally—except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was an accident. You were deliberate in everything you did, in the way you turned toward him, your laughter soft and quiet as if sharing a secret only he could understand.

It was maddening. Pedro was a good actor, but this was real life, and it was becoming harder to play the part of just colleagues, just friends. Every time you touched him, even in the smallest ways, he was reminded of how badly he wanted to kiss you right then and there. He had to keep his cool, though—keep things professional. But it was becoming impossible. You made it impossible.

The way you spoke during the panel, your voice warm and confident, filled with that easy charm that came so naturally to you—he was falling apart inside. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Every word out of your mouth felt like a temptation. Every soft glance in his direction was a tug on the string that bound his heart to yours.

God, you’re too much to be denied, he thought, his mind drifting as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He wanted to kiss you. Right there, in front of everyone. To hell with the secrecy. The privacy you two had was a blessing and a curse. It made loving you easier in some ways—no eyes watching, no prying questions. But it also made it sad, frustrating. All these private moments that he clung to—your stolen touches, your quiet words of affection—were everything to him. But there was a part of him that wanted more.

He sometimes forgot that you were supposed to be keeping things quiet. It just felt so natural to be near you, to let his hand graze yours, or to press his knee against yours while answering a question. Nobody saw a thing—or if they did, nobody said anything. It was amazing how invisible these touches of heaven were to everyone else, how easily they slipped under the radar.

As the panel went on, Pedro found himself drifting. His mind wasn’t in the questions or the answers—it was in the curve of your lips, the sound of your laughter, the way your leg brushed against his every time you shifted in your seat. You made it so easy to fall in love with you. Too easy.

When you turned to him, your eyes meeting his for just a split second longer than necessary, his mouth went dry. That quiet connection was enough to make him feel like he was losing his grip. He shifted in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to focus on the discussion at hand but finding it increasingly difficult with his pants growing tighter by the second.

He needed to have you.

Later, when the two of you made it back to the hotel, Pedro could barely keep himself together. The second the door clicked shut behind you, something in him snapped. He’d been holding back all night.

As soon as the door closed, his hands were on you—rough, needy, pulling you close like he’d been starving for you. Like a dog let off his leash. His fingers pressed into your hips, firm and demanding, and his mouth was on yours before you had time to take a breath. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw, desperate. Slow, deep kisses like he’d been holding his breath the entire night, waiting for this moment when he could finally let it all out.

You barely made it to the couch before things escalated. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, his fingers slipping beneath your clothes, touching every inch of your skin like he needed it. Like he’d been deprived of you for days, even though it had only been hours since his hand had last grazed yours. His thumb brushed over your nipple through your shirt, and you gasped into his mouth, pushing your hips forward to meet his.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raspy, full of heat. It wasn’t a question. It was a realization that had his cock straining painfully against his pants, desperate to feel you.

His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against you through the fabric, and you moaned softly, your head falling back against the couch as he worked you open. Slick and warm, your body responded to him like it always did—eagerly, hungrily. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed a line up your throat, whispering things only you were meant to hear.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he groaned, grinding his hips into the cushions beneath you. His cock was rock hard, desperate for any kind of friction, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Not until he had you moaning his name like no one else could. “I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you like this…desperate for me.”

His fingers moved inside you with a kind of expertise that left you breathless, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to have you arching your back, gripping his arms for stability. He hopes you feel his frustration—his need to release everything he couldn’t show in public, the need to pour every unsaid word into this moment. He kissed you harder, devouring you, his body pressing you deeper into the couch as he gave in to the desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You clung to him, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your fingers curling in his hair as he fucked you with his hand, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth was close to your ear, his words a hot, breathy confession. “I can’t stand it sometimes… being near you and not being able to touch you the way I want.”

You moaned. The sound—so deliciously wanton—spurred him on, his movements becoming more urgent and intense.

Pedro groaned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and his beard scratching your skin as he thrust his fingers deeper. “I’m always desperate to make you feel good,” he murmured, his breath hitching with the intensity of it. He was grinding his cock into the couch, trying to find some kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Please, more,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body tightening with the anticipation of release. Pedro could feel it, could hear it in the way your breath hitched, the way your hips moved against his hand.

Just when you were about to fall apart, his mouth was on yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, swallowing your moans as you came undone beneath him. Your body trembled in his arms, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

You were still coming down when he finally lifted you into his lap, pressing you against him, his cock straining beneath you. He knew you could feel it. He knew you wanted it just as badly as he did.

But then came the frustration, the gnawing ache. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it as he kissed you softer this time, a contrast to the earlier desperation. “I think about kissing you so much,” he admitted, his voice low and husky as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Good thing you get to do it whenever you want now.”

Pedro’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Well, not whenever I want,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hoarse, before he found your mouth again. His lips trailed along your jaw, slowly, torturously, until they grazed the corner of your mouth.

You laughed softly, the tension in the room shifting with your teasing tone. “Blessed be this tired conversation,” you murmured, your words brushing against his lips. “We agreed we’d wait, baby. It’s better this way.”

His forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as his fingers trailed down the side of your face. His eyes, heavy with love and frustration, bore into yours. “But I don’t want to anymore,” he confessed, his voice raw with need. His fingertips trailed down the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone, committing each detail of your skin to memory like it might be the last time he’d get to touch you like this.

You grinned, teasing him with that wicked smile of yours that made him feel both alive and tormented. “You could fuck me on the seven o’clock news, and they’d just say I was desperate for attention,” you said, laughing at your own joke. But Pedro couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his hand cupped your face with a tenderness that made him ache. “We’ll face it together,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice a promise. "Whatever they throw at us."

He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but he knew that he was ready to take on whatever came next—so long as it meant he didn’t have to keep hiding you. Hiding us.

Before the moment could spiral into something heavier, before his thoughts took him down that path, Pedro kissed you again. Slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was trying to communicate with his lips what he couldn’t with words.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Your breath was hot against his mouth as you spoke between kisses. “I know it’s frustrating, but we have this, Pedro. We have us.”

The words cut through the noise in his head, grounding him. He groaned softly, his hands slipping lower, his grip tightening as if you might disappear. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said again, the need in his voice raw, his body already pressing closer to yours. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

He saw something flash in your eyes—desire, affection, understanding. “Then don’t,” you said, voice firm with want. A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “Now shut up and fuck me, lover boy.”

He smiled, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands moved quickly, fingers pulling at your clothes in a frenzy, his breath coming faster as he discarded his own. The second your bare skin pressed against his, Pedro felt like he was drowning in the sensation of you. He’d wanted this—needed this—all day, maybe longer.

You sank down onto him slowly, and Pedro groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he felt you take him in. The heat of you, the slickness, made him curse under his breath. The stretch of you around him, the way you clenched at every inch, drove him wild.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with arousal. He could barely keep his thoughts straight; the sensation of being inside you was enough to make him lose his mind. The way you gasped, the way your body tightened around him, made him dizzy with want.

His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he slurred a curse, his body moving in sync with yours. You didn’t start slow. Neither of you had the patience for it. Your hips rolled against his with a roughness that made his cock throb inside you, and Pedro couldn’t hold back the way he groaned into your neck, his hands digging into your waist, guiding you harder, faster.

Each thrust felt like a confession, like he was pouring all the things he hadn't been able to say for months into the movement of your bodies.

Your mouth found his ear, and through the gasps and the heat, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words broke something inside him. Pedro’s hips stuttered, his body jerking as he pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck. His lips hovered near your ear, and he whispered back, voice trembling, “I know, baby.”

You moved faster, grinding down on him, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the room, and Pedro thought he might lose it. The way you felt—the way you looked—was too much, too perfect. He was on the verge, teetering at the edge, and he didn’t want it to end.

Not yet.

But your body tightened around him, and he felt you shudder as you came, the sound of your breathless cry sending him over the edge. Pedro groaned, his hips jerking hard as he came inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as his release hit him like a wave, leaving him breathless and shaking.

You pressed a soft kiss to his freckled shoulder, your voice light. “So… still frustrated?”

Pedro chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Not right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but give me ten minutes, and I’ll probably be ready to go again.”

Your laughter filled the room, and for the first time all night, everything felt right.

Everything felt perfect.

•••

Several weeks had passed, and with them, the world had changed in quiet, insidious ways. Paparazzi photos had surfaced, capturing stolen moments and raising questions. The speculation had simmered, threatening to boil over. But this morning, when you woke up to the persistent buzz of your phone, the weight of those weeks hadn’t fully sunk in.

Your hand lazily reaches for his side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Still half asleep, you reached out for your phone, the screen blinding in the dim light of your room. As your eyes adjusted, you saw the thousands of messages, and a particular notification popped up—an Instagram post from Pedro. You blinked, and then opened it.

There they were, pictures of you, ones you hadn’t even realized he’d taken.

The first image was from one of your walks in London. You were bundled up in a thick scarf and coat, the fog of your breath visible in the cool air. Your hair was slightly tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, and though you weren’t looking at the camera, you were looking at him, your smile soft, eyes alight with an easy, unguarded happiness. There was something about the way you looked at him in that picture—it was a look only he ever got to see.

Another photo showed you in a fit of laughter, your head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut, one hand covering your face as if trying to stifle the sound. It was blurry, like he’d caught you mid-movement, mid-moment. Completely unposed, completely you.

The next was a close-up, your hand stretched out toward him, your face only partially visible in the background, eyes shining, lips curved in a grin. You’d been reaching for his phone that day, playfully trying to snatch it from him, teasing him about taking too many pictures.

And then, a quieter one—an intimate photo of you curled up beside him on a couch, a book in hand, legs tucked beneath you. Your hair was untidy, and you weren’t paying attention to the world around you, just lost in your thoughts. The soft golden light of late afternoon bathed the room, and the moment felt like a secret—yours and his alone.

But what caught you wasn’t just the photos. It was the caption, simple yet profound in its clarity:

"Happy birthday to my best friend, the love of my life, my adventure partner, and my girl."

The internet exploded, notifications from friends, fans, your team, all lighting up your phone. Messages poured in—questions, congratulations, shock. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the truth in Pedro’s words, as clear as the morning light filtering through your window. No more hiding, no more stolen glances or shadows in the background. Just this—a love that had been quietly building, finally stepping into the open.

May 6, 2023

New York, NY

The night of the Met Gala buzzed with energy, a heady mix of anticipation swirling in the air. You both got ready in separate hotel rooms, allowing your respective teams the space to work their magic. The atmosphere was electric, the evening monumental—not just for the fashion, but for what it symbolized: your first public event as a couple. You had spent hours getting ready, your heart racing for reasons beyond the red carpet.

When you finally laid eyes on Pedro in his Valentino ensemble, time seemed to slow. He stood in the doorway, resplendent in a long crimson coat that swirled dramatically as he moved, paired with tailored shorts and sleek black boots. The boldness of the look, the way it fit him so perfectly, stole your breath.

"Oh my God," you whispered, unable to stop your jaw from dropping. There was something about seeing him like this—bold, confident, unapologetically himself—that sent a rush of heat through you.

Pedro, amused by your reaction, raised an eyebrow. “I know,” he said, smirking slightly, clearly aware of the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t help yourself, a cheeky grin curling on your lips. “May I say, as the kids say, that you are serving cunt?”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the hallway and bouncing off the walls, a deep, genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat. As he stepped closer, his eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of your body wrapped in the immaculate white Versace gown. The gown hugged your body perfectly, each intricate detail catching the light as you moved.

"Well," he said, still chuckling, his voice dipping as his gaze softened, "you're making it very hard to concentrate on anything else."

The cameras flashed endlessly as you stepped onto the carpet together, arms intertwined, your bodies pressed close as if the entire world didn’t matter. For the first time, there was no hiding, no second-guessing. Your love was out there, on display for everyone to see, the vulnerability of it both thrilling and terrifying. Every step you took together felt like a declaration.

Inside the venue, the evening flowed. The opulent setting melted into the background as you moved through the crowd, hand in hand. There were moments where Pedro would pull you in close, whispering jokes or sweet nothings in your ear, and you'd catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. You danced together several times, his hands resting on your waist, the weight of his touch grounding you in a night that felt like a dream.

The chaos of the night faded away as soon as you were alone, the two of you slipping out of your clothes. The city outside was alive, its lights casting a soft, romantic glow over the bed as you lay together, skin on skin. Pedro moved above you, his hands tracing gentle paths down your body, every touch filled with reverence.

His lips followed the same trail, soft and deliberate, until he kissed you, slow and tender, his body sinking into yours with a quiet intensity. The urgency of earlier was gone, replaced with something deeper, something that spoke of love and forever. His movements were languid, like you had all the time in the world, and maybe you did.

•••

Pedro had been cast in Gladiator 2 and left for Morocco in June to start filming. The distance was both expected and dreaded, the time apart a necessary evil in your world. But then he was gone, and you missed him every day. You flew out to see him twice, visiting the set with a thrill in your chest, knowing that you were entering his world, one where he wore armor and swords and commanded a screen.

The second time you visited, you stayed in a quaint residence near the edge of the city. The night air in Morocco was warm and fragrant. Lying on the bed, a soft breeze ruffling the curtains, you watched Pedro kick off his boots, shedding the intensity of the day's filming as his grin softened in your direction.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still rough from the day's work.

You rose, crossing the room to slip into his arms, pressing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, pulling you into him. You sighed into the space between his collarbones, feeling utterly content in his embrace.

“You know, it never gets old—seeing you in costume,” you teased, peering up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. “If I knew you had a thing for gladiators, I would’ve done this sooner.”

You slapped his chest lightly, earning another laugh. “I don’t. Just you.”

•••

When July came, the vast ocean between you dissolved, replaced by the steady beat of his heart as Pedro flew from Morocco. The journey had been long, the hours heavy, but the moment he stepped onto the red carpet in Los Angeles and saw you, standing tall in your black dress, framed against the shimmer of camera flashes, his weariness evaporated. The world could have spun around you, but all that existed for him was you—radiant, poised, and undeniably powerful.

His eyes never left you, and as the evening wore on, he finally drew close, his presence a gentle comfort in the midst of the chaotic premiere. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, each word carrying a tenderness that only you could feel.

Without hesitation, you leaned back into him, your body instinctively finding its place against his. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter, grounding you amidst the sparkle of the night. “Thank you for being here,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, meant only for him. It was a moment suspended in time, the noise fading as his warmth enveloped you.

In his arms, you weren’t the glamorous you, the center of attention. You were just you, and he was simply Pedro—the man who had flown across continents just to be by your side for the night. His pride in you radiated through every gentle touch, every lingering glance, and in those precious moments, you felt it deeply.

There was no performance here, no expectations. You didn’t have to try; you didn’t have to prove anything. With him, you were never too much or not enough. You were loved—completely and without condition.

•••

The SAG-AFTRA strike gave you both a break you hadn’t anticipated, but it was exactly what you needed. For the first time in ages, there were no press tours, no filming schedules, no red carpets to think about—just you and Pedro in the brownstone you'd bought together in New York.

The place was still in disarray, a maze of half-unpacked boxes, paint swatches taped to walls, and mismatched furniture that had yet to find its place. But it was yours. It was home.

Most days were spent amidst the chaos, trying to bring some sense of order to the space. You’d argue, though never seriously, about where to hang a certain painting, or which color should blanket the living room walls. Pedro had been adamant about a soft olive green, his voice confident as he gestured to the swatch. You’d rolled your eyes, but eventually relented, knowing full well he’d win you over. The walls gradually filled with memories—framed photos of your shared adventures, artwork picked up during travels, and books, some stacked haphazardly, others lovingly arranged by Pedro himself.

One rainy Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing Pedro’s emotional support Lakers shirt, the yellow one, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin. Pedro lay with his head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his dark curls. His eyes softened as he looked up at you, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, those crinkling lines at the corners that always made your heart flutter.

"Keep it until I come back," he had said, handing you the shirt the night before he left for Morocco. You’d kept it, of course, holding onto that part of him while he was gone, as if the shirt itself carried a trace of his warmth, his presence. Somehow, Pedro’s t-shirts always felt softer than yours, even though they were washed in the same generic detergent.

When he finally returned, seeing him at the door was enough to make your pulse quicken. You stood there, in his Lakers shirt, grinning at him in the way that only he could inspire. His eyes darkened when he noticed, a low sound escaping his throat. He didn’t even bother to hide the desire that bloomed so quickly between you, his fingers already tugging at the hem of the shirt before you even had the chance to say anything.

That night, he made love to you with the shirt still on, pushing the fabric higher as his hands skimmed the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers knew exactly how to touch you, how to unlock the deepest parts of you before you even knew what was happening. Pedro always wanted your company in such a frank, straightforward way, his need so clear and open that you found yourself giving in to him completely, surrendering to his hands and his mouth before you even realized what you were doing.

As his lips pressed against the curve of your throat, trailing kisses down your neck, he murmured softly, “Missed you so much, mi amor,” his words brushing against your skin as his hand curled tenderly against your ear, thumb tracing the delicate curve. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the tiny bullseye doodle inked on the back of his left hand, just between his thumb and index finger.

The days unfolded like that—long stretches of time where the outside world felt far away. You’d lounge in the living room, watching movies. Or dancing to Prince songs in the kitchen while cooking together.

•••

The strike went on longer than expected, giving him something he hadn’t had in ages—time. Time to breathe, to be with you without the constant pull of deadlines, flights, or set schedules.

When the idea of escaping to Europe surfaced, it felt like fate. He craved your company in ways he hadn’t realized until the possibility of uninterrupted days became real. And so, flights were booked, suitcases stuffed, and you ran away together.

Paris was the first stop. Cobblestone streets and the smell of fresh bread lingered in the air as you wandered hand-in-hand along the Seine. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You were his favorite sight in the city.

One evening, the sky was tinted rosy, as if it, too, was in love, bathing the city in a soft, ethereal glow. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, as you stood by the water, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background.

“We needed this,” you murmured, voice as soft as the setting sun.

“Yeah, we did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The simplicity of the moment made his heart swell. Here, in Paris, everything slowed down, and they had time—time to love without distraction.

•••

Mallorca had a way of making everything slow down. It was the kind of place that made Pedro feel young again. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sky stretched out, impossibly blue, matching the water that shimmered below.

When you arrived at the hotel, the exhaustion from travel and the constant rush of life evaporated as soon as his hands found you.

He couldn't wait any longer, his hands reaching for you the moment you crossed the threshold into your room. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressing urgently against yours as he murmured, "Take this off, quick," between heated kisses. You giggled, that soft, breathy sound that always made his heart skip, but the look in your eyes was anything but playful.

The two of you had tumbled into bed, a mess of limbs and laughter, desire taking over. You were on top of him, moving slow and deliberate, the way he liked it. Your skin glistened with sweat, the heat of the room wrapping around your bodies, and he couldn’t think of anything except how much he needed you in that moment. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was branding him, marking him as yours. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves he knew so well, and still, every time felt like the first.

When it was over, you both lay tangled together, the scent of your exertion heavy in the air. He could feel your breath on his neck, the warmth of your skin against his. For a long while, neither of you moved, content to just exist in that perfect silence, the summer heat pressing against the windows as the world outside slowed to a standstill. You didn’t know how easily you had marked him, how deeply you had sunk your teeth into his flesh.

Hours later, he woke to find you still draped over him, your head resting on his chest, your fingers splayed over his stomach. His heart ached in the best way—this was what it meant to be yours. Every part of him, from the way he loved you to the way his mind quieted when you were near, belonged to you.

The next morning, you were sitting by the water, perched on the smooth rocks that lined the shore. The water was clear as day, a sparkling, crystal blue that seemed to go on endlessly. You were wearing that purple swimsuit he loved so much. It made his pulse quicken every time he saw you in it.

You were eating fruit—mangos and berries, the sweetness lingering on his lips as you both played cards; the deck spread out between you. Pedro loved these simple moments. The sunlight reflected off the water, casting a coppery glow over everything, and he couldn’t help but stare at you as you talked, your wet hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes bright and happy.

“You’re cheating,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you set your cards down, suspicious.

He grinned, pretending to be offended.

“Cheating? Me? I would never.”

“You totally are,” you insisted, reaching across to poke his chest. “I know that look. You’ve got something.”

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over you. “I’m not cheating, cariño. I’m just better at this game than you.”

“Liar.”

It was easy between you, the banter flowing naturally as you both basked in the warmth of the sun. There was a lightness to being here, a sense of freedom that neither of you could ignore.

Everything felt right—perfect, even.

A few minutes later, you stretched lazily, setting your cards aside as you glanced toward the water. “Wanna take a swim, old man?” you teased, your eyes sparkling. “I’m hot.”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart racing just a little faster at the sight of you.

God, you were beautiful.

"Yes."

You stood, offering him your hand, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet with a grin. “Come on then,” you said, leading him toward the water, your bare feet dancing across the hot rocks.

The water was cool against his skin as you both waded in, the heat of the day melting away as you swam lazily, floating in the crystal-clear sea. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way the water glistened on your skin, the way you smiled at him, carefree and full of life.

•••

Prague felt like stepping into another time, a place woven with cobblestone streets and Gothic spires. Pedro loved it here. It suited the two of you—a city where you could get lost, but it never felt like a mistake, only an adventure. As you walked hand in hand through the narrow alleyways, your laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls.

He hadn’t been able to stop staring at you all night, captivated by the way your red lipstick caught the dim light of streetlamps, the way it stained the wine glass at dinner. It was as if the color made everything else disappear, and his attention had been stuck on your mouth, tracing the lines of your lips as you smiled, teased, and bantered with him. The playful glint in your eyes was dangerous, addictive.

“You keep calling me ‘old man’ like it’s supposed to offend me,” he teased, his voice low as you strolled down the empty streets, slightly drunk, arm looped through his.

“Well,” you said, pausing dramatically to look up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You are older. Wiser, though. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “Careful, baby, or I’ll stop giving you the benefit of my hard-earned wisdom.”

“Hard-earned wisdom, huh? Sure,” you teased, your fingers tugging gently at the fabric of his black dress shirt, your steps a little unsteady but your voice steady with danger. “Was it hard-earned the same way you’ve earned all those aches and pains?”

He groaned exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his back, pretending to wince. “See? There it is again. More ageism. You’re really hurting my feelings here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the sound light and free. “You don’t have feelings.”

“I do,” he replied, pulling you closer with a smirk. “But only for you.”

As you walked, your voice drifted into song, soft and playful, filling the quiet streets with warmth. He didn’t know if you realized how much those little moments, like hearing you sing absentmindedly, grounded him, made him feel like everything in the world was where it should be.

“Do you ever stop singing?” he asked, though not wanting you to stop.

“Not when I’m happy,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

His chest tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as the city’s chill air wrapped around you both. “I like hearing it.”

When you reached Waldstein Gardens earlier that afternoon, the place had been nearly empty. The serenity of the garden, the way your footsteps echoed in the quiet, felt magical. The trees arched over the pathways, casting dappled shadows that danced as you moved through them, your laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

At one point, you had gotten lost, but neither of you cared. It was part of the charm, part of what made being with you feel so effortless—there was never a rush, never an urgency. You wandered the gardens as though you had all the time in the world.

“Getting lost with you isn’t so bad,” he had said at one point, his hand brushing against yours.

“You’re just saying that because I have no idea where we are.”

“Maybe.” He stopped walking then, turning to face you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth, smudging that perfect red lipstick ever so slightly.

“But it’s true.”

You kissed him then, in the middle of the empty path. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it felt like Prague, the gardens, the world itself, existed solely to frame this moment.

Later, back in your hotel room, you laughed about how lost you had gotten, and he couldn’t stop looking at your lips, still stained that perfect red.

•••

Budapest was a dream of thermal baths and long, lazy afternoons. One day, you both spent hours soaking in the warm water, your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder as you floated aimlessly. He had never felt so relaxed, so completely at ease with anyone else. You were his anchor, keeping him from drifting away into his worries.

“You sing when you wash yourself,” he told you one night as you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel wrapped around your body.

“Do I?” you asked, smiling as you pulled him close.

He nodded, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “It’s one of the best sounds in the world.”

"Any requests for my next shower?"

"Hm, maybe some Fleetwood Mac?"

"Excellent choice, señor."

•••

Amsterdam was breathtakingly beautiful, and Pedro started to feel the weight of traveling in his bones. Though he didn't care. He was too busy loving you.

You two were in a bookstore, and you were a few aisles over, browsing through a stack of Russian literature, and he could hear you muttering under your breath, something about Dostoevsky. He turned the corner and found you flipping through a copy of White Nights.

“I swear, I’m like that annoying guy who’s always like, ‘Oh, I love Dostoevsky, I’m so cool, blah blah,’” you said, half-joking but self-aware, and Pedro couldn’t help but laugh at your expression.

He leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, his smile soft and warm. “I actually read Crime and Punishment,” he said. “Surprisingly, it was a pageturner.”

“So, that makes us both annoying, huh?”

“Guess so.” He chuckled, watching as you turned your attention back to the books, eyes scanning the shelves like you were searching for a treasure hidden somewhere in the pages.

Pedro had always been drawn to sad books—melancholic stories, poems filled with longing. He didn’t know why, but they spoke to a part of him that craved depth. Maybe it was his way of dealing with his own emotions, or maybe it was just the kind of person he was.

A few minutes passed, and he found you again, holding a book in his hand. “Have you read The Master and Margarita?” he asked, handing it to you with a curious look.

You shook your head, glancing at the cover. “No, but if it’s one of your favorites, it’s going in the basket.”

You slipped it into the growing pile of books in your arms, and he smiled to himself, a little satisfied. He always felt a thrill when he introduced you to something he loved, like he was sharing a part of himself with you in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

Later that day, you found yourselves biking along the narrow streets, the cool breeze ruffling your hair. Pedro had long since gotten used to the feeling of the city under his tires, but he could still feel the fatigue of the trip settling into his bones.

You, on the other hand, were full of energy, pedaling with ease and laughing as you wove in and out of the winding paths.

“Stop, stop!” you called out, laughing as you veered toward a small ice cream stand by the water. Pedro pulled up beside you, catching his breath as you hopped off your bike, grinning like a kid.

“You want some?” you asked, eyeing the menu as if you hadn’t already decided what you were getting.

He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that look he always gave when you were being particularly cute. “You’re the one who’s always saying I’m the one with the sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot,” you replied, throwing him a playful glance. “Old man, you should try to keep up.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be offended as he got off his bike. “You know, the more you call me ‘old man,’ the less inclined I am to buy you ice cream.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you ordered two scoops of stroopwafel-flavored ice cream. The vendor handed it over, and you took a bite, closing your eyes in bliss. It was one of the things he loved about you—how you seemed to savor every little thing, even the simple joy of ice cream on a sunny afternoon.

After you had both finished, you found a bench by the canal, sitting side by side as people biked past and boats drifted lazily by. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and Pedro wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your hair mixed with the cool air of the city.

“You know, this has been one of my favorite days,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He smiled, his heart full. “Mine too.”

A few days later, Pedro stretched his legs out on the couch, wrapping them around yours, as the familiar opening scenes of The Princess Bride rolled across the screen. The rain outside was steady, a soft backdrop to the cozy warmth of the hotel room. He was in his element, leaning into the cushions with a contented grin, quoting the movie with ease.

"Farm boy, fetch me that pitcher..." he said in perfect sync with the screen, his voice low and exaggerated. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the slight roll of your eyes.

“Oh my god, P, you do know every line,” you said, your voice tinged with affection as you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're such a nerd."

He turned to you, a mock look of indignation on his face. “Uh, do I need to remind you of all the times you’ve made me watch Mamma Mia?” His eyebrow raised dramatically, but his tone was playful. “And each time, you quote it in its entirety—and sing all the songs. Should I get started on Dancing Queen?”

You laughed, the sound soft and light. He loved that sound. Loved that it was his ridiculous comments that brought it out of you.

"Oh, don’t even tell me you don’t love it," you fired back, grinning up at him, your finger poking his side as if daring him to deny it.

He grinned wider, shrugging a little too innocently. “Well... I may or may not have had Super Trouper stuck in my head for weeks after the last time. So thanks for that.” He shifted, planting a kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair for a moment.

You nudged him, laughing. “I knew it. You love it. Admit it—you secretly love ABBA.”

He groaned dramatically. “Okay, fine. But only because you sing the songs better than the actual cast,” he teased, grinning as he leaned in closer, his forehead brushing yours. "Also, because Pierce Brosnan’s singing makes me feel better about my own.”

“Oh, please,” you said, laughing, “I’ve heard you sing. He's good. You? you...try.”

Pedro’s grin turned soft as he looked at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, his hand absentmindedly running through your hair.

The movie continued playing in the background, but it was quickly becoming an afterthought as you tangled yourself further into him. Your feet brushed against his, and he shifted slightly to wrap his arms around you tighter.

"Honestly," he started again, "I don't know how you do it. Mamma Mia, what, three times a month?"

“Hey, ABBA is universal,” you shot back, poking him again.

Pedro chuckled, leaning back into the cushions.

“Alright, alright.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, and you scrunched it.

“Do you think we’re ever gonna get through a movie without this much banter?” you asked, grinning as you broke the tender moment.

Pedro laughed.“Absolutely not. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes again, settling deeper into his chest as the rain continued to patter against the window, and for a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the movie continuing on without needing your attention.

But then, just as the movie’s most iconic scene approached, Pedro couldn’t resist.

“As you wish,” he said, quoting Westley once more, his voice low and affectionate, his lips brushing the top of your head again.

You groaned, half-laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Pedro murmured, his grin softening into something more tender. “But I know you wouldn't have it any other way.”

"You're right for once."

•••

Lisbon was hot. The kind of heat that makes everything slow down—the air, the conversations, the drinks. Pedro loved it. The golden sunlight bouncing off the tiled walls, the lazy sound of street musicians playing as you wandered through the city together. His friends had joined you both here for a bit, filling the days with laughter and easy company.

Tonight, you were all crammed into a small bar. He was on his third cold beer, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he took a slow sip, savoring the moment. Every now and then, he’d feel your gaze on him, and when he looked back, there you were—teasing him about yet another ridiculous shirt he’d thrown on.

“Is this one an improvement over yesterday’s?” he asked, voice full of mock innocence. He gestured to the vibrant, swirling orange and pink pattern across his chest.

You squinted, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned closer. “It’s loud. I’ll give you that. If we get lost, I can just look for a neon sign with arms.”

He snorted, setting his beer down, and casually placed his hand on your knee. The conversation around the table swirled—friends joking, sharing stories, laughing—but his focus kept drifting back to you. The way your skin glowed under the low light, the way your shoulders were bare, save for that thin scarf you’d tied as a top. Every time you leaned forward to laugh, the knot on your back shifted slightly, and he found himself tracing the lines of it with his eyes, admiring the curve of your spine.

You said his name a lot lately. In that soft, familiar way you did when you were teasing him, or when you wanted his attention, or when you were just... comfortable. Every time you said it, it sent a small jolt of tenderness through him.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger for just a second longer than necessary. The skin was warm from the Lisbon sun, and the smell of your perfume mixed with the salty sea breeze.

One afternoon, the group had convinced you both to take a pottery class. He hadn’t been sure about it at first—clay and his hands weren’t usually a good match—but seeing the excited look on your face when you found the studio made it worth it.

You’d both sat at a long table with his friends, laughing as you tried to shape bowls and cups out of the spinning clay. Your first attempt looked more like a lumpy rock than anything functional.

“Is that supposed to be a mug, or are you sculpting an alien egg?” he teased, leaning over to inspect your disaster of a creation.

He saw you glance at his perfectly shaped little vase and pretended to look offended.

“I’m going for abstract, thank you very much. It’s called art.”

He chuckled, reaching over to smooth out one of the many dents in your clay. “Uh-huh. Very avant-garde of you, Picasso.”

But as much as he teased you, he caught your sneaking glances, a small smile playing on your lips as you focused on your own project. He loved that look, the one you got when you were completely in the moment. It was one of the intangible things about you that had him wrapped up in this feeling—this deep, undeniable love for you that grew stronger with each passing day.

Then, there was that morning with the guitar.

You knew he could play a little—enough to get by—but since he’d be playing in the second season of The Last of Us, he wanted to get better.

Naturally, you’d offered to teach him. The two of you had sat on the balcony of your Lisbon apartment, overlooking the orange-tiled rooftops, the sunlight leaving soft shadows over the city. You had your guitar across your lap, showing him some basic chords.

He was fumbling through a chord progression when you placed your hands over his, your body pressing up behind him to guide his fingers. He could feel your breath on his neck, the closeness making it hard to focus on the strings.

“C’mon, you’ve got this,” you said, your voice encouraging but playful. “It’s not that hard.”

He let out a frustrated laugh, leaning back into you slightly. “Says the musical genius over here.”

You laughed, your lips brushing against his ear. “You’re just distracted,” you teased, your hands still over his, guiding his fingers through the chord.

“Maybe I am,” he muttered, grinning as he strummed again, this time hitting the right notes. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

You leaned closer, your chin resting on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at your face. “See? I’m a great teacher.”

He shifted slightly, turning his head so your faces were almost touching. “Or maybe I’m just a great student.”

“Don’t get cocky, Pascal.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, feeling that same warmth spread through him again. These moments—when it was just the two of you, tangled up in something as simple as learning a song—they felt infinite. He knew he’d carry them with him long after this trip was over.

Back in the bar, as the night stretched on, Pedro sat back and took it all in. His friends, his drink, you. It was the small, intangible things that made him love you more each day. Every once in a while, he’d lean in to place another kiss on your bare shoulder, just because he could. Just because he was happy.

•••

Pedro leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, as the sun dipped behind the whitewashed buildings of Santorini. The sky was a vivid pink, painted like a postcard, and the sea below shimmered in a way that made it look almost unreal. You sat beside him on the balcony, sharing a bottle of white wine, your feet propped on the railing. The light caught your face, and Pedro couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by how the golden hue played off your skin, tracing the curves of your cheekbones, catching in your eyes.

You turned to him, smiling as you took a sip from your glass. “What?” you asked softly, your voice teasing.

He shook his head, smiling back. “Nothing. Just... I’m watching the sunset.”

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic, filling the space between you. “Pedro, the sunset’s over there.” You motioned toward the horizon, but he didn’t budge.

“I know,” he said, his eyes still fixed on you. “I’m watching this sunset.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your cheeks flushed, and Pedro swore he could spend every night like this.

"You're so cheesy."

Later that night, as you lay together in bed, Pedro traced the tan lines on your back, his fingers lightly brushing the places where the sun had kissed your skin. You had fallen asleep draped over him, your breath soft and even, and for a moment, he just watched you, trying to memorize the way you looked right then—beautiful, peaceful, perfect. He wondered if you knew what a cure you were, how you’d managed to stitch up the parts of him he didn’t even know were broken.

A few days later, you dragged him to a small, lively bar tucked away in the maze of Santorini’s winding streets. “Someone told me about this place at breakfast,” you said, pulling him by the hand. “They have fun cocktails, I heard.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, but let you lead him. “Are you sure that's all?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Yes, yes,” you flashed him a grin, that wicked little smile that always made his chest tighten.

The bar was relaxed but bustling, filled with the soft murmur of people talking over drinks. Pedro wore a loose white linen shirt, feeling a bit too warm but too comfortable to care. You, on the other hand, looked like you belonged in a dream—a short, flowy white dress that clung to your body just right, showing off your legs in a way that drove him wild. All his thoughts kept coming back to you in that dress. He couldn’t stop looking. Every time you shifted, crossed your legs, or leaned in to talk, his mind wandered to how good you looked in it.

As the two of you sat at a table in the center, sipping cocktails and bantering over something stupid, Pedro noticed the energy in the room shift. The lights dimmed, and a woman—likely in her 60s, with long white hair and a colorful dress—stepped to the front of the room.

“Good evening, everyone!” she said, her thick accent cutting through the crowd. “If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. And if you haven’t, welcome to the karaoke section of the night!”

Pedro’s eyes went wide. He turned to you immediately.

“Oh no,” you muttered, pulling your chair back. “I had no idea—do you want to leave?”

For a moment, he thought you were about to escape, but instead, the woman with the mic suddenly appeared at your side, handing it to you. You grinned at Pedro, your eyes twinkling with mischief, shrugging as if to say, what can you do?

Pedro let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve ambushed me,” he said, grinning as you stood up and made your way toward the front.

The crowd cheered as you started to sing Honey, Honey, and Pedro leaned back in his chair, watching you in awe. You were working the room like it was your own personal stage, your white dress flowing as you danced in your sandals and smiled, effortlessly captivating everyone.

As the music swelled, you pointed at him during the line, “You look like a movie star,” your eyes locking with his. Pedro played along, pointing at himself with an exaggerated look of confusion, mouthing, “Me?”

God, you were driving him crazy.

The whole room was watching you, and they had their phones out, and he loved it. Loved that this moment would live forever, likely plastered across social media by morning. But more than anything, he loved that you were his, that you could light up any room and still make him feel like the only person there.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and you took a few pictures with some of the guests before sauntering back to the table, sitting down across from him like nothing had happened. Pedro was still grinning, his heart beating fast from watching you, completely enamored.

“Not bad,” you teased, sipping your drink, pretending like you hadn’t just stolen the show.

Pedro leaned across the table, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for you. “You’re killing me here, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Killing you, how?”

“You... in that dress,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to your legs before flicking back to your face. “Dancing, in that dress. Singing. It’s unfair, really. I’m trying to keep it together over here.”

You laughed, your foot brushing against his under the table. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Should I have picked a more modest song or…dress?”

Pedro smirked, leaning in even closer, his hand reaching across the table to rest on yours. “You know what’s comfortable?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “The fact that you’re going home with me tonight.”

Your eyes sparkled, and Pedro knew that look all too well. “Well, sir,” you said with a grin, “then I guess I’ll have to make it worth your while.”

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “You already do,” he whispered.

•••

Amalfi Coast was like a postcard come to life. The sea carried out before him, sparkling blue. Both of you spent hours on the beach, the sun hot on your skin. You wore a red bikini that left little to the imagination, and every time he glanced at you, he felt something stir in his chest. There were parts of your body, those sun-kissed curves, that felt too sacred to stare at for too long, yet he couldn’t look away.

You could not be held responsible for his reaction to you, for the cry of your sunburnt skin against the bright red bikini.

When you both returned to the hotel room after a long day, you ordered a bucket of ice. Pedro didn’t question it, watching you from the bed as you moved about the room with that effortless grace you had. When the door clicked shut, you emptied the ice into a small towel and handed it to him.

“Will you do my back, baby?” you asked, voice soft but certain. Of course, he would. How could he deny you anything?

He pressed the cold towel to your sunburnt skin, your body arching slightly under his touch. “You should have stayed in the shade,” he teased, though his voice was filled with tenderness.

"You know how stubborn I am."

He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so content, so completely grounded in a moment. You were his fix, keeping him tethered to this world, to the present, to himself.

Later that night, with the cool breeze from the sea drifting in through the open window, Pedro pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to the places he had soothed with ice earlier. You moaned softly, and he felt that familiar warmth spread through him.

In those moments, he wants to give you everything—his time, his love, his energy. He hopes you take it. He wants to be yours completely, to listen to all of your musings, that you write him a thousand songs and letters, to be your safe space, just as you were his.

•••

He was nominated for an Emmy while you were in Rome, and he could tell you had never been more proud of him. You tackled him in the hotel room when the news broke, showering him with kisses, his laughter echoing through the space.

“Mi amor, you're going to kill me,” he laughed, though his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly.

“I don’t care,” you beamed, your hands cupping his face. “You deserve this so much.”

October 28, 2023

Los Angeles, California

This week was etched into your memory as the final crescendo to a whirlwind of Halloween festivities. LA had been alive with spooky energy the entire month, and tonight was no different.

You had spent the past week with Pedro, hopping from one Halloween event to another, attending parties, and trying to outdo each other with costumes. A few nights ago, you went to Halloween Horror Nights with his sister, Lux, and it had been a blast. You kept things simple with jeans and a t-shirt, but the thrill of the night was anything but.

The three of you had navigated the maze of haunted houses, clinging to each other whenever something jumped out at you. Lux had led the way, fearless, while Pedro and you exchanged shrieks and laughter.

"Okay, next haunted house, I'm going first," Pedro had said, puffing out his chest.

"You said that last time, and yet..." you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lux laughed, shaking her head. "Don't let him fool you, he's jumped every time."

Pedro gasped dramatically. "Betrayed by my own sister. I thought we had a pact."

The whole night had been filled with that kind of lighthearted banter, and by the end, the three of you were breathless from laughing, your sides aching as you relived the best scares over churros and hot chocolate.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the final party of the season, the one you and Pedro were hosting at your LA home. The living room had been transformed with cobwebs and orange fairy lights, pumpkins scattered around with flickering candles inside. The theme for your costumes had been a matter of heated debate all week, but in the end, you’d settled on something so ridiculous it was perfect.

You, in a buttoned-up suit and black tie, with a fedora perched on your head, were Oppenheimer.

Pedro, in black pants, a black shirt with white fringe, a pink bandana draped around his neck, and a white cowboy hat—was Cowboy Ken.

Together, you were, you guessed it: Barbenheimer.

For hours, you floated around the party, telling people, “We’re Barbenheimer!” while Pedro chimed in, “Or more like Kenenheimer, don’t you think?”

The whole night you were drifting from conversation to conversation, catching up with your girlfriends. All your old dramas are revived that night, and it is so sweet. But eventually, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for a moment of peace away from the noise. You opened the fridge to grab another drink when you heard the familiar sound of Pedro's boots behind you.

"Well, hello there," he said, setting down two empty beer bottles on the island. His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that you recognized immediately.

You turned around, leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, hi, baby.”

You took a step towards him, your eyes shamelessly raking over his cowboy getup. He really had committed to the role, he hadn't taken that hat off all night.

Pedro noticed your gaze, smirking as he adjusted his hat. “What are you up to, Oppie? Did you need a drink, or are you just here to admire the view?”

You chuckled, crossing the kitchen to stand in front of him. “You know,” you began, running a hand up the front of his shirt, “when you decided on Cowboy Ken, I was a bit skeptical. I thought you were going to look funny…”

“Oh yeah?”

“But it turns out,” you continued, letting your voice drop, “it’s actually really hot, mister.” Your fingers trailed slowly over the lapel of his shirt, down to his belt.

Pedro tilted his head, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, eyes gleaming. “I guess I have a thing for cowboys now.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke. “Good to know,” he whispered. His hand came up to rest on your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The smell of him, that mix of cologne and something distinctly Pedro, filled your senses.

The morning after the party, you woke up to a flood of notifications. He was fast asleep next to you. Sleepily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through the pictures from last night, stopping at the one you'd posted of you and Pedro in your costumes.

The caption: "Save a horse, ride a Ken."

It had been quite a hit. People were already loving the playfulness of it, but then you noticed Pedro’s comment beneath the post. Of course, he couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire.

Pedro had written: "How about we skip the horse and go straight to the riding? 😘🐎"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at the screen. It was so him. And of course, the comment section below his was already blowing up with people reacting insanely to it.

This man.

December 22, 2023

Santiago, Chile

Christmas in Chile was supposed to be calm—a peaceful, family-filled holiday with Pedro’s relatives. You'd imagined quiet dinners, soft music, and some traditional Chilean dishes. But in typical Pedro fashion, things didn’t stay quiet for long.

It started innocently enough. The two of you had decided to explore the local market, weaving through the crowds, hand in hand. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of grilled meats and roasted chestnuts, the hustle of people bartering, chatting, and living. Pedro was telling you something funny—some story about when he was a kid and his brother dared him to climb a tree.

You weren’t really listening, though, because your eyes kept catching on the colorful stalls and bright trinkets. It was the perfect, chaotic slice of Chilean life.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. One minute Pedro was laughing, and the next, his foot caught a loose cobblestone, and down he went. Time slowed for a moment, and all you could do was gasp as you saw him hit the ground, his arm awkwardly twisted beneath him.

“Pedro!” You shrieked, rushing to his side, heart hammering in your chest.

He winced as you kneeled beside him, your hands hovering over him like you weren’t sure where to touch. His face was scrunched up, but he looked up at you with that familiar grin, trying to calm you down despite the clear pain written across his features. “Baby, it’s fine. Calm down.”

But it wasn’t fine. His right arm looked wrong, and even though he tried to brush it off, you knew better. Panic twisted your stomach, and before you knew it, you were helping him up, heading straight to the hospital.

The next few hours were a blur of waiting rooms and x-rays, and you held your breath every time Pedro winced. By the time they had him in an arm sling, you’d run through every possible scenario in your head, imagining the worst. But Pedro, as always, was trying to make light of the situation, his laughter filling the otherwise sterile room.

When you finally sat beside him, a mix of relief and exasperation washed over you. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” you teased, leaning over, your earlier panic slowly dissolving.

Pedro smirked, eyes sparkling despite the bandages. “Maybe later,” he said with a wink, his tone low, full of innuendo.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even in pain, even with his arm in a sling, Pedro was Pedro—never one to let anything dampen his spirits for long.

A couple of days after the initial chaos settled, you found yourselves at his family’s home. Pedro’s sling stood out against the twinkling Christmas lights, but he didn’t seem to care. And neither did you, because as you sat together, surrounded by family, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. Even if your quiet holiday had taken an unexpected turn, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

December 31st, 2023

Los Angeles, California

New Year’s Eve felt different this time around—different in the best way possible. There was a softness to the night. The party swirled with music and movement, friends mingling and dancing in the flicker of colorful lights. But even with all that, your attention was fully drawn to him.

Pedro looked ridiculously adorable, even with his arm in a sling from that incident, and to top it off, he wore this silly pointy party hat that somehow made him even cuter. Every time you glanced at him, your heart warmed a little more. He had been a trooper through the night, navigating conversations and laughter with his usual charm, but always with that one lazy smile he reserved just for you.

After a few drinks, you found yourself perched on his lap, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His left arm, the one still functional, wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. You were rambling about something silly, pestering him like you often did, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Understood," he said, his fingers tapped lightly against your lips, a gesture that you had come to love.

You caught his fingers, pretending to bite them before leaning in for a kiss. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and familiar, and despite how long you’d been together, every kiss still made your heart race a little.

The song playing in the background, Do Friends Fall in Love?, fitted perfectly.

His hand slid gently down your back, making you shiver at the contact, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your hip.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, laughing softly as you nuzzled closer. “You’re an open book, Pascal,” you teased, rolling your eyes dramatically, though your words were laced with affection. “Easy to read.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you that half-smile, the one that always made your heart flip. It was a smile full of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t but wasn’t about to tell you.

“Oh yeah?” he muttered, leaning in closer, his lips grazing your ear, making you blush even in the warmth of the crowded room.

The night carried on around you, the music mixing with the hum of laughter and conversations, but your attention never wavered from him. The countdown to midnight began, the excitement in the room rising as everyone gathered with glasses in hand, but you were only aware of the way Pedro’s thumb traced patterns on your thigh, the way his eyes softened as they looked into yours.

“Five… four…”

The rest of the party blurred, voices fading into the background as the two of you stayed locked in that moment.

“Three… two…”

Pedro’s eyes never left yours, and in the space between heartbeats, the room fell away. His gaze was warm, intense, and full of love—so much that it felt like you could melt under it.

“One!”

Cheers erupted around you, glasses clinking, people shouting “Happy New Year!” But you barely heard any of it because Pedro’s lips were on yours, warm, gentle, and full of everything that made your heart feel like it was soaring.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but smile, resting your forehead against his, feeling the soft tickle of his breath against your skin. “Happy New Year, baby,” you whispered, your voice filled with affection.

He smiled back, eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. “Happy New Year, mi amor,” he replied, his voice low and tender, the words settling between you like a promise for the year to come.

a/n: alright so this was so nice and fun to write. please pleaseee let me know your thoughts besties!!! and don't forget to reblog and like. much love <3

next and final part!

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #love is complicated fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you

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mj-iza-writer · 2 months ago

Note

Can you please write something with a caretaker who was in an abusive home as a child and has trauma from that, then maybe they have a nightmare about what happened to them as a child and then the whumpee comforts them?

Please?

If there is one thing I know about is childhood trauma. I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get to this request. I do hope you enjoy. -MJ

"Here you go", Caretaker handed Whumpee a mug of hot cocoa.

"Thankyou", Whumpee smiled.

Caretaker winked back, then they turned to hand their mother a cup.

"Took you long enough. I also see where I stand", their mother glared at Whumpee, "serving that one first."

"They're my patient", Caretaker only whispered.

Whumpee noticed how Caretaker seemed to cowar away from their mother. Whumpee had done it millions or times in their past. It was a slight movement, but Caretaker definitely had cowarded away.

Caretaker came in and sat down with another cup for themself.

"Lazy", their mother mumbled.

Caretaker looked down at their cup with disappointment.

"I uhm, had them up for a little while last night because of the storm", Whumpee glanced at Caretaker for a moment before looking at the mom, "storms bring back bad memories."

"My child brings back bad memories of my husband. Just as lazy, not considerate at all. I thought I raised them better", the mom stared at Whumpee.

"Funny you remind me of someone too", Whumpee spoke without thinking first.

Caretaker looked up at them quickly and shook their head no.

"Oh... I want to hear this", the mother spoke with venom in their voice, "who might that be?"

"Whumper, the person I was rescued from. They were about as rude as you", Whumpee couldn't stop themself.

"Well, I never", the mom gasped dramatically.

"Maybe you should hear it sometime. The world doesn't revolve around you. Caretaker has helped me so much. They have taken care of me, but even now, I know the world does not revolve around me. I'm not entitled to their time and energy. I would be lucky to just be in their presence. I'm sorry if you don't know Caretaker like that. You are missing out on knowing a great person."

The mother stood and eerily walked toward Whumpee. They dared to even lift their hand at Whumpee to threaten to slap them.

"Mom, they are legally protected by the state. You could go to jail if you hit them", Caretaker stood quickly and blocked their mom's path, "I, uhm, you should leave."

"I can see where I stand. I will never be back. I will never talk to you again until I receive an apology for how I was treated today", the mom leaned to the side and glared at Whumpee, "I wish Whumper would have...."

"MOM, get the fuck out of my house", Caretaker raised their voice, "you are not welcome here anymore. You may not threaten my patients. My patient did in fact almost die because of their abuser. You would never know anything about hard work. Dad died because he was working hard to support you. Get out.... now."

Caretaker came back after making sure the door was locked, and updating the police on the situation so they could watch the house.

Caretaker leaned on the doorway and looked at Whumpee for a moment.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know.... I didn't mean to...", Whumpee made a terrified face, "I-I didn't mean to upset her. I just wasn't thinking and it all came out."

Caretaker's face turned to a big grin, "years... it's taken me years to stand up to that woman. The moment she started to threaten you, I lost it. You said what I've wanted to say for so long. At first, I was scared, but it felt... it felt good."

Whumpee looked at Caretaker with confusion, "I-I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to say sorry about my dear. You did good, and helped me", Caretaker smiled, "you helped me so much."

"Oh, ar-are you sure?", Whumpee fidgetted with their fingers, "Whumper would have killed me."

"I'm sure, do you uh? Do you want anything... more hot chocolate, a snack? Anything?", Caretaker started for the kitchen.

"No no, I'm okay", Whumpee watched them weirdly.

That night, Whumpee could hear Caretaker in the other room moving violently in their sleep.

Whumpee cautiously opened Caretaker's door and inched into their room.

Caretaker was loudly moaning while they tossed and turned.

Whumpee stood next to their bed and could see tears glistening on Caretaker's cheek. Caretaker was talking in their sleep even. Though inaudible, Whumpee could figure out what was going on.

"Caretaker", Whumpee whispered as they gently shook Caretaker's shoulder.

Caretaker startled awake and looked around. "Hmm, hmm, oh uh... Whumpee", Caretaker breathed heavily, "do yo...do you need something?"

"You were having a nightmare", Whumpee frowned.

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry, did I wake you?", Caretaker sighed sadly.

"I wasn't asleep yet", Whumpee played with their fingers nervously, "it was about her... wasn't it?"

Caretaker looked over their disheveled sheets.

"Yes, it was. I occasionally have them", Caretaker sighed again, "I'm sorry for scaring you. Come on, let's get you back to bed", Caretaker started to get up.

"Caretaker?"

"Yes Whumpee", Caretaker stopped and looked at them with concern.

"You know it isn't good to hold that in", Whumpee almost pleaded, "you need to talk to someone. You can talk to me... like how you listen to me talk about my past, and it makes me feel better."

"Whumpee, I can't seek therapy from my patient. That would be bad for everyone", Caretaker smiled weakly, "thankyou for offering though."

"Caretaker?"

"Yes Whumpee", Caretaker looked up again. This time, exhaustion was clearly on their face.

"If I was having nightmares like this.... What would you do to help me?", Whumpee whispered.

"I uh", Caretaker could see where Whumpee was going, "I suppose I would stay with you until I knew that you were sleeping comfortably, and maybe longer than that. I would probably schedule an appointment with your psychologist so they can help you. I would try to help you to the best of my abilities."

Whumpee nodded, "why won't you do that for yourself then?"

Caretaker stared at their sheets in defeat.

"Alright, I'll schedule an appointment for myself. You are wise beyond your years... you know that?", Caretaker chuckled.

Whumpee grinned sheepishly, "Whumper hated that about me. Why do you think I got beat up so often?"

"Come on, you need to get some sleep", Caretaker started to get up again.

"But I want to watch over you", Whumpee pouted.

"Yeah, no. You are still my patient. I'm not letting you stay up to do that", Caretaker stood.

"Please", Whumpee pleaded.

"No", Caretaker stated a little firmer this time.

Whumpee looked down sadly.

"How about this", Caretaker looked over their bed, "it's a pretty big bed. Do you want to bring a blanket in here and sleep in the bed? I'll put this body pillow between us. Sound fair?"

Whumpee quickly nodded with a smile.

"Alright go get your blanket", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee came back dragging a huge comforter from their bed.

Caretaker laughed as they saw how big Whumpee was smiling.

"I don't know if I've ever seen such a big smile on someone's face", Caretaker commented as they stood to help Whumpee into the bed.

"I've never gotten away with speaking my mind before. I'd usually be bruised and battered", Whumpee snickered.

Caretaker covered Whumpee with the comforter.

"Sometimes people need to hear it", Caretaker started for their side of the bed, "I know I did, and my mother."

Caretaker leaned over the body pillow to see if Whumpee was out.

It had been a few hours since they both got comfortable into the bed.

Caretaker relaxed when they could hear gentle snores coming from Whumpee.

"My sweet patient", Caretaker cooed happily as they thought about how lucky they were to have Whumpee to take care of.

Caretaker laid back down and looked up at the ceiling. A happy smile across their face... their first genuine smile they had made in a long time.

Moments later, small snores came from Caretaker as well.

Caretaker's heart was at peace... thanks to Whumpee.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump writer #whump storyteller #whump story #whump storytelling #whump ideas #whump #whump scenario #caretaking #caretaker #caretaker and whumpee #whumpee #whumper #oc #ask response

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pascalpvnk · 10 months ago

Text

my funny valentine

pairing: pre/no-outbreak!joel miller x gn!reader

summary: joel attempts to ask you to be his valentine empty handed. it simply won’t cut it.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no descriptions of reader (joel picks them up once), no specific timeline (i hc that sarah is 5/6, no mention of joel or reader’s ages) but DoorDash and YouTube tutorials exist, brief smutty mention but no explicit smut, joel’s biceps, assertive reader, silly man thinking he can do the bare minimum, silly man righting his wrongs, one (1) mention of his mother, lots of kisses, lots of fluff, no use of y/n

a/n: i switched from past tense to present tense midway through writing, so if anything was missed in editing in the beginning, please let me know :’) this is a very action driven fic rather than the world building I’m used to so I’m sorry if it’s repetitive. not beta’d. divider by @saradika-graphics

HOW TO SUPPORT PALESTINE // IMPORTANT FOR TLOU READERS & WRITERS

masterlist // fic recs

The bitter burn of dark roasted beans stimulates your taste buds before being soothed with the coffee creamer in the mixture. The stovetop clock reads 8:09. Normally Joel would be up by seven, have his coffee and breakfast and switch out the laundry by this time. Instead he’s snoring the morning away in his bedroom, probably sprawled out over the whole bed now that you’ve been up for a bit.

You enjoy the quiet as the two Millers are lost in deep slumber. The younger of the two had been worn out playing house with her dolls much past her bedtime. You didn’t mind, as you were waiting for Joel to return home from work anyway. He made his appearance soon after you tucked Sarah into her bed, eyelids heavy and shirt sweat and dirt stained.

Exhaustion was an understatement. You gave him a warm kiss, despite his argument that he smelled bad.

You always stink, I don’t see the issue, you teased him.

A huffed chuckle escaped him as he wrapped his arms around you. Smartass.

You two shared a shower, washing one another’s bodies from the day’s grime gently, relieving stress in more than one way. Joel has always been clingy when he’s tired, his hands never wanting to let you go. So you found yourself pressed up against the cool tile of the shower wall, Joel filling you to the brim until the water ran cold.

He was barely able to pull on a pair of boxers before his body had succumbed to his fatigue the moment his head hit his pillow.

You laid beside him, delicately brushing his damp curls behind his ear, similarly to how you did when you awoke, this time his curls dry and stuck up every which way.

Joel doesn’t find his way out to the kitchen for another twenty minutes, a pair of plaid sweatpants hanging on for dear life lowly on his hips and a black cotton shirt barely concealing his ever growing biceps.

“Mornin’, baby,” he rasps, kissing the top of your head to grab your attention as you repeat his greeting back. His lips capture yours, groaning at the prominent coffee taste swirling on your tongue. He reluctantly pulls away, admiring the way your eyes sparkle as you look up at him.

“Prettier than a painting, honey,” he sighs, rounding the counter to the coffee maker. Carefully opening the cabinet above, he grabs his favorite mug, coincidentally the one you and Sarah had picked out for him for Christmas. If dad can’t fix it, no one can, is printed on both sides of it with a little toolbox. She was giggly the entire time he was unwrapping it, a precious sound that replays in your mind each time you see it.

Joel grabs the coffee pot with one hand while scrubbing his other over his beard, unkempt and due for a trimming soon.

“So…I was thinkin’ about Valentine’s Day,” he starts, completely filling up his cup with the steaming brew. “Would ya wanna go out or have a night in?”

“Hold on, cowboy. I don’t recall being asked to be your valentine, so as far as I know I’m not doing anything,” you shrug.

His brow cocks up at your comment mid-sip. You know your relationship advanced fairly quickly, seeing as the upcoming Valentine’s Day is the first you two are celebrating together. More than half of your belongings have found a cozy new home at Joel’s place and your own bed hasn’t been slept on in over a week. Your anniversary isn’t until April, but the quick progression doesn’t mean you want to skip out on the little things. You don’t wanna get comfortable.

“Okay then,” he clears his throat, the tips of his ears and peaks of his cheeks flushing. “Will you be my Valentine?”

You give him a once over, empty handed sans his coffee.

“Is this how you wanna ask me?”

“Um…’spose not,” he stutters, visibly surprised with your assertiveness. “Hold onto that thought, baby. I’m gon’ ask ya properly.”

Joel starts to put his mug in the microwave and leave the kitchen. Your soft voice startles him as you call his name.

“Woah, woah. I don’t want you to go right this second,” you chuckle. “You look too good for anyone else to see this morning anyways.”

A smirk creeps onto his lips, matching yours. Your lips meld together as you drag him back to his bedroom until Sarah awakes.

Joel makes his way out of the house later in the afternoon, a few stops in mind for his valentine’s proposal.

He feels like a giant oaf wandering the aisles of endless amounts of candies and plushies. A few eyes wander towards him as he stares blankly at the assorted chocolates. Christ, just pick something and get outta here, he thinks to himself while scratching his freshly trimmed scruff.

“Anything I can help you with?” A voice startles him. He looks up at the shop employee with a small smile.

“Mind givin’ a second opinion?” He chuckles, watching her come a bit closer. “Which one ‘a these would you wanna get from your partner?”

She scans the shelf for a moment, settling on a heart shaped box. For safe measure, she grabs the miniature version as well.

“You can’t really go wrong with chocolate. I’d want the bigger one but it can be pricey so they have the smaller one too,” she smiles as she hands him the two options. The gears start turning in his head as a new idea comes up.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he smiles politely, tucking them both in his basket. “I ‘ppreciate the help.”

The clerk nods and returns to her assigned position, leaving Joel to explore some more. He ends up buying double what he had anticipated, but for good reason.

He finds himself at a local Trader Joe’s. The bouquets that the previous shop had pre-made were alright, but Joel knows that you deserve far better than those. He picks up bundles of baby’s breath and greenery after choosing the perfect main flower, classic red roses. He grabs a few more groceries you had mentioned were running low before checking out. He’s feeling pretty proud of himself, how hard can assembling a bouquet be?

Turns out Joel is a little in over his head with the flowers. He’s stuck himself with thorns, which he assumed were already removed, more times than he can count. He wishes his momma was next to him, giving him better directions than the internet can provide. You’re the only person he’s brought back home that his mother truly approved of, which meant the whole world to him. So therefore, he simply cannot mess this up.

He settles his bloodied fingers under the running tap as he cuts the stems off of the plants to an even height. This part is second nature to him, cutting things evenly is his livelihood after all. He cuts a few of them down to half of the size, separating them from the rest.

The video he’s pulled up instructs him to open up the roses next, something he would’ve never thought to do himself. He turns each individual bud upside down over the sink, twisting the stems between his palms until the flowers look alive. Assembly of the buds seems easy enough, just a pattern.

Rose, greenery, filler, turn, repeat.

Once he’s satisfied with his work, he ties the ends of both bouquets he’s created with rubber bands before wrapping them in brown paper. He borrows some pink ribbon from Sarah’s crafting supplies for the final touch on each.

Joel’s phone buzzes with two notifications at once.

‘Your delivery driver will arrive shortly with your order!’

‘Hey, baby. Sarah and I are heading home shortly. I don’t feel like cooking tonight so I can pick something up on the way.’

He makes his way to the front door, flipping on the porch light before responding to you.

‘No need, sweetheart. I have dinner covered. See you soon.’

Joel completes the message with a heart emoticon before sending. He gathers all of the stem and leaves from the sink and throws away the scraps before wiping down the dampened counter. The gifts are assembled on the coffee table, a clear divide between what he got for you and Sarah.

He retrieves the takeout from the driver, giving him a cash tip before taking the food to the kitchen. Joel completes any final touches he may have missed until he hears your car doors closing in the driveway.

“My sweet princess,” he grins the moment his little girl steps into the house, leaving you trailing behind with the bags in your hands.

“Daddy!” Sarah calls out, running into Joel’s arms as he meets you both at the door. Kisses are littered across her plump cheeks, her squeals filling the quiet space. He reopens the storm door for you with one hand as Sarah occupies the other, hanging on his neck.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets you, gently grasping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before planting a firm kiss to your lips. His thumb caresses your skin as he pulls away. Sarah wiggles out of his grasp to inspect the wafting takeout scent from the kitchen. She doesn’t even make it halfway before she lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Teddy bear!” She yells, beelining to the setup in the living room.

“What did you do, Joel Miller?” You ask, suspicion lacing your tone. He chuckles at your ambiguity, giving your ass a small love tap.

“Why don’t’cha see for yourself, hm?” He smirks, collecting the plastic and paper bags from your grasp. You join Sarah and admire your presents. His heart doubles in size watching his two favorite people look so incredibly elated.

Joel sets everything down on the couch to join you two.

“I got flowers too! Daddy got us flowers,” Sarah grins, holding up her miniature bouquet matching yours. You find your way to him, snuggling up to his side in a hug.

“I do good? Will ya be my valentine?” He questions timidly, assuming he did at least decently by the bright smiles beaming on yours and Sarah’s faces.

“Yes, yes of course I will. It’s perfect, baby, thank you,” you whisper as your arms wrap around the back of his neck. “I’ll show you just how perfect you did after we put her to bed, hm?”

You swear his cheeks are the hue of the roses he gifted you. For once, he fully believes he hasn’t messed everything up this time. He sweeps you off of your feet with a spin, peppering your face with kisses.

“I love you both so much.”

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed xx

#fic: my funny valentine #my writing #joel miller #sarah miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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steviewashere · 9 months ago

Text

I Am the Kiwi

Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecure Eddie Munson, Negative Self Talk, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Calls Eddie Munson Pet Names, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

🥝—————🥝

Maybe he shouldn’t bother their tentative relationship by asking insecure questions.

But that’s not how Eddie’s mind works. He’s never known peace unless there’s been an answer. If he senses the beginning of a question like the itchy fur of a kiwi on his tongue, he has to spit it out. And only then, even if the answer is bleak and even if the answer is negative, he’s at peace with it. He’ll just remember to cut the skin off later, taste the fruit for what it is, find something else about it to savor. Because not everything is sweet. And most of the world is bitter like the skin of that kiwi.

He peels the skin off, hair and all, offering it out to Steve to ponder. In the quiet space of his living room, surrounded by warm love in the shape of Wayne’s mug and hat collection, the five year old instruction manuals for appliances they don’t even have anymore, and amber lightbulbs stained with the broken limbs and melted corpses of stink bugs. Maybe he is an unfortunate bug, drawn to Steve’s light. Maybe he is willing to give himself, all of himself, the ugly parts and disgusting parts to something warm and savoring and bright inside Steve. He knows he is. He always has been.

In the quiet, Steve hot under his arm, droopy with fatigue, chuckling low at the sitcom on the television set, Eddie prickles with unanswered unease. He drags his rough palm down Steve’s soft right arm, fingernails dully scratching from mole to mole, pressing into his loose muscles. Eddie leans his head down, cheek laid atop Steve’s voluminous hair, and he breathes him in. Fruity sweetness, floral undertones, some sort of professional salon shampoo. He kisses tender.

“Why do you love somebody like me?” He breathes. And in the quiet, he startles himself, no matter how much that question begged to break free. Steve tenses in his hold, but Eddie can only force him in tighter. Fingers pressing harsh into his fatty parts. Nails mean and sharp and jagged. He buries himself farther into Steve’s beautiful hair.

His boyfriend is gorgeous. And he’s self-sufficient. Kind in a way Eddie seems to have forgotten to be. How can somebody like Steve love him?

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His breaths falter in the room. Like he’s trying to catch his breath after being scared in a haunted house. Maybe, if Eddie allows himself to marinate in it, maybe it’s exactly like that. There’s something rippling, haunted, venturing lonely and howling under Eddie’s skin. He thinks it started with his mom’s death, percolated when his dad went to prison, came full bloom like a crumpled flower on Wayne’s doorstep so many years ago. In a way, Steve is scared. Not scared of Eddie. Or the truth. But this third thing, of answering the question. Of finding the right words, to which Eddie knows he struggles with—so in all aspects, asking something partially insecure and partially selfish is demeaning. It’s, if Eddie thinks about it, challenging Steve’s love.

There is no response, not yet. But what does fill between them is the live studio audience laughter. The laughter of people who probably didn’t find the joke particularly funny or even clever. They’re just there to laugh. To see behind the scenes of some TV show. To be recognized among the crowd.

Sitcom laughter. And Eddie refuses to let Steve see him.

He hears Steve take a tentative deep breath. The back of his hand touched by the softness of Steve’s palm. And he’s reminded, even in the simplest interactions such as this, that they come from two different worlds. Of all those biases he held onto for years. Unable to get over himself or get with the program. Steve is nothing of what Eddie thought. He’s a jock, sure. And he’s got the better life in some ways; nothing to really label him as other and a status that seems to override him, but it’s not negative. He isn’t a bully. He’s soft and kind and sweet and loving, not a douchebag. A good person. Where, sometimes, Eddie feels as though he lacks all the qualities that Steve seems to be plentiful in.

“Eddie—“

“No, sorry,” he apologizes immediately. His voice small and childlike. “Sorry, that’s not okay to ask. You love me and that needs to be enough.”

Then, Steve shifts. Pulling himself away, sitting on the edge of the cushion, turning to be face to face. And Eddie’s ashamed. He’s mad at himself, too. If the heartbreaking soft sadness in Steve’s eyes is anything. His little frown, pulling down his pretty lips and furrowing his eyebrows and making him wrinkle in all the bad ways. He tilts his head and peers at Eddie.

“I love you because I just do,” he murmurs, “I don’t know how to explain why I do. You’re unlike anybody I’ve ever loved.”

Eddie swallows, takes a breath, and asks, “In a good way or a bad way?”

Steve’s gaze softens. The sadness still lingering, but replaced by determination, even the lightest form of it. “Always in a good way,” he whispers. He reaches out, takes Eddie’s right hand in his left and squeezes. He’s so soft. “You know who you are. And you’re loud about it. I admire that about you.” He closes his eyes, thinking. When he’s gathered, his voice is enamored and murmuring, “And, baby, you’re gentle even if you don’t realize it. You know how and when to take care of the people around you. I’ve never—I’ve always been the one to do that in relationships. You make me feel…Complete.”

Eyes back on him, Eddie swallows most of this insecurity. “Really? You think I complete you?” He questions meekly.

Then, Steve nods, not even taking a moment to consider. Because he just knows. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I know we just started this whole…thing—“ he swings their tangled hands back and forth between them. Eddie chuckles, earning him the most earnest smile he’s probably ever seen. “But, I have a feeling that we’ve got something special. Plus, we’ve got all the free time in the world, y’know, now that it’s not ending. We’ll be okay. I love loving you.”

“I love loving you, too,” Eddie murmurs in turn. He brings his free hand up and brushes some stray strands of Steve’s hair back. Thumb tickling down his temple, swiping under his eye where it’s heavy and blue. “I’m sorry for doubting your love.”

“Honey,” Steve sighs. “It’s really okay. I get it, you know? Everybody has their insecurities. Hell, I have some deeply awful ones.” He leans into Eddie. His warmth radiating once more. Breath ghosting over his cheek, words soft, “I will always reassure you. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” And then, Steve presses a tacky, sweet kiss to his cheek. The tip of his nose crumpling with the soft plunge he gives into Eddie’s skin. He is cracked open raw and for once, instead of being turned away or shunned, somebody is there to enjoy him. Steve is there to savor. “You’re special,” he whispers, “my special one.”

Eddie can only melt in his hands. He’s content with this answer. Fulfilled.

This relationship may be new, but Eddie knows it’ll soon be something sacred. Like the sticky, sugary green insides of a ripe kiwi.

🥝—————🥝 Fun fact, I'm allergic to kiwis. Found this out after my tongue got itchy from the skin of a kiwi. That was a scarring thing to discover in the middle of my kindergarten snack time, tell you that much. Haven't had one since.

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort

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stardropsaloongossiptrain · 1 year ago

Text

Bachelors and Having a Baby

I saw another hc blog do this and I wanna do my own take~

Sebastian --

Extremely shocked when you tell him you're pregnant, but would react with a blank face and "oh, huh. Interesting." It does not sink in for a few minutes to an hour, and then he's losing his fucking mind.

Never thought he would be a dad, and convinced himself he would be a bad one. Even if him and the farmer weren't using protection, it still blindsides him

He cuts back on freelance work to help more around the farm, especially in the last trimester. The farmer is NOT allowed to do anything more strenuous than play video games. He will prob call on Abigail and Sam to help, he's not exactly the most athletic guy in the world.

Despite his fears that he wouldn't do a good job, he certainly works to make sure they won't come true. Reads a lot of parenting books and talks to Robin a lot. Those talks heal a bit of the rift between them.

Robin jokes that she's too young to be a grandma, but Demetrius cries when he's given a World's Best Grandpa mug. Maru happily steps up as an aunt and will spoil the baby with custom made toys and a ton of STEM for baby books.

Abigail and Sam are the chaotic aunt and uncle I imagine Shane was to Jas. They will babysit (mostly Sam) but expect funny pictures and wacky situations.

Elliott --

He is overjoyed when you tell him the news. He's going to be a papa! Lots of hugs and swinging you around. He doesn't strike me as the type to seek parenthood, but would lovingly embrace it once given to him.

It doesn't hit him for a while that a baby is going to mean changing his lifestyle quite a bit. No more all nighters, he won't be able to write for hours and hours at a time anymore. He finds it worth changing that aspect of his life to adjust to this new addition, a physical manifestation of your love.

Starts to change his habits early on so he'll be better suited after the baby arrives. Fully supports when you go nest mode and will move the furniture around as much as you want.

Has had a list of names for years before you even meet him. And all of them are beautiful

Leah takes on an aunt type roll, and loves teaching the baby about art and colors.

Sam --

Panics hard at the announcement. It doesn't matter that you're married, he still feels like he's sixteen sometimes, and he's worried about getting in trouble

Jodi and Kent are overjoyed at becoming grandparents, and Vincent thinks it's cool he's going to be an uncle.

Abigail and Sebastian make fun of him for being so worried about it, and help him get ready mentally to be a dad. They may need to remind him how much he helped with Vincent.

Once he calms down and realizes his family isn't going to be mad and his friends will stick around, he's extremely excited. He helped make an entirely new person! Someone he can teach music to! Can you skateboard with a baby?

Happily becomes the stay at home dad and handles a lot of the childcare.

Absolutely writes banger after banger of goofy songs for his kid

Alex --

I think he would be the type that always wanted to be a dad, just to spite how bad his was. When you tell him he's going to be one, he's over the moon. One of the few times you ever see him cry is when you tell him about the pregnancy, and again when the baby arrives.

Immediately befriends all the moms in Pelican Town and joins their gossip groups so he can get their advice and help as you prep for the baby. They adore him. He's like their pet.

Gets into what-to-expect books and takes over farm chores basically as soon as you tell him. No, you don't need to be doing all of that. He's got it. Which, I do think he would be pretty involved on the farm. I don't think he's the type to slouch while his spouse does everything. You can trust that he'll do well.

Evelyn and George are shocked by the news. George especially didn't think they'd live long enough to see it. They both love the little one quite a bit, and despite George's general attitude, he only speaks sweetly to the baby.

Haley will absolutely bury you in baby outfits as gifts.

Harvey --

Probably the most panicked on the list. He's not an ob/gyn but he IS medically trained and knows how easily everything can go wrong.

This doesn't mean he isn't thrilled and amazed in equal measure. Sure, you knew it was a possibility, but... He's so happy. He always wanted to be a dad, and now it's happening! He gets very misty-eyed.

He starts taking over cooking to be sure you're getting all the nutrients you need. You will find snacks in your bag, all healthy.

He also wants you to cut back on the farmwork, maybe hire someone for a season or two to hold it down. He would take over if he could, but being the town's only doctor keeps him too occupied.

He will absolutely do every type of birthing partner class.

He also helps set up the birth plan. He handles your medical needs until the birth. The plan is to go to Zuzu City about when the baby is due, deliver in the big hospital where he can be by your side and let someone else be the doctor. This plan fails when you deliver early and he has to step up. Everything goes well.

Shane --

He never thought he would be a dad. He didn't think he was good enough to take in Jas, and for the longest time, he didn't think he was good enough to be involved enough to have a kid.

He's come so far since when you first met. He's still got his issues, but he has a healthy grasp on them anymore. He isn't filled with loathing when you tell him, but tears up and holds you close. He feels incredibly lucky to have someone that loves him enough to welcome a child from him.

He is excited to prep for the kid. He was around when Jas was born, so he still remembers a fair bit about the baby years.

Jas can't wait to be a big sister. She likes playing with Vincent, but it would be even better to have a brother or sister. Marnie tears up when you both tell her the news. She's already a great-aunt to Jas, but looks forward to welcoming your baby as well. If you call her Grannie she will melt.

Shane absolutely faints in the delivery room. Man thought he could handle it. He cannot.

He's a very attentive dad. He never, ever wants this part of him to feel like it's not loved or good enough.

#sdv headcanons #sdv shane #sdv elliott #sdv alex #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #sdv harvey

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babytarttdoodoo · 1 year ago

Note

kind of a rouge prompt idea but “i just told a story at work about my childhood that i thought was really funny but now everyone is super quiet and someone said i’m so sorry” but it’s jamie + the team edition. like he talks about a traumatising James Thing and has no idea how horrifying it is until they’re all like …… wtf

love your writing! <3

Thanks for the prompt (and the lovely compliment)!

I’ll preface this by saying I have next to no knowledge of dentistry and you should not assume any medical assertions made here are correct.

((I also feel like I should add that I finished this one off while more than a little tipsy.))

Enjoy the himbo chaos.

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

“Ay, dios mio, it was terrifying.” Dani put an emphatic hand to his chest. “Earl. He still haunts me.”

“Thought you were over that, bruv.” Isaac frowned up at him from his usual spot on the locker bench.

“On the pitch, yes. But at night…” Dani shook his head mournfully. “I have dreams of being chased in the dark. I know it is him.”

“I used to have dreams like that.” Colin piped up, pausing in tying his laces and looking haunted. “‘Cept it was my nana chasing me, on her mobility scooter.”

A few people sniggered and Isaac clapped Colin’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

“I never remember my dreams,” Sam mused. “But I have always been a very deep sleeper. My father says I was the envy of all other parents when I was a baby.”

“I have only ever had one nightmare.” Richard declared. “All of my beautiful little teeth fell out of my mouth and I was ugly. Who will kiss me if I have no teeth?”

“Who’s losing teeth?” Jamie asked, joining the conversation from the doorway with a furrowed brow.

“We are discussing nightmares,” Jan explained matter-of-factly, then turned back to Richard. “Dreams about losing teeth are commonly attributed to stress.”

Jamie shook his head, still looking confused.

“Nah, don’t get that one, mate. Your dentist can just stick ‘em right back in, can’t they?”

That sparked a round of horrified protests and Jamie flapped his hands like a conductor to quiet the rabble.

“Eh, eh, I’m right!”

“Actually…” Sam held up his phone, open on an NHS webpage. “Jamie is correct.”

The locker room erupted into disgust and outrage while Jamie grinned smugly and tipped his I,COG cap to Sam for the assist.

“Hold on, how did you know that?” Isaac demanded, staring at Jamie like he had two heads. That quietened the team a little as heads swivelled in Jamie’s direction.

“Knocked two of ‘em out when I were, like, 10.” He shrugged and tapped a fingernail against one of his front teeth in demonstration. “Mum’s friend were a dental nurse. Told her to put them in some milk and take me to hospital.”

“You were very lucky.” Sam commented, still scrolling through the information he had found. “A significant gap in your teeth can lead to premature ageing.”

“And what a tragedy that would have been, eh?” Jamie beamed, gesturing to his face. “To think I might have deprived the world of this top tier mug.”

Other players groaned and laughed, a few tossing socks or discarded shirts in Jamie’s direction while he ducked, sniggering.

“How do you know they gave you your real teeth back?” Bumbercatch questioned, with an air that suggested great suspicion of the dentistry profession as a whole.

Jamie considered that. “Fair point,” he conceded. “They feel like mine, though.”

“Wait, how do you even manage to lose two teeth at once?” Colin interjected, muffled by his fingers as he prodded his own mouth in confusion. “I’ve never lost any after my baby teeth.”

“Took a snooker cue to the face.” The team winced as a collective and Jamie nodded sagely. “Were pretty grim. Blood all over the pub floor and everything.”

“You were 10?” Thierry clarified, face scrunched up. “Do kids normally get into bar fights here?”

“Well, yeah, s’pose not.” Jamie shuffled in place, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “Weren’t a fight so much. Dad took me in to watch a match and it all kicked off a bit.”

An uneasy quiet overtook the general hubbub and more than one face went stony at that revelation.

“Mate.” Jeff looked like he’d rather not be the one probing further, but had bitten the bullet anyway. “Your, uh, your dad wasn’t the one with the pool cue, was he?”

“Eh…” Jamie glanced around the room before answering. “Well, yeah. He was. But I’m, like, 90% sure it were an accident.”

Chaos detonated like a bomb.

Isaac and Richard jumped to their feet, one cursing in French, the other demanding to know how long it would take to get to Manchester. Colin seemed to be googling train times.

Dani had taken to rifling through his bag, looking for god knows what, and Thierry was strapping on his mask like it was war paint (he didn’t even need it anymore, he just liked looking scary).

Jan was a terrifyingly silent pillar in the middle of the storm and Sam… Well, Sam looked like he had been gutted.

“OI!” Roy’s bellow commanded immediate silence, players freezing mid-shout. He was framed by the door to the coaches’ office, arms crossed and typical glare set in place. “What the fuck is going on out here?”

“Close ranks!” Jamie all but squeaked, invoking a hallowed, sacred vow from the team to collectively shut the fuck up.

All eyes turned to Issac who, as captain, had the final say.

On balance, he decided it was probably best that their new manager didn’t get arrested for murder before the season even got underway.

“Agreed.” he finally acquiesced and the whole room affirmed their compliance sullenly. It just wasn’t worth the forfeit to cave in under Roy’s (very effective) glare.

“... right then.” Roy finally allowed, still looking at them all suspiciously. “Then get out on the pitch and stop wasting our time.”

Everyone clamoured towards the tunnel, eager to escape the intense atmosphere. All except Jamie, who was still hurriedly pulling on his kit.

He tried not to seize up when Roy sidled over.

“You’ll tell me later.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Jamie knew better than to take it as one. He slumped in defeat.

“Yeah. Probably.”

#is it crack!fic or is it just afc richmond #who's to say #fic prompts #fic prompt #my fic #jamie tartt #isaac mcadoo #colin hughes #sam obisanya #moe bumbercatch #dani rojas #jan mass #jeff goodman #richard montlaur #roy kent #ted lasso #richmond himbos

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 months ago

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MCU Rewatch #3: THOR (2011)

General Impressions: I'm allowed to like this one for reasons unrelated to objective quality! I'm also allowed to dislike it for same!

Thor does a good job at a bunch of things. It manages to really succinctly outline what Asgard's deal is, who the major players are, and how this complete fantasy world works, while remaining in the context of a two-hour movie that mostly doesn't even take place there. It's very funny in places! It's not at all a deep movie, but it's entertaining and fantastical and that's fun. This is -- and was! -- the perfect movie to watch in a cold movie theater during a hot summer, munching popcorn and explosions, and that's a perfectly valid thing to be.

Anyway, for me the best parts and the worst parts of this movie were the same, ie Loki. We'll get there -- he was by far the most complex part of this really quite simple film, and that has its plusses and minuses!

All in all, there's nothing wrong with a simple film, and for the most part that's what I'll say about Thor: it was a simple film with good fight scenes, and nothing much was wrong with it.

OH. Except the sound balancing/editing. That was absolutely criminal and whoever was in charge of sound design for this movie should be shot, not just for their crimes here but for the many years of emulation to come.

The Hero: Like the movie, simple but endearing, with a genuine heart.

Thor is definitely not as compelling as Tony Stark, but he's likeable, and his emotional arc is definitely both present and the most genuine part of this movie. In a lot of ways, what we see here is that Thor is a big kid. He makes decisions without thinking about consequences. He does not bother to try and read a room. He's arrogant in a way that reflects his position, but he's also arrogant in a way that suggests he hasn't considered his position -- having his powers, hammer, and home taken away from him is a shock because he's never thought about the fact that he had them in the first place. Getting sent to Earth is more or less a boy being grounded by his father to try and teach him responsibility. Thor is almost a coming-of-age movie, except that it never quite feels like Thor actually gets there -- he's better, by the end, but not quite a man standing on his own two feet just yet. Breaking the Bifrost is a sacrifice on his part, not a decision carrying the weight of the responsibilities Thor will have as an adult and future king.

That said, I really enjoyed the sincerity of his confusion and grief over being told Odin was dead. He's a hurt little kid, asking his brother if please, can I go home. The scene with Selvig in the bar is one of the best in the movie, with Thor admitting vulnerability and doubt and regret over how he left things with his father. (And again, telling that all of these are feelings about his dad, with a man old enough to be a dad/granddad, and that's the energy Thor needs to lean on right now -- Selvig, not Jane, gets Thor's emotional breakthrough moments, because Thor is a tall handsome child who hasn't grown past needing a parent.)

Also, I vaguely remember some fan back-and-forth about whether Thor is kind of dumb, or very smart but trolling, or very smart and just ignorant of local customs. Upon rewatch, Thor may or may not be smart, but he doesn't particularly care. He does shit on Earth because he doesn't care enough to pay attention to whether it's appropriate. Nobody else is smashing coffee mugs, and the diner is totally lacking in raucous celebratory energy, but Thor wants to be raucous and celebrate, so he's going to do so whether it's appropriate or not. Doesn't matter that he's been driven around in cars his whole time on Earth, he doesn't spend thirty seconds to think about what might be appropriate travel, he's going to make assumptions. This is more of that self-centered teenager logic, where he doesn't bother to try and think about the existence of points of view outside his own.

The Villain: If I end up having Loki Feels by the end of this marathon I'm going to stab something. I refuse.

Anyway, Loki was the most complex part of this really quite simple film, which has good and bad sides! I can and will be objective about how well/poorly that complexity was rendered, but sitting here thirteen years after this movie came out, I can admit it: I really fucking hate the Evil Adopted Kid trope. It's a shitty trope and I don't like it, for personal reasons, and that is always going to color my experience with Loki in any movie where he shows up

That aside, Loki's actual motivations and plans in this movie were baffling and kind of a mess. The problem is that Loki is a complex character, with a lot of doubts, full of love and jealousy and insecurity and pride, but we very rarely get to see him from the inside. It feels like the movie was really invested in surprising people with the end twist of Loki killing Laufey in front of Odin, revealing that actually he was on Asgard's side all along! and does not hate his family! So therefore, for the movie before that, we had to be witness to everyone else's doubts about him and only seeing his actions from the outside, to keep that a surprise. I can see how it'd be effective on a first watch, when the suspense of 'what is this guy going to do and what side is he on?' can pull a viewer through the movie. On a rewatch, knowing what Loki's ultimate deal is, it just feels confusing and inconsistent. What exactly was your plan for when your dad woke up, Loki? Did you actually intend to leave Thor on Earth forever? Were you or were you not actually hoping to kill your brother? What the fuck was your endgame here?

I think there is probably a very interesting story here where Loki's plans seem muddled because he's muddled, awash with emotions and doubts and the inner conflict between love of his brother, twisting jealousy, the objective truth that Thor would be a terrible king, and the fact that Loki, like Thor, is also still very much a grown-up kid. He's making dumb decisions by the seat of his pants and his motivations are contradictory and messy. That tracks, with what we see, but we don't get to see that because this movie is too invested in its twist and its simplicity. Allowing Loki the time and space to be this complicated would steal the entire show from his simpler, genuine brother, and because the movie itself wanted to be simple and straightforward, there wasn't room to hold the layers of its complicated villain. No wonder the Tumblr girlies went wild for him.

The Ensemble: Weak romantic lead with an A+ comic sidekick, hobbled by needing to run two casts at once.

I think this is where we really see Thor suffer from the problem of having to establish two casts at the same time. The New Mexico side of the equation, Jane and Selvig and Darcy, simply doesn't get time for character development. We know next to nothing about Jane, except that she cares about her research and once dated a doctor. Why this research? How did she get into it? How long has she been in New Mexico? What university does she even work for??? It's true that we don't get a lot of details about, say, Pepper's backstory, but it doesn't matter because we understand from the very beginning how she fits into her life and also Tony's life. Jane is a brief three-day whirlwind in Thor's existence, and that's not enough time for him or us to understand who she is or why we should love her. It feels like the movie went through the motions of having a Lady Love Interest, and it doesn't work out great.

Darcy and Selvig actually fare better, simply because there's less need for them to be more than they are. All we know about Darcy is that she's a polisci major who's working a summer internship way outside of her field, but we don't need to know more -- she's there to be fucking hilarious and indeed she is. Selvig is there to help facilitate Jane's choices and Thor's emotional development, and he does his job well.

The Asgardians have a similar problem. Thor's four friends are basically interchangeable (Sif's only notable distinction being that she's a girl). Thor's mom...shows up? We get the impression that there's more going on with Odin than we've seen, but I wonder if some of that is just me remembering Ragnarok -- either way, given that Odin is literally in a coma for 3/4 of this movie, it doesn't mean much. Heimdall probably has more characterization than anyone else in Asgard other than Loki, and that is...not a lot.

It's a lot of just not very much, across the board.

The Franchise: We're already seeing the formula start to get built and tested in the moviemaking labs.

It's fascinating watching Thor on screen directly after two back-to-back movies of Tony Stark, because Thor has some of Tony's same growth arc with none of his fascinating complexity. On the surface they've got the same vague sketched outline: careless, self-involved privileged prettyboy must learn to think outside himself and care for others to become a hero. Thor takes that plotline in a very different direction, which means the movie doesn't feel same-y, but a more cynical viewer might wish to speculate about what boardroom or producer's office suggested that the writing team follow that.

I think Thor actually does better about wasting time trying to set up the future of the franchise. We don't spend a ton of time on Coulson and Hawkeye here -- if we watched this movie with no idea who they were or that they were here to set up anything at all, they'd function fine as Generic Government People (with an inexplicable thing for archery). I think the place where the setting-up hits worst, actually, might be with Loki: he needs to be complex and sympathetic enough to be interesting as the main villain of Avengers, but we can't resolve anything about him before that. (Not sure how far they'd planned the plot of Avengers at this point in the production run, but I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already called him as their bad guy.)

Thinking about the big thematic MCU premise of a superhero world without secret identities -- the choice of Thor as our next hero in the franchise, somebody who neither has nor needed a secret identity to begin with, is clever there. They're not going back on the freedom from overworked secret identity bullshit that they've promised, but they're also not stuck making a second movie about the lack of them, which would just end up looking like a retread of IM2. The secrets we do find here are all kept by SHIELD, which is clearly trying to keep superhero stuff in, and just as clearly is not managing it. (Loki also has a secret identity, with his discovery of his Jotunn heritage...hmm, much to think about there for the future.)

We pretty much lose all themes around the military-industrial complex here, and the movie is probably the better for it, considering what a hash IM2 made of the subject.

VERDICT: A breezy, light 6/10

Thor is in every respect a perfectly fine movie. It's simple, it's straightforward, it manages to do a bunch of things and establish a brand new fantasy setting without actually putting much depth into any of them.

I suspect that, as I get further on in this franchise, 'perfectly fine and no great flaws' is going to be the verdict on a lot of these movies, and I'm going to start dropping my number rating lower and lower every time something shows up that's simply fine. For now, with the context of only IM1 and 2, 'does light summer adventure flick competently with some sincerity and doesn't fuck it up' feels like an improvement over IM2's messiness, so that's where I'm rating it.

Except for the sound design. Anyone who thinks their battle sequences need sound effects roughly 800% of a standard dialogue scene should be forced to watch their own movies with the sound on a pair of unremovable headphones set to a flat however-loud-it-needs-to-be-to-hear-people-talking. Perhaps, after the deafness ensues, they will change fucking careers.

#C watches MCU 2024 #Thor #MCU #every version of this character and title are just different variants on saying Thor #well and also I guess #Loki #oh Loki #not looking forward to the Avengers rewatch segment about you

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beardedjoel · 1 year ago

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closer | part seven

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: joel invites you over for a very unforgettable night together. 8k words.

chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), soft!dom joel, joel being domestic and cute, unprotected piv, creampie, rough sex, spanking, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink

You walk into your parents’ kitchen with headphones on, completely in your own world, just coming in to get coffee that you know they’ll have brewed by now. You’re mouthing the words to the song in your ears, even moving your body a bit with the rhythm as you open the door and walk in. You don’t see your parents anywhere but you shrug, heading to the coffee pot and pouring a mug full. You’re practically putting on your own performance at this point, getting that good feeling when your shuffle seems to know exactly what songs you need to hear as you start to move your hips a little, getting into it.

You turn and quickly freeze, seeing Joel and your parents standing near the entrance to the kitchen that leads to the rest of the house. Your mouth remains hanging open where it was about to belt out a long note and your eyes immediately hit the floor, but not before you notice Joel holding back the biggest grin. You pull the headphones out of your ears and put on your best polite smile, remembering that your parents aren’t supposed to know just how well you know Joel. You clear your throat, mumbling out a small apology - you don’t think you need to apologize for them walking in on your little show, but you find yourself saying it anyways.

“You remember Joel from next door,” your dad says somewhat awkwardly to try to diffuse the embarrassing tension in the room, and you press your lips together and nod maybe a bit too enthusiastically. Acting natural right now doesn’t feel like your strong suit, but you’re going to try your hardest - it isn’t easy when they’ve just surprised you like this. You are definitely about to tear into him later for not texting you beforehand with a heads up.

“Yeah, of course. Couldn’t forget how helpful you were the other week,” you keep up the smile, feeling like your face is about to crack any second.

“Nice to see ya again,” Joel says with a slight, polite nod, and damn, you’re impressed by how believable he is right now.

“You too,” you say, then look at your parents. “What’s uh, going on?”

“Well, Joel here was so kind and helpful, we wanted him to take a look at the grout in the bathrooms, just to let us know what he thinks. I felt like it needed work when we bought the place, and Joel here has offered to have his crew help us fix it up, isn’t that just so sweet?” Your mom beams at you, and you almost choke a little on your coffee at hearing Joel is about to be that much closer with your parents.

“Oh, wow,” you try to exclaim despite the absolute anxiety tearing through you right now. “That’s awesome. Very, uh, neighborly.”

“No problem at all,” Joel says, turning towards your parents again with a kind smile.

“Oh, honey, would you show him your bathroom too? I know that apartment is a newer addition, but it looked kind of like a rush job to me,” your mom says, and her inner perfectionist is showing big time. You at least have a chance to be alone with Joel for a moment and break this act you’re putting on.

“Sure thing, we’ll be right back,” you say, leading Joel out the door and around to the staircase. The second you’re climbing the stairs, you turn back and look at him wide eyed, and he stifles a laugh.

“Not. Funny,” you grunt out, opening the door. The moment it’s closed behind you, Joel grabs the sides of your head, crushing his lips against yours. You moan a little, immediately grabbing at his waist, wrapping your arms around him and sliding your hand under his shirt and up his back. His lips part and his tongue traces along your lips, begging for entry into your mouth. You return the motion, scrambling your hands all over each other as you make out like two teenagers. You’re against the door now, your need for Joel growing by the second, and you wonder how long you could be gone before it’s suspicious.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pulling his mouth off of yours. “Come over tonight,” he blurts out. Joel’s forehead is leaning against yours now, his eyes closed.

“Okay. Usual time?”

“Dinner time, 6:30,” Joel says. He breathes for a few moments, unable to tear his forehead from yours. “Wish I could do everything I wanna do to you right now, but we’ll have to wait, won’t we?”

You whimper a little at his response as he pulls further away, heading towards the bathroom. You highly consider jumping him and pulling him down onto your bed, saying screw it to this time constraint and getting him all to yourself for as long as you need. Instead, you lean in the doorway of the bathroom with your arms crossed, watching him work as he inspects various aspects of the tiles and fixtures in there.

“Don’t tell me you’re poutin’” Joel says, glancing over at you.

“No, I just…” You rub a hand down your cheek, feeling a bit stressed out. “I just can’t wait for later,” you say, trying not to sound like the whiny, clingy girl you feel like, thinking that’s likely the last thing Joel’s looking for. He finishes his inspection, walking over to you and kissing you lightly, barely a brush against your lips.

“It’ll be worth the wait, baby, I promise you. Trust me, I’d rather stay cooped up in here with you all day.” You crack a smile - it’s like his words have a lifting effect, hearing that he wants to do the same exact thing you’d thought of moments ago.

“We aren’t done talking about the fact that you just showed up here without warning me, by the way,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back to where your parents are waiting for you.

“Oh, you’re tellin’ me. We are definitely divin’ into that little concert of yours,” Joel says, and you simply scowl and push him on the arm, feeling the embarrassment of the memory hitting you hard.

After talking to your parents, the agreement is that Joel is going to work on your bathroom as well, maybe bring some of his crew in to get it all done quicker. They’re going to work out the logistics of it later, he says, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s going to be in this house for days doing the work, maybe even during times when nobody else is home. You decide maybe it won’t be such a bad thing after all, and you have to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot during the conversation as the realization hits you. In fact, this could work out perfectly, you think - an easy excuse to spend plenty of time around Joel without seeming too obsessive and scaring him the hell away from you.

That evening you knock on the door, despite Joel telling you that you should just start walking in if he’s invited you, but it feels too presumptuous to you at this stage of things, so you settle on continuing to knock. Joel answers the door, opting to not say anything about it, and welcomes you with a grin. You take a step inside and as Joel is closing the door behind you he leans in, capturing your mouth in a long, deep kiss. You melt immediately at the warmth of his lips on yours, and the way he’s brought his arms around your waist as he kisses you.

“Hi there, darlin’” he says, pulling back.

“Hi.” You smile back, and wrap your arms around his neck and lean back in. You kiss him a little more urgently, already feeling the familiar anticipation creeping in that happens whenever you even think about Joel. He gives right into it for a few moments, backing you into the wall right next to the door, pressing his body close.

“Wait,” he says, moving back a bit. “Not right now, or else everything will burn.” It’s like as soon as he says it, the smell immediately hits your nose - you’d been too distracted by him taking up every one of your senses when you walked in to notice that it smells incredible in here. You slide off your shoes, following Joel back to the kitchen with curious eyes peering around. He immediately heads over to the stove, where you see a pan full of bright vegetables cooking, along with a pot of boiling water. There are ingredients all over the surrounding counters, along with the cutting board and dishes he’s been making throughout the cooking process.

“What’s all this?” you ask timidly, approaching closer to the stove, unable to hide the huge smile that’s on your face.

Joel gives the pan a stir and then turns back to you. “What’d I say? Told you I would, so I’m makin’ you dinner, baby,” he replies, and you have to press you upturned lips together in an effort to not squeal in excitement. Not that you necessarily doubted him, but you genuinely thought that was just something people might say and never follow through on.

You let out a small chuckle. “Joel… that’s so… sweet,” you say, feeling somewhat speechless. You approach closer to the stove and look at what he’s doing, but he shoos you away playfully. You reach to move some of the dishes to the sink, and the second Joel notices he stops you.

“Hey, none of that. You go sit over there,” he demands, gesturing over to the kitchen table. You sigh in defeat, but you can’t stop smiling as you sit down, watching Joel pull out a wine glass and set it on the counter.

“You like white wine?” he asks, and you must look surprised, because he adds, “I drink wine too, y’know.”

“I can see that,” you giggle a little, “And yeah, white wine is good with me.” Joel takes your confirmation as a signal to pour you a glass and bring it over.

“How was your day? Other than terrorizing me at my parents’ house?” you ask him as he heads back over to the stove, working to drain the pasta. He laughs, then shakes his head.

“Listen, they approached me, and how could I say no? They’re sweet people.”

You roll your eyes before taking a sip out of your glass. You decide that Joel surprisingly has good taste in wine. “Yes, they are, unfortunately.” You ponder for a few moments before bringing up what you’re thinking. “So, you’re going to be over there quite a bit? For how long?”

“Depends how many people I’m able to spare for the job.”

“Wait, are you, like, in charge at your work?” You crinkle your brow, a little smirk spreading on your face.

“Er, yeah. Tommy and I, we run the contracting company.”

“Oh, shit. That’s so cool, I had no idea.” You really feel like you’re beaming with pride for him being so accomplished, really having his shit together. Meanwhile, you feel the complete opposite these days.

“Thought you only wanted to be around me ‘cause I’m such a big shot, owning my own business and all that.” He looks over his shoulder at you with a wry grin.

“Oh that’s definitely it, yeah.”

“Damn,” Joel quips. “I will be around quite a bit at your parents’ place though, so we’ll have to make it work if you don’t want them to know about… well, us. We’d be officially sneakin’ around.”

“I kind of thought we already were,” you admit with a little smirk.

“Guess that’s true. You’re alright with that?” He stops working on the meal and leans back against the counter, facing you.

“I just assumed… that you didn’t really want people to know we’re messing around. Since it’s just… casual, right?” You say the words awkwardly, realizing that you two hadn’t really talked about this yet, and you have been making a whole lot of assumptions this entire time. You try to fight the little sad twinge that pops up inside of you when you admit about it just being casual, because you’re beginning to worry that for you, it isn’t. You could really see yourself falling much deeper into the way you feel about Joel, and it’s scaring you.

“Yeah, right,” Joel replies after a thoughtful moment. “Just casual. We both like each other, and spendin’ time together, and doin’ other stuff together,” he smirks, and you chuckle a little.

“We do like that other stuff,” you joke, trying to lighten your own internal mood. “So yeah, I guess I’d prefer if my parents don’t know right now, I don’t want to make them feel weird about having you in the house, or something. I don’t know.” You quickly run your hands over your face, feeling the stress of the situation mounting.

“Hey, don’t stress, baby, we’ll figure it out. We can just keep it quiet, then.” He turns back to the stove, trying to finish up the meal. You let him focus on cooking while you’re lost in thought. To be honest, you know logically you should be keeping this relationship quiet for everyone’s comfort, but part of you wants to run outside and scream to the whole world about how obsessed you are with this man. You sigh, downing some more of the wine, and feel yourself wanting to just enjoy this night with Joel instead of focusing on all this other shit.

A few minutes later he’s placing a plate of salad and pasta in front of you. Your eyes go wide at the beautiful, delicious presentation - you’d definitely been right about Joel being a good cook, you think as your nose picks up the scent coming from your plate.

“Wow, Joel,” you exclaim as he sits down across from you with his own plates of food. “What is all of this? Pasta primavera?”

He smiles and nods. “Sure is, I always see you eating those vegetables with dips and hummus and stuff in your yard, so… I figured you might…” he trails off, rubbing his neck. Your mouth hangs open a little, unable to believe that he was this thoughtful with the meal he chose to make. It made the butterflies you already felt around him intensify at the thought that he’d wanted to please you that much with this.

“That’s so thoughtful, Joel,” you say incredulously. “I love this dish, actually, so spot on.” You look up at him with a small, shy glance and then back down to your plate.

“I’m glad, darlin’,” he replies. “Okay, well dig in,” he says, looking expectantly at you, and you realize that maybe for the first time since you’ve met him, he actually seems a bit nervous about something. You’re very tempted to poke fun at him about it, but you decide against taking the opportunity, forking the salad and taking a bite.

“Shit, that’s good,” you call out quickly, covering your mouth as you chew. “That dressing…”

“Er, I made it,” Joel says more quietly than normal before taking a bite of his own.

“You’re not serious. And you tried to act like you’re not a good cook!” you playfully scold him, continuing to dig into the meal. Joel watches you eat with a pleased, satisfied look on his face - this is clearly something he loves doing to take care of people in his life. When you’ve eaten every bite of your meal and downed your wine, Joel refills your glass once, and you sit back a little in your chair and soften your eyes looking in Joel’s direction.

“Thank you,” you say. “I don’t think someone has cooked me anything like this before. A guy, I mean.”

“You’re welcome baby, was all worth it to see that pretty smile on your face,” he says, and your face gets hot from a combination of his words and the alcohol warming your insides. You end up talking for a while longer, Joel’s gaze steadily changing throughout the interaction, until he looks at you with that look, the one you’re beginning to learn very well.

“Want to come upstairs with me?” he finally drawls, the look in his eyes deepening.

You nod, feeling a little breathless already at the insinuation. He stands up and silently takes your hand, leading you to the stairs.

Joel’s bedroom is very much what you expected based on the rest of his house. He walks in and turns on a side lamp, illuminating the room just enough for you to look around a bit easier. There is a blue comforter on the bed, a few pillows, dark wood dressers and night tables, and nature themed photos on the walls.

Joel wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, humming a low groaning sound in your ear. “Been wantin’ this…” he murmurs, and you instantly know what he’s talking about. Your heart pounds a little faster now, knowing you’re finally getting what you’ve wanted too. It doesn’t stop a nervous flutter from your stomach though, knowing just how big he is and what’s about to happen. You lean into him and close your eyes, breathing in his scent as his hands ghost across your back, sending you shuddering a little.

“Me too…” you reply, tilting your head up to kiss him. He takes the cue and captures your mouth with his, his tongue sliding over yours as he kisses and bites lightly on your lip.

“You just impressed me with your cooking to try and seduce me, huh?” you murmur quietly in between kisses.

“Well, did it work?” He arches a brow, looking down at you.

You give him an unimpressed look before kissing him again. “Obviously.”

“Somethin’ tells me I didn’t need to cook all of that to get you up here,” he replies.

“Shut up,” you tease. “You’re not wrong.”

“Cause see… I know exactly what to do to make you go crazy, baby. Wouldn’t have needed to do much…” he pushes into you now, forcing you to take a few steps back, until you feel a wall near the doorway behind you. He’s right, you’re already completely losing your mind at this simple interaction, his form towering over you, dominating you. “All I need to do is ask you to be a good girl and fuck me, and you’d do it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you feel the dull ache of desire beginning to ignite inside of your core. You haven’t said anything, and Joel is looking at you expectantly. “Isn't that right?” he says, his eyes going darker as he scans your face.

You nod. “Yes.” you manage to breathe out. “Let me be good for you baby, please.” Your body arches towards him, the aching spreading in between your legs and you feel yourself starting to get wet. Joel’s head tilts down and his lips meet your neck, kissing lightly, sending you arching even further into him with a soft moan escaping your lips. The kisses trail down your neck and to your shoulder, where one of his fingers moves under the strap of your dress, pulling it gently down your shoulder where it falls easily. He traces his fingers lightly and teasingly there, planting a kiss on the same spot as his fingers brush down your chest to the top curve of your breast. He brings his head back up and looks at you, that glazed look of desire in his eyes as he watches you react to his fingers brushing over your already hard nipple before dipping back down and kissing your neck again. You inhale sharply, fluttering your eyes closed and leaning your head back against the wall.

Joel grabs your chin, then brings his mouth up to yours, capturing your lips in a ravenous kiss. You’re already a delirious mess for him, returning the kisses with equal passion. His hands are roaming quickly, one tracing down your back while the other squeezes your tits, groaning at the feel of your body underneath his fingers. You reach with slightly trembling hands in between your bodies and start to hastily un-do the buttons on his shirt. He moves his arms so he can shrug the shirt off of him, and you both stop for a moment while you take in his topless body in front of you, dragging your fingers down his chest.

“You have entirely too much clothing on, darlin’,” he drawls, watching your eyes eagerly take his body in. In reply, you pull your dress off over your head and discard it on the floor, leaving only a pair of panties on you now. You watch Joel’s eyes change quickly, and his hands grab under your ass and begin lifting you up, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself close as your feet leave the ground. Your legs fling around his hips and wrap tightly around him as he pushes himself in between your legs, completely closing the gap between you two. You’re pushed against the wall, Joel’s strong arms holding you up as he kisses you.

Joel carries you the few steps to his bed and lays you down, immediately covering your body with his as he crawls on top of you. Your legs are still wrapped around him tightly, not giving him any space as you breath heavily, anticipation and nerves building steadily inside of you. You can feel Joel’s cock pressing through his jeans onto your bare leg, and you desperately want it, are beginning to feel a need for it to be inside of you. Joel has begun to steadily kiss his way around your chest, stopping at one of your nipples and swirling his tongue around it. You grit your teeth, bucking your hips into him.

“Joel…” you moan out, reaching your hands down to his belt, fiddling with it while trying to maintain any sense of composure as he steadily works his mouth alternately on both of your nipples. Your cunt is becoming more of a needy, aching thing with every passing second, and you press your hips into nothing, just Joel’s jeans in the way of what you really want. His belt is free and you hastily unzip his pants and reach in, fisting his cock in your hand. Both of you make a relieved groan at feeling one step closer to what you wanted. Joel grunts into your skin as you lightly trace your hand around his shaft, working your way up to the head.

“Always so impatient, baby,” Joel says, his voice coming out slow and down an octave, clearly feeling the pleasure you’re trying to give him with your touch.

“You already know how crazy I feel about your cock,” you reply with a smirk as Joel shoots his gaze up to your face, his expression changing rapidly to the devilish one you’ve seen before. It appears that talking about his cock like that seems to do something for him just like his praises do for you.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” he asks, grinding his hips down a little into your touch, “You think about this cock all day, huh?”

You nod slowly. “Wanting you inside of me, fucking me to pieces, fucking me until I can barely walk. Or move. Or think,” you run your other hand across his shoulder and down his arm, sending goosebumps across Joel’s skin. Joel growls low, pressing himself harder into you. You don’t know why he’s torturing himself like this when he could already be buried deep in your mouth or cunt right now - he knows that’s the only thing you’re eager for, after all.

“I’m sure we can accomplish all of those things tonight, darlin’,” he says, leaning in for a whisper of a kiss on your lips that leaves you wanting more. Just the thought of it has your skin on fire, your core twisting with burning anticipation. You can feel the way your panties are wet with that same anticipation, and you’re practically about to beg for Joel to take them off and see just what he’s doing to you. As if he could read your mind, Joel shifts his body and hooks his thumbs on the sides of your underwear, pulling them down your legs.

“Christ,” he murmurs to himself, seeing the thick line of wetness in your panties, practically dripping from your pussy at this point. “Never gets old, baby,” he says, glancing up at you for a moment. You shy away a little under his stare and the fact that you’re laying bare before him. He tosses the panties somewhere nearby on the floor and feasts his eyes between your legs before quickly diving in to feast with his mouth, as well. It’s unexpected, and you gasp at the sudden feeling of his tongue swiping through you, trying to lick up every bit of wet desire for him down there.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he says, pulling his mouth off of you before he reaches down to start taking his jeans off, and you feel your internal excitement rising as you see him just in his briefs now, a navy blue pair. You lean forward to play with the waistband of his underwear, teasingly sliding your finger along it and giving him begging eyes.

“I know what you want…” he smirks.

“Then give it to me,” you try demanding. He simply tuts and shakes his head, deciding to pull of his briefs, and finally, fucking finally, Joel is naked. You take a deep breath as you look him over as he crawls back over top of you, seeing his cock looking so intimidating and hard. You suddenly feel an anxious trembling taking over your body again - sure, you’ve had 3 of his fingers fit in there, and those are large, but… this? It’s safe to say that despite how badly you want him to fuck you, you’ve been a bit skeptical about how it’s going to feel at first, or even fit. Joel seems to notice you getting in your head, because he reaches up to your face and looks into your eyes.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” he asks softly.

You bite your lip, feeling so ridiculous. “I don’t know if it’s dumb, I’ve been literally dying for this moment but I’m just nervous, about… you know…” and you glance down towards his cock. Joel chuckles a little, but not in a way that he’s laughing at you, more like he finds you endearing the way you’re completely naked and still saying “you know” to reference having sex with him.

“Baby,” he coos, stroking your cheek. “Nothin’ to worry about, okay? You say the word and I’ll stop at any time.”

You smile tightly and nod, feeling a bit more ready than you were. Joel crawls off of you and reaches over to a bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and putting it on. You weirdly find yourself frowning at it, despite the appreciation for him trying to be safe and considerate, you’d kind of hoped to feel all of him today. One thing at a time, you remind yourself.

You try to embolden yourself a little bit, wrapping your legs back around him and settling your hips in a better position underneath him. Joel’s legs are now in between your legs, his cock resting close to your entrance. You almost whine at the feeling of it, just the head feeling so big against your folds. Your body responds before you can even think, sending your hips forward a bit into him, and Joel takes that as a cue to push his own hips forward as well. The head of his cock pushes in and you gasp a little - at the way it feels and surprise that it isn’t quite as uncomfortable as you’d expected. You moan softly, fingers running down Joel’s back, and you decide to push your hips up a little more, pulling him a bit deeper. Joel groans in pleasure, pressing his lips together for a moment to compose himself.

“Perfect fucking pussy,” he breathes out each word slowly as he slides in further, and you gasp softly again, but don’t stop him. You’re starting to wonder what you were so worried about, but then you realize how full you feel and he isn’t even all the way in yet. You give Joel a cheeky smile and guide him down into you with your legs that still are wrapped around him. You let out a breathy chuckle at the feeling of him sliding in as far as your body will let him.

“My god,” you murmur, blinking a few times as you adjust to it. Joel strokes the side of your head, smoothing your hair, giving you a sweet smile and eyes that are glazed over with the heat of the moment.

“That’s it,” he says softly, “My good girl.” You beam at him now, adjusting your hips a little, and it elicits a slightly shaky breath out of Joel at the feeling of him shifting inside of you. He can’t help it, he starts moving, gentle thrusts partially in and out of you. Everything he’s done to you and with you has been beyond your imagination, but this… there are no words, you think.

“F-fuck,” you stammer out quietly as he moves a little quicker, sliding his cock in and out of you. It definitely feels like a stretch on you, but in the best way, you’ve never felt so fucking full before like this and it’s making you feel insane with the pleasure of it. “Need you faster,” you say quietly, completely overcome.

“Insatiable,” he teases, one of his favorite ones for you, with a smug grin. But he gives you what you’re asking for, upping the pace of himself inside of you. You moan, feeling him touching that perfect spot deep inside of you, lightly now, but your anticipation for him to slam against it is sending an excited nervousness into your belly. Your legs around him anchor you as you lift your hips up to meet him with each thrust, your breathing shaky.

“Don’t forget, you’re s’posed to not be able to walk after this, remember?” Joel says with a grin. You don’t get a chance to reply, because he’s decided to try and make that a reality right now as he pushes hard into your cunt, leaving you breathless. He begins thrusting rhythmically much faster into you, his hands grasping into your hips tightly, digging into your ass and squeezing. He pulls you close to him, his body right against yours as he buries his head down next to your neck.

“This tight little pussy…. so perfect, sweet girl,” he groans into your ear, showering you with kisses along your neck before looking right into your eyes. “It’s all mine…�� he says quietly, and the heat behind his stare almost makes you shy away. You nod, and let out a breathy “yes,” barely able to speak with the way his cock is pushing deep inside of you with every movement of his.

“Tell me,” he says, his stare not letting up.

“It’s all yours, this pussy is all yours, Joel,” you cry out, and your words are his fuel as his hips roll slightly with every push now, his breathing heavy.

“That’s fucking right.” Joel’s pace doesn’t let up, and uses one hand to play with your tits and the other reaches down to your clit, rubbing circles. You’re completely submerged in just him, every part of your mind focused on the places you can feel him pleasuring you, and it’s overwhelming. Your whole body shakes a bit, trying to adjust to all of these sensations at once, and it’s building up to a climax quicker than you realized as the familiar tingling sensation grows inside of you.

“Fuck, just like that,” you cry out, praying he doesn’t let up - your climax is right there, you’re barreling towards it, just one more perfect touch and -

It hits you suddenly, Joel’s cock pressing right where you need him, and your insides burst with the fiery, tingling sensation you crave from him. Your hips buck forward, and you moan long and low, his name spilling from your lips in between each one. Your hips are spasming, pushing you into him, and he grunts, keeping up with the pace of what you need to ride out your climax. You slowly stop shuddering, relaxing back for a moment with quick breaths. You open your eyes and catch Joel smiling down at you, still slowly moving his cock inside of you. It feels good, soothing almost, on your sensitive cunt.

“We’re far from done here.” His voice goes down low again as his hips pick up the pace a little bit. You can’t really speak yet to reply, so you nod a little with heavy lidded eyes, willing to give him whatever it is that he wants.

Keeping himself inside of you, Joel picks you up by the hips, flipping you so that he’s underneath you now, and your legs straddle him while you sink down onto his cock. He groans at the new angle and depth he’s getting right now, and you have to say, it’s doing something for you too. Despite you being on top, Joel still takes all the control, grabbing your hips tightly as he practically lifts you up and slams you down onto his cock. You bounce on your legs a little, helping him along, but he’s the one setting the pace. You rake your hands down his chest before bending forward, settling onto him so that your face is in the crook of his neck. Your breath tickling there seems to urge him along, and he bends his legs up a little to support your ass as he continues to move your body for you, quickening the pace. The way you’re positioned, you’re getting just enough movement on your clit from your bodies touching that you can feel another climax building up quickly. You moan, feeling the depth of Joel’s cock inside of you as he pulls you all the way down onto him in hard, eager, movements.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Good girl, such a good girl. Come on this cock again, baby,” Joel demands, and you know that he can feel how close you are again. You can’t help but roll your hips a little each time he brings you down onto him, until you’re crazed, trying to pull yourself down more quickly than he is.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Joel,” you cry out, and holy fuck it’s amazing. Another bursting of tension rushes through you, and your body is tight against Joel’s, pushing your hips into him quickly and desperately like your life depends on it. Your moans cover over the loud slapping of flesh, echoing through the room until Joel starts whispering praises in your ear.

“Mmm,” he groans, “That’s it, comin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” His words feel incredible as you soak them in during all of this, your body shuddering on top of him as you can feel the ridiculous size of him pumping into you. In this dazed moment of passion, you want to do good, only good, for him, you want to worship him and let him fuck you any way he wants, anywhere, any time. You don’t think you could deny anything to someone that feels this amazing as you clench around them.

“God, Joel, I’d do anything to be good for you,” you whine out, almost unintentionally, coming down from your climax. You can’t even regret it when you feel this intoxicated by him right now.

“Oh, baby, you already are.” He strokes your hair, brushing sweaty strands off your face, and you pull your head off of his shoulder and stare at him with glassy eyes. It takes everything in Joel not to come right there with the way it feels to be looking at that expression while his cock still rests inside of you. “So good for me,” he reiterates, looking at you with amazement.

“Anything…” you murmur, blinking slowly, unsure even what you’re trying to convey. All you know is you’re moving your hips again slowly, wanting him to feel the pleasure you’d just received. Joel’s breath hitches a little, and he lets out a few whispered moans. You watch his face closely, and suddenly his expression hardens, as if he’s made up his mind on something.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commands, and you blink for a moment, trying to come out of the post-orgasm daze you’d been in to slide off of him and move as he’s directing you. He sits up once you’re off of his lap, and he quickly helps you redirect your body, grabbing you by the hips as you try to plant your hands on the bed and stick your ass up further for him. You breathe heavily, anticipating what he’s going to do next.

What you don’t expect is for him to smack your ass hard, but once he does it, a rushing feeling goes through you. He had said he was going to smack your ass on that first night, and now he was holding to it.

“That’s for all the times you were teasin’ me, girl,” his raspy voice chokes out before slapping both of his palms onto your ass cheeks and gripping them. “Said this was a perfect fucking ass.” He lets go, and you whine a little, not sure where this urge for him to continue doing it came from, but like many experiences with Joel, you seem to be learning a lot about yourself.

“You think…” you breathe out as you glance over your shoulder at him, “Just the one smack will do?” Joel laughs deviously in reply, leaning his body over top of yours and getting close to your ear. You can feel his cock brush against you, so hard and throbbing that you feel yourself get wet at the mere touch of it on your leg.

“Does my good girl want to be punished? Is that it?” he says, a darker grit to his voice coming through, and you nod furiously, looking at him with a begging stare. He can barely contain himself, grunting as he moves back, pressing his hips flush with your ass. One hand pushes down on the middle of your back, pressing the front half of you into the mattress, leaving your ass lifted up off the bed. Joel positions himself quickly, a frantic energy to him as he slides his cock between your legs, coating himself in your wetness. Then he plunges in with no mercy, giving all of himself at once, his entire length slamming into your cunt. You yelp at the sensation, but the sound is covered completely by a loud smack on your ass, then another.

You moan as your pussy stretches to take him all over again, and at this angle it’s absolutely devastating. Joel’s hand is still holding you down, and you’re only able to stay right here, taking exactly what he gives to you as he moves his cock into you as deep as he can go, over and over. He smacks your ass again, and it’s starting to sting more, but you find it’s urging you on, and you fucking like it. Despite Joel’s hold on you, you’re able to slide your hand off of the mattress and reach up to start rubbing your aching clit.

Joel’s hand moves from your back, reaches around you, and covers your own, stopping the movement on your clit for a moment before he wraps his hand around yours and begins directing the motions, putting himself in charge of your pleasure once again. The added pressure of his hand on your clit is already close to pushing you over the edge and you find that you find you physically can’t stop making noise, whimpering and moaning for your climax that’s so close within reach now.

Joel’s other hand soothingly rubs your stinging ass cheek, and you find your hips pushing back into it, wishing he’d smack it again. When he does, a louder groan slips out of your mouth and you feel the beginning of another orgasm rolling through you. Joel’s hand continues to move your finger frantically over your clit, and your hips buck into it as Joel keeps up the pace of his thrusting hips into you. It’s all so much, too much, and you’re crying out for him as the sensation sweeps your entire body and your muscles go tense and rigid with the pure pleasure of it all.

“F-fu-uck,” you manage to push out of your throat, barely able to get anything out that isn’t a scream for Joel. His breathing is quick, erratic, now and he plunges deep into you at the tail end of your orgasm.

“Gonna come baby, right in that pussy,” he groans out. “Tell me again, that it’s mine.”

“It’s all yours, Joel. My tight little cunt is all for you,” you sigh, feeling him tense as his cock drives all the way in once more

“Yeah, that’s right, baby,” he moans out, one of his hands holding tight onto your ass while he bucks his hips a few times as he comes. Your breathing quickens slightly again feeling him pump into you, knowing that you were able to undo him like that. He stays as he is, still inside of you, collapsing onto your back a little bit.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, relaxing a little bit. “You feel so fucking good, my sweet girl.”

You completely relax down onto the bed, and Joel turns onto his side and tucks you into him, still refusing to pull out of you. He moves the now sticky hair off of your neck and plants light kisses there as he spoons you. You moan quietly into it, feeling the prickle of his stubble on your sensitive skin there and the way his still heavy breaths hit you. After a few more moments, Joel scoots his hips back, finally pulling out of you, and it’s such a difference in feeling you find that your mouth opens in shock for a second. You also unsurprisingly find that you miss the feeling already, desperate for more now that you’ve had this taste of it.

You lay there, completely still and practically stunned speechless as Joel slides out of bed and over to the bathroom attached to his bedroom to take off the condom. He returns moments later, laying back down next to you and observing your expression. He reaches over and pulls you back to him, nestling you into his side as you put your head on his shoulder.

“How’re you feeling, hm?” he says, nudging you a little.

“I feel…” you say quietly, taking a deep breath in and thinking of any word to describe this indescribable feeling you’re having right now. “Wow,” you finish with the out breath, and Joel laughs, his chest rumbling your tangled bodies.

“Wasn’t too much, right?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned for you.

“What? No,” you say quickly, moving your eyes to his face. “That was everything.”

“Everything, huh?” he teases you, pulling you in a little tighter.

“Everything,” you respond, staring intently at him.

“It was really somethin’, I’ll give ya that. Can’t believe just how good you are to me, baby,” he says, nuzzling his head down onto yours a bit and then kissing your forehead.

“You make it easy, you know.” You feel a little shy at how mushy you feel like you’re being right now, and it’s hard to meet his eyeline suddenly.

“Oh yeah? How’s that, darlin’?”

“You’re good to me first,” you say, smiling up at him. “Makes me want to do anything you want or need, to keep you happy.”

“Baby, you have no idea how well you’re keepin’ me happy,” he replies, with a big squeeze of your entire body, and you giggle, then laugh even harder when his hands brush a little on a ticklish spot on your side. You squirm, but Joel flips himself onto you, pinning you down before slowly tracing a finger over the spot he’d tickled moments earlier. You squeal, writhing under him.

“Stop!” you gasp, continuing to laugh and fight his grip.

He catches your mouth in a kiss, immediately sliding his tongue against your bottom lip, then dancing it into your mouth to meet yours. You return the motions, pulling back slightly after to nip at his lip before diving in for more. Joel pulls away reluctantly, looking down at you like he could do this for hours. You instantly go a little red at the way his eyes are lit up and fixed on you laying naked underneath him. Despite the way he’s starting to turn you on all over again, you can already feel the aching soreness in between your legs that you know is going to stay there throughout tomorrow, and you decide against going another round with him.

“It’s fair to say I think walking will be difficult right now, so we accomplished that” you blurt out, your way of saying you two should probably call it for the night. He rolls off of you with a satisfied smirk, settling down next to you on the bed. You readjust, catching the time on Joel’s bedside clock in the process, and tense up, realizing how late it’s getting. You start moving, standing off the bed and searching the floor for your underwear as you gather your dress in your arms.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel asks with a concerned expression, propping his head up a little off the pillows.

“I- I was going to head out, I saw it’s getting kind of late.” You twist your mouth to the side and bite your lip nervously, fiddling with the fabric in your hands. You feel so exposed right now, standing completely naked and feeling too awkward and shy to just ask to spend the night, even though it’s what you really want.

“You don’t have to do all that, darlin’,” he replies, rubbing the sheets where you’d just been laying. “Come back to bed.” Your eyes widen, and you feel yourself tense with excitement at what he’s implying.

“Can I -“ you start, and Joel nods with a kind half smile.

“I wanna wake up next to you tomorrow, sweet girl,” he says, and your heart leaps a little. You press your lips together to repress some of your smile, not wanting to give away just how happy what he said made you. You drop your clothes and slowly crawl back into the bed. Joel reaches for the bedside lamp to turn it off, plunging you two into darkness aside from the moonlight streaming in. He pulls the sheet up over you both, then his body is up against yours again, seemingly unable to stop holding you close.

You’re exhausted, but you want nothing more than to stay in this moment with him. “When’re we seeing each other again?” you murmur out sleepily.

“My god, you insatiable girl,” Joel chuckles heartily. “Tomorrow mornin’.”

“After that,” you whine.

“Very soon, baby. No use worrying about it now.” He takes a look at your heavy eyes, blinking slowly in an attempt to stay awake. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he says, continuing to hold you.

You agree with an affirming noise, letting your eyes close, but you feel like you can’t shake the worry he’s telling you not to have. You feel like all of this is too good to be true, that any moment will be your last with him. You’re starting to have more and more of a hard time separating the physical and mental aspects of this thing you’ve jumped into with Joel, and it’s gnawing at you as you try to fall asleep. You said earlier in the night that things were casual, but had you really meant it? And what the hell would it mean going forward if you hadn’t?

#i loooove them so much #i need joel to smack my ass when is it my turn????#fic: closer #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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