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grogusmum · 2 months

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Please Mister Please

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (nicknamed)

SUMMARY: You can't seem to escape that one song even after the apocalypse. Joel and Ellies friendship brings you some comfort, and maybe Joel is interested in more.

WORD COUNT: 1700ish

WARNINGS: None to speak of. Unless you need one for soft Joel. As always, if you see something I've missed, let me know in my DMs, and I'll add it.

A/N: Just a little something inspired by the Olivia Newton-John's song of the same name. (She was in her country music era) It's hardly edited, written on my phone, and Imma just yeetin' it out there. Oops. It's just the usual fluffy hurt comfort. But it IS my first go round with Joel. I hope you enjoy it! 💚

The jukebox was found on a supply run at some honky tonk out Fort Collins way called Sundance something or other. You laughed at your original thought, which was it's wasn't one of those new ones with CDs, realizing "those new ones" were now 40 years old... but this one was truly an antique, with vinyl in it and everything.

A Wurlitzer in all its chrome, brightly colored bakelite, and satisfying push button glory.

You shake your head now, thinking you should have known the moment you heard. Everyone was so excited. Because, of course, they were! How fun is an old timey jukebox full of country-western ballads, anthem, and line dance classics?

It brought an energy into Jackson like you hadn't seen before it. You got here early on, and watched its evolution from place where people were merely surviving to an industrious hive of busy bees, creating abundance but there wasn't much room for joy and then out of the clear blue sky - line dancing. At first they couldnt keep it plugged in all the time, it was turned on for a half an hour at the end of the day, until they had a good handle on the dam and power plant was working consistently. You're sure it was the inspiration for Maria's attention to holidays and socials after seeing the excitement and morale lift from it. Suddenly, y'all were living, not just staying alive. It seems silly, with so much real life and death shit to deal with, to get so hung up on one song, but it carried so much weight for you, you just couldn't shake it. If only it wasn't so sweet, if only it wasn't so catchy… Maybe people wouldn't have noticed it among all the other tracks. But it is sweet and catchy, and about making it after all the shit they'd been through...

So naturally, at five songs for a quarter, it ends up in the mix at some point. (It's the only reason the town has any coins. Paying it could have been bypassed, but dropping the 25¢ seemed to be part of the fun.) So when you least expected it, it would start to play, and so far, it continued to flip your stomach and make your eyes glass. And think about how he and you didn't actually make it.

Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson several months now. Ellie dove right in, school, taking care of the horses afterward, trying to socialize. She's a little guarded, but mostly funny and eager. Joel started helping Tommy right away, but it seemed to you more to keep busy than to join the community. He's wary and taciturn. When they weren't in those organized work times, they stuck close. When Ellie ventured into social activities, Joel let her go, but he was ever watchful, with Ellie checking in often even just a look over her shoulder, just to see if he was still there. He always was. They reminded you of a bonded pair of strays.

You like your place, Catnip's Apothecary. They've come in twice, once when Joel brought Ellie in for a poison ivy rash and once when Ellie brought a very grumpy Joel for inflammation in his knees Ellie found all your jars of tinctures, teas, herbs, and powders fascinating. Asking what everything did, looking at drying plants hanging from rafters in wonder, pspspsing the cats.

“Are you a witch?”

“Ellie!” Joel admonished, but looking at you for a tell. Were you? You could see him wondering.

You only laughed. Sure you were, but what they were seeing here was hardly witchcraft, just herbalism, mostly. Joel and Ellie are both bright and observant - you're pretty sure they both noticed you didn't answer.

Tonight, Ellie is at the rec center, a movie theater for the evening, awaiting the start of none other than Star Wars.

Where did they find all these 70s flicks? Nevertheless, A New Hope's a great find. You can't resist going, even though you know it by heart, and you'll have to force yourself not to recite all the dialogue. Sitting smack dab in the middle, surrounded by all these kids and young adults, seeing it for the first time, you munch your popcorn and smile.

You don't see Joel, but it's not like you are actively looking for him… just curious, given their perhant to stay together and you figured he will know the movie too, maybe he's more of a Trekie. When you catch Ellie's eye, she waves animatedly and moves to sit beside you.

“Sssoooo, you're like one of the only grown ups here.” there is a gremlin glint in Ellie’s eye.

“Yeah, I thought there'd be more nostalgia watchers-” you say a little sheepishly. “ But it's okay, I'll see it with a soon-to-be New Generation of Star Wars Fans. Bear Witness!”

“And what if it sucks?”

The noise you make is somewhere between an indignant scoff and a gasp of purest offense. But you rally.

As quickly as the lights go down the attention commanding drums of the 20th Century Fox fanfare begin.

“Oh just you wait padawan-”

"What's a pada-"

“Oop here we go! Buckle up, buttercup!!”

You live vicariously through the new audience for the next two hours, and it is a pure joy.

The young people of Jackson laugh at the Laurel and Hardy comedy stylings of Threepio and Artoo, they eat up the “though she be little she is fierce” snarky spirit of Princess Leia, gasp at Alderaan's fate and Obi Wan's sacrifice, cheer at Hans return, hold their collective breath when Luke turns off his targeting device to use the force, and burst into applause when he makes the one in a million shot, womp rats in Beggars Canyon take heed.

“Aw man I really hope we can see Empire some day,” you say as the credits roll.

Ellie is elated, peppering you with questions about the sequel and then Return of the Jedi and you do you best, not wanting to spoil too much if she actually gets to watch it.

“I'm this way,” she says suddenly, as she peels off from the town center, “see ya!”

You head toward the Tipsy Bison, to join the adults, most of which took advantage of the kids being off at the movie to do a little drinking and dancing.

The spring has brought high spirits, and with it bright chatter and the stomp of line dancing in progress. Grabbing a spot to watch, you order yourself a drink. When the song ends, there's hoots and applause, and the next one is slow and sweet, and it only takes the first note for you to feel the drop in your belly.

Joel saw you come in, he had seen you from the street actually, when the community center emptied after the film, he had his eye out for Ellie and saw her come out with you, talking animatedly and laughing. He smiled. You were his age, or close enough he guesses, not only from both the smile and worry lines but your points of reference when talking, only missing references that are local to growing up in Texas. It's comforting, you remember Before. You also have a light he can't get enough of, you didn't confirm nor deny it but he is sure you've enchanted him witch or not. He's just been to, 'shy' isn't the right word... he just hasn't been able to make any sort of move.

Now you sit alone, a moment ago smiling, tapping to the music. He had been taking in some liquid courage, in the form of whiskey, to ask you to dance. But the light in your eyes is replaced with a shine, not in the way he loves. He's seen this a couple times, he realizes. Times when your eyes go far away and a sadness descends on you.

He gets up and checks the jukebox, taking note of the song. He's pretty sure he's right. He can't bypass a song on a jukebox, nor can he tell a DJ to change it. But he's gonna talk to Walt the barkeeper, first chance he gets.

Then he does his best to saunter over to your little table, drink in hand. He's pretty sure his sauntering days are over.

“Hey Catnip, can I sit?”

You look up wiping your wide eyes.

“Oh, sure, Joel, please,” your smile tries to reach your eyes, but it flickers and can't stay.

“So," joel starts, he's not good at this. He's gotten better but, “You're Still the One, huh? For me it's Vince Gill- When I Call Your Name ”

You just look at him, and he starts to think maybe he hasn't improved at all.

“I don't know that one, it was kind of a fluke that our song, his song was a country song. It's not my usual genre.”

“Well it wasn't my lady and my song, it was the song that I listened to after she left. Sarah was so little. I felt so lost in those early days. Now I can't even hear the open-”

“Opening chords,” you finish with a chuckle, “yeah, I can't- and now of course it all wrapped up in the Before Times, too. But here it is, in a jukebox of less than 200 songs, the one song that represents my husband walking out on me before the shit hit the fan.”

“I can't even picture anyone leaving you with nothing but a song.”

“Yeah, well, I can picture it quite clearly. I can't imagine someone leaving you with a little baby girl to raise.”

“We are in the same boat, darlin’ until it happened I would have been with you on that. We were very young, 22, she panicked.”

“Aren't we a pair?”

“Why don't this pair go for a walk then?”

Joel holds his breath, looking into your lovely face.

“I'd like that.”

Standing, Joel holds out a hand to guide you up and out of the bar, it settles comfortably on your lower back, the song long over. His hand tingles and theres a flutter in his chest at being allowed to touch you this way.

It smells like petrichor, though the skies are clear. Joel's hand leaves your back to your chagrin, but he gently holds out his elbow, and with a crooked smile you slip your hand in the crux of it.

“Such a gentleman.”

He smiles and brings you to the newly constructed, yet to be painted, gazebo.

You climb the handful of steps and look at the town from this new vantage point.

Behind you, Joel comes close, his hand casually on your hip, like you did this everyday. His mouth close to the shell of your ear and a quiet hum floats in, the controlled breath tickling, you smile knowing the very apt song choice,

“Are you making fun of me Joel Miller?”

He chuckles, then the words over take the hum -

“Please mister, please, don't play B-17

It was our song, it was his song but it's over

Please Mr. please, if you know what I mean

I don't ever wanna hear that song again…”

Joel turns you, arm around your waist, his other hand sliding into yours -

" I'd sound a bit better with my guitar, but when we couldnt dance, so-"

He starts a simple box step, as he sings quiet and low, just for you, while turning you around the gazebo.

You join in singing whispering in his ear the chorus when it comes again. It feels cathartic. Then you step back - who is this man? Not the guy who came in with a little girl, a gut wound that should have killed him, poorly healed knuckles, and the weary eye of someone who is always waiting for the other shoe to come down on him like it's made of lead. But looking at him now, those brown eyes wide but the little crease between his eyes holding his concern. His jaw soft, making you take more note of his natural pout and the salt and pepper scruff, the little spot that just won't fill in, it looks like a heart… you wonder if it's as soft and smooth as it looks and if he'd let you touch it to find out.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING 💚

Please consider commenting and reblogging. If you are interested in reading more of my writing, you can find my masterlist here. If you would like to be notified when i post more work, you can find my taglist form here.

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal character fics #pedro pascal characters

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angelickks · 2 months

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ex-wife - francisco ʻcatfishʻ morales

drabble - ex-husband! francisco ʻcatfishʻ morales x ex-wife! reader warning(s): divorce (obvi), longing, insinuation to drug use, like one swear word, nickname "mama", a very sad and lovesick frankie this was definitely just something i was playing around with, just a short little drabble. i havenʻt been as active much BUT I have been working on some things. feedback is always appreciated loves,my inbox is always open! it could be a potential series?? who knows. slightly proofread, muah!

“francisco?”

he hadn’t heard that voice in almost two years, that soft angelic voice he had missed since the ink on his divorce papers dried.

he betrays his mind when his heart tells him to face you. he can’t help the way his lips part in surprise, his ex-wife as he lives and breathes, just beautiful as the day she left him. he can’t help but crack a sad smile at the beautiful woman that still takes up every inch of his heart.

“hi mama” he utters softly, unsure if he’s even allowed the pleasure to call you that anymore, he simply can’t help it. you purse your lips together at the endearing nickname from your ex-husband, still, you give him a smile as you’re genuinely happy to see him.

frankie doesn’t fully register that you’re moving towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist and planting a greeting kiss on his cheek. he blinks a few times before wrapping his arms around you, he’d dreamt of the day he’d feel your arms again and here he is not fully registering it.

“how are you francisco? what brings you here?”

you ask kindly, genuine concern and curiosity laced in a voice he’s yearned for. he rubs the back of his neck nervously, still not believing that you’re here and looking absolutely radiant, you pick up on his nervous tell like it’s second nature.

“oh…meeting the guys in a bit actually, pope brought us out. you know this isn’t usually my scene, mama.”

he can’t help your infamous nickname from slipping out, he’s called you it long before your marriage and seeing you again is bringing back memories of it.

you nod knowingly, chuckling slightly at the mention of santiago and his endeavors.

“i know that. i’m sure this is certainly awkward for you frankie, i just hadn’t seen you in a while and it would’ve been rude of me not to say hello.”

always so kind and considerate his girl, he guesses that even after the two years of being separated that never changed, just the fact that you weren’t his anymore.

while yes, you certainly wanted to talk to frankie, it brought back memories. not to mention, his nickname for you made your heart flutter for your ex-husband but that certain fondness and memories were just that, an old flame and memories. at least you tell yourself that, one of the many things you and frankie have in common.

“speaking of which uh…what brings you here? business calling, i assume?”

you look down as you smile, frankie’s memory impeccable as always. when you two were together he remembers the dreadful business meetings held at more prestigious bars such as this one. they were never your thing, usually feeling like it was a waste of both time and resources.

no ethical amount of business is done over expensive seafood and booze.

“thank god, no. in fact i quit working for that company, i’m currently the project manager for their competitors. no more cocktail business meetings for me. i’m just out with some friends, i secured a partnership so i’m celebrating.”

he nods understandingly, admiring the way your face lights up at the mention of your new job. he loves how happy you look, picking up on how well-rested you look and how healthy you’ve been as you practically glow. it’s downright criminal how breathtaking you look right now, and while he will take any chance to admire his ex-wife’s beauty, he can’t help but feel guilty.

“well i’m happy for you mama, you deserve it all. you always did.”

his voice is low and endearing, there’s a tinge of sadness laced behind it and he prays you don’t pick up on it. you open your mouth to respond, but are quickly cut off by a ruckus only identifiable as the only men frankie trusts with his life.

“catfish, you sorry fuck! where the hell have you been?”

it’s almost ironic how hothead benny miller steals the show. you giggle at the stares and the frustrated frown frankie adorns, squeezing the bridge of his nose. it’s comical how ben’s brows quirk up, head whipping around as he hears a laugh he hasn’t heard in a long time. in a flash of blonde hair and pure muscle, you’re engulfed in a hug by none other than the younger miller.

“look at you mama! gorgeous, as i live and breathe, where have you been all my life?”

for a brief moment your heart soars, and if seeing your ex-husband didn’t help, this brings back memories of all the times spent in your old home.

“oh benny, look at you!”

you both pull away but your hands remain on his broad shoulders as you take him in, that infamous cocky smirk ever present on his lips.

“do a spin for me will you handsome? lemme look at you”

he gives you a flirtatious “yes ma’am” before doing a slow spin, blabbering on about taking it all in. as if you needed more reminders from your past, you see a group starting to form around you.

your eyes land on will first and you swear you could cry at the sight. he pulls you into a reassuring hug, sensing your nerves, mumbling a greeting into your shoulder. while benny was well loved by you, will always was your favorite miller. at one point in your life, he was your rock when frankie fell back into using. so far you’ve had nothing but pleasant memories but with one look it had turned bittersweet, reminding you of the weight of your divorce.

“alright we get it, there’s enough of her to go around. c’mere woman, i missed you”

you pull from will, rolling your eyes as they land on santiago. you shove him back playfully before pulling him into a tight hug.

“hey mama” he chuckled out, pulling back for a second to plant a kiss on your forehead.

you were over the moon to see the boys again, the divorce in itself was painful, but having them go away for the time being only added salt to the wound. meanwhile frankie did what he always does, fall back and observe quietly.

he sighs quietly, his mind still in shock at seeing you again, but god did it make his heart wrench seeing you with his friends. it was eerie how natural you fell back into their dynamic, not because it irked frankie, but because of how much it reminded him of you both.

of how much time was spent with the very people surrounding him, how many beautiful memories were shared, how beautiful the memory of his marriage was.

this entire ordeal opened the floodgates to the months spent longing, drowning out what was left of you, and having to live with his mistakes.

if he didn’t have as much willpower, he’d find the nearest exit and simply breakdown. he lingers on the thought until broken out of his trance by the woman that still plagues the very idea.

“it’s lovely to see you francisco, you look handsome as ever. i’d love to take you all in but it would be rude to abandon my own entourage..” your voice trails into a teasing tone as you playfully flirt with the guys, all in good fun.

frankie blushes at the sentiment, silently cursing how warm and red he feels without even touching a drop of alcohol.

“i mean it when i say you look stunning ma, thank you.” he says lowly, meant for your ears and yours only.

he doesn’t quite thank her for the compliment, he thanks her for her kindness, her short-lived company, for simply even being in his presence.

her eyes shine at his response, causing her ex-husband to melt at the sight.

she knows, she always knows. my smart, beautiful woman.

while he doesn’t voice his inner thoughts, she reads him like an open book and for a split second looks at him like how she used to.

she sees the man she fell in love with and has said many times even after their separation, that she will always love him.

during that split second she sees a husband, a best friend, a partner, and most importantly the source of her love and adoration.

but as quickly as it comes, it goes. eyes looking away to avoid his lovesick gaze, reminding herself of why she left and why she will stay away.

with that, she kisses them all on the cheek sweetly, says goodnight and to always be safe. as she approaches frankie she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight embrace.

it stands a reminder, that she’ll always have love in her heart for the man that was hers long before their marriage, that he’ll always love the woman that was his long before his mistakes ate away at him.

she pulls away, still in his arms and places a soft kiss to his lips. it’s meant to be soft and forgiving, still it wasn’t long enough for either of them.

as quickly as she came, she was gone. lost to a sea of people that crowd the pretentious place that’s far too nice for his taste.

his reality comes back and the room isn’t as bright as it was when she walked in, faced with the harshness of his predicament just as it was two years ago.

santiago claps a hand on his shoulder, sensing his sudden distress.

“life is unpredictable. maybe another time, in another place”

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joels-darlin · 7 months

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Code Red

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI. use of safe word, Dom/sub, dom!Joel, sub!Reader, use of restraints, dirty talk, use of bondage, mentions of sex toys, use of sex toys, pet names, unprotected sex, rough sex, smut, doggy style, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Some Fluff, mentions of panic attack, Joel is soft in the end, Aftercare. (Hopefully not missed any).

Summary: Joel gets carried away one evening and it all becomes a bit too much to handle.

Word count: 1205

Author Note: Absolutely nobody asked for this but I wrote it. I'm also a sucker when it comes to safeword fics. Only a short one and hope I have done it justice. Hope you enjoy and as always any feedback is appreciated ♥️

As always a huge thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for the help and support ♥️ be lost without you!

Also posted on AO3

“Look at you darlin’ taking my cock so well,” Joel grunted. Rolling his hips down into yours again with sheer force, moans tumbling from your lips at the hot, white burning feeling spreading through your core. Splitting you open with every thrust.

It was hard to draw the line of where the pain and pleasure had started and ended. Losing track of how many times Joel had made you cum already, all before even crossing the threshold of the bedroom, either with his tongue, fingers or the hard, thick length that was currently buried deep inside your swollen cunt.

The quiet façade he kept up to the townsfolk of Jackson was nothing compared to the dominant side he brought out when you two were in private, beneath the sheets, wrapped up in each others pleasure. You both liked to explore when it came to activities in the bedroom, having that conversation early on in your relationship. So it was no surprise when Joel started coming home from patrol bearing gifts. Mostly consisting of new toys for the bedroom - handcuffs, leather wrist/ankle restraints, butt plugs; you name it he had found it somehow.

────────

Tonight was a night you were putting to use the wrist and ankle restraints he found when out on patrol a few weeks ago, although this time, a change of position, Joel choosing to take you from behind. Large, calloused hand on the back of your neck forcing your face into the pillows as he pistoned his hips into you hard and fast.

Except it was starting to feel a little different than usual. All your nerve endings standing on edge making trying to relax and enjoy rather difficult. The panic sensation sweeping across your body, currently unable to get enough air into your lungs. The position Joel had you in not helping with this, an odd burning feeling spreading across you chest with each sharp intake of breath.

The wrist and ankle restraints that currently tied you down to the mattress were starting to rub, constricting against the skin and you knew full well that you would be left with some angry red marks come the morning.

“J-Joel…” you gasped.

“M’yeah you like that baby, like it when I teach you a lesson, huh?” he growled, roughly pushing you further down into the bed. Teeth gritted and fully focused on his goal of making you hit your peak again.

”J-J-Joel….” no use he couldn’t hear a word, your pleas muffled by the pillow, the hand he had on your neck tightening, the extra weight forcing you further into the mattress, thrusting into you harder and harder. Each one devastating and more painful than the last. Usually at times like this you could give him a tap with your hands, but those (along with your legs) where tied down unable to move.

“Can’t hear you darlin’, maybe I need to fuck this pussy harder?”.

He was distracted for just a second, proceeding to slam his hips even harder into your burning core, the pain now becoming unbearable. It only took a second between thrusts for his grip to loosen from around your neck. Making the most of it by turning your head to the side, taking in a deep breath.

“JOEL…R-RE-RED…please…red!” voice hoarse from the from the lack of oxygen.

It was like a switch had flipped in him instantly at hearing you use the safeword. He froze in shock for a few moments and without saying anything he started pulling out, slowly but with caution as so not to cause anymore pain. Reaching for the buckles of the cool leather, he freed you from the restraints. At the new found freedom you proceeded to collapse into the sheets in a heap.

“Darlin’?”

The pain hit his chest seeing you crumble into pieces a mere few feet away, knowing he had gone too far on this occasion. Guilt eating away at him, a terrible twisting and bile inducing feeling in his stomach.

You were naked and trembling in front of him. Lay on your side, knees brought up to your chest, chin ducked down as the tears came hard and fast. The heavy sobs leaving your swollen lips, each one raking your frame.

“Sweetheart…” the term of endearment leaving his mouth in a broken whisper ”…c’mon now, let me-” he was pleading, hands outstretched slowly reaching towards your form.

“No-no-no” you cut in before he could get finish. Joel reeled back almost immediately widening the gap, you had never refused his touch this was a first.

“I-I-I…need…a…minute” gasping through sobs.

All he could do was watch on, fists clenched at his sides. ────────

“Joel…” ears pricking up at the sound of you calling his name, cutting through the blanket of silence that enveloped the room. He had spaced out for a few minutes, turning his head around slowly eventually locking eyes with yours, a quick scan up and down your frame. You were sat upright, knees still tucked into you, but the tears had stopped.

“I-I-I don’t know what came over me” he was at loss for words, something he wasn’t good with in the first place.

“Baby, look I’m okay now…” you needed to show him, spotting his hand lay on the bed you reached out linking your fingers with his, squeezing lightly “…Just went into panic mode, sorry”

Confusion flashed across his face. Why were you apologising, that should be me.

“Darlin’ I’m sorry…” barely catching the words that tumbled out in a whisper “**Can I hold you…**please,”

“Joel you don’t have to ask, I would like that” throwing him a small smile, hoping that it would convince him you were good right now.

He reached out softly taking your wrists into his large hands. It was hard to pinpoint the emotion that crossed his face at that very moment, guilt maybe, thumbs glancing over the red marks that adorned your wrists, leaning down briefly to place soft kisses on each one.

“Hang on…” he said, placing your hands back on the bed. Confusion washed over you, watching him moving towards the dresser. Opening the top drawer to pull out one of his t-shirts, before taking a seat on the bed again.

“Here, arms up sweetheart,” he coaxed. Arms lifting above your head at the command as he proceeded to slide the shirt onto your upper body. Then he was lifting you into his lap pulling you into a warm, solid embrace, Arms snaking around your waist. Head resting in the crook of his neck.

“Did I hurt you? please tell me I need to know,” he asked softly. Pressing a kiss in your hair.

“Not you specifically, but yeah everything felt a little off today,” you sighed. As much as it pained to tell him the agreement was that you were honest and open with each other. Joel sighed at your response, forehead leaning down to touch yours.

“Now how ‘bout I run you a bath hmm, that sound good?” he asked.

“Sounds perfect Mr. Miller” you giggled pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

In that moment nothing else mattered because with Joel, you always knew you were in safe hands.

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #the last of us #18+ only #18+ content #pedro pascal character fics #pedro pascal characters

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tommysversion · 5 months

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A Breath Of Fresh Air ( Veracruz x AFAB!F!Reader )

Summary: you get caught outside after curfew. Luckily for you, Veracruz is open to … negotiations. (This is basically a transcription of a dream I had. Whoops.)

CWs: DUBCON / Overstimulation / Double Penetration / Impact Play (Slapping & Spanking) / Degradation / Rough sex / Anal play / Unsafe PIV Sex / Oral Sex (M!Recieving) / Squirting / Extremely dirty talk / Transactional sex / Bordering on Dead Dove.

Notes: please read the warnings and consume content at your own risk & responsibility. Credit for giving Veracruz his first name goes to @ezras--moon & @ariundercovers 🩷

You just wanted some fresh air. A breather from the stuffy house you’d been confined to with the rest of your group. Generally, when a militia takes over town, you stay out of their way.

You’ve never been the smartest; rounding the corner of the alleyway, you almost walk right into him. Not just any asshole with a gun, but the leader of the unit. Fuck.

Leandro Veracruz isn’t a patient man, not really. He saves all limited patience for his job, to keep control over his unit and appear to be the cold, calculated leader that he is. You don’t rise to the rank he holds at the age he is, without being a little ruthless.

You’ve heard of his reputation. The way he doesn’t seem to care about cutting down anyone who gets in his way. You’re certain there has to be some sort of driving motive behind how he is; it’s rare for people to be the way he is without motive, but still.

“You’re out after curfew.”

You know that he is, undeniably, a bad guy, but nonetheless, that heavily accented, dark tone sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s that stupid, primal reaction that makes you choose honesty, rather than trying to craft a feasible lie.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just. I really needed some air.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realise how stupid you sound. It only serves to sink in further when he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You needed some air? After curfew? Did you consider maybe opening a window?” He’s tired; it’s late, and one of his people has come down with the flu, so he’s covering his patrol instead of sleeping. It’s made him a little more short tempered than usual. “You know you could be shot for this, yes?”

You visibly shrink in on yourself, and Leo almost feels bad. Almost. He knows what it’s like to be cooped up in a small space, can’t really blame you for wanting to get out, but the rules are the rules, and he has a reputation to protect.

“Are you going to shoot me?” You ask finally.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “If I was going to shoot you, pajarito, I would have done so by now. I am going to have to arrest you, though.”

You shiver again, thinking of the overcrowded cells in the local station, the lawlessness that goes on in there. You could be assaulted, stabbed, beaten, and nobody would blink an eye. Absolutely not. Which leaves…

“Maybe we can work out some sort of compromise?” The way you say the last word, the way you pause before you deliver it in a somewhat suggestive tone, makes it entirely clear to him what you mean.

Leandro has absolutely no trouble getting women; he knows he’s attractive, knows the right things to say and do. He’s not above paying for company, either. It’s been a while, though, given the latest operation, and frankly? You offering as a bribe is entertaining him… entertaining him and intriguing him.

He looks you up and down, then nods.

“I’m sure we could come up with some sort of deal, yes.” A lazy smirk crosses his face as his hand moves to almost caress the cuffs at his belt. “Do I need to cuff you, or are you going to follow me quietly?”

It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s armed; a handgun, a rifle, and a wicked looking knife sheathed in his belt.

“No, I’ll be good.”

“Good answer.” He nods approvingly, beckons you forward. He leads you through the alleyway, through a back gate into the little house he’s taken over as base; his people are inside, but his command centre outside is set up in a tent. It’s a durable, triple canvas layer thing built to withstand pretty much any weather.

Lit by a lantern swinging from the roof, it’s a practical, spartan, and yet somehow still cosy place. It doesn’t need to be furnished or fancy; he’s got a table, a gun locker, a duffle bag, and his bed in there. That’s all he needs.

The bed is a foam travel mattress laid out on stacked and nailed together pallets. No point carting a proper bed around on deployment. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do. It serves his purpose just fine, and given the circumstances, you aren’t about to complain.

You’ve seen him shoot people in the centre of town before. Seen the way his people handle things. The fact that he’s even taking this rather than just outright punishing you for breaking the law is a good sign… you think.

He puts both the handgun and the rifle in the gun locker, then turns back to you.

“Strip.” He moves past you to flop down onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and watching you lazily. For a moment, you consider running. You’d have a head start. But then he’d probably find you, and definitely shoot you. Besides, this was your idea.

You take your time removing each layer, trying to at least make it look somewhat enticing rather than awkward. You never quite know how people in movies manage to make stripping down for sex look enticing. Maybe you’re just clumsy.

When you’re entirely bare to his gaze, he beckons you over.

“Come here, tímida, I’m not going to hurt you… much.” A wicked grin crosses his stupidly handsome face as you nervously do as you’re told, letting him pull you onto his lap. A tiny squeak leaves you when you feel how hard he is against your core, the rough material of his cargo pants brushing against your sensitive skin.

Fuck. You’re terrified of him, yes, but you want him, you realise. Badly.

“Much?” You raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought the deal was you don’t hurt me at all.”

There’s that wicked grin again, sinfully smug this time.

“I won’t do anything you don’t beg me for.” His fingers grip your hips roughly, making you acutely aware of how much bigger than you he is. That does absolutely nothing to curb the desire that’s starting to build in you; this was supposed to be a transaction, a way to get yourself out of trouble, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’re going to enjoy this far more than you first expected.

“Is that right?” You manage a little smirk, lips parting in an embarrassingly needy moan when he deliberately grinds you down against the length of his cock. The very, very obvious length of him. Fuck.

His fingers wander inwards, splay across your thighs, thumbs rubbing across your skin.

“Careful…” he warns, but his voice is softer than he intended. Still, it does the trick, and you nod, pliable and submissive to his touch once more.

“That’s better…” He nods approvingly, keeps one hand holding you firmly in place while the other wanders almost lazily between your thighs, finding your swollen, aching clit and rubbing firmly. It’s not the touch of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, and briefly, a pang of envy strikes you as you think of how many other countless, nameless women have been turned to pliant mush under his touch.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he almost purrs it as he leans up so you’re chest to chest, “though it seems like you’re more than willing as it is…”

His fingers lazily drag through your slick, teasing your core, barely slipping inside. You whimper again, louder and needy at the feeling of the very tips of his callused fingers pressing inside you. You can feel your slick dripping onto his fingers, down his hand, coating his pants. Slowly, he presses his fingers in deeper, curling them enough to make you cry out, before he’s pulling them out, spreading your thighs wider, fingertips teasing your other hole, wet with your own slick.

You shiver under the touch, but you don’t flinch away.

“Knew it,” he almost mutters to himself, leaning in to drag his teeth down your throat. “Knew you were a dirty little whore. Bet you’re going to cum the second I slide my cock into this pretty little cunt.” He punctuates the last word with a sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out and flinch away. You don’t hate it, though, it just surprises you.

“Well? Are you just going to sit here and look pathetic?” His hands seize your wrists, drag your hands to his belt buckle and settle them there, leaving you no doubt as to what he wants you to do. You’d only been waiting for express permission, really, your hands making short work of the belt, unzipping his pants and reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock, freeing his length from its confines.

You have to bite down on your lip to keep your jaw from dropping. Fuck, he’s huge. Thick and curved and fuck, how is he going to fit? You run your fingers up and down his cock, thumb teasing at the tip before you meet his narrow eyed gaze.

“Stop fucking around.” He almost growls it at you, yanking you closer to him again, lifting you effortlessly so he can wrap his hand around his cock and notch it at your dripping entrance. “Montarlo, bebita.”

Ride it, baby. Oh, fuck, how you intend to.

The words are surprisingly soft as he guides you down onto him, inch by inch, letting you sink down onto him slowly. Your lips part in a filthy moan as you wriggle your hips, flush against him now. Taking a moment to breathe, you start to move, knowing he won’t just let you sit still for long.

You lift yourself up, slowly at first, then sink back down, getting faster with each movement until you’re bouncing on his cock, a string of little moans falling from your lips as one of his big hands seizes a fistful of your ass and squeezes tight, then slaps, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your cunt tightens painfully around him with each slap, knowing an imprint of his hand will be left there. Just when the slaps are really starting to hurt, he draws his hand away, settles both on your hips and guides you up and down his cock, rough and needy as his hips buck to meet you.

When he’s got you in a rhythm that he likes, he moves to rub at your clit again, clearly rewarding you for doing something that he likes. Veracruz doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t enjoying this, the way your eyes drop closed, the way you tighten around him every time he rocks his hips up.

You move your hands to brace on his chest as you ride him, lost in the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside you. Fuck, he feels so good, you don’t even care about the circumstances in which you ended up here, all that matters is the overwhelming feeling of pleasure building in you as you ride him.

“Fuck, please, give me more,” you beg him, desperate and needy and forgetting your place entirely. He’s not a good man, is allowing you to think you’re in charge because it amuses him, but the idea that he isn’t giving you enough somehow? Fine. He’ll see whether you can handle him.

He seizes your wrists in one hand, pushes you backwards and pins you beneath him, caging you in. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness where he’s pulled out of you.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you? I bet if I cuffed you to this bed and stuffed my cock down your throat you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper beneath him, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction on your aching clit, cunt pulsing with sheer need.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

You shake your head, and his open palm lightly collides with your cheek.

“Answer me. That’s not what you want, is it? So tell me what it is that you want, and maybe, maybe I’ll give it to you.” He drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, practising every step of self control he possesses not to just pin your thighs up under your chin and fuck you senseless.

“N-no, that’s not what I want.” Your cheek stings from the slap, but you love it, want him to be rough with you, want to feel him all over for days to come. And somehow, you know, that all you have to do is ask, and he’ll give it to you.

“Tell. Me.” He growls, leaning down to devour your lips in a heated kiss, knotting his fingers into your hair to yank your head to the side so he can suck a deep purple mark into the soft skin above your collarbone.

“I want you everywhere,” you tell him; he releases your wrists and immediately you move to undo his shirt, help him discard it before you drag your nails lightly up his back, “I want your beautiful fat cock stuffed inside me and your fingers in my ass. I want you to make it hurt, make it hurt so good I don’t want anyone else.”

Fuck. He practically growls at the words. Roughly spreads your thighs, hooks them up over his shoulders, lines himself up and plunges into you, making no effort to be slow, bottoming out almost immediately. The sting of your nails on the muscle of his back makes him think you’ve drawn blood, but he doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your eyes roll back slightly as he fills you, the way your tight, wet little cunt seemingly sucks him in deeper, molding to every curve in his cock as your body adjusts to him again.

“Is that all?” Veracruz demands as he rocks his hips slowly, drawing another tantalising moan from your lips.

“I want you to keep going, even when it’s too much.” You reply, arching your back up to get closer to him. You don’t care whether he’s a bad man, whether he could kill you, all that matters is how he feels inside you.

“Greedy,” he pulls almost entirely out of you and slams back in, throbbing painfully at the obscene mewl you make, “fucking,” he repeats the motion, “whore.”

He slams into you, hard and fast, the tent echoing with the sound of skin roughly slapping together, your needy moans and his growls and grunts of pleasure. His teeth graze your throat, the curve of your tits, sucking greedily at your hardened nipples and biting down lightly. Almost without warning, you tighten around him, milking his cock as you gush and soak his cock, your slick dripping out of your abused cunt, down his cock, dripping down his balls as he fucks you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, give me another one, go on~” he tilts his hips just so, the velvet soft head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust, making you scream out for him, soak him again, convulsing slightly beneath him.

“That’s it,” he groans, pulls out of you briefly just so he can flip you onto your front, pausing onto to stuff a pillow beneath you to prop you up at the angle he wants you.

“Fuck,” he draws it out into a long, drawn out groan as he sinks back into you, loving the way you feel on all fours, “look at you.”

One hand fists into your hair, yanking you up into position.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re still dazed from two back to back orgasms, but you nod as best you can. You hear the impact of his free hand on your ass before you feel it, a sharp crack that echoes through the tent.

“You answer me when I speak to you.”

“Y-yes. I’ll be good.” You almost whimper it as he starts to move, releasing your hair and rubbing soothing circles on your bruised ass.

You can feel your own slick still between your ass cheeks, unbothered when his big hands spread them gently as he fucks into you slowly.

“Does my pretty, pathetic little whore still want all of her holes filled?” His voice is slightly mocking as he teases his finger around the tight ring of muscle, making you shiver. “Is my cock not enough?”

“It is,” you whimper as he slams into you again, “but please… ‘m greedy, just wanna be filled up, please~”

You’re babbling, but neither of you care. You’re too cock drunk, and he fucking loves it.

“Such a good girl for me, you should have what you want…”

As he speaks, he presses a single finger into your ass, knuckle deep, slow enough to let you adjust. When you moan and try to press yourself back against him, wanting both his cock and his finger deeper, he chuckles low in his chest, draws his finger out only to press two back in.

You moan, loud, obscene, feeling so wonderfully, deliciously full as he starts to move his fingers in rhythm with his cock, scissoring them slightly to make you mewl and wriggle beneath him.

The hand that isn’t occupied with fucking your ass moves around to roughly palm at your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples as he fucks you, harder and faster, hand moving down to tease your clit.

It’s too much, but exactly what you wanted, tears springing to your eyes as you tighten and gush around his cock again and again, his fingers insistently plucking at your clit like a practised guitarist until you collapse on the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

“Please, I need~” you simultaneously want him to stop, and don’t, because you want him to come, want him to fill you up and make you ache with need.

“Does my little whore need something?” His voice is low, breathing slightly labored with the effort of keeping his own release at bay.

“Do you want to be filled with my cum? I’m not stupid, princesa, you can have it in your mouth or your ass, I’ll be generous and let you decide.”

Slowly he draws his fingers out of your ass, slowing his thrusts to torturously languid, giving you time to decide.

“My mouth, please,” you beg him, “I wanna taste you…”

He groans, pulls out of you and smirks slightly at the sight; your cunt is swollen from how roughly he’s fucked you, drenched in your own slick and fluids and his pre cum.

“Hands and knees.” He instructs as he gets up off the bed, beckons you to the edge of it as you obey, crawling to him on shaking limbs.

You part your lips obediently, let him feed every inch of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking at the soft head briefly before you take him, nose brushing the soft curls at the base of him.

He moans, a loud, drawn out grunt as he rocks his hips. He’s so fucking close, you barely need to do anything, but you do, sucking him greedily, working your tongue around him as his fingers curl into your hair, roughly guiding you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, my pretty little whore, you have such a filthy mouth, ‘m gonna cum down this pretty mouth, you’re gonna take it, take all of it…” he groans, trailing off into broken Spanish as his hips stutter, spilling hot, thick ropes of his spend into your mouth, down your throat.

Greedily you drink him down, make a show of licking him clean, and he groans in appreciation at the sight.

When he eventually pulls his slowly softening cock from your mouth, you look up at him with a slightly cheeky smile on your face.

“So… I’m guessing you’re not gonna shoot me?”

“No.” He agrees, and then a slightly wicked grin curves his face, “but I’m not letting you go, either.”

Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe you’re just cock drunk, or maybe you’ve never been the smartest. Either way, you look him up and down with a sleepy smile.

“Seems okay to me.”

Like you have a choice. Like you really mind, either way.

#my writing #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #comandante veracruz #Comandante Veracruz x Reader #Veracruz x Reader #Pedro Pascal Character Fics

124 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 2 years

Note

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K!!! 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽 You deserve it, your fics are amazing!

For a celebration fic, would you consider doing one with Pero Tovar? Maybe #86 from the sp list??? I could see that working with him… 😏☺️

Thank you so much bb! And thank you so much for this prompt, oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've written Pero 😩😍🥵

It’s Not Wrong

Pero Tovar x Female Reader

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1k Followers Celebration

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Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) small size kink, breeding kink if you squint, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, vaginal sex, sex work, possessive Pero and fluffy Pero omg

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A/N: Pussy eating with Pero?? YES MA’AM!! As always our Latin kings speak Spanish during the spicy times and the fics come with the translations, let’s goooo

This serves as the Part Two of “I Will Show” (;

Also he looks so good in this gif god DAMN

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Pero Tovar Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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You find yourself tracing the shiny chainmail covering his arm, the loops that shield him from the rest of the world. Your head lolls to the side resting on his shoulder as he carries you up the stairs. He holds you firmly against him, his long strides causing you to arrive to your private room in no time at all. And on the way up, you seemingly forget your nakedness, the fact that you’re entirely bare and holding part of him inside you. His belt hangs open as he walks, plush lips kissing your skin every now and then.

Pero had ever interacted with you in such a way before, and if you spoke with complete honesty, no one had. You never let men use you like that, show you off and claim you as theirs. Because at the end of the day, you weren’t. You didn’t belong to anybody, regardless of your professional practice. But if Pero asked you to be his, you would be. By every god in the sky, you would be. But he didn’t ask you to be, that’s what made it so odd.

The intimate acts that occurred between the two of you had happened frequently, almost exclusively, behind closed doors. But tonight, it seems he wanted to change that. And you certainly weren’t protesting it, not in the slightest. Being fully naked in front of a room full of men was a nightly occurrence for you, but being fully fucked in front of them was an entirely different story.

After he’d told you that he liked the sounds you made while repeatedly lowering yourself onto him, so much so that he wanted to keep them all for himself, he scooped you up into his arms. He’d hauled you upward as he stood, you wrapping your legs around him with his length still seated firmly inside you. Pero’s strong arms kept you in place, his hands curling around your sides as he physically displayed you as his. Not a single man said a thing as he turned to take you upstairs, and with steps three times as big as yours, he ascends the stairwell, already well aware of which door leads to your room.

You pass many women on the journey upward, all of which you know, and all of which know him. Though they’ve never slept with him, no one else has since the two of you met.

“Hermosa,” he asks, shutting the door behind him with his foot. (Beautiful)

He strides forward, laying you down on your bed, sliding out from your heat in doing so. You stare up at him with loving eyes as he leans back to his upright stance, thick fingers moving to begin untying his armor.

“Has another man had you this night?”

You move, sitting up on your forearms with a concerned expression on your face. He’s never asked you this before. “What?”

“Has another man been inside you tonight, amor?” (love)

Amor. He’s called you many things, but never amor.

“N – no…” you whisper, looking up at him with timid eyes. Why is he asking you this?

“Good.” He sighs, shrugging off his upper layers before lowering to his knees.

Pero’s broad palms find the bare skin of your calves, fingers curling around and hauling you towards the end of the bed. You yelp quietly, gasping as you watch him dive down between your thighs.

“P – Pero!” you shriek, immediately feeling the sensation of his lips.

He covers you entirely, opening his mouth and humming lowly. You lean up even further, attempting to look down but his right hand slides up to the dip between your chest to shove you down. You’ve never felt him here before, you’ve never felt any man’s mouth here before. The wet heat of it breathing against your naked core, kissing the soft skin so openly displayed to him.

“Oh,” your eyes roll back before closing, hands rising to cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your fully hardened nipples.

Pero’s smile is evident as he drags his tongue up your seam, gently parting your lips. The scruff scattering his jawline and cheeks rubs against your skin, the slight burn only heightening the pleasurable sensation. And then he wraps his lips around your own, sucking them inside. Immediately, your hands fly to his hair, fingers digging into his dirty locks as your legs try to close.

“I want to see you,” he grunts out, the broadness of his shoulders keeping your legs open, his body leaning into you and spreading your legs further apart. “Let me see you.”

He groans, having felt this need desperately while he was gone. He knew when he returned that he’d do this to you before claiming you for his own, once and for all.

It’s almost as if he’s done this before, moving upward to sloppily suck your clit inside before shoving two fingers into you. The roughness of his tastebuds drags over your sensitive clitoris, making your body feel boneless. You force every last active braincell you have to focus on the moment at hand, to focus on the pleasure he’s blessing you with. Your body curls, back arching upward for him as he pleasures you in this way.

The two of you were drawn to each other, there was no denying that, but when it came to sex, you did still have a job to do. And that job was pleasing him. Oftentimes, you put your mouth on him, not the other way around.

Suddenly, he pulls away, panting as he stares down at you. This time, he allows you to look, lazily lifting your head to see why he took his mouth away from you. And when your eyes finally zero in on his glorious form, hunched over and half-naked above you, you see him stare. He’s focused on the space between your legs, wet from his spit and your slick, the pace of his fingers unwavering.

“Pero…”

In the dim light of your bedchamber, you try to close your legs, feeling sheepish beneath his intense and lusty gaze. Those impossibly dark eyes rise to meet your own, a devilish smirk on his face.

“You’re staring,” it comes out on its own, without reason, and as a whisper.

“Can I not stare?” he taunts, tilting his head and licking his lower lip. “You’re so beautiful, cariño…” (baby)

His eyeline then flickers down, moving his fingers a little more forcefully into you, just to hear the beautiful sound you make. And then he looks back up, cooing to you with a sly smirk, “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

“I, I…”

“Tell me, princesa.” He demands, his rough voice low and teasing. “Do I make you nervous? Do you not like when I stare? Stare at your incredible body, sitting here and waiting all for me?”

“All for, for you?”

He leans in, removing his fingers and grabbing your jaw with his slick-soaked skin.

“All for me.”

It makes you gasp, the way he holds your face, the way he climbs further up on the bed to crowd your body with his own. On his way up, he shoves his pants the rest of the way down, having already been half-undone.

He’s never been so possessive over you before. Of course, whenever he was home, you were with him and him alone. But the words he’s using… they are words you’ve never heard from him before.

“Do you want me?” he asks, another question he’s never breathed in your direction.

“Yes, I do.” It’s immediate, your fingers intertwining behind his neck and pulling him down.

And he complies, moving with your hands and connecting his lips with your own. You’d completely forgotten where those lips had been mere moments ago, the slightly tangy taste now littering your taste buds as his tongue wiggles inside to slide along yours.

“Did you…” you mutter, holding his face in your hands. You stroke Pero’s strong jawline, watching his eyes dip down to your lips. “Like it?”

“Do you?” he asks, slowly sliding his tongue along your lower lip.

“Lick.” He says with a nod, watching you poke out your tongue to move it along the wet skin. And when you smile, he grins. “Dirty. I missed you.”

With that, he dives down to your neck, holding himself up on his left forearm, his right hand moving down to grip himself in hand. Pero’s ragged breaths fan out over the junction of your shoulder and neck, the bulk of his bicep resting beside your head. And your nails dig into his skin when you feel him again, the hefty intrusion of his length returning to fill your insides up. You’re already used to him, having fully felt him downstairs. Whenever the two of you were apart for too long, the stretch was always pleasurably painful. And right now, you just want more.

He sighs out roughly into your ear when he’s fully sheathed inside, settling more of his body weight to rest above you. And then, he turns his head, quietly requesting, “Whimper for me.”

And you do, crying out when he grinds his pelvis between your legs, feeling him throb as he’s seated deep inside. The sensation of him filling you entirely is incredible, but when he retracts his hips only to immediately re-sheathe himself inside? That feels ethereal.

“Hermosa,” he groans, teeth nipping at your lower ear. “There are so many things I want to do to you… you’re all I think of when I am away.” (Beautiful)

You gasp softly at his words, nails scraping down his skin because you know he likes it.

“You’re the only woman on my mind. Do you know that?” He’s panting above you, his hips picking up their pace, his powerful thighs flexing above you. “It kills me to think of you with other men, princesa.” (Princess)

He delivers a particularly hard thrust when he says that word, when he tells you just how much it pains him. And on the inside, it pains you too. Every man you’ve been with since meeting Pero, you’ve imagined to be him. And it wasn’t always hard to do, usually being fucked from behind or choosing to keep your eyes closed as they brought pleasure to you, and you to them. It was never intimate with them, not like it is when it’s the two of you.

“And I thought to myself,” he continues to ramble, slapping his hips down onto yours, his left hand moving to hold the underside of your head. “It is wrong of me to think such things, to want a woman who is not promised to me in that way.”

He looks so beautiful like this, his bronzed skin almost glowing in the dim candlelight. He’s sweating, his locks as dark as the bark of an oak curling and sliding across his forehead.

“But it’s not wrong, princesa.” He smiles briefly at his words, huffing out an intense breath of air. “Because I want you.” (Princess)

Before you can respond, he pulls out, resting back on his heels.

“Pero, I –”

Both of his hands grab onto your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach in one smooth slide. You move with him, of course, feeling Pero’s large and capable body return to your much smaller and pliant one. His skin feels hot and slightly wet, having had to carry the weight of his chainmail for so many days. He fits himself to you, both hands falling to your ass and spreading you beneath him. He sways his hips slightly, realigning himself before thrusting back in.

“Fuck,” your fingers grip the bedsheets you’ve ruined far too many times, face pressing into the pillow that you’re thankful is clean. “Pero, Pero…”

His movements have increased, uncaring to your loud cries and shrieks. He knows he’s not hurting you, no… he knows this is what you want. What you crave. No one handles you the way he does, you don’t put enough trust in them to be so rough with you.

“Have you ever had someone lick you before, bonita niña?” (pretty girl)

He’s leaning down, brushing his cheek alongside yours before licking a stripe up the outer shell of your ear. You make him ravenous, and it makes your body shiver, skin prickling with arousal and excitement.

“No… I’ve never done something like that before.”

“Has a man ever made you his before?” he then asks, sucking a deep mark onto your neck with his fervent teeth. “Has a man ever asked you to be his?”

“No,”

“Now he has.”

“Pero –” it’s like you can’t even speak, like he’s stealing the breath from your lungs, the thoughts from your mind. Is he asking for this? Truly asking to be with you?

Pero’s muscular arms curl beneath your body, wrapping around and holding you close. He hasn’t eased up on his speed, his body slapping down on yours. He’s punching himself inside, hitting incredibly deep. It already hurts, only ever so slightly, and you know you’ll feel him for the days to come. Hopefully you’ll still feel him during the days he’s away, too.

“Would you?” he asks, breaths rapidly puffing out above you, his thick fingers pressing into your skin.

“Baby?” you respond questioningly, needing more clarification in your weightless state.

“Will you be mine, princesa? Mine and mine alone.” (Princess)

Pero’s body curls over you, humping your body as he fucks himself further into you, giving you everything he has. He groans when he feels you tighten around him, hearing you girlish whines and moans beneath his heavy body. And you rock with each of his shoves, feeling him plunge deeper inside with every thrust.

You have no idea how to respond, because you want to be his, but how will that work? How? But you can’t even begin to sort it out so instead you just say yes, yes Pero, I will be yours. Yes.

The firm press of his lips on your cheek tells you how happy he is, that beautiful yet extremely rare smile crossing his face. And then his mouth opens, his humid breaths hitting your skin.

“Ngh,” he groans loudly into your ear, his voice gravelly and deep as he speaks. “I’m close, princesa.” (Princess)

“Please,” you beg, turning your head toward him, immediately feeling him press his forehead to your temple. “Inside.”

“Of course I will,” he grunts out, his thrusts now becoming shallow and sharp. “I will make you mine princesa, no one will fill your womb but me.” (Princess)

“Pero, I want you, baby…” you’re coming to your senses suddenly, feeling yourself become close, too.

“You’re close, amor. I can feel you tightening around me,” (love)

“Please make me, Pero. No one does, not like you.”

At your words he dives deeper, giving you a half dozen more shoves before he’s grinding against you, seated as deeply inside you as he can get. Pero moves his head, punched-out groans echoing behind you in your small room. His forehead rests on your upper back, laying between your shoulder blades. He does his best to steady himself, the sensation of his own orgasm heightened by your own as your cry out below. Your body shakes beneath him, writhing slightly in his tight hold. And he moves with you, his pelvis grinding against you, his deep thrusts punching hard enough against that special place inside to make you cum.

“Amor,” he chokes out, feeling himself release inside you, his body going rigid right before his release. (Love)

Your moans waft through the air at the sudden burst of euphoria flowing through you. And you can feel him inside, too, a moment particularly special to you. It wasn’t that it didn’t happen often with others, you never came with others. They didn’t care enough to make you, to fuck you long enough or hard enough for you to. And not only did Pero make you cum, but he usually made you cum with him, alongside him, riding through it with you.

If Pero knew your bedsheets were clean, he’d stay that night and sleep with you. And if they weren’t clean, he’d take them off and find you new ones. But tonight, they were clean, making it easy for him to pull out of you and lay down on the sheets. Gently, he pulled you over to him, moving you onto your back, and then your side, a tiny smile creeping onto his face when he feels you cuddle into him. You intertwine your legs with his, heart swelling with joy when you feel his arm wrap tightly around you.

“Amor,” he whispers, broad hand brushing your messy hair out of your face before leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not leaving.” (Love)

“Hm?” you look up at him, meeting those deep yet loving eyes.

“I’m not leaving.” He repeats, holding your face in his warm hand. “I’m here to stay, I’m home.”

“But, how? Why?”

“Because I need to be with you, mi bonita niña.” (my pretty girl)

He admits it quietly, and your lips part in slight surprise. He’s not usually so openly emotional with you. It happened on rare occasions, and when it did, you felt blessed to receive such affection from him.

“I’ve earned enough coin on my recent trip. I want you to be happy – not working here.”

You go to open your mouth and claim that you are happy here, but it’d be a complete lie. It’s the independence in you wanting to do so. Because, in all truth, you aren’t happy here. You aren’t happy without him, and you aren’t happy having sex with men that weren’t him.

“Do I make you feel safe?” he asks, staring down into your eyes.

“Yes,” you tell him honestly, nodding your head.

“Do I make you feel happy, hermosa?” (beautiful)

“Yes, Pero.”

“Do I make you feel loved?”

Another question he’s never asked you before. And it makes you think. He does make you feel safe, he does make you happy, but does he make you feel loved?

“Of course you do,” you finally reply. “You always make me feel loved.”

He smiles softly again, leaning in to give you a brief kiss before pulling you even closer to him. You snuggle into his bare chest, feeling his warmth as he wraps you in his arms, surrounding you with his love, Pero’s love.

“Then be with me, princesa.” He whispers in the darkness. “I love you. Be with me.”

Thank you for reading <3

#I will be with you baby #my secretly soft boy #I love you so much honey #Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fics

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beefrobeefcal · 5 months

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submitted by @pedroshotwifey [in response to this post]

Hi, Beefro!! I hope you are having a wonderfully beefy night. I have a couple things for the fic ask thing! Catfish & Mouse : 2 (what was the first scene you wrote?) On The Waterfront: 4 (what is your favorite piece of dialogue?) Pls & tyy 🥩🥩🥩

Thank you, Hotty!

Catfish & Mouse : 2 (what was the first scene you wrote?)

Like Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien did for The Hobbit, I wrote the first scene first. In fact, the majority of the fics I've written have been written that way. I'm an essayist at my core and what do we do in our essay? we state: in this essay, I will be discussing the following... Starting this way helps me set the scene, the tone, the characters, and I think if you read everything I write back-to-back, you can really see how painfully formulaic my writing style is 🤷‍♀️🥩🤣

On The Waterfront: 4 (what is your favorite piece of dialogue?)

In any fic, my favourite pieces of dialogue are when characters are revealing who they or another character truly are. The dialogue between Will and Honey in chapter 5: Skin and Bones reveals not only how much Will cares about his friend, it delves into Frankie's addictive personality. I was very proud of that, even in the first draft. It was also the section that prompted a great deal of discussion in my DM's and asks about what really was going on with our favourite shit-disturbing cake factory, Pope.

Beefro👌🥩💜

#submission #luv ya #you ask beefro answers #you asked beefro answered #pedro pacal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fics #🥩#thot tank

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ironmandeficiency · 2 years

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i miss sparkling

pairing: dieter bravo / reader

word count: 1234

summary: dieter is feeling himself after breaking off an unhealthy relationship and meets you, finding that you’re bejeweled just like him

a/n: the idea of dieter just strutting into the club post-breakup with the confidence of yung gravy has me on my knees. there’s VERY little dialogue in this, heads up

rummaging through his closet, dieter realized it had been far too long since he’d worn an outfit worthy of the vip sections of clubs he would frequent. for weeks, it’s been the same rotation of sweats and threadbare band tees from concerts he didn’t remember attending.

his excuses for basically yeeting himself off the deep end have no legs to stand on and he knew it. the lack of clean clothes? he has people on his payroll that could easily be goaded into washing a few loads. his regular haunts not having food he felt like eating? there have been at least two occasions where he brought an entire rotisserie chicken to the club and no one stopped him.

after weeks of moping and recovering from the heartbreak caused by the one who shall not be named, he was finally ready to face the world once again. most importantly, he was ready to face himself again.

sadness became his whole sky once the truth came out, every painting he tried to throw himself into subconsciously tinted with sapphire. it made him throw out every shade of blue paint he owned in a fit of melancholic rage, wondering why why why did this happen as wet diamonds fell from his eyes.

he bathed for the first time this week and made it look like he put effort into taming his wily hair. in all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he wore underwear and putting a clean pair on felt oddly satisfying. he was putting himself back together piece by piece and damn was it refreshing.

dieter has been (slowly) getting clean for the past several months with help from his na sponsor, an army vet who could cook mean barbacoa. it was francisco who kept dieter from relapsing at the revelation of what the one who shall not be named did to him. he was the one who brought home-cooked meals and stayed to watch shitty action movies on the pretentious leather couch dieter planned on throwing out as soon as possible.

but he couldn’t remain a hermit for much longer if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders, so going out was tonight’s plan.

the vip sections of his normal clubs would be crowded with people who would ask too many questions about what happened, and that was the last thing dieter needed. he just wanted to get drinks and dance his feet into nubs, so he found a place he’d never been and had his team feed false rumors to the paps about where he’d be.

tonight was about him.

░

work has been royally kicking your ass. there was always something going wrong, someone who took issue with how you ran things, and several ill-timed disasters in your personal life that almost had you pulling your hair out. your friends were sympathetic to your plight, but instead of encouraging you to curl up on the couch with a gallon of blue bell, they all but forced you to get ready for a night on the town.

of course, they wouldn’t be going with you. this was a night “destined” to be about you and you alone, about you taking much-needed time to recoup from the shitstorm your life has been lately. having other people come with you would only “inhibit the good vibes from focusing on you” and they couldn’t have that.

by the time the makeover fairies left your place, you were glammed up and genuinely excited for a fun night out. you were looking forward to dancing with strangers to loud music and having just enough to drink so your edges are just this side of blurred.

with a spring in your step, you get in your car and set your destination for your favorite club. the excitement is already flowing through your veins and you haven’t even pulled onto the highway. this was definitely what you needed.

░

dieter sent a quick text to francisco to check in before heading inside the club, a ritual dieter adopted early into their sponsor/sponsee friendship to hold him accountable. it worked for him; knowing that his friend cares about him works wonders to curb his now-seldom urges to use. upon telling him that he’s finally going out, francisco sends a congratulations and wishes him luck.

it’s a sign he was meant to be here when he realizes the dj is playing one of his favorite songs right as he walks through the door. he proudly struts to the bar, his easy confidence granting him a spot at the counter. he really is proud of himself, he thinks; enjoying and being himself again is progress.

he orders his usual and once it’s in front of him, he downs it in one gulp, eager to dance with the first person that piques his interest. the bass reverberates through him from the floor up and it gets him moving to the dancefloor with vigor. he has returned to himself and it’s an amazing feeling.

dieter suddenly feels like he’s surrounded by dozens of people like him who simply want to enjoy life while they can. all eyes are on him not because he’s an oscar-winning actor, but because he’s a diamond among playground pebbles, he’s the sun beckoning to the sunflowers in the fields. the combined energy of everyone in the room feeds his confidence in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

he’s dancing, basking in the flashing lights. all of his focus is on embracing these feelings and acting on his desire to find the happiness he’s missed. drinks are passed to him like offerings to the gods from devoted worshippers. nothing could bring him down, and he doesn’t think he could soar any higher.

then his eyes find yours and just like that, he’s among the stars.

you’re sitting at a table on the outskirts of the dancefloor, casually sipping your drink with an amused smile. there’s a fire in you that ignites the gasoline that flows freely through his veins. before he knows what he’s doing, his feet are carrying him towards your warm flame.

normally, when a man approaches you with that much confidence, they have one solitary goal: sex. that’s not what you’re looking for tonight and you’re about to tell this stranger to go away, but there’s something about him that makes it difficult to look away. you notice his outstretched hand and then he asks you to dance. just like that, you’ve been pulled into his orbit and onto the dancefloor with a laugh.

names are quickly exchanged before you’re both drowned out by the music.

what dieter lacks in skill he makes up for tenfold by his enthusiasm and the vibrance of his personality. all the attention was on the two of you, but you were oblivious, too focused on dieter and the shimmering of stray glitter on his sweat-kissed skin. this is what you’ve needed and it was exhilarating to share this moment with someone who understands.

he’s enchanted by you and the shared energy that carries him along the dancefloor. he missed sparkling the way he did before his world went to shit because of- no, he’s not important enough to remember. this is my night. his attention returns to the wide grin on your face, your aura absolutely sparkling like moonstone.

you’re bejeweled, just like him.

#midnights menagerie #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fics #dieter bravo x you #i miss sparkling #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years

Text

Bare Branches

June Drabbles 2022 Day 29 - Birch Trees

A/N: I have been wanting to challenge myself to write a drabble a day for a whole month for quite some time now, and I finally decided to just go for it. The goal is to fill every prompt on this list by @creativepromptsforwriting with a short one shot (500 - 2k words) by the end of June. Can I do it? I do not know. But let’s find out! - Listen, I am well aware that it is the end of August and I am still here posting these, but after this one there are only two more and despite failing dismally to complete them all within the month of June, as well as keeping them all under 2k, I will not fall short of completing them if it’s the last thing I do. Anywho - this one falls into the A Clumsy Romance universe, and yes, I do intend to write about what happened in that hotel room on their trip back to Buenos Aires. ;)

Word Count: 2,166

Warnings: brief mention of sex, some mild angst

Summary: Ten years is a long time.

It was early October when you bought the house that brought you and Nico back together.

How could I not?

Fate typically didn’t knock twice, but for the two of you it seemed to be pounding at the door, and at this point it felt rude not to answer. Since you were legitimately in the market for a new place when you’d pulled up to find him standing out in front after having just finished touring it himself, it was practically a done deal before you’d even set foot inside.

Once he admitted that he had returned to Buenos Aires like you had both planned to do, once you glanced down at his left hand and saw that there was no band on his ring finger, once you threw caution to the wind and your arms around his neck to kiss him like you’d wanted to for a decade, you knew that you couldn’t - wouldn’t - let someone else call the place home. Just the thought of other lives being lived out within those rooms was enough to twist your heart. The concept of other bodies casting shadows on the walls felt wrong, the idea that the bird who belonged to no one would be fed slices of fruit from anyone else but you or Nico just as off putting. The house had hosted other occupants before you, and it would certainly do the same after you were gone. But there it stood, ready to become your home at the precise moment that the man you’d started to think had been a mirage stepped back into your life. The decision to buy the house didn’t even feel like a decision.

How could you not? Especially after he had confessed to thinking of you as he made his way through the halls and up the stairs, as he turned the faucets and lay on the floor and imagined the shelves in the library full of books belonging to both of you.

I couldn’t.

The sale was finalized shortly after your return from Argentina, a fact that only made the last minute trip feel more like an extended dream than it already did. For the first time not only were the two of you going to be living in the same city, but since your reunion in the driveway you’d spent only a handful of nights not sleeping in the same bed - the two immediately after running into him again, and a scattered eight or nine others that you hadn’t spent in his arms.

There had been a second bed in the hotel room on the trip, Nico sheepishly smiling with a small shrug and telling you that he didn’t want to make assumptions. But after ten years of nothing but wanting and wondering, for the five days that you were there neither of you had even acknowledged it as more than a suitcase rack. Instead, you tumbled onto the same mattress and tangled yourselves under the covers. You’d shared skin along with sheets, finally learning his body with your touch, letting him navigate yours as well, and when the sky outside your window was sprinkled full of stars you couldn’t see beyond the rose colored tint of neon lights, you learned what it was to share sleep with each other. To let your breathing find rhythm with his, to feel his arm grow heavier around your waist, to let your cheek sink into the pillow with his chest at your back and his lips so close to your ear. And even as it happened, even as you were aware of how easy it would be to become used to it, accustomed to it - dependent on it - you gave in and let it happen, falling asleep with a smile on your face.

How the hell could I not?

It was mid-November when you realized that falling - plunging - for Nico was never really a decision, either. And it terrified you.

One night, 3,562 nights ago. That’s what all of it was built on, and it scared you, how precarious it was. How novel and shiny and fragile it was. It scared the shit out of you to think about what ten years really meant and if any of what you knew about him was still true, or if you still lived up to the memory of you that he held for all that time. The trees outside your living room window had just a few golden leaves still clinging to their branches. Soon they wouldn’t look anything like their Spring selves, all green and full of life. Soon they’d be stripped of all their finery and laid bare for what they were. It scared you to think that soon Nico would have that same perspective of you.

And it scared you to know how hopeful you were that it wouldn’t matter.

You’d spent the weeks since he’d been back in your life catching each other up on things. The highs and lows. One Saturday afternoon you’d told him you’d spent a year engaged to another man, but that you’d broken things off, breaking his heart when you’d returned the ring he’d given you. You knew your admission would open the door for him to tell you about any relationships he’d been in, and though you didn’t want to think about him with anyone else, you were unprepared for how hard it hit you when he said that outside of a few short lived flings and quick burning flames, there had never been anyone he’d considered creating a life with.

That had been the first thing you noticed that was different from the Nico that you strolled Calle Corrientes with all those years ago. You had been the one to say that you weren’t sure where you stood on marriage or long term commitment of any kind. He had been the one focused on the potential merits of spending your life with someone that you knew, someone that you enjoyed, that you wanted around even when you were angry at them. It was something that he had seemed to want then, and you wondered what had caused the change. It almost saddened you, even though it would have meant that he wouldn’t be there with you now, standing in front of the plate glass that looked out into the yard, his bare feet just a few inches from your socked ones, his left arm curling around your body as he rested his chin over your shoulder.

“I never proposed to anyone,” he mused. “How did your ex fiancé do it?” His tone was casual and calm, warm and soft and you had no idea how he expected you to talk about the way another man had asked you to marry him when he’d just told you that there’d been no one in his life that he’d wanted to ask the same question of.

“Why not, Nico?” Tears were sliding silently down your cheeks but you didn’t lift your fingers to your face to wipe them away. Instead you watched them fall in the reflection of the window you stood in front of. The trees on the other side of the glass - a cluster of paper birches, their bark peeling away in curling sheets - faded as your focus shifted to where his image appeared in the window next to yours, and the first thoughts that came were of how else he had changed.

His cheeks are fuller now. His beard is…

You blinked to free another droplet from your lashes, licking the salt from your lips as it rolled onto them. The patches of skin that you remembered kissing flaky empanada crumbs from were still there, never grown over. But the soft hair that edged the places where his flesh peeked through had started to go gray, and you realized then that your tears weren’t really coming out of fear or anything so predictable. They were falling for the moments that you missed with him. For the silver streaks of time across his beard and scattered over the crown of his head. For the way his frame had filled out in places, grown softer in others. For the divots and creases cut into his expression from worry and laughter and stress and things you weren’t there to see change the man that you met in Buenos Aires ten years ago into the man standing just behind you now. You mourned those lost moments as much as you celebrated the possibility of being there for future ones.

I’ll be there for as many as I can. As many as he wants to share with me.

But you still needed to know, needed to hear the answer to your question from him. So as he turned a few degrees, his eyes leaving the reflection of yours in the window to land instead on your salt stained cheeks, you asked again. “Why didn’t you ever try to-” You sniffed, finally thumbing away the wetness from your face and looking up at him. “To find someone?”

“I did.” Your heart clenched as his thumb came slowly up to swipe away a spot you’d missed, his fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw. What? You shook your head as his free hand came up to cradle the other side of your face. If he did, then- “I did try. For a while.” He sighed, his entire chest rising and sinking with the emptying of his lungs. “But no matter how long I was with any of them… a month… half a dozen months… a year?” His eyebrows came together as he spoke your name, his hands dropping down, one to your shoulder and the other to your wrist. “I never felt anything with any of them that even came close to what I felt from the one night we had together. Never.”

It was why you’d ended things with Martin. He was sweet and funny and he treated you like you were the only person he saw when he looked at you. He got along with your friends and he fit well in your life. He even knew about Nico and never seemed jealous of the connection you’d made with him. He would have been a good husband

But in the entire time you were together he never stirred your thoughts and shocked your soul the way that Nico had in just those brief hours when your paths intersected and cut straight through one another’s hearts. “I never have either.” Your voice was thin, but you’d stopped crying and it took you a moment to realize that was because he was holding you.

“I know.” You felt the tip of his nose drag against your temple as he pressed you closer. “For a long time I told myself it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. What we had that night.” His hands swept slowly up and down your back as he shifted so that you both could still look out at the trees as he continued. “Because if I never found anything that came close, then it must not have been real. It must have been fantasy.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d told yourself - unconvincingly - the same thing.

“But I decided it didn’t matter.” He squeezed you tighter as he inhaled, and you felt his breath fan out against your scalp as he let it out slowly. “I remember everything about the way I felt that night.” Your name left his lips and you peeled yourself away from his broad chest to peer up at him. “Everything. And unless I could have exactly that feeling with someone else, it wasn’t worth settling for anything less.”

“Nico…”

The bird squawked from the dining room then, and though you felt close to tears again the two of you just laughed. “No name’s hungry,” he said, leaning in to kiss the corner of your eye. “Is there fruit in the refrigerator?”

When late December rolled around and the birches had long since lost their golden halos, the snow covering the piles of paper bark and their thin limbs stretched naked towards the white sky, you realized that the reason that neither of you had ever fallen in love was because both of you had already dove in head first ten years ago. You knew he would eventually do something to make you upset. That you’d inevitably say the wrong thing and get under his skin. You knew you’d learn things about him that you didn’t want to hear, that you’d have to tell him things he wouldn’t want to know. But it wouldn’t matter, because it was still you, and it was still him. He had chosen you and you had done the same with him.

How…

He came in through the patio doors with snow in his hair and a few logs in his arms, carrying them upstairs to build a fire in the new fireplace he’d talked you into adding to the library.

How could I not?

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or filling out the form on my masterlist!

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @alraedesigns @lowlights @writeforfandoms @nuttyenthusiastdetective @its-mochi-boba-tea-blr @harriedandharassed @swtaura @practicalghost @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch

#nico (house comes with a bird)#nico x female reader #nico x you #nico x reader #pedrostories #house comes with a bird fic #a clumsy romance #pedro pascal character fics #pedro pascal character #june drabbles 2022 #(yes i know it is august lol)#day 29 - birch trees

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javiscigarette · 3 months

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Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help.

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp.

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time”

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pussy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort.

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out.

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily.

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.

It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea.

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back.

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm.

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod.

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt.

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing.

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body.

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek.

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.”

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment.

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way”

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.”

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again.

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.”

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile.

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists.

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt.

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing.

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly.

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer.

“I sure do.”

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can.

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath.

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit.

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him.

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now.

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically.

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge.

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth.

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again.

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him.

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless.

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him.

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick.

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

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morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Polynesian Kiss - A Max Phillips One Shot

Summary: It’s that time of the month, and your period cramps force you to call in sick at work, but Max is only too keen to help you feel better. Isn’t he such a nice boss? And vampires get a bad rep, tsk, tsk…

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/blood/menstration kink/sex whilst menstrating/oral F receiving/fingering/anal play/general vampire noms/Max is just a bloodsucking bastard and we love him for it.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: After rewatching Bloodsucking Bastards again, this abomination came to me. I make no apologies for it. If you’re currently suffering through your monthly woes, I feel you. Hold strong, besties.

MAIN MASTERLIST | MAX PHILLPS MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“Hey, hotshot. How’s my best PA?”

“Max. I’m your only PA. You ate the others.” You titter with a wry smirk to him with the phone pressed to your ear.

“Guilty, as charged.” He chuckles down the phone, and it’s like you can see that razor sharp gleam as it spreads across his lips reflecting at you here, like a dazzling mirror shard that blinds as deep as it lacerates.

“Are you in the office?” You query knowing he’s a stickler for early starts, seeing as he doesn't sleep himself, but there’s a foreign commotion you can hear around him in the background.

“En route. Getting my caffeine fix. You want me to pick you up a ‘chino? Extra cream, right? My treat.” He grins down the line and it leaves prickles flooding over your skin. “Ooh, they’ve got those cinnamon swirls I like. Scandalous.” He snorts deliciously around a moan and you feel it steam between your thighs.

“No. Uh, thank you. Listen. I’m not coming in today,” you begin intrepidly.

“Oh no. We’ve got the final audit to prepare for, was counting on ya slugger… Six shots please, and a cinnamon swirl. No, make it two swirls. Fuck it. I’ll go to Pilates this week.” He merges fluidly in between conversations with you and the drive-thru window.

“Although, I already know we’ve smashed it.” Max snickers with a husky breath to you. "The stats are off the fucking wall!" He sounds as excited as a little boy who has just discovered his penis for the first time.

“So modest.” You smirk.

“Hey, my management is style is highly effective. You’ve seen the results.”

You smile faintly. “Mmhm. Nothing like the constant threat of imminent death to drive success...”

“You better believe it, honey. No, you have a nice day, champ.” You hear the sound of his electric window winding up and can imagine those hands of his bound tightly in his black leather gloves, so the sun doesn't penetrate his skin, as he reaches out through the dark window just rolled down enough for him to take his coffee order.

Driving with Max is like driving in the pitch dark constantly. Blacked out windows and the air conditioning blasting ferociously in the summer heat making his Mustang feel like an unrelenting ice box.

“What’s up, beautiful? You’re sounding verklempt.” His tone is serious now, concerned even over the masculine power roar of his engine, and it makes you melt.

“I’m uh… Not feeling too great.” You sigh, wrapping your arm around your stomach as another cramp rips through your womb.

“Oh.” You can almost hear him pout. “You got the flu or something?”

“No.” You state toneless.

“Has it happened?” His voice is lower and it sends shivers down your spine alerting your nipples to wake up into stiff, aching peaks in subjugation.��

You nod even though he can’t see. “Yeah.” You whisper.

“You’re early this month.” his voice is but a low din, a growl even.

“I am?” You question, perplexed.

“Yeah. By two days.” You hear him suck in a deep breath and then click his lips. He keeps track of it better than you do. “Okay then. Get prepared. Rest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

"Max, your meetings-" You don't have time to finish your limp protest.

"I said, I'll be there as soon as I can." He snarls darkly before making a kissy noise down the line.

You hear the phone hang up before you can argue again at how his diary today is simply too full, but he’s gone and you put yours down on the table in front of you.

You sit back, folding your arms tightly over your abdomen and sigh out waiting, your heels thudding against the floor occasionally; some automatic anxious reaction that originated from somewhere in your childhood no doubt.

A bit like biting your nails down to the skin until they're sore and tight, or shaking your knee incessantly without realising until someone yells at you to stop fucking doing that!

The first few times it had happened, it had been unpredictable - he was unpredictable.

A volatile mess that scared you the first time he was alone with you in his office; his voice leaving gnarly claws to protrude through the walls to come and get you.

Max Phillips was unlike any other man - any other boss - you’d ever known, although he wasn’t a man, not really.

There was a haunting aura about him, a distinct eeriness that hung off of his Peter Pan-esque shadow that laughed on its own, and you scoffed at first when he’d suggested it. Like it was a joke of some kind; a disgusting, unhygienic joke.

Max didn't laugh, however. He was deadly serious. Emphasis on the deadly.

But then he’d tapped into your curiosity with those wandering brown eyes and hypnotic smirks around pearly canines that had a knack of making you feel like you could walk on cotton candy clouds.

He had mutated any trepidation you'd had until you’d agreed, nodding like a puppet, and you were certain at that point there probably wasn’t anything you wouldn’t agree to where Max was concerned.

He was fucking beautiful and yet under it all, somewhat inherently terrifying.

And it turned you on so much. God, it was fucking unrelenting the way the tops of your thights now constantly stuck themselves together with your slick.

You had sensed it about him, unsure exactly what it was - what he was entirely. That dominant, toxic swagger about him, amped up on fuckboi steroids, that would cause carnage in the office, and you could never put your finger on it. The unusually high turnover of staff, the lingering stench of copper on his breath. The fact the blinds were always drawn and the air conditioning was always on, to the point you could see your breath.

You never spoke about it, none of you. Until the time he tore up the office and replaced all the bone idle employees with the walking undead and then it made perfect sense; he was a vampire, d’uh.

He said you could trust him though. He said he wouldn’t turn you, unless you wanted it - you didn't - and you believed him. He had been true to his word; he hadn’t hurt you at all - not without your express consent for him to take a little nibble on your jugular now and again anyway.

He liked it when you repelled him, made him work harder for it. Fuck, it made him so hard in his tight suit pants when you did that. Strutting around the office in your short skirts and barely-there blouses just to make him see red and chew on his tie.

He’d promoted you, although it was more of a candid expectation seeing as he’d picked his teeth clean with your predecessors.

You did in fact trust him enough to invite him into your home and let him roam unbidden and free inside it and do all those things to you that made your toes curl in the deliciously right way.

Fuck buddies with your boss. Or was it blood brothers now?

You couldn’t help but become enthralled by his spooky enthrall somewhat more and more, and was now resorting to adding this monthly rendezvous to your clandestine proclivities with him as though you had completely lost your sanity, and perhaps you had.

Max was always sharp and concise, straight to the point and no funny nonsense, ma’am. Unless you count him fucking you, bent over his desk, whilst you attempt to type up the meeting minutes as anything but serious.

He could talk his way into anything, including your cunt on a regular turn.

Somewhere inside, it made you shiver. Like something wicked and disgusting was unfurling and leaving those sharp nails to rake down your spine that make you feel sick and giddy in wanton anticipation.

It had to be something that was shameful, immoral; taboo, and yet you willingly engaged in it. You wanted it, craved it as much as he did it seemed.

You just craved him.

You take in a deep breath, the cramping that was present since it had begun in the early hours is deep and twisting in your gut, seeming to increase in its ferocity - it’s like it knows and is getting itself into an excitable tizz.

You get up and make your way upstairs ready to prepare, clutching your stomach as you go.

You run the shower in the bathroom; he likes you to be clean. Or as clean as you can be at this time of the month anyway before he dirties you up again.

Day one is always the worst - the heaviest and most painful - but the absolute best time for Max; the most important day where the blood is fresh and plentiful - when you are incredibly ripe for the plucking sweetheart, as he once put it.

You climb into the shower, washing your hair and body with fruity scents that would make his mouth salivate, and the hot, inviting water starts to soothe the incessant pang pulling inside your uterus.

There was no pain killer; Max had said it made the blood taste weird so you refrained from taking any. It would barely scrape the sides anyhow. No, the only thing that could tame it completely was him.

But at this point, after the hot water subsides, the cramps increase in their veracity. A period is the equivalent of a heavy kick in the balls to a man.

No, make that several hundred kicks in the balls, then stamping on them relentlessly.

Or, imagine someone has taken a sledge hammer to them instead; just whacking the shit out of them tirelessly.

Yeah? Well, period pain is fucking worse, buddy.

Feels like someone is twisting your insides without a let up, and then pulling them apart slowly just to spite you. Some women would tell you that child labour hurts less than menstrual cramps.

They would be fucking right about that.

I think my vagina hates me. I’m not sure what I did to piss her off…

You groan out as another cramp thunders through your core. You look down to see red spots making marble spirals around your feet in the suds, like inkblots being diluted in the water as they swill down the drain. It’s kinda pretty in an abstract way, as you’re mesmerised by those budding tulips for a while.

You clench internally at what is to come and once out of the shower, dried and dressed in a robe and a clean pair of white cotton panties - without a tampon or towel as instructed by Max, thems the rules, baby - you brush through your hair after blow drying it and wait for him to come to you.

The waiting is the worst part.

You’re sure he’ll be there in the office frantically rearranging his diary, cancelling meetings for you as he gulps desperately at his strong coffee. It curbs the cravings, he'd said after you’d queried his collection of empty six-shot espresso cups collecting in a temple on his desk with a raised eyebrow.

You gear yourself up to the point your pussy is already sopping and you're desperate to appease yourself with some release. But you never can bring yourself to, knowing that if you save it - save it all for him to have - it would be so much more sweeter.

Thinking of Max makes your clit swell and throb, that tingle that teeters on the edge of pain and makes it uncomfortable and heavy inside your panties, but the moment he would touch you, it would be worth all the edging and gnawing pressure.

You can feel yourself getting wetter down there and knowing it isn’t just all the blood makes you smile sinisterly.

When he finally arrives, he lets himself in.

You could hear him pull up in his red Mustang and the creaky squeak of the door slamming shut after that deep roar of his engine was reduced to a dying purr.

Those quick scraping footsteps of his polished leather shoes against the gravel as he plays hopscotch with the shadows out of the direct sun.

The sound of him using the key you gave him to let himself into your apartment. Inviting the monster in to come and play with your guts and offals.

You had to invite him in the first time. Laughing as he physically couldn't cross the threshold of your door without verbal invitation. Like there was an actual barrier there. Now, he comes and goes as he pleases.

Sometimes, in the dead of the night, you would wake to find him pawing at you; fangs and cock bared. He takes from you whenever he wants, and you always let him.

Goose bumps flood all over your body and tingles run tightly across your scalp in suspense.

As he rounds the stairs up to your door, Max can smell you already and his gut rumbles as does his loins inside his tight, navy suit pants.

Once in your apartment, he pushes the door open to your bedroom to see you lying on the duvet with a towel spread underneath you, and you're wrapped up in a fluffy robe looking a little worn and tired despite flashing your effervescent smile for him.

“Hey,” you beam at him and he shuts the bedroom door behind him with a gentle click.

He’s holding a small posy of flowers and it makes you smile that the vampire is a little bit of a sentimental doof under it all.

He stands there watching you and keeps his distance for a few moments as you shuffle upright; a hot water bottle is revealed to him that's tucked inside the folds of your gown resting against your stomach to quell the pain.

“Are those for me?” You ask, as he puts them in the vase on your dresser, discarding the old ones that are slightly withered now into the trash can.

They are pink and bulbous and always a token of affection in thanks for what he is about to do to you. But you don’t see it as a quid pro quo at all. You want this just as much as he does. The peonies are just a pretty bonus.

Max nods at you and smiles thinly through his pink lips.

“How you feeling, baby?” He queries. He loosens his tie and then slides it out from under the shirt collar completely and tucks it into his back pants pocket.

“I’ve been better.” You say.

“I can smell it.” He sighs, smirking. "Pungent. Mmm."

You nod slowly. “I know.”

“Show me.” He instructs, removing his suit jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal tan arms. An unusual trait for a vampire, you think.

You remove the hot water bottle and plonk it on the floor by the bed and untie your gown, slipping it off over your shoulders. Puffy nipples that were embedded asleep inside your warm areolas greet him and he stares like a letch at them, licking his lips.

You rest back on your elbows with your knees drawn up and he zones in on the damp, bloody patch that has seeped through your cotton panties peeking back at him between your ankles.

Incredibly exposed before him - the most intimate you could ever be with him - you're spread vulnerable and showing him exactly what he's after as you part your legs. The red patch is soaking into your panties like a flower slowly blooming and opening up just for him.

You pull your panties up by the waist band, using them as reins as you rub them against yourself, smearing it in further. He watches with a thick smirk as you moan and pant at the feel of them grazing against your engorged clit.

It feels fucking delicious.

“Take them off,” Max directs with a hiss between his teeth, lying his jacket down on the chair by your dresser after folding it neatly.

You shimmy them down slowly and hold them out to him. His long, thick fingers snatch them from your hands and immediately they go to his nose.

He sniffs in deep and his eyes roll into the back of his head leaving just the whites, before he puts the crotch of them inside his mouth and sucks deeply against the damp, stained cotton.

A desperate catch in the back of his throat he can all but choke on, sounds out of him like a wolf howling at the moon as he growls out in satisfaction.

The taste of your syrupy fluids and blood dancing over his tongue in a delightfully salty-chrome tango, is firing his synapses and setting his whole body alight.

He’s barely holding it together as you notice him visibly shaking.

“O-open your legs,” he growls menacingly through his mouthful, peering down at you and fighting to stave off his other face from making an appearance - his true face that he knows unnerves you. You do as he instructs, desperate to please your marauding boss.

You watch as he shudders more and sucks greedily at your panties, arousing you further as he stares at your glistening, ruby soaked cunt with eyes turning more jet by the second.

Max clocks the sanguine vision of you spread before him on the bed, making his mouth salivate and his fangs ache to protrude fully. He blinks away the red mist descending upon him and swallows through a now tightly constricted throat.

He puts the panties inside his jacket pocket for safekeeping and kneels on the end of the bed, crawling up it like an ominous spider creeping towards you.

"All for me," he purrs with a devilish grin.

He runs his lips against your knee and up your thigh as he descends upon you. His teeth catch on your nipple making you gasp before his tongue soothes it with a wet pop out of his mouth.

He takes your wrists and pulls you down towards him, positioning you just right so you are lying fully supine now; the towel is still spread out underneath you, not that you’ll need it.

He’ll make sure to get every last drop of you.

“Come here, you.” He growls and cold mist is pouring out of his mouth onto your body. "Going to eat you the fuck up."

Max can smell it; see the glistening claret shine around your pussy lips sparkling at him, and that plumpy clit growing and swelling out of the hood of your skin desperate for a good lick.

Droplets of crimson fluid bead at your entrance and a couple had rolled down your skin towards your ass leaving a delicious track for him to devour.

It’s darker in colour around your sodden hole and the iron rich smell is driving him crazy, his jaw twitching and cracking. “There’s so much,” he says with keen appraisal. “Does it hurt?”

Max runs his hand up your leg and rests it on your abdomen; his palm splayed across it like a giant starfish swamping your navel, and feeling the coolness emanate from it as it's absorbed into your skin makes you whine with need.

His healing hand soothing you as he presses onto you a little with his weight and it's those small gestures like this from him that make it all better to endure through the pain somehow.

That make you believe you could mean something more to him than just being a walking, talking bloodbag.

You nod and bite your lip as his fingertips feel like they throb and burn on your skin’s surface despite their cold.

“I’ll make it all better, baby.” Max assures. And you know he will - he always does.

His dark, now almost fully black eyes, flick down to your sopping slit as he shifts, and he cranes his head forward a little, licking up the length of your seam slowly with a flat, pressed tongue.

The taste of you floods his taste buds and senses immediately like he’s just shot up.

You throw your head back taking in a deep, heavy hit of oxygen. The feel of his cool breath against you and the slither of his serpent tongue leave electric sparks flooding through your veins.

"Mmm, Max..." You shiver and grin.

His hand is still on your stomach, thumb stoking in little circles below your belly button; his other reaching towards your centre where his long fingers are sliding and probing against the edges of your sodden slit.

Max runs his index finger along the fleshy ribbons of your folds that are dyed a deep, entrancing scarlet. He would go to push it inside your tasty well and then pull away, teasing you.

“Mmm,” you moan, your body squirming and flinching under him.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Max simmers, smirking.

He knows what he's doing when he winds your body up like this. With that darned smile he can get away with anything and you both fucking know it as it slithers across his face like a snake about to attack its prey ferociously.

“Please,” you whine. "Don't tease me, not today."

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re needy.” He soothes and plants a little kiss just above your clit making you groan further in frustration. He pouts and makes his voice a little squeaky. "You like that, baby? Hmm? Like it when I tease your little, needy pussy like this?"

"Max, please!" You growl this time. "Just fucking eat me."

He snickers and pats onto your pussy before rubbing his fingers all in it, knocking against your hard clit through the squelches, and running the pads all over those fleshy, swollen lips. Finger painting inside the rich red that coats them making them shiny like latex, before putting them inside his gluttonous mouth.

Max groans out as he sucks and licks each of them clean, savouring the metallic taste and dipping in again and again before he presses his lips to your sex finally to feast.

"Oh shit!" You simper.

You feel his tongue dart in and out in quick succession and the flesh on your legs dissolve. He removes his hand from your stomach and spreads your lips with his thumbs, opening you up for him and running his tongue in your wet slick, flicking back and forth across the hard nub of your spongy clit.

“Fuck,” you whine seeing stars and feeling the heat simmering in your lower abdomen start to boil.

He sucks and gnaws on it; slurping loudly around it and pulling it between his pert lips before letting it go, sending your body erratic and writhing under his expert touch.

“Max...” You groan out utterly beside yourself.

“Say my name, baby. Let me hear you.” Max coerces with a mirthy chuckle and suckles on it again, pinching his teeth around it and watching you lose your shit every time.

“Oh fuck, Max!” You wail as your back arches and your pussy spasms. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Tastes so good,” he confirms. "Want to devour you," he grunts darkly at you. The skin on his face darken a little, his muscles and features changing shape; shadows becoming more prominent.

"Eat me all up?" You squeak, your fingers gripping tight around the duvet.

"Until there's nothing left of you." His voice changes; it's deeper, more throatier and you know the vampire within is awake and stirring now. "Gonna rip this cunt open!"

Your right thigh judders uncontrollably as he polishes that pearl with his tongue; flicking back and forth with acute speed and bringing your first come session of the day so easily.

Growling and grunting loudly as he feasts on you with unhurried abandon. His grip on your skin is harder and you can see the strain whitening his knuckles as he fights to hold back from fully vamping out.

"Oh fuck!" You keen, shaking and tensing.

He watches, his dark eyes flicking up as his mouth stays firmly clamped to your slit, as your breasts jiggle and your nipples are as hard as diamonds.

Your whole body jolts and jerks hard before you flatline under him when you can take no more.

You’re stunned, smashed around the head with gold stars, and panting as your focus shifts back to his creeping shadow between your legs after being blind and boneless.

Your face is all red; nipples swollen as you come wildly in his plundering mouth.

You watch him with blown out pupils mouthing all over your pussy; clit pulsing under his thrashing tongue and ready for more as you feel it start to tighten and cinch again.

"Mm-maax!" You groan. It's so senitive, so plump and swollen. So... delicious.

Smirking, Max curls his middle two fingers into your soaked, scarlet entrance and laps up his reward; your blood, your come, smearing around his lips messily, like trying to apply lipstick on a rollercoaster.

He fucking loves it.

"You wanna come again?" He taunts darkly through a raspy smirk.

He hums out in satisfaction as he drinks more from you greedily, sticking his tongue in further and further to get more from that sodden inkpot that feels like it’s gushing constantly for him now.

He pushes your legs up by the backs of your thighs, opening you up and licking down your gooch towards that puckered urchin of your ass hole, where a lusty mix of his saliva, the blood and your pussy slick had dripped down it creating a wonderful cocktail that he would get drunk on happily, all day.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m having a reeeally good time.” He slurps menacingly. “So glad I cancelled that meeting with the Bordstein Group. Mmm, fuck.”

Your neck cricks up at him. "Wait. You cancelled it? They were hard bastards to pin down..." You whine as he laps against your ass hole and pushes the tip through your rim. "Oh, that's so good, Max. Oh Jesus..."

"You can re-arrange it. It's cool." He shrugs, his mouth full of you.

"You make it sound easy. Pete is a - oh fuck, yeessss - a-a busy man."

"Look, if he wants a collaboration, he'll make time." Max snorts. "You can sweet talk him, baby. Now shut up and give me another one." He smooshes you further into his mouth with a quick yank of your hips upward.

You yelp and chortle waspily as he dives back in. He runs his tongue around the sticky rim of your ass and slathers around it before sliding his index finger in as he works his mouth back towards your bloodied snatch, clamping around it once more as he drinks you down.

He finger fucks your tight hole as he eats out your trembling cunt, and he can feel you clench around his finger as he invades your butt deeper.

“Relax,” Max soothes you, his teeth stained pink and clamps right back onto that messy muff.

He slips in another wet finger and fills up your ass to the knuckles, sucking on your clit again.

“Oh fuck!” You flop down onto the pillow, getting a neck ache from craning to look at him and just succumb to the blooming feeling inside your ass, completely distracting you now from the cramps altogether. A wonderful placebo to occupy you as Max fucks you up sideways with that dangerous hot mouth of his.

He smears his tongue around, mopping you up and getting as much of you as he can; sucking you dry and clean before he would dart into your pussy hole and tease out more that you had to offer.

All the while he keeps his fingers inside your ass, curling and pumping as he watches your thighs tremble and pulsate around the sides of his head.

He marvels at how your body reacts to him without him having to use his enthrall; you submit to him wholly and he loves it.

With a gooey, slick smile, Max laps at your pussy hungrily again and again like a rabid dog as you start to come apart at the seams once more.

“Oh God!” You call out, gripping hold of the duvet and pulling at it tightly as your body contorts and bucks against his face. You can feel another orgasm building and twisting your spine out of shape.

“God isn’t going to help you, sweetheart,” Max confirms before he chews on your clit once more and lets you explode again. "The Devil on the other hand..."

“Oh, I can’t, I can’t-” You’re quaking now, the pleasure doing an absolute number on you and he keeps his tongue on your sensitive clit. You can see flashes behind your eyelids; feel your body contort and pulse. “Maa-hax!”

“You can,” he encourages as he flicks across your nub hard with a fast, busy tongue. “Come in my mouth, baby. Give it all to me.”

And you do.

"AaaahhhohGodpleasepleaseMax!”

You arch your back, trying to get away from his mouth, the wonderful feeling becoming too much; you’re drowning, unable to breathe and so fucking dizzy, but he presses down on your stomach again holding you in place so you can’t scarper away.

"Oh fuuucck!"

He forces you to confront it, to accept it and drown in that tidal wave as it crashes over your head and pulls you under. Your ears are ringing and your toes are breaking.

“Fuck me, Max...” You plead, gasping and burning at him as you resurface. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you hard?” He replies, teasing you.

“Please, just cover your cock in me.” You gasp as he draws up and unzips his pants.

He pulls himself out, thick and hard and leaking pre-cum as he pumps a few times before lining himself up against you. He wastes no time in giving you what you crave.

You grip onto him, his shirt twisting in your vice-like grip as he sinks his cock inside you and begins thrusting, hard, just like you want it.

He feels you squeezing around him almost immediately as he rips through you, sending you erratic and spiralling and coming so forcefully around his dick quickly, that your body goes rigid and shakes as though possessed.

“Yeah, like that!” He coos at you, growling. He bears his teeth, grunting as he power fucks into you. "There you go, baby. Love it when I destroy this pretty cunt, don't you?"

“Maa-hax, fu-uu-ck!” You cry out; your voice being battered out of your throat, releasing uncontrollably and panting wildly.

It’s so wet between your legs that every thrust squelches obscenely.

“What huh, you want me to stop? I don’t think you want that.” He growls. Once more his face shifts, his fangs are out fully now.

You shake your head, gasping hard through a dry throat. You grip onto him as his face lwers closer to yours, the vampire breaking through.

You whimper and squeak through your pants.

“You want me to stop?” Max prompts again as he eases his grip, slows his pace with smooth, deep strokes; another tempo just as easily fucking you up again.

You can feel him so deeply inside you as he drives his hips forward; his body crushing yours like a hydraulic press into the mattress.

You can see he's fighting to stay fully in control as his human face reappears from under the dark lines and brow ridges.

“No, don’t stop,” you choke as your body fizzes like fireworks. “Please… More.” You whine, losing your breath as he fucks it right out of your lungs until you can no longer form coherent words around your tongue and you’re left babbling.

“That’s right; you don’t want it to stop, do you? Such a fucking slut for my cock. Letting me fuck you whilst you're bleeding all over it." Max croons into your neck and you can feel his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there. "So fucking nasty, baby."

Fisting through his hair, you grip him tight as his hips snap into yours with vigour. “Not even breaking out into a sweat.” Max taunts inside your ear. “I can keep this up all day. In fact, I think I just might.”

“Oh God, fuck.” You mewl.

"Want to drink you again. Let me?" Max presses his tongue over that juicy vein in your neck.

"Yeah," you pant as he gathers your hair away from the side of your neck. "Not too much-"

"I know," he croons. "Just a drop or two. You can take it."

Sharp stings are felt on your throat as he tastes you there too, puncturing the skin and swallowing you down.

It’s a heady feeling as he drinks; the niggly pain soon dissipating and making you see bokeh stars behind your eyelids.

The pull is sumptuous, dreamy. Comforting as your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the serene peace his immortal kiss offers.

“Fucking delicious,” he smirks as he runs his mouth up the side of your cheek; his hot, blood stained breath left to condensate inside your ear canal.

Growling and rabid, Max pulls out and slides down your body and licks up your oozy slit again, tasting you and smearing the bloody and sticky pulp across his lips.

"You’re such a good little PA for me. You take it so well every time.” He praises, pushing his fingers into your pussy once more and rooting around inside of you. "Going to give you more, baby. I know you've got more for me. And I'm nowhere near full yet."

He strokes your cushiony insides that are sodden and plump and allow him to slide in and out with ease. You still feel tight and bound from your orgasms, but he's able to bring about another one that leaves you caterwauling for him again.

He’s the conductor and you his orchestra, making sweet music to his ears whilst he faps and eats you out and then some for hours, until the day is bleached away into the encroaching twilight outside.

His stamina destroys you, bruises your bones as he fucks you over and over until you think you’ll never be able to walk again.

And when he eventually comes, with a deep throaty howl that seems to vibrate through the whole building and cracks your neighbour's window panes, spilling himself wholly inside of you, he sucks it all out with the blood and swallows it down, remaining rock hard until he does it all over again. And again.

And a-fucking-gain.

“Hmm... love this pussy,” Max confirms, suckling gently at your over-sensitive bud and you’re beside yourself with the intense rapture of it all.

Boneless mush. A drooling mess. Crying and wailing for more, pumped full of sequinned delirium.

By the time he’s finished feasting on you, you’re utterly exhausted and barely able to keep your eyes open.

Max spends time cleaning you up. Licking around your inner thighs and filling up on all the spots he might’ve missed.

Fawning, delicate. The vampire is fully satiated for now.

He walks over to your dresser, running his thumb around his lips to get the crust of the dried blood over them, and his once crisp, white shirt is now a pink stained mess, like an artist who has gone berserk with his paint pots.

He pulls out a pair of clean underwear and slides them up your legs and taps your ass gently, rousing your sleepy focus back to him.

"B-12," he finger shoots at you and you nod over to the supplements on your dresser. He brings them, and a band-aid that he sticks over the bite marks on your neck, and gives it a gentle press in place.

"There, all better." He smirks darkly.

He then leans forward and kisses you on the lips. Max pushes those plumpy, blood stained lips of his onto your own and kisses you deeply, slowly.

He slides his tongue into your mouth and massages it delicately. You can taste the metallic remnants of yourself on him, taste your salty-sweet cunt all around his gums.

“See why I can’t get enough of your taste, hmm?” He murmurs around your lips as you sample yourself on him with mounting fervour.

He’s right, you do taste good.

Max groans into your mouth as you clutch at the back of his head hungrily and wanting more, despite your battered body yelling at you to rest. He falters again, sliding forward on the bed and gripping you tightly into his body.

You can feel the bulge of his still solid cock poking you in the gut, and you reach down to give him a rub and a gentle squeeze before he removes your hand and strokes your fingers inside of his stained ones.

God, he's like walking viagra. Constantly fucking hard. Well, he is dead. Technically the term is rigor-mortis...

“The things I still want to do to you..." he utters with a low grunt. "But you need sleep.” He purrs gently, smoothing down your frayed hair.

“Stay,” you whimper as he pulls away.

“Can’t tonight, baby. Got lots to catch up on. You’ve kept me busy all day. Going to have to pull an all-nighter.”

“Oops.” You smile dreamily at him.

“Oops.” Max remarks with a dangerous grin. “You think you’ll be in tomorrow? Could really use your support with the audit.”

You nod. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Good.” He smiles and kisses you once more. “Rest up. Tomorrow I’m going to fuck you in the supply closet from eleven til half-twelve. I'll send you a meeting invite.” He smirks as he pulls down and buttons his cuffs.

The noise that comes out of you in response makes him chuckle darkly.

Holy fuck…

Max pulls away from you, slipping out of your grip, leaving you to settle on the bed as he gathers his jacket. He pulls your bloodied panties out and gives them a sniff as he winks at you.

You can only imagine what he's going to do with them later.

He leaves the bedroom and you hear him let himself out.

You collapse back on the bed, somewhat bereft, hearing his car start up with that familiar deep roar.

It fades away down the street and takes any sense of conscious thought you have with him.

Rolling over and reaching for the B-12, you sigh out with a satiated smile and close your eyes thinking about the supply closest.

And the amount of times your freakishly insatiable boss, Max, has fucked you up in there already.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this Max Phillips story of mine. Just love a bit of hungry, gnarly Max, don't you? If you enjoyed what you just read, please consider re-blogging. Thank you so much! 🖤🩸

MAIN MASTERLIST | MAX PHILLIPS MASTERLIST

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips vampire #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips #max phillips bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bosses #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #vampire max phillips #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys #pedro pascal character fics #max phillips smut #pedro pascal smut

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grogusmum · 7 months

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poll time

okay, I am doing the autumn Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge

I will be using prompt theme #2 a dark and stormy night

I don't want to give too much away but think lighthouse keeper with a monstrous secret sort of arrangement.

I was going to pick Ezra for this because he just seems the lightkeeper type, but I had a brain blast for 2 other fics for him so I put it out there should this be an Ezra fic? or a Frankie fic?

*of course, I can't promise anything but you never know where inspiration can come from!

#writing poll #ezra prospect #frankie morales #PedroHalloween2023 #pedro pascal character fics

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angelickks · 6 months

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frankie morales - kinktober drabble

700 - free use! francisco ʻcatfishʻ morales x wife! reader

notes ! - hiiiii my loves!!! its been so long, i've been extremely busy but i felt like a small drabble for kinktober would be a fitting comeback. i sadly wasnt able to do a fully loaded kinktober list but this was a fun idea so i just had to release it ;) warning is in the title lovers, smut with absolutely no preamble

YOU FELT HIM BEFORE YOU HEARD HIM, his warmth encompassing you as you stood over the soapy sink of dishes. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine as you feel your husband's thick arms wrap around your waist.

“Always so silent, Francisco” you chided playfully, resuming your task at hand. He chuckled gruffly behind you, affectionately nipping at your jaw earning him a small gasp from you.

“Didn’t mean to be honey, I'll make sure to make a show of taking off my coat next time…” His voice trails as you feel his large hands trail down to your thighs, intentionally hiking up your dress. His lips only add to his assault, trailing wet kisses down your neck, goosebumps rising in its wake.

“Fuckin’ nuisance these things, not sure why I continue buying them” His fingers skid gently across your covered slit, soaking the garment as he applies more pressure. Your breathing picks up upon his actions, abandoning the dishes, your hands and forearms still wet.

You gasp when you feel him yank your underwear to the side and the clank of his belt being undone. The soft thump of his jeans dropping to your linoleum kitchen floor has you instinctively spreading your legs to accommodate Frankie. “My good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbles, one hand firmly gripping your hip and the other pulling down the front of your dress to squeeze your breasts, enjoying how the soft flesh spills over his calloused hands.

He knocks the air from your lungs before you could give him an answer, his cock slamming into you in one thrust. Your entire body is notched up higher, feet landing onto his boots as you’re quickly reminded of your husband's size. You sob at the stretch, your entire body on fire with his touch, “It’s just me baby, filling you up just right. Just how you deserve.” His pace picks up, the sound of Frankie’s balls smacking against your ass and the squelch of your cunt fills the room, your initial pain ruthlessly into pleasure. He’s grunting and groaning behind you like a man possessed, but he makes quick work of pressing his palm to your forehead, forcing the arch of your back to deepen his thrusts.

You feel your eyes roll back at the sensation, moaning loudly as your legs wobble slightly. “Sweet fuckin’ thing just drooling all over me. She likes it when I get rough with her, huh?” You’ve all but given up on forming responses, all words forgotten as he fucks deeper and deeper into you. He’s sucking at the flesh below your ear, breath tickling your flushed neck. Arousal coils in your stomach at the sensation, on the verge of your breaking point.

“Feel you squeezing me pretty girl. Just asking me to pump you full of my cum, what do you think?” He purposely slows his pace, and you whine in protest. “Answer me, I don’t wanna be mean to my girl.” Your body shudders at his words, ears are ringing as you try to come to your senses. “Y-yes, please Frankie…”Your thighs shake as your cunt clenches around his pulsating cock. “Fuck me p-plea-“ Your words come out as a choked sob as his cock pistons into you, your hips meet his thrusts on your body’s own accord.

His grunts turn into moans as your pussy swallows him greedily. It’s all too much, his presence choking the air around you, your hair sticking to your forehead with his palm still pressed to it. Your tears trailing down your flushed cheeks, offering no reprieve to the fire only Frankie ignites in you.

“F-fuck baby you hear how soaked you are? Hear how happy I make her?” He smirks as he drags his mouth up and down your cheek. His voice spurs you on, the coil in your stomach on the brink of snapping, itching for his permission.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” With a gasp of his name, you coat him with slick, gushing around his size. You swear you hear him whimper slightly as you tighten around his cock before peppering your shoulders with soft kisses.

“‘Atta fuckin’ girl,” His hips stutter with his words, and with a loud moan, he’s spilling into you, pulling one last lewd whine out of you. His thrusts become shallow as his cum trickles down your thighs, a smirk playing on his lips as you shake beneath him.

#˚₊‧꒰ა angelickk blog ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#imagine #frankie morales #pedro pascal character fics #pedrohub #pedro pascal #triple frontier #kinktober 2023 #smut #female reader #francisco catfish morales #pedro is daddy #free use kink #drabble

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joels-darlin · 8 months

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Nightmares

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! (minors DNI), mentions of anxiety/mental health, mentions panic attack, smut, fingering, grinding, unprotected P in V (keep it wrapped!!), creampie, pet names, dirty talk, riding a cowboy, teasing.

Summary: After waking up from a nightmare Joel helps you find comfort in a way you never thought was possible, all thanks to stealing his favourite flannel.

Word count: 2047

Authors Note: My first time writing smut and of course I had to do my man Joel Miller. I also think this might be my longest one shot to date so yay to smashing goals. Hope you all enjoy! I definitely enjoyed writing it. Feedback is appreciated ♥

As always a huge thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for the help and support on this one, forever in your debt. Also, I finally did it woo!!! ♥

Also posted on AO3.

Every night was the same; broken sleep, pounding heart, waking up in a pool of your own sweat. The vivid memories of those you loved dying in front of you at the hands of raiders and infected. Bleeding profusely or torn apart limb by limb. Horrific images forever ingrained into the cells of your brain.

Gasping for air, you woke with a fright, bolting straight up into a sitting position, lungs burning, breathing deeply to force some oxygen into them. Beads of sweat trailed down your face leading to the uncomfortable burning sensation behind your eyes. A brief scan of the room told you that it was still dark outside, dead of the night, the only light source coming from the old street lamps of Jackson which painted a yellow hue across the walls of the bedroom.

“It’s okay, you're safe, here in Jackson, with Joel and Ellie” you thought to yourself, the words circling around your head over and over again, trying desperately to console your anxious and terrified form. You gripped the now sweat soaked sheets in any hope of grounding yourself, feeling the smooth of the material against calloused skin.

After a few minutes of composing yourself, breathing returning to normal, you turned to the right, your eyes landing on Joel. He was lying on his side, facing towards the wall, clutching a pillow. The sheets draped loosely around his naked torso; quite the sight, you had to admit. The sounds of soft snores that left his lips signalling that he was having a peaceful night's sleep for once.

There was no way of getting back to sleep after that, the dream was far too vivid to even consider closing your eyes again. Feeling defeated you stripped the sheets back, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. Making the conscious decision to grab one of his flannels that hung over the bedpost, throwing it over your frame, which was only covered in a vest top, the scent of him wrapped around you like a comfort blanket burying your nose deep into the fabric.

It was dark when you stepped out of the bedroom, your eyes squinting with adjustment. Reaching out you followed the curve of the walls with your fingertips, finally grasping the edge of the banister, carefully retreating down the stairs one step at a time and into the living room. The couch being your final destination. ────────

“Darlin’ what are you doing down here?”

You flinched in panic at his voice, close to dropping the book you were buried in as a distraction. Closing the cover, making sure to mark the page, before placing it on the coffee table. Turning your body facing the doorway where he stood, you locked eyes with Joel briefly.

“Couldn’t sleep. I-I, erm…well…I had a nightmare. But I could ask you the same thing?” you said, hoping that your questioning would have him glaze over your admittance to another nightmare.

“Hold up, a nightmare? You should have woke me” he said. You shrugged.

“You looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you”.

“Oh sweetheart…”. He approached, taking the seat on the couch next to you. Feeling the warmth radiating off his body, you hopped into his lap, strong muscular arms wrapping around your form. You lay your head in the crook of his neck.

“Next time, please wake me. Don't care if I’m dead to the world or not, I panicked when I woke up to an empty bed” he spoke softly into your hair. “Now…you wanna tell me about it sweetheart?” he asked.

“Not tonight too vivid, but I don’t know if I will sleep at all if I recount it” you mumbled. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe another time, hmm?” he asked, and you nodded in response. “I’m never getting this back, am I?” he chuckled, pulling at the hem of his, (no, your) shirt.

“Nope” you responded, emphasis on popping the ‘P’, leaning in for a chaste kiss. Joel captured your lips as you pulled away, kissing you deeply for a few moments.

“I like seeing you in my clothes though, it’s…hot” he whispered, brushing his nose against your chin, moving down to place soft kisses at the exposed skin of your neck, nibbling on it lightly. There was only one way this was going, you could feel the pool of desire starting to well in your lower stomach, evident that your thin sleep shorts were now flooded in hot, wet arousal.

“Joel…” you whined, trying to send him a clear message that you wanted, no, needed him. Besides, it’s not like you were likely to be able to sleep now…

“M’yeah, baby…I know…I know,” he mumbled between kisses. Detaching your lips for a brief second, you took control. Pushing off of his lap moving to straddle him, legs either side of his hips, skin making contact with the soft leather of the couch. Moving your arms around his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft moan from Joel.

“God damn, baby girl, you will be the death of me,” he spoke breathlessly. Foreheads touching, his deep brown orbs shone in the dark room with lust and desire, boring into yours. He leaned in virtually smashing his lips against your kissing you passionately.

Completely focused on his lips it took you by surprise when moved his hands up the back of your top, the feeling of the warm, calloused skin against yours causing the ripple effect of goosebumps across your body. He continued, hands now traversing around the front of your top cupping both your breasts, squeezing gently, causing you to moan into his mouth. Taking both your nipples rolling them through his thumb and forefinger, lips detaching and your back arching involuntarily at his touch. Jesus, this man.

Two could play that game. Grinding down on Joel’s lap, his hard bulge protruded through the thin pyjama pants that adorned his lower body.

“Fuck darlin’…” he moaned in response as you continued to grind against his aching length. The friction was so good that you were hurtling towards your own peak.

“You have two choices, cowboy, take me to bed or take me here” you whispered into his ear in a sultry tone, dragging your teeth over his earlobe gently. Joel thrust up in response, rolling his hips into yours multiple times.

“Won’t make it…upstairs…here…now” he stuttered. “Lift up for me” placing his large hands at your waist he guided your hips up so you were hovering over him. In one swift motion he lifted his own slightly, sliding his pyjamas off so they pooled at his ankles. Glancing down you drunk in his thick, hard cock which was glistening at the head with pre-cum. A wave of desire pooling in your stomach at the sheer sight of it.

“Now you are too overdressed for my liking darlin’. Let's get rid of these clothes…the shirt…that stays on though” he growled forcing your gaze up towards him. Taking a fistful of your shorts in each hand he pulled the fabric tearing at the seams as he ripped it from your frame, doing the same with the vest top until you were completely bare; just the flannel hanging from your shoulders.

“Joel…my-” your words were interrupted as he forced his lips against yours again, tongues tangling going to war in the battle for dominance. “Don’t care…will…get…more” he grumbled between rough kisses.

“Please…” you whined, body aching for his touch. It was only when he reached between your frantic bodies that you gasped, head thrown back in pleasure at the contact. His fingers swiping through your folds collecting the arousal that pooled at your entrance.

“So wet for me darlin’ god damn” he growled, dragging his fingers up to circle your clit. He was teasing at this point and it was painful wanting nothing more that his hard length inside you. You continued to moan loudly as his long, slender fingers toyed with the sensitive bud, every nerve in your body standing on end.

“Gotta make sure you are ready for me though” dropping his head into your neck biting and sucking on the skin there driving you wild, his tongue glancing over each mark as if to soothe. Removing his fingers from your clit, whimpering at the loss, traversing down. Lazily tracing two fingers at your entrance before sinking them inside you in one movement, making you moan loudly.

Joel knew what made you tick. The two of you spending countless hours between the sheets exploring the depths of each other bodies. So it was no surprise when he curled his fingers slightly, instantly grazing that soft and sensitive spot inside, knowing exactly it’s location every time. Starting to pump his fingers in and out at a slow pace, the sheer sensation from his thick fingers nearly sending you tumbling over the edge. Only the sounds of your moans and him working away at your hot, wet core filling the room.

“Need you…please” his thick fingers withdrawing from your entrance at your plea’s.

“Lift up darlin’” obeying the command and lifting your hips once more.

There was something enticing about watching him, taking his hard length into his fist and giving it a few pumps before aligning at your entrance. Teasing once again swiping the head through your wet folds and nudging the sensitive bundle of nerves, moans tumbling your lips. Taking matters into your own hands and not wanting to waste anymore time you sunk down on him, full to the hilt, both moaning in unison.

“So tight darlin’ made for me” Joel growled hands moving now to your hips, gently grabbing at the skin there.

Steadying yourself you start moving up and down bouncing on Joel’s thick, hard cock - starting out with a slow rhythm. Feeling the tip of his length hitting just the right spot of your cervix with every movement. Core burning with white hot desire, in this position you were definitely not going to last very long.

Joel dips his head, lips skating over the skin between the valley of your breasts, leaving a trail of wet kisses. You moan, loud enough that the neighbours definitely heard, as he takes a nipple into his hot, wet mouth. Tongue circling around the sensitive bud, it peaking in response.

The muscles in your thighs are burning. But the sheer desire of Joel splitting you open with his cock supersedes that and you continue picking up the pace slightly - hurtling fast towards your climax. Chanting his name like a prayer.

“m’not gonna last darlin’ so—fucking—good” Joel groans hands moving down from you hips to your ass, kneading the supple skin gently. Leaning forward to connect your lips together in a passionate but breathless kiss as you continued to ride him.

He could tell you were getting close, movements getting sloppier by the minute, walls fluttering around his length and he wasn’t far behind either. Taking one of his hands from your behind, traversing round to your front, fingers glancing lightly over your sensitive clit for a few strokes. Lips detaching from his in a instant as you screamed in pleasure.

“I’m gonna—” not getting the chance to finish the sentence before your climax hit quick and hard. Back arching, head thrown back, Joel’s name tumbling from your lips. Swearing you could see stars littering the insides of your eyelids.

In the same moment Joel’s strong arm wraps around your back as he thrusts his hips up to meet yours, length twitching inside your tight cunt as he painted your walls with hot, sticky cum. A throaty moan leaving his lips.

Your labored breaths were the only sounds in the room, both taking a moment to come down for your highs. Body aching, core in particular still fluttering with pleasure, still full to the hilt with him. Moving to lean into the crook of his neck

“That’s one way to get rid of the nightmares I guess” you smiled, whispering against the sweaty skin beneath your lips, pressing a soft kiss there. He chuckled, broad frame shaking beneath you “Anytime baby, anytime”.

#pedro pascal character fics #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou

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tommysversion · 6 months

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Fall In Love In A Single Touch. (Modern!Oberyn x F!Reader)

Summary: you have birth trauma, and you’ve been hiding it from Oberyn, until finally it all comes out. (Title from the attached song.)

Warnings: graphic description of cesarean birth / internalised fat phobia / ptsd / graphic description of birth trauma / description of chronic pain & birth injury

Notes: this is entirely a projection of my own experiences. I’m going through a lot in my own healing journey from having a traumatic birth, with a birth injury & other nastiness. Writing this was incredibly healing for me. For any other cesarean mamas who may feel the same way as I do… this is for you.

Everyone always makes it sound like birth is some magical experience, something that, if you’re a uterus owner, completely changes you. They’re right about the second part, but honestly? It’s not always a good thing, not always a good change.

You wouldn’t change this - the actual physical act of bringing your child into the world - don’t regret for a single moment saying yes when Oberyn had told you he wanted more children; his ninth, your first. You’d never really given much thought to how pregnancy would go, having been too concerned with whether you actually could conceive in the first place.

You’d been so scared you wouldn’t be able to, that you’d have to go through the gruelling, painful, expensive rounds of IVF that some of your friends had endured. That Oberyn was beyond wealthy, a literal fucking Prince, didn’t matter. You’d been afraid, not of the cost, but of disappointing him. Of not being able to give him the children he still wanted, and then, even though you knew realistically he would never, the fear that he would leave you for someone who could.

To your absolute shock and delight - both of you - that hadn’t been an issue at all. You’d fallen pregnant easily, and aside from morning sickness that seemed to last all day, things went relatively well. Then you’d gone over term, been induced, and when that had failed to progress? You’d gone in for an emergency cesarean. One minute you’d been breathing in with a mask on your face. The next, you were waking up under a heated blanket. Still dazed when they’d placed your baby in your arms, unsure of who or where you were or what the fuck had just happened to you.

That Oberyn was older than you by two decades and rich meant nothing; he could have left the nurses to care for you, but he insisted on helping you stand, practically hobble like an old woman to the shower, letting you hold onto his shoulders as the water had drenched you both, afraid you’d fall over. He hadn’t let you fall then, had the patience you so desperately needed as your body recovered. You’d thought maybe the incision site would be what took the longest, not factoring in the mental healing you’d have to do, too.

You loved your daughter; watching her eight sisters dote on her made your day, and watching Oberyn with her filled your heart with joy and hope. He had lost Ellaria, which had been unbearably painful for him, and you had come from violence and pain. You had been so afraid that things with him had been too good to be true… only, it wasn’t. He was a good man. Kind and patient and loving, even if he had a sharp tongue and a temper when needed, it had never been directed at you.

Some of his past lovers, friends of his still, talked of how he was rough, how he bit and choked and hurt, but he never raised a hand to you. Had said that he liked having someone to be soft with, and knowing your past? He wouldn’t even consider it.

You knew, deep down, that you’d done what you’d had to do to bring your child safely into the world. You were proud of that. Proud that, when it had come down to it, you had let them lay you down on an operating table and been prepared not to wake up again, made your peace with it, as long as your baby had survived.

But logic doesn’t always win out against the head demons, and you’re too exhausted to battle them as fiercely as you once did, putting all your energy into your child, into loving her with all your heart and soul.

You can’t help but feel like you failed. Like your body failed you. You’re left with stretch marks all over you, which you’re proud of on a good day and loathe on a bad day. Left with a scar that you joke about but secretly worry that your lover finds repulsive. Left four dress sizes bigger than you were before, and too afraid to bear more children just in case. Just in case your body fails again. Rejects your placenta and sends your blood pressure sky rocketing, making you feel like your head is in a vice. You’re afraid of pain you barely remember, and above all? You’re afraid of what it means for your future with Oberyn, who desperately wanted more children with you.

“I’m not about to put you through that again.” He had said, and he had meant it, even if it hurt him. Even if it wasn’t truly what he wanted; you mean more to him than having yet more children. Nine is a good number, he had joked, there had to be an end somewhere.

You feel a burning guilt for that, too. Knowing that your brain has done that amazing thing where it wipes out the pain of labor, of everything you went through. You remember flashes of clinical lighting. Of being lifted from one bed to the operating table. Of a sense of calm in the face of the unknown. While you may not remember, you know he does. Know that he remembers every second that felt like years when you screamed, when you’d felt like you might die from the pain when the drugs stopped working.

And while he pretends it doesn’t hurt? You know it does. Know that while he’s strong, a warrior, a man who’s fought dozens of wars for his country, seeing you like that and unable to help? It almost broke him, too.

It’s part of why you keep your suffering to yourself, incredibly aware that every time you mention it, it brings up those memories for him. They aren’t as easily buried, no matter how much he may flatly say he’s repressing it. Nine daughters between six different women, and he’s never seen a birth as horrific as yours.

He knows you’re struggling, but it doesn’t really get brought up. You skirt around the topic, love each other fiercely, spend all your time together invested in your child. Maybe he’d think you were doing okay, if he didn’t see the emptiness that flickers through your eyes at times. If he didn’t catch you looking at yourself critically in the mirror, in the heavily tinted windows of the cars you drive. If he didn’t hear you making bitter comments to your friends about your changed shape.

He’s undeniably a clever man, but he has no idea how to broach this topic. How to fix you, when you won’t even acknowledge that you’re broken. Hell, you put so much effort into pretending that you’re fine that he worries it would insult you to know that it’s not fooling him, not for a second.

The dam breaks one night when your daughter is a few months old. You’d woken from a nightmare, not wanted to wake him. On shaking feet you pulled yourself from the bed, crossed the room to check on your sleeping child before you’d returned to bed and curled in on yourself.

You’d been left with pain where they’d cut, where they’d had to tear through your already weakened abdominal muscles to get to the girl you had named Ellaria for his lost love. You’d healed well, externally, but internally? Not so much. The specialists you had seen since still weren’t sure if it was going to be permanent.

The pain was bad; you’d been trying to keep as quiet as possible, overwhelmed by your own anxiety and the physical pain you’re in. You’ve been trying so hard to hide the extent of your struggling from him, you didn’t want to wake him, even though you know deep down he’d rather you did.

Curled in on yourself, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, you don’t want to wake Oberyn or the baby as you cry, too overwhelmed by your own emotions - you’ve always struggled to regulate yourself, and there’s only so much a person can take - you’re beyond your limit, taking on more and more, pushing yourself to keep going even though you should have stopped long ago, relieved yourself of some of your burden and leaned on the people who love you.

You’re fucking stubborn. Stubborn and full of self loathing. So when a familiar pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you close, mindful of the patch just below your naval that constantly aches, mindful of the space to the left of your spine that hurts on and off where a nerve was hit when they put your epidural in, you swipe your tears away furiously, ready to say that you’re fine.

Only, you aren’t fine, and you don’t have the energy to lie to him. Instead, you end up turning over and burying your face in his shoulder, weeping. Maybe it’s the comfort of knowing that, no matter what, Oberyn loves you. Knowing that he’s… him, and yet he’s still here, even though you deem yourself broken, that finally gets you to drop the act, taking in horrible shaking breaths, inhaling the faint scent of spices, liquor and pepper that always seem to cling to him, focusing on that, on his hands against your smaller frame; in that moment, he’s your anchor to the present.

“Oh, my sweet girl, why have you been hiding this from me? All of this pain…” his fingers card through your hair, “tell me what’s wrong?”

It briefly occurs to you that he isn’t blaming you, isn’t making you feel bad for hiding it; he seems only concerned with making sure you’re alright, and that only makes you cry harder, feeling like a total idiot for not talking to him, not trying to begin to explain what’s wrong.

He just holds you for a moment until you’re able to speak, getting the words out between sharp breaths.

“I just… hate… how I am now.” You choke out, “I feel so broken. It’s like… everything I’ve been through before, maybe I’d have come back from, but I just… I feel like my body betrayed me and failed me, and now I don’t even get a choice in having more children or how I have them, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”

Oberyn sits up, pulls you with him, keeps one arm around you as he reaches out to turn the stained glass lamp on the side table on. You duck your head, not wanting him to see you in this state.

One hand gently tucks under your chin, tilts your head up. His dark eyes are soft as he looks at you.

“Don’t look at me like this,” you sniffle. “I hate myself enough without giving you another reason to not be attracted to me.”

The look he gives you is somewhere between wounded and offended.

“What do you mean, another reason to not be-? Love, I saw you in the most pain you’ll ever experience in your life. You think I would be, what, disgusted by your pain?”

“No, but I’m all gross and snotty and piled on top of being fat and covered in these,” you poke critically at your stretch marks, tone miserable. You don’t care if you sound young and petulant, it’s hurting you, self loathing dripping from every word. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want me.”

Oberyn doesn’t take it as youthful vanity. He knows all too well what you suffered to bring his daughter into the world. He watched you throw up almost every single day for five months, watched you get sick at the very end, watched you try to birth your child naturally. And then, even though it had damn near killed him to see you in so much pain, he had watched you do what needed to be done. Watched you grit your teeth and stand on shaking legs not even ten hours after being cut and ripped apart. He’s never been more proud of you, never loved you more than in that moment, knowing you had borne that suffering for him, for your child, the daughter you had both so desperately wanted.

“Listen to me.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching the tears that fall. “I don’t give a damn what size you are. So your shape has changed. It changed because you grew life. You’re softer now. Ria likes it, it means you’re soft to sleep on.”

You smile faintly at the little nickname he’s given your daughter; he’s right. If you weren’t the size you are now, you wouldn’t be as comfortable for her to sleep on.

“There you are.” He gives you an encouraging look when he sees the ghost of your smile. “In time, you’ll forget what it is to carry a child. You’ll forget what it felt like when she moved in you. These -“ his free hand gently touches the stretch marks on your sides and your thighs, “these are just a reminder that you created life, love. Wear them like badges of honour. Especially this one.”

His fingertips barely brush over the jagged edge of where they cut you open.

“This isn’t ugly. No matter what you think. It’s proof that you were willing to do whatever it took to get her here safely. That even though you were afraid and in pain? You put her first. That’s not something to be disgusted by or ashamed of.”

“Y-you really don’t hate it? Don’t hate me? Even though my body failed?”

He pulls you as tight against him as he feels safe doing, mindful of your pain sites.

“I don’t think I could ever love you more than I do at this moment. I’m so very proud of you, my love. Your body didn’t fail. You didn’t fail. I promise you.”

You’ve seen a multitude of emotions in his dark eyes before; amusement, malice, lust, anger, jealousy, sadness, grief, joy, and love. So much love. But even you have to admit, as jaded as you are right now, that you’ve never seen his gaze this soft with affection as he looks at you.

You take another deep, shaking breath before you look at him, blinking back more tears.

“You really don’t mind, if… if we don’t have any more?”

“Gods, no. I want you to be safe, above all else. That choice is entirely yours, sweet girl. If you decide you want another child, I will gladly give you as many as you wish, but… your safety, your happiness… they mean more to me than that.”

You nod slowly, watching his fingers trace idle patterns across your damaged skin; there’s no trace of disgust in his gaze. He touches you freely, without any criticism. You’ve been blind to it, so caught up in your own self loathing.

“Do you think… do you think I’ll be this broken forever?”

To Oberyn’s credit, he doesn’t try and tell you that you aren’t broken, but he also doesn’t take it as a slur. He knows you. Knows what you mean when you say that you’re broken.

“No, sweet girl, I don’t. I think that right now you’re hurting. You’ve endured so much, so much. Things that nobody should endure, and you’ve survived them. Only to be dealt this. Birth is never easy, never painless, but it seems cruel that you were dealt this hand. But I don’t think you’ll be this way forever. Not when you have me, when you have Ria and the older girls to support you.” He rubs comforting circles on your back as he gives you a moment to process this information.

“A-and you’re not… going to get sick of me?”

He laughs a little hollowly. Not because it’s funny, but because he finds the idea completely ridiculous.

“Sick of you? Before you, I thought I would die lonely. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d never run out of people to fuck and keep me warm at night, but I never expected to find someone who mattered again. Do you truly think that your brain being cruel to you and a scar are enough to make me stop loving you?”

The way he says it, it sounds like a ridiculous concept, even to you in your fragile state. So ridiculous that you laugh softly.

“I… I guess not, when you put it that way.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. To the tip of your nose. To your lips before he pulls away from you as Ria stirs in her crib; he only leaves your side to go to her so that he can bring her to you to hold and comfort.

You watch him without speaking; within moments he’s back beside you, his arms around you as you cradle your half asleep daughter. Her dark curls are his, her closed eyes obsidian like his, too. She has your nose, your lips. Her tiny fist curls around your finger, and you smile slightly looking down at her.

“I know it isn’t easy. But I’m not going anywhere, love. And any time you need reminding that you didn’t fail? Look at her. Look at her and remember you did everything right. You’re doing everything right by her and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” He presses another kiss to your temple, and you have to bite back another little sob, eyes blurring with tears again; they’re different this time, grateful and relieved rather than tears of pain and sadness.

“I love you. Both of you. So much.” You manage to get out finally.

There’s no magic cure for what you’ve been through. There isn’t. You can’t wave a magic wand and erase the trauma, the pain. There’s no medicine you can take that will fix the damage to your body. It’s something that will take time. Time and patience. You know you need to be kinder to yourself, more gentle and loving to your own mind.

However, you do feel a little better having voiced what’s been eating away at you. At knowing that he doesn’t care at all that your body has changed. That your scars don’t bother him; that he loves every part of you, especially the visible reminders of what you’ve endured to bring his daughter into the world.

And he’s right; it will get better. Slowly but surely, the pain in your mind will ease. You’ll slowly start to accept your changed body, your scars and stretch marks, until acceptance turns to love. Until you can touch your incision site with a soft smile and pride rather than regret and disgust. Until you see yourself the way he does. Because even when you’re clouded by your own self loathing?

He’s always going to be there, always going to love you, always going to support you, because even if you can’t see it? He’s your sunlight, and he knows you deserve all the love in the world.

#my writing #pedro pascal #Oberyn Martell #oberyn martell x reader #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal character fics #oberyn martell x you #Spotify

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