his voice is the first thing you feel—low, rumbling, warm against your shoulder before you’re even fully awake.
“come back here…” he murmurs, eyes still closed, arms searching blindly until he finds your waist and drags you closer with a small, sleepy groan. he buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to climb into your skin, breath fanning over your collarbone.
“you left,” he complains, voice so deep it vibrates through you.
“pedro, I moved like… two centimeters.”
“too far,” he mumbles, nuzzling even closer.
his curls are a soft mess, falling over his forehead, warm from sleep. you slide your fingers into them without thinking, brushing gently, and he melts instantly—literally melts. his whole body softens, a shiver running down his spine.
“mmh… don’t stop,” he breathes, words heavy with sleep, like honey dripping from his tongue.
you keep playing with his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he lets out this tiny sound—half sigh, half whine—that makes your heart flip.
he tips his head back just enough to look at you, lids heavy, lashes messy, mouth soft. “you’re gonna kill me,” he says, barely audible.
“how?” you whisper, smiling.
“being this… this warm,” he slurs. “this soft with me. I can’t handle it.”
he pulls you fully on top of him, guiding your thigh over his hip, keeping one hand on your lower back, the other sliding up your arm like he needs to feel every inch of you. he presses little, lazy kisses on your jaw, each one slower than the last, like he can barely keep himself awake.
you brush your fingers through his hair again and he moans—quiet, breathy, absolutely helpless.
“that good?” you tease.
his eyes fall shut again, head tipping into your hand. “you have no idea,” he whispers, voice thick and gravelly. “touch me like this forever.”
he’s so needy it’s almost ridiculous—nuzzling your chest, curling his fingers into your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, holding you tighter every time you shift.
“stay,” he begs softly, barely conscious. “just… stay with me a little longer.”
“i’m not going anywhere,” you promise.
he hums—content, small, safe—and pulls the blanket higher around you both before tugging you into his chest like you're the only place he can fall asleep.
“good,” he whispers, almost dreaming. “i sleep better when you’re touching me.”
you kiss his hair. he smiles against your skin.
and then, still half-asleep, he adds, “i love it when you play with my hair… makes me feel yours.”
Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Proposal, Engagement, Fireworks, Loud Sounds, Sparklers, PDA, Fruits, Instagram Posts and Comments,
Word Count: 4.3k
A/N: WELL— um, hi! Happy New Year, my loves! I’d like to start off by saying thank you all so much for supporting me throughout this year, and to all the new followers and old ones, just know I appreciate literally each and every single one of you. Lastly, huge shoutout to @mrspascalsworld for coming up with this idea and to the 🌼!anon request.
Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Song: New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift, You Are In Love (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift
← Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST |
HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY
You hummed softly under your breath, the tune indistinct but soothing as your hands folded the last of Pedro’s shirts. You carefully smoothed out the fabric, placing it into his suitcase with meticulous care. His cologne, a comforting blend of cedar and spice, lingered faintly in the air around you.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Pedro’s voice broke through the quiet, warm and tinged with amusement.
You turned, finding him leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed and an endearing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat. Dressed in a soft cotton t-shirt and worn jeans, his hair slightly tousled, he looked effortlessly handsome.
“Someone has to make sure you look presentable for tonight,” you teased, holding up a crisp white shirt. “Can’t have you showing up to a New Year’s Eve party looking like you’ve been wrestling stray dogs.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, feigning offense as he stepped closer. “Is this just a clever way of saying I’m hopeless without you?”
You raised an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits…”
Pedro chuckled, his laughter low and rich as he reached for you. He didn’t touch you, not immediately. Instead, he watched you, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest tighten.
“What?” you asked, a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.
“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Just… you. Like this. It’s perfect.”
“Oh, stop,” you said, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me while I’m trying to fold your underwear.”
He laughed, the sound filling the room like sunlight. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” But even as he said it, his hands found your waist, pulling you gently toward him. “For now.”
You let yourself be drawn into his orbit, your arms instinctively looping around his neck. His touch was warm, grounding. “What’s gotten into you today?” you asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
“Nothing,” he said, though the slight tension in his voice betrayed him. His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, and he offered a small, crooked smile. “Just thinking about… everything. Projects, the future. It’s a lot.”
You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his scruff. “You’re going to be amazing, Pedro. You always are.”
“You think so?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
You nodded firmly. “I know so. And you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I’m here. Always.” You held up your pinky. “Promise.”
Pedro’s lips twitched into a genuine smile as he linked his pinky with yours. “Promise.”
Then he kissed you, slow and deliberate, as if to seal the vow. The world outside seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.
“I would do this every day if I could,” he murmured, his voice a soft confession.
“You can,” you replied, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest as you swayed gently to an imaginary tune. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Pedro’s grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something unspoken in his eyes. But before you could ask, he leaned in to kiss you again, and whatever it was melted away into the warmth of his embrace.
HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — AFTERNOON
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains of the open-air restaurant at Hotel Esencia, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. The gentle hum of the ocean in the background, paired with the soft tinkling of glasses and plates, created a tranquil yet vibrant atmosphere. The restaurant’s lush greenery blended seamlessly with the warm tones of the terracotta floor and wooden furnishings.
You sat at a circular table with Pedro, Omar, Franklin, and Lauren, the sound of their laughter mixing with the gentle rustling of the palm trees outside. Pedro sat beside you, one arm draped casually over the back of your chair. His fingers occasionally brushed your shoulder in soft, fleeting touches as he engaged in a lively debate with Omar about the best way to cut a mango.
“I’m telling you,” Pedro said, gesturing emphatically with his free hand, “the best way is to slice it like a hedgehog and then flip it out.”
Omar snorted. “That’s beginner-level mango cutting. You gotta peel it and slice it thin, man. That’s the pro way.”
Lauren leaned in, sipping her drink. “Why are we even debating this? The hotel staff cut it perfectly for us. Just eat it!”
Pedro turned to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “What do you think, cariño? Hedgehog or pro slices?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly? I think you both just like the sound of your own voices.”
The table erupted into laughter, and Pedro, ever the showman, pretended to be deeply offended. “Traitor,” he teased, leaning closer to you.
As the conversation continued, Pedro reached for a small plate of fruit in the center of the table. He speared a slice of mango with a fork and held it out to you. “Here,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Taste this and tell me I’m right.”
You rolled your eyes playfully but leaned in, letting him feed you the fruit. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded on your tongue, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay,” you admitted, licking your lips. “That’s really good.”
Pedro’s face lit up with triumph. “See? Hedgehog for the win!”
“Does the mango really matter, or are you just using this as an excuse to feed her?” Franklin teased from across the table, his eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.
Pedro didn’t miss a beat. “A little of both,” he admitted, squeezing your hand under the table.
You felt your cheeks warm, and Lauren sighed dramatically. “You two are so gross. Like, cute-gross. But still gross.”
“Oh, come on,” you said, laughing as you leaned against Pedro’s shoulder. “We’re not that bad.”
“Yes, you are,” Omar interjected, pointing at you with his fork. “The way you two look at each other? It’s like a rom-com in real life. I’m waiting for the dramatic love confession during a thunderstorm any day now.”
Pedro chuckled, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “Sorry to disappoint, but I save my dramatic love confessions for sunny beaches and candlelit dinners.”
“Of course you do,” Franklin said dryly.
The banter continued as plates were passed around and stories were exchanged. At one point, Pedro leaned closer to you, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke softly. “You look beautiful today, by the way. I don’t think I’ve told you yet.”
You turned to him, your smile softening. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself, you know.”
His grin widened, and he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll take it.”
As the lunch wound down, Pedro took another piece of fruit and held it to your lips, his expression playful. “Last one?”
You bit into it, laughing as he exaggerated a swoon. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.
“And you love it,” he replied confidently, his eyes sparkling.
Omar groaned. “Seriously, can someone separate these two before I die from secondhand sweetness?”
Lauren raised her glass. “Here’s to our disgustingly in-love friends. May their PDA always remind us how single we are.”
The table burst into laughter, and you felt Pedro’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you in the midst of the playful chaos.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice just for you. “I’ll make it even worse later.”
You nudged him gently with your elbow, unable to hide your grin. “I’m holding you to that.”
With the ocean breeze swirling around you and Pedro’s warmth beside you, the moment felt like a scene from one of your favorite romance novels—perfectly ordinary and yet entirely magical.
HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — EVENING
The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing by the time you and Pedro arrived. The beach was transformed into a luminous paradise. Fairy lights strung between swaying palm trees bathed everything in a warm, golden glow. Lanterns floated lazily in the night sky, their soft flickers mirrored on the rippling waves. The mingling sounds of music, laughter, and the gentle crash of the ocean created a magical atmosphere that felt otherworldly yet comforting.
Pedro walked beside you, his hand firmly gripping yours, a quiet, grounding presence amid the bustle of the party. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a wordless reassurance that seemed to say, I’m here, and I’m not letting go.
You greeted friends with smiles and exchanged well-wishes for the new year. Omar cracked jokes that had everyone in your group doubling over in laughter. Franklin and Lauren danced barefoot on the sand, spinning and twirling under the fairy lights. Pedro chuckled softly, pulling you closer to his side as you watched the others, your heart swelling at the sight of such joy.
At one point, Pedro leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I have a surprise for you.”
You tilted your head, curious. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”
He grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his eyes. “You’ll see. Come with me.”
With a quick goodbye to your friends, Pedro led you away from the crowd. You followed him down a narrow path lined with flickering candles in glass jars. The sound of the party faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore. Each step seemed to draw you further into an intimate bubble, a world that consisted only of you and Pedro.
When you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks. A secluded section of the beach had been transformed into something out of a dream. Strings of fairy lights hung between tall wooden poles, casting a warm, golden light over a blanket spread neatly on the sand. Soft, colorful pillows were arranged in inviting clusters, and a bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket nearby. Candles flickered in the gentle breeze, their flames casting dancing shadows across the scene.
“Pedro,” you breathed, your voice catching. Your hand flew to your chest as you took it all in. “What is this?”
He turned to you, his expression softer, more serious than you’d ever seen. “Something I’ve been planning for a while now.”
Before you could ask what he meant, Pedro took both of your hands in his, his fingers warm and slightly trembling. His thumb stroked over your knuckles, grounding both of you in the moment.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “About everything we’ve been through. About how much you’ve changed my life. You’re my best friend, my partner, my everything. You’ve made me laugh on my worst days and held me together when I thought I’d fall apart. I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”
Your breath hitched, tears welling up in your eyes. He squeezed your hands, his gaze locked on yours.
“I want your midnights and late-night snack hunts,” he continued, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I want to slow dance in the kitchen with you, humming our favorite songs. I want every moment, big and small, because you make all of them better just by being there.”
Pedro dropped to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The sight stole the breath from your lungs.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you?”
You were nodding before he even finished speaking, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “Yes,” you choked out, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”
The world seemed to hold its breath as Pedro slid the ring onto your finger. It was delicate and timeless, a gold band adorned with a diamond that shimmered under the fairy lights. You recognized it instantly as the one his mother had worn in old photographs. The significance of it made your heart swell.
Pedro stood and pulled you into his arms, spinning you around as laughter bubbled from your lips. Tears mingled with joy as you clung to him, your face buried in his neck.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his hair.
Cheers erupted behind you, startling you both. You turned to see Omar, Franklin, Lauren, and a handful of other friends holding sparklers, their faces alight with joy as they cheered and clapped. Phones were out, capturing the moment from every angle. The scene felt surreal, like something out of a fairy tale.
Pedro’s smile widened as he kissed you again, his lips soft and lingering against yours. When the fireworks began, you flinched at the loud bangs, your body instinctively tensing. Pedro’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “Always.”
You pressed your face into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. When you looked up, his hand was already there to wipe away the stray tear trailing down your face.
“Let’s go,” he said softly, taking your hand. “I want to start this year with just us.”
You nodded, letting him lead you back to your suite. The walk felt like a dream, the buzz of the party and the distant sound of fireworks fading into the background. When you entered the room, the warmth of his hand never left yours.
Pedro closed the door gently behind you, his eyes soft but brimming with unspoken emotion. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face as he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
“You’re my everything,” he murmured before his lips met yours in a kiss that stole your breath. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating taste of him.
Clothes were shed in a trail leading to the bed, each piece falling away with whispered promises and quiet gasps. Pedro’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fire along your skin that made you shiver.
He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice low and reverent.
“Never,” you whispered, your hands threading through his hair to pull him back down to you.
The night stretched on, filled with love and passion. Pedro’s touch was both tender and consuming, every kiss and caress carrying the weight of his feelings. And as you lay tangled together afterward, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was the first of countless nights you’d spend like this.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice soft and full of love.
With Pedro beside you, the future felt impossibly bright.
HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — MORNING
The sunlight streamed through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. You stirred awake, the warmth of Pedro’s arms wrapped securely around you. His chest rose and fell against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of pure peace.
“Good morning, fiancé,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
You smiled, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “Good morning, fiancé.”
Pedro’s lips curved into a lazy grin as he brushed a kiss against your temple. “Fiancé. I like how that sounds. Doesn’t it sound so official? Like I’ve been upgraded.”
You laughed, rolling over to face him fully. “Oh, it’s an upgrade, all right. High maintenance, though. Hope you’re ready for that.”
His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. “Worth every bit of maintenance,” he said softly, his brown eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so full of love it made your heart ache.
After a few blissful moments of cuddling, you sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Pedro reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers brushing yours as you both instinctively checked your messages.
The notifications on his screen were wild—texts from friends, family, and coworkers all pouring in, congratulating him. You could already hear Franklin’s teasing voice in your head: “Finally! You pulled it off without tripping over yourself.”
Pedro chuckled at the chaos. “Looks like the engagement buzz has already started.”
You glanced at his phone over his shoulder, spotting a text from his sister. “Let me guess, your sister is already planning our wedding?”
“Not just her—my cousins have entered the group chat. They’re plotting from all angles.” He scrolled further, smirking as he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this: Lauren sent a voice note. Wanna bet it’s just her screaming?”
You both laughed as he played the message, and sure enough, Lauren’s excited squeals filled the room.
“I love them,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“And they love you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Speaking of love… I was thinking. Maybe it’s time I post something. You know, about us.”
You raised an eyebrow. Pedro was famously private when it came to his personal life. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to you, his expression serious but full of warmth. “I want the whole world to know how lucky I am. I want to shout it from the rooftops—or, you know, post it on Instagram.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you nudged him playfully. “You’re such a romantic, Pascal.”
He grinned, already opening the app. “Only for you, amor.”
Pedro scrolled through the photos you’d taken during the trip, landing on one from last night. It was a candid shot that Franklin had snapped during the proposal. You were mid-laugh, tears of joy sparkling in your eyes, and Pedro was on one knee, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.
“That one,” he said softly, showing you the picture. “It’s perfect.”
Your heart swelled. “It’s us.”
Pedro typed the caption, pausing dramatically as he turned the phone toward you. “‘Guess what 💍.’ Too much?”
You burst out laughing, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “It’s perfect. Post it before I change my mind and make you write a paragraph.”
He tapped the screen, and the post was live.
It didn’t take long for the post to gain traction. Within minutes, the comments flooded in, and Pedro couldn’t stop grinning as he scrolled through them, reading some aloud.
@ franklinlatt: FINALLY. My boy did it. I’m crying. Call me later or I’m disowning you.
@ laurenalexander: AHHHH!!! We need a wedding planning spreadsheet STAT.
@ omar.apollo: Pedro Pascal is officially off the market. RIP to all of us. Congrats, you two!!
Fans were equally unhinged:
@ pedropascalfan101: I AM SOBBING. LOOK AT THEM.
@ fiancégoals: Pedro, how does it feel to have found the literal love of your life? Asking for a friend.
@ pedropascalfanaccount: HOLY CRAP HE DID IT. DADDY IS OFF THE MARKET.
@ pedropascalforever: We love this for you but also… who do I cry to about this???
@ pedrostan: She’s GORGEOUS. Look at them. LOOK AT THEM. I’M SOBBING.
@ cocoullrich: About damn time, man! Congrats to you both!
@ pascalloml: Pedro Pascal is the blueprint of a man. Take notes, everyone.
@ hollywoodbuzz: Pedro Pascal announces engagement in the most adorable way ever. We’re not crying; YOU are.
Pedro chuckled, showing you the screen. “I think they’re happy for us.”
You leaned against him, scrolling through the comments. “Some of them are a little heartbroken, though.”
He kissed your cheek. “They’ll survive. I’ve already won the lottery with you, anyway.”
HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — LATER THAT MORNING
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. After a decadent breakfast in bed—mimosas fizzing in crystal glasses, pancakes piled high and dripping with syrup—you and Pedro moved to the balcony. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, its gentle rhythm matching the easy calm between you.
Pedro leaned back in his chair, a slight breeze ruffling his tousled hair, his eyes fixed on you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You were turning your engagement ring slowly between your fingers, the sunlight catching on the delicate details of the band.
“It was my mom’s, you know,” he said, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.
Your head shot up, surprise and awe softening your expression. “Pedro…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you’d trust me with something so meaningful.”
He reached across the small table, his hand enveloping yours, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles over your skin. “It’s not just trust, amor. It’s love. Belonging. This ring belonged to her, and now it belongs to you. Because you’re my family now. You’re the person I want to build my life with—the one I want to pass this kind of love down through.”
The sincerity in his words undid you. Your eyes filled with tears, but you managed a shaky smile. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you? Were you saving all this charm for after the engagement?”
Pedro laughed, the sound warm and rich, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not the only one evolving here. I’m in full fiancé mode now—expect poetic declarations, grand gestures, and probably some embarrassing moments along the way.”
You giggled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I don’t think my heart can handle much more.”
He grinned, the dimple you loved so much making its appearance. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”
For a moment, the world seemed to fade away—the waves, the breeze, the distant hum of life below. There was only Pedro and the quiet magic of being his.
Then, his phone buzzed on the table, pulling you both back to the present. Pedro glanced at the screen and groaned. “It’s Lux. She’s FaceTiming me. Should we answer, or let her stew a little longer?”
“Answer,” you said, laughing. “You know she won’t stop until you do.”
With a resigned smile, Pedro swiped to accept the call, holding the phone out so you were both in the frame. Lux’s face appeared, and her mock-outrage was immediate.
“Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. And no heads-up? No exclusive family memo?”
Pedro smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Some things are worth keeping a surprise, hermana.”
Lux rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Well, surprise or not, I’m happy for you guys. You’re disgustingly perfect together, and I love it. But don’t think this gets you out of celebrating properly when you’re back.”
You leaned into the frame, grinning. “We’ll be ready for whatever chaos you’ve got planned.”
“Good. Oh, and don’t forget to call Dad, Pedro,” Lux added, her tone turning maternal.
Pedro groaned. “Yes, yes. I’ll call him right after this. Thanks for the reminder, coach.”
Lux laughed. “Love you both. Now go enjoy your engagement. And call Dad, or I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
As the call ended, Pedro set his phone down with a shake of his head. “That woman. It’s like she’s my manager and life coach rolled into one.”
You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand as you gazed at him. “She’s not wrong, though. You should call your dad before he finds out from the media.”
Pedro sighed dramatically but nodded. “You’re right, as usual. I’ll be back in a second.”
He disappeared inside to make the call, leaving you on the balcony with the soothing sound of the waves and the weight of the ring on your finger. You turned it slowly, marveling at the reality of it all.
When Pedro returned, his face was lit with joy. “He cried. Happy tears, don’t worry. And he’s already planning a trip to wherever we’re going next.”
You laughed. “Guess we’d better get ready for some family bonding.”
Pedro sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”
You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “I feel the same way. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
He leaned down to kiss you, soft and lingering, as if sealing a vow between you. The world felt bright and endless, full of promise. And for the first time, you were certain: you were exactly where you were meant to be.
These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed recently since June 2025 apparently holy shit, this has been in my drafts for too fucking long and I need to start a fresh one. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤
Joel Miller
Ride // @beardedjoel
You try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him.
Waiting Game // @gutsby
Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.
The Cure For Suffering // @millermouth
All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire. —the second truth.
Keep Me A Secret // @fxckingjo
Joel Miller shows you exactly how he feels about you
Wayfarer // @magpiepills
Joel fucks you nice and rough in a run down motel.
Dirty Little Secret (series) // @pedroscurls
You become involved with joel miller—the father of the bride. he was meant to be your dirty little secret to get you through the wedding festivities, but falling for him wasn't part of the plan.
Winter-Kissed // @aurorawritestoescape
Joel returns home from patrol and you help him get warm with your body.
The journey // @milla-frenchy
After Joel and Ellie reach the University of Eastern Colorado, they find out that the Fireflies relocated to Salt Lake City. Attacked by a group of men, they barely manage to escape the place. When Ellie is kidnapped by the same group, weakened and injured Joel goes after her, and on his way he crosses paths with you
Let Alone The One You Love // @cozymochaa
Insecurities flood your mind when Joel raises his voice at you for the first time.
Marcus Acacius
Peccatum Dulce // @missadangel
Your husband couldn’t give you an heir, but the general-the one who’s watched, wanted, and would burn the Empire to put one in you, calls you peccatum dulce, the sweetest sin he’d damn himself for… and tonight, he will taste every drop.
Clint Flood
Ten Grand // @baronessvonglitter
Trying to cover your brother's debt lands you in even more trouble.
Safety Off // @missadangel
There’s a lotta ways a Friday night can go sideways. For a debt collector, most of them ain’t pretty. But getting robbed by a fine-ass thief? That’s new. Her gun? Safety off. His temper? Already ON.
Tim Rockford + Ted Garcia
Good Behavior // @magpiepills
Reader, you are an inmate at Tim’s prison and he owes a favor to the mayor.
Self Recs
Legion Chapter II: Legatus
Caesar’s Legion is invading the Mojave Wasteland. After your unfortunate run in with their horrific atrocities, a high ranking legionary spares you for one sole purpose. Dark!Acacius
Get Your Fix
Joel Miller is all business but when you show up on his doorstep unexpected how can he say no? QZ!Joel
❪ 𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲 ❫ babysiting oscar isaac's child with pedro pascal, leads to a couple of mishaps ─⠀ fluff
꒰ 🧾 ꒱ when life give you tangerines , 9th member of girls generation
⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i just imagine pedro being the fun uncle + based on a tiktok i forgot to like it but if you found it , its based by that
The house had settled into that sweet, heavy quiet, the kind that only comes after a storm of baby giggles, tiny tantrums, and runaway sippy cups. Oscar asked the two to take care of their sweet baby boy ─Eugene, as he and his wife, Elvira would take a four day escape in Maldives.
It wasn’t that the two of them didn’t love Eugene—they did—but they had to admit, there was a bittersweet sting to the thought of spending four days in the same house as a one-year-old and they wanted to go to Maldives with the couple. And that sting was layered with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to escape the diapers, the flying food, the midnight feedings, and the inevitable burping messes.
Pedro’s eyes softened, and he exchanged a knowing glance with Amari. “It’s like sending a piece of our hearts away,” he murmured. Oscar, seeing their hesitation, just chuckled and ruffled Pedro’s hair. “You guys got this. He’s a good boy, promise.”
Pedro shot him a dramatic, pleading look, his eyes wide like a puppy who’d been left out in the rain. “I know he’s a good boy... but the kid is like a tiny human tornado. He gets it from you,” Pedro grumbled, his voice half-joking, half-serious.
Amari laughed softly, shaking her head, but she knew they were in for a wild ride. “We’ll survive,” she assured Oscar, her smile gentle. “You deserve it." She smiled as she glanced at Elvira's knowing look of guidance and nervousness, "Just—please don’t forget to text us every hour or something. I might need a sanity check.” Amari laughed at her and hugged her to soothe her with ease.
In that moment, the gravity of the task mingled with humor, creating an atmosphere of shared responsibility and gentle teasing. As the couple instructed many things like, don't forget to place the toys after they were played or take the trash everyday. Pedro wrapped an arm around Amari’s shoulder as they watched Oscar and Elvira disappear down the hallway, their departure marked by the soft clack of shoes against the wooden floor.
The pair settled into the new rhythm with a promise to keep Eugene safe and loved—a soft, playful pact. And even as they braced themselves for the challenges ahead, they couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected gift of time: time to explore each other’s company in the peaceful silence of a house that, even for a few days, belonged entirely to them.
And with that, the two were off, leaving Pedro and Amari standing in the doorway with Eugene, now tugging at Pedro’s shirt as if trying to drag him toward the living room. “Alright, little man,” Pedro said, settling Eugene on his hip. “Guess it’s just you and me now.” Amari glanced at Pedro, her lips curving into a playful smile. “I’m starting to think I was the third wheel in all this, huh? You two look pretty cozy already.” Pedro laughed as he rocked eugene, him and his quirky dances.
“Great,” Amari sighed, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess the real babysitting has begun.” Oh how wrong she was with those four days of suffering (joy).
The house had settled into that sweet, heavy quiet, the kind that only comes after a storm of baby giggles, tiny tantrums, and runaway sippy cups. Pedro was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest. Amari curled beside him, a soft blanket tangled around her legs, her head tucked neatly into the space just under his collarbone like a bird finally at rest.
The baby—finally full after a heroic battle involving mashed bananas and half a tub of yogurt—was waddling sleepily across the carpet, tiny fists rubbing his eyes.
Pedro chuckled under his breath, brushing a hand gently through Amari's hair. "You’re dangerous, you know that?" he murmured, voice low and syrupy, vibrating against her ear. "Feeding him, singing to him... I think you just stole his heart." She smiled as her fingers lazily draw circles, playing with the hem of his shirt, "Takes one to know one, oppa," she whispered, teasing.
Pedro tipped his head back against the couch, a soft, rumbling laugh spilling from his throat. His other hand reached for the baby, guiding him into his lap effortlessly. The little one collapsed against him like a drunk sailor, safe in the fortress of Pedro’s arms.
For a moment, Amari just watched—heart aching sweetly at the sight. Pedro, his dark curls messy, his smile softened into something golden and unguarded. The baby breathing deep against his chest. A slice of forever tucked into an ordinary night. But then—a low, subtle ache bloomed in her stomach, quiet but persistent. Hunger, threading itself through her senses. She hadn't eaten since early afternoon, too swept up in bottles, bath times, and tiny socks scattered across the floor.
The thought of food made her almost giddy with longing, but she swallowed it down with a small, guilty breath. She didn’t want to disturb the softness of the moment, the gentle miracle of it, Pedro warm beside her and Eugene breathing in even, delicate puffs.
Instead, she leaned into him for one last second, memorizing the way his chest rose and fell, the faint scent of him — baby milk, baby soap and something uniquely Pedro.
Pedro hummed low in his throat, not quite awake but feeling the loss of her warmth as she untangled herself slowly, like pulling free from a dream. She smiled faintly, standing up and padding quietly down the hallway.
Her footsteps were soft as secrets on the hardwood floor, the ache of hunger growing, but she said nothing. As she glanced at pedro still rocking little eugene to sleep she went to the counter where she placed — lotte cheetos as she grabbed it b her fingers slowly, lifting it and tucking in her waist. It was easier to slip away quietly, to pretend that everything she needed was as simple as stepping into another room.
꒰ ྀི ᥩ few minutes later
Finally, peace. Finally, her long-awaited Cheetos.
She placed her phone carefully against the white cabinets of the small pantry, the smell of leftover food and sweet spices lifting into the air, cradling her in a quiet kind of joy. Her figure, still wrapped in the cozy nighttime air, was bathed in the low kitchen light, all soft edges and sleepy laughter.
She hit record without thinking, planning to send the video later to Elvira—just a secret between girls.
With a sigh almost reverent, she opened the bag of junk food. Her hand, pinkie raised like a quiet crown, raced upward. The crinkling of the plastic was thunderous in the small space. The scent hit her first—cheese dust and pure happiness.
She popped the first Cheeto into her mouth, biting down with a dramatic crunch that echoed off the pantry walls. Bliss, pure bliss as she closed her eyes and leaned near the wall, but just as she was reaching for a second piece—
The door creaked.
The door just creaked.
Her eyes widened, as she was in mid bite glancing at her side was Pedro—hair a mess, socks dragging on the tile floor, looking like he had just survived a war. His eyes locked onto the bag in her hand, wild and wounded. Not that he is helping in his hand was a pair of a large pizza slice he stole from the counter.
A heartbeat passed. Then two.
And without a word, the two laughed uncontrollably, bumping into each other with such clumsy force that it sent them spiraling into another fit of breathless giggles, their shoulders colliding, hands scrambling for balance. Trying—desperately trying—to muffle the sounds, both of them pressed their palms against their mouths, bodies folding in half from the effort.
"You’re unbelievable," Pedro wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes—but his hand was already buried deep in the bag, fishing out another Cheeto with that same desperate, childlike glee. Amari elbowed him gently, breath hitching, laughter bursting in soft little puffs through her fingers as she fought for air. She clutched her side, trying not to collapse entirely.
"Close the door, close the door," she whispered, sharp and giggling, jabbing him with her knee as he just stood there uselessly, grinning like an idiot.
Pedro, still half-wheezing with laughter, flailed backwards and slammed the pantry door shut with his foot. But as his foot slammed accidently.... created a loud thud, waking the child.
unfortunately, it didn't save the peace.
Both of them froze, eyes wide, mouth agape.
A tiny wail echoed outside as amari hit his shoulder with her palm, "You woke him up, go there" as amari whispered at pedro, smacking Pedro's chest with the back of her hand. Pushing him slightly at the door, as Pedro just looked at her, half-terrified but with an adoring grin on his face. “Babe, you slammed the door,” he hissed, voice cracking.
"I did not, give me the pizza. You gonna walk in there and soothe him" She said as she lunged at the pizza. Pedro snatched the slice higher over his head like a playground bully, grinning wickedly.
"You're taller, go," she hissed, jumping for it, her fingertips just grazing his torso. "You’re lighter, you're faster, go," he countered in a whisper-shout, side-stepping like they were in a clumsy waltz inside the cramped pantry.
Another wail. Louder now.
"Pedro!" Amari gasped, scrambling to catch the tumbling cereal box while trying not to slip on a rogue Cheeto. He looked at her in dismay, as he breathe and bracing himself like a soldier.
"Fine! Fine!" Pedro gasped, surrendering the slice into her hands dramatically, like a knight handing over his sword. "But if he asks for me, tell him I love him." Pedro gaze lovingly at the pizza as she pushed his face with her palm, "Just go!" She murmured at him while giggling.
As Pedro closed the door with a pained look, mouthing exaggerated curses to the heavens, Amari caught the soft click of it latching and turned, breathless.
Her phone was still recording.
The screen caught her in perfect imperfection — hair a little mussed, cheeks flushed from laughter, cradling the stolen slice like a war prize. She grinned, triumphant, the kind of grin that creased her eyes and made her look half her age.
Without missing a beat, she lifted the half-eaten pizza to her mouth and took a huge, unbothered bite, cheeks puffing as she munched happily.
After a while, she sent it to the couple who is still in maldives and a couple of pictures of their sweet baby boy eugene.
She didn't know that after this, Elvira just tag her on her instagram story and she and pedro would never live the day after this.
premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.
pairing: joel miller x (f)reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).
note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3
There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…
But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.
The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.
You know for certain your ex's face is.
Good.
You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses.
Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.
"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another.
"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."
"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."
"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."
"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach.
Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days.
A girl can dream.
And she has. Embarrassingly.
The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.
An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God.
And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity.
Gratefulness.
Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you?
When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings.
He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.
When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.
That’s the thing about Joel.
He was always there.
If you needed help, he always seemed to find time.
Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before.
And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks.
Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over.
"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped."
And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"
"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone."
"Hey! I could punch someone."
"Could and would are two different things."
"You sayin I couldn’t?"
"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t."
"Not tough enough?"
"Your heart's too big."
"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured."
"I’m shaking in my boots."
"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn. On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.
There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.
"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."
He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.
Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?"
"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch."
"You should still get it looked at."
"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?"
Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel."
"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."
"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."
"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?"
"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out.
A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red.
"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully.
"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts.
"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll.
"Don’t alert the press."
"Oh, they’ve already been informed."
His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky.
When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting.
After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink.
"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."
"She’s with a friend tonight."
"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him.
He snorts, "don’t know about all that."
"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin.
"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"
"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."
"It’s deadly."
"Truly."
"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money."
You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be.
But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say.
"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.
No one had acted as quick as Joel had.
Joel Miller was a good man.
"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand.
And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know.
Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.
Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma.
So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind.
"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good."
The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.
"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke.
"Look at me."
You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks.
There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.
What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now.
When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?"
"A what—pity kiss?"
"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?"
Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."
"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?"
"Exactly."
There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.
"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."
"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.
And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate.
"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.
An agreement.
"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks.
"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his.
"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders.
Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.
Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one.
His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him.
The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you.
He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl.
"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.
If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.
The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers.
You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now.
You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can.
"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.
The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth.
It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs.
Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence.
Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.
The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked.
"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.
"Do you wanna change that?"
The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously." There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.
It can be all about you.
It is all about you.
You deserve nothing less.
His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken.
Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."
"I caused?" His brows shoot up.
"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.
The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis.
Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.
He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.
You really did date assholes.
Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging.
"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth.
He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center.
He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"
And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.
"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection.
"Glad I’m amusin’ to you."
Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are."
I’m clean.
I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises.
We’re protected.
Now take me already.
The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.
It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag.
And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.
"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back.
There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight.
When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel.
"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."
"Joel."
"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock.
"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after.
And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."
"He owes me fifty bucks."
There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"
"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though."
"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully.
"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.
"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."
"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.
"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.
"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.
Summary: The secrets out and Javier finally knows, but what you hadn’t expected was him to react the way he did. Two months had gone by since then, and you’re finally ready for Javier to take your virginity.
Warnings: 18+ SMUT mdni, age gap (25/40), both readers and Javiers POV, Javier is unbelievably soft in this, innocent reader, Javier talks you through it, blowjob, fingering, P in V, protected sex, virginity loss, mentions of past f!oral (from Javi), couch shenanigans, feelings (my gosh there’s so many feelings.)
Here we go! First off, thank you all for being so patient with me. I hope this lives up to people’s expectations and that you weren’t waiting too long! Please let me know what you all thought and I hope you love it!💕 Part 1
Also, huge shoutout to the lovely @schnarfer for reading through this for me and helping me with the final product! So thankful for you!🤍
To the lovelies who wanted to be tagged: @easystreet07 @softstarlite @joelscurlss
The past few months felt like a dream. A dream so vivid in picture and totally immersive. So sharp and in perfect vision. It was a dream you never wanted to wake up from.
Many times you had to remind yourself that the joy you noticed hadn’t been just a figment of your imagination. It wasn’t a fantasy or notions that you wished on. But that it was all real. No, he was real.
You were happy. This being the happiest you’d been in a long time. You could recognise a change in yourself immediately. You felt brighter in the early mornings, there were no thoughts that plagued you or interruptions while you slept, and when you would peer at yourself in the mirror your skin was glowing. A radiant glimmer and dimples deeply imprinted in your cheeks from the constant smiling.
Work was better and shifts weren’t as stressful. The crime in Columbia was at its lowest and the atmosphere around the office was smooth sailing. You had become more at ease with your tasks, but still remained vigilant in your role. There was no more overworking or giving yourself no time for the activities you enjoyed or missed doing. Instead, you concentrated on the things that made you feel better about life away from home.
And Javier Peña was a big factor in all this.
Two months. Two unimaginable months had gone by since that heated moment you and Javier shared in the filing room. You remember the nervousness when he looked at you, that rush of honesty leaving your lungs in apprehension, your heart pouring out into his open palms.
You waited with bated breath. Waited for the rejection that would crush you into nothingness and embarrassment. You had prepared for it. You’d gone through countless scenarios of how Javier would decline your affection. And as difficult as it was to admit, it was all your fault. You had taken things too far. An infatuation with desire and want for him had become so out of reach, and the jealousy was hard to disregard.
But to your surprise his refusal never came. Not one ounce of rejection appeared on his face. And fuck, what a beautiful face he had. Instead, he admired as you stood fearfully, his posture open and understanding.
On that day, he’d shared something else entirely.
You’d never forget that unforeseen consequence. Javier Peña, kissing you and on his knees, his warm, brown eyes firmly locked on yours and giving you the most intense and intimate orgasm of your life.
With buckled knees your body went rigid, electricity rippled through your veins and blinding specks of white obscured the sight of his face deep in your core. Javier’s mouth, fingers and reassurance had unveiled more than anything you ever envisioned.
Leaving that room with his touch gnawing at your skin, you realised that your relationship with Javier Peña would never be the same. No more wishful thinking or privately scanning him from afar. No, this time he yearned for your gaze, your bottom perched at your desk, the end of a pen skimming across your lips, staring at his mouth that had been on yours just moments ago. Now, you were the only one to know the distinct flavour of his tongue, that hint of bourbon and cigarettes being your new favourite addition. This wasn’t going to be a one-time occurrence. This was to become a pattern in your lives, a state of events what would leave to something greater.
It was just the two of you. Hidden glances and lingered touches kept secret as you walked past one another in the hallway, tinted and purplish bruises in the shape of his lips disguised under nude concealer on your neck or collarbone, creased clothing from being ruffled up and gripped when you’d both get an opportunity to be alone.
You finally had that glimpse of him, and fuck it was hard to go without.
Javier would have you at every given possibility. Whether it was late at night back in his office or once again, in the filing room, or when he’d sneak you into the bathroom when the both of you were on your breaks. Javier had pulled orgasm after orgasm from you, and you’d never get enough.
The drop of your skirt and underwear on carpet and tiled floors had become a routine, bare legs dangling over the edge of his desk, his lips hungry and feverish and colliding against your own, his large hands gripping the flesh of your inner thighs. He’d make you come with his mouth, lips sucking hard on your clit and fingers shoved deep into your walls as you’d reach your peak, cunt reaching its high all over his mouth, chin and fingers, his tongue lapping up every single drop.
It was all still so new, but it was beyond compelling. You wanted more. You were so desperate for more.
But with Javier, you had to learn to be patient, attention drifting back to the first time, his words being that constant reminder.
‘I’ll give it to you baby,’ he had promised, his face level with your own, ‘but not right now. Let me do this right, okay? Let me take my time with you.’
And that’s how it went. His warm mouth would trail over and across your naked legs, his moustache saturated with your release as it tickled your skin. You’d yank him up off his knees eventually with urgent hands, his lips puffy and eyes hazy and drunk, his body clearly aroused.
You’d peer down at the clear and evident bulge in his jeans, the denim so tight and restricting, fingers attempting to pull at his belt until…his own would stop you.
Not right now cariño. Next time.
You’d scream his name into the back of your hand, teeth marks indented into your skin, his tongue luring an orgasm from you as you’d muffle your praise in hopes of keeping quiet, to not get caught by friends or work colleagues.
You’d kiss him with intensity, cupping his hard cock and palming him with compressed pressure, his grunts landing on the surface of your tongue.
Not yet bebe, let’s wait a little longer.
Your mouths would find a lustful pace, arms wrapped around his neck and hips thrusting up into his erection.
So impatient. Don’t worry, you’ll have my cock soon.
Soon. It always ended with soon. But when would ‘soon’ be? The anticipation was growing in the pit of your stomach and so overwhelming you couldn’t keep up. You were ready, and that statement you knew to be true, and you couldn’t wait for Javier to take things to the next step.
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
Javier knew the moment you stepped into his office that very first time you’d be trouble.
He wasn’t too pleased with the idea of his boss offering him a secretary. Javier was very skilled at his job, and he was known around the DEA as one of the top agents in the Embassy. He didn’t need a secretary, someone who would slow him down, pulling his focus away from tasks and a simple distraction. However, Javier knew whatever excuse he’d pull out of the book to oppose, nothing would change the matter. Only to be told that it was ‘to take the smaller jobs off his back.’
It was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.
But what Javier didn’t expect was his secretary to be…well, you. Javier had been told before your arrival that you were more than capable in the role and had been doing so back in the US for a couple of years. Except, not one person had told him what you looked like, and it completely surprised him once he took a first glance at you.
You were young, your features delicate and big eyes that beamed with enthusiasm. Javiers first question was why you would involve yourself in a job with so much risk? But then, being so young and accepting a proposition as high as this, surely you must be good?
Javier couldn’t help but admire you. You looked so shy, body language held back and reserved and apprehensive. He couldn’t help his jeans tighten when you introduced yourself, your words quiet and innocent.
“Thank you, sir,” you’d mustered up. “I’m excited to be working alongside you.”
Javier had a certain reputation around the Embassy. Having his ways of getting the right women to talk, needing detailed information fast and efficiently. He never sought the approval of people he worked with, because he was well aware that they judged. Plus, he got a no-feelings-fuck out of it, so why should he be bothered about what they thought?
Javier had come close to you throughout your time at the Embassy, developing a firm and loyal friendship that deep down, Javier hadn’t had in a long time. From the first introduction, Javier did his best to welcome you to Bogotá with the same support he was given years ago, and he could see that you appreciated his hospitality massively.
But of course, being Javier, he had thought about you in ways a friend shouldn’t be thinking about another friend. And yet, how the fuck could he not? You were beautiful, a flicker of luminance in his ordinary life. Javier liked being around you, your presence emitting that emotion of being back home, it was familiar.
Javier could be his normal self with you.
Javier didn’t know that the shyness you possessed was hidden feelings. It’s not his fault of course, but it makes his chest ache with shame. The amount of times he’d clearly come into work after a night with a woman, the smell of their cheap perfume still lingering on his clothes, or being at the bar with you and walking away from the crowd with another under his arm. He fucking hates knowing how hard it must have been for you to see that, now knowing your feelings.
He questions your decision to stay quiet. Why didn’t you say anything? Or give him any indication as to what you truly wanted from him? Javier had no idea, and it hurts him knowing that you kept it secret from him for so long.
When you confessed your affection for him at the work party, that’s when Javier knew. The moment he heard those words out loud, he’d be delving into a fantasy that in the back of his mind, he truthfully longed for.
‘Well maybe it’s because I like you Javier. That every single time I look at you I wish you looked at me the same way. And even though I’ll never have you, it doesn’t stop me from wanting you as badly as I do right now.’
You avoided him the next day. Calls going straight to answer phone, feet skipping away when he was near, your apartment door glued shut when he’d irritably knock, praying that he’d finally see your face on the other end. You were embarrassed and ashamed of confessing it to him, and worse that it was helped with liquid courage. Javier made it his aim to get you to talk, to ease the tension that grew between you both.
He stares at you from his desk, fiddling with his unlit cigarette that hangs from his lips, his foot banging against the hard floor. Your head hangs low, the piles of paper he’d stacked on your desk held flushed to your chest, making your way into the filing room.
Fucking finally, Javier thinks.
He’s marching towards you before his mind can even comprehend it.
He listens to you talk, words shaky and jumbled and limbs quivering. He hears about how you expected him to reject you, and that he’d never be interested in a woman like you. Javier wasn’t a good man, and he wasn’t good enough for you.
You deserved better.
But when you stood there, telling him how highly you thought of him, that’s all he needed to break.
Your lips felt soft against his own, needy whimpers mixed in with his deprived grunts, pushing your back up against the shelf. How the fuck did it come to this? Suddenly, he can’t help it when his knees drop and hit the floor, or his hands pulling your skirt up. He can’t stop the tip of his tongue from moving closer to taste your sex, eating you out like a man starved until you’d come on his mouth.
And when you’d told him you were a virgin. He could’ve come in his pants right there and then. You’d never had anyone’s mouth on you, never had anyone’s fingers inside you other than your own, and when he’d made you orgasm for the first time, he’d promised himself he’d take his time with you.
All of that happened a couple months ago. And at every given chance, Javier needed to have your cunt on his mouth and fingers. Whether it was in his office late at night or back in the filing room, in the bathroom or even back at his apartment, he had to have you.
He never pushed you, never overwhelmingly you with stress as he knew you weren’t fully ready. He remembers his own words, I wanna take my time with you. And that’s exactly what Javier was going to do.
For Javier this wasn’t just lust or quick hookups when you both could get your hands on one another. No, he wouldn’t do that to you, this was much deeper.
And it fucking terrified him.
He wanted you, and he knew you wanted him just as much, hands dragging his zipper down to try and free his cock, limbs inching lower so you could sit on your knees, palms rubbing his length that was tight in his jeans.
Javier was hooked, you were a crave he had to soothe. When he would lie in bed, he’d still smell your body on his skin, even when he would furiously try to scrub it off in the shower. He fucked his fists every time he finished work, the taste of your arousal still on his tongue and moustache. He’d come in his hand so helplessly, envisioning you behind his eyelids, imagining the way he’d fuck himself inside your mouth and your pussy, covering your neck and breasts in his mark.
Javier was restless, and he was running out of patience with himself. He needed to have you, he’d go crazy if he had wait any longer.
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
Those two months of persistent seduction and lingering touches had led to now. All of the built up and pressure between the two of you falling into place, and with a firm grip and hurried movements, Javier ushers your body inside his apartment, his lips cemented on your own, breathless whimpers willingly pouring out of your mouth.
Your feet are forced backwards by his eager strides, and when the back of your thighs hit his sofa, your hands grasp onto his leather jacket.
“Javi…,” you moan, stealing more kisses with every word, “I want you now. Please, fuck me.”
Javiers groan is guttural, low within his throat and it causes your skin to shiver. He likes you like this, so desperate for something you’ve never indulged in, his cock thickens as he rubs against you.
Javier’s mind clouds with dizziness, his hold tender. He can’t seem to fathom that out of all people, he was the one you wanted. And soon, he was going to be the one to watch your eyes widen in surprise as your walls stretched around his length, slowly easing his cock further into you for the first time, waiting for the immediate pinch you’d feel from him, your walls welcoming something new, something euphoric.
“You sure hermosa?” he questions, his voice pained. Javier wants this as much as you do, but he asks you anyway, needing to make sure that you’re certain. “S’that what you want? You don’t wanna wait a little longer?”
You give him a smile. A smile that holds truth and a stare full of confidence and sureness. You’re tired of waiting. “Yes,” you breathe out, “yes, I’m sure. Please don’t make me to wait anymore.”
A devilish smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Come here cariño,” he assists, holding you closer and moving you to the front of the sofa, resting you down and lying his body on top of yours.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, lips kissing the permanent blush on your cheeks, “you won’t have to worry about a thing. You just tell me how you wanna do this.”
He makes your heart flutter. You trusted Javier, more than anyone you’d ever known and here he was, being so honest and gentle with you.
There’s no one else you’d want to share this moment with.
He holds his frame light above you, almost feather like, both his palms lying flat at the sides of your head. You can feel a radiation of heat steaming off his body, and you want it closer.
You lift your mouth and kiss him, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hands move down your body, knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady.
This time wasn’t like the previous times you and Javier had shared. This time, Javier is taking a moderate and balanced pace to explore you and your body. He understands where you like to be touch and kissed, those spots that would have you calling out his name, his fingers gliding places he knew were sensitive.
“Can I see you querida?” he politely asks and you’re quick to oblige his request. He removes your top, hauling the material up and throwing it onto the floor, leaving you in a white bra. It’s nothing sexy, as you hadn’t expected to be here with him right now, but by the way Javier eyes you with a hungry gaze, he may be thinking something else completely.
You’re nervous, and it’s an emotion that’s difficult to disguise. Yes, Javier had seen most of you, but throughout everything he hadn’t removed any item of clothing above your waist. You were yet to fully show yourself to Javier, and it causes your anxiousness to pump loudly against your rib cage, ready to break through the fragile bone. It’s simply deafening.
His fingers follow your bra strap, arms wrapping under as you lift your back up, arching it off the sofa whilst he unhooks the clasp, fiddling with it for a couple seconds until finally, it comes loose.
Javiers eyes wonder down, his stare burning hot into your skin as he looks at your bare chest. Your nipples are already hard, caused by the cold air and the darkness of his pupils.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, knees moving down the sofa and bringing his mouth to your breasts. He swirls his tongue around your sensitive nub, flicking and pinching you with his lips and teeth. The gasp you release is high pitched, his tongue warm and sticky on your skin causing your eyes to roll back, fingers pulling on his hair and keeping his mouth locked in place.
Javier breaths heavily against you, his grunts wavering and your chest damp and fiery, sparkling that match inside your core.
Rutting your hips into his growing erection you plead out his name, the roughness of his jeans catching on your clothed clit.
You’re so close already, the friction on your pulsing core and Javier’s mouth leading you closer to lightening-like bliss. You need to feel his cock, squeezing your hand underneath his body and cupping him, his forehead resting on your shoulder, mewling at the touch.
“Please, Javi,” you beg, fingers clutching onto his hard erection, “I want you.”
His lips that were latched on your nipple leave his mouth with a light ‘pop’, his tongue poking out to lick his pinkish lips.
“What is it mi amor? Tell me, what is it you want exactly?”
Your gaze lowers to his jeans, realising how constricted they look. Unintentionally, your own mouth fills with saliva, a daring need to feel him on your tongue.
“I…I wanna make you feel good.”
“You are bebe,” he consoles, “you are. Just look at you, lying here looking all pretty for me.”
“Javier please,” you flush and tone hesitant, “it’s just…I—I wanna feel you in my mouth.”
A breath hitches in Javiers throat, your words hitting him right in his gut like a harsh punch and winding him. His cock pulsates and twitches in his boxers.
“Yeah?” he questions, “s’that right? You wanna suck my cock bebita?”
You pause. “I do,” you confess, forcing him back by his chest so he’s put in a seating position, his feet flat on the floor.
Moving yourself, you rest your knees on the carpet below, hands yanking at his belt buckle and loops, unbuttoning his jeans along with pulling down his zipper. The outline of his head is visible through his boxers and your voice stops halfway up your throat. He’s clearly hard and he looks thick, the grey colour of his boxers now a darker shade from the pre-come that drips from his tip, the spot glistening in the sheer light covering his apartment.
You’ve wanted to do this for him for so long. He deserves this. But what happens if you’re not good at it? Or worse, what happens if he doesn’t like it? This is a newly discovered experience, and you didn’t want to fuck it up.
You can’t recall the seconds that have passed, eyes just staring at him and his cock. Javier’s tone breaks through the anxiety.
“You don’t have to do this hermosa,” he says, the words soothing and thumb faintly stroking your hands, “y’remember what I said? That first time in the filing room?”
Of course you remember, how could you ever forget?
“So, you know this is all for you,” Javier states, “I wanna make you feel good, make sure you feel comfortable.”
“I know Javi,” you say, heart thumping at his kindness. And that’s why your fingers don’t stop, hands still tugging at the waistband of his boxers.
“I wanna do this. It’s just…I wanna make it pleasurable for you.”
“It will be querida, I promise,” Javier replies, smirking at your innocence, that fucking smirk of his. “Don’t you go shy on me. Go on, start off by taking these off.”
Fuck.
Javier lifts his hips up to help you, and with your digits hooked under his boxers, you drag them down his sun-kissed thighs.
His erection lands on his stomach, the tip of his cock a swollen red and wet. His pre-come covers the sides of his length and rests pretty on his tummy.
Your eyes bulge at the sight. Holy shit. He’s bigger than you had anticipated, veins travelling up the sides and the base of him covered in thick, dark, curly hair. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a heavy weight pooling on the surface of your tongue, you lick your lips.
Javier snarls, “Now look at that pretty girl,” he teases, sliding his thumb across your parted mouth. “Already so desperate to have my cock fill your mouth, aren’t you.”
“Yes…,” the confession plummeting out of you, “Javi, tell me what—“
“I will hermosa,” he kindly interrupts before your apprehension gets the better of you. “Don’t be so nervous, do just what I say, okay? M’here to help you.”
You needed that, a gulp of thickened air you swallowed and had been holding onto was suddenly being released from your lungs, less suffocating.
Your hands dance at the top of his thighs, fingers inching closer to the coarse hairs that scattered his pubic region. You stop, movements still, waiting for his instructions.
“Take me in your hands cariño,” he teaches, his palms resting flat on the sofa either side of him, “just lick the tip for now, get me nice and wet.”
You take him in your hand, like he asked, your tongue poking out of your mouth and moving closer, hovering over his tip. Cautiously, you lick the slit, collecting the salty liquid. It surprises you, but you quite like the taste. That saltiness mixed with Javiers own flavour. It makes you want more, and this time you eagerly swirl your tongue around the head, adding more pressure as you do so.
“M’fuck,” Javier groans, his head dropping back onto the sofa, fingers finding a place on your scalp, threading his digits through your hair, “that’s it honey, keep doing just that.”
Your tongue was so hesitant at first, doe eyes beaming up at his features. With each lick you reverse every furrowed brow, the pull of his bottom lip and the grunts that slip from his mouth. He moans out loud at a certain swipe of your tongue across his seam, so you repeat the motion, over and over and over again.
“You look so pretty bebe,” he grunts, “fuckin’ made to suck my cock weren’t you. Keep kissing it hermosa, feels real nice.”
Javiers praises make you bold, circling your tongue round more confidently and dropping your mouth on him, the whole head of his cock filling the inside of your mouth.
You do that for a while, hand kept still as you hold him at the base, your tongue doing all the work.
“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Javier murmurs, “you can—shit, you can take more of me in your mouth, if you’re comfortable.”
Just as you’re about to lower your mouth, Javier cups your cheek, his voice breaking, “remember to breathe through your nose bella, it’ll relax your throat. And don’t take more than you can’t handle okay? You can use your hand to help.”
You inch his cock further into your mouth, remembering to slowly inhale and exhale through your nose to ease your throat. His length glides through your mouth and you hollow your cheeks around him, using your hand with the rest of his cock you can’t fit inside.
With each rise and fall of your lips you take more of him, sliding his length further down your throat, but not so far that it’ll cause you to gag. The filthy sound of your slurping spreads through his apartment. It becomes smutty and loud and Javier sighs above you, his hold on your head now much firmer and you moan around his length.
You peer up at him and he looks wrecked. His own mouth is parted, his forehead covered in a glittery sheen of sweat, his chest rising and stomach tight. Your heart fills with pride, you love how your mouth’s pulling him into that state of pleasure.
The vibrations around Javier’s cock causes him to subconsciously buck his hips up, the tip of his cock instantaneously hitting the back of your throat and causing you gag and cough around him.
His eyes widen in shock, “fuck hermosa—,” Javier yelps, hands pulling you back as his cock leaves your mouth in a crude gasp. A line of saliva trails from his tip to your bottom lip, his whole length saturated and drenched, and Javier could come just from that sight alone.
“Shit, you okay cariño?”
You can’t help but cough and your eyes start to tear up, an overcast of blurred vision.
“Yes Javi,” you cough out, your voice laboured. “You didn’t hurt me, I’m okay.”
You gaze at his cock, lying damp and stiff in the palm your hand. You enjoyed having him in your mouth, and by the way you can feel your wetness seep through your underwear, it’s clearly evident.
“I really liked doing that,” you blurt out.
“Yeah?” Javier chuckles, “that’s good cariño. You did so well, felt fucking incredible.”
You’d blush if your cheeks weren’t already red. You wipe the remains of your saliva off your chin with the back of your palm.
“That’s enough for now, cosa linda,” Javier says, “come ‘ere.”
His lips are back on yours, shocked that he doesn’t seem bothered that you’d just had your mouth on him. His kisses move across your face, nipping at your ear and moving lower to your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you allow him more access, fingers clinging onto the back of his jacket.
“Fuck I can’t wait to be inside this pussy bella,” he confesses, sucking and biting your skin, “thought about this for so long. You have no idea how many times I’ve fucked my hand thinking it was your pussy wrapped around me.”
Fuck you want him right now. “I need it Javi. Need you. Please, take me to bed.”
He’s quick to lift you up into your wobbly legs, shifting his arm under your knees and carrying you up to his bedroom.
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
Javier’s on his knees and your calves touch the end of his bed, hands resting atop his shoulders to keep you upright. His hands slide up your legs, fingers fiddling with the button and zipper on your trousers, his digits tugging until the material pools at your ankles.
He helps you remove them without hurry, his stare fixed in your face as you watch his with a hooded gaze, lustful.
There’s no worries or no interruptions, just a small, compact space full of admiration.
His moustache drifts over your skin and tickles your bare thighs, goosebumps rising with each swipe of his lips. He kisses your hipbone, his mouth a distraction as his fingers slide your underwear down.
“So fucking beautiful like this hermosa,” he says truthfully, a clear devotion heard in his words.
“Go and lie down for me, get comfortable mi amor.”
Your back lands onto his neatly made covers. Your spine shivers from the coldness, his quilt soft and swallowing you further into the mattress.
You’ve never entered Javiers bedroom before. His room’s barely lit, the blinds wide and keeping the sun out that’s just about to set. The walls are painted with a dark cream colour and his decor is minimalistic. A wardrobe in the corner, a desk, a small bedside table sitting next to his double bed. You like it, it seems well known and cosy, it matches Javier perfectly.
You lie on full display, body exposed and frozen with suspense. “Javi,” you whisper, his name coming out velvety and sweet, limbs reaching out to him.
“I know cariño, I know,” he hushes, removing the rest of his clothes, his thick muscles tensing in his arms once he unbuttons his white shirt.
“Fuck,” the word comes out before you can even register what you’ve just said. You think Javier must have heard it too, but your mind’s too busy in appreciating his physique to care.
He’s so beautiful.
You clench your thighs together. You already know that you’re soaked for him, your pussy wet and folds messy and dripping onto the cover below.
“You want me to fuck this pussy princesa?” he teases you, hand fisting his hard cock and giving it a few tugs, “you gonna tell me how bad you’ve wanted this?”
You moan, the view in front overwhelming. Your chest lifts and falls, back arching off the mattress and eager for his touch, “I do Javi. Want you so bad.”
He crawls up to you on his hands and knees, his cock hanging hard and long in between his legs. He looks down at your form and parts your legs with both hands, nestling his body on top of you. You can feel his length on the inside of your thighs.
He brushes your hair off your face with the gentlest of touches, moving the strands behind your ears.
“You really are something querida, delicioso.”
His mouths latches on your breasts again, licking his tongue around the flesh and sucking your nipple. You whine at the sensation, your breasts already sensitive to his mouth and hands.
“Fuck, Javi,” You sigh, “that feels…”
“Tell me,” He ushers, his big, brown eyes looking up at you as he continues his assault.
“Good. So fucking good,” you moan.
His hands follow a path and meet their place in between your legs, fingers parting and rubbing your wetness through your folds.
You gasp, hand wrapping around his wrists, “please. Javi, I don’t—“
“What is it hermosa?” he asks, stopping his motions, “what don’t you want? I thought—”
“—No Javi, it’s not that. I’m—I’m ready please,” you babble out impatiently, “just…I want you inside me.”
“Necesitada,” Javier snickers, “I gotta prepare you cariño. Let me open you up first, gonna make sure you’re ready for me. Promise you’ll have me soon.”
Taking two of his fingers, Javier pushes them past your opening, scissoring and curving them upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion. You cry at the feeling, your walls making room and preparing for his size.
“So warm on my fingers bebe,” he seduces, “and so fucking wet. Gonna glide so easily in your pussy mi amor. You think you’re ready for me?”
With your breathing erratic, you nod at him, “yes, Javi, please.”
He removes his fingers from you, shifting his weight and pulling the drawer out on his bedside table and reaching for a pack of condoms. You gaze at him as his fingers slide it onto his length, and when it’s done and secure, he leans back over you.
He kisses you, the weight of him sweltering. He presses his chest up to yours and rests on his forearm, his other hand grips his cock and rubs it through your folds.
You pant against his mouth avidly, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance and smearing against your clit, your pussy fluttering as you wait.
Fuck, this is it.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, his tone quiet, “anytime you feel uncomfortable, I want you to say, okay? Need you to talk to me while I do this.”
Gently, he prods his tip at your opening, eyes averted to your face as he slowly and carefully eases his tip inside you, his hand rubbing tender circles on your hip.
You show no sign of discomfort. “Alright? I’m gonna push—“
“Fuck Javi, please. Please just do it.”
“A needy little thing aren’t you querida,” Javier grins, pressing more of his length deeper inside your walls. He grits his teeth hard, forehead nesting in the crevice of your neck.
“Shit sweetheart—,” he winces, his eyebrows furrowing in, “fuck you’re so goddamn tight.”
Aiming to slow your breathing, you open your legs wider as you feel his girth stretch you open, his groin moving forward. It hurts there is no denying it, it’s an unpleasant sting, but not so painful that you’d tell him to stop.
Your eyes clamp shut, fingernails digging into his shoulder as you hiss, feeling a burn in the centre of your core.
“Hermosa,” Javier murmurs, keeping himself still, “open your eyes. Keep them on me bebita. Y’want me to stop?”
“No Javi, don’t.” You really don’t want him to stop. “I’m fine, jus’…please, kiss me.”
He kisses you tenderly, humming into your mouth. With every part of him sliding inside you, your body starts to relax, and that initial prick gradually eases away. It still rather uncomfortable, but you know once he begins to move, it’ll get better.
Once he fully sheaths himself to the brim, he halts his movements, giving you time to adjust to him.
“There you go,” Javier worships, his words slow and dragged out. “The worst parts over now bebe. Y’doing so well. That’s it, relajarse.”
You both breathe in-sync, his breath easing your muscles and calming.
His legs shudder, a crinkled line indented in between his brows. Every inch of willpower is forcing him not to thrust up into you and fuck you hard, but he can’t do that to you, knowing that he’s already difficult to accommodate to.
Your next words are a fucking blessing.
“You can move Javi, please move.”
Javier draws his hips back and pushes forward. There’s a sudden emptiness you feel, until he thrusts his whole length into you again. You whimper out to him, his mouth hanging over yours as he grunts into your open mouth.
You can’t describe the way it feels, the way he feels. He’s so deep, he cock makes you core hot and butterflies flitter in your lower stomach.
“Fuck, talk to me querida,” Javier pleads breathlessly, “tell me how you’re feeling.”
Javiers thrusts are long but slow, and with each push the pleasure expands and courses through you. “Feels good now javi,” you breathe out, “it feels— fuck!“
Javier hand had curved under your ass and lifted it off the bed, the new angle causing the tip of his cock to hit your g-spot. You immediately wrap your legs around his lower back, keeping him as close as possible.
He laughs, adoring your reaction, “yeah? Right there?” he asks as he hurries his pace and you shout, his cock bringing your orgasm round fast.
“Yes, fuck r-right there,” you weep. “Oh my god Ja-avi.”
“Shit this pussy feels so fucking good,” he moans loudly, his tongue licking up your chin and sucking on your bottom lip.
“You’re mine now princesa,” he claims, “no one gets to feel this pussy apart from me.”
He picks up even more speed, fucking into your cunt hard and fast. He grips your jaw and cheeks tight, constraining you, so you have to stare at his face.
“You’re mine,” Javier growls, “shit—bebe, tell me who you belong to.”
You can feel that knot in your centre tighten, your walls pulsing and twitching all over his length, you grip onto his shoulders.
“Y-you Javi,” you stutter, “fuck I belong to you. Always yours, please.”
His hand moves and the tips of his fingers circle your clit. You’re close, so fucking close and with that added pressure of his fingers, it’ll tip you over the edge.
“Oh my, Javi I’m gonna—“
“Y’gonna come?” he says, quickening the swirls on your bundle of nerves, “fuck querida go on, come on my cock, that’s it.”
The tip of your fingers dig into him as your orgasm crashes over you, your stomach twisting and thighs tightening against him. It feels fucking incredible, his cock hitting your precious spot relentlessly and prolonging that feeling of ecstasy flourishing through your skin.
“Buena niña,” Javier praises, his hips never ceasing as he chases his own high. Your walls constrict, pussy drenching his cock with more of your release.
“M’gonna come,” Javier warns, his movements faltering and body slumping. With one last forceful push, Javiers orgasm ripples through him, moaning out a string of curse words as he fills the condom with his come.
“Fuck me,” he chokes and praises your name, his breathing fast as his arms wrap under you, keeping himself shielded inside you.
Your trace patterns on his dampened back, feeling the lively pace of his heart, the rhythm heard in your eardrums.
A couple minutes go by like this, and once Javier gathers the energy, he slides his weight off you and rests beside you.
Javier’s the first to talk. “You alright cariño? How was it? Wasn’t too rough with you was I?”
You smile, hands rubbing his scalp and digits lacing through his messy hair, “No Javi, you weren’t. It was perfect.”
He nudges your nose with his own, hoisting himself off the bed and walking towards the bathroom. He freshens you up, covering your body with his bed sheet to keep you warm and once he’s finished that, he lies next to you.
“Thank you, Javi,” you say after a moments silence, staring up at his ceiling. He looks at you confused.
“I just wanted—,” you sigh, a sudden shyness mixed in with your voice, “you’ve been really good to me. And so patient, I appreciate it so much.”
“Y’don’t have to thank me querida. If anyone should be saying thank you, it’s me.”
Your eyebrows droop, ready to question him but this time, Javier’s quick to reply.
“You trusted me with something personal,” he says quietly, “got me thinking about how important you are to me.”
Your heart rapidly beats at his words, swallowing down the lump you can feel in your throat.
“You already know that, don’t you. You’re pretty much the only thing that gets me through days when shit gets tough.”
Your face rests on his chest, giving it a quick peck, “You’re important to me too Javi. And this may be a stupid question but…I’m hoping this isn’t just a one-time thing?”
Fuck, please say no.
He looks down at you through his eyelashes, a mumbled chuckle petting your cheek. He smirks at you.
“Oh, definitely not a one-time thing mi amor.” You gulp. “You have no idea what else I’ve got planned for you. You’ve got so much to learn.”
Swiftly, he fits in between your legs again and you wheeze in shock. His face holds a mocking expression, and you laugh.
He rubs the end of his finger over your lip, watching with seduction as you lick the tip. He pushes forward and you take his digit into your mouth and moan.
“Fucking hell, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into querida,” he says almost like a warning, “you’re playing a very dangerous game y’know that?”
You don’t. But that’s what makes it exciting.
“Then show me.”
His finger leaves your mouth as he hums. “Rest first cariño,” he says, kissing your lips. Javier turns off the light on his bedside table and hugs you from behind. His breathing tickles the back of your neck, and before you can say goodnight, you fall into one of the best and quickest sleeps you’ve ever had.
