seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Algeria
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from United Kingdom
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Serbia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
your camera roll dating Pedro Pascal
𖦹 synopsis: joel miller meets a broken and confused girl and is forced to take care of her. when he acts out harshly and pushes her away, will he be able to save her a second time?
𖦹 warnings: no outbreak au, memory loss, blood, confusion, isolation, loneliness, breaking and entering, use of guns (by joel) to threaten reader, yelling, wounds - head wound, chest wound, nose bleed, joel is lowkey really mean, gun violence, crying.
𖦹 wc: 4k ( one shot )
LAMB
Tiptoed wandering and humming; a song she didn't know the name of.
Sweat lined her forehead, she thought, wiping to see its redness. It didn’t indicate danger as it used to.
The branches helped for balance while the twigs on the forest floor sent sparks of pain up her legs. She winced each time, not attempting to consider an alternative. She was glad to be rid of all the foliage, pushing past the last layer of greenery to see the stretch of land.
White layers upon layers was all she could see. It was good that time wasn't something she could process. anyone else would’ve turned back when confronted with those seemingly endless miles of snow.
JOEL
It was likely he had overromanticised it. Seclusion. It felt like comfort at the time but was now infested with mites of loneliness. Joel also had a bad case of the inability to admit when he was wrong.
Some days it was a little nice to bathe in all the pity he had for himself, getting the concerned, “are you okay?” messages from his brother. Just enough to remind himself he existed.
Nothing else really lived out there.
Any animals that braved it were quickly shot down, becoming simply a warmth in Joel's stomach after dinner. On particularly bad days, he swore he could taste their loneliness, turning into nightmares where he himself was the same animal he shot down.
Joel chose never to read too much into it.
The scene in front of him didn't add up.
Footprints - not track marks. Snow tinted with blood.
Joel scanned the area but as was typical, there was nothing. He didn't know if he should be scared for himself. It wasn't usual for there to be ambushes this far out, no one could make it this far without already having enough equipment that would take up so much space you'd lose stuff trying to commit a robbery.
It was unheard of - but so was what had appeared on the floor in front of him.
Aimless wandering felt like the only productive thing he could do. Looking out for tracks, blood, listening out for snaps or any sign he was looking for something real. It truly was aimless - finding nothing but the growing shadows of the trees as the sky grew dark.
He scuffed off the bottom of his shoes mindlessly, not noticing all the anomalies surrounding him.
Joel didn't notice the partially open door, the cold wet feet prints on the smooth kitchen floor. He didn't notice the opened cupboards, opened drawers. The one thing he did notice was the sound of soft snoring, finally firing up his instincts upon realising the intrusion in his house.
Her eyebrows were furrowed in her sleep, tense as if concentrating to ensure the blanket covering her would do its job to warm her.
Apparently all Joel was capable of doing was looking around - staring at different corners in his room as if begging for inanimate objects to tell him how to handle this situation.
The rifle was heavy over his shoulder, the weight drew his instincts towards it. He gripped it securely, yelling out ‘hey’s to wake up the stranger. With her still laying still, he poked her form with the end of the barrel - not enough to hurt but enough to disturb.
The eyes opened delicately, staring up at Joel with a lot less fear than he was expecting.
“Get up.” He commanded, gun pointed at her face.
She sat upright, moving the blanket in a way to ensure it still provided her with the warmth it was supposed to.
“What are you doing here?” his tone remained harsh.
Joel watched as she stared blankly. Not even confused, just feeling and knowing nothing.
He groaned, irritated. “Stand up. Fully, all the way.” he mirrored the movement he wanted with the gun, intending to intimidate but clearly barely doing so.
She stood straight, flattening out her clothes as an attempt to look respectable. She let out a small cough, covering her mouth as she did.
For a reason Joel really couldn't wrap his head around, he was the stunned one - yet he was the one aiming the gun at her face.
“Did you take anything?” she was zoned out, face looked as if she assumed he wasn't even talking to her. “Hey! Did you steal?”
This time she met his eyes, shaking her head ‘no’. Joel scanned her frame, not seeing any obvious lumps from objects in her clothing.
Joel gestured his head towards the front door. “Go.”
The girl followed his gesture - looking over but not budging. He used the side of the rifle to push her in the right direction.
She wobbled a little, looking - well not looking with any emotion really.
“Get out!” he couldn't maintain his anger, voice coming out in an irritated voice closer to one he’d more likely use if his brother was being annoying - not trying to get an intruder to leave his house.
She eventually understood - finally. There was a vague attempt to grab the blanket before stepping away, Joel forcing out a sharp ‘no’ to get her to stop. Her mouth formed a frown, holding her arms to chest protectively as she walked slowly to the front door.
She occasionally looked back, checking to see if he was still behind her. She stood to the side of the door, looking down at her feet - refusing to let herself out.
Joel sighed loudly, reaching past her for the handle to pull it open. The cold breeze came rushing past them into the house, the girl looked up at him, a slight begging in her eyes for the first time.
“Out.”
All she did was stare. Stood aimlessly in the snow that had settled on his front porch, holding herself for warmth; and staring.
Joel refused to wish he had more sympathy for her. Regardless, he hesitated - holding the door open for just another couple seconds. He commanded her to go once more, then slammed the door between them both.
Joel let out a groan and wiped at his face aggressively. It didn't feel like he had done the wrong or the right thing.
Air left him once again, before he scurried around the house to finally put away his things. His steps felt louder now, reminding him he was alone. Reminding him that a moment ago, he hadn't been.
Once again, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He headed back to the kitchen, planning to occupy himself with food.
He noticed something he hadn't before - crumpled up tissues scattered all over the marble surface. At first, he marched forwards irritated, yelling out ‘I knew it’ internally. He expected her to leave some kind of bad result and look - here it was.
The ‘half’ victory didn't last long, seeing the red stains covering the tissues.
Oh he was a fucking idiot.
He practically sprinted to the door, grabbing his coat on the way. The air rushed inside again - before his attention was brought to his feet, seeing the same girl resting against the wall of the house. She stared at him a little confused.
“Uh, you bleedin'?”
She didn't move much, hand hesitant but moved slowly towards her head. He knelt down next to her, ignoring the wet patches forming on his jeans from the ice.
Joel held her head delicately, cautiously moving her hair to reveal a gruesome line on the side of her skull.
He sighed (again) ignoring the guilt creeping up his throat. Placing his arm around to support her back, Joel walked her back inside.
As soon as her feet touched the inside floors, she pulled herself out of Joel's grasp and ran to the couch. Pulling the cozy blanket back over herself, she finally smiled at him.
“You need to wash.” he commented, interrupting her joy.
She met his eyes for a split second, before hurriedly pulling the material up to cover herself almost fully.
“C’mon, I'm trying to help. It could get infected, your hair could get like stuck in the dried blood-” she comedically grimaced at his words, “i- exactly, uh, bath or shower?”
A lack of response - again.
He began filling the tub, annoyed at how quickly the bubble had started to form - he’d poured a little too much soap in out of stress.
The girl shook with growing anxieties, Joel's emotions beginning to mirror into her. He began rambling, asking if she knew how to have a bath, how to clean, how to dry, how to change - as much as he didn't want to come across condescending, he’d much rather explain in case she didn't know than monitor her every move.
Joel made up the bed in the spare room, he laid out clothes, put the blanket she clearly loved over the sheets, finally leaving her some warm soup on the side table before heading to his own room.
He wasn't used to being the kind of person that did things for other people - especially not to this extreme. There were so many aspects he didn't know about this girl, regardless, she was hurt. He still refused to enjoy it, sighing deeply as he chose to give her all these things.
The upstairs floorboards creaked, enough to tell Joel she had left the bathroom and headed to her room - the spare room. She didn't come out after, so Joel assumed she’d headed to sleep.
He wouldn't let himself care enough to check on her.
He woke up to his face being prodded.
Joel jolted back, forgetting all of the events of the previous day until he saw her face. She also seemed shocked, probably due to his frantic reaction.
“What?” he spat out.
“‘M hungry.”
This time Joel had the non-verbal reaction, at least for a second. “You talk?”
She nodded, not seeming phased by the question.
“Right. Well,” he sighed dramatically. “Jesus.”
Joel pulled himself out of bed, running his fingers through his hair while he searched for a shirt to put on. He turned back to find her snuggled in his warm covers, eyes innocently following Joel's movements around his room.
“Wha- get out, you have your own bed!” he whined, sighing over and over as per usual which made her giggle softly.
She sprinted out of the room and by the time Joel had left it too, she was standing in the hallway with her blanket wrapped around her. Joel rolled his eyes, gesturing his hand out for her to be the first to walk down the steps.
He followed not too closely behind.
“No, I'll do it!” he whined like a child possessive over his toy.
“I wanna help!” she mirrored his tone, earning the millionth eye roll she’d received from him.
The front door pushed open, the sound of the wind filling the room. Upon seeing who it was, Joel groaned into his hands and wiped his face. He could barely handle one disturbance let alone handle three.
His brother stepped in, laughing at his own probably unfunny joke to entertain his wife and clumsily setting their things down.
The girl was now increasingly uncomfortable, choosing to hide behind Joel and grip at his shirt.
Maria was the first to notice her, eyes darting from Joel's irritated expression (which was very typical) and the girl's anxious standing position.
“Joel? There's a girl behind you.” Tommy followed Maria's eyes upon hearing her words.
“I’m clearly aware.”
The couple waved timidly, giving small ‘hi’s to not spook her too much. She waved back, finally smiling a little and taking a mental note of the similar looks the new man and Joel shared.
“Whats her name?” Maria spoke up gently.
Joel sighed and preoccupied himself with making breakfast, now for four people. The girl didn't answer the question either, seemingly upset over Joel's anger that still refused to settle down.
Maria and Tommy shared confused expressions.
The bottom floor of the cabin had an open plan. Meaning as Joel worked in the kitchen, there were no walls in between to prevent him seeing and hearing what was happening in the front ‘room’.
The three more cheerful people sat on the couch together, making enough jokes that the girl was now comfortable with their company.
Her eyes often darted to see what Joel was doing - most of the time his expression was tense as he treated making pancakes and waffles like it was the most serious task a person could do.
Other times, they locked eyes and she noticed the hint of sadness in his eyes. As was his favorite defense mechanism, he didn't let it last long, face turning away hurriedly each time.
“So, when did you uh, move in?” Maria wanted to ensure the girl felt fully included but also knew that Joel would refuse to answer these questions.
She didn't respond - nibbling at her lip out of nervousness as she looked to Joel for support. He had finally finished in the kitchen, heading over as he took two plates at a time.
“She’s not staying.” he spoke up roughly. His actions contrasted his words, handing her the first plate of food. It held perfectly cooked pancakes and half a large waffle, while the plate he handed to Maria had the slightly messier pancakes and no waffle to be seen.
“Does she have somewhere else to go?” Maria spoke after swallowing a mouthful of food.
Everyone looked over to the girl, who rested the plate on her knees atop the blanket and ate timidly. She shook her head ‘no’, making Maria and Tommy turn to Joel in a mix of disappointment and anger.
“If Joel kicks you out, you can stay with us if you want? We have a spare room you could stay in. As long as you need.” Maria focused on the matter at hand, making sure the girl knew she had somewhere safe she could be.
“Yeah and we’re nicer.” Tommy scoffed, insulting Joel but still muttering an excited ‘thank you’ when his brother handed over the breakfast he had made.
“Obviously no pressure, but the offers there.” Maria added.
“Good.” Joel muttered, placing himself on the patch of floor closest to the girl - preventing her knees from accidentally touching Tommy's. To her, it felt defensive. making her again confused on Joel's refusal to admit he cared about her wellbeing.
She dragged the fork over her food, entirely grateful for it but her body had closed up from both embarrassment and sadness.
They hugged each other goodbye, the girl clung onto Maria for a few seconds too long but she didn't mind. She rubbed her back soothingly, reminding her of the offer herself and Tommy made earlier.
The house was uncomfortably quiet when they left - they seemingly chose to head off earlier than intended due to the amount of tension.
She fiddled with her fingers on the couch, knees pressed to her chest.
“So what is your name?” Joel broke the silence, weirdly much cheerier.
She shrugged dismissively. A mix of still being upset and genuinely not knowing.
“You don't know?”
Her head shook in agreement with the question.
“Well, pick something.” He placed himself on the couch in the space next to her.
“I- i dont know what.”
“You can pick anythin'. Within reason I guess.”
“You pick for me.”
“No, I can't do that. It's a personal thing.”
“What would you pick - for yourself?”
Joel thought to himself for a second, staring down at his lap. “Wow, I guess it is hard.” to that, she finally let out a small laugh. “What feels like you?”
“Something confused and scared.”
Joel gave her a sympathetic expression before resting his head back, staring at the ceiling instead.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thats your name?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“I didn't know.” she spoke softly, “until your brothers said.”
He scoffed, “I guess I didn't think we needed to get personal.”
“I’m not upset-”
“And look, you won't tell me yours.”
“W- i don't know mine!”
“Why didn't you go with them? They said you could go to theirs.”
She blinked away the growing warmth in her eyes. “I like it here.” She fought back as much as she could.
“But it's my house! My home, my food, my bed, my fucking blanket and you’re using all of it!”
She ripped the blanket off herself, practically throwing it into Joel's lap as he merely sighed.
She hurried to the kitchen, putting on her boots that still had drops of her dried blood on. Covering herself with her coat that she didn't have a memory of buying, storming out the front door, slamming it behind her.
All Joel did was sit himself up, holding the blanket in his hands more gently than he’d ever spoken to her.
He didn't budge from his spot, eyes locked onto the door. He waited for her to come back, assuming she would, assuming he hadn’t messed up as bad as logic would tell him.
Time passed quicker than it felt, yet Joel felt like he’d been waiting years.
Now he thought back to how she got here. By chance, hopeless wandering, dripping blood. She could've died. She would've died especially if Joel had fully kicked her out like he initially planned.
He couldn't escape the image of the wound on her head. He’d lived in that area for years now and had never managed to get himself in enough trouble to get wounded like that.
He focused back on the floor - she left the same way she came in.
What if he’d doomed her to relive the fate she had the day before?
She left the same way she came in.
Joel hurried to gather clothes to keep him warm, loading his rifle too. Worst case scenario, he had to use it. He thought.
The wind smacked snow into his face, freezing the tip of his nose. A hat covered his ears, which probably would’ve dropped off from the cold without it. She definitely hadn't dressed warm enough. Layers upon layers and even Joel was still freezing.
The snow seemed to endlessly crunch under his foot. Hoping and hoping to reach the forest she was most likely hiding out in.
There were sounds he didn't recognise. Yelling, loud thumps or bangs or something - just the sound of attacks he couldn't put a name to. Then there were gunshots - that he recognised.
Joel's legs moved for him, sprinting despite the heavy weight he was with everything he wore and carried. He wanted to tear all of it off him, desperate to reach her faster.
He had been naive to think the worst case was he had to use his gun when in truth it would be that someone else used their own on her.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw her yards away, Joel panted pathetically to regain his breath.
She was stumbling down the path, face down to watch her feet and ensure they walked as they needed to. The girl held her side, blood pouring out from the gaps between her fingers.
She finally looked up, meeting Joel's eyes and he could see a glint of recognition in hers. Now Joel noticed the blood running from her nose, face beginning to swell rapidly.
He finally ran towards her, frantically taking off his own coat to place over her. She stared up at him a little dazed - maybe she didn't recognise him? He really had no way to be sure while she was in a state like she was.
The way he supported her frame didn't really help at all, resorting to carrying her close to his chest instead.
The cold relentlessly bit at him, but he ignored it. He marched forwards, he had to. She pressed her face into the crook of Joel's neck, seeking warmth and likely falling asleep.
The snowy surface made walking difficult, feeling like trying to run under water. After a mile, his house was finally in view. He looked down at the wounded girl he carried, noticing the blood that refused to stop spilling.
He should’ve covered the open wounds - he should've done all of it differently. Joel choked down his sobs, realising he didn't want to accept how wounded she truly was before as it would mean looking at what he had caused.
Joel laid her down by the fireplace, rushing to grab her blanket and a pillow. He covered her gently, cradling her face in an attempt to wake her up.
“Hey, hey, c’mon, you need to wake up.” he spoke in a tone that seemed calm which he obviously wasn't.
She finally opened her eyes, blinking gently at Joel. Now that he was one step more satisfied, he rooted through the cupboards for things to help her wounds.
He patched her up, cleaning the wounds, applying pressure and covering them up. He delicately used a tissue to clean up her face, trying to ignore the way her eyes burned into his skull as he did so. When he had finished, he met her eyes again. She was pale. Too pale.
The fire was still on, but he placed the pillow down first then the girl herself onto his lap, hoping to provide just a little more warmth.
His breathing hadn't been steady for hours, still hyperventilating as she laid still in front of him. Joel wiped the hot tears that were still streaming down his face, the only comfort he received was her eyes looking up at him. He hadn't failed completely miserably as long as she was there, wounded but healing.
Joel rested his back against the footstool in front of the couch, trying to relax himself. He had too much adrenaline - energy he should’ve used way earlier to prevent this extreme of a result.
He woke up to his face being prodded. This time it felt much more comforting.
“You look messy.” she stated blankly, clearly unaware of the dark bruising forming under her eye and leftover blood under her nose that Joel had clearly missed.
He laughed a little - he wasn't the one that had a near death experience. “Don't matter.” he mumbled.
She messed around with his hair, fixing it to look more respectable. Joel watched closely as she did, feeling a heavy lump form in his throat. Guilt was chewing him inside out.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered delicately, as if it was a secret. “I’m so sorry.”
She stopped her attempts at fixing his hair, feeling as if it was in the same place it started.
“I never wanted you to get hurt, I just can’t deal with people like you can. Like my brother can.” he felt water brim his eyelids, "I just got too used to my own place, to being alone and I guess I assumed people didn’t want to be in my space anymore. And then you needed it and I was a piece of shit 'bout it - and I'm sorry. Really.”
“Joel?” he blinked a little confused, watching as she leaned to whisper in his ear. “It's a little late for apologies.”
She stayed still for a moment, enough for a confused ‘what?’ to hurriedly leave his lips.
As she leaned back, the moment Joel expected to meet her eyes, she was gone. Like she wasn't there in the first place. Maybe she hadn't been.
Joel still felt the weight of her in his lap, looking down to see her even paler than before. His hands shook as he reached down, checking her neck for a pulse. He shifted her off his lap, finding her arm and checking her wrist for a pulse.
The silence in his home had never felt so heavy.
He gripped her shoulders, desperate to shake her awake. He continued his efforts, ignoring the rivers streaming down his face and ignoring the pathetically wailing he let out while he cried for her to wake up.
None of his attempts worked. Clearly he had lost his chance to help her.
Some mistakes can't be undone. Now Joel felt like he was one himself.
- first Joel miller fic !! :> lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist and pleaseee let me know what you think !!
A Dangerous Patrol. Joel Miller x fem!reader. *ANGST/FLUFF*
Summary: Joel’s fiancée gets paired with the new guy for a patrol day. Unfortunately, Joel’s intuition about this guy is right.
TW: *This fic contains physical and verbal violence toward the reader, as well as attempts of sexual assault. If any of those have the potential of triggering you, please skip this fic.*
Word count: 3.8k
***
“Okay, I know your usual patrol partner is Wade, but now that we have more area we need to cover, we’re moving some partners around and splitting up the usual patrolmen and partnering them up with our new comers.” Amy says, waving a man about her age over.
“This is Scott, you’ll be patrolling with him until further notice. If things go well, he’ll be your permanent partner.”
“Nice to meet you.” She sticks her hand out to him.
“Yeah, good to meet you.” He shakes her hand, giving her a small, nervous smile.
Scott looked to be about her age, maybe a few years older. His hair was black as midnight, in a curly style mullet, no facial hair but it looked like he was trying to grow something.
Joel was already eyeing the man, his brain telling him that there wasn’t something right about this guy. His arms rested crossed against his chest as he watched his fiancée talk to the new patrolman, he blocked out all the noise in the room, wanting to hear what was so goddamn funny he said that made his fiancée laugh.
“Why do you look grumpier than usual?” Tommy sits next to his brother, elbowing him in the ribs playfully.
Joel shoots his brother an annoyed glance. “Who’s the new guy?” He motions his head toward Scott.
“Ah,” Tommy chuckles. “That’s why you’re grumpy.”
“Why’d they change her and Wade? At least I trusted him.”
“You trusted him to keep her safe or trusted him not to make a move on her?” He jokes, loving nothing more than teasing his older brother just like a younger brother should.
Joel grumbles under his breath, sitting up in his chair. “Both.”
“Wade is a strong patrolman, I mean he used to be a police chief. And she is one of the toughest chicks I’ve seen, knows how to shoot a gun, knows how to throw a punch. When we bring a newcomer in we have to put them with someone strong or else they’re going to end up lost or dead.”
He exhales through his nose in annoyance. “Don’t call my future wife a chick.” Joel gets up from his chair as he sees everyone gather their items for the start of patrol. He walks up to his fiancée, pulling her ponytail out from under her jacket.
She gasps softly, surprised at the touch. She turns her body, seeing her future husband and giving him a soft smile. “I know you’re annoyed about me getting partnered with the new guy.”
“You and Tommy both think I’m annoyed over this guy.”
“Are you not?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise.
Joel was skeptical of Wade for the first few days they were partnered together since she had a thing for older men clearly. He was a little protective over her but finding happiness after all the pain he had gone through made him more careful with her.
“W-well, I’m not saying that I’m over the moon you’re paired up with this guy.” He stutters over his words.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Joel. This guy honestly seems a little nervous about holding a gun.”
Joel shifts his boys to look at Scott, talking with Tommy. “Just watch him, okay? If you feel like something isn’t right with him, don’t be afraid to clip him.”
“I can’t shoot him, Joel.” She laughs, resting her hands on his chest. “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you in a few hours, okay.”
Joel meets her lips, kissing her quickly. “Be safe.”
“You too, handsome. Love you.” She squeezes his hand in hers.
“Love you too.”
***
Scott follows behind her, a rifle hanging behind his back as they walk on a mountain overlooking the town. The wind makes the weather unusually nippy for 10 o’clock in the morning. Each exhale she let out, her breath creating a plume of steam.
“You doing okay back there?” She asks, turning quickly to look at Scott.
“Yeah, fine. A lot colder than I thought it would be.”
“I’m hoping it’ll get a little warmer as the morning goes on or else we’re going to be popsicles by the time we go back to town.”
She wasn’t used to quiet patrols, her and Wade always talked to each other when they were together. Scott seemed like the shy type, barely making eye contact with her when they spoke.
“Where are you from originally?”
“Tacoma Washington. I was born and raised there, I was there when the outbreak happened and stayed there up until two months ago when I started trekking out here.”
“I’ve heard how bad the outbreak was out there. I’m surprised you stayed that long.”
“Well, I was locked up when the outbreak started. There was a prison guard that let us out when things started getting really bad about a month in.”
She wanted to ask what he was locked up for, but it was probably better she didn’t.
“Can we take a quick break? I just need a few minutes.” Scott digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out an inhaler, shaking it a few times before pressing the button and inhaling.
“Oh, yeah of course. We can take a little 10 minute break. I’m sorry, I have you over here in high elevation walking around for miles.” She leads him over to a resting spot, letting him sit on a large rock.
“I didn’t mean to slow us down.” He takes another puff from his inhaler before putting it back in his pocket.
“No, it’s totally okay. It’s your first day on patrol. I’m actually impressed you still have Albuterol these days.” She takes a seat next to him.
“Well, I’m not going to lie, after I was let out of prison, I went to all the pharmacies around where I lived and looted through their stuff and grabbed all the inhalers I could find. My asthma only gets bad when I’m being physically active.”
“You gotta do what you can to survive. We’ve all done stuff we’re probably not proud of to make it where we are today.”
They sit together for a while, taking in the scenery of the town. Winter was almost over, that meant things were slowly turning green and flowers would be blooming too.
“I couldn’t help but notice that older guy you kissed, that’s your boyfriend?”
“My fiancé actually.” She smiles. “He found me Colorado, I lost the group I had been with since the beginning and he brought me along with him.”
“No offence, but he looks like he’s old enough to be your dad or something.”
She tries to hide the inevitable eye roll from the statement everyone says after they find out she and Joel are together.
“He's too old for you.”
“She’s so young.”
“Can’t they find someone their own age?”
“They could be father and daughter with how big their age gap is.”
The people of Jackson have said it all, either to her and Joel’s faces, or behind their backs.
“We have a 20 year age gap, but it’s never bothered us. It seems to bother everyone else honestly.” She shrugs her shoulders, taking a drink from her canteen.
“You never wanted to be with someone your own age? I’m sure there’s things you want he can’t give you.”
“No. I’ve always been very happy with Joel.” She says matter of factly, her tone no longer friendly like it had been.
“I’m just saying, there’s not a lot of options during the end of the world.” Scott looks to her, scooting closer to her and his hand reaching up and resting on her thigh. “But now that you have a better option in front of you, why not take advantage.”
She shoves his hand off her, standing up quickly. “Do not touch me. I don’t know if you’re mistaking me being nice for me flirting with you, but I’m making it crystal clear right now; leave me alone. We’ll finish patrol, but I’m telling Amy we are not pairing up again. I’m going to make sure we’re still good out there. You can wait here, I’ll be within eye sight.”
She starts to get up, but Scott grabs the bag on her back, pulling her down onto her butt. “Ow, what the fuck is wrong with you?” She tries to get back on her feet, but Scott climbs on top of her, keeping her pinned down.
Scott tries to pull open her jacket, but he’s met with her nails scratching his cheeks. Angry red welt marks immediately appear on his fair skin, one of the scratch marks bleeding slightly.
“No!” She screams from deep within her chest, trying to push him off her. “Get off me!” Her legs kick and dig into the soft dirt under her, trying to plant her feet to get leverage on him to fight back. She manages to punch him square in his nose, blood spurting all over himself and her.
He close fist punches her in her jaw twice, growing in anger. “Fucking bitch.” He mutters, grabbing tight hold of her cheeks and making her look at him. “Hit me again and I’ll fucking dump your body where nobody will be able to find you.”
Desperately, she tries to reach down to her boot for the knife she keeps inside of it. “No! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” She yells. She turns her torso quickly, enough to knock him off her chest and onto the hard ground next to her.
She tries to scramble to her feet to run, but she feels his hand grab her boot, pulling her back down. Her shoe flies off as she lands, her knife landing inches away from them.
The wind gets knocked from her body as she lands hard on something hard on the ground. She can’t bring herself to scream for help or even scream no.
“I’ll fucking kill you.” Scott pulls on the strap of the rifle up to around her neck and tightening his hold. He kneels against her back with his full body weight, yelling obscenities at her.
She gasps loudly feeling the pressure around her neck and her vision starts to get spotty. “Stop!” Her voice rasps out. Her body wriggles against the dirt, trying to fight and reach for the knife.
Bright spots start to appear in her vision the tighter Scott’s hold gets, her body starting to give up fighting.
Scott takes advantage of her body no longer fighting him back, his hand resting on the fleshy part of her butt. “See, you don’t have to fight.” He’s distracted enough that he unknowingly lets her move just enough.
Finally her fingertips touch the handle of the knife, luckily able to grab it and hold it in her hand. “Off!” She raps out, throwing her hand behind her body and stabbing the blade into his thigh.
Scott yells but stays on top of her, pulling the knife out of his skin. He stands on his feet, grabbing her ponytail and forcing her onto her feet.
“Fuck you!” She screams at him, clawing at his arm as he drags her a few feet into the trees. The grip he has on her hair makes it feel like her scalp is on fire the way he’s pulling it.
Scott presses her back against a tree, his hand now wringing her neck while the bloody knife is in his hand and inches away from her face. His pupils are blown, his teeth tight in his mouth and chest puffing out. “All I’m asking for is a chance.”
She spits into his face, not caring if it was going to get her killed. “Get away from me.” She pushes his face away, her other hand balled up in a fist and punching whatever she could get her hands on.
The blade of the knife presses against her exposed collarbone, Scott cutting the skin slowly just a few inches.
“You better quit fighting me, the more you try and fight me, the worse it’s going to be for you.” His grip tightens around her neck, making her gasp for air.
Before she can do anything, she sees a man come from behind Scott and throw him to the ground, instantly pummeling him into the earth.
Another man comes from behind the tree, making her retreat a few steps away.
“It’s okay, I got you. We’re going to get you back to town, okay?” He says, reaching his hand out to her, letting her know he wasn’t going to hurt her.
***
“Here, honey, take these so your headache goes away.” Maria hands her two capsules of medicine and a cup of water.
She throws the medicine in her mouth she’s drinks the water quickly, swallowing the pills down. “Where’s Joel? I want Joel.” Her voice was hoarse from Scott choking her.
“He’s coming. He was a little further out on patrol today but we called him as soon as Daniel and David brought you in.”
She tried to keep her tears in, not wanting anyone in the room to see her break. She started at a spot on the floor, not bothering to look anyone in the eye as they tended to her wounds. If she focused on the ground, she could silence her mind enough to not cry.
“Can you tilt your head back a little so I can see the marks on your neck?” Louise, the town’s nurse gently speaks to her, giving her a friendly, genuine smile.
She leans her head back on the pillow, trying to clear her throat but she could still feel the scratchiness inside.
“They’re going to bruise, unfortunately. You might feel like you have a sore throat but that’ll go away in a few days. You also need to change the bandage on your knife wound two times a day.”
She nods her head in understanding, wincing when she feels herself breathe in deeply. “Something here hurts too.” She points under her shirt.
“Can I take a look?” Louise asks before touching her. She asks before slowly lifting her shirt up and inspecting her stomach. She finds a large circular bruise forming under her bra, a little cut in the middle and dry blood around it. “You must have landed on a rock or something, you have a bruise the size of a golf ball here.”
She winces feeling a cold ice pack press against her bare skin.
Maria holds her hand, running her thumb across her knuckles. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She whispers. “But you put up a hell of a fight, let me tell you.”
A loud bang makes all three of the women jump, looking toward the entrance to see Joel bust through the door, Tommy hot on his feet, holding his shoulder and whispering something in his ear.
She sits up in the bed, trying to get onto her feet but Louise and Maria both stop her.
“Hold on, you need to take it slow.” Maria murmurs to her, helping her lay back on the bed.
Joel’s face softens seeing her for the first time, all the anger he had on the way to her was gone and all he wanted to do was hold her and kiss her. “Hey, darlin’.”
Her eyes immediately water seeing him and hearing his voice. She sits up, waiting for him to come to her.
He sits on the edge of her bed, wrapping his strong arms around her body, holding her as close as possible. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispers softly, cradling her head. “I should’ve been there.”
She finally lets the tears go, crying into his shoulder, her body shaking along with her hands. “I should’ve listened to you.” She sobs.
“It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Joel lets her cry, not saying anything other than “it’s okay.” In her ear to soothe her.
Louise and Maria leave the two of them alone, clearing out the rest of the clinic.
“Hey, look at me real quick.” Joel moves her head out of his chest, holding both sides of her cheek in his rough hands. He uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe her tears away, his eyes scanning her face. “Still beautiful.”
She rests her forehead on his, taking deep breaths trying to calm herself down. “I tried fighting back.”
“I know you did. They told me you stabbed him in the thigh, scratched his face up pretty nice. You did everything you could. He should have never touched you.” Joel notices her hands shaking like leaves, he grabs them, holding them in his.
“Where is he?” She questions.
“They won’t tell me. They're scared I’m gonna kill him, which if I find out where he is, I will. I knew there was something wrong with that mother fucker, I knew it.”
Her eyes sting again as new tears start to form, her gaze dropping from Joel’s. “He tried touching me.” Her voice is quiet and frail.
Joel tried not showing his anger, he bit at his inner lip, breathing in deeply through his nose. “God, I’m so sorry baby. I’m going to talk to Amy about only putting you with me or Tommy from now on. I don’t trust anyone else with making sure you’re safe on patrol.”
“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Tommy comes from behind Joel. It was the first time Tommy had seen her with all her bruises and cuts, his heart sank to his stomach immediately.
The first time Joel brought her around Tommy as his girlfriend officially, they got along great (Tommy joked it was because they were closer in age than Joel and her). He hadn’t seen his brother happy since Sarah had died, he was glad he found someone who could bring him joy in such a terrifying time.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Tommy mutters, reaching for her shoulder and rubbing it. “I need Joel for a few hours, can I steal him?”
“Tommy, I need to be with her right now.”
“Actually, Joel, I don’t mind taking her back to your place so she can get some rest.” Wade comes from behind Tommy. “Amy said the two of you aren’t on patrol rotation for the rest of the week so you two can be together.”
She can’t see Joel’s face, but she can tell he was looking at Wade skeptically, he surely wasn’t going to trust just anyone to be around her alone anymore. “Honey,” She reaches for Joel’s back. “I trust Wade to take me home. He’s always taken care of me. I just want to go home to our bed.”
“Will you stay with her until I get home?” Joel asks.
“Of course. I’ll take care of her, promise.”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay? I love you.” He kisses her forehead lovingly before following Tommy out of the building.
***
She rolls over in bed, looking at the curtains that were still drawn from this morning, the sky totally black along with the bedroom. Her head was pounding still, her body feeling hollow and achy as she rolled onto her back with a groan.
Slowly she gets onto her feet, hobbling out of the bedroom and holding the walls down the stairs, whining as she goes down every step. It was the first time she felt the pain in her ankle, not being able to put any weight on it.
“Wade? Are you still here?” She rasps out, her voice practically gone.
“No baby, he left about an hour ago. I’m here.” Joel comes from the kitchen, helping her down the last few sets of steps. “You want to go lay on the couch?”
She shakes her head. “No, I need to move around. My body hurts a lot.”
“You still have to rest, baby. How about I sit on the couch with you at least?”
Her eyes adjust to the light in the kitchen finally, noticing Joel had the beginning of a black eye forming, her eyes trail down to his lip, the bottom of it split open with dried blood on the cut.
“Joel, what happened to your face?” She gently grips his chin, tilting his head down to inspect him better. “Did you get beat up?”
He gently moves her hand away from his face, clearing his throat. “Not entirely.”
She stares at him, waiting for him to explain himself.
“Tommy was able to get Scott alone, so I handled things.”
Her brows come together in confusion, her mind immediately going to the worst case scenario. “Handled things how? You didn’t… you didn’t kill him did you?” She whispers the last part as if there was someone else in the house.
“I should’ve. After what he did to you? I should have set him on fucking fire. I beat an apology outta him, we went a couple rounds and got a few swings on me. Told him if he ever came anywhere near Jackson again I would make sure he would never be able to see again.”
She inhales deeply, nuzzling herself in his chest for comfort. Her arms wrap around his waist tightly, squeezing him.
Ever since she met Joel 5 years ago, he had always made her feel safe. When he brought her along with him and Ellie to Jackson, he made sure she was always taken care of and once they fell in love with each other- which didn’t take long- everything he did was for her.
“Can I tell you something?” Joel gently touches her cheek with his thumb, careful not to touch any of the cuts or bruises on her face.
“I’ve told you about Sarah and how I lost her. Before I met you in Colorado, I hadn’t felt love since I’d been with Sarah’s mom. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something worse had happened to you out there with that asshole. I can’t go through losing someone who means the world to me. I’ll do anything I need to do to protect you, and I hope you know that.”
Joel’s eyes were wet with tears that he was blinking back, his gaze trails up and down her face, looking past the damage that sick fuck did to her.
“I know that, Joel, I know.” She nods her head softly. Her shaky hands cup his face, bringing his head down to rest against hers. “I’d do anything to protect you too, you’d never give me the chance, but,” She lets out a little laugh. “I never expected to fall in love with someone in an apocalyptic world, but I’m glad it was you.”
“I love you, darlin’.” He hugs her tightly, not wanting to let her go.
“I love you too, Joel.” She squirms a little against him, making an uncomfortable grunt. “But, you’re hurting my bruise.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry, sorry. Guess I can’t squeeze you like I’m used to.”
“I’ll heal soon, then you can squeeze me as much as I can handle.”
safe place. - pedro pascal.
requested! thank you for sending. ♡ - requests are open. ✎ summary: You’ve been with Pedro for years — in love, in sync, and happy. But when the topic of kids comes up, everything shifts. He doesn’t understand your resistance… until he finds out the truth: a heartbreaking past you’ve never spoken of. You’re terrified of the pain, but Pedro? Pedro just wants to hold your heart through all of it.
---
You were brushing your teeth when he said it. Casual, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your stomach twist in knots.
“I saw this dad with his kid at the café today,” Pedro started, standing behind you in the bathroom, eyes on your reflection. “And I just… I don’t know. I think I’d be a good dad.”
Toothbrush frozen mid-air, you blinked at your own reflection. You managed a non-committal hum and went back to brushing.
He didn’t push. Not then.
But he started bringing it up more — in the softest, sweetest ways. “Imagine a little one running around the kitchen while you’re designing.” “Can you picture me reading bedtime stories with all the voices?” “Your eyes… on a baby? I’d be done for.”
And every time, you found a reason to change the subject. Joked about diapers, or daycare, or how kids would ruin your furniture. You laughed — like it was nothing. But inside, your chest was a battlefield.
Pedro wasn’t dumb. He noticed.
So one night, he finally asked. You were curled up on the couch, his hoodie drowning your frame, your legs tangled together. And he said it — softly, but serious.
“Why don’t you want kids with me?”
The air thickened instantly. You sat up a little, heart pounding.
“I just… I don’t want kids,” you muttered, eyes on your hands.
“That’s not true,” he said gently. “Not really. I know you. I know how much love you have to give.”
You hated how he looked at you — not angry, but hurt. Like he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. Like he was questioning the future he thought you both saw.
“I just don’t, Pedro.” Your voice cracked.
“Why?” His own voice was quieter now, afraid of the answer. “Am I not the person you see a future with?”
You looked up, panicked. “No! God, no, it’s not that.”
“Then tell me. Please.” His hand found yours, thumb rubbing your skin. “I don’t want to push you. But I feel like I’m losing you a little, and I don’t even know why.”
You swallowed hard. Your throat was burning. He was always so patient. So loving. You didn’t want to lie. Not to him.
“I lost one,” you whispered. And just like that, the truth spilled out. “Before you. In another relationship. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until… until it was too late.”
Pedro’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. Just listened.
“I didn’t tell anyone. I was young and scared, and… it happened so fast. And I blamed myself. Still do, sometimes.” Your lips trembled. “I thought I’d moved on, but the idea of going through that again? Of losing a baby that’s ours?” Your voice broke completely. “I couldn’t survive it, Pedro. I couldn’t survive hurting you like that.”
He didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tight, one hand on the back of your head like he was trying to shield you from the whole world.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I had no idea.”
You nodded against him. “I didn’t know how to say it.”
He held you like that for a long time, his heart beating against your cheek. And then:
“You’re not alone. Okay? Not now. Not ever.” His voice cracked, too. “I love you. Whether we have kids or not. Whether we try or don’t. I love you.”
You closed your eyes, holding on tighter.
“I just want you to feel safe again. That’s all I care about.”
And for the first time in years, in that moment, you did. Safe.
---
this request made me so happy! it’s so special to see other brazilians here too 💛 obrigada por me enviar! beijinhos 🤍✨
accident. | JP x Reader
PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader
SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.
WC: 3.6k
WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.
AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst
A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.
He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.
Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.
Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.
He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.
Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.
Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.
“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”
“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.
“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”
Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.
Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.
“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.
She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.
“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.
“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.
“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.
Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.
Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.
“Fucking hell.”
_
You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.
Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.
Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.
“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.
Javier was supposed to pick you up too.
But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself
You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.
Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.
What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.
You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.
You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.
You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.
—
Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.
When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.
Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.
The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.
Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”
Thwack.
An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.
“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.
Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.
“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.
Thwack. Thwack.
The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.
“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”
You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.
Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.
He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”
The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.
You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.
“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.
“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”
“Mi-”
“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.
Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.
You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.
“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.
“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.
You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”
Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.
You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”
The words pierce through Javier’s heart.
Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.
“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."
Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.
A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.
“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.
“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.
A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.
Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.
“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.
“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.
You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.
You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.
But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.
Now it was your turn to fuck things up.
Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.
Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.
You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.
You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.
“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.
Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.
“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.
That wasn’t what scared you.
What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.
“Javi, I’ll go get the-“
“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.
You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.
“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.
Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.
You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.
”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.
Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.
“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.
You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.
He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.
“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.
“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.
“Answer me, mama”
A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.
”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.
Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.
“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.
Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.
“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.
You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.
”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.
”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”
You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.
“Yes, Javier” you repeated.
He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.
It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.
You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.
“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.
“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.
You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.
“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.
“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.
“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.
“I know.” He says back gruffly.
Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.
“Merida”
You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.
”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.
Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.
“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.
You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.
Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.
“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.
Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.
You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.
It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.
“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.
Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.
“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.
“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.
He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.
He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.
“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.
You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.
Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.
You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.
“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.
You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”
You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”
You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.
You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.
Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.
꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Heartbroken and lost, you find your peace in the strangest place — or maybe, in the rough hands of a stranger who feels more like home than anything you've ever known.
˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ trucker joel miller x fem reader, no outbreak au, afab reader, strangers to lovers, hurt comfort, soft joel, age gap (mentioned like once), slight angs, found family themes, reader is in a vulnerable mental state, themes of family problems, abandonment themes, sex with a stranger, shower sex, unprotected p in v, head m receiving, some fluff.
𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: wooow who is this??? guys i just have so many ideas like i want to keep on writing sm i hope you wont get tired. idk what this is but i craved some trucker joel so yeah. this is not proofread soo...lmk if u want a pt2!!! hope u enjoyyy 🎀🐇🌟
You hadn't even known they were leaving.
No call. No letter. No warning.
Just gone.
The late afternoon sun beats heavy against your back, turning the asphalt into a slow, shimmering sea. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once. It sounds lonely.
You stand there on the cracked sidewalk, a single suitcase dragging heavy behind you, staring up at the place that once tethered you to the earth.
It looks smaller now.
Older. Sadder.
The windows are dark. The porch swing hangs lopsided, one chain snapped clean through. The garden is wild now, strangled with weeds.
And then there's the sign.
Staked crooked in the dry grass.
FOR SALE.
Faded letters, rust blooming along the edges like sickness. Your mouth is dry. Your throat is tighter than it should be. You step closer, slow. One foot in front of the other, like maybe if you just knock on the door, they’ll open it, laughing, some cruel surprise party for the daughter they forgot.
Maybe they’re inside right now.
Maybe.
But you can already feel the lie breaking apart inside you. No car in the driveway. No porch light left burning. Not even a note tucked into the mailbox.
Nothing. They’re gone.
They left without a word.
Your palms are sweating. Your heart hammers helpless against your ribs, each beat growing louder, louder, until you can’t stand it anymore. You sit down hard on the curb, scraping your palms against the concrete. You barely feel it.
The ache opens up inside you like a sinkhole. A hollow thing, sharp around the edges. You drag in a broken breath and press your fists against your eyes but it’s no good.
The tears come anyway.
Hot. Ugly. Unstoppable. Not the pretty kind you see in movies. No trembling chin, no single glistening tear. Just sobbing, red-faced and snotty, body hunched in on itself like you could somehow hide from the shame of it all.
You must look ridiculous. A full-grown girl weeping into her hands on a shitty little sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
A few cars roll past. None of them slow down. The sun keeps sliding westward, pulling long shadows behind it, and still you sit there. Too heavy to move.
By the time the low rumble of a truck grinds into the gas station across the street, the sky has cracked itself into a thousand bruised colors. Orange. Violet. Sickly gold.
You don't look up. You don't think you could bear it.
Not until you hear boots and the slow, heavy crunch of them over gravel. You freeze.
Instinctively shrinking into yourself, holding your breath.
"Figured you might need these." A voice. Rough. Warm. Older. You look up through a curtain of tear-blurred lashes. A man stands over you. Sunburnt skin. Faded jeans. Sleeves rolled up to thick forearms. Hair gone silver at the temples.
A stranger. A trucker, maybe.
In his hand there's a fistful of gas station napkins, crushed and slightly oily, but clean enough.
You blink at him. The late sunlight outlines him in gold, makes him seem almost unreal.
Some part of you wants to tell him to go away. That you’re fine. That you don’t need anybody. But you’re not fine. And the kindness in his face is so rare it slices you right open. You reach out and take the napkins with shaking fingers. "Thanks," you whisper, voice breaking apart like wet paper.
He crouches down without being asked, one knee cracking softly under the strain. "Didn’t mean to scare ya," he says, low and careful. "Just saw you sittin’ here lookin’ all broken up." You try to smile, try to pull yourself together, but a fresh sob bubbles up before you can stop it.
The man frowns softens. He shifts closer, careful like he’s approaching a scared doe. "Hey now," he says. "Ain't no shame in it, darlin’. World kicks hard sometimes." You wipe your nose, mortified. Your skin burns with embarrassment.
"IㅡI didn’t know they were gone," you choke out, the words spilling uninvited. "I didn’t knowㅡ they never even told meㅡ" His mouth draws into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t say Jesus or what the hell’s wrong with them or any of the things he could say.
He just nods. Understanding. Like he’s seen this kind of hurt before.
"Families," he mutters, almost to himself. "They can gut you worse’n any knife." You let out a strangled laugh. It sounds ugly, broken, but it’s better than crying. He huffs out a soft breath, like he’s relieved to hear even that.
You’re staring at him before you realize it. At the steady set of his jaw, the faint scar running through his eyebrow, the careful way he holds his hands.
Like he knows what it’s like to hold something fragile. And for one aching second, you lean forward and try to kiss him. It’s clumsy. Salty with tears. Desperate in a way you don’t mean it to be. You feel the scrape of his stubble against your cheek, the stunned heat of his mouth, but just as fast his hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.
"Hey," he says again, voice tight. "Hey. No. Not like this." You stumble backward, cheeks flaming, tears stinging anew. "Iㅡ I’m sorry," you stammer. "I wasn’tㅡ I didn’tㅡ" He’s still crouched there, breathing hard, dragging a rough hand over his face like he’s mad at himself. "You’re not thinkin’ straight," he says. "You’re hurtin’. That ain’t the way this should start."
You press the napkins to your face again, wishing you could disappear. The shame is thick enough to choke on. He hesitates. "My name's Joel." He looks out toward the highway, then back at you. "You got somewhere to stay tonight?"
You shake your head miserably. His jaw tightens. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I got a room down at that old motel, just off the 45," he says finally. "It ain’t much. But it’s safe. Two beds. Nothin’ will happen you don’t want, I swear it."
You stare at him, every nerve screaming at you not to trust a stranger.
You nod. "Okay," you say, small. Something eases in his face.
"Alright then," he says, rising to his feet with a grunt.
He holds out a hand. You hesitate then reach out and let him pull you up. His hand is big and rough and calloused, but it holds you carefully.
Like you’re a porcelain doll. You follow him toward the truck, the sky bleeding itself dry behind you.
The motel is even sadder than you pictured.
A squat strip of rooms sagging under their own neglect, washed in the sickly orange of buzzing neon lights. Joel pulls his truck into a cracked parking spot and cuts the engine. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
"You sure?" Joel asks, voice low. "Last chance to change your mind, darlin'." You glance over at him. The dashboard lights throwing sharp shadows across his face. There's no pressure in his voice. No expectation.
You nod. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile, but almost. He gets out first, boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Comes around to your side and opens the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You slide out, clutching your suitcase tight, trying not to feel like a little kid lost at the fair.
The motel office is locked up for the night, but Joel already has a sad looking brass key. Room 2. He leads the way down the sidewalk. He opens the door, steps aside to let you in first, giving you space.
The room is as bad as you expected.
Scratchy bedspreads. Faded floral curtains. A humming mini-fridge in the corner that sounds vaguely threatening. But it’s clean enough. And it's safe. The first thing Joel does is toss his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.
"You can have the other one," he says, jerking his chin toward the second bed. Sheets still tucked in tight. Untouched. You set your suitcase down and stand there awkwardly, wringing your hands. Joel watches you for a long moment.
"You want somethin’ to eat?" he asks. "I got some stuff in the truck. Nothin' fancy, but it's somethin’."
You shake your head. Your stomach feels twisted into knots. "Water, then," he mutters to himself.
He crosses to the mini-fridge, crouches down with a soft grunt, and pulls out two water bottles.
He cracks the cap on one and hands it to you. "Here you go, darlin'," You take the bottle and sip gratefully. Cool water rushing down your raw throat.
Joel lowers himself into the chair by the window and the old wood creaks under his weight. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks over at you.
"You got anybody you can call?" he asks. You shake your head again. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the rasp of it loud. "That’s a damn shame," he mutters. "You don’t deserve that." Your chest squeezes tight and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. "Thank you," you whisper. It’s all you can manage.
It feels stupid and small and nowhere near enough. Joel tips his head like he heard you anyway. For a while, the only sound is the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the neon sign outside. The whole world feels like it’s folded itself down to this one room and this one moment.
You sink down onto the bed across from him, clutching the water bottle in both hands. "I'll take first watch, if you want." You blink at him, confused.
He smiles, just a little. "Ain’t no locks on these doors worth a damn," he says. "Rather keep an eye out. Make sure nobody bothers you." Something hot and unfamiliar twists low in your stomach. A rough, tender kind of feeling, one you didn’t even realize you were starving for until now.
You curl your legs up onto the bed, tucking yourself into the smallest shape you can make. "Thank you," you whisper again, voice cracking. Joel just leans back in the chair, arms crossed loose over his chest, boots planted solid on the floor.
You wake in the dark.
For a second, you don’t know where you are.
The room is still. But you remember Joel.
Your heart calms a little. You lift your head from the pillow and squint across the room.
He’s still there.
Sitting in that same battered chair, not really asleep. The lamp on the nightstand is still on, dim golden light painting the sad looking walls. You sit up slowly, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Joel stirs when he hears you move and lifts his head.
His eyes find you instantly, bleary but alert, making sure you’re alright. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"You didn’t," he says. He runs a hand through his messy hair, the soft gray at his temples catching the light. "You need somethin', sweetheart?"
You open your mouth then close it again, suddenly too shy to say it. But Joel waits, patient as ever. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket and breathe in slow through your nose.
you whisper, "Will you come sit closer?" Joel goes still. Some battle raging behind his eyes.
Then he stands up, slow. He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, careful to leave enough space between you that you could still escape if you needed to. If you wanted to.
You shift, just slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. "You sure?" he murmurs. It would be so easy to say no. But you nod again instead.
The tears come out of nowhere. One minute you're fine, the next you're crumbling. Crumbling into a thousand jagged pieces. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, shifting closer. Without thinking, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his worn flannel. He wraps his arms around you.
You sob into him. Ugly, gasping, hiccupping sobs and Joel just holds you through it. His hand rubs slow circles over your back as his mouth brushes your hairline. When you finally pull back, Joel lets you go without a sound. Your face is a mess, tearstained, flushed, swollen but you don’t even care. He tips his head down to meet your eyes.
"You alright now, darlin'?"
You nod. But you're impulsive, so you lean forward and press the softest kiss to his stubbled jaw. Not a kiss that asks for anything or a kiss that demands.
Just a thank you. Just a please stay.
And he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell you no.
Not this time. He just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in slow and shaky.
You wake a little before the sun. The cheap motel curtains let a little light bleed through. Joel is still sleeping. Or at least, his eyes are closed.
You slip out of bed quietly, your body aching in ways you didn’t even realize from the long day before. Sticky with sweat. Heavy with sleep.
You need a shower. Desperately.
You gather the little toiletries you bought from the gas station last night and tiptoe to the bathroom.
The water comes alive with a groan of old pipes and a thin hiss of steam. You step under the spray, shivering a little at first, then sighing when the heat seeps into your skin. Washing away the grime, the dust.
You’re half-done, shampoo stinging your eyes, when you realize you forgot your clean clothes. They're still folded neatly by the bed, in the other room.
Shit.
You wrap your arms around yourself, but there's no towel in the tiny bathroom either. Just bare skin and dripping hair and a racing heart. "Fuck this..." you whisper. "He’s still sleeping. Just real quick." You crack the door open and peek out. Joel's heavy figure is still sprawled across the bed. Face turned into the pillow, blanket rucked around his waist.
You tiptoe out.
Naked, dripping. You reach the edge of the bed, your fingers brush the hem of your clean shirt, but that’s when you hear the shift of sheets. Then the low and scratchy sound of a man clearing his throat.
You freeze. Like a deer caught in the center of a long, empty road. Joel is awake. Very awake, actually.
Sitting up, eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. His gaze drags over you, his hands clenching in the bedsheets like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. Heat floods your whole body. You can't move. Can't think.
You're naked, soaking wet, standing in front of a man you met less than 15 hours ago. "Shit—" he rasps, dragging a hand over his mouth, looking away fast. "Shit, darlin’, I thought you were still in the shower—" You scramble backward, grabbing your shirt against your chest, face burning hotter than the sun. "I—I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep—!"
Joel swings his legs over the edge of the bed, palms raised like he’s trying not to scare you. "It's alright! Ain’t your fault." He keeps his eyes carefully averted, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump.
You hurry back into the bathroom, slam the door shut, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
You lean against the wood, gasping, mortified.
But for a moment you pause. With your palms flat on the door, heart still hammering, you call out to him. "Joel?"
"Yeahㅡ" you can hear the hesitation in his voice. You squeeze your eyes shut as your cheeks burn. "Will you come wash my back...please?" The quiet drags out for a second too long. You almost lose your nerve. Then the floorboards creak and his rough voice come through again.
"Yeah, s-sure 'Course I will." he stutters. This giant hunk of a man was blushing, and you could hear it in his voice. The door opens. Finally. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. You turn away, back into the shower, giving him your back, the damp curve of your shoulder blades. You can feel his stare.
When he finally touches you, it’s like fire. His hands are rough, careful, sliding soap over your back, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. Everywhere he touches, your body lights up. And when his hands slip around to your front and you don’t stop him. You don’t want to stop him. You turn in his arms.
Still slick and warm and trembling. Finally he lifts your chin and kisses you like he’s been dying to. Soft at first. Then deeper, needier, like he’s finally giving in.
Joel kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His palms flatten against your hips, fingers spreading wide like he wants to memorize the feel of you. You clutch at his shirt, the old cotton clinging damp to your palms, dragging him closer without thinking, needing to feel him, needing more.
He groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your chest, and suddenly it's like something inside him snaps. He picks you up, just lifts you like it’s nothing, your bare thighs hooking around his waist, your wet skin sliding against the denim of his jeans.
You gasp into his mouth, and he carries you, stumbling, until your back hits the cool tile wall. "Fuck," he breathes against your jaw, "Fuck, you’re killin’ me, baby..." You can feel him, hard and aching pressing into you, and it sends a desperate heat spiraling through your belly. Your hands roam up under his shirt, tracing over rough scars and thick muscles, greedy and shy all at once.
He shudders under your touch, dropping his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. "You sure about this?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want, sweetheart."
Your throat feels tight, but you manage a shaky whisper."I want to. IㅡI want you." Something shifts in his face. He kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s worshiping every little gasp, every brush of your lips against his. One hand slides down between your bodies, rough fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh then finally finding its way to your wet fold, and you whimper into his mouth.
He smiles a little at that, a small crooked thing that makes your knees even weaker. You can barely hold on. "S'alright," he murmurs, soothing, "lemme take care of you, little girl."
He touches you with maddening patience, two fingers deep in you, dragging every tiny sound out of you until you’re shaking in his arms, crying out against his neck. "good girl, so pretty, you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart —" and it wrecks you even worse.
You want to cry so bad.
You manage to push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees and looking up at him through tearstained lashes. A little gift, you said, for taking care of you. He groans, his head all over thinking how is this even real. You looked straight out of one those pornos he used to rent back when he was about your age, face flushed and mouth full of cock. "Shitㅡ Atta girl...Y-eah, please keep goin'" he whimpered through bared teeth, hands roughly gripping your hair. His hips were barely kept from snapping like he wanted to. He wondered how it'd feel to fuck your throat, but he didn’t want to force you right now.
Your tongue swirled and lapped around his head, saliva and precum mixing and dripping down onto the shower floor. Your jaw hurt, and knees even more, but you didn’t want to stop. Not until you made him unravel.
Your thoughts are cut short by Joel, pulling you off and up. "Don't make me come yet, baby. Gotta feel you around me first." Oh, how your heart twisted. When he finally sinks into you, slow and careful and thick, your head tips back against the wall with a broken sob.
Joel curses under his breath, clutching you tighter, pressing kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your throat. "Shhh," he breathes, rocking into you with aching sweetness, "I got you, baby. I'm right here." And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe someone. You cling to him like a lifeline, gasping his name over and over, as the whole world narrows down to just this.
His cock slides in and out of you rapidly, reaching places you didn’t know felt this good. He fucks you deep and hard, and for the first time you're actually not faking anything. It's all raw, and beautiful and sad at the same time. You cry and he kisses you hungrier, eating up your sobs as his length throbs inside of you. You're all broken again, in his arms, body jolting as he bites your shoulder.
Maybe you'll regret it later. But who cares about later when it seems like today is all you have. When he is all you have. Maybe he's a murderer on the loose, maybe he'll hurt you. Maybe it's the pain controlling you, but it feels right. Just right.
Your vision is blurry, and your head is fuzzy with him, that familiar feeling in your lower belly blooming again. Finally you come undone in his arms, shaking, crying and moaning all at once. He holds you closer, if thats even possible, and spills inside of you, his soft groans filtering through the ringing in your ears.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let you go. Just holds you there, cradled against his chest, both wet and sticky. Dirty and clean. Ugly and rough. "Was real brave of you," he whispers rough into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "Comin’ out here. Trustin’ me."
You smile against his skin through tears, small and trembling.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just stupid luck. But you found him. Or he found you. Either way, you hope he won't let go any time soon.
hold on
summary: a near-disastrous patrol changes everything, forcing Joel to confront feelings he’s kept buried
pairing: jackson! joel miller x f!reader
notes: this is my first fic! let me know if you guys like it! i would love to take any requests you have too! <3
The clang of Jackson’s gates echoed through the quiet streets. Conversations died, heads turned, and a familiar dread settled in the air. A patrol coming back early was never a good sign.
Joel’s gut twisted the second he saw the horse, your horse, stagger through the entrance, its flanks lathered in sweat. Then he saw you.
Slumped in the saddle, barely upright, your head lolled forward as blood soaked through your jacket, dripping sluggishly from your side. Tommy and another patrolman flanked you, barely keeping you steady as they hauled you down.
Joel was moving before he even realized it, shoving past people, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might split his ribs.
"What happened?" His voice was sharp, a demand more than a question.
“Raiders,” Tommy ground out, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his grip on you. “We were outnumbered, fuckin’ ambush.”
Joel barely heard the rest. His hands were already on you, trying to find the worst of the damage. Your shirt was sticky with blood, fresh and dark, and every breath you took was shallow, wet.
“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he murmured, his grip tightening. “You hear me? Look at me, dammit.”
Your lashes fluttered, unfocused eyes struggling to meet his. It was enough, barely, but enough.
Maria was barking orders about getting you to the clinic, but Joel wasn’t listening. He scooped you into his arms, ignoring the sharp ache in his knees as he knelt, pressing his forehead against yours for half a second. Just long enough to breathe. Just long enough to plead.
"You hold on, y’hear?" His voice cracked. "I ain't losin’ you. Not like this."
No one dared stop him as he carried you to the infirmary.
────୨ৎ────
Hours passed.
The clinic was dimly lit, the only sound the steady beep of the old heart monitor hooked up to your wrist. They’d patched you up as best they could, stitched the gash in your side, reset the broken ribs, cleaned the wounds. But none of it mattered if you didn’t wake up.
Joel hadn’t moved from your bedside.
Tommy had tried to get him to eat. Maria had told him to rest. Even Ellie had stopped by, awkward as hell, mumbling something about how you’d be pissed if you saw him like this, jaw clenched, hands fidgeting, gaze locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked.
But he wasn’t leaving.
His fingers hovered over yours, hesitant, like if he touched you too hard, you’d shatter. Finally, he gave in, wrapping his hand around yours, rough and warm against your chilled skin.
"You scared the shit outta me," he muttered, voice raw. “Ain’t felt like this in a long time. Don’t know what I’d do if—” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Just… you gotta wake up, alright?”
The words felt useless, powerless, but they were all he had.
And then your fingers twitched.
Joel froze.
His grip tightened, breath catching in his throat. Then your lashes fluttered, a weak groan slipping from your lips.
"That’s it, sweetheart," he whispered, leaning in. “Come on back to me.”
Your eyes cracked open, unfocused and dazed but alive.
Relief punched through him so fast he almost felt lightheaded. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin.
“Hey, there you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unsteady. "Scared me half to death, you know that?"
Your lips parted, a raspy breath escaping, but he shook his head before you could speak.
"Just rest," he said, softer this time. "I ain't goin’ anywhere."
And for the first time that night, Joel let himself breathe.
pairing. dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader
summary. it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring. ╱ 5k
warnings/tags. 18+ (minors dni), age gap (girthy), smut, p. in v., oral (m. receiving), rough sex, public sex, praise kink, humilliation kink, daddy kink (she's got daddy issues; idc if this is mischaracterizing you, you'll live), dom!pedro, use of pet names (doll/baby), some angst because that's my staple, idk shit about boxing my bad (i'm more of a ufc girlie kinda) so let's focus on the filth!!
notes. this very different yet genius request got me a small hit tweet. song of choice for this piece i sped up because of my ovulation is favorite, by isabel larosa there are several paragraphs in this that could be used against me and are proof i'm losing my mind during this midterm/fertile week. !!! had to use a clint gif because he's so sexy i might watch the movie on theatres with my legs open
You weren't new to this.
The small walls, dim light, the sweat, the blood... you were shoved into it. By your father, since you were a baby. Long before you could even walk, grabby hands trying to reach for a ring that seemed so far, the violence and the rage contained inside the quadrilateral.
So you grew up wanting it. The desire. The ichor. Rough and brutal.
You'd never step in, but always stood by your father's side. Until the age of boys, over-coated glossy lips and blooming girlhood arrived. Long gone where the days were you'd be next to your dad inside the dim-light place, now filled with car rides and girly laughter about all and nothing. You changed the sweat scent of the place for vainilla, and the oversized t-shirts for skirts that showed your laced panties if you bent.
The fights started then, but the ring became your home. Slut, he'd call you, saying this wasn't the girl he raised. Your mother would cry, tired of trying to stop the fighting that extended sometimes until late at dawn, when you'd show up on the doorstep, skirt torn apart and panties wet despite the dry summer.
The beast laid dormant inside you. That primal raw hunger; it never ceased to exist.
Now it was on your roaring voice, refusing to shut up and take the harsh language spoken by your own blood. It was on the defiance, cutting your clothes even smaller, pushing the wearable limit. On the way your makeup and manners got more scandalous, and how you'd throw your door louder each time another confrontation took place, the once lively home now a wrestle between two forces refusing to back down. But when you weren't with a bottle in your mouth or a guy in between your legs, you'd think of his hands grabbing yours as he showed you the gym around, introducing you to regulars. My little girl, he'd said proudly, and you would smile like he did. You'd grab the broken frame you once threw against the wall in a fit of rage, crimson imprinted over the photograph below the broken shards you tried to miserably put together again. Fucking failure. But it's impossible to piece what's already broken back together.
But you were still a believer, despite it all: the same girl who saw the magic in the beasts trapped within the cage, thunderous brutality in the place you once called your second home.
Maybe that's why you agreed to help your dad on this. To see a bit of that smile that had faded in time like the colors of the rust painted lockers. To hear a good girl praise. Not slut. To see a glimpse of the man who said he'd pass this place to you, useless now on his mouth as the gym crumbled just like your relationship. In the end, you were his daughter, begging to be seen.
And you were seen. Not by him. But by him.
The Viper. Pronounced in a whisper, because out loud sounded like a curse, bound to risk too much.
He had been a casual before, remembering his days when no facial hair adorned his face and he'd talk with your dad while laughing in a boasting sound, like he knew he'd break out in the scene. He did. And then he stopped coming, because he was too busy winning and living life than to return to a place that was falling apart.
But then your dad came rushing home, like he was to bear bad news. And boy, wasn't he? The leather, the greys now starting to take over his hair like the bad choices in the form of women and alcohol, ones that had once carried a bad boy charm which now had ripen into a sour taste, a lifestyle that belonged to the golden years left in a past long left behind. He didn't belong anymore, but refused to quit. The violence was a vice, and despite loosing everything, he had never lost a match.
"He wants to train" your dad panted out to your worried mother, who thought worst. "For a match, in Chile, his hometown. He talks about coming back"
Your dad may have been the first to know such, but not the last. No, because what started with a call late at night on your dad's old office (He had said Remember me, old friend? oscilating between nostalgia and teasing, and when your dad called his name, a soft incredulous Pedro? he had let out one of his victorious golden laughs, like coins falling down, as to let him know it was still him, despite it all), ended up on the news.
He's coming. He's coming. He's coming. Like a warning before the big bad wolf struck again.
In a way, you think, as he stands before you, he is one: the sharp eyes and bearing teeth. A fighter never backs down, and he seemed to be always in guard.
Hadn't recognized you at first, blinking a few times before a lazy and easy sleazy smile appeared on his face.
"This the same girl that asked me to carry her on my shoulders?" and a chuckle. "I think I still could"
A low, dangerous rich rumble. A dare. Challenging. Pedro didn't know you too had changed in many ways, and he certainly didn't know either you had touched yourself at night to the sound of his velvety voice, wrapping you up like the sweat that set your skin ablaze, a fist in your mouth to stop his name from slithering past your lips, image set on the way his eyes roamed over your woman body like an all too well trap he always falls in like a vice, trying to think if it was real or just another one of the troubles you loved to cause yourself.
But once you're deep, you can only go deeper.
Your dad left for Chile a day earlier, to set preparations you could care less, which is why you're here.
You promised not to fuck it up, seeing a peek of that man who swore to protect you from the cruel world outside. You needed this. Wanted this. When his lips parted but closed, many words hanging on the air coated with burnt cigars and sweat (I'm sorry. I'm proud of you. Don't dissapoint me. Don't break my heart. Don't fuck this up. I love you), you decided you'd do everything in your power to get your dad back.
The task was rather easy: help The Viper train before his big match in Chile.
Easy, if said man wasn't your dad's best friend, Pedro Pascal.
You feel like a voyeuristic freak watching from a corner as he pounds into the boxing bag repeatedly. Drops of salty sweat begin to run through his back, the white cloth now near transparent with how it sticks to his tan skin.
Pedro is big. All boxers were, seeing them coming and going from your dad's gym. But he was beefy. Not the slender and compact, but the huge thick type. The one were just his hands alone looked like he could snap your neck in two if he wanted.
You're supposed to be out there, helping him, but after your dirty little session two nights ago, and yesterday's dinner at your home, you're just not capable to meet him in the eye, despite promises to your dad and the fire to get his affection back.
(He had come over for dinner. Your mom made lasagna, your favorite dish of hers, but the plate went cold as you took in his words like an oil, spreading the grave tone that coated your panties like a second skin. You pressed your legs together, a shaky breath escaping past your treacherous lips when he said how much you'd grown, blaming the sauce when he licked his lips. Your parents stood up to collect the dishes, and then he leaned down and whispered: Ain't you become a doll?)
(It was nothing. It was just a man who knew your father and no better. But you didn't, either)
Last night, to erase the spell he seemed to have cast upon you, you went to one of your old friends while he beat himself up on the gym, where you were supposed to be. But when your orgasm washed over, you said his name instead; no cold shower could scrub away the humilliation.
(And the house still smelled like him. Bitter coffee, leather and sweat. It was salty and citric, up in your nostrils with an invasion that was, if not, fitting. You were obssesed, with the champion and the legend, and he was an old man looking for a fresh doe-eyed girl who could take it)
You gawk like a man would, but, how not? Dude too appeared to be hung. What is it they say about men with big noses, big hands and big thighs? Big. Big. Big. Fucking hell, you needed to be locked up.
"I know you're in there, baby" his voice cuts through the silence. It's night, and you should be locking up already, scarce customers long gone. "Was never good at hiding"
You emerge from the shadows, sporting only a small black short and a white tank top. He chuckles. With you, nothing is a coincidence.
"Some things never change"
He snickers, "but glad some do"
You breath in, getting closer to him. Again, his scent intrudes your senses, making you dizzy like a drug. Your circuits are busy, and his high.
"You were supposed to help me 'round here" he motions the place. But you're stuck on his hands, wrapped in tape. Those hands, brief peek of his tattoo hidden between the white. "What would your dad say, huh?"
His tone is devoid of malice and full of teasing, but your stomach churns.
"He'd say what he always says" he shots up an eyebrow, as if daring you to speak. "That I'm a fucking failure"
Pedro seems taken back by the sudden change in the atmosphere, nonetheless, still charged with unspoken uncertainty.
"Your dad?" like he couldn't connect the man he knew to the one he is now.
"How would you know?" comes out harsher than you intended, a shameful bitter taste in your mouth. "A lot has changed since you left"
A quiet rage settles in his eyes, the beast caged behind the enclosure begging to be let out.
"Why you throwing it on my face? I ain't your daddy"
It shouldn't hurt. This is ridiculous. But, hell, it does; you're nobody's daughter.
"Good you aren't my fucking daddy"
The silence washes over you at the same time the embarrassment does. You realize too late the words that left your mouth, and if you're quick to try to run, he's faster, your back pressed to the material of the hanging punching bag.
"Say it" he demands, "again"
Your face grows hotter by the minute. "I have no idea what you're talking about"
"First a terrible discreet and now a bad liar" his spit spurts in your face, each word with punctuation and a seethe. "Anything else?"
Yes. So much. You're drowning at this point, still not deciding if it's because of the smell his body is emanating or your heavy heart's fault. But he's the last person you'll tell all of this to.
"Not that it matters to you, anyway"
Yet, to an extent, it seems like he knows. As if he's able to see past the forced sweetness, the sarcasm and the layers of makeup and numbingly intoxicating vainilla. Pedro thinks at least he does.
So if you're on fire, he'll let you keep burning.
"I could be him, you know?" your ears start ringing at some point, and you're sure your heart stops. "I could be your daddy"
There's no going deeper than this.
"Thank God you aren't"
And it's like a slap to his face. The oh-mighty undisputed champion steps back. There is always a first, and maybe this is what loss feels like.
"Baby-"
Your ears keep on ringing as you move far from him, your heart dangerously close to leaping from your throat to the cold hard ground. Who does he think he is? He hasn't even been back for a day and has already found a way to break you from inside. To ruin you. As if he never left and has known every secret hidden between your ribs, his memory nestled since forever. But he's too picked apart your bones, in just a matter of seconds, biting down on the marrow of your deepest insecurities.
You hate him. You hate Pedro. You hope he looses, and you accept you've already lost your dad.
But then, as you realize your sat at the end of the gym, the worn out lockers on display, you have an idea.
With you, it was always about revenge, wasn't it?
The beast is awake, howling upon you. Ichor. Rage. This rotten girlhood that started with Malibu dreams and has ended on beds that reek of cheap whiskey and a quick fix in the name of forgetting.
"Pedro"
His head almost snaps looking in your direction. Not like he wanted to search for you to ask for your forgiveness. A match to mark his comeback and change his life will happen in just a couple of hours; he's got bigger problems than a girl who can't see things the way they are. He isn't an apostle of acceptance, but his wicked selfish nature finds pleasure in punishing you for his same sins.
But to play a game, you need two.
"In here" he answers, as if he hasn't moved since your little altercation.
"You need to shower" he catches in time the towel you throw at him. He chuckles dryly at your childish behavior. "You stink"
"You sure? 'Cause just a minute ago, it seemed you were into it" he's quick to quip, matching your energy.
That cocky motherfucker. So full of himself. You hate the sleazy smile of a winner. Does he think you're going down as easy as that?
Of course, you aren't blind. He's attractive, but is this worth it? You see his damp shirt and sweat drenched thighs. No. You look away, flustered.
"I think you need a break, old man. You're not who you used to be" you turn your back to him, so he doesn't see your red hot face, "seeing things that aren't real"
You start to walk to the changing room, and even if not spoken, there's an implication to follow you. So Pedro does, because it's night and Friday and he's got nowhere else to go.
He follows you into the locker room, but this isn't you.
Not the little girl who looked up to him like he could beat the whole world, hand in hand. Not the broken woman, who tried so hard to keep up a mask he could easily see through, maybe because it was akin to his own.
No. This is a fucking temptress. A siren call to drown.
"Sit"
He decided to be a boxer the day he knew he wasn't meant to be bent. The day he realized he hated being weak and wanted to always lead his own path. If it was through violence and punches, so be it.
But he's obeying your command, like a lap dog. If the change isn't noticeable enough, your wicked grin gives it away. He takes his place on the bench, sitting down with aching joints.
"What were you thinking?" you whisper.
A vein on his neck pops out aggressively at the remark.
"I can still handle it"
The way his voice drops to a lower octave, the scowl on his face prominent, like he's both offended and peaked in interest by your remark.
"Is that a challenge?" you tease, playfully. "I'm not your opponent, Pascal. Save it for tomorrow night"
Your fingers itch, and before you think about it twice, they're digging across the soft flesh of his broad back.
"What-"
You hush him almost instantly. "Let me"
You trace patters across the expanse of his hard planes, arousal pooling at the rough of his edges, the dry and scarred of his skin. It's also the sturdy built, what makes it harder to not... appreciate. You happen to be into appreciating the small things, that's all.
(But small, he definitely isn't)
"You're tired" you trace his worn muscles, lost in the way he seems to equally tense and relax under your fluttering touch. "Let me help you"
"What's this?" equally soft. A tattoo. But not the one's you've seen; you wonder if it is for your bad memory or because it's new. "Vae victis"
"Woe to the defeated" he's quick to answer. Taking your silence as a signal to continue, he adds. "It's a way to remember the ones I fight are people, not numbers"
If his voice carries a tinge of vulnerability, you must've imagined it.
"Never took you as the empath type" and your fingers leave his skin, as if it burns.
He lets out a soft humorless laugh.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, baby"
You don't let him have the last word, and to punctuate your final blow, you press a short kiss to the tattoo. He didn't see it coming-- your mint breath ghosting over his shoulder onto his face. Pedro forgets how to breath.
"I've always loved a good mystery"
Knockout.
He looks up from the bench, breathing still panting as he sees your retreating figure, until all that's left in the room is him and his worn-out body. Then, the soft pit-pat of the water hitting the tiles jolts him awake.
"It's ready" your voice says, but you're still there, and not back to the lockers.
Why were you preparing him a shower? It's not like he couldn't turn on the switch.
Pedro removes the towel from his neck and walks over to the showers, only to find you still there, white blouse as damp as his.
"What-"
"Get in"
He's about to repeat it, this time harsher and louder (Have you gone insane, woman?), but then your sweet persistent voice digs on his mulish character like a knife to a wound, and his reasoning has flown out of the window.
"You're gonna wet yourself" is all Pedro can manage to say.
The (possible) double meaning makes his belly rumble.
"I know" you repeat, answering for both. And then get inside.
The water starts to make your clothes hug your body, and he's lost in the curves of your ass and tits. Your muscles, while albeit not worked out, are both soft and strong, plush skin inviting for a bite. You've got both the firm and the soft that comes with age and womanhood, and his cock is itching to have his invite to your warm walls.
"What are you waiting for? Are you going to bath with clothes on?"
He rolls his eyes. "Look who's talking"
The cold water hits him when you too have taken off your clothes.
Couldn't get challenged because your too stubborn ass fell right into the bait.
His breath gets caught in his throat as your soapy hands explore his body. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, enthralled by your firm yet gentle scrubbing, washing away remnants of sweat and dirt. All words are lost at the devotion, worship and reverance that seems to pour from your digits as you sweep his body.
"How?" your voice drowns out with the drops of water.
"Bad move" he whispers, seeing it across his arm. It's runs across almost all of his inner bicep, big. It didn't heal as good as he'd liked, but chicks seemed to dig it. "Had to go to the hospital"
You, however, seem more into the... understanding side of it. Not on the thrill and the danger, but on the damage that's healed in time but never left. More on the pain, and not the punch.
"And this?"
"Gloves"
"What?"
"Gloves" he repeats, still not that loud, as if he's ashamed. "They can create cuts when the skin is pulled during a strike"
"I don't get it"
And instead of mocking you, Pedro finds himself trying to explain it.
"It's because of the friction of the gloves against the skin" he sighs. "Was too dumb and too full of myself to understand it. Then it happened and I got this"
"What has changed?" you tease him, but it's as tender as a lingering touch. "Don't worry, Pedro. Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats"
It's a rather sweet moment, only broken by your teeth sinking into the scarred tissue, yet you're quick to soothe it with a wet kiss.
He groans, head falling back as your greedy little hands now slide through the hard of his chest, his nipples perked under the cold of the water and the warm of your touch; body electric.
"Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me" he groans, shivering at your insistence on making him break. "Keep tryin', but you won't make me beg, muñeca" (doll)
Still hellbent on denying you of himself, the hotheaded stubborn prideful bastard. Not even with your tits in the air, bare cunt aching.
"No?" you feign innocence, batting those wet eyelashes of yours. Then your lips find his scars, licking and pressing sweet warm kisses across the expanse of his chest and body, ending on the one across his face. For a moment, he falters at the intensity of your gaze, almost slipping on the tiles. "Still no?"
You fucking minx. "Fighters don't beg" he says, but every contact of your lips and tongue against his wet body send bolts of electricity to his aching semi-hard cock.
"But real men do"
Without further ado, you descend until your knees hit the tiles, water running through your legs like a river. You don't wait for an answer, all you need to know in his parted lips and his deep stare at you through dark hooded eyes.
A low, guttural moan tears from Pedro's throat as your tongue flicks a quick lick at his sensitive head. He's grabbing your hair with rough hands, tangling into your damp curls, his hips jerking involuntarily as your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing the most sensitive parts.
"Fuck" he groans, "aren't you trouble, doll? Really gonna make me beg for that release, ain't you? With that tongue of yours"
You give another proud lick at his throbbing angry red flesh, head already leaking with precum.
"What'd your daddy think about his daughter sucking his best friend's cock in the showers?"
You ignore him, too busy lost in the way his cock throbs and pulses in your mouth, his balls tightening with a pressure that built more each passing second.
"Not a talker, huh? Were that loud mouth of yours go?" he teases, his grip not faltering on your hair. "That's what y'r daddy said. Or maybe he was talking of another daughter. Not this little obedient slut who devours my cock like she's starved" his voice is strained. "Such a good girl, though, taking care of an old man like this. You like how it tastes?"
You pull out, making him groan.
"Why'd stop?" his voice is strained, rough with desire. His pupils are blown wide, circling with desbelief and something more primal. But he'll never say that, will he?
Too bad for him, you don't know when to shut up. Or quit.
"I want to hear you say it"
He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hair tighter now. "What'd say?"
"Me? Nothing" your lips part, words slurring before you think better. "You is I wanna hear"
"Fucking cunt" his eyes darken, "think you can tease me and get away with it? No, you'll be a good little cocksleeve and take it all"
You moan at his lewd words, thighs clasping together in search for some relief for the pressure building on your bare cunt.
"That's right, you dirty cocksucker. Look at you, thinking you can bend a fucking champion like me"
He knew his power over you. Frankly, he had to thank your old man for fucking you up so bad. Pedro loved how all your resolute seemed to vanish in the air, looking so eager and willing, desperate to please him. Be it for praise or for how much you wanted this like him, but it is this what makes him feel like a true winner.
"Don't you wanna suck this dick so bad?" his thumb tugs down your lip, "Be a good girl and I might give it to you"
Just like that, you're done.
"Please, I want to be a good girl. Use me, fuck me with your mouth"
He lets out a growl, voice low and rough. "Oh, t's alright, muñeca. I'll use this dirty little mouth of yours, all right" he fists your hair again, pulling you closer. "Gonna fuck you so good, you'll be feeling me all week: every time you taste, swallow and speak. Fill your dirty mouth so good with so much cum, you'll be tasting it for hours, for days, 'n for the rest of your fucking life"
Pedro thrusts his hips forward, pushing more and more of his thick, hard cock past your lips. He sets a steady pace, eyes locked on your face as he fucks your mouth with deep strokes.
"Just like that" he praises, breaths sharp as he looses himself in how his girth is nestled in your mouth. "Take it all, like a good little girl. So show me, baby, show me how much you love the taste of my cock. How much you need it-- crave it"
Your moan gets lost in your constricted throat, struggling to take him deeper, breathing and swallowing almost impossible with his girth taking up all of the space inside of your mouth. If Pedro felt like a king before, now he feels like a god.
"Such a perfect little cock sleeve for me to use, to fill, to fuck" he groans, his hips picking up speed, thrusts growing harder and more urgent.
His orgasm starts building, and he knows it by the way his balls tighten and his cock pulses inside the heat of your throat. Pedro knows he's close to coming, that he's seconds away from it.
Even if he's lost completely in the act, he's foremost a gentleman, but when he's about to pull out, your hands grip tightly to this thighs, and hold him in place as he tries to move. A rush of lust washes him over the cold water, a dark desire coursing through him at your pathetic display of eagerness and desperation.
"Fuck, baby" Pedro's voice reduced to a low, guttural rumble as he gazes down at you. You swear you can see a brief glint of admiration on his eyes. "You want my cum that badly, muñeca? Do you want to swallow it all down like a good little slut?"
He's rocking his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep in your warm throat, his swollen cock pulsing and throbbing against your tonsils as his orgasm crashes over him. Pedro throws his head back as so do his eyes, body shuddering and convulsing as thick ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock.
"You're doin' great, baby" he pants, his grip on your hair tight as he grounds his hips against your face, pushing himself deep into your mouth as he physically could. "Show me what a good little cumslut you are and don't waste a fuckin' drop. Swallow it all"
Aren't you perfect? Gulping and swallowing, trying your best good girl shtick as you take everything he has to give you, his musky sweat filled scent up your nostrils, despite the soap still covering some of his body.
"Fuck, y/n" he groans, body going limp. He falls back against one of the shower's walls, chest up and down with uneven breaths. "Greedy little girl with a greedy little throat"
He slowly pulls out of your mouth, his softening cock slipping from your lips.
"Get up, baby. Your father's bill will be brutal if we don't hurry up" he hauls you up and into his arms. "But truth is, I'ont give a fuck. I'm still thinking 'bout your lips 'round my cock"
Before you say anything, he's dragging your body again like you weight nothing, but this time, it's to crush his hot desperate mouth into yours with a rough kiss. Pedro can taste himself mixed with your sweet and drool. He groans at that, the sound painfully animal.
"Hey" he gently tugs you, a mannerism you would never associate with him. "Where you think you're going?"
You blink once. Twice. Then again, slower.
"What are you talking about?"
Your back meets the wall, Pedro brutally slamming your body until the tiles dig into your skin.
"Ow- wait" you hiss, "the fuck's gotten into you?"
"Think I'll let you go after this?" he growls. Then, chuckles, darkly so. "No, baby. I gotta try first" his fingers grab the supple skin of your ass until you feel them melt into it. He then spanks it, creating a weird sound with the combined water droplets. "Need to see if the pussy is as sweet as your mouth. So be a good girl and let me handle this, alright? As I said, I still can"
And for a reason, that feels like a threat.
His calloused digits venture dangerously close to your entrance, fingers going in. He coats it with your slick, making him laugh that laugh uniquely his.
"Fuck, muñeca. You're as wet as this shower head" Pedro presses himself into you, his cock touching your stomach. "Don't ever try to lie to me again, I ain't no fool"
Traitorous body. But his seething voice, the way his dominance slithers into jolts through your slick folds. You whine, pressing your tighs together. Pedro's quick to see this, and before you get to say anything else, he parts them roughly.
"I said I ain't no fool" he grunts while rubbing the tip of his cock over your folds, applying pressure on your clit. "Bad girl"
No warning, just his cock slipping past your wet dripping folds. Your hands fly to reach his neck for support.
"S'fucking grabby" he teases, slipping his pulsating dick between your folds once more, pressing and then pushing in slowly.
He swallows your whimper in a kiss, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth. His big hands pull your body closer to his.
"But I'm the grabby one"
He growls. "Quit talking"
With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, balls pressed against the flesh of your ass. You grip his hair, chocolate curls tangled between your fingers. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. The pain carries waves of pleasure laced within, despite his aggressive thrusting and quick pace. You roll your hips upwards, eliciting a faint whimper out of your lips.
"No, doll" his fingers dig in your waist, a purple soon to follow. "You do what I say, clear?"
His cock grinds forward, stretching you out.
"Fuck-!" you choke out, "Pedro!"
He growls when he hears his name on your lips, an all consuming desire to make you his washing over him.
He then grabs you by your legs, hooking them around his waist.
You mewl out his name in a cry.
"See?" Pedro blurts out. "Told ya' I still had it on me, baby"
Your hands scramble to grab him by his shoulders, the pain and pleasure making your head spin. He can feel your tits jump with each bounce provoked by his thrusts, the rosy skin pressed against his chest.
"Gonna fill you up so bad, you won't ever doubt me again"
Pedro pulls back and uses his arms to push himself up and hover over you. He began to drive his hips faster, loud clapping noises mixing with the falling water.
"I'm- I'm gonna"
"Ask, baby. Remember what I told you?"
"Yes. Sorry, daddy" you whimper. "Please, let me-"
"Let you what?" Pedro chuckles.
"Cum. Let me cum. Please, daddy, please" the words slurred as you feel yourself on edge.
"Very well" grinning satisfied, "but don't you dare keep any of those pretty noises just for yourself"
A high-pitched wails falls past your lips as you throw your head and eyes back, your legs shaking.
"Pedro-!"
He grunts at the sensation of your juices on his cock, coating it. In the way your walls flutter around his length, pussy tight making him groan against your neck, where he has now buried his face.
"Stay there, baby. It's my turn" his hips snap and his thrusts turn sloppy. "Gonna paint all of your tight folds with my cum"
His grip tightens as he fucks himself silly into you, chasing his high.
"S'fucking tight" he groans loudly. "Such a good girl for me"
He comes undone, salty hot ropes of thick white cum spurting inside of you, his cock deeply nestled inside of your welcoming warm walls.
"Fuck. Need to fill you up, doll. Until you're so stuffed you can't move without making a mess"
The water keeps falling, as you whimper softly, burying your face in his neck. Pedro keeps rocking into you while riding his orgasm out, soft breathless groans leaving him. He places you down, some of his cum on your thighs. He uses his finger to push it all inside.
"We have been to wasteful to keep on being, right?" Pedro jokes before closing the valve.
"Be honest. You don't give a damn about the planet"
He lets out a hearty laugh.
"Guilty as charged"
There's some silence before he's helping you get back on your shorts.
(He smacks your ass, saying you did it on purpose. You agree. After all, he's quick to know when you lie)
"Good girl" he praises with a small kiss. "Did so well for me"
You kiss him back, fiercely, your mouth practically sucking his lips.
"For good luck, daddy"
Pedro chuckles at your antics. "You fucking minx"
He leaves you after that, going for his stuff. But you stand still in the middle, lost like a little deer. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he feels a little guilty about having fucked his best friend's daughter on his gym before leaving first thing in the morning to his home country.
"C'mere" you turn your head. "What? C'mon, don't leave me hanging"
You carefully make way to where he is, back in the same bench.
"Sit" he orders.
Oh, the irony of it all.
Once you take place next to him, he makes sure to remove a strand of wet hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
"When I win, which I will" you chuckle at his ego, "I'll be sure to remember you, doll"
So when your dad sends you a video of Pedro's match in Chile a day later and The Viper winks to the camera as the referee raises his fist in the air, you like to think it's for you.
