#pedro pascal x fem OC
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The Lighthouse and The Ocean
Pt 19
Sea Glass
Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC
Warnings: soft dom/sub dynamics but NO smut here, this RPF stays 'nilla even though I'm implying BDSM topics
Summary: One lazy morning in Mexico, Pedro is yearning.
Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist and Playlist -here-
Hello, beautiful, I'm so sorry for the delay, my creativity only blossomed for less fluffy chapters, life has been very tough lately. (long sob story) Malo. Yes, I'm okay, hey I saw Greta Van Fleet live! (go figure, lol) I plan on posting again soon, just splitting bc length reasons. I did my best with this chapter, enjoy <3
Length: 7.6k
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Sea Glass
A docile breeze fanned out their thin curtains in a place that was soft and new. Pedro would describe the fourth bedroom as picturesque, an impressionistic vision of complete serenity filled with sunlight. He watched an immovable and brilliant blue sky outside the window as he listened to the ocean hitting the shore and he blinked slowly, feeling somewhere in-between droopy and content. Chin propped on one hand, he tilted his gaze down at his sleeping girlfriend.
Pedro had moved carefully when he'd joined Nini on the bed again, so as not to disturb her at the end of his own, eventful morning. It had brought a smile to his face when he had found her still asleep at his return. Even the obligatory note he'd left for her remained unread. She looked so pretty, sleeping next to him and he just couldn't help a sigh from escaping his lips when he took in her appearance; Her messy hair, now almost seventies-looking waves and a countless number of freckles that had blossomed on her skin. He had never seen her more freckled before. The Mexican sun had brought out the deepest layers of specks across her entire face, shoulders and down her arms and chest until they disappeared underneath her top. Deep breaths accentuated the shape of her breasts in a glorious offering he wasn't allowed to touch yet. One moment of indulgence followed another as he pried a few strands of hair from her peaceful face and granted her another minute of sleep.
Pedro realised he couldn't have dreamed up a better image if their roles had been reversed. She was his beautiful, clear-eyed dream and he would have cherished this abundance of peace and comfort for eternity if it had been in his power to stop time altogether. He wished he wouldn't have to wake her but they had by far, not enough time left in this place until they needed to head back and end their holiday.
With sudden heartache, he realised this would only be the first time they'd have to say goodbye to a certain time spent together. Their separation was so imminent, one week until their first chapter closed. Though, he wouldn't think of that right now, not when the present felt so perfect.
Pedro felt convinced the entire world remained in her glow while he watched his golden girl. He traced his finger down the swoop of her nose. "Nini." He spoke to her unconcerned form, past the hazy and blurry world she remained deeply submerged in.
Her lips parted when she let out a tiny, disturbed snore past the cadence of her breathing. Pedro waited patiently while Nini persisted inside a deep, narcotic kind of sleep and he became mildly concerned the longer she continued to snooze on like that. It was clear to him now that she was the type of person who did too much of everything just to feel a little bit more. No nightmares at least. The weed had a largely calming effect on her but she was still, totally out of it. Amateur.
He recalled their tears of laughter and drug-induced delirium, smiling at the memory of waking up as the little spoon with her huddled against him for warmth. Pedro couldn't leave her sleeping outside by herself. He had managed to steer the drowsy woman back into the house but she'd clung onto his neck when he put her into bed and had noticed she refused to let him go. At least he had had the decency to dress her back into her Hello Kitty night shorts after they had very sleepy, very high sex.
Maybe that was the reason why she'd slept through the entire late morning. "Hey, little songbird. What are you dreaming about that's so captivating, hm?" He murmured, more to himself while she stubbornly stayed under. Unlike she would have done it, he waked her gently and not like a puppy that climbed on top of the other and demanded attention. Instead, he reached for the cup of coffee he'd brought upstairs and let the hot temptation hover next to her. He softly blew the scent of freshly brewed coffee above the rim of the mug and into her face.
Her nostrils quivered as she smelled the Mexican roast. "Hm?" Nini mumbled and he breathed out a laugh in triumph. Her arm stirred and he had to bring his bribe to safety before it would have gotten knocked clean off his hand.
Slowly, Nini seemed to become aware of her own body as she was pulled from the depths but consciousness produced a tiny, moody wrinkle between her brows. Pedro's voice remained softly in her air, perhaps on her mind while she was still in limbo between sleep and awareness. "Wake up." He repeated encouraging words to her, noticing that she was stubbornly resisting.
Nini's breathing shifted and she tilted her head towards where she sensed his presence. She didn't open her eyes just yet, just smiled faintly to herself. A wide grin spread across Pedro's face when she let out a mewling sound of protest and hummed out a 'no.
Pedro insisted with the same sound but reversed.
Too late, her dreams evaporated and so, they began to already fade and slip away as she was coaxed into the realm of reality, against her will. Finally, she spoke up. "Oh, it's the guy from my dreams," Nini said, words smoother than her voice and eyes very much still closed. One corner of her lips pulled into a smirk.
"That so?" Pedro asked curiously as she stretched her limbs. More adorable whines spilt from her lips and he simply wanted to squish her.
"Where are we?" She asked in confusion, finally adequately awake and she creaked one eye open for a split of a second before she covered both with her hand.
Pedro suppressed a laugh. "Mexico, year twenty, twenty-one. Bed number four." He supplied her with enough information to keep her on Earth. "It's time to get up." He received a long and suffering sound of protest. "Why?" She asked, voice merely a raspy breath while cuddling underneath him to escape the light but he pressed a finger into her cheek. "Up, up." He demanded with too much energetic curiosity for her taste.
"What is this, torture?" Nini asked annoyed and dizzy and hungover or maybe still a bit high. "I am leading a miserable and punishing existence." She said, making a point after each word and Pedro let out a deep suffering sigh in return to mask his amusement.
"That's it. No more drugs for you." He chuckled through her childish sobbing and watched her rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. "That's what you get when you think you can't feel anything and you eat too many pieces." He reminded her in a slightly condescending tone like he hadn't warned her before. Of course, he hadn't been surprised when he had found the loaf largely eaten anyway. At least he knew where her personal limits were now, even when she decided to ignore them.
"Fuck-" She frowned and blinked her eyes open again only to look at him like he was the personification of audacity. "How are you dressed and perfectly functional?" She riddled.
"Not my first rodeo." His face split into a grin when she responded with a single laugh. "Remind me to warn you about the dangers of- especially the music industry and this lawless place called 'backstage area." He said, hoping she wouldn't have the misfortune of meeting the wrong people once she'd become a rockstar.
"You worry too much." Her voice was still battling sleep and she smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, swallowing around the remaining cottonmouth feeling. Of course, a lasting effect of the edibles they had consumed yesterday.
Pedro stretched towards the bedside table, always ready to remind her to stay hydrated. "Damn right, have some water." He took her weak hand and the connection to the cool foggy glass reduced her into a greedy creature. She drank it down gluttonously after sitting up too fast. "Slow down, Jesus." He tried to take the glass back and bit back a laugh at the hollow sound of protest she uttered while she practically inhaled it. Urgent breaths fogged up the glass before she had downed the last bit and she let out a satisfied groan afterwards. "Thank you."
He simply regarded her with an impressed raise of his eyebrows and steered a mug into her vision to take its place. Coffee, milk with two sugars and still adequately steaming, just the way she liked it best when she didn't try to be cool and drink it black.
She cooed, grasping the mug with two hands, knees wiggling excitedly. "Fucking best boyfriend in the world." She couldn't help but let out a happy sound and he beamed at the sight of cuteness overload. Her eyes sparkled in gratitude when she took the first sip and she closed her eyes to celebrate that she was living her best life here. Or at least, felt like their last morning in Mazatlán had become infinitely more bearable.
"Back among the living, are we?" Pedro teased her even though he took pride in being a caretaker. She nodded with a content yet scrunched-up face before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "Much better."
He smiled lazily and covered her hand with his when she placed it on his white shirt. Pedro made sure to hide his wrist underneath his sleeve when he traced the back of his fingers down her arm in return. No way, he'd spoil the surprise prematurely. He would wait for the right moment and remain scared shitless until then.
His secrecy went unnoticed as she moved away to lean back against the headboard and settle against the pillows. Nini simply drew up her knees and sipped her coffee in peace. Up there, a rainbow reflected across her face from where the light got distributed from a sparkling crystal by the window. She was warmth and softness and Pedro simply enjoyed looking at her, so groggy, bare-faced and messy. She let out a tiny burp and he thought she was the most beautiful person. Her entire being simply felt like home and a promise of eternal contentment and Pedro felt he could get used to this domesticity. It was entertaining to watch her scoop up foamy milk and lick it off her finger and their eyes met again before she let off the tip of her finger with a wet pop. "What're doing?" She asked silkily and pushed a tiny bit of tongue behind her tooth gap, watching as he just sat there and stared with what were probably heart eyes and a stupid, dopey smile on his face.
Pedro almost failed to look at her when he confessed. "I might be... starting to imagine a world where it's always like this." He admitted, found her hand in his lap again and closed his fingers around hers. Pedro stroked his thumb over her soft skin. There was not enough time, no combination of words he could say or write that could accurately describe how good it felt to be together like this.
Nini squeezed his fingers, blushing prettily and he smiled, not hiding that his eyes couldn't get their fill on her. She's the girl in paper books, he thought, painted in water colours, next to little lines of poems he hadn't written yet.
Nini beamed at him, masking the little taste of dread hanging in the air with some new bold plans of hers. "I agree. Let's just never leave." She fantasised and even though Pedro found himself immensely amused, he felt a pang of disappointment that she had misunderstood him. Yes, he would have liked to stay on a holiday but he had meant he could imagine a life together, something more like forever.
Maybe it was just this house, maybe it was the fact that he felt like they were indeed, a tiny bit married now. This home felt like he'd invaded a dream ahead of their timeline. Like he had gotten a glimpse into a life they could have. Pedro barely dared to know if the dream he had about her would someday manifest into reality. After she had woken him at the beach yesterday, he was thrown into a life that wasn't any less amazing but... he'd dreamt up a vision of Nini waiting for him underneath the shades of a tree, one hand resting on her round belly. Suddenly, the mere possibility or even idea of a family of their own had simply crashed down on him.
And so, he dared to hope without consulting her, scared as hell that she really might be 'it' for him. Scared, he could ever lose this. Scared everything would be different inside the great unknown and yet, he wanted all of it.
"You're doing that thing," Nini mentioned with a tilt of her head. "What thing, mi cielo?" "Thinking things." She worried her lip between her teeth, battling his cracked, vulnerable mood with humour when he failed to give a reply. "You know, my grandparents did some house squatting in their youth, so we might as well try it." She suggested. They smiled at each other, despite his obvious worries.
"I'll barricade the door with a closet and some chairs, they can try to access via the cliff but we'll just-" Pedro mimed his next intentions in a lighter mood. "Throw some leftover churros at them to keep them away from us."
Nini chuckled and drank her coffee in a kind of silence that had become somewhat clouded as they faced their departure. It was a tragedy to know they had to move out of their bubble. "Have you been up long?" She finally asked and glanced around to look for a clock but didn't find one.
Pedro leaned down on the bed on one elbow, true excitement battling his composed coolness now that he thought of finally showing her what he'd brought back. "Yeah, I took a walk down the beach and I've already been to town." He explained, conjuring up the tranquillity after a long and solitary walk on the beach. It had cleared his foggy brain this morning. In fact, he had woken up at a reasonable hour and had followed through with a sudden urgent idea instead of musing inside post orgasmic sleep. He had fuelled his system with coffee and mustered up the energy to go on an early adventure, motivated to track across the wet sand and back to the local plaza they had found yesterday.
She moved to set the empty mug beside the bed. "Amazing, tell me everything but-" a sour expression indicated she needed to excuse herself first. "Wait, hold up, I've got to find a bathroom first. Back in a jiffy." Nini scrambled out of bed in a bit of a hurry. He watched her leave with a dorky wiggle of her butt by the doorframe. Damn. He finally admitted to himself that those Hello Kitty shorts really seemed to do it for him. He'd be bummed out if he couldn't keep his promise and make love to her in the last bed they hadn't ruined yet... emphasis on yet.
When she returned, her skin was slightly damp and she was dressed in a red two-piece outfit. He had barely put his phone away before she tackled him down onto the bed. Pedro found himself groaning and giggling under her weight when she pushed him down and caged him in against the mattress before placing a minty kiss on his lips. "You were saying?"
"I went back to the market this morning." He told her. "I actually saw two paparazzi who were extremely disappointed that it was only me." He mentioned with a worried cringe.
"So, the hunt has begun." Nini wasn't less unhappy about the invasion of their privacy that loomed over their heads and lurked around every corner now. She laid on his chest and let herself be wrapped up in his arms. "News spreads fast."
He nuzzled closer into her hair then. "Yeah, don't get me started on the thousands of comments and DMs I'm ignoring since I shared our wedding pic in my story." He shared a stressed-out look with her and tried not to think about the thousands of audacious notes underneath Jenny's post which he had regarded with a 'nope' on his lips and a decent amount of panic in his eyes. "Oh, wait, we've got one of these surprised Pikachu memes dedicated to us about absolutely nobody's reaction to us dating." Pedro pointed back and forth between them. "Otherwise, some are unsure if it's even real or not and just PR."
"That's because you put a cartoon broccoli sticker over our kiss." She complained, looking back at him. "So they have to click to Jenny's Instagram to see it and find the crowdfunding link, you sneaky bum."
Pedro rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I might have donated while being high." "Me too! A lot?" "Quite." "Same. Oops." They laughed at each other for making the same stupid decision but they wouldn't want to take it back. Good for them. The couple was surely, getting married right this moment.
"I have a surprise." He changed the topic and combed his hand through her soft blonde hair.
Her eyes lit up. "Another surprise?" Her face split into a confused grin and her excited squeal sent a warm feeling of pure adoration straight to his soul. "Pedro, no, you spoil me. What is it?" She giggled when she stretched her arms out and pushed her hands flat onto his chest. He had still not answered but she gasped knowingly. "Is it food?" Nini guessed with hope in her eyes and knew she had hit the jackpot when he mirrored her enthusiasm.
"I did bring breakfast burritos, yes!" He replied and his heart made a little twist in his chest at the sight of her pure happiness and the little happy wiggle she made. "Oh, you know me." She said as if she'd never experienced such kindness before. She continued to pepper his face with kisses until he purchased a firm grip on her waist to stop her from moving too much or else, he wouldn't be able to prioritize.
"But that's not the entire surprise." He explained further, dropping his voice seductively. "Remember that crafty stand where we found these earrings?" He tapped at the deep red corals he had bought her yesterday and which she had put on again to match her outfit.
Suddenly, he felt nervous when he saw her carefully guarded confusion. "Yeah?"
Pedro couldn't wait to show her. "So, I went back this morning and asked if they could make something for me..." With a sigh, he dared to reveal his little secret.
Finally, he moved up his sleeve, uncovering a piece of jewellery he had carefully hidden from her until now.
There was a sparkle on his wrist, a piece of green sea glass. Tiny holes had been drilled into both sides so it could be fastened with woven, rustic strings of leather. He wore it like a gem on the inside of his wrist where it seemed somewhat darker against his skin. It was his lucky charm, he believed in it and Pedro felt determined his new bracelet was a sign that he belonged to her. Yes, he'd carry it around wherever he'd go and he couldn't think of a better way to make sure he'd never lose the object he had come to hold so dear.
Pedro sat up with her on his hip, where she bounced a little before settling. He drew his arm around her and placed a kiss into the crook of her neck even though her attention was fully captivated by the bracelet. She held his wrist in a delicate hold as they watched it catch a sparkle in the right light. Nini studied his new bracelet in disbelief and awe, barely touching the milky and smooth surface with the calloused tip of her fingers. "Pedro-" she began but failed to articulate her amazement and when she traced her finger along his wrist, he basked in the amplified comforting pressure against his skin.
"You made it into a bracelet?" She stated the obvious, but couldn't believe it anyway. His hand, tucked into her side, rocked her a little closer to his body as he outshone her smile. "It's so beautiful." She told him breathlessly after she had turned her head to look at him. She was so touched, he felt the echo of her tsunami of feelings resonating within himself.
Pedro sought to explain himself in all awkward manners and started chuckling mid-way. "You know I was worried I could lose it and it's um... practical and I just... I don't know, I thought about this amazing woman I've kinda fallen head over heels for... well, she's just a knockout and it reminded me of her beautiful eyes." Pedro joked like he had lost the battle against developing the biggest crush for someone else. "Obviously, I'm never gonna take it off again."
His vow coaxed a delighted sound out of her and she kissed him, hands lingering on his cheek, stroking his beard afterwards. "You're a big old sweetheart, you know that?" Nini asked, beaming. His gaze flickered between her sparkling eyes and he could suddenly barely grasp the concept that he was so close to her sweet and tenderness. It was all so difficult to comprehend how he could have found her out of eight billion people.
Pedro hesitated before he spoke next, feeling his nerves strike again. "There's something else." He began, running his hand over her thigh. He leaned in to press a kiss below her ear, breathing in her bewitching scent he'd like to bury himself in, bury himself deeply into her. Desire remained, pounding at his heart again. "Reach into my pocket." He whispered, breath fanning her ear and she gurgled out a naughty laugh.
"Your pocket, huh?" Nini asked, smiling wickedly again and inching her fingers over his body. She traced his bare skin underneath his button up shirt and ran her hand down his back until she squeezed his arse above his trousers.
"No, not there." Pedro quirked one eyebrow, not having it. She bit her lip and reached to the front again, sinking the tips of her fingers below his waistband. It promptly made him twitch in interest and caused his blood to rush down his body and boil with passion. "Closer." He insisted she'd try again and tensed when her touches firmly moved above his clothes. Pedro shifted his hips into her small hand instinctively when she cupped his semi bulging in his shorts, pretending to have tried better this time. "No, not there either." He toyed with her and she pouted until she finally did as he asked and slid her hand into his trouser pocket where her nimble fingers found an object.
Nini frowned as she pulled the item from him and she let out a gasp when finally, a short and dainty gold chain with a familiar pendant dangled in front of her face. She deflated in his lap. "Oh, my days." She whined, hyper-focused on the tawny hued sea glass she had found the day prior. Pedro propped his chin onto her shoulder while she studied the oval piece of brown glass like she'd never seen anything quite as beautiful.
Surprise was written all over her face and when she disconnected her gaze from the charm. He thought he recognised the same kind of raw astonishment the day he had gifted her with her birthday present.
"Like in the story." She remembered in pure wonder. For a moment, there was silence while tears started to shimmer upon the waterline of her eyes.
"You know you don't have to wear it," Pedro said softly, letting her go and tracing the back of his fingers down her cheek instead. "I just thought-"
"I know, honey but of course, I will." She declared and nuzzled her nose against his for a moment. "It's perfect." She whispered. She let the gold chain flow around her fingers and Pedro felt the rise of his heartbeat when she pressed the brown glass to her own heart. "Look at me-" she said joyously. "New necklace, earrings and a fancy diamond ring." She lifted her hand to show off her imaginary wedding band.
Pedro would play along, believing their rings were very much real even though the sea glass was even better in his eyes. He pressed his lips to hers and added all his yearning for her into their kiss when he felt the velvet slide of her tongue join his. He dipped into her inviting mouth, floating when he tasted her like a hummingbird that sought a flower to feed the urge. She was all around him, filling his senses to make him yet once again, experience the connection of their souls. It felt both ancient and new, softer than the enlightenment of their first kiss but still like they were the only people in the world.
"Will you help me put it on?" She asked after a smaller kiss she placed on his lips like a signature.
He grinned, elevated and relieved that she really seemed to like his gift. "Of course, hold on." He squinted at the tiny lock, fumbling it open while she gathered her hair and held it out of her neck. Pedro draped the necklace over her head and secured the lock. It was quite short, fitting just underneath the hollow of her throat where the gold and brown harmonised with her freckles. He loved the slight of it on her skin, touched the pendant with the pad of his thumb and watched goosebumps appear when she felt him secure the chain with a kiss against her skin.
For a moment, there was silence. Nini hid her smile behind her hand while Pedro traced his finger along her collar bone. He finally relieved an exhale he didn't know he had been holding until he shook off his nerves. "It looks pretty on you." He said, dotingly.
"Thank you." She breathed out and once again, he caught the similarity of colour between the heart piece of his bracelet and the true green in her eyes. "Your eyes on mine, mine on yours." He said, absentmindedly.
She furthermore kept the ambers of his flustered state alive when her shoulders started to shake. "What are you snickering about?" He asked, curious what kind of joke on her mind was about to ruin the moment. Of course, he was looking forward to it.
"Nothing." She lied unconvincingly and pressed her lips together. Finally, she revealed her thoughts after he gave her the patient treatment. "Did you just collar me?" She asked, all of sudden.
Pedro's mind came to a stop and he leaned back, aghast. "Ahhhm-" Now Pedro felt stupified and overwhelmed. Finally, he blinked and chuckled dumbly. "W- what?" He gaped at her like a fish on dry land and continued to stare at her in disbelief. Nini on the other hand bit her lip and wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Aw, come on!" He finally protested and pointed at his bracelet. "You freaky little- I'm trying to be romantic here, why are you like this?"
"What? A cute little day-collar, thank you, sir." She pestered him in a meek voice and batted her eyelashes at him innocently. She purred and nuzzled into his neck afterwards like an actual cat and she knew her behaviour pained him.
Pedro needed to suppress the groan rumbling in his chest when she worshipped his neck with kisses and nipped at his ear lobe. Nini was only fucking with his mind, trying to be funny and shit, calling him 'sir', making him want to push her down and have his way with her. He tried and failed to ignore the undying urge to make her behave the more she tried to get under his skin. "No, no stop." He cursed the fact that even a false display of submissiveness was such a turn-on. He needed to set things straight first.
Nini stopped, though she knew exactly what she was doing to him when she regarded his suddenly too tight trousers. "Anything the matter, angel?"
Pedro glared at her stoically before he gave in, for the acknowledgement of his torture was overdue. "Fuck, you're so hot but it was really not my inten... tion- to... hm." His speech slowed and he felt his walls crumble when she inched closer to him and ground into his lap, down onto the evidently hardened bulge that betrayed him.
"I know, honey. You're a good boy." She taunted him and her energy provoked the exact opposite of this deduction. Pedro experienced a surge of anger and a moment of pure intrigue. His gaze flickered between her mischievous eyes and the necklace. Collar. He thought it through and discovered that her words held a grain of truth. He did just give her a symbolic part of him and he certainly thought his bracelet was at least some kind of equivalent.
He shuddered visibly, picturing Nini wearing only this necklace, wearing it like a sign that she belonged to him. She was so unbearably sweet. To Pedro, she was a fine aphrodisiac that smelled and tasted like heaven. He physically couldn't get enough and wanted to keep her for himself, always. Something dark stirred within him. The thought made his eyes narrow as he stared at her delicious thighs, imagining parting them further the more he felt possessiveness overcome him.
He knew he was getting caught up in his fantasies but how could he not dream of more pleasure in most exquisite rapture when he got her right where he wanted her? Pedro licked his lips, leaving his teeth to slightly scrape at his bottom lip as his eyes roamed the shape of her neck. Her skin looked so soft, it really... needed... some bite marks in it...
He came to his senses when she waved her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Pedro." Nini managed to pluck him from his daydreams and her jaw dropped at the sight of his carefully constructed, innocent expression. Pure amusement was written all over her face. She leaned back a little to watch him block out the fantasies inside his head. "Oh my, maybe I was wrong. Someone 'is' liking the idea." She knew, eyes glimmering with the newly acquired ammo she had against him, for his silence and slow raise of one eyebrow provided a sufficient answer. Nini acted scandalised like she hadn't been the one who had wakened the demons. Her lips pursed, those plush supple rose petals teasing him.
He intrigued her with a gentle touch to her jaw. "The best part is that you were not joking." He said next, mood shifting into the anticipation of what came next.
"About the collar bit or about you being a good boy?"
He huffed out in annoyance. "You... don't call me that." He decided.
Nini played dumb. "What? Good boy?"
Pedro warned her but he simply had to follow the path she had laid out. "I know what you're doing," He reminded her, stroking one finger over her cheek. He loved seeing the rise of her rebellious nature boiling up before he barely escaped the sharp snap of her teeth. "Feisty." He commented amused but retreated in respect. "What is this, hermosita, a new game?" Pedro asked darkly.
Of course, he knew how this would turn out. He knew what to do to get what he wanted, knew what she would do next to get what she craved.
"Alright, then..." He let her go, sat back and smiled through their patient but heated staring contest. His foot betrayed his restlessness but he'd wait as long as necessary until she'd eventually break out in fury. She would come to him by getting caught up in her head, lose because she would erupt and make a bold mistake. They knew each other so well they could communicate by only using micro expressions on their faces. Pedro dared her to give in and get naked while Nini was preparing him to deal with a missile defence system if he did as much as move a muscle. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her jaw twitched when he took a tiny breath. "Pet."
"Aha!" She exclaimed in triumph. Her eyes glinted like fire until she surged forward and battled him down against the mattress, gripping the lapels of his shirt. "How about I put you on a leash huh, you horndog?" Nini giggled.
He smacked his lips and at least thought it over for an entire second. "I'd let you do it." He decided.
Her lips parted, not having expected this turn of events. "Seriously?" She laughed out loud but he simply shrugged his shoulders, starting with facts. "I'm banging Leonie Van Fleet. Honestly, I'm just happy to be here." He stated and made her snort out a laugh and let him go. "So, you do what needs to be done, you could literally do anything to me. My love? Mi amor? I am at your mercy." He acted like he was fainting in the radiation of her beauty and his arms flopped down next to him as if he had fully given up on his body's autonomy.
Nini nudged his limp form but to no avail. She finally hummed in understanding. "This knave came saucily into the world before he was sent for," Nini quoted King Lear, much to his surprise, in reference to the character he had once played.
Pedro opened his eyes again and his jaw dropped at her cleverness until he spotted the mistakes in her quote. "Though-" He couldn't help but correct her. "this knave came something saucily-" he said but then misdirected the quote on purpose when he chased her hips. "All we need to know is that he came hard-" before he could even finish, she'd cut him off with a harmless smack to his arm.
Pedro moaned obscenely. "Harder." He begged and started laughing because he'd made her scream in horror. They laughed so much that they both squirmed over each other. He had to hold his abs to lessen the soreness.
"Nononono." She shook her head against his shoulder, totally overwhelmed and hiding her gasping breath behind her hands when she got up. "I can't- I... no, I don't have it in me." Pedro's chuckles ebbed away along with the tears he had spilt and they calmed down, finally.
He grinned at her, not finished messing with her. "Yeah, I know, say what you want. You're still mine to with as I please, collar or no collar." He waved the facts in front of her nose like a treat he knew she wanted so desperately.
She promptly pushed his hand away along with a sound of mild frustration, pinning both his wrists onto the mattress and pressing them down. "You think it's that easy? You're down, I've got you."
"That's cute." He chuckled, able to throw her around anytime.
Nini clicked her tongue, determined to push back. "Look at you, acting all bossy in the bedroom but the truth is, you're such a simp for me in a relationship and it's adorable." She singsonged, trying to provoke him and being nearly successful. His smile evaporated.
No matter how right she was, she was being too bold, playing with fire. His hands balled into fists and he watched her observe his movements with a heavy gulp. She knew she went too far. Suddenly, he bared his teeth into a snarling grin but it was a seemingly useless attempt to warn her. "Careful, baby girl." He mused in a villainous act, dropping his voice.
"Or what?" Nini decided to be a brat, of course, just like he'd hoped. Her voice belittling him put him on edge. "Like I won't crush your head with my thighs in a minute, don't try me."
Pedro slipped for a second, hiding his smile because he was too damn proud of her for saying that. He needed to focus, play the game and fight for dominance with someone who was secretly desperate to be dominated. He had to earn it and it was thrilling, pumped the blood through his veins and straight to his cock.
"So," he began. "You want to be a little brat today, tell me if I'm wrong." She smirked, a witty comeback on her lips already forming. "You could say you're wrong most of the time." She replied and stuck her tongue out at the sight of his puzzled expression.
"Good." He said as he nodded. "Clever."
She beamed at him. "Yeah?" Pedro hummed out a 'yes' and suddenly, Nini cringed. "I'm in trouble, am I?" "Yep."
Before she could utter another word, he used her grip on his hands for leverage as he forced her off his body, letting her flop down onto the bed without cushioning her.
Pedro was on her in less than a second, straddling her and hooking his index finger into her necklace. He pulled her face up, closer to his lips, though her hands closed around the charm to protect it. "All fun and games until things get serious, right?" He spoke towards her lips, voice coated in mirth. When she shivered and squirmed beneath him, not even a tilt of his head could make her speak up. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He let her fall down and traced his thumb over her bottom lip, dipping in and wetting her lips messily before he pushed into her hot mouth. He pressed it down onto her tongue and let her suck, enjoying the tight closeness. He smirked as she moaned around him and couldn't help herself from rubbing her thighs together to chase any kind of friction.
"See? Good girl." He praised her gentle sucking. He tried to stay patient when she stared up at him through her eyelashes.
He could feel her pull him in, a magnetic pull that invited him to make her take only as much as he would give. She didn't even breathe but he watched her pupils dilate right under his gaze as he removed his thumb from her mouth and ran a wet trail of saliva down her chin and neck. He let out a deep sigh. "I have to admit... I really like your necklace-" His fingers traced her throat and her necklace moved up when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure with his thumb. "-but it looks even better with my hand around it."
He looked down at her and watched her shyness blossom into a furious blush. "I'd like t-" She began but sucked in a tiny, desperate gasp when he grabbed her in a choke hold and held her down. A tiny, excited squeak escaped her lips and she could barely refrain from giggling as she pressed her lips together.
He talked down at her in a soft voice. "Yes, you'd love to be put in place and you'd thank me for it." He took the liberty to finish the sentence for her. Their pieces of glass connected while his fingers wound around her neck. The feeling of the calm before the storm made her close her eyes and smile. Her heart was racing beneath his fingers but she never looked more content. The defiance, the trust she put in him was delicious. He held the gem-like glass pieces closely together when he kept her delicate neck in his grasp. He promptly raised his eyebrows when the corner of her mouth twitched. Ah, there it was.
"Nyeh, all bark, no bite." Nini challenged him, knowing how soft he really was for her.
He smiled, ideas about all the things he could do to her forming in his obsessed mind and she barely knew it. Pedro let her go and moved off the bed and a moment of uncertainty washed across her features. Slowly, he began to loosen the buttons of his sleeve and roll it up his arm. "We both know how this really ends." He tried to remind her in a casual but deft tone, rock hard and ready to play.
She let out an intrigued sound. "Pray tell." She demanded, voice dripping with desire while he finished off his sleeve for her. Nini was only poorly masking her nerves. He could watch the turmoil inside her battling within.
He moved to roll his other sleeve up, glancing down at her. "With me reminding you of who's really in charge and with you... preferably on your knees." He made himself sound dissatisfied with her and knew exactly what he was doing. Pedro gave her 'the look' the one that should make her listen. "Or what did you think you'd get for being bratty?" Okay, Pedro thought. Power play? This was new but it somehow came more than natural to him and he knew he wouldn't stop when all he seemed to get was positive reactions.
Nini's fingers tightened into the sheets to hide the tremble in them but he was not surprised to see her roll her eyes at him. "Uuuuh, I'm scared." She blew a raspberry at him and Pedro found himself both amused, annoyed and terribly aroused.
"Is that your answer?" Pedro asked, leaning forward as he smiled devilishly. He made her wait for his next move.
She had propped herself back onto her elbows when his knee came to rest on the mattress and his attempt to climb between her legs was thwarted when she placed one foot onto his chest. She tutted at him when he couldn't get to her. "I thought angels were supposed to be nice?" The sweet-voiced girl mocked him with a disappointment pout. She cooed at him tauntingly, batting her eyelashes and he felt himself getting a little more impatient.
"Wasn't I the archangel who keeps those in check who overstep their boundaries?" He softly stroked his finger up her ankle and calf and snapped his eyes back up to hers.
"Ffff-uck." she cursed before she pierced her bottom lip with her teeth. Her entire body shook with nervous giggles.
Pedro hummed at the cuss word. "You're mouth, both the best and worst thing about you, songbird." He told her lovingly while she tried to control her heavy breathing. He watched a moment of pure joy wash over her face when he tried to move her leg again but she pressed her foot up into his chest to stop him from crawling forward.
"You don't want me to continue?" He cocked his head. "Honey, we can stop. Do you want us to stop?" Pedro asked gently, worried about her wellbeing and comfort first most.
"Are you fine with this?" Nini asked and he took a step back to reflect and pat his chest, feeling a lot more conscious. He'd never hurt her even though he knew her tastes ran a bit darker sometimes.
"We started out as so unproblematic, what happened?" He replied, more to himself. "But yeah, I'm fine, are you?"
Her answer was a mere, inaudible breath on her lips as she looked down and he found it was curious how much he loved it when her act finally cracked and she revealed her desires. It was way too silently spoken, consent was key.
"What was that?" Gleaming eyes met intimidated ones when she still didn't answer. Nini swallowed thickly and he raised his eyebrow at her. "I asked you a question." He reminded her, a bit more threatening and closed his fingers around her ankle, one by one.
"Yes, I said, yes!" "Yes, what?" "I don't want you to stop, I've never been more turned on in my fucking life, you sexy bastard!" She cursed at him and he leaned back in surprise at the flattery.
Pedro had held her leg immovable and enjoyed the kind of power he had over her, lusted after the sweet sounds she made when she came undone by him. He wanted to hear them soon, very soon. "You are-" Pedro towered over, staring her down in a way that made her press her hips further against the mattress. "-running your mouth, looking all cute and shit with your fucking attitude." He finished his sentence and almost smiled when furthermore received a heated moan from her and slap to the mattress. "Are you done?" He asked in regard to her temper.
"Don't pretend you don't like it, big boy. You know, what?" She made an excited face. "I don't think I am." If what she wanted was to rile him up, it was working.
He wasn't satisfied with that answer, nor the nickname. "You've gotta stop being so difficult, baby." She had him longing to hear the music of her begging him to do something about it and he'd fulfil her wish, he could do that.
She challenged him but the smirk on her lips betrayed her, mean side on full display. Pedro knew she'd draw the final straw when she opened her pretty little mouth. "Yeah? Make me."
With that, she had pushed him over the edge. "Okay, that's it." Suddenly, he threw her foot off his chest. He truly lived for the moment her eyes widened and a little squeak escaped her when he yanked her to the edge of the bed by her ankles. He pulled her up and hoisted a laughing woman over his shoulder. "Hey, you-" Her protest was interrupted when he spanked her mid-walk. A high yelp escaped her, followed by a delicious moan and a curse. Pedro broke character and laughed with her as he aimed for bed number five.
~
End notes:
I wish this was a smutfic, I would have INDULGED in writing this but alas... this is me trying to be respectful, *furious groan*
~
Part 20
Translation notes:
(sp): mi cielo - (eng): my sky
(sp): hermosita - (eng): little beauty
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal RPF#pedro pascal rpf#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal/OFC#pedro pascal slow burn#pedro pascal fanfiction series#pedro nation#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal/OC#pedro pascal x OFC#pedro pascal relationship#pedro pascal fic#real person fanfiction#real person fanfic#pedro pascal/oc#female character#pedro pascal ff#pedro pascal x OC#pedro pascal x fem OC#the lighthouse and the ocean#fandomdaydreamer#pedro pascal ao3#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal humor#pedropascal#pedro pascal fanfic
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BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - CH.2
Chapter 2: Just Screeching Tires And True Love
Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.
Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking Around, FLUFF, LOTS OF SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Oral Fem Receiving, Kissing, Barely any plot, NOT A SLOW BURN AT ALL, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content, Size Kink, Reader is “smaller” than Joel but no further descriptions, Breeding Kink, PWP (wrap it up), Body worship, declaring their love for each other,
Word Count: 6.5k
A/N: Oh, wow. I didn’t expect all the love you all gave in the previous chapter. That was my first time writing real, raw, dirty smut. Like IM STILL SO NERVOUS AND SHY to post smut AHSKJFHAHAHA. The introvert in me is like… having a huge anxiety attack rn PLS–
So, um, chat, I’m actually dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift
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Joel's skilled hands and tongue explore every inch of your body, knowing that a series of powerful orgasms is the key to preparing you for him.
His fingers and tongue trace a path of pleasure over your skin, and you can't help but respond to his touch. Despite your reservations, you find yourself quickly reaching a boiling point, your body trembling with need.
Joel's touch is like a dream come true, his hands and mouth staking his claim on what's his. He takes his time undressing you, savoring every moment of this intimate moment.
As you lay back, your legs wrapped around his shoulders, Joel's tongue delves deep inside you, exploring every inch of your slick folds. His mouth moves over your clit with the same skill and passion as his lips on yours.
You try to whisper his name, to tell him something, anything, but every time he shifts his mouth to ask if you're okay, you can only shiver and gasp, your body trembling with pleasure.
Joel's touch is like a drug, and you find yourself quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of his hands and mouth on your body. You lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the pleasure that only Joel can bring you.
Joel can't help but feel the overwhelming urge to bury himself deep inside you, to feel your slick heat surrounding him.
His balls are heavy and tight, his cock twitching against his jeans as he fights the urge to climax.
But despite his own desire, Joel remains focused on your pleasure, his tongue exploring every inch of your body as you shudder and moan beneath him.
You are a vision of beauty, your skin flushed and glowing with the aftermath of your climax.
Joel's own need is intense, but he holds back, wanting to make sure you're fully satisfied before he takes his own pleasure.
"I need you, darlin'," he groans, his body pressed against yours as he fumbles with his zipper.
But when you speak up, he stops, his body tensing with anticipation.
"What is it?" he pants, his heart racing as he tries to hold back his own climax.
You look worried, and Joel can't help but feel a pang of concern.
"This is what you want?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.
You nod, but there's still a hint of worry in your eyes.
"Buttercup, what is it?" he presses, his concern growing.
But when you tell him, his heart swells with emotion.
"I've never been with anyone before, Joel," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel feels a surge of protectiveness and love, knowing that he's the first person to ever touch you in this way.
Joel's heart swells with emotion as you confess your virginity. He pulls you close, kissing your forehead as he whispers reassurances.
"No, I don't mind, darlin'," Joel reassures you, his voice filled with tenderness and desire. "It means you'll be mine, and I'll be your first."
You still look uncertain, but the hunger in your eyes tells Joel everything he needs to know.
His cock strains against his jeans, eager to be freed, aching to be inside you. Joel smiles, a mix of pride and desire filling him as he sees your attraction to him.
"We can go as fast or slow as you want, darlin'," he whispers, his hands finding your hips as he settles back between your legs.
But you have other plans. Your arms pull him close, your voice a breathless plea, "Yes, yes please, now."
Joel's heart races as he finds his zipper and frees his cock, the tip swollen and eager, ready for you.
"You sure?" he asks, his hands trembling with anticipation as you nod, your desire written all over your face.
With a swift movement, Joel sheds his flannel, revealing his soft yet toned body, his full erection standing proud and ready for you.
"Oh, fuck, Joel," you murmur, your eyes widening at the sight of him, the intensity of the moment hitting you.
As you both revel in the anticipation of what's to come, a distant rumble breaks the moment - a truck, your father's truck, parked outside.
Panic sets in as you realize the situation, the urgency of the moment propelling you both into a frenzy of dressing, the need for secrecy driving you to move quickly.
In a rush of movement, you both scramble to get dressed, the interruption leaving you both breathless and on edge, the promise of what was about to happen hanging in the air.
You hear the heavy steps of your father approaching the porch, the sound echoing through the house before the bell rings. Joel watches you quickly compose yourself, smoothing down your hair and adjusting your clothes, trying to appear composed despite the heated moment you both shared.
You move to Joel's kitchen, pretending to search through his pantry, your heart racing with the intensity of the situation.
Joel doesn't rush to answer the door, but your father is already there, a bag in hand, when he does.
"Joel, you okay, buddy?" Your father's voice fills the room, and Joel responds with a casual tone, "Yeah, yeah. Your daughter is in the kitchen helping me unpack some stuff. Come on in."
The air is thick with tension as your father enters, unaware of the charged atmosphere between you and Joel. You exchange a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between you as you both navigate hiding your shared secret.
"Hey, Dad, how was work?" You ask, trying to keep your tone casual and light.
Your father hands Joel one of his bags, his eyes flicking between the two of you, a hint of suspicion in his gaze.
"Anything interesting happen today?" You ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing.
Your father shrugs, his eyes still on you and Joel. "Just the usual," he says, his tone nonchalant, but his gaze lingering on the two of you.
"Well, I came over to check in… and tell you two that we should start prepping dinner soon," he says, breaking the tension. "Sweetie, why don't you help set up the table while I take over and help Joel finish up over here?"
"Yeah, sure thing, Dad," you say and your father smiles and you give one more glance over at him and Joel before leaving.
As you close the front door of Joel’s home and step off the porch, you take a deep breath and sigh, your heart racing with the fear of being caught.
You quietly position yourself near the edge of the house, just out of sight, listening in on the conversation between Joel and your father.
You feel your body flooded with anxiety, knowing that you need to make sure your father doesn't discover your secret with Joel.
You don't want him to find out or jump to conclusions before you and Joel have had a chance to define your relationship.
As you listen, you can hear the regret in your father's voice, and although Joel's tone is clear, your father's is softer, more subdued.
You can feel the weight of unspoken tension in the air, a heaviness that hangs between your father and Joel.
"It's fine, man, it really is," Joel reassures your dad, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the unease that lingers.
Your father's repeated apologies have left you puzzled, his behavior out of character and leaving you wondering what's truly bothering him.
"So, what's eatin’ you?" Joel's voice cuts through the silence, his tone firm yet compassionate. "It's like you have a bug up my ass since I got here. C'mon, out with it," he urges, his directness surprising you.
As you listen in on the conversation, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. You're concerned for your dad, who seems to be struggling with feelings of jealousy and insecurity.
"I dunno, Joel. It's just seeing you this time around, hearing how well you've done. And with my own business not doing as well… Fuck, man. Can ya blame a guy for wondering where he went wrong?" your father admits.
Joel responds with kindness and understanding, offering to help your father financially if he needs it.
"I told you, name the amount or just say the word. I'll cut you a check right now," Joel says, his voice steady and reassuring.
You get the sense that they had a lengthy conversation at the home office earlier, and Joel had seen firsthand the state of your father's business.
Despite your own worries, you can't help but feel a sense of pride in Joel's unwavering support for your father, even in the face of his own success.
"I don't want your charity, Joel," your dad says, his voice heavy with frustration. "I want...I guess I want the past twenty years back so I could do it differently. Do it better for my daughter. You know?"
Your heart aches for your dad, for all that he's done for you, putting family first even when it's just the two of you. It's what gets him out of bed every morning.
"I understand," Joel replies, his voice soothing. "But you've done your best, and now it's time for me to do mine. Movin’ back here isn't just about hangin’ out. I'm here to support you, whether you like it or not. So quit being stubborn and let me help."
Your dad goes quiet, and you realize that you've been eavesdropping for too long. You start to move away, not wanting to intrude on their conversation, but you hear your dad say something that stops you in your tracks.
"Joel, all those years ago. After her mom left and I had nothin'. We had nothin'. Remember who set me up in that little auto shop?"
Your interest is piqued. Anything to do with the past is interesting to you because your dad absolutely refuses to ever talk about it.
"It was you, Joel, all of it, and you know it. Hell, even Tommy helped us. If it wasn't for you and him, all the hard work you put in, paying off that damned loan, my daughter and I wouldn't be where we are today. And there's no way she would've gone to college."
Your dad's voice breaks off, full of emotion. And you hear Joel shifting his weight across the room.
"C'mon, we've been through this a million times. That damn loan was to get both of us started, remember? And we always said whoever paid it back first would never owe the other a fuckin’ penny. Remember?"
As you listen to your dad and Joel's conversation, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. You're happy to learn about the support and friendship that exists between them, but you're also surprised that you're only hearing about it now.
"I remember," your dad groans, and you realize that it's time for you to leave them to have a private conversation.
As you make your way home, you can't help but wonder about Joel's past and the ways in which he's helped your family over the years. You're grateful for his generosity, but you're also a little shocked that you're only hearing about it now.
A night of many firsts for you, it seems. But your first time with Joel is obviously going to have to wait.
As you walk away, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. You know that Joel wants to tell your dad about your relationship, and you can see why. They used to share everything, including start-up money.
You guess that Joel wants what you want too - to have your dad as a part of the family for all of you.
But the shock of it all might cost more than you think, especially if your dad is as stubborn about you being with Joel as he is with everything else.
For now, you can only wait and see how things unfold, hoping what you have with Joel will be strong enough to weather any storm that comes your way.
"So, sweetie, did you have fun over at Joel’s?" Your dad asks, his innocent question sending a jolt of panic through you.
You choke on your food, feeling Joel's eyes on you from across the table. You quickly take a sip of water, trying to compose yourself. "Sorry... just... I... that went down the wrong pipe. Um, yeah, it was fun, a bit tiring though, kinda like a whole workout," you manage to say, your voice slightly shaky.
Unbeknownst to your dad, Joel shoots you a knowing wink, his smirk sending a thrill through you. You focus on your plate, trying to avoid any more embarrassing slip-ups.
As you try to eat, your mind races with thoughts of Joel. The simple act of 'being neighbors' suddenly feels like an impossible task. You can't shake the desire you feel for him, the hunger for his touch burning hot within you.
There's an obvious tension around the table, an aura of unspoken desire. You know there's no way you can make it through dinner without giving in to the overwhelming attraction you feel for Joel. It would take a miracle to resist the pull between you.
Thankfully, the universe seemed to be on your side as Joel's phone suddenly rang, interrupting the tension at the table.
"Sorry... gotta take this. It's Sarah," Joel said, his voice sheepish as he excused himself from the table.
You couldn't help but perk up at the mention of Sarah's name, smiling as you said, "Tell her hi for me please."
Joel easily slid his chair out and moved into the living room to answer his phone, his low voice a comforting presence as he greeted Sarah.
Your dad's suspicious gaze lingered on you for a moment, but you stayed quiet, focusing on your food. The anxiety bubbling up inside of you was making you dizzy, but you tried your best to push it aside and enjoy the meal.
As Joel talked on the phone, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The interruption had given you a moment to collect yourself and regain your composure.
But even as you ate, your mind was still consumed with thoughts of Joel. The desire you felt for him was overwhelming, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the temptation.
Joel returns to the dining area, still on the phone, and hands it to you with a dramatic grumble. "Sarah wants to talk to you."
Your eyebrows shoot up in happy surprise, and you take the phone, excitedly greeting Sarah. "Hi Sarah! Miss you loads, I'm so excited you're moving back here."
Sarah squeals with delight, "You'll be there to pick me up from the airport tomorrow afternoon, right? With my dad?"
"Mhm! I'll be there, Joel is borrowing my car in the meantime." You assure her, smiling as you hear her excitement. "See you then!"
You say your goodbyes and hand the phone back to Joel, who resumes his call and says goodbye to Sarah.
As you head back into the dining area, you notice your dad has been busy on his phone, looking through his emails.
The tension from earlier has dissipated, replaced with a sense of excitement for Sarah's return.
But even as you chat with your dad, your mind is still consumed with thoughts of Joel. The desire you feel for him is overwhelming, and you can't help but steal glances at him throughout the meal.
As dinner winds down, Joel stands up, exchanging a hug and a pat on the back with your dad before turning to you. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around you in a tight squeeze.
The electricity between you is palpable, the air thick with anticipation. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you look into Joel's eyes, knowing that the night is far from over.
With a lingering touch and a whispered promise, Joel leaves you with a sense of longing and desire, eager to see what the rest of the evening holds for the two of you.
Your dad checks in on you before he retires to his room, a habit from when you were a child. But tonight, your mind is elsewhere, consumed with thoughts of Joel.
As you lie in bed, your heart races, and your body aches for his touch. You know that sleep is impossible until you're in his arms.
After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Quietly, you slip out of bed, grabbing your phone, putting on your shoes and a sweater over your sleep shirt and shorts.
You listen at your dad's door, hearing the deep rhythm of his snoring, signaling that he's fast asleep.
With a sense of determination, you make your way to the back of the house and slip out the door, making your way up to Joel's porch.
If you were unsure about rushing into things a few hours ago, a sleepless night and the lingering ache between your legs are enough to convince you that you don't just want it - you need it.
The anticipation builds with every step, your heart pounding in your chest as you approach his door. You take a deep breath, ready to see where the night will take you.
Before you have the chance to knock, the door swings open, revealing Joel in nothing but grey sweatpants, his broad shoulders, soft belly and toned chest on full display.
Your breath hitches in your throat as you take in the sight of him, your body responding instantly to his presence.
"Well, hello there, darlin’" Joel says, his voice low and seductive. "Was wonderin’ when you'd show up.”
Without a word, you step forward, closing the distance between you and Joel. Your hands reach up to touch his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.
"I need you," you whisper, your voice filled with desire.
Joel's eyes darken with lust, and he pulls you closer, his lips crashing down on yours in a passionate kiss. The sound of the front door slamming shut and him locking it echoes through the room as he doesn't remove his mouth from yours.
As you lose yourself in the moment, you know that tonight is the beginning of something new and exciting - a chance to escape the mundane and embrace the passion that burns between you and Joel.
Even though you're still a little tender from your earlier encounter, you're confident that you can handle him. You think. Maybe not all of him, but at least half of what you saw earlier.
The anticipation builds as Joel's hands explore your body, his touch setting your skin on fire. You whimper, your voice cracking and your body even buckling as he pulls you closer to him.
Your whole body is exploding with arousal, flushing through you all the way to where you need him most.
Your hands claw at his chest, and feeling his heart pounding hard against it, followed by the unmistakable feeling of his stiff erection probing you, you know you’re on the same page.
"I wanted it to be special," Joel says, almost sounding disappointed.
"It will be special," you counter, daringly running the flat of your palm up the front of his jeans, making him groan in a low tone.
"I meant somewhere special… not here," he reasons.
"I don't care where we do it, Joel. Bent over your couch, against the wall, on the kitchen counter - I just need you inside me," you gasp, your breath hitching with desire.
His strong arms effortlessly lift you off your feet in one swift motion, his muscles flexing as he carries you towards the bedroom.
"Then it's the bedroom," he growls, his voice low and commanding, as he strides purposefully up the stairs, his gaze locked on yours.
In this moment, you couldn't care less if anyone caught a glimpse of the two of you. All that matters is the raw desire pulsing between you and Joel.
The world fades away as you enter the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation and need. You know that this is where you belong, in Joel's arms, giving yourself completely to him.
If not for the interruption earlier, this morning would have been the moment you surrendered to him. But now, there are no more barriers, no more distractions.
It's just you and Joel Miller, enveloped in a whirlwind of passion and desire.
Joel might have envisioned a five-star hotel suite or a secluded cottage by the lake as more romantic settings. But you're right. Anywhere that's just the two of you alone will be special.
Your first time, or both of your first times, is something to be cherished. But what truly matters is the connection between you and Joel, not the location.
Seeing you standing there in nothing but the shortest sleep shorts and a sweater, Joel can't wait a moment longer. The urgency to be with you, to share this intimate moment, is overwhelming. He discards both of your clothing somewhere between the frenzy of kisses and tongue. The hours it would take to create the perfect setting elsewhere pale in comparison to the raw desire pulsing between you both.
In the bedroom that Joel wishes to be both of yours, he can't help but get a shiver. This is it, the moment you've both been waiting for. Joel, with the woman of his dreams. You, with a man who has more to offer than just his own needs.
It has to be right now. Joel needs to lay you down and fill your sweet cunt with his seed. There's an urgency between you both, like you've both got an appointment with destiny that neither of you can miss.
"We won't be interrupted this time," you whisper knowingly, and if last night's anything to go by, you both know you want more than just an hour of each other.
Joel's hands tremble as he holds himself over you, your heaving breaths swirling in the even hotter places between your bodies. Your mouths lock in deep, penetrating kisses, Joel's chest butted up against yours, both your hearts pounding out a beat that somehow he knows is gonna make another kid. This time with you. And God help him, he's gonna do right by you.
"I've waited for this… dreamed of you for so long," Joel rasps, feeling you sliding his swallowed tip over the entrance to your slick valley. Your quivering, tight cunt is pressing and rubbing against his cock, making both of your eyes open wider. Joel feels you tense up just a little, but he makes sure it's you who guides his hardness for now.
"I've waited too. I still can't believe this is actually happening," you purr, your thighs and wide hips perfectly matching Joel's own size. And he knows you're gonna need all the padding you can get once he starts fucking you like he senses you want it.
Joel's lips crash onto yours once more, your tongues dancing together as your bodies become one. You can feel him entering you, filling you up in a way that takes your breath away.
"It's so big," you gasp, your voice trembling with pleasure.
"Go as slow or as fast as you want, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice strained with desire. He watches your face, your expressions of pleasure and discomfort as he slowly enters you.
"Oh, fuck, Joel," you moan, your voice deep and loud. Joel can't help but join in, his own moans mingling with yours as he slides deeper into you.
Inch by inch, he fills you up, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that feels both new and familiar. You can feel every inch of him, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating.
There's a moment of discomfort, a jolt that makes you wince, but it passes quickly, replaced by a feeling of fullness that takes your breath away.
You can feel the heat building between you and Joel, the intensity of your connection growing stronger with each passing moment. Your bodies move together in a rhythm that feels both primal and instinctual, a dance as old as time itself.
"You feel so fuckin' good, sweetheart," Joel groans, his voice low and husky with desire.
You can only respond by gripping his cock from the inside, shifting your hips higher as your mouth forms an 'O' shape. Your eyes are pinched shut for a moment, lost in the overwhelming sensation of Joel filling you up completely.
But when you open them again, you're met with Joel's gaze, his eyes dark with desire and need. You can see the tension in his muscles, the way his biceps bulge as he grips your hips.
You both want this, crave this connection that goes beyond words. You want to share your first climax together, to create something beautiful and new between you.
And if you're lucky, maybe he’ll even put a baby in your belly.
You grip hold of Joel's forearms, your smaller hands doing their best to clutch them as he watches your breasts start to bounce with each long and firm stroke in and out of your tight wet pussy.
You're lost in the moment, your body moving in perfect harmony with Joel's as he thrusts into you again and again. You can feel every inch of him, filling you up in a way that makes you feel complete.
"Give it to me, Joel," you cry out, your voice hoarse with desire. You hook your ankles around his back, urging him to fuck you as hard and fast as he likes.
Joel doesn't hold back, his hips pistoning as he drives himself deeper into you. You can feel every thrust, the sensation bordering on painful but in the best way possible.
Your G-spot is a prime target at this angle, and once you get a taste of how good it feels, you're hooked. You like it hard, deep, and fast just as much as you like it soft and slow.
The bed underneath you both creaks and groans with the force of your frantic pumping and rocking. Any concerns you both might have had about making noise are long gone. It's a wild, primal sound, and Joel's grunts and growls are matched by yours with every movement of your entangled bodies.
His grip shifts from your hips to that ass of yours, kneading your soft cheeks with his fingers as he pulls you harder towards him. The slick warmth of your essence mixes with his own precome, the combination creating a friction that's both intense and overwhelming.
Joel is proud of how much you can take of him. His balls are rising with his pending climax, the tightness and warmth of your sweet pussy working its magic.
You both know this isn't a race or a test of endurance. Joel knows your prized pussy is his, and your body is his. But it's your climax that he's craving.
To see your face as he fills you with his seed.
And the new life he has ready to put inside you is as eager to make that dream come true for either of you.
Your body stiffens suddenly, and then trembles all over. You arch the small of your back, grunting words that have Joel swelling so much inside of you that he knows that you're both close.
Your eyes roll back, and you force quick breaths through your mouth. Joel's jaw is clenched and tight.
The growl from him is growing by the second as he feels his release rising.
"C'mon, baby, fuck, I'm gonna come… gonna come… tell me where darlin, fuck," Joel practically shouts, and you whimper, "Inside… inside me, Joel, fuck a baby into me."
Your gasping screams as you try to call his name fill his ears, rushing with the torrent of his pulse when he feels his own climax start to escape him.
The shudder of your hips against his and Joel's hands holding you so tight against him makes it feel like you're finally one.
Joel has never come so hard in his life, and he's never felt what he feels for you with anyone or anything. And unlike your climax when he used his mouth, this is a proper full-body orgasm for you. And for him too.
Your bodies are slick with sweat, your skin hot and flushed with desire. You're both breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling in unison.
Joel collapses onto you, his body spent and sated, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The room is filled with the sound of your combined heartbeats, a symphony of desire and satisfaction.
As you lie there, entwined with Joel, you can feel the powerful energy coursing through both of your bodies, a potent connection that leaves you both breathless and wanting more.
The waves of your shared climax begin to ebb, but the intensity of the moment lingers in the air, wrapping you both in a cocoon of pleasure and intimacy.
"Holy shit," you gasp, still shuddering from the force of your release. You can feel Joel's member continuing to flex and pulse inside you, a reminder of the raw passion that brought you both to this moment.
It's more than just an orgasm. It's a transcendent experience, a merging of souls that leaves you both feeling bound together in a way that words can't quite capture.
As you catch your breath, you look into Joel's eyes, seeing a depth of emotion and connection that takes your breath away. In this moment, you know that you've found something special, something rare and beautiful that goes beyond mere physical pleasure.
Joel's smile is warm and genuine as he looks down at you, his body still intimately connected to yours. "Darlin’, you're mine now, if you'll have me," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
You can feel the aftershocks of your climax still pulsing through your body, the sensation of Joel's stiffness still flexing inside of you a constant reminder of the pleasure you've just shared.
Joel eases himself onto his side, sensing how much you want him to stay inside you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you both lay spent, your bodies still entwined in a tangle of limbs.
Your panting breaths mingle in the air, your smiles of near disbelief that anything so incredible could even be possible.
"Of course, Joel, I...," you begin to giggle, gasping in a quick breath as you feel his stiffness still flexing inside of you.
Joel props himself up on one elbow, caressing your cheek as he finally slides out of you. "I don't know how I know, but I just know. Do you feel it too, darlin’?" he asks, his voice filled with a sense of wonder.
You can feel your whole body relaxing, the tension and excitement of your climax slowly ebbing away. "Oh, I think I'm gonna feel it for a few days," you joke, your eyes widening in amazement.
Joel's smile is warm and genuine as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "I love you," he blurts out, his voice filled with emotion. "I've never been good at this, with words… but fuck it, I love you, darlin'."
You make a small sound, a soft gasp that turns into a frown as your eyes mist up. You clutch your arms around his neck, as if your life depended on it, pulling him closer to you.
"I love you too," you whisper, your voice filled with emotion. "I love you so much, Joel."
In this moment, as you lay there in each other's arms, you know that you've found something special, something rare and beautiful that goes beyond mere physical pleasure. You've found a love that is raw, real, and passionate, a love that will last a lifetime.
Joel's fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I want to make love to you again and again, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.
You smile up at him, your eyes shining with love. "I want that too, Joel," you whisper. "I want to feel you inside me, filling me up with your love."
Joel's lips crash down on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that takes your breath away. You respond eagerly, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time itself.
As Joel enters you again, you can feel the connection between you deepening, growing stronger with each thrust. This is more than just sex, more than just physical pleasure. This is love, pure and simple, a love that will last a lifetime.
"I love you, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice filled with emotion.
"I love you too, Joel," you whisper, your voice filled with the same love and adoration.
And as you lose yourself in the moment, you know that this is where you belong, in Joel's arms, surrounded by his love and affection. This is where you'll stay, for the rest of your life.
Having a man like Joel Miller relieve you of your virginity is one thing, but having him tell you that he loves you is something else entirely. It completes you, fills in the missing pieces of your soul that you didn't even know were there.
It changes you, transforms you into a better version of yourself. And it changes everything between you both for the better.
There are no more questions, no more wondering what if, no more chasing. Just the two of you, and you both feel it as strong as the climax he just gave you.
As the world slowly comes back into focus, you become silently aware of just how quiet everything is. The old house, the neighborhood outside, it all feels like something you've both left behind already.
Your bodies are still entwined, your limbs tangled together as if trying to become one. You can feel Joel's heart beating against your chest, his breath hot and heavy against your neck.
Having Joel Miller come back to town feels like a dream come true, and not just because of the mind-blowing sex you just had. It feels like he's here for you, to keep you, to lift you up and carry you off to the new life you both have waiting for you.
Neither of you says anything for a long time, content to bask in the afterglow and the moonlight of the night. You can feel the connection between you growing stronger, a bond that goes beyond mere physical pleasure.
As you lay there, completely sated and relaxed, you can't help but feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be. And it's in that moment of pure bliss that Joel's deep voice breaks the silence.
"Darlin'," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
You jump a little, startled out of your peaceful reverie. But as you turn to look at him, you see the warmth and love in his eyes, and you know that this is no dream.
"Can I get you anythin'? You want somethin'?" Joel's voice, tinged with his Southern drawl, is like music to your ears as he gazes at you with a look that feels like it's etched into your memory forever.
"I think you just gave me what I needed, cowboy," you reply, a playful glint in your eyes as you exhale a long breath, feeling the lingering effects of your passionate encounter with him.
"I may never walk straight again, but I'm good," you assure him, snuggling close as he gently wraps one of his strong arms around you, pulling you into his warmth.
After a moment of blissful silence, a realization hits you, and you let out a low groan. There are things you need to attend to after such intense intimacy.
You quickly kiss Joel, mumbling about needing to freshen up and use the bathroom, waddling slightly as you make your way. Once you're done, you eagerly return to his embrace, seeking the comfort and closeness only he can provide.
"What is it?" Joel's voice is filled with concern as he notices the slight shift in your demeanor.
Your life before the sun rises is still out there, waiting for you both. Responsibilities and realities loom on the horizon, but in this moment, all you want is to be held by Joel, to feel his presence anchoring you in a world that suddenly feels uncertain.
He takes a slow breath, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace, offering you solace and reassurance. Both of you are acutely aware of the depth of your connection, of the emotions that have been stirred between you, and the inevitable challenges that lie ahead.
As you lay entwined with Joel, the weight of the future pressing in, you find comfort in the strength of his arms, in the love and understanding that flows between you. In this moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you have each other, and that is enough to face the aftermath of it all.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female oc#joel miller x reader series#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x reader tlou#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x fem!reader#dbf!joel miller x reader#dbf!joel#joel miller tlou#joel the last of us#joel tlou#joel miller#but daddy i love him#but daddy i love him joel miller#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fandom#ppcu fanfiction
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Camp Crystal Lake Masterlist ( Joel Miller fanfiction)
Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)
Setting: Camp Crystal Lake
The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#joel miller x oc#joel miller x original character#joel miller x f!oc#pedro pascal x f! reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x fem reader#pedro pascal x fem reader#joel miller x female oc#joel x female reader#pedro pascal x female reader#jason voorhees#friday the 13th#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#joel the last of us#the last of us fic#joel x reader
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Please write us some jealous pedro
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader
Warnings: smut, a lil angst (you know me lol), feelings of jealousy, unprotected p in v sex (don't be silly kids, wrap your willy), oral sex (f receiving), 18+, minors DNI
Author's note: UFFF I have a jealousy kink (if that's even a thing). Hope you like this anon; ngl i'm a lil rusty and nervous putting out new stuff, heh. Yes ik it's a cliche plot but trust me, it is the BEST trope and I would DIE if this happened to me lmaoooo.
Jealousy. An ugly word, and an ugly emotion. No one wants to be jealous, but it just happens. And when it does, hoo boy. It can either go very right, or very wrong.
Pedro didn't consider himself to be a jealous man. He prided himself on being someone who was secure with himself and his emotions, not allowing malice and grudges to hold him back. He had to, especially in his line of work and the industry he was a part of.
That was until he met you.
You, with your beauty and grace and perfection. He had never met anybody like you, who had turned his world on it's head. Which is why the break up was a shock to him; but he knew in his heart that it was the best step. He was no good for you, and he couldn't give you the time you needed to be properly courted and loved.
But it hurt when you left, when he was told by your friends about how you were broken and hurting. And it hurt him even more when he learnt that you had moved on and begun dating. It was irrational, true, but he felt possessive towards you. You were his and his only and he would do anything to get you back.
Which is how he found himself tucked in the corner of the jam packed club you and your friends were in, partying away. It took a lot of bribing your best friend Ashley, who very reluctantly told you their whereabouts (and also the consequences of hurting you again which involved kicking his ass). At first, he couldn't recognise you at all. A seductress stood in your place, wearing a little black dress which accentuated all your luscious curves. Your eyes were ringed with kohl and your red lips, oh dear God; Pedro nearly came at the mere thought of kissing you and smudging that lipstick. He came here to try to win you back but all he could think about now was fucking you into the next week.
He was just about to set his plan into motion, when a blond haired jackass approached her, placing his hand on the small of her back. Pedro's heart sunk when he thought that it must be your new...guy. But then he saw the look of mild surprise on your face as you took in the stranger, trying to place some distance between the two.
Blond jackass was trying to pull his best moves, flashing those baby blues and grinning at you like a weirdo. He could tell that you weren't interested at all, but simply being polite. Tutting, he was about to take a swig of his drink when he saw the bastard caress your hand, trying to get closer to you.
Although he'd promised himself that he wouldn't intervene just yet and let you enjoy your night, Pedro found himself making his way through the crowd, his focus only on getting to you as fast as he could.
"Hey baby." he crooned softly in your ear, leaving a kiss on your cheek as he put an arm around your shoulder. A subtle way of saying Back off, prick.
Wide-eyed, you stared at him in confusion till it dawned on you what might have happened. You turned to look at Ashley, who wisely averted your gaze and focused on her conquest of the night.
"What are you doing here?" you asked dryly.
"I'm here to party with my girl." he grinned, his eyes sparkling with a teasing glint.
"Well I was just in the middle of talking to this VERY nice gentleman here...umm.."
"Justin." the blond stumbled, a little intimidated by Pedro who was staring daggers at him.
"Justin, of course! We were just about to hit the dance floor before...well, you already know."
Pedro was livid at the thought of you even talking to that jackass, but he couldn't let you know that you were winning at this game. He was determined to ride this out and have you come back to him.
What he hadn't anticipated was that ugly face of jealousy that would pop out of the woodwork as he saw the both of you dancing together, your bodies too close together for his liking. The last straw was when he saw that fucker Justin run his hands over your body, pulling you to him.
Pedro didn't think straight as he strode towards you, grabbing your arm and yanking you away from the crowd towards the back exit. He knew that the consequences wouldn't be the best, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. He needed you, right there, right now.
You found yourself pinned to the wall next to the back exit, his arms caging you in. Staring into his beautiful brown eyes, you see them darken with a mix of emotions. At first, you thought it was pure anger and annoyance, but then it hit you; he was scared. Of what, though? He was the one who wanted to end things in the first place.
"Why?" you softly asked.
"Why, what?" he said, huskily, his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel his eyes on you as you trained your eyes on his wonderful lips, only remembering how they felt on you and how they had the power to bring you to your very knees.
"W..why did you...go..?" you gasped as he softly kissed your cheek, the action felt in your very bones. The man hadn't even touched you properly and you were already putty in his hands.
Running his nose against yours, he left a soft kiss on the other cheek, then on your forehead, your nose, and after a beat, he crashed his lips to yours, derailing your train of thought. Hesitant at first, you found yourself drowning into the kiss, pouring all the hurt and love you felt for him into it. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss turned even more heated. You were disappointed as he pulled away, much too quickly for your liking.
"I had to." he mumbled, his lips making a path from your jawline to your neck. Sighing, you turned your head to give him better access winding your arms around his waist. Warning bells were ringing in your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. He was all you wanted, a breath of fresh air in your life. It nearly crushed you when you'd broken up, and you knew that this was a bad idea. But the way he was leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck, his hands roaming over your body, lighting you up from within; it made all your trepidation evaporate as a more volatile emotion took its place: lust. It was coursing through your veins as you pulled his hips towards yours, desperate for some sort of contact.
You could feel his smile against your skin as he hitched your leg onto his hip, his erection pressing into you.
"I'm still mad at you." you grumbled, gasping as you felt him thrust against you.
"I know." he panted "I'm sorry. This is all my fault, and I am truly very sorry. It was the biggest mistake of my life, pushing you away. I want you, need you to know that I can't live another second without you. I love you."
Your heart swelled at that. That was the first time he'd properly said those words to you, and it made you feel 10 feet tall. You beamed, eyes moist with tears.
"Take me home."
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Pedro was great in bed, something that was a constant in your relationship when you were dating. But a jealous Pedro? Whew.
Gone was the gentle lover who would lovingly stare into your eyes as he made sweet, slow love to you. No, this time, he made you understand the true meaning of the phrase "legs shaking".
It started off as pretty innocent, him hugging you from behind and leaving soft kisses as you tried to open the door amongst all the distractions. As soon as you entered, though, it was like a switch had flipped. You found yourself pinned to the wall next to the door, Pedro's lips crashing against yours. Lips biting, tongues meshing, teeth briefly clashing; it was pure lust in every bit of that kiss.
And now, here you were, on your bed, Pedro's lips still joined to yours as he reacquainted himself to your body, his hands smoothing over you. He had nearly torn your dress off in haste, as you pulled off his sweatshirt, hands moving to his belt. You needed to taste him, feel him on your tongue; it had been so long. But before you could do that, he pushed you back down on the bed as he moved lower, right to your core.
You held your breath as he tore off your panties, his breath quickening seeing your wet folds. To see you as turned on as him, if not more, made him want to bury himself inside you right then and there. But not yet. No, he wanted you to lose your mind. Was it a punishment? No, not really. It was more a reminder.
"Oh, my sweet girl. She's missed me, huh?" he whispered, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. You groaned, your hips canting ever so slightly. He hadn't even made proper contact and you were already sensitive.
He chuckled at your enthusiasm as his fingers circled around your swollen nub. If only you knew how much I need you, babe, he thought as he lowered his mouth to your core.
You gasped as he left a tentative lick before attaching himself to your clit, his fingers moving inside you in tandem with his mouth. You arched your back off the bed as you struggled to keep your legs open; the only thing keeping them from closing were his broad shoulders. You could feel yourself get closer to orgasm, and you were sure that it was going to be intense. And you were right; your walls constricted around nothing as you felt the dam break, a litany of his name leaving your lips as you tried to catch your breath. You looked down at him to urge him upwards, but all you saw was his mischievous grin as he lowered himself to your core yet again, not even giving you time to calm down.
"W..wait..Ped-ro..I c-can't.." you stuttered as his fingers worked their magic on you.
"Yes, baby, you can. Make me jealous again and this is the price you'll pay." he rasped wickedly as his tongue made you see literal heaven. You'd quite frankly lost track of time and the number of orgasms he had coaxed from you, your throat drying up from screaming his name and fingers yanking on his hair. You were sure that Mrs. McNally next door would be nosy and ask you a million questions, but you didn't care.
Pedro kissed his way upwards to your mouth, stroking your hair gently till you caught your breath. Staring into his eyes, you saw pure love and admiration, something you had always craved to see from him. Pulling him to yourself, you kissed him softly, pouring all your love into that one kiss.
Pulling back, he looked at you, silently asking for permission. You reached down between you, pumping him and running a thumb over his sensitive head. He groaned loudly, thrusting himself into your hands as you swept your tongue over him, the salty tang turning you on like nothing else.
Pushing you down, he took himself in his hand as he slowly sunk into you inch by inch, till he bottomed out. The feeling could only be described as out of this world, and the both of you groaned in unison as you became one. Pedro had to concentrate on not coming then and there, as your tight wet heat enveloped him in the best way possible. He began to move slowly at first, and then speeding upto a rhythm that was unlike anything you had experienced before. There was no other way to put it except that he was pounding you into the mattress. You moaned loudly, fingernails scratching his back as you bit onto his earlobe, trying to contain your feelings of extreme pleasure.
Sitting up, he pulled your hips off the bed hitching your legs over his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts. You yelped, the sudden position change making you see stars. He was hitting your g-spot square on, to the point where you couldn't even distinguish between pleasure and pain.
"This pussy is mine. This body is mine, YOU are mine, you understand?" he growled through gritted teeth. "No one gets to look at or touch what's mine."
"Seeing you in that little dress tonight; it took all of my self control not to throw you to the ground and fuck you in front of those men, just to show them who you belong to. To show that blond jackass that only I can fuck you this good."
You whined, his words going straight to your core. Your legs were shaking, and you weren't sure if you could take another orgasm, but it seemed that Pedro had different plans for you in store.
He bent forward, pushing your legs back till your knees met your chest. You yowled, yanking on his hair as you approached your peak, legs shaking and quivering. You screamed something unintelligible as you reached your apex, your walls squeezing Pedro, who grunted at the feeling.
"You feel so good, sweetheart. Like silk. Makes me never want to leave this tight pussy." he rasped.
You could sense that he was close too, as you wrapped your legs around him, urging him on. He moved urgently, his hips a blur as he reached his end explosively, pouring himself into you. He moved inside you slowly, till every last drop poured out. He collapsed on you wearily, tucked into the crook of your neck whispering sweet nothings.
There was nothing said as he spooned you, holding you as your body still trembled from all the stimulation. There would be lots of time to talk tomorrow. But for today, you silently thanked the green eyed monster.
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A/N: EEEEEEEP I FINALLY DID IT YEAAAH BABEHHH. To say i'm nervous would be the understatement of the century, but I truly hope y'all liked this. Reblogs go a looong way, so pls do reblog if you liked this! Love and hugs to all!
#pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal x ofc#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal angst#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x female character#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x fem!reader#pedro pascal one shot#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x oc#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader insert#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x gf!reader
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If You Wanna be Wild: Chapter 7
Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.
Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia
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Summary: Everything falls apart and evryone is alone.
Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia
Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.
ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!:mentions of rape an violence, what happened to Helena, smut, repressed feelings, angst.
Almost everything was written by Fen <3
2.7k words
Support writers! Reblog and comment!
**************
There was no making up. There was no Javi bringing Santi food as an apology, there was no talking.
When Santi walked into the office on Monday, he saw the fucking desks rearranged, Javier’s and Santi’s on other sides of the room instead of pushed face to face. Santi quickly rushed to the bathroom where he panic vomited and had an anxiety attack, resulting in him being 45 minutes late. Javi didn’t say anything about it.
Where Santi couldn’t eat, Javi couldn’t stop eating, munching down food and taking frequent trips to the vending machine. His doctor was going to kill him. Santi could barely function, even coming in late or leaving early which was a cardinal sin in his book. Still, none of it stopped him from seeing Candy. Occasionally Candy asked about him because all month Javi hadn’t been to see her either. Santi couldn’t get much answer either.
They worked, but mostly separately. Javi had even been trying to find somewhere else to work, but there weren’t exactly free rooms in the precinct. They talked occasionally but only about Lorea… making Santi desperately lonely. He had his family and he loved his tias, but they weren’t Javi. It was the day of the rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya, which forced them to be in close proximity as they dressed in plain clothes and scouted the area for any sign of the Lorea family. Not wanting to look too much like officers on alert, Santi tried making conversation, none of which was working with Javi, only getting few word answers.
The boy was going to drive him absolutely batshit insane if he didn’t stop talking. It was bad enough he kept asking. ‘Should we get food’ or ‘it’s nice out today’, but his voice mixed with the crowds and noise and music and chatter or the rally, people shouting about whoever it was they were here for, politicians trying to stop them and constantly flashbacks of that night of the ball… Then Santi had to go and say
“She misses you.”
“You mentioned her name one more fucking time and I’ll-”
“You’ll fucking what?” Santi snapped, his nerves had twisted, hardened suddenly by rage.
His anger took Javi by surprise, he’d never heard him speak like that to anyone let alone him.
Santi took his pause as indignation. “I mentioned Candy once. Once. And that’s only because you haven’t seen her, or called her or anything!” He hissed. “She’s worried about you actually, she-”
It was Javi’s turn to snap.
He grabbed the younger man by the back of his collar and pulled him into a side alley, using his own momentum against him and slamming him up against the brick wall.
Sant let out a little huff of air as his back collided, gritting his jaw as pain raced along his back.
The action had been forceful, but not enough to cause discomfort for most people. However, a rough, uneven lump of mortar had poked oddly against the scar at the nape of his neck, sending a tingle down his back.
Javi rammed the heel of his hand into the wall next to Santi’s head, using his height to his full advantage as he leaned over him like he was interrogating a suspect instead of a colleague. A friend.
Santi breathed hard, his frown pinching his eyebrows together, and Javi would say he even looked cute if he wasn’t so bloody annoying, so obsessed with getting under his skin. Unable to let anything go, constantly digging at him in his self-righteous attitude, just needing to push, and push, and push, and…
Cute. The thought caught him off guard. When had he started to think of Santiago as cute?
“What the fuck are you doing Peña?” He growled, puffing his chest out, but not pushing back.
Javi shook his head slightly, trying to break his racing mind, trying to get back to reality. “Candy, look, you can’t just-”
“She’s an adult Javi, I can-”
“You’re going to get her killed!” His voice raised at the end, louder and more desperate than he had intended, with just the slightest waver. He hoped Santi didn’t hear it, but he probably did. Nothing got past him. “Do you understand?” Santi glared at him, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Those stupid large doe eyes looking painfully dark and enticing. “You’re flaunting her. Taking her to the ball and, and-”
Santi scoffed. “That’s none of your business, I asked her, I-”
“You’re gonna get her gutted and dumped on the side of the road!” Javier screamed, haunting flashbacks to Helena’s beaten and raped body, wrapping his coat around her and having to carry her out, not sure if she was dying or not. “You know how easy it would be for Lorea to do something? This isn’t even a put two and two together situation, Pope, it’s you waving a four right in his fucking face! And what do you think is gonna happen when he takes her, huh? When he beats her and rapes her an tortures her to get information on YOU!”
Santi swallows, his face still hard, but that little bob of his Adam’s apple draws Javier’s eye, but he doesn't respond. Javier lowers his voice, fist still gripping Santi’s jacket.
“She’s not gonna give you up, she’s not gonna help them hurt you. She’s gonna end up dead. You’re gonna…” He closed his eyes for a moment, took a small breath. It was easier not to look at him, not to have to stare at his soft eyes and plump lips. “You’re gonna end up dead too, Pope. I can’t… I’ve seen it, okay?”
Javier screwed up his face, opening his eyes so that he could look at Santi man to man. Implore him to see reason.
“I’m not telling you to stop seeing her, I’m just saying.... I’ve seen shit happen to girls in her line of work. To officers like you that are still wet behind the ears to this kind of thing-” The second it was out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake.
“I’m not a fucking child, Peña.” Santi hissed, pressing forward and getting up in Javier’s face. “I know that’s what everyone at the station seems to think and all their little Virgin Maria mierda. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck if all they see is that.” He pushes firmly on Javier’s chest, almost smacking as he punctuates his sentence. “But I thought you’d know better! I was black ops special agent, I spend years of my life in almost every goddamn continent doing retcon, assassinations, covert operations and rescuing women and children and getting SHOT! I’m not-”
“I’m not saying you’re a child-”
“You are! You are!” Santiago growls, smacking Javi’s chest repeatedly. He doesn’t care that he does sound like a child in that moment, arguing relentlessly on semantics. His emotions are bubbling over and muddying his head. “You’re saying that you know best. That your word is law. Despite all you do to endanger Candy!”
“I do n-”
“You do! You think you’re above it all, you’re just as bad, you pretend to care but you-”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Garcia!”
“Make me!”
He doesn’t think.
There’s always times he doesn’t think. When he gets too lost in whatever emotion he’s letting overwhelm him. Sometimes rage. Sometimes guilt. Usually negative either way. That’s where Santi is a good partner, keeping a cool and level head while Javi plays bad cop.
Usually ends up with him throwing a punch, not a kiss.
Santi knew ‘make me’ was childish. Knew it was playground nonsense reserved for kids still in single digits. But if everyone was going to keep calling him that, keep pretending that he wasn’t the only actual goddamned adult in the room then-
Then…
Javier’s lips on his steal his breath away, rob him of every thought that has ever run through his mind. And, for once, it’s blissfully quiet. The anxieties pushed away for the peace of a lover's kiss.
Javi presses closer, pushing Santiago further into the wall and cupping his face with his warm hand as he kisses him, body to body, warmth to warmth. Darting out his tongue to just trace Santi’s bottom lip and groans when he parts them immediately, no hesitation, and lets him lick into his mouth.
The angle’s a little awkward, Javier’s body trapping Santi’s hand between their chests. But Santiago’s fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as his kisses leave him breathless and desperate for more.
Javier’s leg bumps into his and Santi moves a step, moaning softly and then whining as his thigh presses against his half hard cock, a sharp spike of pleasure running up his spine and-
His thoughts all come crashing down. What the fuck, what the fuck was he doing? His mother’s voice rang in his head, screaming his name.
He could get arrested for this, thrown in jail, worse. He was going to burn in hell.
Santi pulled back quickly, disentangling himself from Javier so quickly that both men nearly fell. He turned, not giving the older man a second look, and ran out of the alley into the crowded street.
He didn’t even hear Javier call his name.
*
“Are you okay, baby?” You asked, your naked body covering Santiago while giving him tender kisses, scooting yourself up and down his cock. You loved to tease him, get him whimpering and watch as all those troublesome thoughts left his pretty little head. He was too pretty to be so worried all the time.
He’d been stressed on and off about Javi, occasionally bringing it up, but you think he stopped when he realized it upset you. You were really good at pretending to care when old professors droned on and on about academic works or when men talked about themselves or complained about their wives and mothers again and again and again. You could’ve faked not being upset when Santi, but you didn’t fake anything with him. Javi’s absence hurt your feelings. You were worried about him, and you were angry at him for abandoning you and hurting Santi. For continuing to hurt his feelings. Bitch.
But honestly… you just miss him. A lot. It would take more than a poster to patch this, he’d have to make things right with Santi too, but you’d forgive him. You just wanted him back, and you wanted Santi happy again. He was already thin enough, and as your body slid up and down the sweaty length of him, you could feel he’d lost weight.
Santi moaned loudly, gripping onto your hips as you bounced on his length, his eyes rolling back in his head as your heat engulfs him over and over. Pulling him deeper and deeper.
The fat tip of his cock presses deliriously, perfectly rubbing over your walls with every slick slide. Stretching you so wonderfully like he was made for you. He was, he really, really was. Something was bothering him today, and he was finding solace in you. You were happy to give it to him. Pushing all other thoughts out of your head.
He whines, babbling nonsensically with his eyes closed, “please, please, please,” He rocks up against you, letting his body override his brain as you fuck him into the mattress. “Please, gonna come, please, need you so much,” he gasps, almost sobbing from pleasure.
You stroke his cheek and pick up your pace, even if he hasn’t said you could tell how close he was. The way his stomach muscles tense, how his eyes are screwed shut and head thrown back into the pillow, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you can come, give it all to me.”
He shakes his head rapidly, “no, please,” he moans, “need you, need mommy to come, please.”
His whines change in pitch, the little sounds getting higher and higher as he reaches the point of no return. His mouth hangs open, his skin flushed and sweaty, and heat floods to your core.
You brace yourself with your left hand on his leg behind you as you ride him, leaning back ever so slightly to change the angle just enough that he continuously hits perfectly inside, stretching you to your limit.
Santi sobs, the position change sending a buzz up his spine, pressing on the thick length of his cock to a surprisingly maddening degree. His whole body pulsed, stealing the air from his lungs.
He bucks up once, his eyes fluttering open in surprise as he comes, his length pulsating. He empties himself deep inside you, his orgasm stretching onwards and overtaking every possible thought.
You smile as you watch him, happy to see him so blissed out. You ride him throughout his high, trying to prolong his sensations as long as possible. He deserved it.
He sighs, shivering with aftershocks as he comes back to himself and looks up at you. You open your mouth to speak, the words on the tip of your tongue.
Santi grabs you by the hips, urging you up and off him and pulling your aching pussy onto his face. He lets out a small groan at the mess he made, his cum leaking out of your folds before he runs the tip of his tongue through them.
You bite back a moan, grabbing onto his hair for stability as his mustache brushes against your clit.
His mouth feels like heaven as he lick and swirls around your clit, his movements soft but certain, quickly pushing you towards your peak.
Instinctively you buck your hips, grinding down on his mouth to chase your high. He rocks you against him, urging you tp move and fuck his eager tongue.
“Santi…” you whine as you come hard against him, pulling fiercely on his hair.
He continues licking, moaning against you as he drinks down every drop of your release.
You breathe heavily, boneless for a moment before slowly moving away to lay down next to him.
He pouts a little as you settle. “I wasn’t finished.” He smiles cheekily, your cum shining all over the bottom half of his face,
You giggle, and gently swat his arm and cuddle up next to him. Santi didn’t need instruction, scooting his back to your chest. In your arms, where he belonged. You loved being like this with him, but somehow it always felt like something was missing. You loved when Javi used to hold you, protecting you with a strong arm around your body, but again, you felt like something was missing, in your arms this time instead of around you.
You kiss the scar on his spine. “Good boy, Santito.”
It happened so fast. Santi teanses and you barely have a second to register how he turns to you, his eyes widen in panic, his skin turning ashen before he’s up, out of bed and pulling on his clothes so fast that it shouldn’t have been possible. What the fuck? Did you do something wrong?
“Santi?” you start, trying to keep your voice soft but unable to hide the fear that has overcome your words.Why is he leaving? What did you do wrong? Did you mess up things with Santi too, the one good thing left? You barely sit up before he’s shoving a handful of dollars at you, practically just throwing them in your direction and the bed.
“Here.” His voice is quiet, distant. Like he’s not really there. A stark comparison to his panicked, edgy movements. He doesn’t even bother tying his shoes, simply shoving his feet inside them and stumbling towards the door.
“Wait, Sant-”
He slams the door on his way out.
Leaving your bed cold, and you alone.
It was supposed to be sex, talking. Build a nice repour. That was it. You were good at it too, making old ugly men think you were infatuated, but yourself detached from even the most charming and attractive. Something happened with Javi and Santi, a line that became blurred, friendship and genuine attraction and care. Now they were gone.
You hate yourself for how hard you cry.
***************
thank you so much to everyone whose stuck around while i sort my SHIT OUT (its never ending)
If you like me writing javi, i wrote a drable today too, and if you wanna see a totally insane version of santi, come to rooms on fire!
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 || 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐈̇𝐂𝐒
** banner by the amazing @pedrorascal thank you so much bby for taking the time to make this for me 🧡🧡🧡
series summary: Still struggling to come to terms with his father's recent passing, burdened by the weight of the business he left behind, Javi feels adrift. Meanwhile, years later, an unexpected twist of fate brings you back into Javi's life again—the daughter of his favorite housekeeper. Uncertain about your future and what to do with it, you find yourself at a crossroads, while Javi wrestles with the irresistible pull he feels towards you.
pairing: javi gutierrez x ofc!mia pradera (written in second person, no body descriptions)
word count: 6.1k
chapter summary: Javi wasn't expecting your return after years, he also wasn't expecting to see you naked through his bedroom window.
warnings: javi secretly peeping into your room through the window, male masturbation, thoughts of oral, age gap, javi showing signs of depression, grief, brief mention of drug use
a/n: welcome to the new and improved first chapter of the series! I've been reworking this for a week now and decided to repost it. There's a lot that has been changed and added so I highly recommend reading this one before going forward. The second chapter will be coming soon (and I mean it this time lmaodfvd) I'll be making the other version of the first chapter private and I'm hoping you guys will enjoy this version as well 💜💜💜
Special thank you to @emilianamason who beta'd this for me and also helped me out with the Spanish bits, I'm truly grateful so thank you once again 💕
***dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
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The sky is a matte gray. It reminds Javi of the sea when there’s a storm raging underneath, the sand lifting from the bottom and giving the beautiful blue a more mud-like color. He sees crunchy leaves and smells cinnamon. It’s fall alright. He always finds this time of year a bit somber but in a romantic way. He’s holding a cup of espresso, the dark liquid still steaming. The pool has been drained for cleaning.
He can hear clatter coming from inside the house, mattresses are being flipped, apple pies are being baked. He’s the only man that lives here, yet everyone who works here spoils him, even if they don’t need to. No one really says anything but Javi can see it, the way they walk on eggshells around him, the conversations that fade into hushed whispers that carry the same lilt of his name.
Everyone treats him as a child. Not that he can blame them. Javi gave them little reason to behave otherwise. He did drugs, knew how to shoot a gun, and was the son of one of the most powerful men but still. . . he was a child in the sense that he knew little of the world. He wasn’t like Lucas who was more than eager to get his hands dirty.
A gentle child, that was what his father called him when he was young. He always uttered the words gently. Yet, hidden within his gentle expression but in his eyes, Javi could see the disappointment. He wanted a partner. Someone who did more than looking over the olive oil and wine business, it didn’t matter if Javi was good at it, his father wanted more of him.
In the end, he doesn’t mind the pampering—he’s grieving, isn’t he? He deserves it. He had no one else to take care of him, and the staff had been with him for years. He feels closer to them than Lucas. When his cousin mentioned taking over, Javi didn’t care. Not in the slightest. They were close enough that Javi didn’t have to worry about being killed or thrown out.
Besides, Javi enjoyed the finer things in life, which is why he didn’t mind overlooking the “front” of the job. He made sure that everything ran smoothly and Lucas seemed impressed by the growth of the business. Javi hated to admit it, but he did enjoy seeing that faint shimmer in his cousin’s eyes. The look that said; Oh, he’s not completely useless after all.
Besides, Javi enjoys sampling the wine. He adores the sourness that hits his tongue with every swallow.
“¿Discúlpeme señor?”
He takes a sip of his coffee.
“¿Si, señorita Pradera?”
Javi turns to look at her, a little smile playing on his lips. Lucía is one of his favorite employees and one of the ones that can read him like an open book. She’s a natural mother, a caretaker. Whenever he’s down on himself, she never once hesitated to pick him back up. It didn’t matter if he was shaking from going overboard on LSD or if he was crying during Paddington 2, she was there. It was nice to be taken care of. Something he couldn’t receive from his own family— maybe once or twice from his father. Javi didn’t know who his mother was, there was a lot of speculation about that.
Lucía just makes him happy. Talking to her feels like something light. He doesn’t need to overthink it, and if he says something wrong, he could always come and apologize. She never held a grudge. But despite how cheerful she seems, in her eyes, Javi can see the soft waves of sadness. Sometimes he saw the same waves in his own eyes, telling him that he was disappointing someone somewhere, that he’s done too many mistakes to turn back from.
She seems to be genuinely happy this time, her cheeks slightly flushed, forehead and cheeks glistening with a sheer coat of sweat.
“Do you remember, Mia?” she asks. “Mi hija.”
That’s right, Lucía had a daughter. Javi remembers you running around before you left to live with your father in the States. She often mentioned your name and sometimes she left to visit her but Mia never came. He isn’t sure if it was the father who didn’t let her or if Mia herself didn’t want to come, but regardless, Lucía was hurt by being away from her daughter for so long.
"I wanted to ask if my daughter could come para una visita. She's done with university y necesita un lugar to relax, figure things out."
He takes another sip of his coffee, it’s finished now. A leaf slowly spins down from above, the sunlight gently filtering through its translucent veins. It lands gently in the empty pool.
“¡Pero claro que si!” he says, and smiles. “When is she coming?”
“Next week.”
Javi was sitting on the terrace when you arrived.
He has a small plate of olive oil with thyme placed in front of him. Tearing a slice of bread into two, he dips a piece into the aromatic blend and brings it to his mouth. Javi only bites the part drenched in olive oil, he savors the taste, the sharp taste of dried thyme hitting his tongue. Shortly after, he goes for a second dip.
When he’s done chewing, you’re already at the top of the stairs.
You have no luggage, only a large backpack that slightly pulls your body back. Javi recognizes your face, the soft features he’s grown accustomed to when you were trailing behind your mother, asking to watch a movie on the big screen. You look more mature now, the corners of your face sharper yet still carry that roundness.
You’re staring at him as if he’s a long-lost sibling, your smile bright and wide. The expression is contagious, making him smile wide as well. Your gaze reminds him of a look he’s only seen in movies, the close-ups that sole purpose is to show the fondness in a person’s eyes. He’s not sure what he feels about that fond look in your eyes. Your gaze is incredibly soft and affectionate for a person who has been in the air for god knows how long—which is why he’s usually flying people in instead of the other way around.
You can see right through him, he thinks, nerves crackling with an uncomfortable feeling. It makes him conscious about how broken he truly is, his mask hardening the longer you smile.
“Javi!” you exclaim, arms opening wide. Not knowing what else to do Javi mimics you and wraps his arms around you. You giggle into his chest, your breath warm on his chest. “¡Te he extrañado!”
He missed you too.
Javi's ear catches the trace of an accent in your Spanish.
You smell of cheap coffee, chocolate, and the airport—and also a little bit of sweat, which is normal after such a long flight. Javi squeezes you once and feels you melting against him, you really must be tired to become so plaint under his touch. Swiftly, he releases his grip, yet your palms find solace on his shoulders, causing him to awkwardly flex his knees in order to accommodate the lingering touch. He wasn’t aware of how close you were standing. Your breath mingling with his own as your eyes dance along his face, taking in every worn-out detail.
You suddenly pull your hands back, a bashful chuckle slipping past your lips.
“Sorry about that— I’m feeling a bit jet-lagged.” you rock back and forth on your heels, anxious energy overwhelming your nerves. “How have you been?”
Javi stands still, eyes slightly wide, not knowing how to answer such a question. Physically, he feels good. Mentally, also good but he isn’t sure. He’s fine during the day, his routine occupying his mind enough so that he doesn’t register the loss. His father wasn’t around that much anyway. But when night fell and he laid his head against his overly fluffed pillow. . . that’s when he remembered. His chest ached, his eyes stung. He didn’t know how to deal with it so he remained silent, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Sometimes he even gets angry trying to muster up an answer.
He can never get angry with you though, besides you had no idea of knowing. His tongue nervously swipes over his bottom lip and his teeth dig into the inside of his cheek. He’s about to answer, say he’s fine, but you beat him to it.
“God, I’m being such an ass. Of course, you’re not okay,” you murmur more to yourself than him. He still hears you though and your words catch him by surprise. You softly hit yourself in the head, which makes worry roll down his spine. “I’m really sorry about your father, Javi. My mom told me. That must’ve been hard for you.”
Has it been hard for him?
Honestly, he’s not sure. His death, his funeral… it all passed by in such a blur. He remembers his father dying slowly, in an expensive hospital bed with flowers by his side. Javi doesn’t quite remember the rest. He doesn’t remember the funeral, the moment he was gently laid into the earth, never to be seen again.
He does remember feeling Gabriella’s hand on his shoulder. He also remembers Lucas standing close to him, his eyes watching the casket go down.
“I am okay,” he takes the hand that you’d hit yourself with, thumb slowly moving over the soft planes of your hand. He smiles when you let out a sigh of relief and turns his eyes to the empty chairs. “And thank you. I have been doing better. Why don’t you take a seat, you must be tired. I will call your mother for you.”
He watches as you take a seat and after a brief phone call to Lucía, Javi sits down as well. He asks what you’ve been up to, about your life in America after you’d moved away from your mother. Briefly, Javi sees a hint of hesitation and regret pooling in your eyes. He doesn’t know much about why you left, he only remembers that you were young back then, just a kid basically.
Javi manages to ease your thoughts by slowly sliding the basket full of bread and the small plate of olive oil toward your way, saying that you should eat. Only after the first bite you being to speak freely, telling him how hard university has been and that the competition was rough and had drained you out, making you feel like a shell of a person.
“You’re not a shell,” he answers, brows drawn together. You smile between bites of oil-soaked breath, shooting him an appreciative smile.
“You’re still the nicest man I know,” you say. Javi’s not sure how you could’ve drawn that connection, he doesn’t remember doing anything to gather such an observation but takes the compliment anyway. “I had a troublesome professor. He really did a number on me mentally, I like my field but I really want to do something else with my life.”
“And what is that?” he dips the leftover bread into the last pools of olive oil. “What do you want to do?”
"I yearn to weave tales," you express with a melodic lilt as if addressing an audience, then you laugh. Javi feels like he’s watching his favorite painting come to life, raw and vivid. “Sorry, that sounded snobby of me didn’t it?” your tongue pokes through your cheek. “I want to write a book, create screenplays, and even directing—I want to do it all. That's why I'm so happy mom called me here. It's such a beautiful place to think about big things like that, you know? And well. . . "
You trail off and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “You’re here too, which is nice. You still like watching movies?”
“Of course,” he answers, feeling the tip of his ears growing warm. “You know that I take my movie-watching very seriously.”
You’re grinning now, “I do. I think you might be the one who introduced me to the media actually. We watched movies at home but here. . . ” you sigh, eyes taking in the scenery. “Here it felt magical. And I loved the endless movie facts you seemed to have stored up in that brain of yours.”
“You flatter me,” despite himself, he’s smiling from ear to ear. “It’s nice that you want to direct.”
“That’s only one of the things I want to do,” you say, stuffing your mouth with the last bit of bread. “But yeah. I know it’s a competitive field, some parts of it are downright evil, but it just calls to me. Imagine someone watching your story, isn’t that exciting?”
Javi's mouth momentarily opens, then promptly shuts. Yes, it is exciting.
Suddenly your brows furrow, your gaze meeting his as you swallow, “Didn’t you want to write a script as well? I remember you being really into Nicolas Cage.”
His lips part again but the words die on his tongue. He’s surprised that you remember so much about him. In all honesty, Javi does remember the movie nights he had with you before you left—But it definitely wasn’t anything inspirational. During the many boring, work-related dinners, he would find you crouched behind the wall listening, watching your mother, clearly bored out of your mind. He asked if you wanted to watch a movie one night, and you said yes. After that, it became a habit. You would come to him, tugging his sleeve and asking to go to the cinema room. He happily indulged, of course.
Javi doesn’t remember the first movie he played for you, but he does remember the second one; Raising Arizona.
Thankfully, your mother's animated voice swiftly dispels the silence that was dancing on the line of turning awkward.
“Mia!” Lucía's attempt to reach her daughter almost resulted in a tumble down the stairs. She catches herself midstep. “¡Estás aquí! How was your flight?”
“¡Mamá!”
Javi watches them hug, an uncomfortable yearning stirring in his gut. In a tearful embrace, Lucía holds you close, squeezing her daughter tight.
Javi wanted to talk more about films, ask about your favorite actors, he wanted to hear your stories. He seems to be invisible to them now, not that he blames them. Just in case one of them catches his wistful look, he forces a smile.
They climb up the stairs, mother and daughter. Javi catches fragments of Lucía's voice, softly describing the breathtaking view from your room. A feeling he can’t place tugs gently at his heart and whatever it was, he keeps it hidden beneath his quivering smile.
Javi stares at the now empty basket and plate. He sees only crumbs. The chair you were sitting in is pushed back, misplaced, forgotten. He picks up the plate and basket, slides the chair back into place, and heads up the stairs, making his way to the kitchen.
Javi is laying on the bed, the sheets cozy and warm. A book rests delicately between his broad palms but his mind is elsewhere, the words only mere shapes inked on paper.
He’s thinking of you. How full of life you are, how you still have ambitions– Your life full of undiscovered paths, he envies it. He envies the hope, the excitement, the illusion of choice. He’s happy for you, of course, but he can’t help the wistful beating of his heart. He had responsibilities since the day he was born. Javi is aware that he’s a privileged man. He’s not going to pity himself in thinking that he isn’t. He got what he wanted, but he also heard an earful about how he was wasting his life on silly things. That he should focus.
Focus on what? He always wanted to ask. He didn’t see why he couldn’t indulge in his hobbies and the business that was forced upon him. In the end, his father’s greatest fear came true, Javi has no interest in taking over. The family patriarch never said anything but it was clear to Javi that his father was disappointed.
A soft, gentle light catches his attention. It pours through the expansive, elegant windows adorned with ornate square bars reminiscent of wrought iron. Closing his book, Javi assumes a sitting position, his socked feet firmly planted on the cool floor. His interest is piqued. Normally, no one stays in the building across from him. It was usually reserved for family visits.
What happens next is an accident.
Or perhaps it is a blessing disguised as an accident. He’s undecided.
Javi sees you, towel loosely wrapped around your figure, hair still dripping wet. His mouth goes dry, eyes wide as he stares, unable to tear away his darkened gaze. Compared to when he first saw you today, your walk is slow, languid. You stand at the side of the bed and clumsily free yourself of the tight clutch of the fluffy towel. Dipping your head, you cradle the back of it with the towel and fold it in front, only to throw your entire head back, leaving you bare for all to see.
His cheeks become a shade darker, fingers uncontrollably twitching against his thigh. The muscle at the base of his stomach tightens, radiating warmth.
Did you know? Were you aware that he could see you? No, of course not. There’s no fathomable reason as to why you would want him to lay his eyes on you. Javi holds his breath. He should say something, should he not?
Briefly, you disappear from his eye line only to reappear a short moment later with two bottles of —what he assumes— lotion in your hands. His cock hardens as you slather your body with lotion. He swears he can smell it. A delicate scent that carries notes of daffodil and vanilla. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Warm honey drips down his spine, forcing goosebumps to appear over his skin. He hates that he’s still watching.
He knows what he'll see if he was brave enough to look down; the telltale bulge of arousal within the front of his sweatpants. He can feel it twitching angrily, tempting him to reach down and take it in his hand and give in to the pleasure that would undoubtedly come with it.
Why the fuck is he still watching?
You start applying the lotion from your legs, going all the way up to your thighs. You massage it sensually into your skin, fingers spread wide as you lean down and pull yourself back up. Javi’s stomach churns, his own hand sneaking under the waistband of his sweats. He wraps his fingers around his thick cock, thinking how fortunate it was that he skipped wearing boxers before bed.
His shirt sticks to his skin. His chest heaving as he begins to stroke himself, the pressure of his hand makews his eyes roll back. His thumb swipes at the slit, spreading the precum all over the length of his cock. A groan echoes from the back of his throat. His hand is moving with ease now, tenderly gliding up and down his hard cock.
His teeth clenched tightly together, Javi’s eyes flicker back to the window. Your hands slide up your stomach and over your breasts, they bounce perfectly as gravity tugs them back down. You spread the lotion over your chest and neck. His hand moves faster. He slightly hunches forward, hips jerking as if he’s actually fucking himself into you.
His mouth opens in a silent moan as his fingers grip the base of his shaft. The sensation builds until his spine is aching for release. His hips buck against his hand and his thighs clench as the pleasure courses through his veins.
Javi imagines the soft moans he'd hear coming from his mouth, your lips wrapping tightly around the tip of his cock. His body tenses at the fictitious swirl of your tongue, tantalizing flexing with each stroke that takes him closer to the edge. With each thrust of his hips your body would grind against his leg, he’d feel you quiver. He thinks of the slickness of your saliva sliding down his length as you suck him dry. You’d squeeze his hips with both of your hands. . . it feels like electricity shooting through him. He wants to feel you against him, feel the heat of your skin, and kiss you senseless.
He cums hard while you’re getting dressed, his jaw lax as he thrusts fervently into his fist. His sweatpants cling to him like a second skin. He can feel the sticky mess inside as it pools in the fabric, disgusted by the warmth of his own body as it wraps around him. There’s a short second where the urge to throw up consumes him, he thinks about running to the toilet, emptying everything out to trick himself to believe that it never happened.
But it did.
The lights of your room fade away, only the moon left to kiss away Javi’s concern. His legs tremble and ache as he gets up. Pleasure still licks at his body, making him want more. His soft cock is uncomfortable trapped under his sweatpants, throbbing and aching despite the events that just transpired.
Javi grabs a new pair, this one thinner than the other and heads to the bathroom.
Javi jolts awake to the sound of a loud knock. Groggily, he rises from his bed, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes with a loose fist. Another knock follows, causing a small, annoyed growl to escape his chest. He reluctantly opens the door, his eyes half-lidded, only to find a familiar face on the other side that leaves him momentarily dumbfounded.
Memories of the previous night flash through his mind, and suddenly he becomes acutely aware of his morning arousal, discreetly straining against the front of his sweatpants.
“Mia?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing here?”
He notices the set of clean towels in your hands, but his attention is captivated by the way your eyes sweep over his body, your lips forming a mischievous smile. Confusion tugs at his thoughts while a gentle, chilling breeze infiltrates his room, leaving his abdomen colder than usual.
Oh.
OH.
He doesn’t have his shirt on—shit.
“Looking good Señor Gutierrez,” you tease, eyes going over his body one more time. “Mom told me I should help around, so I brought you your clean towels.”
“Ah,” he says stupidly. “Gracias, querida. I hope she is not working you too hard.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” you shrug. “Besides, I’m staying here rent-free. I might as well do a bit of work.”
He takes the towels, his hands feeling oddly disconnected, as if they belong to someone else. You flash him a final smile before pivoting on your heel. Javi watches with undeniable hunger as you confidently strutted away, his eyes admiring the way your hips sway as you saunter off. He feels the familiar stirring in his body, his cock demanding attention that he can’t give in the middle of the hallway. He continues to gaze until you vanish into one of the many corridors.
His throat feels unbelievably tight as he closes the door and heads to the bathroom. Javi feels a flock of birds pecking at his brain, reminding him of Prometheus. He doesn’t know what he should be feeling. The only thing he does know is that he shouldn’t be thinking of you in such a way.
Javi stares at his reflection in the mirror. The whites of his eyes are stained red, the bags underneath prominent and dark. It looks as if he hasn’t slept in years.
A deep sigh escapes his lips as he undresses. He won’t be seeing you like that again anyway, there’s no point in dwelling over something that only happened once.
Javi had underestimated how frequently he would be seeing you around. Your gaze is constant. He knows you’re watching him without actually having to look; his skin tightens, the back of his head starting to tingle. You’re mostly doing chores and don’t stop to chat with him, which he’s grateful for. But still, from your gaze, he senses that unlike him, you do want to talk.
The guilt is eating him from the inside out. Your naked form is engraved into the back of his lids, whenever he closes his eyes, he sees you. The sting of his eyes is constant, aching for moisture. He can’t fight against it and blinks, and as soon as he does, his cock grows hard.
Lucía would be furious with him if she knew—she’d be absolutely disgusted.
He worries that you might’ve seen him last night. Maybe that’s why you wanted to stop and talk with him. Fortunately, the mansion is spacious enough to provide him with hiding spots, allowing him to retreat when needed.
With each passing hour of the day, his uncertainty and guilt fester within him like poison.
He hurries to his bedroom as soon as dinner is over. Normally, he would have a glass of wine, engage in conversation with the staff, and unwind. However, not today, not with you present. . . observing him. . . talking to him.
He just can’t.
Javi ignores confused glances directed at him and excuses himself. The looks linger as he walks away, though there’s a probable chance that he might be imagining it. He’s convinced that you and your mother are both counting his every step. He doesn’t turn to check.
When he closes the door to his bedroom, back pressed snug against the wood, his breathing becomes strained, lungs rattling with every struggling gasp of air. His pupils blown, his gaze immediately flickers to your bedroom window. Much to his relief, and disappointment, the lights are off.
Javi settles onto the bed, the watch on his bedside table ticking away, drawing closer to the time he had seen you naked yesterday. He finds himself waiting until the hands of the clock reach the exact same moment. The lights are still off. Another minute goes by.
Then, finally, a beam of light that comes from a far pours through his windows, shadows stretching across the floor. He can breathe again.
Standing in the middle of the room, you stretch, your arms seemingly reaching for the sun. Javi’s gaze follows your every move. He watches as you scroll on your phone for about five minutes on the bed. He watches as you disappear, leaving him to stare into an empty room. He watches as he swears he can hear the music that you’re blasting from your phone.
He watches and waits until he can see you again. Just like the day before. Bare. Soft.
His mouth waters, cock already throbbing with need.
Javi’s not sure how long he waits. It could’ve been an hour or a minute, but whatever time had passed, you appear once again, the same towel wrapped around your body.
His mouth dry, he swallows hard. Javi's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drift over your curves. Unbidden, his hand moves eagerly to his crotch, eyes fixated on you as he palms himself. His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips as you shift onto your stomach. Your towel slides up, revealing the perfect mounds of your ass, and he gulps, his fingertips trembling as he hastily unzips himself. A moan escapes him as he admires the lobes of your ass peeking from beneath the towel.
Precum already oozes from the tip, and Javi eagerly wraps his fingers around his hardening cock. His strokes are slick and smooth, his breaths coming faster.
Javi hears the rush of blood pounding in his ears as his breathing grows even more jagged with every passionate thrust of his hips. You lift your legs, spreading them apart and crossing them from side to side while watching a video from your phone, completely unaware. His hungry gaze is met with the entire expanse of your body exposed only to him as small water droplets still cling to your skin, cascading down your legs and wetting the area between them. The sinful image of your pretty pussy becoming wet and glistening spurs him on, he imagines how wet you’d be, only for him.
He pushes his hips harder against his fist, the need to feel connected to you driving him forward. His pounding heart is accompanied by an unquenchable craving to touch and explore every inch of your body.
Javi’s grip tightens and tremors start to run through his body. His head drops back as his movements quicken, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. With a deep moan, his muscles coil tight as the pleasure cascades through him, a warm rush flooding every inch of him. He shudders joyfully and with a final thrust, he coats his fist in his own release.
His face is contorted in a blissful expression, his eyes closed in reverence. Drops of sweat slowly trickle down his toned body, drawing paths through the smattering of light brown hair that adorns his tanned skin. His lips are slightly parted as he drinks in the pleasure, a low moan coursing through his lips.
With half-lidded eyes, Javi’s gaze drops down to his spent cock. He made a mess of himself and the floor underneath, the pearly droplets glistening in the soft light.
He’s going to have to clean that.
The guilt comes rushing through. He’s disgusted by himself, the feeling tasting of bile that is thick on his tongue. It felt good at the given moment but now that his head is clearing, what he did just makes him feel sick. He’s quick to wipe the floor with one of his shirts, then tosses it into the laundry basket for cleaning.
Javi gives you one last glance before leaving the room, you’re still on your phone, completely oblivious to him.
He decides to stay in one of the guestrooms that night, but it doesn’t stop with one.
Javi stays there the next night, and the next—
And the one after that.
“Are you ignoring me?”
“What— No, why would you think that?”
Javi was lying, of course. He’d been avoiding you like the plague, turning the other way whenever he saw you approaching him. It's been about a week since he changed rooms. He didn’t tell anyone about it, the house was big enough for him to occupy another room without anyone knowing.
However, he hadn’t expected you to actively seek him out, which he now realized was stupid of him. He just wanted to do a bit of skeet shooting, a means to vent his frustrations. The morning was chilly and it made goosebumps rise across his skin. He enjoyed the feeling, which was why he skipped wearing a jacket.
You, on the other hand, were covered from head to toe.
“I don’t know,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself. A faint cloud dances from your lips. “Maybe it’s just me being paranoid. You really don’t mind me being here, right?”
Javi gently leans the gun against the sturdy stone rail. His heart clenches at your question, he never wanted you to feel guilty, or for you to feel unwanted. He slowly shakes his head, his gaze rising up to meet yours.
“Por supuesto que no,” he responds, his voice quivering, the biting air seeming to grip his vocal cords as he struggles to express himself. Of course, he doesn’t mind. “You are free to stay here as long as you wish. I just…I have been—”
He chokes up, mouth gaping, his gaze still fixed on yours. You're the first to look away, shifting your eyes elsewhere, and instinctively, you hug yourself tighter, trying to ward off the chill in the air. A nervous laugh escapes your lips.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, at least, not if you don’t want to. I’m always happy to listen. I just wanted to be sure if I was overstaying my welcome or not.”
“It’s okay. As I said, you are free to stay.”
You smile at him then, asking him whether or not he'll be joining you for breakfast, he says that he’ll come after taking a couple more shots. You eye the rifle, eyebrow raised in a peculiar way. You state that it’s too cold and head inside. Javi stares as you leave, he decides not to shoot anything, instead, he follows you to the dining room.
Javi moves back into his room that night.
You had excused yourself early claiming that you felt dirty and needed a shower. Javi couldn’t help it. He waits, like always does. A week of not seeing you made him grow hungry, his body was left in a constant state of wanting. He needed to see you, he needed to cum while witnessing your naked body.
This time he has no shame in ridding himself of his pants, wrapping a hand around himself, he lazily strokes himself. He still remembers every curve and crevice of your body, it haunts him day and night, decorating his dreams and nightmares alike. Javi’s eyes travel along the windowsill of your room, the lights are still off, much to his surprise.
He’s startled as the door slams open, a triumphant “I knew it!” ringing out.
With panic, Javi attempts to pull up his pants but the stubborn fabric sticks to his legs instead, making him stumble forward and almost falls off the bed. Luckily, he manages to catch himself at the very last second, planting himself firmly on the mattress. He hears the door close, more silently compared to how it was opened, he finds himself staring at your shoes. He gulps.
“Why are you here?” he asks, voice horrified. “How long have you known?”
“Not that long,” you answer. He still refuses to meet your gaze. “I had my suspicions when you started to avoid me, then I noticed you switched rooms. One night I waited in my room to see if you were watching or not.”
Tears sting the corner of his eyes, he’s pathetic. Then, like a soothing oceanic breeze, he feels your finger curling underneath his chin, forcing his downcast gaze up. His cheeks flush at the soft touch. He expects you to laugh at him, but he finds a gaze of sympathy instead. You pull down his bottom lip and every bit of oxygen leaves his lungs.
“Lo siento, Mia,” he whispers.
“Está bien, I don’t care. I. . . I have an idea, actually.”
Wide-eyed, he looks at you with concern. Your thumb still lingers on his lip, he enjoys it there, he enjoys the comfort you provide despite his mind screaming at him how disgusting and pitiful he is.
“And what might that be?”
“We can. . . help each other out,” you answer, flustered, your breathing short. “If you want to, that is. I had a stressful year. . . I wouldn’t mind having some fun.”
His brows furrow, “I do not understand.”
Another lie. He did. He just couldn’t believe it to be true.
“I think you do, Señor Gutierrez,” you tease. His heart skips a beat at the playful lilt of your voice, his mind is racing. You squeeze his bottom lip gently and his breath hitches.
“I’m not—” he licks his lips, the tip of it touching the pad of your thumb. “I am not that experienced.”
This time his whole body burns. He had lovers in the past, of course, but not many. None of those relationships lasted long either, how could it with the family that he had? He wasn’t even sure what he liked or disliked, and after a while, he just stopped trying to form a meaningful connection with anyone. He closed up, not really knowing what else to do with the cards he was dealt with.
Your answer takes him by surprise.
“That’s okay. We can learn new things about each other, together.”
His heart flutters at the softness of your voice, the kindness of your smile. He parts his lips to speak, to tell you how grateful he is, but before he can, you drop to your knees, a sly smile stretching across your face.
“Do you want my help?” you ask, your fingers spread across his thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you give him a gentle, yet firm, squeeze. “Tell me what you want, Javi.”
“I would— I would love to feel your lips on my cock, princesa.”
“Princesa?” you repeat, amused. “I like the sound of that.”
He finds heaven between your lips.
#javi gutierrez x f!reader#javi gutierrez x reader#javi gutierrez x oc#javi gutierrez x ofc#javi gutierrez x you#javi gutierrez x fem!reader#javi gutierrez x mia pradera#the unbearable weight of massive talent#tuwomt fanfiction#tuwomt fanfic#tuwomt#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal characters
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Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)
masterlist | chapter fifteen | chapter fourteen | read on ao3 | playlist
story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.
word count: 6047
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Chapter Sixteen
A heat radiating across your cheek draws you from your drunken sleep. Your eyelids are heavy as they slowly flutter open. Immediately, you are blinded by a bright light. Instinctively, you bring your hands up to cover your eyes, slowly spreading your fingers to acclimate your vision.
A sunbeam sneaks through an uncovered corner of the boarded-up window, spreading a thin streak of warm light across the darkened room. The corner of the cardboard used to board the window began curling in on itself most likely from the melting snow leaking through the poorly sealed edges.
Your head feels fuzzy, a tingling sensation quickly forms at the base of your neck as you swing your legs over the side of the couch, propping yourself upright. As the fuzziness intensifies and your head begins to spin, a small painful groan escapes from your throat and you slump back against the cushions of the couch, pressing the heels of your palms firmly against the sockets of your eyes. The pressure seems to soothe the ache a bit, offering you some sense of relief.
Steadily sucking in some of the stuffy air, you take a few deep breaths, desperate to gain a sense of clarity before having to go on patrol. You desperately hoped the influx of oxygen would solve the painful state of your hangover.
A soft snore causes you to drop your arms and open your eyes. Joel is sprawled out on the couch in front of you. One leg is bent, his foot firmly pressed against the concrete floor; the other leg is straight, his ankle propped up by the cushioned armrest and his ankle dangling just past the edge. He has one hand resting just below his ribcage, his shirt had become twisted against his torso at some point during the night, exposing a sliver of skin just above his pantline. You continue to let your eyes wander, your lips parting slightly as your mouth becomes dry.
Another soft snore comes from him, drawing your attention away from his lower section, and you slightly smile to yourself, now watching his silhouette as a whole; specifically the smooth rise and fall of his broad chest.
You let out a groan as you push yourself off the couch, tugging on the light pull of one of the lamps. You didn’t want to wake Joel–not yet. However, you wanted enough light to move around freely.
As the room illuminated, you looked toward Joel, partially afraid the much brighter light than anticipated would wake him. He remained still, another snore filling the silent room.
Running your hands along your face, you lightly slap your cheeks in a desperate attempt to wake yourself fully. You take in the now lit-up room before you as you turn slowly on your heel. Empty bottles of liquor lay on their sides, both on the coffee table and the floor. The records had been spread across the floor in front of the player that remained on. You slightly cringed at the fact, wondering how much power it must have drained from the generator.
Between the empty bottles and records, the events of last night flooded your memory. Joel holding you against his body, the steady sway of the two of you becoming one, the low vibration from his humming in your ear, his breath moist and wet against your neck.
A small shiver crawled down your spine the more you thought of it.
The rest of the night was a blur, honestly. The two of you drank…endlessly, apparently. And you talked–about what? You can’t remember. You don’t exactly recall when you laid down, if it was you or Joel who called it night, or how late you stayed up. And although patrol would surely be a bitch to do with your hangover, you weren’t entirely sure if you regretted any of it–the drinking, the dancing, the talking.
You let out a drawn-out exhale, bringing you back to the present moment. Staring for a moment longer, you decide to tidy the place up. It’s not a crime that you and Joel were there–the forgotten building wasn’t owned by anyone–but it’d be the best if no one suspected you were there with him, alone.
Starting with the bottles, you gather them up one by one; to hold them all, you end up having to use both of your arms, clutching them tightly against your midsection to keep them from clinking together and dropping. The hard part came when it was time to dispose of them in the bin. It was already half full with dozens of other glass bottles. Thankfully, you managed to keep the noise to a minimum.
Then you turned your attention to the records, stacking them how you remember James did at one point. The lone vinyl still on the player was returned to its respective sleeve, and the player was switched off.
For the most part, it looked as if the building remained untouched. In a few hours, the heavy scent of alcohol was sure to air out and then no one would know anyone had been there.
Turning away from the table that held the record player, now facing the entrance of the building, your eyes glaze up past the clock. Your heart drops as you process the hand positions and you look at it again. The clock reads half past eight, your stomach now twisting in a tight knot.
You and Joel were late for patrol.
“Shit,” you spit the profanity through your teeth, rushing to your boots that sat neatly at the side of the couch. “Joel… Joel,” You peer up at him through your brows as you frantically lace your boots. The flimsy laces kept getting tangled with your fingers, and the fact Joel had not moved a single muscle, despite you yelling his name furthered your frustration.
Before your mind could process it, your actions becoming a blur in your state of mind, you were by his side, your hand slightly hesitating before gently shaking him. He let out a groggy moan which resulted in you shaking him a bit more aggressively. This time, his eyelids fluttered a few times before opening and narrowing at you in annoyance.
He incoherently grumbled something, bringing his hand up to his eyes and covering them. You glanced once more at the clock, turning on your heel toward the door.
“We’re late. Time to get up.” Your tone is sarcastically sweet as you grab his jacket from the coat rack and toss it toward him. It lands just short of the couch and Joel grabs it midair before it can fall to the ground.
“What?” Joel asked in a low and heavy tone, his face twisting in confusion.
Zipping up your jacket, you put one of your hands on the threshold of the door. “Patrol,” you simply state.
Joel scoffs, standing from the couch and shrugging on his jacket.
“What are you talking about, it’s only–” He starts and you poke your head in one last time, just enough to see him glance up at the wall clock. “Shit.”
–
Joel is trailing behind you as you rush through the town square toward the entrance. Your backpack straps keep slipping off your shoulders, so as to not waste any time, you decided to not adjust them properly against your body–you’d do it once you were on Lucky and past the gates.
Joel kept whispering profanities to himself, trying to adjust his belt, the straps of his backpack, kicking at his loose shoelace all while trying to keep up with you; you wanted to tell him that doing that would only slow him down more, but decided to keep your mouth shut, and just focus on getting to your destination.
“You know, I’ve never overslept,” Joel calls out after you, his voice breathy and strained. “Not once.”
“Me either,” You respond somewhat bitterly. “Guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”
Joel responds with an amused snort.
As you come closer to the stables, you see James’ back, in a conversation with one of the stable hands. Your lungs were now burning and the cool air was steadily making each breath feel like glass shards in your chest.
“Fuck,” The word came out sharp. Joel let out a small hm, seemingly curious of your dismay.
You look over your shoulder at him, his hand is fumbling with the buckle of his belt–a sight you’d usually relish, but right now…all you could think about was James and whatever bullshit he was going to stir up now. You hate admitting this, you deserved to be scolded for being late. The thing that bothered you the most was the fact that James would be the one doing it.
Blinking once, then twice, you jut your chin in James’ direction. Joel quickly caught on, letting out an annoyed groan.
The stable hand made eye contact with you, his eyes widening before glancing away, focusing back on James; his mouth moving–saying something–and admittedly nodding. One more glance toward you, he then lifted his hand pointing a curled finger in your direction, trying to be subtle. As James turned, the other male quickly retreated into the stables.
James was pissed, you saw it all over his face; his cheeks stained pink, his mouth set in a deep frown, and his eyebrows tightly knitted together. A fire burned in his bright blue eyes when he noticed Joel straggling behind you.
You slowed your pace, a part of you wanted to go back to last night and live in that moment forever. You didn’t want to deal with James or his animosity toward you or Joel, you just wanted whatever was between the two of you to be done and over with; for the two of you to just pretend that you were nothing more than strangers.
Setting your eyes just past James on the wooden gate leading to the stables, you start toward him angling your body so you will just barely pass by him. If James was smart, given the past week, he’d keep quiet, not daring to make a move toward you. Sure he was a nice guy, like Charles said, but he had no idea how to take a hint–and when he finally got it, he acted like a child going and telling on you to Maria and Tommy.
Just as you are about to pass him, a breath of relief about to escape your lungs, James takes a step in front of you. The undesired closeness causes you to stagger back, putting a few feet between you and him. His nose crinkled as he squinted in the morning sun, shielding his eyes with his hand as he took you in.
“You’re late.” He said quietly, his tone had no fluctuations and wasn’t portraying the anger previously portrayed on his face. If anything he just sounded bored.
Glancing over your shoulder, Joel stayed a step behind you, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. You could tell he was trying to seem uninterested in James, and maybe if you didn’t know him it would appear that way; but you knew James was one smart-mouthed remark from being socked in the face.
“Yeah, thanks,” was all you could manage to get out. You tried to step around him, but he reached out grabbing your arm, pulling you back toward him. Joel instantly came between the two of you breaking James’ hold of you and pushing him back.
James frowned looking between you and Joel as he staggered backward, grabbing the fence to steady himself. “I mean that you’re too late,” he continued, peering past Joel and looking directly at you. “I already sent Drew and Nora to cover your patrol.”
“We’ll go out and send them back.” Joel grumbled, his knuckles white as he gripped onto the strap of his backpack. James shifted his stance, now looking at Joel. The anger showed on his face again.
“It’s too late,” he stated again, this time more firmly. “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere else to be useful today.”
Before James could completely finish his sentence, Joel stormed past him, knocking his shoulder firmly into James’. James let out a small yelp, shooting a death glare in Joel’s direction. You didn’t move a muscle, watching Joel push open the gate with so much force it slapped against the wooden fencing, faintly mumbling something to himself that you couldn’t hear clearly.
When you look back at James, he’s rubbing his shoulder, his lips tightly pressed together.
“It’s not like I just sent them off in your place, I hope you know that.” He said as he took a step toward you now that Joel was gone. His eyes locked onto yours. “I went to your house when you didn’t show up. You weren’t there so then I went to Joel’s… I tried looking for you, I didn’t have to do that.” He was shaking his head.
You just nodded, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth. It seemed as if the longer you didn’t say anything, the more desperate looking James became. After glancing between the open stable doors and James several times, you walked past James.
“Wait,” He called after you, and without thought, you stopped, keeping your back toward him. “Can we talk real quick?”
You let out a small scoff, rolling your eyes. “Now you want to talk?” You raised your eyebrows as you turned to face James.
“What? I–” His tone raised loud enough for you to look around. The few people lingering shot some glances toward you, a feeling of insecurity taking over.
“Keep your voice down.” You abruptly cut him off, glowering at him, before he could say something you really wish he wouldn’t say loud enough for others to hear. He kept his face as hard as stone.
“I don’t like us being mad at each other,” He said much quieter this time. His words nearly made your jaw drop and a flash of anger flooded your veins.
“Are you being serious, James?” You kept the same tone as before; harsh and dry. James cocked his head to the side, his eye darting between yours. “You tried getting me kicked off of patrol duty by lying and then you actively avoided me. I tried several times to talk to you and then it got to the point where Charles had to talk to you for me.”
Embarrassment washed over James and he looked down at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry,” His voice was quiet but sounded sincere. “Charles did talk to me, and–and he made me realize how stupid I was acting. I’m–”
You stared at him a moment, running your tongue over the grooves on the roof of your mouth, your lips pursing as a result. His shoulders were hunched making him look small and vulnerable. You couldn’t tell if it was all an act and a way to get sympathy, or if he was truly just that; small and vulnerable.
“Are you only sorry because it backfired and you got in trouble instead?” You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms. He glanced up to you, only to return his gaze to his boots.
“I was upset–” His voice sounded weak.
“Then be a fucking adult and deal with it,” The words came out much harsher than you intended them to. James looked up at you through his brows, this time holding your gaze. You could have sworn you saw his eyes glistening with tears; the thought made your stomach go sour.
James simply nodded before you brushed past him.
–
When you entered the stables, the stable hand whom you never learned their name immediately looked up from fumbling with one of the tangled hoses. A hint of judgment lingered in their eyes, tracking you as you walked in. As quick as the expression came over them, it disappeared, giving you a single nod, dropping the hose, and exiting through one of the side exits to the training grounds.
Embarrassment flooded your senses. Whatever he had been talking about with James, surely it was about you. Your eyes scanned the rotting wooden beams that needed replacement, biting down hard on the inner part of your cheek.
Clattering from the back of the building tipped you off as to where Joel was and you made a beeline to him, distracting you from your embarrassment.
Walking down the aisle, you realized most of the stalls were empty and there were no other stable workers aside from the one that had been talking to James. You and Joel were the only ones there. Quite an uncommon occurrence, but not entirely implausible. Perhaps they were out loading hay from storage to bring back and considering how many empty stalls there were, a good majority had taken the horses out for rides.
When Joel finally came into view, he was throwing one of the saddles up and over onto Callus, a small grunt coming from his throat.
“James was serious about not letting us go.” You yelled out to him as you entered the larger space. For a short moment, he stopped, only to continue, initially not saying anything in response.
Walking up to Lucky, you ran your hand down her forehead toward her muzzle. She quietly neighed, pushing into your touch. A small smile spread across your face, one that quickly disappeared.
“I’m not staying here all day.” He eventually responded. You gave him a single nod as to say fair enough, and took a seat on a low wooden stool, kicking at the stray hay that sparsely covered the floor.
Once Joel finished, he took a seat on an overturned half barrel next to you. You gave him a sidelong glance before focusing back on the two horses. Joel crossed his arms, letting out an exhausted sigh.
“What the fuck is his problem?” He finally said. “We were never, I don’t know… on good terms, but since I’ve come back, he’s actively gone out of his way to be a dick. I just want to fucking–” Joel let out a low grunt, stopping himself from going further.
You sucked in some air while shaking your head. “It’s me, Joel.” You half lied, knowing that it's not entirely you; it’s because of how much time you spend with Joel that has James so pissed off. Joel narrowed his eyes at you, seemingly confused. “He’s upset with me, so he takes it out on everyone else. I wouldn’t take it personally.”
You put your elbows on your knees and dropped your face into your palms. Joel’s eyes were burning a hole through you and you desperately hoped he wouldn’t press further. Surely by this point, he’s figured out that the petty drama you originally told him it was… was not just petty drama.
Your head began to buzz, likely induced by a combination of your hangover and stress.
Joel’s sigh caused you to give him a sidelong glance. It didn’t appear that he was too focused on you–it didn’t seem like he was focused on you at all in fact. It was good that he didn’t press further on the matter of James, because finally, things were moving in the direction you’ve been wanting to with Joel.
“We could go for a hike, take the long way to the outlook.” He suggested and leaned one arm on the knee farthest from you, shifting his body toward you. A hint of a smile appeared on his face; somewhat sympathetic looking, but you liked it when he smiled, no matter the cause.
“I’d like that very much,” You replied, returning his smile.
–
Joel wasn’t kidding when he suggested taking the long way. This path winded up and down, around small hills and past fast moving streams. It took about twice as long to get there, but it was nice to get your heart pumping.
Naturally, Joel took the lead. It seemed like it would be a good idea for the both of you to burn off some of your pent up emotions, so neither of you said much other than the occasional direction from Joel or a random comment about the surrounding nature.
The path you took today eventually led to the much shorter main path. When you finally arrived, you passed Joel who took a seat at the base of the boulder, opting for a seat closer to the edge of the cliff. The sky was clear today, bright blue and not a single cloud in sight. The air still has a chill to it, sending goosebumps up and down your arms and legs. Instinctively, you rub your hands against your limbs, trying to warm them up and cursing yourself for mindlessly forgetting your jacket on Lucky’s saddle.
“Here,” A warm voice appeared behind you and you twisted your torso to face the sound. Joel came up behind you, outstretching his jacket to you.
You give him a small smile, shaking your head, which prompted him to quickly roll his eyes. Before you could reject him further, his jacket was already draped around your shoulders. He took a seat next to you on the cliff and stared out toward Jackson.
“I know I’ve already sort of told you this, but it's nice that you’re back.” You say breaking the oddly comforting silence. He snapped his neck toward you, a look of surprise took over his expression; a look that you just stared at with wide eyes.
“Yeah?” Joel replied breathily. “I don’t think a lot of people feel that way” He shook his head.
Opening your mouth, you found yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t quite sure what to say back. Joel wasn’t exactly well liked in the community. He definitely wasn’t hated–by most–he was just…misunderstood, causing a lot of people to just ignore him. You knew firsthand how unpleasant he could be at times, plus you doubted he was ever around long enough to make any sort of deep connection with anyone. You weren’t even sure if that was something he desired.
Joel cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “But I suppose I’m glad one person does,” He immediately followed up, flashing you a smile and nudging you with his elbow. You just shrug, the corners of your mouth slightly turning upward.
“When you were gone, I used to come up here quite often, usually after I got done with patrol. That was part of what James told Maria, saying it was unsafe and was a poor decision that he advised against,” You said, mimicking James’ claims in his tone of voice which made Joel chuckle. “Sometimes I’d stay a few hours, other times I’d stay until dinnertime. It was… um… this place was really the only place that brought me total peace, so I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you for showing it to me.”
“What would I do out here?” He sounded curious.
You let out a long hum. “It depended on my mood, really. Sometimes I’d write, a lot of the time I’d read–it really made the time go by fast. Other times I’d just think. I don’t know, I just felt like this is the only place I felt like I could just… be me.” Your eyes were locked onto the edge of the cliff, your eyes frozen and unmoving.
“And here I thought all you did was drink with your friends who aren’t really your friends.” He joked.
You scoffed, half rolling your eyes as you shifted your attention to him. “Now that’s…complicated. I mostly tolerated them for Nessa’s sake. Sometimes they were fun, I won’t lie, but most of the time they were pretty–”
“Insufferable.” Joel completed your sentence, his eye shooting toward you with a petty smile on his face. You let out a low laugh, agreeing with him with a nod. A laugh escaped past his lips, one he quickly stifled with a dry cough.
“Remember how I told you I met Nessa at boarding school?” Joel hummed in confirmation. “Before Tommy found me…before I came to Jackson, all I could think about was her. Out of everyone I could have yearned for, I just wanted my best friend. I knew it wasn’t going to change the situation or make it any better, but…”
You dropped your head and loose strands of hair now cover your face.
“I love her to death, but she’s so different now. I never thought it would be in the realm of possibilities to see her again…now it just feels like the universe is laughing in my face.” You forced yourself to swallow against the lump that suddenly manifested in your throat. “She’s like a stranger and part of me resents her for that, and I feel like shit for feeling that way.”
In your peripheral, you can see Joel staring at you, a blank expression on his face. Suddenly you feel stupid for expressing your feelings, ones that you should probably confine to your journal. You’d never confront Nessa about it, so what was the point of dwelling on them?
“I’m sorry, you don’t…care. This is stupid.”
“No, I’m…” He began. “People change, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Either way, a part of you will always want the old them back. Don’t apologize because I get it, trust me.” Tucking your hair behind your ears, you look at Joel. “Every time I come back, Tommy seems like a whole new person, it's always sort of a shock. I still think of him as my unresponsible little brother who can’t handle his alcohol or emotions for shit. It leaves me…stunned when I realize how much he’s grown and changed. And sometimes I miss who he was because he’s become so serious in a sense. I’m sure he has some of the feelings about me, perhaps Nessa does with you.”
You let out the breath of air you had been holding in and allowed your eyes to wander back to Jackson, roaming all over the different parts of the community. It seemed so small from up here. You narrow your eyes to where the stables are, letting your vision blur a bit.
“It seems like she hates me.” You say lazily. “I don’t know what I did that made her feel that way toward me. Am I that bad of a person?”
“No.” Joel nearly snapped back, the word coming out quick and harsh. “You aren’t a bad person, not even close.”
Dropping your head slightly, you slowly turn your head back to Joel. He has his legs stretched out, leaning back onto the palms of his hands. His chin is tilted upward as the sun caresses his tanned skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you look at him, a feeling of breathlessness coming over you.
You begin tracing your eyes along where his jawline would be if it had not been hidden by his salt-and-pepper facial hair. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment and a peaceful look overtaking his expression.
You couldn’t stop yourself from taking his looks in. Rugged and worn down, but so damn attractive.
Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. As one begins to slide down smoothly past his temple, your eyes lock onto the scar. Deep and twisted looking, yet small enough to remain unseen if you weren’t looking for it. Your stomach went sour the longer you looked, not out of repulsion, but because of how you received your own scar, the one identical to his.
“Ca–can I ask you something?” Your mouth moved before you could completely commit to the question, causing you to stumble on your words.
He raised his eyebrows, before opening his eyes and shooting a sideways glance toward you. Joel gave you a slight nod as to tell you to continue.
“What's your scar from?” The words seemed illegal as they came out, causing you to slightly cringe. It was dangerous territory asking these kinds of questions nowadays.
There was a hitch in his breath before he dropped his head. He drew in a deep, long breath as he peered up toward you. Immediately all you saw was pain in his eyes, a darkness that you couldn’t explain, but could understand.
“I'm sorry, never mind.” The words came out quickly as you wrapped your arms around your torso.
“No, no it's uh…” Joel responded, trailing off. He inhaled sharply before smoothly letting the air out of his nostrils. “A gunshot.”
He nodded distantly, his thoughts leading him a million miles away from you. You waited for him to elaborate but it was apparent after a few long seconds of silence that was all he was going to offer up. You weren’t going to push him further on the matter.
You just nod, eventually pointing up to your own scar “I ask because I have one too…”
A complex look comes over him and he seems to hesitate, “How–how’d you…” His eyebrow twitched as he stumbled over his words.
“Same as you. It was a FEDRA soldier that I had been doing some work for under the table. I guess I pissed him off somehow and he came to my place in the middle of the night with a gun—with the intention to kill me, not sure why he opted for a gun when everyone would have heard, but he seemed upset enough to not care if anyone heard. One of his buddies followed him though, he and I had sort of an understanding of one another and we…we were close in a certain sense. Anyway, he grabbed the gun just as it went off…the bullet grazed me, some of the shrapnel from it hitting a metal beam also hit me, so…” You brought your index finger up to your scar, running the pad of your finger over the rough edges as you recounted the night of the incident, excluding many details from being spoken. The fear you felt when you awoke to a dark silhouette standing over your bed, the cold sweat that ran down your back, the feeling of the metal against your skin, the ringing in your ears after the gun went off and how days passed and it felt like you were trying to hear underwater, until it miraculously came back. After that night you never saw the soldier you fucked over, but his friend that intervened–you saw him all the time and he was adamant about avoiding any interaction with you. When he couldn’t avoid it entirely, he never looked you directly in the eye.
“Christ,” Joel said quietly, almost as if it was meant just for him. “Well… I’m glad it didn’t work out.”
You let out a near silent sarcastic laugh, turning your attention back to the view.
“Yeah, I didn’t always see it like that. After Houston fell… I didn’t have anyone; family, Nessa,” You shook your head. “I didn’t even have myself really, I was careless because of how bad I wished I was de–” You stopped yourself before finishing completely. Surely he knew what you were going to say anyway, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually say it out loud. “I’m happy now that it missed, though.” Your voice sounded tight.
The chirping of the birds above filled the silence that took over. If you strained your ears enough, you could have sworn you could hear the soft murmurs of the bustling community below.
“May I ask you somethin’?” Joel suddenly asked.
“Of course.” You responded immediately, focusing on two figures approaching the front gate, most likely Drew and Nora.
He took a moment before following up as if he were deeply contemplating his question. The pause made you slightly anxious prompting you to look over to him. He was running his thumb and index finger over his chin over and over.
“Why were you at boarding school?” The words finally came out and it wasn’t the question you were expecting from him.
“Oh geez,” You said breathily, your words portray how caught off guard you were. “Well, initially I had no idea why I was being sent away. My parents told me they wanted a school that would offer me much more than an education, but experiences as well. I was annoyed, but I was 15.. 16 years old at the time so I couldn’t do much about it.”
You drew in a smooth breath of air, the feelings all rushing back to you and becoming overwhelming.
“A few weeks after the spring semester started, my mom flew me out… Nessa was in the room next to me, so that’s how we met. Immediately we became best friends, inseparable, really,” You continued. “I found out a bit later that the reason they sent me away was because they were having marital problems, they wanted to get their affairs in order before deciding if they wanted to continue trying or if they should separate… I guess they didn’t want me in the middle of all of it. I was so upset with them, I refused to come home for the summer and to add insult to injury, I refused to talk to them after that.”
You paused to gather your thoughts, your eyes beginning to brim with tears. “The last conversation I had with my parents was May 15th of 2003, it was the week before school got out…I told them– I told them I hated them, that I wasn’t coming home. They tried calling many times, sending letters and packages, but I just ignored them.” The words came out weak, your chest burning with guilt.
It was like you could hear the silence on the phone between your parents and yourself all over again. You felt yourself caught between the reality with Joel and your conscious state in the painful memory of your final interaction with your parents. The realization hit you like a rock, sending your emotional state spiraling.
“Oh my God Joel,” The words came out between your heavy sobs; nasally and forced. You looked over at him with tears now streaming down your face, your chin quivering uncontrollably. “The last thing I said to my parents was that I hated them.”
Without any hesitation, Joel pulled you into his arms. His warmth engulfed you completely as you nuzzled your face against his chest. Your chest heaves as you let your emotions flow, a tightness completely taking over your chest, your muscles tensing and untensing under the emotional stress.
Joel ran his hand smoothly up and down your back, his chin resting gently on top of your head. His grasp on you was firm as if he was trying to convey to you that he wasn’t going to let you go, not until you felt like you were okay.
The birds in the surrounding trees went silent, the only noise was your muffled sobs and the whistling of the gentle breeze.
Joel squeezed you a bit tighter, “I had–I had a daughter…before.” He spoke, the words immediately piquing your attention, distracting you from your own pain. “Her name was Sarah, and she… she–I should've been there for her more, but I–” A deep sense of pain radiated from his words.
Joel struggled to speak. You heard his heartbeat quicken when he said her name and the pain in your heart only grew stronger. For you. For him… especially for him. He had a daughter before this, all the anger and resentment… it all made sense now.
You untucked your arms from your chest and wrapped them around his torso, opening your eyes to be present. You were staring at the ground; rocks and leaves and sticks.
He cleared his throat, loosening his grip around you, but not letting go completely. With one hand he grabbed your shoulder, gently squeezing it, the other hand firmly planted on the middle of your back.
“Coming from someone who was a parent, they knew… know that you love them.” His mouth is hovering over your ear as he speaks. His voice is now more stable and clear than before. “No matter what you told them, they knew.”
chapter seventeen coming soon!
painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings
#farmerlarrry#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fic#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller angst#joel miller x oc#post outbreak! joel#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel the last of us#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#joel miller imagine#joel miller the last of us#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal imagine#tlou joel#tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#tlou2#the last of us
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Like a bellflower - chapter one
chapter one of like a bellflower, a Joel Miller x Fem!Oc fanfiction.
warnings: violence, death, blood, the word 'rape', general apocalyptic angst things yk
words: 2,6k
Story taglist
1. A stoic rescue
✿✿✿
“If we don’t find some more fucking ammo soon I swear i’m going to kill someone,” Kade grumbled as we all walked along a broad gravelly road. He bit into the last of his dried meat with anger, ripping the flesh apart aggressively with his teeth. His arm nearly hit me as it swung back. I always stayed behind the four of them. Kade, Ryan, Sarah and Cole. When they found me, and agreed to pick me up along with them I thought I could find solidarity in Sarah. A girl. Or a woman I should say, because she is a lot more woman than me.
Her shoulders were as broad as the mens, her figure sturdy and hardened like her face. No solidarity was to be found in those eyes. She met me like the men did; looking down at me with clenched jaws, demanding I fix us all food and making mean jokes when I try to brush and fix my hair.
“That ain’t going to fix nothing sweetheart- how about a trip to the salon instead? It’ll be on me,” Kade would say with a nasty grin and they would all belt out laughter while they tended to their guns like I tend to my hair, with the same kind of care. The kind you should never use on weapons.
“But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue,” I always quote, biting my tongue until metal melts in my mouth.
“You have to calm down, we’re almost at the next town. If there isn’t any ammo, we’ll butcher someone that has some.” Cole replies, walking with fast, tough steps. They were always so hard, so violent. I watched intensely as my feet kicked the gravel. My gun didn’t have a lot of ammo left either but I would rather not have to hurt someone to get more. I’d run if I had to, but I really didn’t.
The rest of the walk was silent, until old suburban houses started appearing. No one spoke to me. Wordlessly everyone divided to ransack the houses. Cole and Kade went together, so did Ryan and Sarah. Sarah, a dainty, feminine name for a woman with cold, rejecting eyes. No solace. I walked on my own, shoulders slumping.
The house was a pale blue, the door was off the hinges completely, and I stepped over the rotten wood. Dust swirled in the beams of light that were pushing through barred windows. Someone had stayed here for a while, it looked like. Empty cans of food were piled on the dirty kitchen tiles. When I glanced back at the broken down door, I noticed the beating it had taken. The blood stains that the wood had absorbed. Scratch marks. I didn’t want to think of what had happened here, and instead I filtered through the flashes of sunlight, the warmth pulsing on my cheek. The air smelled like rotten wood too, as well as flowers. They bloomed in the corners of the walls, through broken tapestry they unfolded like nothing had ever bothered them. Like the whole world wasn’t dying. Untouched by the destruction, pretty and blooming. I wished to be like the flower.
There was no ammo, but in the back cabinets I found old cans of beans that must’ve been forgotten in whatever hurry had happened here. Between the wooden beams that barred the window I saw the others gathering in the middle of the road. Soldiers, they looked like. Machines. They made my skin crawl and every soft thing inside me hardened. I solidified, when everything I fought for everyday was to be soft. Free, fresh and blooming like a flower. A war between me and the world to preserve the delicate human I was, but I felt like throwing it all up when Kade looked at me. He made me feel like he wanted to rape me. His eyes were wide like a drug addict, and his stare a direct look into the most damaged soul I had ever met in my life. I had no clue what his story was and I was terrified to find out. He wanted to hurt the world like it had hurt him and I didn’t want to be here to see it but I had nowhere else to go.
They talked aggressively to each other, heads bent close together even though there probably wasn't anyone around for miles. I still never got used to seeing people standing in the middle of the roads. The cars were supposed to be there. And now all the cars were flipped upside down and stripped for parts. Sarah crushed a spiring dandelion under her foot. Her black, greasy hair flipped around her head when she talked. The day was beautiful but the people were not.
We decided to camp there, in the house I found. I found a broken family photo in a bedroom upstairs. I was frozen, sitting on a four poster bed with a family full of strangers in my hand. This room was a memory in time. A photo in itself. If not for the barricaded window, where the sunlight slowly turned red, you wouldn’t be able to tell that life had died everywhere around it. So I stayed there all night. I went downstairs silently, like a child who’d awoken from a nightmare. But there were no parents downstairs, and I crept silently around them to grab a can of beans. Kades big hand squeezed my fragile wrist harshly and the can dropped from my hand. “You’re not taking all of that,” he spoke harshly before opening the can and pouring almost all of the content into an empty one. The rest he gave to me. “Sit down,” he stroked my wrist where he’d hurt me and I coiled away, sitting down reluctantly. I never joined their talk. Ryan was the nicest of them all, though the difference in their behaviors were minimal. They had been just them for so long that Sarah was Ryan and Ryan was Cole and all of them were Kade. Not one authentic trait that wasn’t given to them by the apocalypse. None of their own selves left from before. I pitied it, sort of. When they dozed off in their sleeping bags I snuck back up and crawled under the cold comforter in the bedroom with the photo on the pillow next to me. I tried to imagine living here. With my family, when they were still here. Sleeping next to my parents in their bed even though i probably was a bit too old for it. We wouldn’t tell anyone. Tomorrow we’d make breakfast together, maybe?
Those thoughts put me to sleep.
Bang. I woke with such a violent start that my hand flung the photo to the carpeted floor. It was already broken, but now the glass had fallen out of the frame in pieces completely. I had ruined the last memory of this family. Another bang. It was gunshots and the crashes that followed rumbled the old flooring beneath me. Impulsively I ripped the photo from the frame and stuck it in my pocket. I didn’t know how to move. We had never been in this situation. I had never been apart from the group when we were attacked. They were always there and always merciless. I had to fend for myself still, because they prioritized each other over me anytime. Sometimes it was as if they would purposefully let me fight on my own despite them being fully capable of helping me. I swung my backpack on, in case I had to run again. My hands trembled and the gun nearly slipped from my grasp. I creaked open the bedroom door, right at the top of the stairs. “Fucking get him!” I heard Ryan yell. More crashes, grunts. The stairs creaked as I took a step but another noise covered it. Blood sprayed on the wall next to the broken front door. Greasy black hair, fell with a thud to the ground. Blood started to pool around Sarah’s head, which was all of her I could see from this angle. I breathed in. It smelled like being on summer camp. Sunlight, fresh air but a metallic, wooden scent interfered with the peaceful memory. Kane roared and I heard him surge towards whoever the perpetrator was. I closed my eyes harshly until it hurt, then I opened them and ran down the stairs as the spots faded away from my sight. My gun was stretched in front of me. Everything after that happened so fast I barely caught it. An elbow to Ryan's face who stumbled backwards. To clean shots through Cole's stomach. Bang, bang, thud. Bile rose in my throat. My gun was still in front of me. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what I felt.
A loud grunt, a missed shot but a punch to the gut from Kade to the stranger. He was hardened too, but not in the cold, menacing way of the others. He looked human, I thought, right before he twisted Kades arm around in a nasty crack, pushing his back into the man's chest before firing a bullet right through his temples. Kade looked at me then, and for the first and only time I saw something else in his eyes. He looked scared. Like a little boy who’d been told off. Who’d been left alone and scolded and shown no love, who now pleaded for it for the last time ever. And then my eyes turned sympathetic. I did everything I could to give him that last piece of whatever feeling closest to affection I had for him and a peace fell over his eyes right as the bullet tore through him. My mouth was sour, and I leaned down, throwing up right next to Sarah’s body.
The stranger let Kade fall to his knees, discarded him and stalked towards me with a reaction time that seemed inhuman. I expected the harsh, calloused hands of a man piercing my skin. Like Kade’s used to. I dropped the gun. It landed in my own puke. The man stopped between me and the mess. We both looked down. Then we looked up. My eyes were filled with hot, stingy tears from throwing up. Maybe fear. He breathed harshly, quickly and his nostrils flared. His eyes were dark as he looked demandingly underneath his furrowed brows. He had a handsome face, salt and pepper scruff, a hooked nose and sloped lips. But he also was hardened from this world.
His shoulders fell, quickly aware that I probably wasn’t the biggest threat around. That irritated me, and I squared up, fisting my hands. “Get away or I'll punch you.” I said. There was volume in my voice that I didn't expect. He didn’t move, but looked down on my petty gun again. Then he turned around, and started searching the bodies of my old crew. He took their guns, searched them. I stood still. I was shaking like a leaf and tears rolled down my cheeks now silently. I wasn’t sad for these people. I was sad for the last time this happened. When it was the people I cared for that lay still while I stood up. I cried for them, tightly fisting the photo of the family I found in my pocket. The man stopped, and looked at me. “I’ll leave some stuff for you,” he said. His voice was gruff. And it hit me like bricks, so hard I nearly folded into two again. I was going to be left alone. The man was looking done, about to leave again. Then there would be silence, like when snow falls. Nothing.
“Take me with you,” I said, too desperate for my liking but suddenly he felt like the last thing I had in the world even though I didn't even know his name.
“No,” he said, and walked out the backdoor without looking back. I wiped my gun off in Sarah’s shirt, with a little regret but not so much that i felt guilty and followed the man out. He had a horse that was tied to a tree.
“You have to.” i stated, my breathing quick and shallow. I would not let him leave.
“I don’t, actually.”
Did he not feel any remorse? What if that was my family he just killed, and then left me for myself. Not even so merciful as to put me in the grave with them? But they weren’t my family and I would not go with them into death, but this man didn’t know.
“You just killed everything around me.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened and I felt like I was grasping at water, trying to hold it in my hand. I heaved in a gasp of shock and sorrow and it was what finally made him look at me. His brows furrowed even more, if possible. His face softened, and I swore I saw guilt flash across his still-new features. He was listening.
“I’m silent. You won’t even know i’m here. And as soon, I promise, as soon as we come across somewhere else I can stay, I'll leave. But you owe me a ride.” I wasn’t used to selling myself, to making me sound like someone you’d want along on your travels and even though my face heated with embarrassment and the words I spoke, it was all the hope I had not to curl up in that four poster bed until I withered into nothing.
He said nothing for a while, looking somewhere behind me in thought. I mustered my most desperate eyes. I tried baring my soul through them for him to see that I needed this. He already seemed ways better than any of the four people that had taken me upon since the tragic incident.
“As soon as we find something.. livable, you’re gone.” he grumbled. The relief made my knees weak, air seeped out of me uncontrollably and I had to hold onto the tree so as to not fall in on myself.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered, tasting tears on my lips that I wiped profusely. I was not to be a burden to this man before I had even gotten onto his horse.
“Just follow me and stay quiet,” he said, pulling the horse along with him. We walked, and I didn't look back. The blue house I swore to leave forever behind me. The photo I held onto. The sun was only just rising, cold and bright as it stretched over the abandoned houses. We walked in the middle of the road, on each side of the horse. I felt warmth on my skin, on my hair and I combed it down with my fingers and braided it down my back. And no one laughed, or said anything. I realized this might have been my rescue as I looked up at the pine trees ahead, instead of down at the gravel. I looked anywhere I liked and made my hair look nice and I stroked the now curled up photo with my thumb, looking over at the man.
“What's your name?”
I had already broken one of three rules: stay silent, follow me, leave me alone as soon as possible.
He sighed, “you’re not very good at this.”
Even his scolding, and his glare was everything Kades wasn’t. There was no malice, no intention to hurt. I didn’t feel fear in my gut.
“I’m Belle. Like the princess” I peaked over the horse’s moving body.
“Like bellflowers,” he said, glancing at me for barely a second. Like a bellflower, blooming, delicate and untouched by the world. I wish it was so.
“Joel. My name is Joel”
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chapter two
#joel miller#joel miller ff#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#tlou#tlou fanfiction#the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel#pedro pascal joel miller#joel miller tlou#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller x fem!oc#joel miller x female reader#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#joel x reader#joel tlou#the last of us fanfic#pedro pascal one shot#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x oc
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ONE TIME THING - BELLA RAMSEY (part4)
Pictures above are not mine
Summary: unbeknownst to you, you meet actor Bella Ramsey. You two hit it off but your paths lead two different directions.
Bella Ramsey x female reader
Warnings: none
Taglist: @evieguhbyebroski @amberputh @just-here-to-read-fanfictions @assgardangod @eddiesgirlsblog @obsessedmunson @guacala
I used she/them pronouns for Bella.
A/N NOT PROOFREAD
Part one ⬇️
★★
You were embarrassed to admit you spent your free time checking to see if Bella had left you any more text messages, and that maybe your notifications weren't working. And when you seen that they hadn't, you spent your time re-reading your conversation with them.
It was just a one time thing, get yourself together!
You spent a lot of time thinking about how they might possibly see you. You feared Bella saw you as just another fan, gave you their number out of politeness, felt bad for you even. Or maybe just another girl who worked at a café.
In the short time you had known Bella, you had stalked all their social media accounts, watched countless of their interviews and binge watched every short film they were in and their new tv show, 'The Last of Us'
It doesn't take a person long to realize the amount of love and popularity the show holds around the world. Your prior unfamiliarity towards the show and Bella's career made you cringe when you thought of it. You hoped Bella didn't take offense.
Despite Bella almost always being on your mind, you managed to keep your days productive. Weather it be scrubbing your entire home or getting some exercise into your daily routine, you would make it your mission to spend your holidays off from work trying to sort out your life. You lead a good life for a nineteen year old, you didn't want to ruin that by getting sick or lazy.
Today you managed to head down to the small gym in your area. You ended up meeting an old friend and made plans to catch up. His name was Ethan. He was the kind of friend you don't remember exactly when you became friends with, like the two of you knew each other before you realized it.
After, you spent time responding to emails that you really should not have ignored, and rearranged the furniture in your living room to create more space.
The days activities were rewarded with a good sleep that came to you easily.
★ ★ ★
Bella woke up with the largest smile adorning their face. No matter how they tried, it always crept back once they remembered her.
Her face. Her smile. Her hair. The vague scent of her perfume.
Sadly they didn't get much time to visit the café which she worked at again. If they didn't have an in- person interview, they had an online one. If they didn't have any type of interview, thay had a zoom call. If they were completely free form work, they had their studies.
There was one time however, one time where they had just enough time to stop by for a quick glance at her face, but they were surrounded by paparazzi and fans, when they finally reached outside the café a little voice in the back of their mind discouraged them from walking inside. They might see y/n laughing with a customer or a coworker and all Bella could think about was how they would only be interrupting, a burden that y/n didn't need nor want.
Bella didn't even have any of her social media accounts to stalk. Believe them they tried numerous times, typing in the name and finding hundreds of accounts all belonging to the wrong person. Bella had only gotten her first name, finding any of her social media would be near impossible.
Bella had contemplated messaging her many times after. In truth they didn't know what to say, were they supposed to say anything at all or was it just a one time thing? Bella knew one thing, and it was that they definitely wanted to see her again.
★ ★
No one likes going to their workplace when they aren't actually working, but when your very kind coworker whom you owe one too many favours to, asks you so nicely...
You can't really say no.
The minute you sat yourself down on the couch and your feet just touched the ground, you were up in a second once more.
Conscious of time you grabbed your purse and phone in a hurry, once you were certain your house was locked you made your way to the street. You sped in a B line direction for the man getting out of the taxi a few paces away. You waved a signal hopeful the driver would see it as you jogged.
"hey, would it be possible to get to Cafferey's dry cleaners before It closes. It's an emergency. " You tripped over your words as you tried to regain your breath. You slid into the backseat.
The driver looked at you from the mirror.
"for an emergency? Of course. " By his accent you guessed he was from Northern Ireland. The driver smiled at you. Not a smile that made you uncomfortable, one that eased your nerves just the smallest bit. You smiled back as you pushed your hair away from your face.
You played with your fingers as you looked at the time on your phone every few moments. You cursed all the other traffic on the road for delaying you.
When you reached the small building you practically sprung from the vehicle. The building was grey and blended in almost completely with all the other buildings surrounding it if not for the bold black lettering reading, 'Cafferey's dry cleaners!'
The couple who ran the business were nice and always happy to have a conversation with whoever walked in. Thankfully, Rita, noticed your state of stress and didn't keep you long. She smiled when she handed you the bag, making a comment about how you got here just in time before they closed for the evening. When the bag was in your hands you felt weight be lifted from your shoulders like a curse being broken.
Just as your taxi driver had promised, he remained outside the building. You quickly made your way back to the car to avoid keeping him waiting. You told him which street the café resided on and sunk back into the leather seats.
Releasing a breath you smiled as you watched the window.
★ ★ ★
Bella couldn't sit around their apartment anymore. If they couldn't see y/n on social media, they would see her in person, real life.
They didn't know where she lived or where y/n's regular spot might be, they did however know her workplace. They last time Bella visited, they had managed to get her name and give y/n their number. Bella only prayed she was working today.
When y/n's face flashed in Bella's mind for the hundredth time today, it was the last straw for them.
Bella needed to see her. Even just her face through the window.
Wasting no time, Bella walked swifty out of the apartment and onto the street to get a taxi. Luck was on their side as a taxi arrived almost immediately.
"hi, how are you. Burr & co café. On Bernard Street. Please."
"a popular spot that must be. I'm only after coming from there." The driver laughed.
"oh really? What a coincidence." Bella paid no mind as they put on their seatbelt.
"it is indeed."
Bella recognized the drivers accent as Northern Irish instantly. Trying to be polite as possible they engaged in small talk as best they could. Their knee wouldn't stop bouncing no matter how hard they tried to calm it.
The café was relatively close so the drive was quick. Bella took a breath of the fresh air once the stepped out of the car. The breeze gently blowed their hair back.
Rubbing their hands up and down their thighs as a means to steady their nerves, Bella moved towards the café door after their moment of contemplation.
The café was loud with chatter and laughing so no one payed any mind once the door opened.
Bella's eyes immediately searched the entire room for you.
They recognized your figure instantly even with your back facing them.
That's when their heart began beating faster, it's thumping echoed in their ears. Hands by their sides as their fingers wiggled in anticipation the closer they got to you.
★ ★
"Oh y/n I love you so much! Thank you thank you thank you!" Emma squealed once she seen you arrive with the bag in hand. Running from their spot behind the counter you were engulfed in their tight embrace.
"I'm so sorry! I tried getting off but boss wouldn't -you must of been in such a panic-im so sorry-!"
You cut off Emma's ramble. You rested your hand on her shoulders and smiled assuringlly at her. Sure the task was stressful but you would do it for Emma.
"it's fine, I promise. No need to worry."
In your head the stress was worth it if it meant Emma would still be able to go on her first ever date.
"let me grab you something to eat, on me." Emma took your hand and lead you to the counter where she was previously.
"it's fine I already -"
"nonsense." Emma cut you off immediately. You knew there was no point fighting with her, so you left her to do what she needed whilst you read the menu that hung up above you.
Your eyebrows raised slightly as you read some of the prices.
Smoothies, hot beverages, cake-
"I'm relieved that your here and I didn't end up wasting my time."
You were startled slightly by the familiar voice behind you. Turning around to see who it was you were pleasantly surprised to find Bella looking right back at you.
You couldn't hide your shock at seeing them here. With your eyes widened in disbelief and your jaw slacked you must of looked as though you had just seen a ghost.
It took you a moment to regain your composure.
"hey Bella-wasn't expecting to see you."
Bella grinned. You watched as their eyes took you in. This was the first time they had seen you in your more casual clothes as they only seen you at work, or when you were on your way to work which is how you two first met.
You wore blue cuffed jeans, old nearly falling apart air force 1's and a Metallica band t-shirt. Your hair was tied half up half down, and your wrists were littered with bracelets. The weather was nice and you weren't going anywhere important so you didn't feel the need to dress fancy.
As Bella examined you, you examined them. They wore straight black trousers that were rolled up at the bottom,a white opened shirt with a white top underneath. You noticed they also wore the same cap as they did when you first met them on the bus. Bello wore a colourful beaded bracelet and two silver rings on their left hand. You had to admit, they looked really good.
"are you working?"
Bella was the first to break the silence.
"nope, just owed a friend a favor. That's all. I got some time off actually. More time for studying and all that stuff." You scratched the back of your neck, you were no good at small talk, you hoped it wasn't obvious. You knew you were lying too, you wouldn't spend the entirety of your free time studying.
"oh really?" Bella's smile widened. "I'm free for the next couple of days too!"
Your eyebrows rose. You didn't know much about acting or an actors career, but everyone made it seem like the most time consuming job out there. Not to mention what were the chances of both bella and you being free at the same time.
"God's work at it's finest."
Fucking. Weirdo.
Who says that?
Fuck. Me .
You were panicking. It's been so long since a person has made you feel the way Bella was making you feel: all nervous and giddy. You wanted to impress them and make them smile constantly. It was sickening.
Bella giggled.
That sweet sound you heard in many of their interviews. Typically ones with Pedro Pascal.
You made them giggle.
"I suppose it is"
Something about Bella's grin and they way their eyes looked into yours, it made you feel like all your insides were spinning-but in a good way.
★ ★ ★
Bella could admire you for years without ever getting bored.
The relief and excitement they felt from seeing you in that café-
You looked so perfect.
The way your hair was away from your face, how your clothes fit your body perfectly. You were a picture that deserved to be framed for the whole world to see.
"hey Bella-wasn't expecting to see you."
When you spoke all they could do was smile as their eyes took you in. When they realized they had been staring they were quick to escape their trance. Their grin broadened once they seen you also examining them. A small bubbling feeling of pride swelled inside them.
"are you working?"
"nope, just owed a friend a favor. That's all. I got some time off actually. More time for studying and all that stuff." Bella watched as you rubbed the back of your neck, they really hoped they weren't making you uncomfortable.
"oh really?" Bella's smile widened. "I'm free for the next couple of days too!"
All Bella could think about was how grateful they were that they came to see you today.
"God's work at it's finest."
Bella's lip quirked just the tiniest bit. They looked right into your eyes, their smile gradually widening until the giggle they were trying to suppress escaped their lips.
"I suppose it is" Was all Bella managed to say.
The conversation began to die down. Unbeknownst to Bella, your mind was also racing with topics to talk about and conversation starters just as theirs was.
★ ★
As you contemplated what to say next a flash coming from outside caught your eye. A man, paparazzi presumably, stood across the street with a camera in hand covering his face as he took multiple photos.
It never occured to you just how creepy paparazzi were and they weren't even taking pictures of you, but of Bella. You felt a bit of pity, surely that must get annoying.
When Bella saw your attention was focused outside, they turned to see what you were seeing. It didn't take them long to figure it out.
"shit!" You faintly heard them whisper more to them-self than you. You felt Bella grab onto your hand as they lead you behind them further into the café, out of view from the camera.
"I'm so sorry!"
Bella rubbed her thumb in circle's against the skin of your hand to offer comfort to the both of you.
"it's fine" you reassured them.
Bella seemed relieved at you un-bothered attitude.
They smiled at you but you couldn't find it in yourself to smile back when a thought downed on you.
"more will come. You should probably get going."
You hid your own disappointment behind an apologetic smile. You didn't really want them to leave but you knew more people would surely show up.
"I'll be fine. I promise. I wanted to see you and since we're both free for the next few days-"
"Bella this is so weird, you know that?" You laughed. "we met on a bus, your still pretty much a stranger to me, we keep meeting at my workplace,-"
"Spend the afternoon with me"
Bella cut you off from saying anything else.
"what? Bella did you not hear anything I just said-"
"spend the afternoon with me and I'll tell you everything you want to know about me. I would also like to know everything about you"
Never had you been put in a situation like this before.
It was hard to think straight with Bella looking at you, silently pleading that you'll accept their offer, the smile on her face, the feeling of your hands still being held by theirs. It was all so much.
"I don't know-"
"please-"
"I need to shower and-"
"we can meet somewhere, I'll text you an address-"
You turned you head to the direction of Emma calling you over with the food she said she would get for you.
You quickly turned back to Bella.
You sighed seeing their puppy dog eyes.
You closed your eyes as you tried to reason with yourself. You knew well that if you didn't go you would only regret it.
"fine-"
"great!-"
"fuck this is so weird." You rubbed your hand across your forehead. Your eyes were closed but you could hear Bella's laugh.
"you'll have fun. I promise."
--
#bella ramsey#bella ramsey fic#bella ramsey imagine#bella ramsey drabble#bella ramsey x oc#bella ramsey x y/n#bella ramsey blurb#bella ramsey x you#bellaramsey#bella ramsey angst#bella ramsey x reader#bella ramsey fluff#bella ramsey x fem!reader#bella ramsey fanfic#bella ramsey x latina reader#lesbian#lgbtq#wlw#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x y/n#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams the last of us#game of thrones#ellie tlou#ellie williams#hbo the last of us#the last of us show#the last of us video game
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Meant to Be - Part 1
The Arrangement
Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person)
Summary: Preparations for Oberyn's future are made.
WC: 4.7K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, allusions to vaginal sex, Oberyn being a sexy little shit. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.
A/N: Hello besties! Welcome to my first foray into a multi-chapter GoT fic. Before we dive in, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically. I'm excited to play around with two tropes I don't write (arranged marriages and soulmates) and try something different! Thank you for joining me on this little journey!
Masterlist II Series Masterlist
>>> Part 2
Arrange yourself for my heart
Plan for it, in all its splendor
Prepare and shape and mold yourself
To me, For me, With me
---------------
Oberyn had always considered Dorne to be the center of Westeros. The thought was born out of bias, his love for his home and his people always tilting the scales in a way most would deem unfair. But it was more than just a loyalty birthed from love that tied his heart to the southernmost part of the map. Dorne was beautiful - hills of sand, a burning sun, and two seas with water so blue and waves so deep. The fruit was sweeter, the wine stronger, the days dipped in languid honey gold.
With the war over and justice delivered in more ways than one, Oberyn had thought there would be no better feeling than his return to the sandy shores of Sunspear. Even with his heartbeat muted with grief for a beloved sister lost, he still felt a soft swell of peace when his feet touched those first sandy dunes, the sound of crashing waves filling his head, the sun-soaked air coating his lungs.
Oberyn did not think it possible for that peace to be so easily taken.
“Marriage?”
“Yes, brother. Marriage.”
Funny how one word can skew the direction of one’s life so quickly. How the prospect of something that most would easily agree to, perhaps even take joy in, could shake and shatter an easy landing.
Doran says the word so matter of factly, leaning back in his wheelchair, regarding Oberyn across the long width of the table, his studious gaze more piercing than it has any right to be. A full breakfast is spread out between them — berries and cheese and honey-glazed breads sweeter than sin — meant as a welcome home in honor of the second-born prince, a celebration for his triumph over The Mountain. Tonight there would be a feast, one to mark the end of the war and the Lannister’s reign; a newly crowned King of Westeros to toast to.
Oberyn had been looking forward to the pomp and circumstance, if only to give him a chance to drown himself in Dornish wine, the promise of sleeping off the effects in Ellaria’s arms in his own bed a tempting reward for his troubles. He had expected a lecture of some sort from his brother in the between of it all; a request he take a seat on some council or maybe a post within the city watch. He would have even entertained an encouragement to begin the search anew for his soulmate.
But now he sees his brother’s ploy for what it truly is.
A trick.
A game.
An arrangement.
Tension stretches out between the two men, years of twisted perception coloring their opinions of one another, all manner of things unsaid mixed amongst the decadent feast that now lies untouched.
“I have never entertained the idea of a wife. Not once. I hardly see why you think I would now, my Lord.” Oberyn lets the last word drip from his lips with utter disdain, refusing to acknowledge the propriety of station when his brother has tried to trick him so. One of the many benefits of being second born was the lack of obligation on his part, and he had exploited the fact in excess, happy to allow his brother all the privilege of a crown.
A privilege, it seemed in his brother’s mind, had run its due course.
“Because, Prince Oberyn,” Doran starts, his words spoken with a careful pace, “you are to be named my heir.”
The ground falls out from beneath his chair, every single sound within the great hall expanding and focusing in on him; every color too bright, every noise too loud. The crash of the waves against the palace walls is suddenly overwhelming, a sound that once reminded him of his home now a painful cacophony in his ears.
Before he knows what he’s doing, Oberyn is standing, one word heavy on the tip of his tongue, and yet it will not come.
Doran, ever patient, continues on. “You will be Lord of Sunspear, Oberyn, as is your right by birth and by decree.”
“And if I refuse?” He murmurs, eyes trained on the grainy wood of the table below. “The marriage? Your throne?”
His eyes flit to the other man just in time to see his reaction. Doran, for his part, looks surprised, the sentiment pulling a chuckle from deep within Oberyn’s chest. Could his brother really be so obtuse? So set in his own ways? Was he truly incapable of accepting that some may not long for power?
At the sound of his laughter, the older man scowls, dark eyes set upon him with barely cloaked anger. For a moment, Oberyn thinks he sees his brother move to stand, a pained look stealing across his features briefly before settles back further into his seat and speaks again.
“Have you no sense of honor left, my brother? Did your battle with The Mountain steal the last of your love for your family away? Or perhaps justice was the only thing keeping you tethered to us?”
“I avenged our sister–”
“Who is gone! She is gone, Oberyn,” Doran urges, one finger pushing down onto the table, emphasizing his point with practiced precision. “And it is us who remain! To carry on, just the same as those who came before. It is our right! Our duty! We need an heir. A legitimate hei–”
“My daughters are legitimate!” The interruption is roared, the scream of his voice echoing up into the wide open ceilings, coated in an anger he had thought he left to die beneath the suffocating rubble of the Red Keep. The fury leaves him as fast as it came, and in its wake there seems to be only one option left.
He turns away abruptly, icy cold spite bleeding out between the brothers with every step he takes away.
---------------
The charcoal in her hand smells of smoke, earthy and bitter, a scent that will cling to her fingers long after the day is done. It’s a perfect bedfellow to the fire crackling in the far corner of the room, the bright blend of reds and yellows giving just the barest illusion of warmth.
Winterfell was named well. Even with winter fading into the pages of the history books, the north still carried a bitter cold, one she feared she would never be fond of.
Her entire lifetime had been spent between the cold stone, searching for moments of warmth beneath her mother’s skirts or father’s arms. They were stolen, like bits of bread or cheese when the cooks had their backs turned, a tiny treat to melt on her tongue when nothing else in the frigid halls of Winterfell could.
Her parents were gone now, casualties of time and its ever pressing need to march forward. She counts the smallest of blessings that they were gone before the Walkers came, thankful at least that they were spared the heartache of war.
They passed quietly, together in their bed, hands intertwined, palms pressed tightly; soulmates destined to walk those last steps together. A strange twinge dips down low in her belly; something like jealousy, she thinks, that her parents found each other so easily. They moved together with such certainty. A confidence given by fate or the Gods or whatever it was that made the world exist as it did.
And in contrast, she had decided long ago, that she would gladly trade the suredness of a match to her soul if it meant she got a say in the outcome of her life.
Still – did her life look any different now than it did back then? Perhaps in the grandest of schemes. But…
Her father had been in charge of the stables, her mother a close companion to Lady Stark. And now she held a similar seat, sitting near the side of Sansa Stark, once her childhood playmate, grown into the Queen of the North. School lessons and daydreaming exchanged for talks of trade agreements and wall management. If she closed her eyes it would be easy to imagine two young girls in thick dresses and fur lined coats giggling over future soulmates and happily ever afters.
For the smallest moment in time, Sansa had hoped her soul’s match to be Joffrey, waxing poetic about true love and blonde haired babies. Though there had been endless heartache surrounding the truth, it had been a day she celebrated when the raven arrived from King’s Landing, Sansa’s elegant handwriting informing her that she and Joffrey were not to be wed.
So many things never came to pass, for either of them. Soulmates and love stories set aside in the name of survival, and through it all, she watched as the younger girl grew to hold the weight of a crown she was born to wear. And she was content to live the rest of her days honoring the Starks the same as her parents did, ever aware of all she has to thank them for.
A roof over her head and a job to do – a noblewoman by the queen’s decree – she helped uphold House Stark at Sansa’s behest and in return, was given the freedom to do as she pleases within the confines of Winterfell’s stone walls. Council meetings littered with talks of policy and procedures sitting neatly between walks through the woods and time spent fireside, her fingers stained black, her dresses soaked with snow, her head swimming with negotiations. Lineage and duty tied her to this cold place, history and love filled it with warmth.
She considers the scrap of parchment in her lap, the blacks blended into varied shades of grey, a picture of an empty chair staring back at her. She traces the shape of it, a regal rendering, more throne than chair, but it looked lonely in the bleak streaks of black and white. Something missing that she couldn’t put a name to.
The image had come to her in a dream, the compulsion to sketch it following quickly after. When the queen had dismissed her for the day, she retreated quickly and quietly to the main sitting room, fingers itching for the warmth of charcoal, for the smooth feel of parchment, the empty chair sitting heavy at the back of her dream.
Perhaps if she could see it, hold it, in more than just her mind’s eye, then its purpose would present itself.
The only answer she’s given is the snap of the fire at the far end of the room.
---------------
Oberyn has no desire to make mention of Doran’s plans to Ellaria. Upon his arrival to his quarters he sends for her, the servant given the task in a venomous tongue that he’ll remind himself to apologize for later. For now he kicks off his boots and strips down to his trousers, pacing the room from end to end, the monotony doing nothing to contain his frustrations.
He considers the how and the why and the who of his current situation, anxious for someone to blame, desperate for a way out. He snaps his jaw and bites his teeth, sinking deeper into memories as he stalks about his quarters; marriage, to whatever end, never seemed as advantageous as most made it out to be. He had learned a whole lifetime’s history on the subject within the walls of the citadel, his own familial experiences confirming what books had taught him.
A sister wed to a dragon in the name of peace —dead. A brother betrothed to his soul’s true match — alone.
And now he…
No.
Oberyn refuses to even consider the ridiculous notion coming to fruition.
He leaves the very idea of weddings and brides and political good-will behind him, moving to the open terrace just off of his sitting room, intent to sulk in silence beneath the late morning sun. He throws himself down onto the nearest chaise, pouring himself a full glass of wine, and then a second, urging the sweet liquid to wash away the bitter taste of breakfast. His eyes close, the crash of the waves lulling him into a restless sleep, the heat of Dorne burning the backs of his eyelids as he ignores the reality of his brother’s sensible voice.
A different voice of reason is what drags him back from the flames.
“Something troubles you.”
Ellaria Sand has always been too clever for Oberyn’s own good. She watches him with a calculating eye, a patience that matches his impetuous nature in more ways than he could bother to count, and in many ways she is his perfect match. There was no one better to lead his fledglings, his sandsnakes, his family. Even now, after years of sharing in each other, bending and curving to match their hearts together over time. They know what makes the other moan, cry, beg, and he is more than confident in his affections for her.
But oh, how she vexes him so.
“The only thing that troubles me is that it has been too long since I felt the curve of your body beneath my own.”
She smiles, her lips yielding sweetly to him, but something curls at the back of her dark eyes, some sort of secret that he’s certain he should already know but cannot remember. He will not ask and she does not speak it. Neither would dare in the state that he’s in. Instead she steps between his spread legs, thin fingers loosening the sash that barely holds her dress to her skin, revealing herself to the Dornish sun above.
Oberyn sits up, large palms smoothing around the dip of Ellaria’s hips to cup her backside and pull her forward until the weight of her settles in his lap. She fits to him, molds herself around his body, hard edges and soft curves matched in a way he knows and loves and craves more than words allow, the hard length of his cock fitting deep inside her warmth.
His lips find her skin, mapping a steady path up the column of her neck until finally they meet in a long overdue kiss. Their lips slant together, a soft press at first, just enough to remind him that she is here before he dips his tongue, eager to remind himself of her taste. She’s spiced honey and burning smoke, biting at the corners of his mouth, and Oberyn would gladly suffocate on her if given the chance.
When he breaks away, it’s with a broken sob masked behind a curse, his forehead falling to her own. A wish neither of them would ever dare to say out loud hangs like a cloud above them, blocking out the heat of the sun. But it does not stop Oberyn from pressing himself to every inch of Ellaria’s skin, hoping against his own foolish heart that this is the day their match is revealed.
---------------
Sansa Stark strikes an imposing figure. Her red hair and piercing blue eyes burn bright against the soft greys of Winterfell and yet she does not seem out of place. She moved through the halls with purpose, each step taken with intent, each decision made with a warm heart. She cared for her birthright with both her hands, holding it in a way so much like her father but in other ways not.
She was born for it. Then bred for it.
And still, it exhausted her.
Sansa sits before her now, boots kicked off, wiggling her stocking-covered toes just out of reach of the fire, her head tipped back and her eyes closed, content in what must be her first moment’s peace since she walked into the great hall this morning.
“I’ve had a taxing day, and I’m not sure where to start.”
“Can I suggest the beginning?”
A sharp glare peeks out between long lashes before a crooked smile and the poke of a tongue are pointed her way. She can’t help but tease the queen. Their companionship has always bordered on familiarity, a shared affection between them born from a childhood raised together, a lifelong friendship cemented in the hours of war. Most nights were spent in a manner such as this, idle chit chat fractured between the complaints of leadership while the scratch of charcoal and the crack of the fire kept cadence with both women’s words. Tonight was no different, save for the topic at hand.
“Prince Doran has made a request of me.”
“A request?”
It was not unheard of but still strange to hear from so far south, especially in a time of peace.
“A lady for a betrothal to his younger brother.”
“The Red Viper?”
Sansa sits up, then nods, eyes trained on the fire, the flames seemingly giving her the strength to carry on. She makes no mention of her time at King’s Landing or her brief passing with the second-born son of Sunspear, her bottom lip caught between the uncomfortable snare of her teeth. If there is a statement to be made on him, on his character or his choices, the queen does not share it, instead watching as the shades of reds and yellows dance before her.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t found his soulmate yet. If the rumors are even considered to be half true, the numbers should be in his favor.”
Girlish snickers ring up high into rafters, the pair of them moving down to the floor, knees folded beneath them, goblets of wine tipping but not spilling in the process. They scoot forward, just enough to feel the warmth of the fire staining their cheeks, sneaky smiles shared between sips of wine.
“Were they asking after Arya?”
Sansa snorts with a roll of her eyes. “I think the entirety of Westeros knows what a fool’s errand that would be.”
“You, then?”
Her old friend tracks her gaze from the side of her eyes and they both smile and laugh. A fool's errand, indeed.
“Truthfully, Doran did not ask for anyone specific. I think he would be fine if I sent one of our mules as long as Oberyn is wed before summer arrives. No…the decision has fallen to me and my council.”
There is something Sansa is not saying, an annoyance left unspoken, digging a trench between the two women. Finally, with a huff and a laugh, she says what the queen is unable to.
“The council suggested I make the journey south and accept the Prince’s hand.”
The truth is what finally steals Sansa’s attention from the fireplace, and suddenly she is turning, grasping her hands and speaking with conviction. “I cannot make you. I would never. I…I know the agony of a forced nuptial.”
And then, softly, “But yes. Your name was the first.”
“I am not surprised,” she smiles despite herself. “I do vex the council so.”
“A woman of your nature, unmarried and unmatched, allowed to sit at your station is difficult for them to understand. But they forget that it is not their role to object to your presence.”
For a moment’s time neither woman speaks, choosing instead to sit together in silence, fingers tangled, the smell of charcoal and cherry wine permeating the air between them. A life of quiet snow and solid stone is considered, matched to the steady steps of duty and honor mixed with memories of love. She remembers her parents, the love they had for each other, and the love they held for Winterfell and the Starks. She matches it to her own heart, her own dedication, a life promised in honor of the north and to the woman sitting right beside her.
The only answer possible presents itself clearly.
“I will go.”
---------------
The knock on the door is insistent, dragging Oberyn from sleep in a way he vows revenge for. He had been ignoring it the best he could, burying his face in the curve of Ellaria’s breast, lips finding the pulse of her heart, taking comfort in the beat of it. He’d be content to lay here, his cock hard between his legs, his lips shifting lower to capture the swell of her tit, but the knocking has yet to stop and it isn’t long before she’s pushing on his shoulder, telling him to take care of his business and hurry back to her.
He drags himself from the bed with a curse and a grunt, a cursory glance spared towards the open windows. The violet bursts coloring the sky tell him that dusk is fast approaching, and he can only assume it is a servant on the other side of the door to alert him that the celebrations will be starting soon. He makes the calculated decision to leave his robe on the floor, hoping to either scare whoever it is back to the kitchens or perhaps to tempt them inside to his bed.
Oberyn strokes himself slowly, his cock heavy in his hand, still slick with Ellaria’s arousal. He flings the door wide with an exaggerated flourish, a cheeky greeting dancing on the tip of his tongue.
“You can tell my brother I will be dining here tonight, but you’re welcome to jo-”
He stops short at the sight of Doran, dressed head to toe in regal shades of gold, seeming so tall when it’s Oberyn who stands and the Lord of Sunspear sits, his wheelchair pushed to the threshold of his little brother’s sanctuary.
“I’m quite alright, thank you. My tastes do match that of Dornish tradition but I’ll stop short of laying with my brother. We’ll leave that sort of thing to lions and dragons, yes?”
There is suddenly the weight of a robe around Oberyn’s shoulders and warm breath in his ear, Ellaria greeting Doran with a nod and a smile.
“It is good to see you, Prince Doran.”
“And you as well, my dear. How fare the girls?”
“Growing like weeds and twice a thorn in my side. They take after their father that way.”
“The best of us do. Speaking of, do you mind if I borrow your dearest paramour? I promise to only take a moment of his time from you.”
Oberyn watches the exchange through a frowned pout, arms crossed in a petulance he’s been wearing since this morning. The pair of them speak as if he isn’t even present, and before he has a chance to object to any of it, Ellaria is pushing him out into the hallway as he hastily ties his robe closed.
“I can only assume you are here to promise me that all plans of weddings and succession are done with. Perhaps even an apology to go along with this vow?”
“I think you know that I am decidedly not.”
“Well then you will be disappointed, dearest brother, to find that my stance on the matter has not changed.”
Doran sighs, his forehead falling to his hand, the years more apparent to Oberyn now than ever before. He thinks of maybe lightening the blow, an apology or an offer to sit at his right hand, to alleviate the sting of his refusal, but the words die on his tongue, his brother finding his voice first.
“You were given much leeway, Oberyn. Freedom. Mother and Father framed it beneath the guise of looking for your soulmate. A part of me had foolishly hoped, dearest brother, that you were doing just that.”
Oberyn wants to laugh, tries to, knocking his knuckles against the wall with a forced chuckle. But the sound breaks too soon and he looks away, considering the high arches and wide open space of his childhood home. How strange that all of sudden it feels entirely too small for his liking. When he finally turns back to Doran, he smiles.
“Who’s to say I wasn’t, brother? Skin to skin contact to find the true match to your heart. Is that not what the ancient tomes say?”
“You treat it like some game,” his older brother hisses, what sounds like a sneer chasing after his words. “But you do not know what it feels like. To find the other half of your heart, your soulmate. The whole world falls away. It’s a feeling unlike any other and you dismiss it, as if it is this fleeting thing you are too good for.”
Doran’s voice trails off, his eyes misting over in a way that Oberyn has only seen once before. He knows his older brother is thinking of his own love, his own loss; lucky enough to find his soulmate early on, unfortunate enough to lose her not long after. The pain had stolen the light from his brother’s life, any and all joy relegated to the back of his heart. Even the idea of taking a second wife in the name of duty had been too much for Doran to bear.
Oberyn was sick for the thought of it.
It hadn’t been hard for him to decide there and then that his love would never hold such rigid definitions
“But you do not know,” Doran keeps going, his voice crushed in frustration. “You run around with that Sand girl—“
“I love her.”
The admission rings out loud in the empty hallway, and Oberyn reveals in it, satisfied in his honesty, no matter the cost.
“I have no doubt,” Doran agrees quietly. “But if you had found your soulmate, whether they be in the brothels or the beaches, what then? Could you bring yourself to choose?”
He refuses to look away, mournful eyes tracing Oberyn from top to bottom, and for a hair of a second he feels himself so small. Merely a lad desperate to ask his older brother what choice he should make. But the moment passes, impetuous frustration filling up the space between them yet again, his words boiling over the curve of his lips.
“Why?” Oberyn hisses, bending down until he and Doran are nose to nose, as level a playing field as he can give himself. “Why now? When peace has finally found its way to us?”
“I am dying.”
He forgets how to breathe.
His vision blurs as his face goes numb. His fingers clench around empty air, fingernails digging deep enough to scar the skin of his palm. His skin pulls too tight. His blood burns too hot.
He stumbles back, can’t help but, another punch to his overwrought gut, his bare feet tripping as he tries and fails to find his footing.
“No…n-no. It is…you are…” He is muttering, mumbling in disbelief, unable to comprehend this one final truth laid down at his feet. His brother, the one he loves so dearly but resents more than he knows how to say…dying? Taken away? No.
“No.”
“The maesters have done all that they can, and still I grow weaker every day. There is no measure of time they can predict for me, but something in my bones tells me that any day marked as past is a gift that brings me closer to Mellario.”
“And you…have no heir,” Oberyn breathes out, the actuality of his brother’s request finally bearing witness before his eyes.
“I do, little brother.”
Oberyn clenches his jaw and turns away, ignoring the sting of tears in favor of facing the solution head on. There was no way about it now – he would become Lord of Sunspear – or risk allowing the decisions of Dorne’s leadership to fall to the new, and still so very young, king. And though he has no desire to play the game of thrones, it is not lost on him the rules that follow.
Marriage.
Children.
This will fall to him now.
“Tell me about the girl.”
Doran gives a name; the same given by Sansa Stark, sent by raven only a few nights prior.
“From the North?” He can’t help the incredulous sound of his voice, and he cringes inwardly at his own knee-jerk assumptions.
“Did your conquest of The Mountain and the end of the Lannister reign not appease you, little brother? Are you still carrying that thirst for vengeance inside you?
Oberyn scoffs. “Certainly not. The Starks were a victim of circumstance, same as most of us. I am just surprised. I thought they named the eldest girl their queen.”
“They did,” Doran confirms, his stance as steady as his answer.
“I did not think she was a fan of forced marriage, what with her messy history with them.”
“She was a little girl then. She is a queen now. Though if it helps alleviate your own feelings towards this particular arrangement, the lady took it upon herself to volunteer. Perhaps a desperation to hold on to her own agency. Not unlike someone else I know.”
“Volunteer? She has agreed to this? Then surely you will call her what she is, Doran – a crown-chasing child.”
“I can assure you she is neither. She is a woman grown and it is her allegiance to the north and her queen that has her agreeing to this arrangement. Nothing more.”
“Then she’s more fool than I feared,” Oberyn murmurs, touching his thumb to his bottom lip.
“Well then, you’ll be two fools in matrimony. Rest well, my lord. Your bride arrives within the month.”
---------------
Dedications:
Biggest hugest thanks to @jazzelsaur and @astroboots and one poorly timed apple watch notification that inspired this fever dream insanity of a story. If not for the truly unhinged and chaotic nature of our DM's, this fic would never have been borne. Also shout-out to these two hoes for listening to me prattle on about GoT lore, soulmates, and all manner of "giving characters agency" discussion. I love you both a not normal amount.
Follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications for fic updates.
#oberyn martell#oberyn martell fic#oberyn x ellaria#oberyn martell x fem!oc#pedro pascal characters#radiowallet writes
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only push me away if you really don’t want this
plum, chapter twelve
a/n: sorry for the slightly open ending to this part, but I just liked it much more ending it like that
warnings: Joel Miller x reader, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), slow burn, age gap (20 years), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in Jackson), rape recovery, ptsd, love confession, crying
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
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“About the other night,” you spoke when finally, after days of trying, you caught Joel before he could slip away.
Not letting you finish your thought, he breathed, “you were drunk,” keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” you uttered softly, staring at his tense form.
“I’m sorry,” his head shook lightly, the mental whip he lashed across his own back being so clear that you could nearly make it out yourself.
“For what?”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that,” his eyes squeezed shut as his face crinkled up in regret, “I shouldn’t have kissed you at all.”
“You kissed me?” your eyebrows shot up, “Joel, I was the one kissing you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, keeping his eyes closed as his head gently swayed from side to side.
“Joel,” your soft voice tried to penetrate his shield as you took a step closer to him, “Joel. Please, look at me…”
Face twitching like a scared little boy, his eyes finally fluttered open, brows turning up in heartbreak as he noticed the earnest way you were gazing up at him.
It didn’t take more than a heavy shared breath for your both to wordlessly understand.
“I’m too old for you,” he murmured.
“No, you’re not,” you stated gently, taking another step towards him.
“Y/n, you don’t really like me like that,” he tried, “not really,” though his feet still didn’t move to get away.
“Just shut up. Stop making up dumb excuses. Just be honest with me, only push me away if you really don’t want this.”
“What I want is not important…”
“That’s not true… Joel, you are probably the only man in the world that doesn’t scare me. And I didn’t really get why that was earlier, because it doesn’t make sense at all, but I do now. I get it now. I didn’t want it to happen, and I don’t know when it did, but Joel, I like you,” you heard your voice break as tears welled up in your eyes, “and maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m just completely blind to all of that now, but it just seemed like you liked me back…”
“Y/n…”
“But if don’t, then I’d really appreciate it if you’d just come right out and say it so that I can just leave you alone and let you forget any of this ever happened.”
“Plum…”
“Please just tell me…” you begged, feeling his trembling breath hit your skin, “just say that you don’t like me…”
“I can’t…” he breathed, his brown eyes flickering over your face, “you deserve so much better.”
“I know,” tears finally breached and rolled down your cheeks, “so let me have something better. Show me what I deserve.”
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#plum#joel miller x reader#joel miller hbo x reader#pedro pascal fic#joel miller x you#joel miller x ofc#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller imagine#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x oc#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#joel miller series#joel miller hurt/comfort#joel miller fanfiction
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Psychomanteum / Chapter 13
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)
Chapter 13: Lunacy Fringe
Chapter Summary: You and Dieter spend the day at the beach.
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Word Count: 9.2k+
Content / Warnings: alternating pov, grief, heart-to-heart, fluff, angst, smut, swearing, blood, cannabis use, cliffhanger, public sex, poverty mention, infertility mention near-death experiences, unprotected piv sex, ocean
Notes: Chapter title from “Lunacy Fringe” by The Used. Hmmmm let’s see. Idk if you know this, but I am employed now after like 16 months being a full-time student and SAHM, so I’m in a bit of an ~ adjustment ~ period and might take a bit longer to post things, but time will tell lol. This is a very soft chapter, I hope you like it. Let me know what ya think 🖤✨
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Despite your initial trepidation in doing the DIRT interview, and how disastrous it actually wound up being, Darlene reported to you and Dieter that public feedback has been generally positive. As all three of you expected, some of his fans have labeled you a gold digger, conwoman, or flavor of the week, but most find your story a sympathetic one and seem to be supportive.
The news has saturated the past five days in a warmth and brightness you’ve never encountered before in your life.
You and Dieter have been painting and writing and laughing and cooking and fucking and falling asleep tangled up in each other and waking up stuck together by sweat. Luxuriating in something neither of you could afford before: quality time.
Today is no exception, with the two of you under the white down duvet tent, all glowing from morning sun pouring in through the skylight onto his bed.
It smells like him here, of course, but it also smells like you. Your scent has seeped into the threading of his sheets, commingling with his. Like you’ve claimed your spot here with him and now it’s something different, something shared and sacred.
Meaning that it now smells like you, in the collective sense, and find any excuse to bask in it as long as you can.
The pads of Dieter’s fingers trail along the shiny scar tissue that laces your leg, your hip, your arm. All those swaths of skin once split open, he traces them with reverence, his touch delicate and studious. Content to memorize you as long as you’ll let him.
You count the gray hairs sprouting in his beard and at his temples. The wrinkles that crease his forehead and eyes. Signs of age you feel blessed to encounter.
You think about how the two of you were rejected from the afterlife, from the omnipresent belonging, the sea of love, back into these vessels.
“What was it like when you died?” you ask him, bringing your touch to that hairless heart-shaped spot at his jawline, “Like, what did you see?”
“I, umm,” he clears the sleep from his throat, then says, “I remember feeling tired. So fucking tired. This crazy heavy fatigue took over, like—like someone put the world’s heaviest weighted blanket on me, and I tried to stay awake but I just fucking couldn’t. When I woke, I was floating above my body. Saw them all trying to revive me. Then it was like… I was sucked up into this tunnel.”
“The tunnel,” you grin, “That tunnel was fucking awesome.”
He chuckles, “It really was. It was like… I’ve never felt more at peace. Fucking wild,” he shakes his head and frowns, “I saw all these scenes from my life. Growing up, living in New York, getting my first real gig, moving to LA, all that. I got to that barrier, you know,” he glances at you and you nod knowingly.
“I was right there, I touched it, and I knew that was it but I wasn’t scared. Then Annie shot the adrenaline, and I was getting sucked back, and,” his eyes flick to yours, softening to ganache, “And… I saw you.”
You blink, searching his face, shaking your head.
“I—I saw you, Louella. I didn’t know who you were. But when I met you, I recognized you. I felt this,” he turns his wrist in a circle and twists his face up in this bewildered expression, “Connection. I don’t know. Like it was supposed to happen.”
Then he looks at you, and his eyes are glassy and wide with this tender awe. Every cell in your body swells so fat and ripe with love, it’s a miracle you don’t burst like an overfilled water balloon. It hurts, how much you love him.
“You never told me that," you manage to whisper, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. He gives you a sheepish shrug, and you drag your fingertip down the bridge of his nose, “Maybe it was supposed to happen.”
Dieter plucks your hand from his face and interlaces his fingers with yours, then immediately pulls it back, pressing a slow, wet kiss into the blackwork apple tattooed on your wrist. He brings your palm to his cheek and holds it there, his eyelids fluttering, “What was it like for you?”
“Well,” you set your thumb in motion against his skin, “I closed my eyes, and it was dark, then I opened them and saw the wreck. Paramedics were putting me on a stretcher, and there was so much blood I was… red. Like someone dropped me in paint or something.”
The phantom scent of iron sends a shiver up your spine. It took a week to rid your hair of that smell. In the hospital, you scraped under your nails and picked at the hollows of your ears for days before you stopped finding dried blood.
Maybe it wasn’t days. Maybe it was hours, or minutes, you’re not sure.
You just know that, for approximately an eternity, you discovered a small mountain of little rust-red flakes and wondered whose blood it was, knowing that even if it wasn’t his, it was.
Dieter kisses your palm, pulling you back into the present. You blink a few times, take a deep breath, then continue.
“Ethan was with me, and we were pulled behind the ambulance, like there was some kind of tether between me and my body, but somewhere along the way, he disappeared. That’s when I noticed...”
You tilt your head and frown, watching your nails graze his whiskers while your mind tries to assemble a description that might make sense.
“Above me, there was this light. Something inside me knew that’s where he went, so I followed him into the tunnel. I saw my life. When I was growing up in Ohio, my dad, my mom… the time I spent, um…”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip and your eyes flick to his, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I lived out of my car for a few years after I moved out, before I was accepted into CIA.”
“Really?” he searches your face, and when you nod, he rolls on his side, sliding his palm along the curve of your back, scooping you up to bring you closer.
“Well, technically I was still homeless when I started going there, ‘til my classmate found out and insisted I move in with him,” you smirk, “That’s how Parker became my bestest friend.”
“As always, a man after my own heart,” he murmurs and mimics the smirk on your lips. The tips of his fingers work up and down your spine in a soothing motion.
You chuckle at this, then sigh, “Then, yeah, moving to the city, meeting Ethan. I got to the barrier and saw him cross. I could see inside it like a window. My grandparents, my dad, and Ethan—they were all there, but wouldn’t let me through. My dad told me I needed to go back, that I had more to do.”
A burning sensation climbs up your throat, settling behind your eyes, where tears start to form. You swallow the thick, raw feeling and shake your head.
“I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think there was anything left for me if Ethan was gone, even though—”
When you realize what you were about to say, a sob escapes you. Dieter kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and tightens his arms around you. You curl up against him, wriggling your head into that space between his collarbone and jaw. The heat of his body and your own recycled breath warms your face.
“Promise not to judge me for this?” you ask him in a hoarse whisper.
He tucks your hair behind your ear, “I promise.”
“Sometimes—you know, when things were really bad with him—sometimes I, um,” your voice breaks. You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears, take a shaky breath, then confess, “Sometimes I wished he would die.“
Self-loathing crackles in your chest. Each second that passes with no response only amplifies the feeling, and you can’t stop the wave of anxious thoughts from spilling out your lips, “It’s fucking horrible, I know it is, but he wasn’t the man I married anymore. He would leave for hours, sometimes days, without telling me where he was or who he was with, coming home all fucking strung out, reeking of booze and smoke and pussy, and—and if I asked, if I dared to fucking ask, he treated me like—like I was the fucking enemy or something—”
Another wet sob gurgles from deep in your chest. Dieter squeezes you tight, nuzzling against the crown of your head, thumb grazing your shoulder as he coos, “It’s ok, baby, it’s ok—”
“No, Dieter, it’s not fucking ok—I should have done something when I noticed it happening more and more, but I was so fucking angry with him for taking away my choice to have a family—”
He shifts to look down at you, asking, “What do you mean?”
Your heart jumps so high, it seems to get lodged in your throat for a moment. You shake your head and swallow it down, then take a deep, wobbly breath, exhaling a sigh, “He, um… he cheated on me. Said it was a one time thing, he was all fucked up because it was the anniversary of his brother’s death—I—I don’t know. He didn’t tell me until months later when I got really sick out of nowhere and had to go to the Emergency Room. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me at first, but admitted me and started me on antibiotics because the symptoms pointed to an infection.”
This big, blue boulder settles on your sternum and presses the air from your lungs. Dieter’s comforting touch starts again, swirling patterns into your shoulder, his arms cradling around you, lulling you into a sense of security, urging you onward. You relax into his warmth and clear your throat.
“When the antibiotics worked, the doctors looked into my symptoms further. They ran a bunch of tests and eventually found that I had chlamydia. I told them it was impossible, the only person I was sexually active with was my husband—and, well… yeah. Anyway. Turns out he knew he had it, got treated, but couldn’t bring himself to tell me about it,” you shake your head and let out a sad chuckle, “Just, um, stopped fucking me. Let it fester inside me until it turned into pelvic inflammatory disease, which scarred my reproductive organs enough to make me infertile.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, and his lips part like he’s going to say more, but his breath catches and they snap shut. When they open again, he says, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
You study him, “What were you going to say?”
“What?”
“Before you said you’re sorry, what were you going to say?”
“I, uhh,” he pauses, and you hear the wet squelch of his gulp, “Nothing, it’s not important.”
You pull back to meet his eyes, finding them all red and glossy. An ache of affection radiates across your chest. You cup his cheeks and search his face, “Tell me.”
“Just… that’s just a fucking terrible thing to do to someone you love,” he shakes his head, tears pooling in his eyes as he winces and looks away, “But—but my first thought was that I understand why, he umm, why—”
His face crumples. Tears blur your vision. You nod, showing you get what he’s trying to say.
He sniffles, and his eyebrows draw together as he meets your gaze, “God, that’s fucked up, right? What the fuck does that say about me?”
You take a moment to deliberate, wiping your eyes before telling him, “I think… the fact that you are able to recognize that in yourself, and know that it’s wrong, but tell me the truth anyway, is…” you lick your lips as you try to find the right words, deciding on, “Indicative of growth.“
Dieter chuckles. It’s a wet, forceful noise, like he couldn’t even help it from happening. He sniffles and presses his forehead to yours. His thumb scrapes against your damp cheek, “That is very diplomatic of you.”
You smile despite the tears, then lean in to give him a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft. They linger on yours for a few moments, and when you pull away, you murmur, “I love you, Dieter.”
“I love you, too,” he rumbles, brushing your face with the back of his hand, “So, you found that out in the hospital, and I’m assuming things got worse with him after that?”
“Yeah,” you frown and nod, “Yeah, I mean, I iced him out pretty hard. It all went down right before COVID hit New York, you know, and we were stuck at home together… he’d run our orders, then lock himself away in his office. I’d hear him snorting and pacing in there for hours. Like a caged animal. He’d come out all fucking,” you make a sniff noise and mimic a facial tic, “Twitchy and withdrawn, which was totally not like him. But, I don’t know. I couldn’t bridge that gap and move past what happened enough to help him.”
You sigh, flicking your gaze to his, “Do you remember what he was like?”
“Yeah,” Dieter swallows, glancing behind you for a moment before returning to your eyes, “He was nice. Funny. Easy-going. I—I mean, I liked him. Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Well, knowing what I know about him now, I feel… I don’t know, guilty, or something.”
“Don’t,” you frown and shake your head, combing your fingers through his curls, “He was all of those things. He was so… good, you know? This thing would happen, I swear to fucking god it was like every time we went out,” you chuckle fondly, “He would strike up a conversation with a stranger and make friends with them. It was effortless. He was so magnetic. I always loved that about him. And it’s not like he was different behind closed doors or anything like that. Not at that point, anyway.”
Your smile falters. Dieter tilts your chin up and kisses you. When he pulls back, you wriggle into his chest and close your eyes.
“That’s what I mean, though, when I say he wasn’t the man I married. He became paranoid, unpredictable, erratic. There was this darkness about him that was so… hard to be around. I—I fucking hated him.”
Your stomach drops, eyes blinking open. Before you can think twice, you tell Dieter, “That’s the last thing I said to him. ‘I fucking hate you.’”
He draws a sharp breath, holds it for a moment, then says, “That’s not true, though. You talked to him last weekend, in the psychomanteum.”
Your lips part to contradict him, but you realize he’s right. That dark, heavy feeling in your chest lifts enough for you to smile. Fresh tears prick your eyes, “I did, didn’t I?”
“Fuck yeah you did,” he grins, craning his head to kiss your forehead, murmuring against your skin, “My sexy little ghostbuster.”
You bury your face in his neck and laugh. His chest vibrates with a low chuckle. A serene silence settles under the white, glowing dome. Dieter releases a content sigh and traces the pomegranate on your shoulder, “Did you ever find out why?”
“Why what?”
“Why he, umm—”
“Ah,” you nod, “Why he tried to kill us?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” you furrow your brow, “When he dragged me out of bed that night, he kept asking me who I was working for, said it had to be NYPD or feds. He told me that someone was following him and he knew I was setting him up. I don’t know.”
You take one of his hands and interlace it with yours, cuddling them to your chest, “The first time we tried the psychomanteum, I was hoping he would be how he was before—I mean, obviously because I needed to know who he really was, if it was all a lie in the beginning, if I had just missed it… but I also wanted to ask if I should lay low. The more time that went on, though, with no red flags from police, the more I knew he was just… sick.”
Dieter hums in acknowledgment.
“I’m so glad we tried again. That I got to talk to him again,” you say, smirking when you add, “Thank you for helping me with my crazy ghost FaceTime.”
He smiles, “Thank you for convincing me to try it. I’m glad I did.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he pauses and shifts a little, “James and I, in our heyday, we would write these scripts and screenplays and act them out. He did most of the writing, and I did the big parts, but I, you know, I liked… writing.”
You pull back and tilt your head at him, a grin spreading across your face at his bashful demeanor, “Really?”
He nods, a little bob wobbling his throat, “I’ve been thinking about giving that a shot. I have some ideas for scripts, but I’ve been so… reluctant, I guess, to put them to paper,” he shrugs, “When I talked to James, he told me I should try it again, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“I think he’s right,” you tell him, and press a kiss into the back of his hand.
“I just keep thinking… What if it’s terrible? What if nobody likes it?”
“Does it matter as long as you like it?”
His features shift into seriousness as he considers this. Brow furrowed and pinched in the middle. Corners of his mouth folded in a slight frown. Eyes downcast, studying your clasped hands as he flattens your palm over his heart.
The soft, rhythmic thump-thump beats steady. You watch his eyelids flutter and his facial muscles slacken into a serene expression. This feeling comes over you that’s hard to explain.
It surges from deep inside your chest and buzzes across your skin.
There’s weight to it. Nothing you can’t handle, but still, the heaviness is apparent. You simultaneously feel responsible and completely exposed. Like you’re exchanging your most prized, most fragile possessions, under the silent condition that neither of you will break the other’s.
You would be lying if you said it didn’t scare the shit out of you. You would also be lying if you said it didn’t bring you joy.
He catches you staring and smiles, “What?”
“Nothing,” you grin, “I just… I love you.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, glancing down at his lips.
He searches your face and murmurs, “I love you so much.”
“So fucking much,” you confirm.
Gravel crunches beneath your sandals as you trot down the steep path to the beach, splitting your attention between your clumsy footwork and the scenery.
Clusters of purple flowers occasionally break up the tall, dry grass. Palm trees stretch high into the brilliant, cloudless sky. Beyond the white sand beach sits the Pacific Ocean, dark and alive.
As you inhale deep and wide, letting your eyes shut as you relish the sulphuric, briny scent of the sea, your foot catches on a rock, and you stumble forward with a yelp, grabbing Dieter’s arm to keep you from falling. He only falters a little when you latch onto him, even though he’s outfitted like a pack mule, beach chairs strapped to his back, lugging a tote bag stuffed with towels and a cooler.
“You ok?”
“Yeah,” you wrap your hand around his bicep for support and shrug, “Just, y’know, being super attentive and graceful.”
His muscles twitch under your grip, “Good thing you have such a big strong man to hang onto.”
“Are you flexing?”
“Pffff, no,” he scoffs, and this big, contagious smile spreads across his face. Gravel transitions into sand at the trail’s end, and he asks, “Alright, doll, where you wanna set up camp?”
Your nose crinkles as you squint around the sparsely populated beach. There’s a section of shoreline far away from everyone else, and you point to it, “Right there! Avast ye!”
“Aye aye, captain!”
His pirate voice is surprisingly on point. It makes you laugh. He grins at your amusement as the two of you trudge towards the spot. Sand kicks up inside your sandals, gritty and hot against your feet, and you grumble, “Fuck this, I can’t with the shoes.”
You slow down to take them off, but Dieter stops you, “Wait wait wait—”
“What?”
“Think you can kick ‘em all the way there?”
You shrug, “Probably.”
He sets the cooler down, takes a step back, and props his hands on his hips, looking between you and the vacant section of beach through his sunglasses, “Let’s see it.”
Rolling your eyes, you tease, “You are such a boy.”
“Kick your shoes! Kick your shoes! Kick your—”
You wind up your right leg, then kick it forward, sending the sandal flying.
“YEAAAAAAH!”
It goes high, but not far, flopping on the ground a few strides ahead.
“Ah, beans,” you say, “I thought that was outta here.”
“See, your problem is,” Dieter drops the tote bag and shucks off the beach chairs strapped to his back.
“Oh, you have a technique? A shoe kicking technique?”
“Obviously,” he guffaws while tugging his joggers up his calves, “You gotta get your flippy all floppy on your toes, then kick it.”
“I believe the technical term is loosey-goosey.”
“You’re absolutely right, my mistake,” he walks to your side and points to his foot, “See, watch this.”
He shakes his foot around until the sandal dangles off it, then winds up and launches it forward. It goes about four times further than yours, landing right where the two of you were headed.
“BOOM! That’s a shoe kick.”
“Nice,” you give him a high five.
“Thanks,” he grins, “Now you try. Should we do this one together?”
“Ok ok,” you balance on your right foot, wriggling your ankle around until the sandal slides down as far as it can.
Dieter does the same, “Here we go, ready?”
“So fucking ready.”
“One, two, three—”
Both of you rear back, then kick, and your sandals go whizzing through the air. Yours hits the ground first and skids across the sand, coming to rest a few feet from his first sandal, while Dieter’s flies so far it’s just a speck in the distance.
“Holy shit!” you laugh, “That went so fucking far.”
“And the crowd goes wild!” Dieter bellows, embellishing the statement with cheering noises as he runs a victory lap around you.
You snort and shake your head, “Ok, now you’re gloating.”
He continues the one man celebration as he returns to his abandoned cargo, then heaves the chairs back over his shoulders. You skip up to him and snatch the tote bag off the ground, even though he insisted on carrying everything, then take your place on his arm.
Once the two of you arrive at the vacant stretch of beach, marked by two left sandals, Dieter sets everything up, unfolding the colorful canvas beach chairs on either side of the cooler while you strip down to your black string bikini. He digs in the pockets of his joggers and unloads most of their contents into the tote bag, save for a little tin of joints and a lighter, which he sets on the cooler.
Stretching out in the beach chair, you bury your toes in the hot sand and watch Dieter kick off his pants. He notices you noticing him and whistles at you, a flirty wheet-whew.
You grin, and when he reaches for the hem of his shirt, you catcall, “Take it off!”
He does so dramatically, spinning the shirt over his head like a helicopter and flossing it between his legs before tossing it at you.
“Oh my god,” you laugh when it smacks you in the face. The fabric is warm and reeks of him, which you kind of like, so you ball it up and stuff it behind your head like a pillow.
With a groan, Dieter sits down and grabs the tin off the cooler, plugging a joint between his lips. He lights it and takes a few puffs, then relaxes back into the beach chair, passing the torch to you.
You accept it and take two hits in quick succession, keeping the smoke hostage in your lungs. The rush of THC blurs your senses and elevates you to a pleasant altitude where worries slough off your brain. On the exhale, you hand it to Dieter and ask, “If you were a fish, what kind of fish do you think you’d be?”
He just starts giggling as he plucks the joint from your fingertips and takes a drag.
You catch a few contagious giggles and tell him, “I think—I think I would be a, uhh… a pufferfish.”
He furrows his brow and blows the smoke towards the ocean, then shakes his head, “A pufferfish?”
“Yeah,” you take the joint from him, inhaling skunky, thick smoke with a shrug, “Spiky. Temperamental. Solitary.”
“Kind of adorable when you’re mad,” he adds with a grin while accepting the joint from you, then puffs on it. A condensed white cloud curls out his parted lips when he hands it back to you. He looks out into the water, “I’d be a goldfish.”
You study him while taking a drag, and flick a long tube of ash off the glowing orange tip.
His nose scrunches up around his sunglasses as he glances over at you, “Trapped. Always… on display.”
You pass him the joint and nod in understanding, but say, “I don’t think you’re a goldfish. You’re like… way cooler than a goldfish.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re a pufferfish.”
“Then what am I?”
“Hmm,” he leans way back in his beach chair, tucking an arm behind his head while taking a hit off the joint, then hands it back to you, “Let me think about it.”
“Kill it,” you wave off the joint, perfectly content with how stoned you managed to get, and lay back to bask in the warm sunshine. Your eyes drift closed and you release a deep, cleansing breath while thinking about goldfish. Pea-brained, sociable, common.
Sure, he may feel like a goldfish, but that’s not him. Not really.
He’s unique, and smart, and dedicated, when he wants to be.
Dozens of different sea creatures swim behind your eyelids. You compare and contrast each one to your paramour. Octopi are smart and shapeshifters, but they’re too reclusive. Sharks too aggressive. A whole fleet of colorful, tropical fish, but none of them seem right, until one little curly-tailed guy buzzes across the ocean in your head.
Your eyes open and you smile at him, “You’re a seahorse.”
“How’s that?” he asks, voice warped by smoke. He grinds the joint into the sand, then outstretches a hand to you.
You take it, interlacing your fingers with his, forming a bridge between your armrests, “They eat a lot, they’re kind of pokey—”
“Stop, you flatter me,” he deadpans.
You throw your head back in laughter and say, “Wait, wait—let me finish! They’re also cute, and romantic, and smart, and curious,” you lean forward and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss into his skin, then declare, “You, my love, are a seahorse.”
A wide grin spreads across his face. His thumb works against your hand. He tugs on it and murmurs, “C’mere.”
You crawl out of the beach chair, into his lap, linking your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a kiss. One of his hands snakes around your waist while the other comes to rest on your bare thigh. When your lips part, you curl up against his chest and sigh, “I love you, my sweet seahorse man.”
He lets out a dopey little giggle and kisses the crown of your head, mumbling into your hair, “And I love you, my beautiful seahorse lady.”
You gasp, peering up at him, “I get to be a seahorse with you?”
“It makes sense, don’t you think?” he pulls you close and nuzzles into your hair, snuggling you like you’re his favorite stuffed animal at bedtime, “You and me, we can just… get our tails all tangled up and float around the sea together. Hang out in coral reefs and eat, uhhh… I don’t know, whatever seahorses eat. Sea-monkeys?”
“Sea-monkeys?” you guffaw, “What the fuck are those?”
“It’s a thing!” he laughs, giving your thigh a playful smack, “Didn’t you ever have sea-monkeys? They came in those, uhh, little Parmesan cheese packet lookin’ things—Oh! They’re shrimp! Brine shrimp.”
“Ohhhhh!” you cover your face as you nod, “Ok, yes. I know sea-monkeys. I bet if I was a seahorse I would eat the shit out of those.”
“Told you.”
“You’re right,” you relax back into him, unable to shake the smile from your lips, “Did you know that when a seahorse finds another seahorse they really like, they mate for life?”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” your eyes drift closed, lulled by the warmth of him surrounding you, “They love each other so much that when one of them dies, the other shortly follows. Cuz they can’t live without each other.”
“That’s weirdly romantic,” he chuckles and kisses your forehead.
“Totally us.”
He hums in agreement. The noise is saturated with a warm contentment that seeps into your bones and boils them down to broth. It sloshes around under your skin and you can’t imagine having to move ever again.
“If we stay like this I’m gonna fall asleep,” you mumble. His response is to nuzzle even closer and take a deep, sleepy breath. It’s all the permission you need to let the sandman pull you under.
When Dieter wakes, not much time has passed. The sun no longer hangs in the zenith of the sky like an angry disco ball, but stares him straight in the face.
He peaks down at you and chuckles. A puddle of drool has collected on his shoulder, dribbling from the corner of your slackened mouth. Warmth swells in his belly and aches all the way up to his chest. He strokes your sweaty, heated cheek and thinks, “I don’t deserve her.”
The thought is not so much self-deprecating as it is full of awe at his fortune.
Each morning, when he wakes and you’re still there, wrapped up in his embrace, he can’t believe it. Your one-way ticket to LA has no return trip planned. Neither of you have brought it up. The closest you’ve come is asking him, “Are you sick of me yet?” one morning over breakfast.
“Sick of you?” he scoffed and ripped off a chunk of his blueberry muffin, popping it into his mouth, “Not possible.”
You smiled at him over your coffee mug before taking a tentative sip and changing the subject, “What’re we doing today?”
He knows you have a life back in New York. A business and friends waiting for you to return, but, god… he’d do anything to keep you here forever. To share as many days with you as possible.
As has been happening often lately, he dwells on a snippet from his near-death experience. The one of him holding your hands, where you’re wearing a white dress, smiling bright and full and gorgeous, and you say, “I do.”
Given the result of his previous marriage, he considers that he might be an idiot for daydreaming about it. Especially this soon.
Didn’t he learn his lesson last time?
Apparently not.
Did he feel this way last time, though? Like someone turned up the dimmer switch on his life? With Anika, did he ever know, with certainty, that he would give up anything and everything to stay in the orbit of her affection?
No.
It’s different with you. The tendrils of your love have burrowed deep inside him, taking root in a place no one else has touched. A place he didn’t even know existed within him.
You stir a little. Dieter strokes a scarred-up strawberry on your arm, gazing down at you in time to witness your eyes blink open and meet his. A hazy smile spreads across your lips, and you reach up, brushing his patchy beard with your knuckles, “What time is it?”
The words are groggy and rough.
He shrugs, “Sometime.”
Humming, you look around, then try to sit up, but he reels you back in and squeezes his arms around you, “Mmmm no.”
“Dee,” you whine, laughter wavering your protest, “I’m so thirsty. And hot.”
“Yeah you are.”
One corner of your mouth tucks into a smirk and you snort, shaking your head at him. You kiss him, your dry, sea-chapped lips sticking to the soft inner plush of his mouth. When you draw back and stretch your hands up towards the aquamarine sky, a deep yawn expanding your rib cage, he reluctantly lets you go.
Exhaling a gust, your body goes slack and you roll off his lap into the sand, groaning, “Water,” then crawl towards the cooler. He reaches over to pop the lid open for you and grabs a seltzer. The can opens with a hiss. He brings it to his lips, taking a big swallow of the bubbly, vaguely strawberry-flavored water.
You twist the cap off a dewy plastic water bottle and tip your head back to guzzle it down, water streaming out the corners of your mouth, trickling down your chin, neck, chest, the column of your throat pumping in a thick glug-glug-glug that flickers at the base of his spine.
Sand coats your arms and legs, all those microscopic grains clinging to your slick, sweaty skin. The bottle collapses in on itself as you suck down the remaining water. You toss it aside and gasp for air, chest heaving, practically fucking moaning, “Oh my god—that was fucking amazing.”
A hot, heady rush of need gushes through him. His dick jumps. Breathing quickens.
Dieter gulps down seltzer, ogling you while you grab a fistful of ice from the cooler and hold it to your forehead, eyes fluttering shut. You press the melting ice into your cleavage, squishing your tits together, lips parting in a gasp.
Jesus fucking Christ, Louella.
He sits up and finishes off the seltzer, dropping his empty in the sand, “Need some help?”
With your head still tilted back, eyelids still sealed shut, a sly smile spreads across your face, “Oh yeah?”
By now, the heat of your skin has turned the ice to water, trailing shiny and wet down your abdomen, pooling in your belly button, darkening the very top of your black string bikini.
Dieter stifles a groan at the sight. Saliva gathers in the dark cavern of his mouth. He gulps it down.
You open your eyes and level your gaze to his, eyebrow quirking as you shrug.
He takes a handful of ice from the cooler and pats his thigh. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You crawl over to him and climb into his lap, sliding back until you’re seated firmly on his hard cock.
“Someone is excited,” you chuckle.
“Can you blame me?” he grins, brushing hair from the nape of your neck. He presses the ice into that knotted bone right beneath your skull, then slides it down your back, drawing circles over each vertebrae. Your shoulders slacken and you let out a sigh of relief.
When the cube melts, right around the middle of your spine where your string bikini is tied into a neat little bow, he gets a new one.
“That feels good,” you breathe, hips arching back, ass pressing hard against him.
The way you say this, all lusty and scraping along the edge of your vocal cords, makes his throat rumble and beckons him closer. He shifts his seated position, sitting up higher, slipping a hand around your waist to make sure you don’t wiggle away, then presses a slow kiss into your pulse.
You hum, opening your neck wider for him to taste the salty bite of your sweat.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against your skin, fingertips digging into your soft belly. The ice cube melts against your tailbone, and he grabs another, smearing its decay along your collarbone, down your sternum.
When he slides it under your skimpy little bikini top and rubs it against your pebbled nipple, you rock your hips against his, letting out a soft gasp, “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
“With who?” he murmurs, nips at your neck, then says, “Nobody’s here, love.”
“Wait, really?”
You lean forward and look around, turning back to him with a mischievous grin when you find what he said is true. Your pink bubblegum tongue peaks out to wet your lips as you search his face, “Are you sure?”
“Relax, doll,” he purrs, reeling you in, pressing his lips into your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. You reach back, fingers tangling in his hair, and pull him into a leisurely, saccharine kiss.
Like always, it makes his heart stutter. Bubbles hot and wanting up the middle of him. You roll your hips. The heated weight of you grinds hard against his cock, making him groan into your mouth.
His fingertips dance across your abdomen, tracing tedious little swirls into your skin. Your lips gape open with a whine and you roll your hips. His eyelids flutter and he shudders at the wave of pleasure that floods his body. He grabs your hips and silently urges you to continue, rocking you back and forth.
“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” he pants.
Your hand slides over his, both chilled and wet from melted ice, and you guide it between your legs, nodding when his touch wriggles under the fabric of your swimsuit, moaning when he finds your clit and rubs you, soft and steady, studying the subtle, pleasure-filled tremors that make your muscles twitch and breathing quicken.
Your eyebrows thread together and your lips get all pouty, these huffy whimpers escaping them with each stroke, and he could just fucking eat you alive right now, you’re that goddamn beautiful.
His mouth seizes yours. You respond with vigor, twisting your top half around to bury your hands in his hair and kiss him harder.
He works you faster, flicking his wrist, swallowing your moans whole.
You pull back with a gasp and throw your head back on his shoulder, “Holy fuck, yes—”
“Does that feel good, baby?”
“Sofuckinggood,” you whimper, grinding against him, “Fuck—fuck, I want you, Dee—”
“Yeah? Want me to fuck you right here in the open?” he coos in your ear.
You nod.
“Let me take these off,” he withdraws his hand and you scramble to your feet, chest heaving as you glance up and down the shoreline. He tugs off his swim trunks and reclines in the canvas beach chair.
Your eyes drop to his cock, and this big, delighted smile stretches across your face. Returning to his lap, you lower yourself back while Dieter pushes the gusset of your bikini aside and guides to your target. When the tip of him breaches your entrance, you gasp.
“Holy shit, baby,” he groans as you ease him into your hot, wet squeeze, whimpering, “Fuck fuck fuck,” under your breath as he stretches you open.
When he can’t go any further, you adjust your posture, hands on his knees, leaning forward, arching your back. You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, and start to roll your hips, pussy suctioning around him, taking him slow and deep.
He moans and nods in approval at the pleasure that gushes up his spine, “That’s it, baby, take what you need. Ride that cock how you want it, feels so fucking good, fuuuck—”
“Oh my god, Dee,” you whine, eyes fluttering shut, mouth hanging slack.
He slides his palms up your back and watches his cock, all shiny with your slick, disappear into you over and over again. Your huffy little whimpers grow louder and you grip his knees, pushing yourself back onto him harder, faster.
“There you go, love,” he groans, gripping your waist, “It’s all yours, baby, take it—”
“Fuck, Dee—”
Your voice is high-pitched and frantic. His hips arch into yours, pulling a wrecked moan from your chest. Liquid heat pulses through him, and when he thrusts again, you gasp and nod, “Fuck, keep doing that.”
He does. He fucks up into you and you curve your spine, face to the sky, tilting your pelvis just so, and the hot, plush silk of your cunt grips his cock, making this sick, wet squelching noise that only fuels him further.
“Fuck, you’re amazing, so fucking perfect,” he pants, skin tingling with desire, wanting to feel you closer, needing to feel your lips on his. His hips slow and he slides a hand to your belly, urging you, “Come here, baby.”
Dieter guides you back, threading one arm around your abdomen, the other scooping up your knees. You link your hands at the nape of his neck and he presses his forehead into yours. The first thrust makes your whole body tense and you whimper, “Holyfuckingshit—”
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling back to meet your wide eyes, “You can do it, you can take it.”
You make this cute, pathetic kind of noise, gulping down a whine, but nod for him to continue.
He rolls his hips, slow at first, letting you acclimate, increasing his tempo when your head rolls back and your walls relax.
You’re cradled so close he can see the sweat glistening on your skin, can smell your damp musk, can hear every breathy moan, can feel every muscle in your body quiver as he pumps into you. The edges of him start to crumble, deteriorating with each thick wave of pleasure that washes over him.
“Fucking perfect, Jesus fucking Christ, pussy feels so good I fucking love it,” he babbles.
Your breathing grows frantic and sharp, head snapping up to tell him, “Don’t fucking stop I’m so close, holy shit Dee—”
“Fuck yes, cum on this dick baby, let me feel you, I fucking love it I fucking love you—”
You pull him into a needy, messy kiss, your deep, wanton moans vibrating on his tongue as you convulse around him, tremors twitching your muscles. A swell of pleasure steals his breath, surging through him hot and gooey and overwhelming, and he falls over the edge, spilling inside you.
Your lips don’t part from his for more than a moment while the two of you come down into blissful satisfaction, your bodies sweaty and trembling. Labored breaths gradually dissipate into normalcy, and the kisses linger with intimacy.
“Wow,” you giggle eventually, slack and boneless against his body as you tuck your head into his neck, “Are there awards for fucking? I think you just won in the outstanding performance category.”
The praise curls up inside him and makes him chuckle, “What an honor. I’d like to thank my beautiful costar, Louella. Couldn’t have done it without you—”
Your laughter cuts him off, then you say,“You can put your Fuck-ee next to your Oscar.”
“Fuck-ee?” he throws his head back and guffaws, “What would that trophy look like? A golden dong?”
Your body shakes with laughter, “I think that sounds perfect.”
He kisses your sweaty forehead, releasing a content sigh before murmuring “I should put my trunks back on.”
You chug two more bottles of water before returning to your chair beside Dieter.
As you stretch out in the sunlight, the outside world starts to creep back into frame. Sand heats the soles of your feet. Ocean waves roar and slosh onto the beach. A salty breeze ruffles your hair and cools your heated skin.
Dieter nods to the seemingly infinite gray-blue water, “Wanna take a dip?”
You look at the ocean. At the tide washing ashore, then pulling back, again and again. Big, rhythmic, gasping breaths. You think about the vast depth of the Pacific, about the ecosystems it contains, all its tides and currents. All the life it contains and death it brings. The sheer power and magnitude of its existence, right in front of you.
Unease twists your stomach and hums in your bones. Your chest aches.
It’s so overwhelming.
Dieter squeezes your hand, reminding you of his question, and you glance over at him, his expression hopeful and earnest. You can’t say no to that face. Besides, it’s just water.
You’re being irrational.
“Sure.”
“Yeah?” he crinkles his nose like he’s squinting at you behind his sunglasses, “We don’t have to, you know.”
“It’s fine, let’s go,” you crawl to your feet, dusting sand off your legs and ass as you start towards it, ignoring the violent thud of your pulse.
He catches up to you, interlacing his fingers with yours, and the two of you trudge through the hot sand.
“Are you sure?”
You frown, “Yeah, why?”
“You seem,” he pauses here, jaw ticking to one side, then runs a hand through his wind-blown curls, “I dunno. Like you don’t actually want to.”
You frown and shake your head, but the action isn’t convincing.
When he starts to slow, you do too, and you both come to a stop, side-by-side, right across the border of smooth, damp sand. A wave crashes against the shoreline. Its tide stretches towards you, then the cool water washes over your feet.
Dieter squeezes your hand, “Lua. Don’t lie to me.”
You turn and face him, opening your mouth to lie, then he pulls his sunglasses up into his hair so you can meet his eyes, that warm gaze knocking at the eroded, but stubborn, cement wall of your heart, begging, “Let me in. Please.”
“It’s stupid,” you drop your gaze and catch the soft inside of your cheek between your molars, then glance between him and the rolling water, “It’s just scary, you know?”
He frowns, “What is, the ocean?”
“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gesturing towards another incoming wave, “It’s fucking massive. We don’t even know what’s in there, I mean, there could be monsters—”
“Monsters?”
You shoot him a playful glare and chuckle, “We don’t know!”
“Uh huh” he grins, both of his heated, sandy palms finding your waist.
You drape your arms around his neck, tangling your fingertips into the damp curls at the base of his skull, then swallow hard and shrug, “And maybe… I don’t know, maybe I can’t, um… swim?”
His eyebrows shoot up, “Oh shit, really?”
Heat creeps up your neck. You drop your gaze and hear yourself mutter out excuses like a reflex, “Not very good, anyway. Nobody ever took me swimming, or showed me how, and I never figured it out on my own, and-and Ethan was supposed to teach me—”
“Hey, that’s fine,” he works his thumb against your skin, soothing you, “We don’t have to go far, no swimming necessary.”
You thread your brows together, “Really?”
“Obviously,” he scoffs, “What, you think I’m gonna make you? We don’t have to go into the water at all if you don’t want to—”
“No, I want to. It looks nice, just,” you chuckle at yourself, at the worried voice of anxiety piping up in the back of your brain, “I know it’s silly, but will you make sure I don’t get, like… pulled under?”
“Scout’s honor,” he pulls you into a hug, and you hug him back, resting your cheek on his bare chest. The ragged, jittery sparks in your ribcage calm to a low purr. Your muscles melt and untangle. Another wave washes ashore and rolls over your feet, then disappears.
He plants a firm smooch on your forehead, then rubs your back and murmurs, “Ready?”
“Let’s fuckin’ do this,” you say in your most masculine tough guy voice, pulling back to grin at him.
He snorts, shaking his head at you, brown eyes crinkled and twinkling with amusement, then grabs your hand and starts walking out into the tide as it rushes inland. When the ocean takes its offering back, you squeal at the sensation, how water pulls sand out from under you like a rug, coaxing you closer. Wild, salt-addled gusts whip your hair around and nip your generously exposed skin. Before you know it, you’re knee-deep in the icy water, wobbling when an incoming wave shoves you back and splashes up your thighs.
You gasp and squeeze Dieter’s hand for stability. He steps behind you, wrapping his warm, sun-kissed arms around your body, purring in your ear, “I’ve got you, doll, don’t worry.”
“Ok,” you nod, staring out into the deep, dark unknown, rooted in place by his fortitude, finally allowing yourself to marvel in the beauty of it all, “Ok.”
Dieter watches you from bed as you rub moisturizer into your cheeks, leaning towards the bathroom mirror, making all these cute, squishy expressions. Little beads of water drip off the ends of your hair, still wet from the shower, onto the floor and counter.
He’s never really been a forever kind of person. Up until about a year ago, every good thing in his life had been fleeting: flings, highs, gigs. The friendships he held onto were superficial and based in commodity. His marriage felt like a debt he owed. Companionship spoke foreign tongues. He never felt sated. Never felt like this.
This.
Fuck, he loves this.
He thought people made this shit up. Forever. It always sounded like a joke.
But it’s all he can think about. How he never wants to spend another night without you here, wearing nothing but his faded old Prince t-shirt, brushing your teeth, putting all your things away in the bathroom drawer. For-fucking-ever.
When you flip off the bathroom light and come wandering back into the bedroom, you notice him staring at you, and chuckle, “What’re you smiling about?”
Dieter didn’t even realize he was smiling, but you’re right, he is. With a shrug, he says, “You look pretty.”
“Yeah?” you smirk, and twirl around a little, “Is this doing it for ya?”
“Oh, fuck yeah.”
You roll your eyes, that big beautiful smile stretching across your face, and crawl into bed beside him. He wraps an arm around your shoulder as you tuck yourself into his side, ear to his heart. Probably, you hear it skip a beat when he realizes what he’s about to say.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
The seconds after are so quiet he hears your lips part. You shift around until you’re propped up on his chest, searching his face, “What’re you saying?”
His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. He curls a hand around the small of your back, “I mean, you know, I want you to stay,” he swallows and meets your gaze, “Like, to live here.”
Your features lights up, and it’s sweeter than any fucking buzz he ever caught.
“Really?”
He nods.
As if something occurs to you, your lips fall into a frown, “What about my baking? And-and Parker—”
“Open something up here. You always tell me about how you want to run a legit bakery,” he smooths his thumb against your spine, “Parker can visit us whenever he wants.”
“I don’t have the capital to open a bakery—”
“I’ll help.”
Your shoulders deflate a little and a crease forms between your brows. You tap your fingertips against his chest and ask, “Would you consider moving to New York?”
He drops his gaze and shakes his head, “I have to be here. Better chance of me picking up work if I’m close by.“
“Dieter,” you pause, holding your breath like you’re not sure you want to say it, but when he meets your eyes, you stammer, “It just doesn’t seem like, I don’t know… Do you even like acting?”
The question feels like a jolt.
He jerks his head back, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.”
You raise your eyebrows. Unconvinced. Stomach acid sloshes around inside him and bubbles up his throat.
“It’s my purpose. Acting is the only constant in my life, the only thing that I do that means anything. It—it’s what gets me out of bed and pushes me to keep going.”
He says this, but the words taste sour. Does he even like acting anymore? Or is he just scared to try something else?
A glimpse of the answer in his heart sends it racing. He stuffs it down and tries not to look at it. It’s too fucking scary.
You study him for a moment, then scrunch your face up and stare at your fingertips as they dance across his bare skin. Deep in thought. With each second that goes by, he’s sure you’ll press harder and make him crack. It wouldn’t take much.
“I wonder how much money I could make selling my inventory,” you ponder out loud, “Probably at least $20k. That would be an ok starting—”
His mouth drops open, “Holy shit, how much do you have?”
You shrug, “Twenty pounds raw, thirty pounds cannabutter—”
“And I’ve been smoking you up?” he tuts, “Puta madre.”
You gasp and smack his chest, breaking out in a giggle when you say, “Rude.”
“I’m just kidding,” he laughs, pulling you closer, “Smoking you up is an honor.”
“Damn right it is.”
The two of you smile at each other for a moment, then what you were saying catches up to him.
“So, if you sell everything, then…”
Your eyebrow quirks and your grin spreads wider as you shrug, “Then I could probably swing a cross-country move.”
“Yeah?”
His cheeks ache from smiling, but he can’t stop.
You nod, “Yeah.”
The shrill sound of your ringtone cuts through sleep.
You roll out of Dieter’s loose grip to grab at the source, frowning first at the time, then the caller. Fucking FaceTime, seriously?
You pull Dieter’s shirt over your head and tiptoe out onto the patio, sliding the door shut behind you as you answer with a hiss, “Parker, it’s 3am, what the fu—”
“Lou, look,” he says, and you squint at the screen, recognizing the propped open door to your apartment building. The snow piles flicker blue and red. Parker pans the camera to the half-dozen NYPD squad cars clogging the street. Police officers and people wearing jackets reading NYPD FORENSIC INVESTIGATION DIVISION file in and out of the building, the outgoing individuals carrying boxes of evidence.
“I don’t understand,” you shake your head, “What’s going on, are you ok?”
“That’s from your apartment, Lou,” he tells you quietly, “They fucking raided it.”
Panic seeps into your blood, an icy cold rush that numbs your limbs and freezes your brain. You just keep shaking your head, and hear yourself tell Parker, “No—no that can’t be right.”
“Trust me, it is—”
“Excuse me,” an off-screen voice says to Parker, and the perspective shifts to the source: a bald white man with thick-rimmed glasses. He’s holding a camera, and he asks, “Do you live here?”
“No,” Parker answers.
Another wave of panic slams into you as you realize who he is: David Alterman from DIRT.
You end the call and stare at the screen, unable to move. Unable to think. Just one thought blares in your mind, deafening and persistent: RUN.
#psychomanteum#dieter bravo x fem!reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x ofc#dieter bravo smut#the bubble#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal character smut#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfic
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"smile, you're on camera y'know?"
summary- fem!reader and joel go get grocries while reader films.
word count- 1611k
tags- Ifem!reader x joel miller I fem!reader being a horrible camera woman I pre!outbreak (like way before) I 19yo!joel I breif mention of sarah I pregnant!reader I domestic fluff I grumpy x sunshine trope I
additonal info- Hiii this is my first actual fic so sorry if it's bad and it's not proof read so sorry for some grammer mistakes and i'll end up doing another post abt this but i'm going to make a masterlist for my fics in the future and i also can do requests and prompts so if you like this and any future fics and writing please feel free to put it in! reposts are also appreciated.
time-12:35
Date- 3/31/2001
Recording sesion- 15:28:52
“Fucckkk…” Joel groaned and shifted around in the sheets
“If you don’t get that goddamned camera out my face…what is it five?”
Your eyes drifted down to the time at the corner of the camera.
“No actually, it’s twelve thirty five. I let you sleep in.”
you said from behind the camcorder, having a bit of a laugh at his irritation. He rolled his eyes at your comment and put the sheets over his head. Which promptly got it pulled off and thrown onto the ground
“No c’mon get up sleepy. We have shit to do.”
“Why can’t you go yourself since you’re full dressed already?’
Despite his protests and mumbling, sadly for him he knew he could never deny you, so he begrudgingly rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, mumbling on the way. You soon followed, the cold air hitting your body once again and went to the drawer and sat the camera down as she slipped the thick whit socks on.
“He’s so adorobly in love with me, and it might seem like he hates me but trust me if you saw the way he was all over me last night you would be eating your words right now, trust.” you chuckle to your camera, picking it up and walking to the sink in their bathroom. You hear an annoyed, slightly pained groan from joel on the toilet.
You quickly turn your head and a grin grows on your face. “You okay in their honey?” you hear another annoyed sigh.
“Im great doll. Just fuckin’ peachy” the toilet flushed and he opened the door, one hand on his hip and the other with his hand making a poor attempt at covering his face from her god forsaken camera that was tracking him.
“I'm starting’ to think that getting you that camera was a mistake”
He picked up his tooth brush and paste and squeezed the tube. The thick paste beading at the opening and getting wiped off on the toothpaste
“Nonesense. Plus, wouldn’t little sarah love to see her mom and dad when they were young?”
She smiled, sitting it down on the counter and showing off her pregnant belly to the camera.
“Isn’t that what photos are for?”
He supposedly said. It was hard to tell with all the paste muffling him.
“It’s the digital age.”
He didn’t dignify your teasing with a response and spit out the toothpaste and washed it all out with tap water. He whipped his lip and kissed your forehead.
“I’m guessing you wanna go somewhere?” he lazily pulled his shirt off and threw it in the hamper and you quickly seized the opportunity to zoom the grainy film all the way in to his chest to his abdomen. A cheeky smirk grew on your face at the sight.
“It’s for groceries and to get a christmas tree. You can’t help get a christmas tree?” you quickly refuted. You zoom out and walk to window and gracefully pushed the blinds up and focused the camera on the outside. Thick snow covering the trees and the driveway covered in ice, It looked amazing on the camera, even better in real life.
“Y'know you didn’t have to wake me up for groceries, could’ve just gotten them yourself.” he mumbled, pulling the shirt over his head and slipped on his grey sweatpants.
You twirl, the camera becoming unfocuesed and slightly blurry at the abrupt halt as you dragged your foot to stop.
“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.” You call out before shutting the door.
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Time-12:42
date-3/31/2001
Recording session-27:02:24
The doors to the grocery store opens with the chime of bells accompany it as joel pushed the door with one hand and push the cart with other with your hand over his.
“What do we really need outta here?” he said, seeming a little more awake then he was on the walk there.
The camera whirled to the fruit section they were first greeted with upon walking in. Focusing on the bright red color of the peppers and tomatoes.
“Tomatoes…cabbages…ribs....thats really it.”
“Simple enough.” he walked to the produce section and started looking through fruit, his hands turing them around and looking at them closely. You followed his hand and zoomed out a little to see his face. And once you noticed you couldn’t help but laugh at that stupidly serious look on his face. He noticed and looked at you and your camera.
“What- what is it, why are you laughing?” he said, with his eyebrows furrowingly slightly, making him look confused and annoyed.
“Your face, your so serious all the time baby, lighten up, please.” chucking hard, her hand that was filliming dropping to her side and hooking her arm around his neck and gave him a light kiss. His face warmed slightly in response which promptly earned a smirk from you.
“You’re too unserious.”
“You’re too serious.” the camera raised and a cheeky smile grew on your face “c’mon smile, you’re on film.”
“Forget it.” he rolled his eyes and he refocused his attention on the fruit,inspecting it and testing the firmness to make sure it’s fresh.
The attention of the camera flew to the bakery and you made your way over. Getting welcomed by the secent of crepes, macaroons, jelly filled donutes, and other various foods. First going to the donuts, bending down to the prettily decorated display. A woman came over from the otherside, sliding the door to the side as her tongs took out the powdered donuts out and slid in a fresh new steaming hot batch with a little star star shaped candy on a stick on the top. Quickly you stood up to grab the young tired tenagers attention.
“Exuse me, ma’m?”
She turned around, and came back over, putting her arms on the top of the glss display. “Yeah?”
“Can I have two dozen of these?” you said, pointing off screen to the cute little pastry
She leaned far over the counter, ridiculously far and caused you to flinch slightly and back up.
She looked at the name plate next to the desert.
“The…fairy dust powdered donut?” she cranked her neck up to look at you.
You nodded. “Yeah those are the ones.”
She gave a quick nod and pulled back to her side, swiftly grabbing the tongs and picked up 24, 12 at at time and placed them in a bag.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“Yeah thats all.” you said, trying to hide her shock at the womans quickness.
“That’ll be 9.95.”
You dug your hand in your purse and pulled out two fives and handed it to her which she accepted without a word and she gave back some cents.
“Have a good day ms.”
She called and you responded with a nod and walked away.
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Date-3/31/2001
Time-1:42
Recording session- 60:02:37
“Goddamn it, it feels like i spent all day in there.”
Joel sighed as he carried the bags from the store to the train station.
“Well not all day. Just…” you paused briefly. “Around two hours. Average time for a trip.”
He scoffed as he stopped at the platform. He turnt your camera which he was also holding towards you.
“I don’t need you being a smartass.” he said from behind the camera
“It’s what I do best.” you retort with that stupid smile before turning the opposite direction. Leaning to the right to see the train coming.
“Don’t do that.” he pulled you towards him, unintentionally backing into his chest.
“Why not?” you asking while reeling your head back to look at him.
“Because I don’t want a damn bullet train to speed towards us and rip your head off because you’re being stupid.” he said, not noticing the light reddining on his face.
“Joel, your blushing.” you tease with that damned smile you’ve had on all day.
“Shut the hell up.” he quickly snapped back.
Within a few seconds the train slowly came and opened it’s doors and you quickly went inside with joel following closely behind. You took your seats and it was only when the pair sat down they realized how tired they were from standing. Joel craned his neck down to look at the camera. It was a quite a tooth rotting sight actually. You and joel holding hands on the train with both shoes in frame and yours untied. He sighed and sat the camera down on your lap and bent over to tie your shoes. You look down, slightly confused at what he’s doing.
“...What are you doing?” you mumbled as you looked down.
“Why are your damn shoes always untied is the question.”
“Hey, blame converse not me.” you said as you put your head back and sighed.
He didn’t say anything back and you didn’t either. The entire train ride for the two was surprisingly quiet, with joel just looking into the grainy footage of the camera the whole time that had been recording the pair the whole time, that you were oh so obsessed with. He didn’t realize just how he was staring at the camera until the train speakers rang out their stop. He turned to you and saw you completely knocked out. He chucked and shoved you awake.
“Hey..” you rubbed your eye and and slowly rised as you noticed a few others on the train were, including joel
“C’mon sleepy head, smile your on camera y’know?” he said, cracking a smile. Which caused you to laugh and lightly shove him.
“Yeah, c’mon.”
#fanfics#oneshot#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#joel x reader#fem!reader#fluff#tlou fluff#grumpy x sunshine#fanfiction#tlou hbo#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal#fem reader#joel miller x y/n#joel x you#joel x oc#joel miller au#joel miller one shot#joel miller fanfic#female reader#i don't know
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Camp Crystal Lake: Chapter 7
Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz
Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)
Setting: Camp Crystal Lake
The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone.
The night was low key. I could tell everyone was at least a little tired from working, and playing, in the hot sun all day. Mark sat on the porch with a book in his lap, and as I entered the cabin from exploring the grounds a little I saw Vicki wander over to sit beside him.
When I entered the cabin, Jeff and Sandra sat in the living room toying with an old record player. Scott laid the length of the couch with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. I saw he had an ear pod in and was gently bobbing his head to whatever music was playing.
Joel looked over his shoulder from where he was retrieving hot dogs and hamburgers from the fridge and smirked subtly at me as I entered. I smiled back and toyed with a few stray strands of hair by my forehead.
“(Y/N),” Sandra called, waving me over.
I wandered over toward where she held a few albums in her arm like a pair of books. “Hey, did you guys get in trouble?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Nah. Joel just told us not to go back over there.”
“Did you see anything creepy?”
“We didn't get that far,” Jeff claimed. “The cop picked us up before we could go inside any of the old cabins.”
“Anyone want burgers or dogs?” Joel asked aloud. He held a package of hotdogs in the air as we all glanced over.
Jeff held a hand up and then Sandra did the same. I gave a nod and Scott sat up from where he laid.
“Food?” He asked, removing his ear pods.
Joel snickered and confirmed with a nod. “Food.”
Annie appeared at the top of the open staircase toying with her damp, towel-dried hair. “Shower’s free if anyone needs to get in.” Her croc-clad feet peppered down the stairs. “I'll be back in a little bit.”
“You want anything to eat?” Joel asked her.
“I made myself a big salad about an hour ago,” she claimed. “And I'll probably have a s'more or two when I get back.”
“Beware of Ralph,” Joel said to her, half-kidding.
“Ha ha.” Annie threw her hair up into a high bun. “If I see him, I'll give him an ice cream sandwich. I'm going to check out the ice cream inventory.”
“Take a break,” Joel encouraged. “Do it in the morning.”
She waved a hand at him. “I'll be twenty minutes.”
“Mark,” Jeff shouted through the screen of the porch window. “You guys want hot dogs and burgers?”
“One of each for me,” he called back.
“I'll take a cheeseburger if you're offering,” Vicki said next.
“You hear that boss?” Jeff asked Joel.
“Loud and clear.”
“Where's Teri?” I looked around the open floor plan.
“Upstairs,” Sandra claimed.
“Anyone want to give me a hand bringing some of this stuff out to the grill?” Joel asked.
Jeff began to raise his hand but Sandra nudged his stomach with her elbow.
“Ow,” he said quietly, glancing at her.
“Go,” Sandra whispered to me, as Joel nonchalantly retrieved cheese, lettuce and tomato from the fridge.
I chuckled and cleared my throat. “I'll help,” I volunteered.
“Great, thanks,” Joel said back.
I gazed at Sandra and we shared a smirk. I pulled her in to whisper discreetly. “We need to talk later.”
“What happened?” She whispered back.
“I'll tell you later.”
Joel and I made eye contact across the room and I wandered over to grab two oversized dishes he’d laid out. When he placed a knife on top of them I glanced up at him.
“Might need you to slice a tomato or two while I heat up the grill,” he explained.
“No problem.” I retrieved the lettuce and tomato, scooped up the plates and followed him out the back door onto a little deck. The light by the back door illuminated the grilling area as the atmosphere darkened under the cover of the trees.
I placed the plates down on a small table beside the grill and retrieved a tomato as Joel squatted to turn the gas tank on. My back was to him as I began to slice the red sphere. My body stiffened and I felt a rush of adrenaline power through me when Joel’s hand topped mine on the knife. His body brushed up against mine and I let out a breath without looking back.
Joel’s hand pressed down and I went with the motion, cutting the tomato once, twice, three times.
“You’re very good at that,” he practically purred in my ear. Feeling his breath land against my neck as he spoke made me weak in the knees, and my toes curled beneath my white Nikes.
I swallowed hard, taking completely off guard but also totally on board with Joel’s advances. “Thank you,” I choked out.
“I knew how you felt about me the second I met you,” he spoke quietly. His fingers tucked a few stray strands of hair behind my ear.
There was no use in denying it. “How?” I whispered back.
“A man can tell.”
A man. He certainly was a man. The tumultuous emotions that brewed inside of me were unlike anything I’d ever felt before when it came to sex, romance and dating. My whole body was hot and if there would have been no repercussions I would have uncharacteristically turned and jumped his bones right there.
The knife left my hand and he turned my body to face his. Joel dove in for a kiss, an extension of what was interrupted in the shed by the sheriff earlier in the day. I had been thinking about it ever since.
Can anyone see us? The concern was a fleeting one and I continued to indulge in him until Joel was the one to pull back with a breath. When he proceeded to peck my lips just after I wasn’t ready for it and simply closed my eyes without reciprocating. His hand landed on the side of my face and my eyes flickered open again. Joel let out a breath through his nose.
“Are you involved with anyone?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. Are.. you?”
Joel mirrored my response. “No.”
“Good.” I laughed lightly as I said that.
“You, uh.. You want to agree to a summer romance?”
I laughed a little louder and Joel laughed with me. “What are the terms of that?”
“Why don’t we make them right now?”
“Okay.” I felt my body heat up even more and I couldn’t keep a wide grin from my face.
“Don’t pursue anyone else at the camp.” The statement came out sort of as a question, “And I won’t either.”
I nodded. That was more than reasonable. “I’ll agree to that.”
“Unless you’re not into this once we try-”
“I’m into it,” I said right away, making him chuckle. I added, “A man really can tell, I guess because I’m.. very into this.”
“Good.” Joel smirked, “Because I am, too.” He pulled me back to him and our lips met again. I could feel him smiling into the kiss the same way I was.
“Do we have to keep this, like, a secret?” I asked.
“Doesn’t Sandra already know?”
My eyes widened and I swallowed hard. “Well.. not.. Exactly.”
“She’s smart,” Joel said with a smirk, “She knows.”
“Well, she’s suspected.. I didn’t say anything.”
“We’re all adults here,” he reminded me, “I’m just the organizer of this place. You all seem like good workers so there’s no favoritism.” Joel toyed with my hair again, “As long as you’re not embarrassed about it, it doesn’t bother me.”
“Why would I be embarrassed?”
“Because of our age difference.”
I laughed lightly, “No guys in their twenties made me feel what you’ve made me feel in the short time I’ve known you.”
Joel looked pleased by my words and smiled smally, mostly to himself. It almost looked like he was giving himself props in his mind. It made me chuckle again.
“So.” He held a hand out in front of him, “Do we agree to the terms?”
I glanced down and shook his hand. “I agree.”
“And you’re a townie, like me,” Joel added. “So, if things go really well, maybe we can even go apple picking in the fall.”
My heart grew a size. “I’ll be around.”
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed me lips again as he reached for a spatula.
“Good.”
CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER
@gissellec1 @cattt777 @mellymbee @armybts20137@bbiophiliaa @littleblackcatinwonderland @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz @beltzboys2015-blog blog @lwfics @pedropascal111 @mellymbee @itscatrodriguez-thepearl
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x oc#pedro pascal#joel miller x fem reader#joel miller x original character#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x fem reader#joel miller x f!oc#joel miller x female oc#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro x reader#pedro pascal x oc#joel miller gif#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel the last of us#tlou fanfiction#friday the 13th#jason voorhees
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The Heiress
Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't be silly wrap your willy), slight dub-con (if you squint), slight dom-sub dynamics, just in general smuttiness, read at your own risk.
A/N: The collective brainrot those clips have brought us as a fandom (thanks for that, Tony ;3), is INSANE. This is just a smalllll effort in keeping that alive till we get the full movie. I have to confess: this is just shameless PWP at this point lmaoooo (don't judge me, i'm just a girl after all). enjoy and please reblog if you liked it thankssss <3 <3
Note: By clicking read more, you consent to my terms and have heed all warning mentioned above.
(Photos/Gifs of P, credz: @a7estrellas, the dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics)
Dull.
That's what these parties were to you always. Dull. Throw in a bunch of old men in stiff suits holding onto champagne flutes like their lives depended on it. Even worse, they tried to sell themselves to you, as if their sad marketing convinced you. You still entertained them, owing to a lack of anything fun happening around those parts.
That is till you met him.
Lucien, he had introduced himself. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, a champagne flute in his hand as he was engaged in a conversation with Hermann Astor, owner of the art gallery that was hosting one of the many boring do's you simply HAD to attend.
Truth be told, you weren't really listening to him. The whole "I'm-a-man-of-culture-so-of-course-I-know-art" spiel was boring. So many men trying to dazzle you with their "expertise", but you couldn't care less. To your surprise though, Lucien didn't mansplain or explain the intricacies of art missed by many. He let Hermann drone on, only piping in when something piqued his interest. He only met your eyes a few times, his dark brown hues holding his secrets.
But you knew what he was thinking. It was quite obvious, isn't that what most men wanted in this room? A chance to talk to you, an heiress to a hefty inheritance, maybe a chance to woo you, wine and dine you and then pop a ring on your finger. Maybe get you pregnant. Secure the bag.
Atleast that's what you assumed he wanted, but he didn't seem like the type to talk you up. He was mostly interested in having a chat about your life, why you hung out at these places especially since you gave no fucks about fine arts, and so on. It was surprising, true, but maybe men changed up their tactics ever so often. So you played along, as you always did. Answering with as much truth as you could.
You found yourself on the balcony standing next to him, staring at the vast grounds with its fine cut grass and neatly trimmed hedges, the moon casting its glow upon it. Turning to him, you decided to cut to the chase. You were bored, and only a quick fuck could break the tedium. Running your hand along his arm, you pulled him to one of the bedrooms, pushing him against the door. Leaning towards him, you brought your lips close to his, waiting for his permission to continue. He leaned forward, as you latched your lips to his, guiding his arms to wrap around you, deepening the kiss as you pushed yourself further into him. That's odd, you thought. This actually felt nice.
His lips, while hesitant at first, tangled with yours, the heat warming your bones. He ever so slightly placed his hands on you, running them down your body down to your hips, squeezing gently as he rested them there; pulling you towards him and his growing erection.
Itching to taste him, you knelt down, licking his growing manhood over the fabric of his tight dress pants. With a growl, he pulled you up, gripping your shoulders as he turned you around and walked you over to the bed behind you. Pushing you down, he bent you over so your ass was up in the air as your face was smushed into the soft bedding eagerly waiting in anticipation.
You felt his hot breath as his lips trailed along your thighs, his tongue running over the divots and the stretch marks that adorned your skin. You squirmed, wishing he would turn his attention to the place you needed him the most. He seemed to have heard your unspoken wish, because the very next moment, his lips moved over your core, his tongue lightly ghosting over your wet folds, your swollen core. You panted, your hands grabbing the duvet with a force that you weren't even sure was possible.
Lucien started off slow, and then dove in, his tongue swirling over your swollen nub, as he gathered your wetness on his finger and pushed a digit inside; his tongue and his finger working in tandem. You groaned loudly, pushing your hips onto his tongue, not realising that they were moving of their own accord, ever-so-slightly undulating and moving in rhythm to his licks and thrusts. Through the haze of pure lust, you realised that you were meant to be in control of this entire situation. Reaching behind, you tangled your fingers into his soft brown curls, pulling him even closer to your nub as you fucked yourself on his tongue, moaning loudly as he groaned at your act of dominance; the vibrations shooting through your core, making their way through your body. He added another finger, doubling his efforts as he felt your legs shake, and your core tightening as you neared your peak.
You screamed into the duvet, muffling your cries as your orgasm took over. You would've collapsed into the mattress had Lucien not been holding on to you, resting his head on your back as he caught his breath as well. The both of you lay there, him spooning you, till your breathing returned to normal. Straightening your clothes, you both exited the room, not meeting each others' eyes, no words spoken to one another.
The rest of the evening went very well, your secret rendezvous leaving you satiated, yet hungry for more.
The second time you met him was at the Charity Ball held by your "good friend" Fiona Mayhew, who got on your nerves most of the time, but did a lot of good for underprivileged children/teens and their education; so you stuck around. At first, you didn't really wish to go to her stuffy ball; but RSVP'd yes, with the smallest hope that Lucien would be there.
He was, of course. Dressed in a well tailored, crisp tux, his messy brown curls slicked back and gelled down. You hated to admit it, but he looked downright edible. You pretended not to notice him at first, making small talk with the members of the small group he was entertaining. You mingled, the both of you catching each others gaze as you talked to the other guests, your eyes conveying what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You barely managed to pull your gaze away from him each time, silently berating yourself for giving him that much importance. It was all a game, all a ploy.
It was working, though. Because the next time he caught your gaze, his deep brown eyes darkened as he walked out of the gigantic ball room, making his way to the large area where the cars were parked. Making his way through the maze of luxury, vintage cars, he walked over to a cambrian grey Bentley, leaning against it as an invitation to join him. He smirked, watching your hips sway as you sashayed towards him, ready to beat him at his own game. He held the door open, his hand moving from the small of your back to rest on your behind, giving you a small smack as you made your way in. Tsking, you gave him a wolfish grin, as you slid the dropped sleeves of your gown from your shoulders, his eyes bulging at the sight of your gorgeous breasts being freed from their confines.
The car shook, almost too violently, as you bounced on his cock, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt him hit your front wall, over and over. You'd always thought of sex as a chore, something to get over with. But it felt different, with him; it felt as if your body and mind split, and was only concentrated on him and how he felt inside. Your core squeezed around him, as you pulled him deeper inside; fingernails digging into his meaty shoulder. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck as he thrust up into you, pulling you towards him to meet his sharp and pointed thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat, lips ghosting over his as your breaths mingled, all thoughts of speech banished. He kissed his way down your neck to your gorgeous globes, running the tip of his tongue around your swollen nipples. This action made you groan, running your fingers through his hair, completely mussing them up and ruining his do. You couldn't care less; with the way he was making you feel, you had half a mind to pull him to the ballroom and fuck him in front of everyone to show the reason for his and your disheveled states.
His thrusts began to speed up as he held you in place, your legs trembling and burning as you tried to hold yourself up, absorbing every bit of his amorous assault on you. Undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt, you yanked the shirt off his shoulder, biting down hard at the exposed skin. He growled loudly, thrusting up once, then twice as he emptied himself into you, painting your walls as you squeezed every drop from him, reaching your explosive end as well. The euphoria melted into your veins, swiftly coursing through the length of your body. But yet again, as he helped you straighten yourself up, no words were spoken.
Both of you made your way back to the ballroom, your clothes and hair slightly askew, and a bright red mark on Lucien's neck, that he didn't bother hiding for the rest of the night. You wouldn't be surprised if people found out that the two of had been together, let alone what the two of you were upto
You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.
And now here you were, months later. You hadn't seen Lucien for quite some time, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't like you were pining after him. On the contrary, you'd found quite a few men to keep yourself entertained.
You walked into Fiona's beach soiree, thanking divine providence that it wasn't a black tie affair. The fact that it was at her luxurious beach house, which was facing the vast ocean, just happened to be a silver lining. You made your way around the party, chatting with Fiona about her latest venture, the NGO she had established, the soiree a means to raise funds.
As the night progressed, you found yourself pleasantly buzzed as you sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve you. A familiar voice directed at you made you turn, only to see Lucien standing there, a flute of champagne in his hands, his signature smirk on his face. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, shifting your focus to the drink placed in front of you. He looked amazing, his messy curls softly styled, his beautiful neck adorned with gold chains and a thick ring on his finger. You had never seen him this casual, the Hawaiian shirt he had donned sitting loosely on him, leaving little to imagination.
Raising your glass at him in a silent toast, you smiled, taking a swig of the bubbly liquid. Delicious.
"You alone?" He drawled.
You gestured around, "Do you see anyone else here?"
"Touché." He took a swig of his drink, eyebrows raising as he savoured it. There was a small lull in the conversation but you didn't mind. It's not like the both of you talked when you were together.
"So. Long time no see."
"Yeah, kinda hard to see someone if they don't really show their face at events." you mused dryly.
He chuckled, nodding at the accusation. Taking your flute from your hand, he put the glasses on the counter, beckoning to the garden at the back of the house, "up for a smoke?"
"I don't smoke.", you said smugly, downing the glass in front of you.
He leaned towards you, bending down to whisper in your ear, "Who said anything about smoking?"
You should've known. It never ended in just talking, in fact, you don't think you've ever had a proper conversation with Lucien, barring that one time on the balcony, the night you met him. It was as if the bond between you was solely driven by the sheer lust and attraction you had for one another. Just the way you preferred it, and wanted it, truth be told.
As you both made your way outside, Lucien pinned you to the stone wall, locking his fingers with yours as he held your arms by your head, his lips brushing over yours. You wanted to ask him many things, probably talk about the both of you and your arrangement, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Atleast, not now.
You felt your insides flutter in anticipation, as he left kisses all over you: your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Pushing your dress up, he left open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, biting and sucking till he left marks, you were sure of it. Pulling your lace panties to the side, he began to eat you out with a ferocity that aroused you and scared you in equal parts. All you could do was hold on as he held your wet folds apart, his tongue running over your swollen nub. Briefly, he pulled back to look at your core; swearing under his breath as he saw how wet you were for him. He dove back in, pulling your lips apart with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue for all he was worth.
You had died and gone to heaven, you were sure of it. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as each swipe of Lucien's tongue made you forget all about your surroundings. Your leg was on his shoulder, your dress was basically falling off your body and you had nearly bitten off a finger trying to hold your screams in. If he weren't so good with his tongue and his fingers, you would have laughed at the way your body turned to putty near this man.
You were rudely pulled out of your thoughts by the feel of him pushing inside you, hitching your leg on his hip as he bottommed inside you. You gasped as he stayed there, letting you feel all of him as he feasted on your breasts, his thumbs and tongue working their magic. He began to move, his hand holding both your arms above your head, restricting your movements. Rutting into you with abandon, he snarled as he felt your pussy clench around him as he tightened his hold on your arms. Using them as leverage, he quickened his motion, anchoring your waist as he fucked into you wildly, using your body for his own pleasure.
"Fuck...take it. take it all." he grunted through gritted teeth, letting go of your arms as he held you steadily, his fingers making their way to your core, circling your swollen clit.
You heard yourself shriek as you came apart, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he reached his end as well, his warm spend coating your walls. Your core pulsed, nearly strangling his cock as the aftershocks died down. Suddenly feeling exhausted, you slid down the wall as he held you, gently rocking you till you came back to normal.
As you recovered from your explosive high, there was only one thought in your mind: you were truly and honestly screwed.
GAHHHH IDK HOW THIS TURNED OUT BUT OMFG i had suchhhh fun writing it!! Hope y'all enjoy! I don't do taglists anymore, just turn on blog notifs for @lexiscyberlibrary to be notified about any new fics!
Love ya!
-xoxo Lexi <3
#pedro pascal characters#lucien flores#the uninvited#lucien flores x reader#lucien flores x you#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x fem! reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#lucien flores smut#lucien flores fic#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x plus size reader#pedro pascal x oc#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal#lexi writes#pedro pascal drabble#pedro pascal fanfiction#lucien flores fanfiction#the uninvited spoilers#lucien flores x f!reader#lucien flores x female reader#pedro pascal x f!reader
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We Fall Like Snow ║ Part ⅠⅠ
After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.
pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format
chapter summary: Going on a trip with Dieter and his parents? More likely then you think.
word count: 4.9k
chapter warnings: some family drama, mentions of past bullying, but mostly fluffy moments
**dividers by the amazing @saradika
“I think we all expected some drama to drop when Dieter Bravo was cast as one of the main heroes of the upcoming movie ‘Abyss Burning’ but surprisingly enough this drama isn’t about him but his female bodyguard,” the voice coming out of the phone’s speaker is pleasant, engaging. Your stomach drops at the spoken sentence. “So let’s start at the beginning–”
Dieter comes at you from out of nowhere and yanks his father’s phone out of your trembling hands. Your instincts kicking in (as if those same instincts haven’t caused enough trouble already) you reach out for the device but he’s already across the room, giving the phone back to his dad, a glare directed at the poor unsuspecting man. Mrs. Bravo looks somewhat aware of your distress, her gaze softens with kindness, she smiles when your eyes meet.
Dieter stands like a wall between you and his parents.
“Maybe you two should go out to the balcony, the weather’s nice,” Dieter says, tone full of implication. “I’ll talk to you guys in a sec,”
Mr. Bravo parts his lips, but before words can form, Mrs. Bravo ushers him out to the balcony and closes the door behind them.
You hadn’t realized but you were holding your breath, only now letting go.
“The last thing you should do is watch drama channels,”
The couch dips with Dieter’s added weight, you look down at your hands and witness the constant twitching of your fingers. The ever distressing sound of jingle bells ring loudly in your ears. Despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear him sigh. You feel him curling his fingers around your left hand, pulling it to his lap. You perceive your hand to be detached from the rest of your body, nothing but a lifeless limb between Dieter’s fingers.
“My mom taught me something when I was little, supposedly it helps when you’re feeling nervous,” he says. “Open your palm,”
Life returns to your skin with his touch. His fingers are warm. Heat seeps back into your skin, you can feel again, you move around your fingers before doing as he said. Dieter starts to draw patterns into your palm. It’s ticklish, the sensation forces a smile against your lips.
“She told me that I should write my name letter by letter into my palm and that it would calm me down.”
Dieter is already staring at you when you lift your gaze. His smile is soft, which surprises you. Usually his smiles were wide and broad, full of happiness, be it fake or real. This expression is a gift, a gentle reminder that you’re someone close to him. His forefinger continues to dance along your palm, blood simmers pleasantly underneath your skin. Slowly, you realize that these aren’t random patterns.
A
M
I
N
A
It’s your name. You half had expected him to write out his own name.
He repeats it, the tip of his nail catches along your palm, a shudder spreading throughout your body. Dieter’s gaze drops, his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink.
“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Just breathe and focus on the letters, I promise you’ll feel better,”
Your eyes flutter shut, vague shapes caused by light moves like shadow-play beneath your eyelids. Your mind slowly comes together, you push away the thoughts of gossip. Instead you focus on yourself, on Dieter. You remind yourself of how close your lips were to his, your breaths mingling, your bodies seeking eachother’s heat.
You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. The sharp pain clears your mind. Dieter’s finger still moves. You feel him drawing another “A”. Deep down you know you can stay like this for hours, for eternity. His finger, despite the lack of sexual connotation, makes heat to pool between your legs. You know that this will be the closest you’ll ever get to feeling him against your skin like this, so you allow yourself to postpone the moment of parting.
Time stretches, you imagine his fingers moving up your wrist, tracing the curve of your muscles until he reaches your shoulder and from there, to your neck.
Your body stiffens, goosebumps settle across your skin. Dieter traces an “I”. How long does he plan on tracing your name like this?
You fear that he can hear your thoughts echoing in the silence. You fear that he can see the pleasure written along your body. It’s a nasty feeling, one that coats your tongue with the taste of bile.
When you open your eyes, his gaze lifts in a way that convinces you that he knew the exact moment it would be too much. As if he knew the moment you would resort to opening your eyes. His smile is still there.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thank you,” his finger retreats, regrettably so. “I like that little trick. It’s nice,”
“Mrs. Bravo is a wise woman,” Dieter’s smile cracks into a grin. “Speaking of, I should probably check on the happy couple,”
You nod, “Yeah, okay.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
You will never be able to forget the look of concern he’s giving you. The crease between his brows is deep, eyes focused like you’ve never seen before. You fight the urge to scoff. You can’t believe it, Dieter Bravo of all people is actually worrying about you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
You smile and nod, your thumb unconsciously pressing into your palm when he finally turns to leave.
You can see only a small fraction of the balcony. You witness Mrs. Bravo hugging her son, you see Mr. Bravo looking sheepishly at Dieter, his lips mouthing out words you can’t hear. Wanting to give them at least a bit of privacy you look down to your palm.
Your nail had left a crescent shaped mark. You smooth over it, you repeat the motion again and again, with each swipe of your thumb you feel your heart rate escalating. Anger bubbles in your chest. You were fine just a moment ago, this whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal. So what if drama channels were talking about you? So what if everyone was making speculations? You know the truth. You know it was an accident.
When you inhale, the breath you take is shaky and short. You close your eyes, then open them again. There’s an ache in your chest, you breathe and it hurts, you breathe again and again, wanting the pain to disappear.
You mutter out a curse and look back to the balcony, Dieter has his arm around Mrs. Bravo’s waist and Mr. Bravo’s hand is on his son’s shoulder. They must be close. Who would’ve thought? You really should’ve asked for their names before grabbing the offered phone to search what people were saying about the incident. Your gaze drops to your palm, the mark is gone, you remember the trick Dieter recently told you about.
Sighing, you start to drag your thumb in the shape of an “A”. You follow up with the other letters but it doesn’t make you feel better. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? You look back to Dieter and then to your palm again. You write something different for your second try. After each letter you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer.
D
I
E
T
E
R
You start to feel better.
The balcony door slides open and Mrs. Bravo is the first to come back inside. You blink dumbly at her, your thumb still moving across your palm. Dieter notices and you stop.
Now that you were aware who this couple was, you take your time observing them. Mrs. Bravo had Dieter’s eyes— though it would probably be more accurate to say that Dieter had his mother’s eyes. Her gaze sparkled more compared to his. Her hair a light shade of brown with soft, honey-like highlights between them. You spot a couple of grays pouring between the honey, making you believe that your initial assumption that her hair was dyed was actually wrong. The soft locks stopped right below her neck, slightly curling at the ends. She has a delicate gold chain around her neck, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.
“Amina,” she calls out to you, smiling wide. “Why don’t you come with us?”
“Mom…” Dieter cuts in, giving you a chance to understand what Mrs. Bravo was asking of you. Sadly, you still have no clue. “She doesn’t want to come with us. I barely want to go. The only reason I agreed to go is because we’re blood related.”
“Your cousin Everett is also joining us,” Mr. Bravo chimes in. “Didn’t you say that you missed him?”
“Like I said; Blood. Related.”
“Dieter, stop it.” His mom’s voice is sharp and clear. “Of course she would want to come. It would be good for her nerves and you said yourself you missed Everett,”
“Me missing him doesn’t make my point any less valid,”
His father talks over him, both parents ignoring him completely.
“Besides, isn’t she your bodyguard? Doesn’t she have to come along? You two have a contract right?”
“Yes but that’s not how it works–”
When the three begin to chatter among themselves, words getting a bit loud and heated, you raise your hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. You clear your throat.
“Go where exactly?”
“See, she needs this more than you think!” Mrs. Bravo proclaims triumphantly, her gaze moving from Dieter to you. “We have a cabin up in the mountains. It’s a lovely spot, near a ski resort so there’s people but not enough that you feel suffocated! We go there every year,”
“Except for last year,” Mr. Bravo cuts in, eyeing Dieter.
“It’s not my fault, I was working.”
“We would be happy if you came along,” Mrs. Bravo says with the most mother-like tone she can muster. You’re flustered, skin warm and tingling as she stares at you with hopeful eyes. Normally, you have no problem with telling people no —if you did your job would be a lot harder— but as her gaze zeroes in on you, all the excuses you could come up with die on your tongue. You nod with a shaky smile, telling her that you would love to tag along. “Fantastic! Dieter promised to show us around so you can pack during that time. We’ll come pick you up at about 9 PM. Dieter has your address right?”
“Y-Yeah,”
You’re overwhelmed at how fast she’s talking. Satisfied with your mediocre answer, she turns to Dieter.
“We’ll wait for you downstairs dear. Say goodbye to your friend!”
Both parents shake your hand before leaving, Mr. Bravo winks at you while mouthing a sorry, and follows his wife out the door.
It’s only you and Dieter now. The room is eerily silent.
He groans and falls to the couch, his one hand covers both his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. You can’t help but giggle, sitting next to him you touch his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” he groans out. “I can make up something if you don’t want to go,”
“Nah, your mom’s right, it might be good for me.” Your eyes move towards the door, you can still feel their chaotic energy crackling in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting your parents to be like, but it definitely wasn’t that,”
Dieter peaks at you from between his fingers, you can see the corners of his smile exceeding the frame of his hand.
“They really are something else. I think they like you,”
“Really?” You sound genuinely surprised.
Dieter’s hand falls to his side as he lets out a hearty laugh, he looks beautiful like this. His head thrown back and a smile as bright as the sun crossing his face. Your heart swells.
“Do you think my mom invites over every woman, or man, she sees next to me?” he shakes his head. “She’s definitely planning something, I’ll tell you that much. I should warn you about my dad though, he doesn’t have much of a filter.”
You hum, “Reminds me of someone I know,”
“Har har, he’s much worse. Believe me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” you gently hit his shoulder before getting up, Dieter looks at you confused. “You should get going, and I should go and pack,”
“Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”
Dieter walks you to the door, muttering about needing to get dressed first. He leans against the door frame, the gap suddenly looks small with him filling it, his broad shoulders filling the empty space in between as he crosses his arms.
“I’ll see you tonight then,”
Just as you proceed to move away, Dieter closes the door but remembering that you had a job to do, you push it back open.
“We’ll be making it back to the premiere, right? You can’t miss it,”
“Of course,” he says calmly. “Shannon would have my head if I missed it.”
The drive starts out full of excitement and laughter. You and Dieter are sitting in the back while Mr. and Mrs. Bravo are sitting up front. It doesn’t take you long to learn that Mrs. Bravo was a fan of Taylor Swift —and pop in general— which you find endearing.
While singing along to the lyrics of Love Story she turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. She asks if you know about Dieter’s singing and that he always wanted to be a singer. Then she proceeds to tell you how she caught him in the act of performing a private concert often while he was blow drying his hair.
Honestly you aren’t sure what surprises you more, Dieter singing, or the fact that a man who forgot to feed himself constantly used to blow dry his hair.
Dieter attempts to hush her but it’s too late, you already know his dirty little secret. Grinning, you beg him to sing. He refuses, a warm blush flaring across his cheeks. You don’t mind him denying you, you know that sooner or later you’ll make him sing.
After the first three hours, the inside of the car gradually becomes more and more silent. The music shifts from pop to something more slow and instrumental, Mrs. Bravo’s snores accompany the music. Meanwhile, Mr. Bravo is focused on the road, his body relaxed as he holds the steering wheel with one hand.
You’re looking outside, eyes following the silhouettes of trees. It’s colder now, an uncomfortable chill spreading from your hands and feet. Instead of opening your bag and wearing your sweatshirt you hug yourself. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep, you find it difficult to think properly.
“Hey,” Dieter whispers to you, his breath warming your neck. “Look, it’s snowing.”
He’s right, it was.
As you look up to the night sky, Dieter shimmies closer. Thick white flakes flutter down from the darkness, making you smile. Snow always makes you smile, regardless of the situation. It has you feeling that child-like wonder again. Your heart beats fast, cheeks warm as your hands and feet continue to freeze. Wanting to tell Dieter your enthusiasm for the weather, you turn, only to find his face an inch away from yours. With shock you jump back and hit the back of your head against the hard glass.
“Fuck,” you hiss out in pain. Your hands move up to touch your head but Dieter is faster. His hands cradle your head, pushing you down, he lets out a silent whistle.
“Shit, that sounded like it hurt. Are you alright? You’re not bleeding are you?”
Seeing that you are only mere inches away from his crotch, you slap his arms away and scutter back until you’re flushed against the cold car door. Your chest heaves. He blinks at you with an eyebrow raised. You take this opportunity to rub your head, wincing at the way it stings. Dieter attempts to move closer but you glue him in place with the raise of your hand.
“Stay there,” you grunt, your voice unwillingly thickening with anger. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do anything.”
“I was just trying to help…”
“Well, don’t,”
Dieter, as if lava suddenly formed between you, shuffles back until his cheek is flushed against the glass. His breath spreads and fogs up the window. Nails digging into your palms, your turn to face the dark scenery outside but as you move, your eyes linger on the rearview mirror.
Dieter’s dad is looking directly at you, not much emotion going on in his brown eyes. Great, I managed to piss off his dad. Guilt rising in your chest, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and turn away, hoping that Mr. Bravo had done the same.
Your head still throbs but you lean down to pull out your phone and sweatshirt from your bag. Soft snores come from your side. Lowering the screenlight, your gaze snaps to Dieter. His cheek is completely smushed against the glass with his lips parted. You envy the way he looks so relaxed, but then again, he’s always been like that. You don’t know how he does it. No matter what happens, he always manages to come out on top relaxed.
It’s kind of annoying now that you think about it.
You scroll through your phone. A terrible idea really, and see that your follower count had shot up while you weren’t looking. You have thousands of comments, mentions, and a couple of hundred messages. You sigh and roll your eyes at the same time. Within the silence the sound comes out louder than it should and with panic your eyes search the reflective surface of the rearview mirror. Luckily you don’t see two very similar looking eyes staring right back at you.
You set your Twitter and Instagram accounts to private.
A lot of people assume Dieter is a bad actor.
Sure, he’s been in a couple of shit movies when he was younger, but honestly, did everyone really think that every production Brad Pitt was in was fucking perfect? Of course not. But god forbid Dieter Bravo does a couple of bad blockbusters. Those are the ones the world decides never to forget. It doesn’t matter really. The world can think what it wants, he knows that he can act. He gets paid extra to do cameos and now he’s actually in a movie with a script he kinda likes.
The world can think that he’s shit, but the proof that he can act is happening right here, in his parents’ car.
You are totally convinced that he’s asleep when in fact he is very much awake.
Dieter didn’t understand your reaction. He just wanted to check and see if you were bleeding or not, the hit had sounded painful. But then your reaction made him feel as if he was doing something downright heinous.
You two are friends right? Isn’t it normal for friends to check up on eachother? Is this one of those social cues that he has trouble understanding?
Maybe you weren’t friends.
No, that can’t be true, she protects me
Under contract
Shut up
Dieter listens to the sounds you make. You shuffle, open up your bag and pull something out. A light burns through the roof before you turn down the screen light. He knows what you’re doing. You’re checking out the gossip. Naughty girl.
He told you not to do that. He knows how easy the masses can get into one’s head.
You sigh, then throw your phone back into your bag. Shuffles and soft grunts echo in the silence. She’s putting her sweatshirt on. Now that he’s thinking about it, it is kind of chilly in the car.
The glass touching his cheek probably isn’t helping.
He continues to realistically snore until all sound slowly fades like the slow finish of an applause. One by one the claps would slow down and stop, the sound taking the shape of a bell. Dieter knows exactly what’s going to happen; first it would be you who falls silent, then his dad would turn off the radio, and lastly Dieter would stop his snoring, burying everyone in silence.
Ever since he was a kid, Dieter had done this—pretend to fall asleep. He’s not sure why he started, or why he does it, but there’s something peaceful he finds in it. He listens to the cars whooshing past them, the sound reverberating the car, light momentarily burning his eyelids…then the silence follows again, until another car passes them by. He hears his dad clearing his throat once in a while, sometimes his bones crack whenever he rolls his shoulders.
Poor old man. I should take him for a massage.
His mom shifts in her seat, and whenever she does, his dad looks over checking to see if she’s alright. Dieter can’t see, but he knows that’s exactly what’s happening. As someone who figured out at a very young age that the best way to correlate with others was to mimic them, Dieter’s observation skills have always been off the charts.
He’s seen the way his dad looks at his mom a million times, full of unadulterated love. It's a look that has always warmed his heart since he was child, then his fondness of the tender moment shifted into something envious, an ugly feeling.
Now, he just tries to ignore it all together.
He’s always been an outsider to people’s emotions, never the cause of them. Except for the moments he got someone in his bed. Dieter enjoys those moments where someone rakes their nails across his back and tells him how good he’s making them feel. When that happens he’s the only reason for whatever they’re feeling, which is pleasure— mostly.
Slowly, he feels the Sandman sprinkling golden sand into his eyes. His eyes water when he yawns. He looks up to the sky one last time before hugging himself.
It’s still snowing.
You wake up to the marvelous scent of coffee.
Looking around the car with narrowed eyes, you see that Dieter is getting back into the car with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag. Last night’s awkwardness completely eludes your mind as you move towards him and take the coffee from his hand. You rub your right eye as you take a sip.
“Morning beautiful,” Dieter says to you stoically, his voice deep with unsatisfied sleep. “We’re almost there.”
“Good morning dear,” his mother chirps at you, she grabs the brown paper bag from Dieter and pulls out a blueberry muffin. “I hope you slept well,”
“I did, thank you Mrs. Bravo.”
She waves her hand in a dismissive manner and shakes her head. “Please call me Adaline. Mrs. Bravo sounds way too formal, isn’t that right love?” He directs the question to her husband.
“I don’t know about that honey. It always gets me excited when people call you that, it’s a nice reminder that you actually took my name,”
Adaline lets out a laughter that you can only describe as being beautiful. Your cheeks feel warm witnessing their love and you take another sip of your coffee. Dieter stuffs a kit kat bar into your hand.
“Darling, it’s been so long. How can you still get excited about that?”
“I wasn’t aware love had an expiration date,” he starts the car and looks at you through the rearview mirror. You suddenly feel very anxious. “By the way, before you start calling me Mr. Bravo, I have a perfectly fine name you can use; Claus.”
“Claus?” you repeat.
Claus raises an eyebrow, his lips curl up with amusement.
“Something funny about it?”
“No no,” you reply with haste. “Just…you know…with Christmas nearing and all–”
The couple bursts out laughing. You’re not sure whether you should be embarrassed or not but you take this time to push the coffee cup between your legs and struggle with the wrapper of your kit-kat bar. Dieter groans, yanks it from your hands, opens it, then gives it back. His eyebrows make a flat line.
For a brief moment you fear that his anger is directed at you but you shrug the feeling away when Dieter addresses his dad.
“Dad don’t–”
“Sorry Amina, dear. We’re not laughing at you. Claus’s name has always been a source for some funny memories. Especially nearing Christmas,” Adaline says, cutting Dieter off. She lets out a sigh that is followed by a giggle. “In fact, when Dieter was a kid–”
“Mom!”
“Don’t interrupt your mother, Dieter.” His dad warns.
You can’t help but chuckle at the way Dieter pouts and leans into the seat with his arms crossed. You only feel slightly bad for him. Adeline continues her story.
“As I was saying, when Dieter was a kid he would tell everyone that his dad was Santa Claus! It was adorable really, he would always be extra nice to his dad during the holidays. ‘I know I’ve been good but just in case’ he would say while baking Claus cookies. I would help, of course, but he would never let me have any,” she smiles fondly at the memory, eyes glossing over.
“But one day he came back home crying, poor thing. Apparently one of the kid’s called him a liar and the rest of the class laughed at him. Honestly, I know you shouldn’t say mean things about kids but that class was full of rotten children. Dieter never could get along with them–”
“Frankly I’m glad he didn’t,” Claus interrupted, eyes fixated on the snowy road. “I would be more worried if he did get along with them.”
You feel Dieter getting smaller and smaller next to you. His mother nods at Claus’s words and takes a bite of her muffin. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, you can imagine it so vividly; A small Dieter , his hair ruffled and face bright with Christmas joy, telling his friends that his father is Santa Claus. Excitedly, telling everyone that his father can bring them all the best presents —because that’s just how Dieter is, he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left of him. A shell, until he fills himself with smoke— only to come back home a sobbing mess crying to his parents.
You feel like you’re witnessing a crime at how vividly you can see it all playing out. Him, playing alone at school, his young gaze glancing around to seek anyone that would spend time with him. Him, being bullied for having an overactive imagination and a good heart. Anger pounds in your ears, your fingers twitching uncontrollably around the half empty coffee cup.
“Anyway,” Adaline says between bites. “Furious at this, Claus dressed up as Santa Claus and went to the school. He gave all the children coal! All the parents were furious, so were the teachers, but the principal seemed not to mind as much so nothing happened,”
“You should’ve seen their faces.” Claus grins.
“Yeah dad, thanks, you’re a true hero,” Dieter rolls his eyes. The cold snap of his voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “After that I became the kid who was crazy enough to think his dad was Santa Claus to the kid who snitched on Santa Claus and made everyone get coal. They definitely cherished me after that.”
His sentence hangs heavy in the air. A cheerful morning ruined by the ghost of Christmas past. The back of your throat feels tight, stretched like a bowstring. You shuffle anxiously in your seat, the silence needles into your skin as you pay special attention not to face anyone. Your turn to the window and glance outside; the sky is a marvelous blue, snow covering every patch of soil. You see small white flowers above the snow, a patch of green within the cold. Words of excitement reach all the way to the tip of your tongue but you bite down before you can say anything.
Jingle bells ring again.
You see the ski resort that Adaline had mentioned before the trip. It seems close enough to walk but far enough so that the constant clatter of people won’t bother the locals. The car comes to a slow stop.
“When’s Everret coming?” Dieter asks.
You assume he does this to relieve the tension in the car, which you’re grateful for.
“He should already be here,” Adaline answers.
Claus doesn’t say a word, he simply stops the car and gets out. A moment later you hear the trunk door opening. Dieter mumbles something but you don’t understand, it sounds foreign. He sighs and all the lines on his face deepen. Much like his father, Dieter also doesn’t say a word when he leaves you and Adaline alone in the car. Worry crosses your face. He didn’t even glance at you before getting out of the car, you only needed a look. A sign from him that everything is alright.
Unrelated to your job, you’re also his friend and it’s been like that for a long while. But his life outside of the stage was a mystery to you. He didn’t enjoy talking about his childhood, and conversations about his family were always a fleeting one. Despite the constant eyes devouring his life to the bone, Dieter only shared what he knew other’s wanted to see; his sex life, his flirts, the insane grandiose parties, his fame and fortune.
With the corner of your eyes you notice both father and son carrying the luggage to the cabin’s door. A tall man with blond hair comes out to greet them.
Your eyes snap to Adaline as she sighs. She doesn’t meet your gaze, but smiles anyway.
“Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be just fine.”
You start to trace letters above your palm.
#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x fem!reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x ofc#dieter bravo x fem!oc#the bubble fanfic#christmas fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic
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