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davosmymaster · 1 year

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No Time To Die

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no explicit smut but sexual themes, whump, a lot of angst, blood, graphic wounds and procedures (?) probably not medically accurate, could be almost gore if you squint, hurt/comfort, two dorks in love, canon-typical violence, near-death experiences. Not based on the game, I don’t know anything about the game and I don’t want spoilers please.

PAIRINGS - Joel Miller x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 9.6k.

SUMMARY - The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

A/N - I honestly don’t know what this is. I tried to look for angsty and whumpy fics and couldn’t find any that hit the spot just right; so I wrote my own. This story is set in some time between 2010 and 2020, or so. Bill and Frank are still very much alive. The only warning apart the amount of blood in this, it’s my own knowledge of the English language.

'Breathe'

With a shiver, you try to comply with your own command. The action itself confuses you, and you don't know where exactly in your mind that thought came from; or why. All you know is that a moment ago you were nothing, absolutely nothing, not even human. You forgot your own existence in a still ocean made of black thick ink. The ink is now backtracking, though, but the remnants of it stay in your foggy mind, clouding it as your consciousness comes back in waves.

Waking up from a dream is easy, you just come back into yourself from a nice trip to your own imagination. Regaining consciousness, however, is a little more difficult. Instead of going somewhere, you go inwards into yourself. Your overworked mind, already tired and busy with keeping you alive, doesn't care much about bringing you to any other place so you can die peacefully. No. And the awakening is not as it should be either.

Coming back into yourself is your body crawling its way to the land of the living, with your flesh drenched in tears, blood and sweat; and nails digging firmly into the dirt. At least that's how it feels as you go back and forth between the two worlds, rocked violently by the waves threatening to drown you in its heavy never-ending dream.

You wake up tired, and cold. The first sense that returns is touch; and with it, a pulsing pain radiates from under the right side of your collarbone and all the way down to your chest and back. The —obvious— wound is warmer than the rest of your body. It's like you've grown a second heart right at the borders of the wound; it throbs relentlessly. The second is taste. Your mouth tastes like salt and melted butter; despite not having eaten either in at least three days. Around the dryness of your tongue you feel a sticky liquid swirling around in your mouth, plastered to your gums.

Whatever it is, you cough it out of your mouth. The old blackened blood splatters on the wooden planks below your mouth. Then, a second later, you feel a sprawled hand on your back; and the rest of your consciousness returns with it.

He calls your name. And he, whose presence you'd have recognized even blindfolded, even miles away from there, doesn't appear in your mind for a few seconds. But even half-conscious and at death's gates, his name leaves your mouth with a sigh of relief.

Joel.

"I'm here," he says, his palm now pressing a bit harder into your back, trying to comfort you somehow. If you had been fully aware, you'd have been embarrassed at the relieved groan that had escaped your lips while saying his name. "How are you feeling?"

His voice sounds less muffled now, but the pulsing pain intensifies the closer you are to the surface. A second groan escapes your mouth as the warmth under your collarbone becomes impossible to ignore.

"I know, I know" he says.

Your eyes flutter open. From your point of view there's not much to see except torn wallpaper, your blood stains, and the shadow of a window. You're on the floor, your cheek pressed against the dusty carpet, your body very still laying on them, and Joel rubbing your back.

The room is dark. His fingers enter your field of vision, they dip on the wet blood stains and turn around so Joel can see the sticky fluid staining his fingers. He takes a breath, a gasp, really.

"Goddamnit," he mutters under his breath. His hand stops rubbing your back, and as black stains crawl from the corners of your vision, trying to take you under the waves again, he talks to you:

"I need to turn you around..." he says with a gentle voice. It's like the icing on top of a sour and burnt cake; he's trying to sound caring, but that doesn't change the fact that it's going to hurt like a bitch. "You hear me?" he says, and his voice breaks for a second. Your ears ring, the next thing he says your brain doesn't process it, your vision has been clouded by darkness again...

A scream tores your throat as a shooting pain lights your body on fire. It feels like lightning going through your backbone. Suddenly, the waves are very far away and you're feeling way too conscious for your liking. Despite your pain, Joel is still as careful as he can as he lays you on the floor, now facing the ceiling instead.

The throbbing pain continues, and you blink to get rid of the tears that distort Joel's face. His hand wipes the tears from your face.

"I know," he says. He has a crease between his seemingly angry eyebrows that you had never seen before.

Both hands are roaming your ribs now, before you can even say anything. His warm hands give you shivers as he touches your naked skin. The pain is so unbearable that all you can do to mitigate it is hold your breath. If you could move, you'd be right now curled on the floor like a pretzel. You are not crying anymore, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't close.

"Can you breathe?" he asks then, when he doesn't find any cracks in your ribs by touch alone. You don't respond because you can't find your own voice, and he sounds desperate at this point. "You coughed blood, I need to know if any of your lungs are collapsing."

"It-it hurts..." you wheeze, your eyes tightly shut. For a split second, you wish you were back to being nothing. Being nothing sounds way better than having a gunshot wound in your chest. The bandages, tight over your bones and shoulder, don't mitigate the pain either. If anything, they worsen it. It feels like a tight sock over a painful pustule on your heel.

Worst part is you know all this pain is for nothing; you know you won't make it. If you go back to the QZ, you will be executed. If not, there's nobody to help you except Joel. But even if there were doctors or hospitals, you highly doubted you could find the necessary tools to extract a bullet and stitch the wound. That is, if you manage not to die of blood loss.

"Where?" Joel asks. Even beyond all this concern and well-hidden panic, he seems to cling to an ounce of hope. "Tell me where it hurts."

Your fingers gently trace your skin until they reach the area under your collarbone, and you sign to your back too. There's a bandage there, but nothing else, and that's when you notice you don't have a shirt on, just your blood-soaked bra.

"Is it bad?"

"Not that bad. The bullet went through," he said. That explains the pain on both sides of your body; you have a literal hole in your chest. "And it clotted soon enough to stop the bleeding, but you lost too much blood anyway... Anywhere else?"

Your whole body hurts and this abandoned house suddenly feels like penance, but you don't want to scare him further, so you shake your head no very slowly.

"Alright," he mumbles. Joel nods once, and it looks like he is reassuring himself. His eyes betray him, he looks like he is very far away from here, very buried under all the scenes playing on his mind; but despite his stillness, his lower lip quivers.

You can't move your right arm at all, but with the other hand, your fingers lightly touch his knuckles still resting on your stomach. He winces, and your fingers are wet with his blood too. He must have beaten to death whoever shot you, that you are certain about.

Your voice, little more than a weak breath, whispers:

"I-I want you to do it."

The crease between his eyebrows deepens. He seems confused rather than angry; the reaction you were hoping for. You take a breath to repeat your own words, but he squeezes your hand.

"Don't," he says.

"Joel..."

"Don't even think about it," he snarls. "You are perfectly fine, don't be dramatic."

You don't know what hurts more; his pain or yours, but his denial makes your eyes wet with tears again. This is already hard, but he is making it even harder. All he will achieve by trying to keep you alive is either prolonging his pain or getting himself killed. You both know this is no world for the injured and the sick, not out of the QZ, at least. And in most cases, not inside either.

All you ask of him is to not leave you for the infected to find. Is that too much to ask?

You want to insist, but you know he won't have it. Joel has lost so much already that the thought of losing what little left he has is not even going to cross his mind. Not until it's too late, at least. Also, you don't want your last moments with him to be a fight. You are tired of fighting, of swimming against the current. You just want to let go for once, give in to the external forces, close your eyes and peacefully breathe.

What's more, you should have already known that he wouldn't do you that favor. He is too selfish for that.

He pats your cheeks gently with his large hands, and your eyes, already rolling back into your skull, get focused on him again with a few blinks. You breathe slowly, trying to focus on him, on the world around you slowly twisting and turning.

"...that's it," he says, it doesn't sound like his first sentence, so you guess he's been talking to you before. When you look back at him, his breathing is shallow, and you know he is trying to take a hold of himself too, trying not to give in to panic. "Good girl, that's it. Keep your eyes on me."

Exhausted and hurting as you are, keeping your eyes open it's like asking you not to drop a weight that you cannot, in fact, handle; but you try nonetheless. It's your fault, really, for letting yourself go, for trying to give up on your fight earlier than you should. Joel is here trying to keep you alive, mending all your broken ends and stitching them together —he has always been good at that— while you're just trying to give up on him —you are really good at that too—.

Giving up on Joel has been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do; and now you're letting him go for the last time. Part of you is glad you don't have to keep watching how he chooses Theresa over and over again. You are even relieved that fate —or whatever there is out there— is forcing you out of the equation. After all, you would never have given up fully on him.

He refuses to kill you, what he doesn't know is that you've been dead for a long while now. Him being your executioner would be the kindest act he could have with you, the most intimate thing you'd ever share; your last moments. You want it to be him, you want him to free you from this torment.

He refuses, though; and it feels like a punch to the pit of your stomach. You shiver.

He gets up from his place on the floor, where you are lying just over the carpet. You follow him with your eyes and see a fire cracking up in a fucked-up chimney. He stokes the fire, throws some more wood on it and then comes back to you, covering you with his jacket, the very same jacket you had on before he turned you around. It's warm, his, and you have to stop yourself from sinking your nose into the collar.

"I had to take off your shirt to patch you up," he says, but he doesn't say sorry. Ever. So you guess it's his way of apologizing.

You simply nod, aware that you had wished for this very moment to happen many times before. You had dreamt of his rough hands over your naked flesh, caressing the sides of your body. You had dreamt of him watching you with those chocolate eyes as you took your shirt off, deep black pupils spreading over the brown as he watched the lace fall like a helpless witness.

But now the bra was covered in blood and he was watching you anywhere but the lace. He had a frightened and concerned look on his face, rather than aroused. A look that would have made you feel guilty and ashamed if it had happened in the other scenario. And instead of undressing you, he was covering your body with his jacket as if you were his child.

"What's wrong?" he is asking now, instead of whispering 'I want you' and it hurts all the same to know he's not ever going to say it, and that Tess now will have all those words for however long their lives are.

You guess they were made for each other. And it makes all the sense, really, no one like Joel would ever look at you twice. You were grateful that he even allowed you to be his friend.

"Nothing," you respond.

It's always 'nothing' when it comes to Joel. It's always that nothing whenever he notices you are under the weather. It's always nothing when you are hurt, when someone tries to rob you and they leave an angry black eye on your face. It's always nothing; and he never believes you.

"I don't make promises, you know that," he says, taking your left hand in his. "but you will be fine, I swear."

You don't know what to say, how to explain that you are not scared of death, that you are just scared of not seeing him again. But you can't, so you say nothing and just nod.

Does he want to hurt himself? Okay. You can't do much while lying on the floor anyway.

After that, both of you stay silent. Joel seems to be avoiding looking at you. His eyes are stuck in the fire creaking in the chimney, but they are too restless to be present and conscious of the yellow and orange haze.

Your palm lands on his thigh, your fingers gently brushing the denim. You want to comfort him somehow, but, at the same time, you are scared he will reject your touch and reassurance. That's all you can do for him: no words, no further touching, just a featherlight touch that indicates you are still present. There, with him.

"I thought we couldn't make a fire."

"Don't be dumb. The windows are all broken, it's winter and you are in shock. How else would you heat up?"

"Got it. You're not in a talking mood," you huff. "Alright."

Silence settles between both of you. However, one of his big, rough hands travels to where your fingertips are gently brushing his thigh. At the touch, even if you don't want to let go, your fingers begin to back off. He's not in a good mood, and you seem to be pushing his boundaries a little too much. Except that, instead of letting you go, he catches your hand in his and puts it back over his jean. This time, it's him who brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

For a minute, the only sound in the living room are both your breathing patterns, the flames licking the air and the wind rushing through the broken windows.

"I'm sorry..." you start. And immediately, his brown eyes are all over you again. Your voice sounds exhausted, more than you'd have liked. "...I fucked up the mission. I know-"

"You haven't fucked up anything," he interrupts. That's Joel, all stoic, swallowing his feelings and denying everything that it is not up to his standards. "Would you mind to just rest-"

Your eyes well with tears.

"Joel, for once... Just for once, don't lecture me, don't ignore what I'm trying to say just because you don't want to hear it," you tell him. Then, he thankfully presses his lips together in a pained grimace, but stays silent nonetheless. "I fucked up the mission getting injured. I know it isn't my fault, but it doesn't matter whose fault it is. If you wanna go on without me, I won't blame you."

His fingers are now squeezing yours, but you know he is not even conscious of that. He leans in a little, his cheeks now reddened in anger. He looks like he is about to spit on your face.

"I'm not leaving you anywhere," he says. He looks offended that you even thought he was capable of that. "You and I are gonna get to Lincoln, either if you like it or not. There, Bill and Frank will help you. We have traded all kinds of things with them, and I know they are very well supplied."

"Why would they help me?"

"They are not just people we trade with," he says. His fingertips brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I know they will."

"What if they changed their minds?"

His pupils lock into your own, his jawline swells as he grits his teeth.

"I'm persistent."

The mission was supposed to be an easy one. Walk out of the QZ undetected, walk fifteen miles to the town of Lincoln, just outside Boston, get our things and come back. Our cargo were the two last spools of aluminum that Joel had promised to trade with them and two packets of seeds. Theirs? Two pounds of rolling tobacco and a gun. Tess couldn't make it, she had appointments with other smugglers, probably the ones who snuck the drugs in; which was more than half of their business. If it wasn't that important, she wouldn't have stayed in the QZ for anything in the world. But Bill and Frank were also important, and Joel couldn't go alone.

The two of you should be home by now, and you wondered if Tess was regretting her decision of asking you to go with him. Last night you had both snuck out of the Boston QZ; and it usually didn't take more than six hours to get to Lincoln. But just outside the city you had bumped into raiders; and a stray bullet had hit you. Now you were stranded in a small cabin lost in the woods, about seven miles away from Lincoln; and unable to walk a single step.

And to top it all off, Joel was enraged and neurotic.

Still with the same expression, he takes your wrist and squeezes two fingers into it. Even if you had preferred him not to, knowing that your heartbeat got wild whenever he was around. You let him check on you, hoping that if your symptoms got better he would let you have a quick nap. Your nervousness, however, doesn't improve despite your efforts of trying to calm yourself down.

"Since when are you a doctor?"

He lets your wrist go, then gets back on his feet and gets his rifle.

"You should rest. You'lll need it," he says, now heading to the entrance. He's gonna be standing on guard all night, you are sure of that. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."

That is when you lose it. You can't believe he is that blind, that caught up in his own world.

"I know in your perfect fantasy this is just a scratch, but I truly can't move, Joel. Even laying here awake is hard. How am I supposed to follow...? Joel!"

But he's out of the house before you even finish the sentence.

[***]

Joel doesn't keep his word.

A few hours later, not even near dawn yet, you get pulled back from a dream. Your eyes take a few minutes to register your surroundings; again. And the memories gallop back to your mind in a rush; accompanied by the burning and piercing pain on the upper right side of your chest. Your eyes shut tight, and you inhale a shallow breath. Even breathing hurts.

"We need to go," Joel whispers. His voice sounds muffled, especially over the sound of your beating heart. "C'mon, wake up."

He is once again rocking you rather than shaking you awake. Just to be able to fall asleep you had rolled back into your chest, cheek once again firmly pressed against that twenty-year-old dusty carpet. When he came back from checking the perimeter, not even five minutes after your argument, he placed his backpack right under your stomach so your right side was elevated. You wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if it wasn't for that. The pain was maddening, atrociously painful. Joel had found you gritting your teeth even in your sleep.

He had said you'd leave the next day, but you felt like not even minutes had passed.

"Morning," you complained, half a grunt accompanying your words. Joel shook you gently again when he saw you relax a second time, and your voice came back. "Y-you said...mor-"

"I know what I said but we can't wait any longer," he answered. "I'm gonna sit you up."

Fear pumped enough adrenaline into your system to wake you up. The ache from before rushed back into your mind, and your 'please' and 'wait' left your mouth like a prayer.

"I can do it," you said, but it sounded more like begging than an affirmation.

"I know you can," he lied. As your eyes opened and you saw his expression —eyes focused on you, trembling hands, half of his face hidden in the shadows, the other half gently licked by the orange-like haze of the dying fire— you understood that you had to be in a really bad condition for him to look at you that way, and feel the need to lie to make you feel better. But then, a second right after that, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes fluttered between your face and the surface of his jacket over your shoulders. His stoic mask was back on. "I'm just gonna help you, okay? But you do it."

He did not, in fact, let you do it.

You had managed to lift yourself barely an inch over the carpet, using all the strength left in your healthy arm, when both his hands curled around your side and pulled you up to his chest. Clenching your jaw, you allowed him to drag you a few feet back and into a seating position against the wall; your whole weight over the left side of your body.

"Don't lean on the other side, your shoulder blade is broken."

"Oh..." you almost chuckled. "Great."

For a second, Joel looks at you as if you were completely insane. He reaches for his backpack, crouching on the place where you were lying just seconds prior. Then takes his flask and doubts when passing it on.

"I'm not that desperate for water," you respond, reaching for the flask and drinking a gulp of the liquid. You swallow despite the soreness in your throat. "Next thing you'll do is spit food into my mouth."

"Not even getting shot shuts your fucking mouth, does it?" he says, grossed out at your comment. However, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Relaxing him has a calming effect on you too.

You try to pass him the flask again, but he refuses.

"No," he says. "Drink it all. You'll need it."

You look at him with narrowed eyes, confused. It's hard to keep a single thought in your head other than the throbbing pain in your chest and back, but you still try. Rather than asking him how you are supposed to walk seven miles, with the aluminum and his pack, you try to approach the matter another way.

"What's the plan?"

He takes a deep breath.

"You're not gonna like it," he says, his deep voice almost slurring the words. It's barely a whisper. He looks into your eyes, then. "I'm gonna carry you."

"What?"

"You heard me."

There's not an ounce of doubt in his eyes. Joel has that look of determination, the one you only really see when he has his eyes set on something really fucking important for him; most times that includes his own brother or not talking about the times before the outbreak. And with that look on his face, you know there's nothing you could possibly say or do to make him reconsider his own words. He's stubborn like that.

You still try.

"It's seven miles, Joel..." you tell him on a thready voice, a whisper. And Joel sighs through his nose —as if he had forgotten. "And we have to carry..."

"We leave everything here," he says. "Come back for it later."

"They won't let us in empty-handed."

"You don't know them."

For Joel to be so certain about it, certain enough as to put both your life and his on the hands of strangers; you understand that their relationship goes beyond trading. Joel had told you about them, about their situation and the first time Tess and him had shared dinner with Bill and Frank. Still, you were suspicious of them, and you thought that he was too; up until now, at least.

"It's still seven miles," you tell him, and you know him, you know he's about to stop talking to you and leave the room if you don't, at least, partly give in to his reasoning. "...are you sure you wanna do it?"

His pleading brown eyes engulf you, then, with an emotion he had never showed before. His gaze diverts for a second to your wound, to the bandages that, as you look at them, you find they are once again covered in blood. They are soaked in it, the skin surrounding it has a large black bruise —internal bleeding, you guess. And when you try to take a full deep breath, you find yourself unable to, at least not at full capacity.

The understanding hits you, then. You don't have much time left.

"I don't have any other choice," Joel says, but what he means is 'I don't want to lose you'.

"Okay."

Not even a full second has passed from your reluctant acceptance, but he is already on his feet. Joel walks to the only table in the room, takes your gun and puts it in his hip, right inside the jean. The only other thing he takes apart from ammo is another set of bandages —and he silently thanks whatever it is out there that he put those there a month ago—. He doesn't have anything to clean the wound, though; and one of his biggest fears is that it might already be infected. Even bandaged it looks bad.

He approaches you, crouches down so he is facing the wound.

"I'm going to tighten the bandage, and I have to keep the pressure," he says, loosening the knot. His fingers are once again stained with you blood, and he has to fight the images of him pressing on your wound from a few hours ago, when he had found you and, with trembling hands, had tried to stop the bleeding coming out in waves. He looks at you, trying to forget the awful picture of your eyes closed, your body limp on the ground. "Bite something."

You reach for the sleeve of his jacket, the one hanging from your shoulders; and put the padded cuff of his jacket into your mouth.

Joel doesn't give you a warning; and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing, either. He presses the heel of his hand right over the covered hole in your chest, with such strength that you wonder if he will end up breaking your clavicle in half. As he presses your body against the wall, you can almost feel the cracked bones in your back smashing against each other.

Needless to say, the pain is blinding. The view of the room, the feeling of his heat around you, the scent of him under your nose... all gone in a matter of seconds. Your vision turns white, all your senses stop functioning. Over the scream that falls from your lips, muffled by the jacket, you hear him say:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He lets go, and your vision immediately darkens, the shadows flowing from the corners of the room quick to reach you. With your last grip on reality you feel yourself melting against the wall, slowly slipping to the side. Joel catches you before you hit the floor.

Cold water is what brings you back. Your breathing quickens at the coldness of it, and the next thing you feel are his wet hands palming your cheeks, throwing water from his flask all over your face.

"C'mon," he mumbles. "I need you awake."

Your eyes flutter open, your whole body relaxed now that he's not applying pressure; but alert enough that your unfocused eyes make a single shape out of him.

While coming back into yourself, Joel does not have any time to lose. He takes his jacket over your shoulders and slips your left arm inside the sleeve, the other, where the wound is, he decides to leave it as it is; and buttons it over your chest so you're not exposed.

"You good?"

In any other situation you'd have said some joke, or just something to piss him off. But as of right now, nothing comes to your clouded mind; and even if something did come, you're too exhausted to even do the mental effort to say it. So you just nod.

"Okay," he nods too, talking to himself inside his head, then takes your face in his hands and looks into your eyes. "You're fine, you hear me? I'm gonna carry you and you're gonna be on my back; so I need you talking all the damn time, alright?

You nod again.

"Starting now."

"Y-yes... okay."

"Good," he says. His hand crawls to the back of your neck, and he joins both your foreheads. He takes quick breaths. He's terrified when he whispers. "You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you."

"Y-you... are?"

"Mm-hmm," he says. And as his words settle into your brain, you feel your chest warm. When you open your eyes and he separates, there's a tear on his cheek, but he's quick to wipe it off. "I'm gonna open the front door."

It's just an excuse, you both know it, but neither dares to say anything. None of you wants to talk about the elephant in the room, the fact that your chances are slim even if this works.

Joel returns quickly, with his lashes wet and reddened eyes. It makes you speechless, to know that all this effort and tears are for you. You'd have never, in a million years, thought you'd ever see Joel Miller cry; let alone for you. He had always been so quiet, so detached from everyone, even from Tess.

Without a word, his hands get hooked on the underside of your thighs. He lifts you up, seemingly effortlessly, and your inner thighs surround his hips. You take a deep breath, again —or at least try to— as you try not to blush and show those feelings you buried long ago. This is not the time, nor the place; so you allow your head to follow his range of motion; forwards. Soon, your nose is pressed against the lapels of his denim shirt. With your good arm, you grab one of his broad shoulders. The other falls limp, and even that little movement hurts like hell.

He freezes, his shoulders now stiff under your hand. His beard grazes your jaw as he tries to look at you, so still in his arms.

"You okay?"

"Yeah..."

Better than okay, you want to respond. Better than I've been in a long time. But you don't.

He leaves you on the table, on the edge, with your legs dangling. His eyes waver for a second as he leaves you there, his hands squeeze your knees in such a brief movement that you wonder if he was even conscious of that. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can't think of what, so he turns around and bends his knees a little to get you to a good height.

"I need you to push yourself up with your good arm," he instructs. "and keep the other still, okay?"

"Okay," you respond, fighting the urge to just nod instead.

Not even following his instructions to a t saves you from the pain. The effort, even with your arm limp in the air, makes your body shudder and an agonizing stab runs through your whole spine. The scream that tores from the depths of your throat is so intense that Joel hesitates to put you back on the table, his back trembles for a second as his body shivers in distress. But, in the end, he has you in the air with a good hold.

He waits, but doesn't hear anything except shallow breaths, doesn't feel anything but the weight of your head over his shoulder.

"You with me?" he asks. He is seconds away from aborting the mission.

"Y-yeah..."

Your arm surrounds his neck loosely. Your fist is closed tightly, grabbing the other shoulder, and he wishes he could touch you, give you some kind of comfort, but he can't let go from his grip under your knees.

Joel does not have the privilege of time, every second is precious, so not even giving it a try, he starts walking as if you weighted nothing. He crosses the front door and the freezing cold wind of the East Coast cuts your cheeks. If he notices —and you know that he has, wearing just his shirt in the middle of the night— he doesn't react.

"Remember what I told you?" he asks.

In less than a minute he has crossed the space from the cabin to the highway, where you were surprised by raiders. You look around, see the bodies of five men sprawled on the floor; lifeless, drowning in a pool of their own blood. One of them has his face mauled to nothing. The sight is so sickening —or maybe you are getting so ill— that a sudden dizziness takes hold of your shivering body.

"Hey..."

"I'm sorry..." you start, teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm sorry I screamed into your ear earlier."

A sound, half a relieved sigh and half a chuckle, leaves his mouth.

"I'm half deaf from that ear anyway."

A light chuckle falls from your lips too. Joel keeps walking west through the highway, and you keep yourself desperately clinging to him for dear life. The moon is your only other companion; without her, you both would be completely blind in the darkness of the night.

[***]

Joel probably hadn't thought about the possibility of taking breaks along the way. That's why, fourty-five minutes later, and under a beautiful sunrise of orange tones, he's struggling to keep going. His knees are screaming for him to stop, his biceps and hands tired of walking with a person's weight over his shoulders. And for the first time in years he remembers the times before the outbreak, when he was capable of lifting and moving huge pieces of furniture; often times on his own, other times with just Tommy.

He might have overestimated his own strength, assuming he was as strong as before. But it seems that not only his mental health has deteriorated after Sarah's death, no. All of him has become older and darker and more broken since then. He hardly recognizes himself in the mirror anymore.

"Joel?"

"Yeah..." he gasps, out of air. "Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying...?"

It is in moments like this that he hates not to be that same person he was before. He wonders if he is, finally, paying for his past sins, for all the people, infected or not, that he has killed.

It is unfair, the fact that you're paying for his piper.

"You should stop for a while," you tell him, your voice low like a whisper. The warm air from your mouth slithers across his skin, up his neck, over his ear, and almost sends a shiver down his spine.

"No."

"Joel..." you huff. Before speaking again, you take a big gulp of air. "We are not getting anywhere if you don't take breaks. You'll just wear yourself off before we reach the halfway mark."

His mind refuses to agree, but it's as if his body takes a relieved breath when he hears the words. Little by little, his body starts to listen to you before his mind does. His thighs are screaming, sore from the pain of exertion; and before he acknowledges, even, his body has stopped moving.

"Okay," he gasps, quick tired breaths quickly entering and leaving his lungs. "...but just a minute, we don't have time for this bullshit."

"Okay," you say, in the same tone he used earlier with you; when he lied and said he knew you could sit up on your own. "Just a minute."

He pulls to the side of the road, and with the last of his strength he kneels down and tries to lay you on the ground as carefully as possible. You fall on your ass on the wet ground, but at least you don't hurt yourself on the spot. He asks you for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours if you are okay.

"I think I'm doing better than you," you respond, but your voice is so exhausted that Joel would love to just lay next to you and lull you to sleep.

He turns around, his whole weight sitting on the grass as he takes gulps of oxygen. His eyes shut tightly, he wipes off a tear of sweat from his temple and looks at you.

Wide-open eyes stare back at you, but just for a split second. He gets closer, his thumb brushing the shoulder of the brown jacket, his brown jacket. His eyes pierce yours.

"Are you sure?"

"That bad do I look?"

Joel doesn't look at you, not at your face getting paler by the second or the dark circles under your eyes, or your hair now dishevelled. He sees you on his memories and can barely recognize you; your skin and eyes always glowing under the sun, your hair always perfectly done. Your job was often to act as an HR for their clients, and very rarely took actual FEDRA jobs that stained your hands; you weren't like Joel, you didn't care about rations or money or whatever.

Expert fingers gently tug at the buttons, unbuttoning them so he could take a look to the wound. He had barely a glimpse of it when your fingers stopped his hands. Joel looks at you with those puppy eyes, as if you were about to faint in the next second.

"If you wanted to see me naked you didn't have to wait until I got shot, you know?"

You had said it in a playful manner, kidding, as a joke; but he saw beyond that. Part of you had only expected him to laugh, the other was dying —not pun intended— for him to kiss you. You'd have never said it if you weren't in this position, you'd have never gotten in between Joel and Tess.

However, he didn't laugh, didn't make any funny remark. The way he looked at you, from under his eyebrows, lit a spark of hope somewhere inside you. Deep, deeper than your conscious mind would have ever reached. Joel didn't say anything, not even chuckled. His eyes came back to the wound, and uncovered the full sight of it.

He had to fight a shocked gasp. His eyes fluttered, while holding his breath, between your own face and the wound. The bandage was still soaked in blood, that he had expected, but not the large bruise growing into your neck; or your right hand slightly paler than the other. He lifted, with trembling fingers, a corner of the bandage, and his action caused a trickle of dark blood to gush out, as if he had crushed a piece of watermelon between his fingers and it was now running down his arm. He looked below, inside his jacket, and saw a trail of blood that landed right into your navel.

This time, it was impossible for him not to react. Not only his face, but also his body. He tried to get back on his two feet again, but before he finished the action, your fist closed around his wrist.

"Joel..." he heard you call.

"We need to go, now."

Pressing your lips in a sad smile, you pulled him to the ground and he sat, mesmerised on that face he had only yet seen once; that time when he got too drunk on a Friday night and told you about Sarah at three in the morning. He felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating at the ends of his fingertips.

"It's okay," you told him. Your gentle touch brushed his palm, danced around over his tan skin. "You can rest."

Joel felt like he was in a fever dream. The setting certainly felt like it. You hadn't left the Boston QZ in a long while, and he had never pictured you out of those big silver walls either. He had not agreed to Tess' idea either, the dangers beyond the walls were almost impossible to escape. Still, Tess and him knew the city, they could get out fairly easily, had done that for a couple years to share stories over dinner with Bill and Frank. And Joel had loved the idea of seeing you sitting at that dinner table next to him, surrounded by a garden full of flowers, going through the dresses in the boutique that Tess had sworn you'd love.

He had not signed up for this.

"We need to go, please..." he tried a second time, but you just shook your head. He understood, somehow, what you meant.

"A minute won't make a difference," you told him. In reality, you wanted to tell him that you'd be dead when he got the both of you to Lincoln, anyway. "If you are tired we will never get there."

Useless and powerless as he felt, his only option was waiting. He took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and took a deep breath. You had never seen him so upset.

"What are you so scared of?"

At your words, his lower lip quivered slightly; it would almost have gone unnoticed if it wasn't because you had been watching him attentively for so many years. He looked at you, eyes barely half open, from under his eyelashes.

"You're very important to me," he said. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, he seemed to be even more breathless than he was before. Joel had a hard time admitting his feelings, even to himself. "I don't know if you understand to what extent you're important to me."

"I know..." you answered, nodding, your hand squeezed his for a second, trying to give him strength. "But you have Tess home, and your brother loves you... It will hurt for a while..."

"Shut. Up."

His eyes were tightly shut when he said it. It was a metaphor, almost, the way his eyes were closed not just to the physical world, but to the whole situation too that he couldn't escape from.

The tip of your tongue wetted your lips.

"What I'm trying to say is... it will pass..."

His chest heaved, his gaps the only sound that filled the space between the two of you. And you continued:

"People die all the time, Joel; and most times we can't do anything about it."

His body rushed at you, his hands locked perfectly on both your cheeks, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally in place.

"Not you, you hear me? Not you," he almost growled, his face a mixture of anger, determination, and grief. "Never you. You're not allowed to leave me. I will never forgive you."

There was something hidden between the lines, something Joel wasn't saying. It was something you had denied yourself for a long time, for years, something you had insisted on not seeing because you didn't want to see it. Because, deep down, you were afraid that Joel would never love you back, that he would break your heart, that the only good man you'd ever known inside the walls of the Boston QZ would also be the one to abandon you to your luck.

Joel had been your family for so long, and you had unconsciously protected yourself from seeing him as something else. But now there it was, clearly, latent in his confession. Your punishment for years of silence was now time, or rather, the lack of it.

"I'm not giving up," he said. "and I need you not to give up either."

He's close. His hot breath smells sweet -so instinctively Joel- and it's all around your face. His flesh is warm over the freezing skin of your cheeks. His body around you is shelter, is home.

Joel is soon leaning in. He's all erratic breathing, rapid heartbeat and trembling hands; and as you close your eyes to allow his presence to swallow you like a black hole, he closes his eyes too.

He doesn't let go, not just yet. He breathes in into your quick breaths the same way you revel in his.

"I need an answer," he whispers over your mouth.

"I won't, either."

At first it's like a collision. He kisses you angrily for a split second, demanding and impatient; then, once he knows this is really happening, once he does understand that this is —finally— not a dream, he relaxes into your touch, your fingers delineating his jawline, caressing the beard there.

He's quick, quicker than you'd have expected him to be; definitely quicker then he would have liked. He separates, then; and looks down at his jacket and the drops of blood staining the insides of it. It's not enough blood to send you into shock again, but it means part of the wound is ripping. You need stitches, not just a couple of bandages.

"Enough resting then," he says.

[***]

Seven miles is usually nothing for Joel. In the first few months trading with Bill and Frank, Tess and him usually walked the fifteen miles that separated the city and the town at least twice a month. But this is all the more difficult, not just carrying you there, but knowing that he is running out of time.

And you seem hellbent on making the journey even more difficult.

"So...Tess?"

"Pass."

You huff, and the warm air sends a shiver down his spine; but he says nothing.

"Okay."

Your voice sounds so disappointed that he feels a pang of guilt. You know him better than to insist, and he knows that too. The guilt increases, though; and now he's inhaling a big gulp of air while still walking as fast as he possibly can without hurting his own knees.

"We fucked a few times, before," he says. "but that doesn't mean anything. She's my colleague. That's all."

If he was better with words, and feelings, he could say that he didn't feel anything for her. He could say that their hookups were nothing, just a fun thing they used to do before, before he realized that the one who he really wanted was you. A few months back he had realized that it never actually satisfied him, that those moments with Tess weren't as fun and innocent as they seemed to be before. They had talked about it, of course. He didn't want to play with her feelings, and that had been the end of it. She was just as fine without him, anyway.

"I thought you two were dating."

"If selling drugs for a living is what you call dating, then yes."

Without even looking at you, he knew you were smiling, he could almost feel your lips stretching over his shirt.

"I..." you said, then he heard you take another deep breath before talking again. "I'm sorry I asked you," another breath. "I... ran out of things to say."

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"You can say anything," he says. "Anything you really like, even a story."

Anything just to know you're there...

"Well..." you started. Then, a wheezing noise filled the air, followed by a gasp. "I... liked rock music-" silence. "...back in the day."

"You okay?"

Your fist tightened around his shoulder, your forehead pressing against his trapezius. He heard that wheezing sound again, followed by a pant. His hands squeezed harder the tender flesh under her knees.

Joel tried to look at her, but all he could see from his peripheral vision was the top of her head and one eye tightly closed. His throat turned into knots.

"Baby..." that was the most gentle tone you had ever heard coming from his mouth. "C'mon baby. Hold on, we're almost there."

His whole body felt paralyzed, and he had to force himself to keep walking.

What he didn't know was that your lungs were burning. They felt like a pair of balloons squeezing against your ribs, trying to expand beyond its cage. And it made all the pain in your back, from the shot, double as painful. The air you tried to swallow so bad, sounded like a whistle, like the breeze through an almost closed window. You were suffocating.

"Talk to me, c'mon."

With a painful drag of air, you complied.

"I can't..." your fist tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "I can't."

"Goddamnit..." he was panicking now. "Okay, that's okay baby. Just hold on to me, don't let go."

Unable to do anything else, you just nodded as best you could and kept on holding on to him. His eyes desperately looked for signs of the town, and far away, in the distance, the row of trees ended; and he walked faster, hoping that Bill had already seen the both of you through the cameras.

"J-Joel"

You struggled to find air, and, therefore, the words.

"Easy, easy" he said. "Just a bit more. You can do it, I know you can."

His words lingered in the air, unanswered, not even him fully believed them. Joel was starting to feel his own shirt wet with blood from your wound. The feeling made him sick, his own imagination as he pictured what Bill was watching through the cameras, made it all a hundred times worse.

He kept hearing the panting, the wheezing, becoming more desperate by the second. He realized, with horror, that you were suffocating righ there, on his back; from a collapsing lung, he guessed.

He shouted Bill's name as he saw the fence that separated them from the town. Joel wasn't sure if he could hear him, but tried anyway.

He felt your grip on his shirt hesitate, and he had to fight the instinct to squeeze your hand; if he had done it, you'd have fallen from his own grip. He heard you try and say his name.

"Save it," he responded, even if it came out not as reassuring as he would have liked. "Don't try to talk."

Before he reached the fence, it was already opening. Bill came out running, yelling something that he was too distracted to distinguish, Frank came behind him. Joel felt his knees wobble once through the gate. And now kneeling on the floor, he called your name, tried to turn his head to take a glimpse of you.

"You did it. We're here."

He noticed, then, that everything seemed all too silent. Everything that happened after that, happened very quickly. The hand that had been gripping his shirt slipped, limp over his shoulder.

His mind disconnected, completely unaware of the other two people approaching. He released you with all the care that a person could have had, and his arms immediately caught you in an embrace. The sight of your closed eyes made him panic, and not having even checked your pulse, he buried his face into your neck and sobbed.

Trails of blood ran through his forearms, and he threw up all the words that passed through his mind; a string of 'please stay' and 'I'm sorry'.

"Joel," Frank struggled with him, fingers digging into his shoulder. "Joel you have to let go. Let us help her."

He was too far gone, so much so that once your body hit the floor, Frank didn't allow him to touch you again. He sobbed, and, for a second, Bill saw himself in him. He would have never thought he would see Joel in this state, but yet there he was. He kept pressure on the wound, and saw himself in Joel, and Frank in you; and promised he would never let this happen to the two of them.

Never.

[***]

The sun comes out the next morning. As it always does, as it always has. Orange light and blue skies illuminate the room, the clouds shine a different color; and Joel blinks; absolutely exhausted, devastated.

His body is heavy, even if he's not holding any of his weight. He's sitting on the cold tiles, on the floor, his sore knees and thighs in the space under the bed, his head lying on the mattress, his whole body is bent over and it feels like jelly. His eyes are the only thing moving, they look at the window and see the night sky turn into daylight.

Joel couldn't possibly say that he slept in that position; because he didn't actually sleep. He hasn't had a second of sleep since you got shot two days ago. Lying on the bed, is you, dormant; and his thumb draws circles on the back of you hand even if he's not paying attention to it. It comforts him to a degree, at least.

Suddenly, pretty much everything has lost its meaning. Frank opens the door an hour later, almost tripping with the tray of food and water that he left the night before for Joel. He hasn't touched any of it. In fact, he forgot about it, but if it bothers him, Frank doesn't say anything. He takes it in his hands so he can take it to the kitchen downstairs.

"We played 'I will survive' in the radio" he whispers before leaving. "It's a 70s song, but Tess will get the meaning."

"Thank you," he mutters, his mouth pasty from barely speaking in the last twenty-four hours. Funnily enough, the only word he's said to them is 'thank you'.

"You're welcome, Joel," he says. After a few seconds, waiting, he makes a dissatisfied sound. Frank approaches Joel, his palm squeezing his shoulder. "You should eat something, at least. Is there anything you want?"

Joel looks at him, lifting his cheek from the mattress for the first time. His eyes are blood-shot and black circles adorn his eyes.

"Coffee."

"Not coffee, you need sleep."

He huffs, his eyes lost in the window again. Frank, knowing he won't get anything from him again, vanishes behind the door and into the kitchen. He will bring him warm food later, hoping the smell will make him eat something despite his unwillingness to listen to any signal of hunger from his own body.

A few moments later, your hand slips from his. As he loses your touch, a pang hits the pit of his stomach. But then, as he lifts from the mattress again, your fingertips lightly touch his chin, your thumb lovingly brushing his beard.

"Baby?"

Maybe he lost his sense of time, because he didn't expect you to wake up yet. In any case, when he sees your eyes open he practically pounces on the bed. He sits on the edge, and swallows the image of you looking at him.

"Morning."

He smiles at your words, feels his strength coming back into his body.

"You're here," he says.

Even beaten up as you look, he thinks you are gorgeous. Your face has regained its usual color, the bruising is coming down, changing colors little by little, the wound is stitched and bandaged, and the blood flow seems to reach your fingertips normally once again. Joel has no idea how Bill fixed the collapsing lung, he had said something about medical knowledge being necessary in the field too, but he hadn't paid attention. He doesn't care about the details, though. He just cares that you're safe and sound, and despite the close call, that has seemed to be the end result to this whole dilemma.

There's no blood in sight, not even in the bandages. Frank had washed the blood from your hair the day before, and Joel had helped with the rest. He wished he could have you like this everyday: happy, clean, safe...

In the last few hours Joel had discovered he was jealous. He wished he had a town like Lincoln all to himself, just so he could see you picking flowers in the front garden.

"I'm here," you told him. The words felt like strawberries in his mouth. "and I'm not giving up on you."

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, leaned in for both your foreheads to meet, and kissed you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfic #tlou spoilers #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal x oc

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bluemusickid · 1 month

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ok i have INSAAAANE brainrot from that video of the couple cuddling. It reminds me of Older!Joel Miller and his boo

warnings: a lil smut, tons of fluff; basically just me yapping, video undercut (slightly nsfw)

imagine coming home from work just EXHAUSTED. Like weary and frustrated. All you want to do is shut off for the day, and do nothing.

Joel sees you and knows what he has to do. Firstly, he runs you a bath, filled to the brim with decadent bath oils and salts. He undresses you with care, kissing every inch of skin he exposes as he does so. Helping you into the bath, he positions himself behind you, pulling you to lay against him. It feels amazing, allowing yourself to sag against him as he massages your arms, your shoulders; his firm grip and slightly rough skin, a strong contrast to the way he was providing you relief. You could feel the stress from your body seep away as you allowed yourself respite from a long, long day.

The bath was wonderful, but even better was the way Joel's fingers felt on you, lightly massaging your clit as he leaves soft featherlight kisses along your neck, your back, your ears... he would make sure you came atleast twice before you left the bath.

After he dries you and wraps you in a fluffy towel, he would gently place you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms. Softly stroking your hair, he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear till he could feel you drift off into sleep.

🥲🫶🏽🫠😭💝

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latoyalestrange · 8 months

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THE FOOL

is it them or us?

p. pascal x f!oc

Summary: Naela Rivera is a young actor who just broke the surface in her career. Her first big role, a DEA agent tasked with taking down Pablo Escobar’s empire in Columbia. She accepted, and the next thing she knew, she was being forced into a year-long PR relationship with a man she’d barely met. Not to mention, she was already in a committed relationship. Somehow, even though it was contractual, Naela was having the most fun she’d ever had. When it’s finally over and she feels broken, she has to finally ask herself, who really was the fool? disclaimer: i tried to make pedro as realistic as possible. some things aren’t going to be accurate. i do this because it’s fun for me. i will also not include smut in this. it gets suggestive, but out of respect for him it is not explicit.

wc: 24.4k

1. HALF TRUTH 2.4k

2. TRAPPED 1.8k

3. CIGARETTES AND APPLE JUICE 2.1k

4. METHOD ACTING 2.3k

5. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT 2.1k

6. BAD INFLUENCE 3.3k

7. MEET THE PARENTS 3k

8. WILD DREAMS 3.4k

9. GRAND PREMIER 4.1k

comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

playlist

#pedropascaledit #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff

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fanficbarbie · 8 months

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❝sweetest pie❞

posting on weekends, other joel fics

─⋆♡ summary: Gordon Ramsey has nothing on Joel Miller. The owner and head chef of a Michelin Star-worthy restaurant couldn't have predicted anyone would give him a bad review. But, the baker who hates his food saw a perfect opportunity to bring him down a notch.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader, Chef!Joel x Baker! Original Character, Chef x Baker, Grumpy x Sunshine, Joel x Black FMC

─⋆♡ series warnings: smut, fluff, angst, 18+ black!writer, language, mentions of death of parents, fighting, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief), rip sarah, characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression.

Faceclaims ෆ Spotify Playlist.

Tracklist:

prelude I II III IV V VI

VII - coming soon VIII IX X

Singles:

Joel and Imogen's first date - between III and IV

some of my characters are clearly affected by symptoms of anxiety and/or depression. because i want y'all to be healthy and take care of yourselves while reading, here are some resources

take care of yourselves, plz. xoxo, liv ⋆˙ᵕ˙

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triplehmunson · 2 months

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𝒫𝒪𝒱: It's your birthday and your husband Pedro, who is traveling to record a new movie. He wanted to send you a nice video for your birthday to wish you the best and tell you that he misses you a lot, but when a colleague was helping him record Pedro, he had a nervous breakdown and instead of saying happy birthday he said merry Christmas and when it happened Realizing his mistake, he started laughing and all his friends laughed too.

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heartbreakgrill · 1 year

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soo, i've an idea for an one shot if you would like to write it.

I was thinking about a Pedro Pascal x reader where the reader is making dinner while is listening some music, and it comes Pedro that wants to "help" them, but the two end up dancing and singing instead of cooking or something like that; yk just Pedro being all flirty and cheesy as always.

Idk if that sounds good but that's what i was thinking about.

dancing in the kitchen; pedro pascal.

a/n: i really hope you enjoy! not super long, but very fluffy <3

"what's on the menu this evening, esposa?"

pedro's voice from the doorway caught your attention. you looked up from the recipe your phone, focused expression growing into a grin.

"hi, baby," you replied as you set down your phone and shuffled over to him.

pedro slid his arms around your waist, and yours came to rest over his shoulders, fingers tugging at the hair curling down his neck. pedro pushed into you, bending you backwards with kisses to your neck, face, hair. you giggled into his shoulder, pushing back until you were straightened in the air.

"stooooop," you complained, though you didn't actually mean it.

pedro groaned in satisfaction that he had you back in his arms. "never! i missed my beautiful woman."

after all these years together, you couldn't help but blush. "oh, i missed you too, baby. however, my stomach is already screaming at me, and i've got to get this recipe going."

pedro squeezed you tighter to his chest, pressing another kiss to your forehead. then, he left you go, "alright, alright. i'm gonna go get showered."

"good, you stink," you jested and poked his side.

pedro gave you a warning look, finger pointed towards you. "watch it, esposa."

raising your hands in a playfully defensive stature, you giggled again, before turning back to the counter. you heard him shuffling up the stairs as you refocused on the recipe.

with a shuffle to your playlist, you began gathering the ingredients needed. just when you finished chopping up the vegetables needed, pedro padded back into the kitchen, shaking out his wet hair with his hands.

you grinned, “feel better?”

“i do,” he rounded the kitchen island, socks shuffling against the floor, and wrapped his arms around you. pedro nuzzled his nose into your neck, peppering kisses to your skin. cornered against the counter, you shoved all of the vegetables into a bowl.

“honey,” you whined and pushed your back begrudgingly against his chest. “i’ve gotta get this going.”

“here, let me,” he quickly took the bowl from you and placed himself at the stove.

“no, go relax!” you turned after him in an attempt to steal back the bowl.

pedro held it above your head, wagging a finger in your face. “i don’t think so, pretty girl. go work on something else.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes. before you could walk away, he grabbed the waistband of your apron with two fingers, tugging you back against him.

he smashed a kiss against your cheek, and you giggled at the ticklish display. pedro squeezed you, tight, and let you go. you did as he said, working on another portion of the food, swaying the music playing on your phone.

pedro sang under his breath from his station at the stove. you hummed, too, more so focused on your dancing. soon, his voice carried closer to you, “yeah, get it, mama!”

his chest pressed against your back, and he swayed side to side with you, singing loudly. you giggled and your head landed on his shoulder. he peered down at you and sang sweetly, pointed finger keeping your chin back.

you let go of the spoon in your hand, grabbed his, and kept dancing. pedro spun you around to face him, pulled you close. he held your waist, and your other hand, while your other landed next to your chin on his shoulder. pedro’s left leg intruded your own, ensuring your hips stayed on his, as you moved side to side.

you laughed as his terrible singing filled the kitchen. soon, the song trailed off. you thought you were done dancing until your guys’ favorite slow song ramped up. pedro pulled you back against him, a happy grin growing out of his surprise.

“oh, esposa,” he murmured.

you giggled, pulling your head back to look at him, “what?”

“i just can’t wait to marry you,” he shrugged, a silly expression on his grinning face.

you blushed, deeply, “well, what are you waiting for?”

pedro tugged you back to him, a pep in his step. “oh, just wait. i have…plans.”

the oven started beeping then, and you stepped away from one another to plate dinner. as you were sitting down at the table, glass of wine to your lips, you hesitated from taking a drink.

you looked to pedro, drawing your brows together, “why haven’t you ever said anything?” pedro stabbed a piece of broccoli and paused before it reached his mouth. you continued, “ i mean, i’ve always known. but…we’ve just never realistically talked about it.”

pedro shrugged, a nonchalant frown on his face, “i call you esposa everyday. and it means wife, so…it was always realistic to me.” you sat there stunned, a pleased smile on your face.

it was always realistic to you, too.

#pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x you #pedro #pascal

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years

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Plastic Hearts Masterlist

series summary: Dieter Bravo is about as big of a name in Hollywood as it gets, and his reputation is even bigger. When a budding starlet needs a bit of publicity to secure her Oscar-nom, Dieter’s team takes advantage of her good public image and arranges a PR relationship between the two. While neither are thrilled about the situation they find themselves in, perhaps in time what once was just for show may become the most genuine thing either of them has ever known.

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!oc (Violet Apollo)

series rating: E (this is a MINORS DNI series, 18+ ONLY)

Chapter One: Plastic Hearts Are Bleeding

Chapter Two: WTF Do I Know

Chapter Three: Prisoner

Chapter Four: Hate Me

Chapter Five: Gimme What I Want

Chapter Six: Kiss Me, Bad Karma

Chapter Seven: Night Crawling

Chapter Eight: Angels Like You

Chapter Nine: Never Be Me

Chapter Ten: Midnight Sky

Chapter Eleven: High

(all other chapters tbd)

extras:

Violet Moodboard

Plastic Hearts Playlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo bubble #the bubble #pedro pascal x oc

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jksprincess10 · 11 months

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Dressed for revenge 1.All things end

AN: I hope you like this first chapter of this new original work. (NB!oc x Joel) Joel and Ghost will cross paths very soon, just not in this chapter. But we do see a glimpse of him...

CWs for the whole fic: DARK, heavy violence, torture, religious trauma, abuse, SA (implied), transphobia, misgendering, eventual smut.

*Please consider reblogging to support my writing! ♡

Masterlist for this fic

August 2008, in the middle of nowhere

Their last house got invaded and burnt down by raiders. The group they were with got scattered in the process.

Again, the siblings were left alone.

They walked into the night, two lost souls, their path only lit by the leftover embers burning the remains of their possessions.

The girl isn’t the girl anymore. They ask everyone to call them Ghost. The little girl they were simply died that night with their parents.

Wyatt is still Wyatt. He had grown stronger, teenage years left behind as he entered his 20s. He was tall, he had broad shoulders, a growing, dark beard and long, dark hair that went past his shoulders.

Ghost was well into their teenagerhood. They had cut their hair somewhere along the way, they wore dark tones of clothes, they weren’t the tallest, but they had strong arms from all their training. They had grown curves that they didn’t like, they had started bleeding every month, but they also forged a strong character. They tried to hide their shape with loose clothes, but they couldn’t be too difficult with what they could find. Every piece of clothing, every piece of food was a blessing. So sometimes, when they could, they hid their shape with tight bandages.

Ghost held their bow ready, an arrow between the tips of their fingers as they walked through the endless woods. Wyatt had his gun ready, only 2 bullets left in it.

Like the ones he used to kill their parents when they turned.

“We can’t stop. In case there’s anyone left, and they find us…” Wyatt says, a quiet whisper.

“I know. We’ll walk until we find somewhere safer.” Their sibling agreed.

It was always like that.

They found somewhere nice.

Something bad happened.

They had to start over.

An endless cycle of bullshit, in a world overgrown with nature that didn’t want them there.

They walked until they found light in the darkness. There was a big house, near a worn-down church.

Vivid, warm fire breathing inside.

They gasped and stopped for a moment, like they were looking at some mirage.

When they heard noise, the people on patrol that night came out with their guns out.

Wyatt and Ghost slowly lower their weapons to the ground and lift their hands up, like they had learned over the years.

“We don’t want to bother anyone… We saw the light. Our house got burned down. We just want somewhere to sleep.”

“We’ll be out of your hair by the morning.” Adds Ghost.

But the men don’t lower their guns.

Until a voice �� their leader – asks them to stop.

“Come on, is that a good way to welcome children of God?” The man talking is smaller than Wyatt, wears broken glasses and a priest suit. Ghost feels uneasy, but they don’t say anything.

Some people turn to violence, others turn to religion.

August 2008, somewhere outside of the Boston QZ

Two other siblings are also on their own path. But they didn’t choose religion.

“C’mon kid, give us what you have, and you walk free.”

The younger one is holding the stranger by the neck while the older does the talking.

“Y-You’re lying!” The one addressed as “kid” is shaking violently. “You killed everyone around me. Please. Please let me go.” But pathetic tears didn’t warm the hearts of the cold men.

A gunshot. A body falling to the ground.

Two faceless siblings leaving with the person’s possessions.

August 2008, Boston QZ

A little girl is crying in the arms of the person doing their best to replace a dead mother.

August 2008, the haven

The men lower their guns as if a puppeteer had let the strings go.

“Come on, we have enough space for you.”

The man rushes the siblings inside with a smile. The siblings keep their weapons close.

The house seems to have an infinity of rooms. It’s disorienting, so they follow the leader closely. It also has a dark ambiance, like it was habited by both humans and ghosts.

They learn the leader’s name: Jeremiah. He also tells them they’re a community of roughly 20 people. He gives the sibling a room for the night and tells them they’re welcome to stay as long as they need to, with a smile that sends shivers down Ghost’s spine.

He asks them for their real names. Wyatt tells him, and even uses their sibling’s birthname. Ghost doesn’t say anything about it – sometimes he just does weird things to protect their family. He knows religious people aren’t usually… nice to their kind.

Jeremiah locks the door from outside. He wouldn’t want his guests to disappear.

September 2008, the haven

After a month, they realized they would never leave. Where would they go? Would they let them leave?

No, even if they wanted to, Jeremiah was nicely holding them hostage with a smile and empty promises.

Life at the Haven followed a strict routine, usually starting with a mass led by Jeremiah.

It’s hard for Ghost to do what they’re told. They wouldn’t kneel for a God or for any man. But they listen. They mimic the believers.

“So, come on, sweet girl, why don’t you give us the honors of leading the prayer today?”

Ghost cringes at the name, fists tightening and nails creating moon crescents on their skin.

“I won’t if you keep calling me like this, father.” They try not to us a defying tone, but they could see the priest’s smile falling from his ugly face. “Can you please… Just call me Ghost and stop referring to me as a girl?”

“Sister, I’m sorry but I will refer to you the way God made you.” The smile comes back, this time, arrogant.

Wyatt is holding on to their sibling, who wants to jump from the church pew they’re sharing.

“Let it go, Ghost, it’s not worth it.” Wyatt whispers, so only them can hear it.

But they can’t let it go. Not when they already must wear dresses, not when they’re stuck in the kitchen with the other women. Not when they can’t hunt with their brother.

No, you can’t hold me inside a box and not expect me to tear it open.

Ghost gets up and leaves the church, heavy doors swinging open on their way out.

From this moment on, Jeremiah understood that the siblings would be a problem.

Taglist: @casa-boiardi @naynay2319 @ eddie-munson-dungeon-master @ dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @ cutesyscreenname @ angel-with-a-heart @ scrambledslut

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #ellie williams #tlou fanfiction #hbo tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller x oc #joel miller x nb oc #joel miller x nb #joel miller x nb reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x nb oc

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joelswritingmistress · 4 months

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You Scare Me, Professor Masterlist

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

PRELUDE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

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pedropascal-wife1 · 2 months

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Everyone Pedro pascal has confirmed that he is our boyfriend 🤭🤭

(He is ours everyone)

#pedropascal

#pedropascalismyboyfriend

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal moodboard #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal award #pedropascal boyfriend #Pedro pascal wife #ppascaldaily #ppascaledit

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spacecowgirl237 · 1 month

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I think I love Joel more in Jackson. I made this because I love the banter between him and Ellie and all the environment in the place. The snow, the lights, horses, etc...

❄️🐴✨🪵

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bluemusickid · 1 month

Text

The Heiress

Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't be silly wrap your willy), slight dub-con (if you squint), slight dom-sub dynamics, just in general smuttiness, read at your own risk.

A/N: The collective brainrot those clips have brought us as a fandom (thanks for that, Tony ;3), is INSANE. This is just a smalllll effort in keeping that alive till we get the full movie. I have to confess: this is just shameless PWP at this point lmaoooo (don't judge me, i'm just a girl after all). enjoy and please reblog if you liked it thankssss <3 <3

Note: By clicking read more, you consent to my terms and have heed all warning mentioned above.

(Photos/Gifs of P, credz: @a7estrellas, the dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics)

Dull.

That's what these parties were to you always. Dull. Throw in a bunch of old men in stiff suits holding onto champagne flutes like their lives depended on it. Even worse, they tried to sell themselves to you, as if their sad marketing convinced you. You still entertained them, owing to a lack of anything fun happening around those parts.

That is till you met him.

Lucien, he had introduced himself. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, a champagne flute in his hand as he was engaged in a conversation with Hermann Astor, owner of the art gallery that was hosting one of the many boring do's you simply HAD to attend.

Truth be told, you weren't really listening to him. The whole "I'm-a-man-of-culture-so-of-course-I-know-art" spiel was boring. So many men trying to dazzle you with their "expertise", but you couldn't care less. To your surprise though, Lucien didn't mansplain or explain the intricacies of art missed by many. He let Hermann drone on, only piping in when something piqued his interest. He only met your eyes a few times, his dark brown hues holding his secrets.

But you knew what he was thinking. It was quite obvious, isn't that what most men wanted in this room? A chance to talk to you, an heiress to a hefty inheritance, maybe a chance to woo you, wine and dine you and then pop a ring on your finger. Maybe get you pregnant. Secure the bag.

Atleast that's what you assumed he wanted, but he didn't seem like the type to talk you up. He was mostly interested in having a chat about your life, why you hung out at these places especially since you gave no fucks about fine arts, and so on. It was surprising, true, but maybe men changed up their tactics ever so often. So you played along, as you always did. Answering with as much truth as you could.

You found yourself on the balcony standing next to him, staring at the vast grounds with its fine cut grass and neatly trimmed hedges, the moon casting its glow upon it. Turning to him, you decided to cut to the chase. You were bored, and only a quick fuck could break the tedium. Running your hand along his arm, you pulled him to one of the bedrooms, pushing him against the door. Leaning towards him, you brought your lips close to his, waiting for his permission to continue. He leaned forward, as you latched your lips to his, guiding his arms to wrap around you, deepening the kiss as you pushed yourself further into him. That's odd, you thought. This actually felt nice.

His lips, while hesitant at first, tangled with yours, the heat warming your bones. He ever so slightly placed his hands on you, running them down your body down to your hips, squeezing gently as he rested them there; pulling you towards him and his growing erection.

Itching to taste him, you knelt down, licking his growing manhood over the fabric of his tight dress pants. With a growl, he pulled you up, gripping your shoulders as he turned you around and walked you over to the bed behind you. Pushing you down, he bent you over so your ass was up in the air as your face was smushed into the soft bedding eagerly waiting in anticipation.

You felt his hot breath as his lips trailed along your thighs, his tongue running over the divots and the stretch marks that adorned your skin. You squirmed, wishing he would turn his attention to the place you needed him the most. He seemed to have heard your unspoken wish, because the very next moment, his lips moved over your core, his tongue lightly ghosting over your wet folds, your swollen core. You panted, your hands grabbing the duvet with a force that you weren't even sure was possible.

Lucien started off slow, and then dove in, his tongue swirling over your swollen nub, as he gathered your wetness on his finger and pushed a digit inside; his tongue and his finger working in tandem. You groaned loudly, pushing your hips onto his tongue, not realising that they were moving of their own accord, ever-so-slightly undulating and moving in rhythm to his licks and thrusts. Through the haze of pure lust, you realised that you were meant to be in control of this entire situation. Reaching behind, you tangled your fingers into his soft brown curls, pulling him even closer to your nub as you fucked yourself on his tongue, moaning loudly as he groaned at your act of dominance; the vibrations shooting through your core, making their way through your body. He added another finger, doubling his efforts as he felt your legs shake, and your core tightening as you neared your peak.

You screamed into the duvet, muffling your cries as your orgasm took over. You would've collapsed into the mattress had Lucien not been holding on to you, resting his head on your back as he caught his breath as well. The both of you lay there, him spooning you, till your breathing returned to normal. Straightening your clothes, you both exited the room, not meeting each others' eyes, no words spoken to one another.

The rest of the evening went very well, your secret rendezvous leaving you satiated, yet hungry for more.

The second time you met him was at the Charity Ball held by your "good friend" Fiona Mayhew, who got on your nerves most of the time, but did a lot of good for underprivileged children/teens and their education; so you stuck around. At first, you didn't really wish to go to her stuffy ball; but RSVP'd yes, with the smallest hope that Lucien would be there.

He was, of course. Dressed in a well tailored, crisp tux, his messy brown curls slicked back and gelled down. You hated to admit it, but he looked downright edible. You pretended not to notice him at first, making small talk with the members of the small group he was entertaining. You mingled, the both of you catching each others gaze as you talked to the other guests, your eyes conveying what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You barely managed to pull your gaze away from him each time, silently berating yourself for giving him that much importance. It was all a game, all a ploy.

It was working, though. Because the next time he caught your gaze, his deep brown eyes darkened as he walked out of the gigantic ball room, making his way to the large area where the cars were parked. Making his way through the maze of luxury, vintage cars, he walked over to a cambrian grey Bentley, leaning against it as an invitation to join him. He smirked, watching your hips sway as you sashayed towards him, ready to beat him at his own game. He held the door open, his hand moving from the small of your back to rest on your behind, giving you a small smack as you made your way in. Tsking, you gave him a wolfish grin, as you slid the dropped sleeves of your gown from your shoulders, his eyes bulging at the sight of your gorgeous breasts being freed from their confines.

The car shook, almost too violently, as you bounced on his cock, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt him hit your front wall, over and over. You'd always thought of sex as a chore, something to get over with. But it felt different, with him; it felt as if your body and mind split, and was only concentrated on him and how he felt inside. Your core squeezed around him, as you pulled him deeper inside; fingernails digging into his meaty shoulder. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck as he thrust up into you, pulling you towards him to meet his sharp and pointed thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat, lips ghosting over his as your breaths mingled, all thoughts of speech banished. He kissed his way down your neck to your gorgeous globes, running the tip of his tongue around your swollen nipples. This action made you groan, running your fingers through his hair, completely mussing them up and ruining his do. You couldn't care less; with the way he was making you feel, you had half a mind to pull him to the ballroom and fuck him in front of everyone to show the reason for his and your disheveled states.

His thrusts began to speed up as he held you in place, your legs trembling and burning as you tried to hold yourself up, absorbing every bit of his amorous assault on you. Undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt, you yanked the shirt off his shoulder, biting down hard at the exposed skin. He growled loudly, thrusting up once, then twice as he emptied himself into you, painting your walls as you squeezed every drop from him, reaching your explosive end as well. The euphoria melted into your veins, swiftly coursing through the length of your body. But yet again, as he helped you straighten yourself up, no words were spoken.

Both of you made your way back to the ballroom, your clothes and hair slightly askew, and a bright red mark on Lucien's neck, that he didn't bother hiding for the rest of the night. You wouldn't be surprised if people found out that the two of had been together, let alone what the two of you were upto

You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.

And now here you were, months later. You hadn't seen Lucien for quite some time, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't like you were pining after him. On the contrary, you'd found quite a few men to keep yourself entertained.

You walked into Fiona's beach soiree, thanking divine providence that it wasn't a black tie affair. The fact that it was at her luxurious beach house, which was facing the vast ocean, just happened to be a silver lining. You made your way around the party, chatting with Fiona about her latest venture, the NGO she had established, the soiree a means to raise funds.

As the night progressed, you found yourself pleasantly buzzed as you sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve you. A familiar voice directed at you made you turn, only to see Lucien standing there, a flute of champagne in his hands, his signature smirk on his face. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, shifting your focus to the drink placed in front of you. He looked amazing, his messy curls softly styled, his beautiful neck adorned with gold chains and a thick ring on his finger. You had never seen him this casual, the Hawaiian shirt he had donned sitting loosely on him, leaving little to imagination.

Raising your glass at him in a silent toast, you smiled, taking a swig of the bubbly liquid. Delicious.

"You alone?" He drawled.

You gestured around, "Do you see anyone else here?"

"Touché." He took a swig of his drink, eyebrows raising as he savoured it. There was a small lull in the conversation but you didn't mind. It's not like the both of you talked when you were together.

"So. Long time no see."

"Yeah, kinda hard to see someone if they don't really show their face at events." you mused dryly.

He chuckled, nodding at the accusation. Taking your flute from your hand, he put the glasses on the counter, beckoning to the garden at the back of the house, "up for a smoke?"

"I don't smoke.", you said smugly, downing the glass in front of you.

He leaned towards you, bending down to whisper in your ear, "Who said anything about smoking?"

You should've known. It never ended in just talking, in fact, you don't think you've ever had a proper conversation with Lucien, barring that one time on the balcony, the night you met him. It was as if the bond between you was solely driven by the sheer lust and attraction you had for one another. Just the way you preferred it, and wanted it, truth be told.

As you both made your way outside, Lucien pinned you to the stone wall, locking his fingers with yours as he held your arms by your head, his lips brushing over yours. You wanted to ask him many things, probably talk about the both of you and your arrangement, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Atleast, not now.

You felt your insides flutter in anticipation, as he left kisses all over you: your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Pushing your dress up, he left open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, biting and sucking till he left marks, you were sure of it. Pulling your lace panties to the side, he began to eat you out with a ferocity that aroused you and scared you in equal parts. All you could do was hold on as he held your wet folds apart, his tongue running over your swollen nub. Briefly, he pulled back to look at your core; swearing under his breath as he saw how wet you were for him. He dove back in, pulling your lips apart with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue for all he was worth.

You had died and gone to heaven, you were sure of it. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as each swipe of Lucien's tongue made you forget all about your surroundings. Your leg was on his shoulder, your dress was basically falling off your body and you had nearly bitten off a finger trying to hold your screams in. If he weren't so good with his tongue and his fingers, you would have laughed at the way your body turned to putty near this man.

You were rudely pulled out of your thoughts by the feel of him pushing inside you, hitching your leg on his hip as he bottommed inside you. You gasped as he stayed there, letting you feel all of him as he feasted on your breasts, his thumbs and tongue working their magic. He began to move, his hand holding both your arms above your head, restricting your movements. Rutting into you with abandon, he snarled as he felt your pussy clench around him as he tightened his hold on your arms. Using them as leverage, he quickened his motion, anchoring your waist as he fucked into you wildly, using your body for his own pleasure.

"Fuck...take it. take it all." he grunted through gritted teeth, letting go of your arms as he held you steadily, his fingers making their way to your core, circling your swollen clit.

You heard yourself shriek as you came apart, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he reached his end as well, his warm spend coating your walls. Your core pulsed, nearly strangling his cock as the aftershocks died down. Suddenly feeling exhausted, you slid down the wall as he held you, gently rocking you till you came back to normal.

As you recovered from your explosive high, there was only one thought in your mind: you were truly and honestly screwed.

GAHHHH IDK HOW THIS TURNED OUT BUT OMFG i had suchhhh fun writing it!! Hope y'all enjoy! I don't do taglists anymore, just turn on blog notifs for @lexiscyberlibrary to be notified about any new fics!

Love ya!

-xoxo Lexi <3

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latoyalestrange · 7 months

Text

THE FOOL

p. pascal x f!oc

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: It was their last twenty-four hours in Columbia before the cast flew back to Los Angeles. If you thought they weren’t going to party, you would be terribly mistaken.

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of cheating, possessive!pedro, not edited, begging 0.0, suggestive make out sceneeee

Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue , @babukat , @joels-darlin , @lmariephoto37 , @violac0la

comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

CHAPTER SIX — BAD INFLUENCE

“And that’s a fucking wrap!” Tom shouted, flute of champagne held up for a toast. The long dinner table erupted with applause and cheering. “I won’t bore you with a long speech, I know I already talk too much. So enjoy your dinner, and we will see you next year for season two!” Another round of applause as he joins in on the cheering before taking his seat.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” Pedro grumbled in his seat, next to Naela of course.

“I know, right? I feel like I can finally relax and eat a full meal. I’m so nervous in between takes that I can’t eat,” she chuckles, wasting no time in digging in.

“Really? What makes you so nervous?” There was that tone again. She gave him a knowing smirk in between bites.

“Hm. Interesting.” He knew what she was trying to say. Pedro and Naela always seemed to be on the same page, which was proven true when they were asked if they wanted to continue the party after dinner at a nearby club.

“But we have to wake up so early tomorrow,” Naela droned, pouting at Joanna.

“Yeah, I don’t know about being hungover for a 7 hour flight,” Pedro added.

“Oh, come on, love birds! Let’s have some fun tonight!” Joanna shook Naela’s shoulders, forcing them to laugh. “We won’t get to see each other again until the season premier!”

“Blondie’s right, let’s go make bad decisions!” Boyd joined in, jokingly cheering at the last part. Pedro looked at Naela, smirking at her while he considered the idea.

“I’ll go if she goes,” he decided before taking the last drink from his glass. Naela rolled her eyes but failed to look annoyed with her cheeks flushed.

“Pleeease, Naela? I promise it’ll be so much fun!” Joanna clasped her hands together as she begged. Naela thought for a moment, clearly it was important to Joanna.

“Fine. But I’m leaving at midnight, sharp,” Naela tried to warn her, but Joanna was already jumping and cheering after the first word.

“Yay! That’s probably how late I wanted to stay out anyway.” Joanna beamed at her, making her chuckle and shake her head.

As soon as they passed the bouncer, Naela could feel the regret setting in. The music, the dancing, and the overall atmosphere just wasn’t her. She was more of a bar kind of girl. However, if you got a few drinks in her, she could definitely be a club girl.

A few drinks meaning two shots of tequila and a refajo; exactly what she’d had tonight. The group gathered around a small, circular, bar-height table with their drinks. Joanna and Naela were chatting on one side, and the boys on the other. With her barriers down, conversation was flowing without any effort. They were laughing, joking, telling stories, and it all felt natural. Things came to a crashing halt, however, when Joanna heard one of her favorite songs come on.

She gasped, “I love this song! Naela, you have to come dance with me!” She clapped giddily before taking Naela’s hands, robbing her of the opportunity to say no. Luckily, it was one of Naela’s guilty pleasure songs as well, ones that you hate to admit they make you dance every time.

They didn’t waste a second getting to the dance floor and swaying their hips together to the beat. The neon lights glided across their skin as they moved, making a beautiful scene for everyone to watch, and they did. They stood out against the crowd and Naela only realized it when the music changed and she finally paid attention to her surroundings. A few pairs of eyes were on them, but the only ones she cared about were the espresso orbs staring at her from across the dance floor. Before she could think, her feet were carrying her closer to him and Joanna was following close behind.

They weaved their way through the dance floor and eventually arrived back at the table. Her eyes were mostly locked with Pedro’s, but she couldn’t help but notice the new round of drinks waiting for them on the table.

“Aw, how’d you know?” Joanna mused as she took the shot glass in her hand.

“Just had a feeling.” Pedro answered, openly winking at Naela. She smirked and followed suit, taking the small-but-mighty tequila shot in her hand.

“Cheers.” She hoped her friends didn’t pick up on the suggestive tone meant for Pedro. If they did, they didn’t comment before bringing their glasses together, then tapping them on the table in ritual. Naela held her breath as she brought the glass up to her plump and glossed lips and downed the firey liquid in one go. She usually couldnt hide her disgust after the second shot and this time was no different. Luckily for her, Pedro found the way she scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue adorable. He shook off his own disgust before smiling down at her while she wasn’t looking.

“I think we should go dance with different people at the same time,” Joanna announced, looking pointedly at Boyd. He looked confused at first, but she nudged him and gestured towards Naela and Pedro on the other side of the table.

“What—“ Naela started before Boyd cut her off, agreeing with Joanna.

“Yeah, yeah I’m gonna go dance…” He trailed off as she dragged him away. Naela turned to Pedro, who was already looking at her, and couldn’t contain her laughter.

He shook his head, “What are we gonna do with them?”

She giggled, “I have no idea.” He sighed and glanced around the room, trying to swallow his anxiety.

“So what’s the first thing you’re doing when you get home?” Was the first question he could think of. The lights were flashing around, making focusing harder and just her presence was enough to make him sweat. She held back a wide smile by biting her lip, unable to contain her excitement.

“Firing my manager,” she answered confidently.

He instantly burst into laughter, letting his head fall back. “That’s fair, very fair.”

“What about you?” She asked, letting her body language naturally open up as she turned toward him. He smoothed his mustache for a moment, like he was deep in thought.

“Probably just gonna wait for you to call me,” he answered with a smug look on his face. She nudged him with her elbow, refusing to give in to the temptations she was feeling.

“I’m serious,” she added, looking up at him.

“So am I,” he chuckled. “Hope John won’t be too jealous.”

She scoffed, knowing he knew her boyfriends name, “It’s Josh. And he already is, if I’m honest.” The liquor was getting to the both of them and it was obvious in their conversation. His brow furrowed with interest.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” His tone again. It was like a siren’s call that pulled her further out to sea, and she was entirely fine with drowning in it.

“I only told him bits and pieces of a few scenes and he tried to convince me not to take the job. He damn near broke up with me when I told him about the other contract.” Her expression fell as she spoke, and Pedro swore he could feel a fire ignite in his chest. He was enraged by the fact that a man could treat a woman like her so poorly.

“Well you can tell John to step up or I’m next.” She didn’t bother to correct him. Her head was spinning, trying to find something witty and not awkward to say.

“Maybe I will,” with a cheeky smile and intentional eye contact was the best she could come up with. “I’m gonna go use the restroom. Could you get us another round?” she added to diffuse the tension. He nodded and watched as she gathered her purse and turned to walk away. Naela felt the urge to look over her shoulder, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Sure enough, glancing back at Pedro, she could clearly see his eyes glued below her waist. He looked up at her, wiping his thumb across his lip with a sultry look in his eyes. He didn’t even try to play it off, he wanted her and didn’t care if she knew.

The few minutes she had to herself in the bathroom Naela used relieve herself, but mostly to fix her hair and smudged lip gloss. She took several deep breaths before making her way across the sea of people in between her and where her friends were standing. Boyd and Joanna had joined Pedro back at the table, new drinks in their hands.

“How was sitting on the other side of the club for ten minutes?” Naela asked sarcastically as she sauntered up to the group.

“It was great actually, much better company,” Boyd added jokingly. Pedro wheezed as he laughed and nudged his shoulder.

An hour or so and a few more drinks later, Naela could feel everyone starting to slow down, whether it was from exhaustion or the liquor. Her own words were slurred and she found everything much more funny than it actually was. Additionally, she found herself standing much closer to Pedro than she should’ve been. By now, she leaned into him with his arm ghosting her back as they stood. Either no one cared or they were too drunk to notice.

Speaking of too drunk, while laughing at something Pedro said, she stumbled back into his chest.

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he whispered teasingly in her ear, chuckling a bit as his hands lingered on the outside of her arms.

“Not even a little bit,” she mumbled, craning her neck to meet his gaze as she rested against him now.

“Let’s get you in bed, yeah?” She knew that wasn’t how he meant it but the ache she felt in between her legs thought otherwise. She nodded and couldn’t help but bite her lip as she looked up at him with suggestive eyes. He smirked down at her enticingly innocent expression, trying to silence the inappropriate thoughts circling his mind.

“I’ll call a taxi,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Are you guys coming?” She asked the rest of the group, her eyelids starting to droop and her words becoming more strung together by the second.

“No, I think we’ll finish our drinks first,” Joanne slurred as well, unable to hide her smirk. “You guys go ahead.”

“Okayyy, I’ll see you guys in the morning then.” Naela sloppily wrapped her arms around her friend, almost making the both of them topple over. They laughed it off before she broke away to hug Boyd as well.

“Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He joked, patting her back casually.

“So don’t do anything you would do, got it!” Naela resposed teasingly. He chuckled and nudged her away with his palm to her forehead. She retreated to Pedro, who was just getting off the phone.

As if it were a habit, he slinked his arm around her shoulder, whispering in her ear, “Vámonos, hermosa.” God, is Josh could see this…

Naela shooed the thought of her boyfriend away as Pedro held the door for her. The brisk air hitting her face didn’t sober her up one bit, but it felt nice. He joined her near the curb as they waited.

“So what are you actually doing first when you get home?” She asked curiously, smiling brightly at him. Her dimples made him want to cave right then and there.

“I’ll be sleeping for the first few days, trust me,” he laughed, “But once I’m awake I’m shaving this off.” He smoothed his facial hair down, a gesture Naela had grown to find extremely enticing. However, she gasped unexpectedly once she processed what he had said.

“No, please don’t get rid of it! It’s really grown on me,” she whined, inching closer to him and letting her palm rest on his chest.

“I’m pretty sure it’s literally grown on me,” he joked. Once again, even though it wouldn’t be that funny if she were sober, she let her head fall back with laughter, causing her to lose her footing and trip off of the curb and into the street. She would’ve been just fine, but Pedro instinctively grabbed her and pulled her back onto the side walk, coincidentally into his arms. With his heart practically beating out of his chest, tension hung in the air for what felt like many minutes as he searched her eyes for any sign of hesitancy. For once, Pedro knew exactly what he wanted and he was going to get it. No advice from management, no contract, or anything else for that matter could’ve kept him from kissing her in that moment.

Slowly, he brought their lips together for a gentle, yet meaningful kiss. It was so different from all the other times they’d kissed; it wasn’t rushed, expectant, or in front of an entire cast and crew. It was perfect, and she never wanted it to end as her arms found their way around his neck, pulling him in deeper. Their long-anticipated fantasy was over, however, when an impatient honker ripped them out of it. Naela had no idea how long the cab driver had been waiting behind them.

“Oh, shit…Lo siento, señor!” Pedro apologized to the driver before swinging the door open and allowing Naela in first. As they started driving, she instantly knew why the studio was so particular about them using their assigned drivers. She was regretting her last drink as the driver made sharp turns and lurched at every stop. She thought closing her eyes would help, but eventually she resorted to letting her head rest of Pedro’s shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked softly, looking down at her. She shook her head and groaned.

He chuckled, “Tell me if we need to stop. Not sure he’d be too happy if you threw up in here.” She only let out a deep breath in response.

“Frena, por favor. Ella está mareada,” He spoke up to the driver, who instantly accepted his request and drove carefully the rest of the way back.

“Veinte mil pesos, por favor.” The driver said coldly as he put the car in park and outstretched his hand. Pedro sighed and reached around to take out his wallet, giving him two crisp blue bills.

“Quédeselo.” He resposed simply as he pulled himself out of the back seat. Naela reached for her car door, but before she could step out, Pedro was opening her door and holding his hand out for her. She gladly accepted, regaining her footing much better than she had before the ride home. Once the cool air hit her skin again, she felt much better. They smiled at eachother after he closed the door, hardly having a chance before the cab sped off. Naela hardly noticed. She did notice, however, how right Joanna was about how he looked at her. Her cheeks were either hot from him or the drinks, and her stomach, she was sure turned into butterflies.

“You don’t need me to carry you, do you?” He asked teasingly.

She chuckled, “Hm, now that you mention it…” He knew exactly what her tone was implying. He sighed, and without a moment of hesitation, he bent down and wrapped his arms around her thighs and threw her over his shoulder. She squealed at the unexpected movement, desperately grasping onto his back for support.

“I wasn’t serious!” She giggled into his leather jacket as it pressed up against her chin. Once they reached her trailer, he slowly planted her feet on the ground, at which point Naela realized she had neither her shoes or her purse. She patted her side, swearing her bag was hanging off her shoulder moments ago.

“I got it, don’t worry,” He reassured her as he took her keys out of her purse, her shoes in his other hand. She couldn’t remember taking anything off, but she was grateful at least Pedro was keeping track of her mess.

“Oh, thanks,” she responded softly. After a few tries, he eventually opened the door to her trailer and ushered her inside.

“So this is where you’ll be staying for the next six months,” he joked, gesturing around the living space. Naela could hardly focus on what he was saying, though. Something about being taken care of made her want to take care of him. She slowly started inching toward him as he went on. “I hope you like spanish TV, because that’s all that plays—“

Before he could finish, she pressed her lips against his and tangled her fingers in his hair. Caught off guard, he found himself unable to back away, in fact his hands were slithering around her back and pulling her closer. But no matter how much he wanted this, or how long he’d waited, he didn’t want to be that person.

“Naela,” he managed to say in between feverish kisses. He was only met with more kisses. God, he wanted to give in so bad. But not only was she in a relationship, she was drunk. He planted both hands on either side of her face and retracted his own, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Naela, we can’t.” He shook his head, eye contact unbreaking so he knew she understood. Her face instantly dropped, and Pedro felt a pang in his chest. Why did she have to look at him like that?

“You don’t like me?” Her brow tipped upward, making her look utterly devastated. He instantly mirrored her expression, feeling horrible.

“No, no, it’s not that…” He shook his head and let his hands fall to her shoulders. He was no longer nervous to admit it, it’s what she needed to hear. “I really like you, Naela.” It didn’t seem to make her feel better, her eyes glued to the floor. He sighed and brought his hand back up to her cheek, this time brushing her hair behind her ear.

“You’re drunk, amor. And I want us to start off on the right foot. Nothing tieing us to other people…” He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want there to be any question that we both want this.”

“There isn’t,” she retorted, her eyes unwavering. She slid her hand up his torso, gripping lightly onto his collar once she reached it.

“Please, Pedro…” She couldn’t bring him to her level, so she got on her tip toes to connect their lips once more. He grumbled into the kiss, begrudgingly reciprocating.

“You’re making this really hard for me, Naela.” He growled once their lips parted, still holding her frame close as their foreheads pressed together.

“I hope I’m making something else hard too,” she teased, biting her lip.

“You don’t get to know,” he argued, giving her one last firm peck before straightening his back once more. Their hands loosely intertwined at their sides as he smirked down at her.

“You’re a bad influence,” he chuckled, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.

“I would say I’m more of a fun influencer.” Pedro instantly laughed at her nonsensical response.

“Okay, yeah, time for bed, Naela.” Before she could protest, he spun her around by her shoulder and began guiding her toward her bed.

The next thing Naela knew, the alarm on her phone was blaring next to her head as she untangled herself from the covers. She quickly scrambled to grab her phone and silence it. She looked at the time, four AM. The events of the night before instantly set in. Naela couldn’t tell if she wished she had more to drink that night so she wouldn’t have to remember embarrassing herself like that. On one hand, she totally would’ve thrown up on Pedro at some point, but was that really worse than what she had done? Naela didn’t think so.

reblog if you made it to the end!

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fanficbarbie · 5 months

Text

❝i want that nasty, that freaky stuff❞

read the rest of the series before this chapter or you’re getting spoilers.

A/N: i really have been sitting with this chapter for a while because i wanted joel and ginny's first time to be perfect but i'm realizing that doesn't exist, so here you go. i really have nothing to say other than this isn’t edited so ignore any mistakes. please leave feedback ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

Chapter Summary: things between joel and ginny get steamy.

Chapter Warnings: smut, fluff, language, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), degradation, praise, unprotected (wrap before you tap, i do not support raw doggin), lmk if i forgot something.

Series Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, established relationship, smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

⋆ word count: 5k⋆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist, joel masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

I’ve always been fond of surprises, especially fluffy ones.

“Are your eyes closed?” I ask the girls over my shoulder as we walk up the steps.

It was a struggle to keep my new kittens hidden all weekend from Ellie and Dina, but I wanted to give them a chance to get acclimated to their new home before socializing with any new humans.

“Yes,” Dina giggles.

I hear Ellie trip on the rickety wood and I start to rethink having them close their eyes at the bottom of the steps. “I don’t like surprises,” Ellie grumbles blindly.

When we reach the top of the steps, I step out of the way for the girls. “This one’s a good one,” I promise, ushering them forward through my entryway.

When we round the corner to the living room, Joel is sitting on the couch with his legs spread deliciously. Ellie’s arms are crossed defensively while Dina has both hands down by her side. “Baby girl, best uncross your arms. You might scare ‘em,” he advises.

Ellie’s face contorts and Dina’s lights up. “Who’s them?” Ellie asks skeptically.

“Open your eyes and see,” I instruct them and they follow my directions.

“Oh my gosh, kittens!” “Oh. You got kittens…” The pair audibly react at the same time.

Dina immediately drops to the floor, trying to play with the new editions, while Ellie looks at Joel with confusion. “Why?” she asks her dad.

Joel shrugs, before looking at the ground and tilting his head at Dina. “Oh my gosh, you two are allergic to joy. This is why,” I pick Toph up and put her in Ellie’s lap.

Toph instantly kneads at Ellie's thighs with her paws before flopping down in between her thighs. Ellie’s face softens while I catch Joel trying to shoo Katara off in the corner of my eye. Cats always love the people who never want them, I guess.

Dina notices how uncomfortable Joel seems and she picks up Katara, keeping her in her lap. “Well, they are pretty cute,” Ellie finally admits, softly stroking Toph on the head.

“Yeah, they are,” I confirm.

Ellie stands, carefully placing the kitten on the floor and my feet carry me over to her spot on the couch. I take it, sitting down next to Joel. He wraps his arms around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

A comfortable silence falls over the room while Joel and I watch the two girls attempt to teach the cats tricks. Dina is successful with Katara while Toph just wants to lay in the sun spot on the floor.

Ellie seemingly becomes bored with the lazy kitten, turning her head towards me and Joel. Her brows knit together and her eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us. “So are you two together?” she interrogates.

I look at Joel, unsure of what to say. We haven’t really had this conversation yet. We’ve been together for 6 months but he hasn’t asked to make it official. I’m not entirely sure where we stand in this moment and I hate the ‘what are we?’ conversation.

I blink rapidly, trying to focus. It would be confusing for Ellie is we didn’t have the same answer. I attempt to telepathically communicate with Joel before giving up and turning towards Ellie.

“No,” I answer and my biggest fears are confirmed when Joel speaks, “Yes,” at the same time.

My head snaps back in his direction and I panic, thinking the best thing to do is change my response. “Yes,” I flip when Joel says, “No,” at the same time.

Joel looks away towards the floor, swearing under his breath. He uncomfortably shifts beneath me and his body tenses. No, no, no no. Ellie, why’d you have to make things so awkward?

I rub my lips together, spreading the mint gloss around in an attempt to compose myself. “Erm. Not yet, I guess,” I grumble softly.

“What does not yet mean?” I hear Ellie ask.

My leg shakes with nervousness and I know my thighs will be chaffed later from the friction. “Well when two people really like each other,” I start to easily introduce dating to Ellie.

In the middle of my sentence, Ellie groans throwing her head back. Dina pauses tickling Katara’s belly to raise her eyebrow at her. “Shit, Ginny. I’ve already had the birds and the bees talk,” she cuts me off.

Dina snickers behind Ellie and I shake my head. “That’s not what I was talking about,” I inform Joel’s crotch child.

Her lips form a thin line and her face softens. “Oh,” she mumbles.

“Anyways. We’re getting to know each other better in a romantic way so we know if we can stand each other,” I continue explaining.

Ellie’s nose crinkles as she sits back on her heels. “So let me get this right… Joel can definitely stand you but you’re trying to see if you can stand him?” she asks.

Not exactly, but if that’s how she’s processed it, let’s go with it. “Yeah, sure,” I clarify.

“I’m right here, kiddo,” Joel pipes up.

Ellie looks unfazed by her father’s words. “I know,” she counters.

Before they start a little argument and turn this surprise sour, I cut in, “And I know we talked about it but I wanted to officially ask if you were cool with it.”

“With you two being together?” Ellie asks, with her eyes shifting between me and Joel.

I look at him, unsure of what to say before returning my gaze to Ellie. “Yeah,” I say.

Ellie shrugs before Katara makes a particularly high jump, distracting her from the conversation. Her eyes sparkle with excitement watching the small feline chase the furry stick around the carpet. “I don’t care. Actually, I’m happy for you guys. It’s been months,” she says to Joel and me, but her eyes stay in Dina’s direction.

I roll my eyes at the dramatic duo that is Ellie and Joel. “It’s only been one, El,” I remind her, picking up my water bottle.

Ellie shakes her head furiously while I take a sip. “No, I would know. Joel’s been talking about you since June. Going on and on about the pretty lady who–”

“Stop talking,” Joel cuts her off and I almost spit out the liquid. I quickly swallow before allowing myself to snicker.

Ellie listens to Joel, but I think it’s only because she prefers Dina over us. Moments later, Joel, I allow my head to fall over and rest of Joel’s shoulder. My eyes flutter closed, comfortable with them occupying my space.

I’m not sure how many minutes pass before I hear Dina ask, “Ginny, do you have any hot chocolate?”, pulling me from my peaceful doze.

My eyes flutter open and I nod. “Check the cupboard,” I point my thumb over my shoulder.

Katara follows the chirpy girl into the kitchen and Ellie stands from her spot on the floor. “I’m gonna look for chips,” she dismisses herself, leaving Toph behind to nap.

When the girls are out of earshot, I turn my attention towards Joel. “Speaking of, I was thinking either I can come to yours or you can come here since it’ll just be you and I Friday night. I’m thinking we can have some alone time… naked,” I suggest, lowly.

Joel gawks at me with his eyebrows raised. “Really?” he asks.

I nod with a smile creeping on my face. I’ve never been more excited in my fucking life to sleep with someone. No, put the horny brain away and get it together, Ginny. “Really. I think it’s time, Joel,” I pur.

He brings his hand up to stroke the side of my cheek softly. “I’d be honored, sugar,” he confirms before sweetly pressing his lips on mine. I part my lips, allowing him to dip his tongue into my mouth. The taste of him is so intoxicating that I have to keep myself from moaning.

“Awww,” I hear Dina call from the kitchen. Joel smiles against my lips, pulling me in closer to intensify the kiss.

“What?” I hear Ellie ask, followed by an, “Oh shit.”

On Friday, Joel texts me every second the moment he wakes up. He sends me pictures of his work day, an update on the Michelin star, and a play-by-play of him dropping Ellie off at space camp. Now, I stand my my back door waiting for him to arrive after he texted he was on his way. Every time I’m about to see him, it feels like we’re about to meet for the first time, again.

Joel’s muscular frame appears in the alley as he stalks towards my door. I pry open the heavy wood, leaning on it to keep it open. “Hi,” I flirt once he’s close enough.

The corners of his lips turn up in a soft smile and he slides his hands on my waist. “Hi,” he returns the greeting before pressing a sweet peck onto my lips.

I allow him into the back of the bakery before I’m practically bouncing up the steps with him following me. When we get to the first living floor, I allow him in to kick off his boots and get comfortable.

Joel silently reaches for the bottom of his navy blue ‘The Austin’ hoodie, pulling it over his head. My breathing hitches when I catch a glimpse of his perfectly muscular dad bod underneath his shirt. “I feel like a teenager who’s about to have sex for the first time,” I confess.

Joel shakes his hair out, fluffing it up with his fingers. “Me too. Been stiff in my pants since Monday,” he jokes and I giggle in return.

“Well come on, partner. Let’s free you from your restraints,” I flirt, reaching for his waistband. I pull him in for a kiss by the pants, walking backward towards my room.

A wave of relief hits me when he reciprocates and I allow him to explore my mouth deeper. He quickly kicks off his shoes, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

And just like that, he’s all over me. His hands are pulling on my hair. His mouth is pulling the flesh on my neck in between his teeth, sucking and biting me. Everything about him is so hot, I can’t wait for him to get in my pants.

He places his hands on my clothed waist, lifting me onto the bed. I’m completely consumed by him.

He disconnects our lips reaching to unbuckle his belt. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” he pulls the leather out of the loops and sets it down on the floor. “Are you sure you want this?”

I crawl closer to him, craving more. “Yes,” I whine, effectively consenting.

His chapped lips mold with my smooth ones again. He lifts my shirt over my head, tossing it over his belt. His lips hover over mine and just before he’s about to ravish me, he pulls away again. “Because we can just watch a movie and go to bed, sugar. I’m fine with that,” she reiterates.

I shake my head furiously before grabbing his face in between my hands. “No. Fuck no, Joel. I want this, I need this,” I urge.

“Good, because I’ve wanted to do this since your birthday,” he admits, fisting my hair and crashing his lips back into mine.

I kiss him back and then break it so he can quickly shove his pants down. His lips are right back on mine, and he slowly explores my mouth with his tongue, swallowing one of my moans when his clothed cock brushes against my heat.

Kicking his bottoms out of the way, he breaks away from my mouth, diving headfirst for my right nipple to bring it into his mouth. My head falls back and I lace my hair through his fingers, pulling harshly. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his teeth grazing against my perky bud puts me on cloud nine.

He pops my nipple out of his mouth, moving to the other side, flicking his tongue around the nub–sucking and biting. He slowly sinks onto his knees until he’s kissing right above my panty line. “Imogen, you are so beautiful,” he mumbles against my stomach, placing light feather kisses.

He pulls my thong down and I flinch when the fabric brushes against my legs. “Feels like I’ve waited my whole life for this,” Joel murmurs, holding my hips in a death grip so I can’t move. Looking down, I find him looking up at me with those striking brown eyes, and I watch as his tongue darts out, swirling around my belly button ring. It tickles, and a giggle involuntarily slips past my lips.

He licks a stripe down to my pajama shorts and I gasp, putting my hands on his clothed shoulders. “They say tickling is a form of pain,” I tell him as he pulls my shorts down just a bit to kiss my hip bone. Feeling a little playful, I buck up to his face and like a horse trainer, I say, "Woahhhh."

Joel grips my hips, pushing me back down into the mattress. “Hold still and let me finally see how good you taste, sugar,” He comments, and the proceeding chuckle causes me to bite my lip, trying to keep my own laugh in.

My body shivers and I watch as he moves to my other hip bone. He pulls my flesh in between his teeth, leaving a love bite, and his fingers begin tugging my shorts down. Immediately, I begin helping him, lifting my hips so he can pull them off easier. They get tossed onto the floor beside the bed before Joel slides down further until he’s perfectly situated with a perfect view of my cunt in front of him. A warm stream of air is felt as he hovers over my heat, blowing on my clit.

Rolling my eyes, I groan at him. “Don’t be a fucking tease,” I demand, putting my legs over his shoulders with a smirk.

He chuckles, lightly running a finger through my folds. “At least let me say grace before I have my meal.” Then, he spreads me apart before closing his eyes.

Groaning in frustration, I allow my head to drop back on the pillow. “Joel cut the shit and– oh, ohhhh fuck,” I moan as he licks a stripe up my center. My juices are lapped up by his tongue, and my hands find their way into his hair, lacing into it.

Tugging at his roots, he groans into my cunt, “You taste so fucking good, sugar.”

His tongue dips into my opening, and I rock my hips back and forth, allowing him to devour me like a starved man. I rock my hips back and forth, allowing him to devour me like a starved man.

He tilts up towards my sweet spot, causing me to writhe around as i feel the intense pleasure building in my stomach. I attempt to keep tempo with his flickering tongue, but he's too fast. As the pressure begins to slowly build between my legs, I realize it's not enough. Just when I’m about to tell him to do something else, his lips attach to my clit, sucking harshly. My back arches off the bed and a loud moan falls from my lips.

Joel shoves my hips back down, disconnecting his lips from my puffy clit and raising an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t I tell you to hold still?”

Rolling my eyes for the second time, I lift my pillow from the head of the bed to look at him. “You can’t expect me to stay still when you’re doing all…that,” I breathlessly tell him, not having the patience to find the correct words.

His eyes become as dark as mud. “Hold still or I’m stopping,” he barks and I vow to try my hardest to listen as he spits on my cunt.

He allows his fingers to collect the saliva, circling around my opening. “Joel, please,” I whine, practically salivating for him to get me off right now.

He taps my clit a couple of times and I cry out. “Open your legs a little wider for me, sugar,” he demands, and I oblige. “Good girl,” he praises. I almost cum right there.

Turning my head to the side, I try to anchor my vision onto something. “If you want me to keep going, look at me,” he growls, and my eyes snap to meet his.

Two of his fingers slowly plunge into my opening, and we both groan in unison. He’s practically salivating and my senses are flooded with euphoria. The curling of his fingers is just right, massaging my g-spot with the intent of making me cum as fast as possible.

Tugging on his roots, I let a guttural cry slip through my lips. “Oh. Right there, Joel. Fuck me.”

He licks a slow circle around my clit. “If you don’t like my teasing, why are you moanin’?” Then, he pushes his fingers in and out at an unrelenting speed.

My back arches off the bed slightly to get closer to him, and his tongue picks up the pace. Coupled with the rapid movement of his fingers, my senses are overwhelmed. My body feels like it’s on fire and the world becomes blurry every time his fingers pass my spongy spot. My walls flutter around him as his tongue continues its assault on my swollen nub.

He groans into my cunt, and it’s enough to send me over the edge. My legs start shaking and when I look down, Joel is watching my face intensely. “Joel, I’m gonna –”

“That’s it, sugar. Let go for me,” he commands, and time slows.

His lips latch onto my clit one last time, nipping at the swollen nub. Suddenly, a wave of fire sears up my spine. Like a phoenix, my body bursts into flames and I clamp around his fingers as he works me through my orgasm.

Eventually, his fingers slow down and he presses light feather kisses to my clit, making me jerk at the overstimulation.

Then, he pulls out of my entrance, slowly shuffling up the bed. “Open your mouth,” he demands, running his fingers over my lips.

In a daze, I shake my head not wanting to move.

But Joel grabs the side of my face, squeezing slightly until my mouth falls open. He slips his fingers in until they rest on my tongue. “Clean them.”

I give in, swirling my tongue around his fingers. He shoves them as far back in my throat as they can go, humming when I start gagging. “So perfect when you listen, sugar,” he breathes, and tears threaten to spill over my eyes.

My brain is confused. He’s degrading me, but praising me at the same time; I love every moment of it.

Joel quickly pulls his fingers out of my mouth once I’ve satisfied him, and attaches them to my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. His lips attack mine and I lace my hands behind his neck, pulling him into me. The kiss is bruising, and I whimper into his mouth as he grinds his bulge into me. His tongue swirls against mine and he twists my nipple in between his fingers. Without warning, the feeling of emptiness consumes me, making me want nothing more than to have him inside me.

Detaching our lips, I push back a bit to peel boxers off him. As soon as my fingers touch his waistband, his hands capture my wrists. “Let me,” he insists, stopping me from moving.

Putting my hands up in defense, I back away from him a bit so he can freely move. As soon as he’s naked, my jaw drops. His tip is red and angry, dripping with precum already.

I’m still panting from my previous orgasm when he crawls over me, crushing his lips to mine. My thoughts are consumed by him as his tongue wrestles with mine. Breaking our kiss slightly, I glance down as he fists his dick, rubbing it in between my folds and taking time to circle his tip over my clit.

“Joel, I need you. Please,” I mumble against his lips and he lines himself up at my entrance.

He sinks into me and we groan in unison as he stretches me. His strokes are slow but deep, and I can feel him in my stomach. “Fuck, Joel,” I whimper, already close to cumming.

“Damn it, sugar. I’m not gonna last long,” he expresses and I dig my fingers into his shoulder blades.

His lips find mine again, biting my bottom lip. When he pulls it back and lets it snap, my breathing hitches. “It’s okay, just don’t be gentle.”

I cry out as he swirls his hips, getting ready for me to take all of him. The stretch turns from pain to pleasure, making me moan. He pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward. Gaining a rhythm, he begins hitting my g-spot over and over again, and I hook my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

“You look so fucking good underneath me,” he growls into my neck, pressing soft kisses on my skin.

His pace picks up, and my back arches off the bed into him. I’m unable to control the filthy noises that come out of me as his hips pound into mine. He’s fucking me like it’s his job. Like his life depends on it. The familiar feeling of pleasure increases in my stomach as he skillfully rolls his hips.

Joel balances on one arm as he brings a hand down to my clit to rub quick circles on my clit, and the slight change in position has me seeing stars. My eyes roll to the back of my head and I let a particularly loud moan slip my lips. “My dirty little slut likes her clit played with hmm?” he taunts, and I feel like I’m drowning in the wet sounds that fill the room.

Fuck. Never once has someone made me feel this good during missionary. Joel has ruined me for anyone else for the rest of my life, seeing as no one makes my toes curl like this. I’d marry him right now if he asked me to.

His pace increases and his tip drags against my g-spot over and over again. My breasts bounce and his hips snap harder than before. “Yes,” I whisper, scratching his back.

He moves his face so that his lips are ghosting mine, trapping me in his intense gaze. The combination of his cock filling me to the brim and his fingers playing with my clit sends a sizzling sensation up my spine. “Cum for me, sugar. I know you want to,” he coaxes, and it only takes a few more moments of his dick rocking into me before my vision turns black.

My walls clamp around him and my body trembles. Even with him holding me in place, it feels like I’m falling. My mouth opens to scream, but it gets caught in my throat. It's like my body is on another planet.

Joel drives into me like a jackhammer on a construction site and I bite his shoulder. “Fuck, Ginny. Fuck. Fuck,” he curses with his eyes closed, progressively getting louder with each swear.

His hands squeeze my ass and I bite his shoulder as he fucks me like he’s trying to break me. His pace becomes uneven and I know he's close. “Right there, Joel,” I purr, knowing saying his name is enough to tip him over the edge.

His cock jerks inside me before I feel burying himself in me. His warm seed shoots inside me and I swear I can feel it in my stomach. We moan together, letting our foreheads rest on each other. We both pant and he keeps his body pressed onto mine as we catch our breath.

Once my erratic breathing becomes normal, I make eye contact with him. To be expected, he’s already staring right at me. He pulls out slowly before wrapping his arms around my waist to stabilize me. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks.

Shaking my head, I watch him as he scans my body up and down. The roughness of the sex has my entire back aching. But, I don’t want him to regret anything or change how he treats me. “You didn’t hurt me,” I whisper, shaking my head.

He scoots closer, sweetly pressing his lips against mine and I smile against his lips. His sweetly swirls around mine and I moan, already ready for the next round. He reads my mind, disconnecting our lips. He quickly stands from the bed, hooking his arms underneath me and picking me up. He silently walks to the bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet, before crouching down to see my face. “You have to pee, then we can go again,” he encourages.

I start peeing, unconsciously giggling at his comment. He stays with me the entire time, rubbing my thigh as I empty my bladder. Then, he hands me some toilet paper for me to wipe and I just about lose it. I’ve never had aftercare, let alone aftercare this attentive.

After I’m finished, Joel helps me wash my hands before cleaning himself up. He lifts me from the counter, carrying me back to the king-sized mattress. I pepper kisses on his neck, trailing up to his face, sealing the deal with a kiss. “That was,” I start before giggling.

“The best sex I’ve ever had,” Joel finishes for me and I nod. “You’re perfect,” he mutters, staring at me intensely.

I can feel myself blushing as I blink through my lashes at him. “You’re amazing,” I compliment him back.

We lay there for a moment before my eyes start to feel heavy. If we don’t go another round, I’m going to pass out. “Wanna go again?” I suggest.

The corners of Joel’s lips turn up with a smile. “Yes,” he confirms before we’re back on each other once more.

Usually, the first thing that wakes me up is the chill of the winter air flowing in my room from the cracked window. But this morning, I wake up with a sneeze thanks to Toph’s tail being right under my nose. My body jerks back into Joel’s arms and he grunts, stirring awake.

I pick Toph up, putting her on the bottom of the bed before repositioning in Joel’s arms. He burrows his head into my neck, peppering kisses along my skin and unintentionally scratching me with his scruff.

I groan at the sensation, burying my head further into my pillow.

“Mornin’, sugar,” I hear Joel say, kissing my skin softly.

I groan again, pushing his face away. “5 more minutes,” I grumble, trying to snuggle back into my fluffy oasis.

He raspy chuckle convinces me otherwise. Like iced tea on a hot summer day, he coaxes me to spin around until I’m facing him. Fuck morning breath; I’ve waited months to wake up to him and I’m going to enjoy it. “Good morning,” I respond with a bright smile on my face.

He lifts his wrist, looking at it and scowling when he finds his watch is missing. He must’ve forgotten to put it on after last night. “What time is it?” he asks.

My head lifts from the pillow, looking over his tan body. Fuck, my body is sore after 4 rounds of mindblowing sex. “8:30,” I say.

He brings his free hand to his face, wiping his eyes of sleep. “I don’t want to leave,” he complains.

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “You have to go get your daughter from space camp Joel, don’t be ridiculous,” I remind him, pushing up on his chest to get out of bed.

Joel doesn’t let me scoot past the edge before he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back down to cuddle with him. “I know but before I go, can I ask you something?” he asks.

I shift until I’m fully lying on top of him, looking up at him through my long lashes. “Sure,” I murmur.

His eyes dart behind me as if he’s looking for the words on my dresser. “Well, I don’t know how to say this,” he starts.

“What?” I ask.

Joel’s hands fidget and I feel them moving on the curve of my spine. “Will you be my girlfriend? I mean bein’ your boyfriend sounds a little childish but I kind of like it. Maybe just exclusive. Go steady with me, Ginny. I don’t want to see anyone but you and I want to start our life together,” he rants. He seems unsure of himself–nervous almost. It’s cute.

My heart nearly explodes at his vulnerability. “Oh, Joel,” I gush, trying to dismiss the fluttering in my stomach.

It feels so good to finally have someone who wants me in the same way I want them.

A haunted expression washes over Joel’s face. “I’m sorry. If you think it’s too fast, forget I said something,” he retracts his question.

I lift my head from his chest, scurrying impossibly close to his face. “No, not at all. I love how casual this conversation is,” I attempt to reassure him.

He exhales and his breath fans over my face. “Okay so,” he directs me to continue.

I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, gnawing on the flesh a bit. Unable to control my euphoria, a Cheshire cat smile spreads across my face. “Yes, Joel. I’ll be your girlfriend,” I accept the offer.

He puts his hands on my cheeks, attempting to connect our lips when I pull back. “Morning breath,” I halt him.

He raises his eyebrows, looking at me like I’ve just shot him in the heart. “Don’t care. You’re my lady now,” he reminds me, and I give in, allowing him to kiss me. His hands slide to my neck, pulling me closer to deepen it. I smile into the kiss, moaning in his mouth when his tongue swirls around mine.

My head fills with endless possibilities of us, together. Maybe I’m finally getting my happily ever after.

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