Pedro Pascal Characters - Tumblr Posts - Page 4

DD! It's Catfish Day! I have a question for you: Frankie's Fight Night Jeans or his Mission Khakis? Which is a better look?

(also I think you are brave and wonderful and I am so glad that our paths crossed here)

I love both looks but there’s just something about the khakis 🫠

They just seem to accentuate a certain thing…

Just something about the khakis get to me…

Whatever that could be… 👀🤣

Awww, thank you! 🥰 I’m very glad our paths have crossed as well ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you! I was hoping I could do it justice ❤️

It was the most heartbreaking situation I could think of 😭

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst

A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader

Masterlist||AO3

divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.

Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.

“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.

You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.

“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.

“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”

“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”

“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”

“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”

The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.

What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.

Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.

Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.

The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.

—

“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”

“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.

“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”

You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.

“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”

“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”

“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.

“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”

“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”

“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”

“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”

Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.

“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”

“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”

“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.

“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”

He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.

—

“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”

You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.

Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?

Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.

The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.

Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.

You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you. 

You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t  meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.

He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.

“Hello?”

“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”

“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”

“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”

“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”

—

Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.

“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.

“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”

“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”

“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.

If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.

“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”

“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”

“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”

“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.

“Why not?”

“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.

“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.

“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”

“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”

“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”

For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.

“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”

Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.

You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️

Love, D

—

It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”

“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.

You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.

“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.

“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.

“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”

—

It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut. 

It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.

“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”

You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.

“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”

“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”

“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”

“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

“Peanut.”

“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.

“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”

“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”

“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”

“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”

“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”

“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”

“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.

—

Five years later.

Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.

“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”

“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”

Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.

“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.

“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”

“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Is she really getting married?”

“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.

“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”

“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”

“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”

Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.

---

He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.

He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.

“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”

“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.

“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”

“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”

“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”

“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”

He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?

“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”

“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”

“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”

“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”

“Yes,” you reply coldly.

“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”

“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”

“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.

“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.

Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it. 

He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”

Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.

Oh. Oh my! What a wonderful gift to give us all on Catfish Day! 🥵🥵🥵

beg | frankie morales x f!reader

summary: frankie's tied up, strung out. it's just a matter of how long he lasts.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. established relationship. sub!frankie. soft dom(ish)!reader. bondage. edging. mention of using a strap. oral, f&m receiving. unprotected p in v. keeping our boy pussy drunk on national catfish day yk.

wc: 1.7k

an: *sigh* look. i had some thoughts. the itch needed to be scratched. this is a tiny thing and i fear it's no good, but here we are.

In all you've done over the past few months, you don't think you've ever seen Frankie so strung out beneath you. You suppose, tonight, he's got good reason.

Because this must be torture. His wrists cuffed to the bed frame above him, tan arms taught in their restraints. His ankles tied, too - legs spread across the bed - body rendered completely immobile. He's barely been able to make a sound above a whimper, a whisper, a moan. Barely allowed to, as his cock weeps against his stomach, pearly beads of precum smearing against his skin, pooling just below his navel.

Sweat is teasing his curls into tighter ringlets, glistening in the hollow of his throat. The tendons in his neck pulled tight as he cranes his head up to watch you, lipstick marks staining the skin all the way up to his forehead. You'd swiped your lips there as you rode him earlier, chest pressed to chest, able only to moan yourself as you listened to the obscene sound of your soaked cunt pulling him in, pushing him out. Hardly able to perform the role you'd established after so much teasing, focused solely on the thick stretch of him, the fullness of his cock, the way his tip ached against your cervix. It had felt so good, having him so close, so submissive. So willing to be used, so trusting, so eager to feel you come around him.

And he'd looked gorgeous. Fighting to keep his eyes open, jaw slack, throat struggling around a swallow, around the plea of your name. He'd grappled with his self-control as you fucked yourself through every crest, as your pussy fluttered at his begging.

He'd wanted you to make it difficult for him, wanted you to push him tonight. So when you saw that pleading, wide-eyed panic on his face, you'd dragged yourself off of him. Off of his gorgeous, swollen cock, leaving him to pulse and twitch, leaning back on your calves to trail your fingers through the mess between your thighs.

He watches as you shudder at the touch, closing your eyes before meeting his, dark and burning. Lipstick up his chest, down to his bitten, nibbled-pink belly.

'You want a taste, baby boy?'

'Sí, mi cielo.'

He barely breathes as you lean forwards, slotting two fingers into his wet, waiting mouth. He fucking moans at the taste of you, swirling his tongue into any crevice of skin he can find, swiping it beneath your nails. You coo approvingly as you hook your thumb beneath his jaw, pressing the digits down on his tongue just to watch his eyelids fly open. He gags and drools a little, and you pout at him.

'Look so pretty with your mouth full, Frankie.'

He hums around your fingers, pupils blown, eyes glazed.

'Should keep it full more often, huh? Keep my pussy in your mouth all the time.'

He whines at that, body surging in a desperate attempt to move. You giggle, and he whimpers. You lick your lips.

'Or maybe... maybe we could dig out the strap, huh? Have you on your knees, choking on my cock?'

Your fingers fall from his lips with a soft pop as his head hits the pillow beneath him. You watch, smiling, as he hisses a fuck, tries to claw deep breaths into his lungs. As he squeezes his eyes shut, swallows harshly. Once. Twice.

You sit back again, one hand reaching between his legs to pull at his cock, soaked with your slick and come, running your thumb through the creamy ring you left at the base. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched so tight you wonder whether the bone could shatter.

He's close, so close. You want to know how far he'll let you take him before he careens off the edge. 

You squeeze a little harder at his tip, and he keens.

'Please, baby. Please -'

'Please what, Francisco?'

'I don't - I don't wanna come yet -'

'You want me to stop?' You ask, still fisting his cock, painfully slow. You can feel the kick of his heartbeat in it, knowing yourself you're playing with fire.

'Mhm, yes -'

You release him, letting his length slap back against his belly. He gasps and pants as you shush him, crawling up his body, retracing the path of your stained lips before you capture his in a heated kiss. You lick into his mouth, and he lets you. So pliant, so good, so easy. You grip his jaw to keep his mouth open, and pull back to look him in the eye.

'If you don't want to come, baby boy, is there something else I can give you?'

His tongue works in his open mouth, his words garbled. You spit slowly into the darkness there, and lean down to suck on his lip.

'Can't hear you, Francisco. Speak up for me, baby.'

He moans, tries again, louder. You get the gist of it, but it's so fun to play with him like this. You shake your head, grinning.

'Mm, you're not asking properly, are you, niñito? Good boys only get things when they ask properly.' He stares back at you, eyebrows furrowed, pleading.

'Maybe I'll just have to leave you here, all tied up -'

He shakes his head so firmly you lose your grip, and you can't fight the way your smile grows.

'No,' he gasps, 'Please, hermosa. Sit on my face, I want you to sit on my face -'

'Oh, baby. Then you should have said so.'

You grin at him, wicked, as you peel yourself from his sweaty chest, taking a moment to decide how this should go. You tilt your head before swinging your legs over his torso so your back is facing him, moving up the bed to hover your cunt above his mouth. You place your hands firmly on his hips.

You can hear, rather than see, how he struggles to stretch his mouth to you, his little whimpers and whines as you wiggle your ass slightly.

'Por favor, cielo, please, I need -'

You cut him off with another giggle, watching his thighs and cock twitch before you.

'I know what you need, Francisco. But I need you to beg.'

He's louder this time. Needy.

'Please, baby, please. Need you in my mouth. Need to taste you, wanna feel you, need to make you come, hermosa. Wanna smell like you, wanna be yours, need you, need you on m-'

You drop your hips, clit catching on his bottom lip, and his response is immediate. His groan is muffled by your cunt, but his tongue is instantly fixed at a point, lapping at the slick you've been steadily leaking, tracing a path up to your pearl. And then he's spiralling in tight circles, sucking slightly on the bundle of nerves before moving his lips and tongue as one. Getting you messy, just the way you like it - the way he likes it. You lean further forward, belly to belly now, biting your fist until it bruises against the moans clawing up your throat. He's good, he's so good. You can feel slick dripping from your hole to your clit at this angle, drooling from your cunt to Frankie's eager, hungry mouth. Smeared over his skin, his lips, his nose, soaking his beard.

This time, when the moan comes, you release it. Long and loud, broken towards the end. Let your hot breath pour over the skin just above Frankie's neglected dick, and you watch the way he flinches at the sensation.

Perfect.

Regaining your composure, you reach out your tooth-marked hand, tracing your fingers along the curls at his base. He shivers at your touch, but his tongue never pauses. He works you so precisely, so eagerly, that you can feel the burn of your orgasm approaching, can tell by how wet Frankie's mouth is on you that he also knows, tasting the slick you're pulsing out.

You need to work fast.

You take the tip of your finger, trailing up through the hair, up the ridged lines of his cock. The swollen veins, the soft skin, the stickiness of you and the glide of the precum he's covered in. You slide it around the tip, pressing it into the weeping slit before rubbing the digit along the sensitive underside, and this time, Frankie stutters. His hips jolt, his tongue pauses. And then he waits. Waits for the scolding, the punishment. But you say nothing. Just keep touching him, moaning, tracing the same path. Up, around, down, until you lean closer, breathing his heady musk in, before pressing soft, wet kisses to his base, up, up, shifting until you can fit his tip in your mouth.

He must know how you've set him up. He can't pull you off him, can't shift his hips away. Can't tell you to stop with his mouth stuffed full of your cunt. Can't communicate with his eyes when you've got your back to him.

Can't beg you not to make him come. Not without your permission.

It makes some sadistic little coil of pleasure bloom through your stomach. His panting breaths as he continues to eat you, his tense thighs, his curled toes. You relax your throat just enough to take him all the way into your mouth, and swallow.

It's all he needs. You shift your hips as he starts to come, a rattling, hoarse No- ripping from him. He fills your mouth quickly - silky, salty - and you let it dribble down his pulsing length, your clit twitching in an effort to join him. When the last spurts have hit your tongue, when he’s whimpering and heaving, you swallow. You make a show of arching your back, of rising slowly. Of detaching yourself from him, of your disapproval.

When you look at him, he's wrecked. Spent, barely on earth. But his eyes shine with tears, with embarrassment.

'Lo siento, cielo.' He croaks, but you shake your head.

'Not good enough, Francisco,' you murmur, 'You know you can do better than that, don’t you?'

He nods, chin quivering.

'I know, too, baby. And you were doing so well.'

'I’m sorry.' He says again, barely above a whisper.

You tut at him, moving to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

'It's okay, sweetheart. This time. This time, you'll wait for me.'

I cannot wait to read thiiiiiis!!!!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍

coming soon...

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!! I love this story and this couple so much and now to be blessed with this beautiful art?! BRAVO @kenobiwanx

table for two commission of linecook!frankie and waitress!reader by the crazy talented @kenobiwanx! thank you so much, gio, for taking these two from imagination to art!

I just wanted to also add a quick disclaimer that waitress!reader doesn't have a specific look or description, but we concocted one for this commission <3

this series means so much to me, I've put so much soul into it and it's been by far my most favorite series to progress through. thank you to those who have read, commented, liked, reblogged, or shared your thoughts with me via my inbox or messages! I reread them almost on the daily and love to create this story for whoever cares to read it!

Uggghhhh!!!! THIS HURT SO GOOD 😭 Good for her though! Being strong like that!

THE NEW GIRL JAVIER PEÑA X F! READER

Y'all I'm having some major Javi need, but this is what came of it 😐😐😐.. Written on my phone, not proofread , major stream of consciousness.

The New Girl

His eyes are what drew you in first.

Not the dark coffee color, nor the sorrowful shape. Not the thick lashes that lined them. It was the story you saw reflected in them, the mixture of anguish and fury that had you stammering your name as you were introduced.

"And this is Javier Peña," your new boss said finishing the introductions. "Javier, this is the new department secretary.'

"Nice to meet you, agent Peña."

Your hand was clammy in his but Javier didn't seem put off. He pumped it gently, fingers long and wrapped around your palm.

"Pleasure is mine."

His voice was the second thing that drew you to him. Deep, rasping the syllables of your name, caressing them almost obscenely. You never liked your name before he said it, like he'd baptized it, made it new.

But his mouth is what sealed the deal. The slight hitch to one side when he smirked (or in rare instances) smiled. During those times his eyes would squint and your heart would flip. His mouth was full, pouty, almost strange in the catalogue of his other features: strong nose, chiseled jaw, dark pensive brows.

You'd forced your attention back to the still chattering supervisor, cheeks burning because you could feel Javier's gaze locked on your profile.

You'd been ushered into the other departments, shown what to do but the senior secretary and soon thoughts of the sloe-eyed agent were replaced by typing and organizing.

It was at five pm when you'd felt the presence of someone at your back. A warmth that had your spine tingling.

"Good first day?"

You needed to steady your breathing before turning to see Javier there, his hip against your desk, arms folded.

"Uh yeah, yes."

"You need a ride home?"

You were surprised by the offer, but thankful. The bus was often crowded and overheated.

"Are you sure? It's a bit far."

You told him your address and he just smiled, shaking his head.

"Not too far, carino. Grab your purse."

As the weeks went on the Columbia heat you took to tying it up in knots at the back of your head. That first day however you wore your hair down and it danced in the air as you rolled down his window.

Halfway to your apartment he lit a cigarette, letting it sit between his fingers on the wheel, his free hand finding its way onto your knee.

When he parked at your apartment your entire body was trembling. His hand remained on your body, heavy and warm.

"Thank you for the ride."

You were so intimated, so aroused, so overstimulated that when he finally spoke you almost whimpered. He was twisted in his seat, eyes piercing you.

"Gonna invite me in?"

His thumb drifted to your inner thigh, drawing gentle circles into your soft skin as you swallowed a gasp.

"Yes, please, come in."

His arm was around your waist as you walked to your apartment door, then he was gripping you, urging your mouth to his as you crossed the threshold.

You'd had partners before him, three to be exact, but when he fucked you in your bed to the soundtrack of Columbia traffic and the sensation of your cheap fan blowing faintly in the distance, you swear it felt like your first time.

He was able to draw noises and sensations others simply hadn't bothered to or been capable of. The eyes, the mouth, the voice, all were used as tools to break you, to dismantle you until you were sweaty and writhing under him, begging for more.

And it was those very tools that rebuilt you, gazing at you with a crooked smirk as he urged you in both Spanish and English to keep going.

"So close, so close," he cooed at one point, his hips slapping against your ass, his wide hands tangled in your hair. "C'mon pretty thing, you can get there for me can't you?"

It was hours of teasing, of testing, of your arched back and his bowed body. Hours of coaxing you to give him more, of your hands gripping the mattress and then finally the gentle sensation of his fingertips along your spine as you fell into an exhausted sleep.

///

When you awoke the next morning, it was late. Your alarm had not been set. And your bed was empty.

You were sore and smelling of sweat and sex. You showered quickly and arrived at the embassy to disapproving glances and comments that it better not be a regular occurrence.

You'd always been a good worker, punctual, attentive. You felt deep shame at being called out your second day. This shame was compounded when you passed Javier in the hall and he ignored your greeting.

You'd thought he maybe didn't hear you, so you tried again the next afternoon when you ran into him again. He was walking down the hall with a tall blonde man, the two of them intensely discussing something they'd been working on.

"Hi Javier."

He'd kept walking, never breaking his stride or his attention. It was the blonde man whose brows furrowed, noting you there standing awkwardly at the water fountain.

"Aren't you going to answer her?"

"Don't know her," Javier waved a hand errantly.

The two had continued down the hall and your body broke into a humiliated flush at his casual dismissal.

After that day you went to great lengths never to be in his vicinity. Stepping into empty offices when you saw him down the hall, taking your lunch breaks later because you might run into him in the cafeteria.

And yet more often than not in the evenings at home your fingers slipped under the covers and then the hem of your panties. Your searching fingers were never enough, even when you would buck into them, hips rolling as the sweet memories of his evening with you played on repeat.

It was never enough.

The way he'd made you feel always there like a fog you couldn't escape from; one you breathed in deep lungfulls into your body until he was living there behind your ribs.

You were miserable.

A few weeks later you went to meet with the new secretary, needing to double check with her on one of the presentation documents.

You'd walked into the office to see Javier in a yellow button up shirt that strained over his biceps, jeans tight around his thighs as he sat half perched on the woman's desk, flashing her the same smile he'd given you that first day.

"Can I give you a ride home, bonita?"

And just like you had done, she flushed, giving him a tittering giggle and nod.

"He's a dog," one secretary told you during your lunch when you asked about him, slotting his name between others, disguising your interest.

"Sleeps with all the secretaries," another one said the following week. "Don't fall for his pick up lines."

And it only went on from there.

Sleeps with prostitutes.

Fucks Communists.

Don't sleep with him whatever you do.

And you listened to these points, forcing your expression to be neutral. But your heart was staccato in your chest, like the clicking of your typewriter as you wrote memos for distribution.

You promised yourself right there that you would have nothing further to do with Javier Peña.

The weeks continued with you trying to focus on work, ignoring the scent of his spicy cologne when he passed you in the halls. You went on dates with other men, unfulfilled when they took you to bed, your brain and body craving the one man you shouldn't want.

You told yourself over and over that it was nothing, that he was nothing to you. You even started to believe it.

However it was the way Javier looked at you when you brought a file to him the following month that drove those rational thoughts from your brain.

He watched your approach, eyes scanning your body languidly as you stepped towards him, hand holding the outstretched folder.

"There she is," he crooned. "Right on time."

He winked at you, slow and seductive as he took the folder from your hands, fingertips dancing over yours as he tugged it towards him, slapping it on the desk.

"Thanks sweetheart."

And you'd been desperate, thinking that this uncharacteristic warmth from him meant something. That the previous weeks of pining for him weren't in vain. That he'd missed you as much as you missed him.

It brought a hopeful smile to your face as you watched him pop a cigarette into his mouth. It made you lower your voice to a seductive hush.

"Do you think you could give me a ride home tonight, Javi?"

The cigarette faltered as paused to look at you, lighter held halfway to the end. He eventually lit it, confused eyes on you when he took a drag,

"Isn't there a bus that runs from here?"

And then before you could answer he turned from you, his broad shoulders facing you as his neck craned forward over his file. You were dismissed.

Your feet moved without thought, carrying you from one office to the next. You'd typed up your resignation, blinking back humiliated tears.

When you handed in your notice you'd been surprised at the reaction from you supervisor who took your letter and after a cursory look slapped out into the desk.

"It's Peña isn't it?" He scowled, marking something down in your file. "Third secretary to quit this year because of that asshole."

That hurt.

You walked out the front doors of the embassy at the end of that day scarce belongings in a cardboard box. You could only huff a quiet laugh when Javier sauntered over to you, a playful expression on his face.

"Hello carino," he purred, eyes half shuttered. "Turns out I can give you that ride home after all."

The box was light in your arms, but it felt lighter as you strode past him, ignoring him and his dazzling eyes as you made your way down the steps, out of his life forever.

This was a lovely surprise to have today! 😍🫠

⁴⁾ “why don’t we film it?”

²⁷⁾ “why don’t we use some of your toys?”

⁴⁶⁾ “poor baby, all fucked out and i’ve barely even touched you.”

Any of the above for Meet Me in the Back?

😈😈😈😈 maybe all???

Toys: A MMITB Drabble

word count: ~700

tags/warnings: daddy!kink, overstimulation, bondage, toy usage, filming sex acts

—

You could kill him.

Right now, you could kill him. But you’re boneless, drenched in sweat, and begging him to stop.

“Oh, baby, was seven too many?”

You would smack the shit out of his condescending face if you had the use of your arms right now. Or your legs.

He’d made you brunch to ring in your Saturday morning/afternoon, and you thought he’d been so cute and innocent when he’d said, “Why don’t we use some of those toys?”

The bondage rope was an impulse purchase from the sex shop down the street you’d visited together. The Hitachi he already owned and had brought to your house weeks ago. And the dildo…the dildo was his little discovery from snooping in your drawers while you were blinking awake this morning.

And when he’d already had you spread eagle, wrists and ankles secured to your headboard and bed frame, he’d kissed along your neck with dizzying scrapes of his teeth and said, “Why don’t we film it? So I can watch you fallin’ apart for me when I can’t touch you?”

You’d whimpered, uttered, “Yes, yes, whatever you want daddy. Just please fuck me.”

But he didn’t fuck you. Not with his cock. And you’re, according to him, on orgasm seven. With your cunt stuffed full of the godforsaken dildo you’d bought long ago to fill the void inside you when you weren’t with him.

You’re pretty sure you’ll never forget that smug, self-assured look on his face when he spotted it in your bedside drawer.

“Any particular reason you got this?” He asked, a shit-eating grin on his face as the silicone cock jiggled in his grip, looking dangerously similar to the way his hand looks gripping his own cock apart from the translucent dark purple shade of it.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Has nothing to do with you,” you lied, rolling over in your sheets, turning your back to him to scrounge an ounce of extra rest.

“Oh? When’d you get it?” He pried, whacking your curled bicep playfully with the heavy silicone.

You glared back at him and his cocky grin and grumbled, “No comment,” before throwing the blankets over your head to the sound of his unconvinced chuckles.

And now it’s been nestled inside of you for the better part of the last hour and a half, spreading your pussy wide like the drawn state of your limbs, as Joel teases the Hitachi wand to your clit and recorded your squeaks and squirms with his phone camera.

“Jesus christ,” Joel whistles, gripping the silicone balls of the dildo and easing the toy out of you until it slips free of your still-clenching pussy from your last orgasm. The wand buzzes mutedly in your bedding, cast aside as he gives his camera a close-up of your overworked hole. “Look at how sloppy she is. All puffy and wet for her daddy, huh?”

You expel a weak moan from your throat, your pelvis twitching as a thumb brushes through your folds and directly over your oversensitive clit.

“Poor baby,” Joel groans, massaging your outer labia with his slick thumb as you whine and shake. “All fucked out and I’ve barely even touched you, huh?”

A strained, borderline hysterical laugh escapes you at his words. Barely touched you? You’ve had what is essentially a power tool pressed to your clit and four inches of girth gaping you open for over an hour.

Barely touched, my ass.

“Can’t…again…” you pant out, your chest rising and falling with the exhaustion of your climaxes.

“Aww, sugar. You callin’ ‘uncle’?” He says, that cocky smile still stretching his cheeks. He shifts up your body, bringing his phone along to record your wrecked, gasping expression. “Or, rather, you callin’ ‘daddy’? You need him to stop torturin’ your little slut button? She too sensitive?”

His lips envelop your panting mouth with a wet kiss, his tongue tickling along yours as you whine into his mouth. He detaches from you with chuckle, nipping at your jaw. “You give daddy one more and he’ll remind you how the real thing puts that fuckin’ dildo to shame.”

Oh! Okay! Did not know this would thrill me and also make me want to get my husband at the same time 😵‍💫🥵

THE PARTY || Lucien Flores x f!reader || 580 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON, unspecified age gap, unprotected piv.

Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta reading😘

****

Your red lipstick is smeared all over his palm, but you’re not screaming anymore. Not with the way his thick cock slides in and out of your treacherously wet pussy.

“Yeah - yeah - yeah…” Lucien rasps into your ear with every thrust, “ya like it? Good girl.”

His strong fingers are digging into your left thigh leaving marks and pain in their wake as he’s holding your leg against his hip, opening you up for him to fuck. His fist bunches up the skirt of your red dress, the color of the flower he plucked off a bush for you just a few minutes ago. You thought he was sweet, not expecting him to turn into this monster, eyes boring into yours, gaze dark, carnal, hungry, as he’s ruthlessly using your pussy for his pleasure.

You should scream, must scream but can’t. Lucien’s pounding into you by the wall in a dark corner of the garden, and all you can do is whimper and take it like a good girl. Like he told you to.

You’re not sure anyone will hear you anyway, his violent act is concealed by the loud music of the party.

“Prancing around…tits almost out…swaying your sexy ass…been asking for it all night, little slut,”he’s growling in your ear as he slightly lifts your body against the wall, plunging his cock even deeper inside your channel. You cry out and start moaning clutching his silky shirt as his fat tip abuses your cervix with sharp strokes.

“Made me so hard…Fuck, you’re tight, baby.”

“Stop…,” you mewl helplessly but even you don’t believe yourself. Your mind has shut down some time ago, making you concentrate on the pleasure coursing through your body and relieving your psyche from the horror of his lewd act. At least for now.

Lucien laughs at your plea, the hoarse sound interrupted by his breathy moan as his cock finally erupts and he shoots his cum deep inside your burning core.

He pumps you full of his warm seed still rolling his hips as your pussy squelches around his pulsating length.

Finally he stills, pulls his cock out and lowers you down. Your shaky legs give up and you would surely fall if not for his strong arms catching you and holding you up.

He chuckles through the heavy panting,

“Fucked you good, huh?”

You try to stumble away from him but he pushes you back against the wall, pinning you to the cold hard surface yet again.

“Did you come? Don’t think so,” he says lifting up your skirt for the second time this night and you start sobbing.

“Shh, don’t cry…my girls always come.”

In a second his fingers are rubbing your hardened clit using his cum dripping out of your hole as lube and soon you unravel under his touch, shaking, moaning, hating him and your body for succumbing to his ministrations so easily.

Finally satisfied he slides his big hands up your sides and wraps them around your neck, thumbs gently rubbing your jaw. Cold blown eyes locked with yours, he gives your throat a light squeeze and makes your heart freeze with terror when he growls,

“One word about this and I’ll tell your dad his little girl seduced his best friend. I still have your nudes as proof.”

He gently kisses you, taste of champagne and cigarettes on his lips, and then whispers against the corner of your mouth before leaving,

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

*****

Thank you for reading💖

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated🌸

MASTERLIST

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre

Well did not expect myself to full on bawl my eyes out! This is such a beautiful story! The details, the Before part where you get a small look into the past before Joel comes along, their love story.

UGH! JUST UGH! 😭😭😭

Woman | Joel Miller x Reader

Complete, Rating: Mature/Explicit

Watch her take me by surprise

When she lets me call her mine

Do you ever really know?

Can you ever really know?

Summary: Joel Miller returns to Jackson bringing back memories and feelings from 20 years ago, but you refuse fall into the universe’s trap again. Your table is at capacity. Adding another chair will only kill you when they get taken away.

Tags: Joel Miller X Reader. Age Gap. smut. hurt/comfort. Life in Jackson. single parent. post season/part I. Mostly TV show canon compliant. TV show versions of characters. playing with the timeline. Tommy’s been in Jackson for a lot longer.

Warnings: descriptions of blood, gore, trauma. Grief & loss. Loss of a spouse. Violence. Smut/Explicit content. Panic attacks, depression, anxiety. MISC canon topics. Chapter specific warnings before each chapter.

Playlist - Updated with each chapter release

Part I

1. tame the ghosts in my head 2. a clouded mind and a heavy heart 3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes 4. walk with me, i think we’ll find a way 5. sleep the hours that i can't weep 6. play my bloody part 7. when she lets me call her mine

Before - A Woman Story

Five peeks into your life before Joel Miller reentered it, recommended to read in between Part I & II of Woman

Part II

8. a cry of my heart to see 9. the fear of what’s to come 10. hold you from the world and its curse drabble. what's that i see? 11. up from the dust, inconceivable love 12. love with urgency but not with haste

drabble. love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears

Part III

13.with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair 14.in the cold light i live to love and adore you 15.holding my breath for you epilogue. the ghosts that we knew

Bonus Content

Art commission based on chapter 12

This was such a wonderful read! 😍 The tension was perfect!!!

tommy's party (pt. i & ii)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. or, a bunch of times you and frankie nearly fuck. and then one time you do.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

series ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. friends to lovers, idiots in love, split pov, little bit of fluff and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader has history with benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. thighriding, f&m masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected p in v (wrap it, y'all), oral, creampie, loads of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby, etc.)

songs are tagged at end of fics - headers do not represent reader, only the albums!

an: this one really ran away from me, and so is now a two parter. love you, hope you enjoy!! <3

part i: you and your friends

part ii: tommy's party

Oh. Oh my! Did not see Javi becoming this domineering persona with that ending but bless you Beef you done did it! 🥵😍🫠

KEPT feat. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Pairing: Javi G x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 5,369

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: smut (p in the v intercourse), imbalanced power dynamics, birth of a toxic relationship, alluded sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship (not officially called it in this fic), slight dub-con (Javi is the aggressor, but reader is consenting), talk of weight gain, ambiguous ending, Javi jerking off, clothes tearing, pet names and a few sentences in Spanish manipulation, swearing, this is not your regular Javi G - he is overweight and a complex man with many facets [might have some BigFish energy here]

Author's Notes: This was written for my beloved @noxturnalpascal, who requested this way back when we were celebrating 900 friendos and I have finally delivered! I don't know if I nailed the request all the way but Javi is fat in this so I got one thing right!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal, @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3 & @bitchesuntitled for their wonderful eyes, minds and grammatical skills. Also tagging @xdaddysprincessxx bc this is right up her alley.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

“You hear who’s coming to the office today?”, Loretta, one of the legal support staff members whispered as you used the photocopier by her desk.  

You smiled as you correlated your documents and fed them through the copier. “Who?” 

Her grin widened. “Javi Gutierrez.” 

It had been a long time since you’d seen Javier Gutierrez - not since before his big Hollywood break, courtesy of Nic Cage. You’d gotten the low down on his current events from people in the law office you worked in, given your boss, Craig, was one of the partners at the firm representing him as his entertainment lawyer and had done most of Javi’s legal work remotely. Your last interaction with him had been nothing short of unforgettable as he was congratulating you on your promotion to becoming your boss’s executive assistant – a role you resented given your education. He’d curled his tongue around your name as he took your hand into his larger one, then let his eyes wander over your frame. You’d returned the intensity of his gaze in kind and put his broad shoulders and soft-yet-sturdy frame, his pouty lips, gorgeous nose, and deep brown eyes to memory. If it had been the first and only time you’d met, you would’ve sworn it was love – or lust – at first sight. But you’d met with him many times over several months and each time, he seemed ever so slightly bolder.  

That was almost three years ago.  

You looked at Loretta and she grinned wildly. She was there when Javi had asked about you once you’d moved up in the company and no longer handled his affairs, and noted the disappointment that flickered in his eyes when her boss would tell him again that you wouldn’t be joining the meeting. She’d bothered you and teased you about this, but you’d tried to act aloof. Oddly, she’d only let up when she saw him again about six months ago, randomly telling you about the encounter. Her bringing him up again now seemed oddly suspicious. 

“Loretta…”, you sighed. “What gives?” 

“Just thought you’d like to know. He’s coming here. To the office. Today.”, she grinned incredulously. 

You gave her an irritated scoff as you collected your documents, copied and printed. “Not sure what you’re playing at.” 

You turned and walked from her desk as she called out to you. “Might not recognize him anymore. Figured I’d give you a heads up!” 

You shook your head and walked back to your office.  

***** 

A few hours later, you were buried in case law regarding a dispute over the ownership of vintage hand-blown glass dildos when there was a knock at your door.  

Not looking up from the file folder, you called out, “Come in!” 

The door opened and you heard his honey toned voice. “Hola hermosa.” 

Your head shot up and the person who you’d assumed that voice would be coming from was not standing in your office. This man had the same eyes and nose and lips, but his frame was larger and softer. The pale blue dress shirt he wore was tucked into his tailored sand-coloured chinos and his belly stretched both to their limit. Your eyes roved over his body as your brain screamed at you to say something. 

“M-Mr. Gutierrez!”, you finally spat out with a smile. “Oh… wow, you’re here!” 

He gave you a slightly nervous smile, seeming to be just as flustered as you felt but was better at hiding it than you were.  

“Sí, yes, here I am.” 

You awkwardly exchanged pleasantries standing either side of your desk before your office phone rang, pulling you both out of the trance of your meeting.  

He motioned to your phone with a nervous smile and asked, “Do…. Do you need to get that?” 

The smile dropped from your face, and you clumsily reached for the phone, pulling it off the cradle and up to your ear. Before you could even start the first utterings of ‘Hello’, Craig began a f-bomb laden tirade, ripping into you about that Miller vs. Miller case that he had bungled and was in turn getting heat from his partners about. Momentarily forgetting that you had someone else in the room with you, you rolled your eyes and silently sighed, then caught Javi out of the corner of your eye and straightened up, mouthing ‘sorry!’ to him. But he no longer looked nervous or bashful. Gone was his sweet smile and big, brown baby cow eyes; in their places was a tight-lipped scowl and dark, storm filled eyes, glowering at your phone. You furrowed your brows in confusion at him and watched as he reached forward, pressed down on the receiver, and ended the call. You stood motionless and gob smacked, staring at him wide-eyed. 

He kept staring back at you, his eyes like dark, burning embers, seconds away from causing a flash fire, when you heard the heavy and quick footsteps of Craig.  

He threw your door open and stormed into your office. “What the fuck is wrong with y- Mr. Gutierrez!” 

Craig’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Javi turned and looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  

“What are you – I thought you’d left!” Craig tried to hide his nerves behind a chuckle and moved to shake his hand. 

Javi didn’t move. His arms stayed firmly at his sides, both fists clenched.  

“I had business to attend to with your assistant.” His voice was cold as he spoke through clenched teeth. “And you are interrupting.” 

“B-business? With her?”, Craig prattled, pointing at you. 

“Yeah.”, Javi nodded with a vicious smile. “Business. With her.” 

You swallowed hard as you watched Javi control the room with a quiet fury. Craig was not a small man, but Javi seemed to grow larger and more intimidating with each movement he made, no matter how small or minute.  

Craig took a step back, recognizing that Javi was mad, and he was more than likely the reason for it. You needed to diffuse the situation, knowing if you didn’t and Craig lost Javi as a client, you’d be in the doghouse, and hot-tempered words would be the least of your problems. 

“I’m sure that any business you have to discuss, Mr. Guiterrez, Craig is the more capable out of the two of us.” You kept your voice bright and feminine and forcing a sweet smile on your face.  

Javi’s head snapped to you, his look giving you a silent warning, then slipped into a wry grin.  

“Of course! How silly of me!”, he chuckled a little too keenly, smiling at Craig, setting him a little more at ease. “Of course, I should discuss with you that I’m poaching your employee and firing you as my legal representation.” 

 ***** 

You weren’t really sure how you ended up sitting across from Javi on his private yacht in the Mediterranean. It had been less than 48 hours since you were escorted out of the law office with a small box of your personal effects and slid into Javi’s limo. It was a whirlwind of packing a few things, grabbing your passport, and being told that you’d never have to worry again as long as you agreed. Agreed to what? You weren’t sure and Javi insisted that business would be discussed once you were settled. 

You nodded, not realizing that ‘settled’ meant being on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.  

“Hermosa, I  -“ 

“Mr. Gutierrez, I think th-“ 

“Javi.” 

“What?” 

“Call me Javi.” 

You took a breath and nodded. “Javi. I think tha-“ 

“I love hearing you say my name.” 

You smiled, slightly confused and a little nervous at the way he smiled at you. He picked up his champagne flute and clinked it against yours, then downed the contents and waved the glass at one of the staff who then quickly filled it again. 

“Uh… Javi. I think that we should talk business n-“ 

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.” 

You sat stunned. You were jet lagged, unemployed, and completely disoriented. You didn’t feel beautiful and, gauging by the warped reflection of yourself in the grapefruit spoon at your place setting, you didn’t look it either. 

“I… uh… oh. Thank you?” 

He chuckled and flashed his smile at you. “I was so excited when I knew I’d be in your office and get to see you again.” 

You gave him a tight smile as you started to lose patience. You fidgeted with your napkin and tried to hold back your temper.

“Javi. I think we really need t-”

“You looked even more perfect than I remembered.”, he cooed with a dopey grin on his face. “But I have to say, hermosa, you look a little-uh… stressed.”

“Well, Javi, that is because I would like to talk with you about whatever business you managed to have me quit my job and fly all the way to the Mediterranean and sit here jet lagged with you for!”

You blurted out quickly before he could interrupt in a sharp tone that became harsher and snappier as you spoke. When you were done, both you and Javi sat staring at one another in a stalemate.

Your shoulders rose and fell, and you cocked your head and raised your eyebrows, daring him to provide an answer.

A few seconds passed before a huge smile erupted on Javi’s face. His eyes were wide and his pupils were nearing the size of his irises, leaving the deep brown engulfed in them. His own breathing was a bit labored, almost panting, and he licked his lips, and growled. “Yes… yes, mi amada [my darling]. You are perfect.”

“Perfect for what?!”, you demanded, standing up and slamming your fists on the table. 

Javi looked as though he may either pass out or orgasm, nodding dumbly as he looked up at you. 

“Perfect for me. Perfecto para mí y mis millones [Perfect for me and my millions]. I need someone like you, mi amada. Someone like you on my arm at events and next to me during business meetings. Someone who not only has the beauty but also the brains!”, he declared dramatically. He then stood up to face you, banging his own fists on the table. “And the passion!”

You stared at him, your own frustration temporarily paused as your confusion took over. “What?”

“You shall be with me, guiding me, helping me throughout my business ventures. And in return, all I ask is that you let me take care of you.” His voice was calmer but there was an undertone of dominance. He paused, then said with a darker, slightly sinister tone, “And we are going to make sure you look lovely doing it all.”

+++++

You sat in your private room on the yacht, staring at yourself in the mirror. It had been just shy of 11 months since you’d arrived and your whole life felt surreal. You’d been to parties with people you’d only ever seen in magazines as you waited to buy your milk, you’d been handed a credit card made of metal - apparently having no limit - and told to shop for a whole new wardrobe. You’d been gifted with jewelry that seemed too ornate to be real, but came with certification papers proving otherwise. Even your slippers were worth more than a month of your previous salary.

Because of all this, you didn’t feel you could say no to Javi’s requests. It started out with him asking. He would ask you to join him for a meeting, you would go. He would ask you to wear a specific shade of azure for a party, and you agreed. Then his asking turned to requesting, and then turned to him just telling you. He would tell you when to go to bed and when to wake up, when to eat, when to work out, when to shop, when to relax… He was always kind and gentlemanly when he did dictate what your next move would be, but there was an undercurrent of “or else” with each order.

There was one thing he still only asked of you - and didn’t demand - to call him Javi. He said once that he felt like you were othering and demeaning yourself when you called him Mr. Gutierrez. That, and he remarked that he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

The only thing he hadn’t demanded of you - or mentioned at all - was sex. Some nights, he would retire to his room, and there was never an inkling of him waiting for you to follow, nor did he ever express any interest in entering your private quarters, regardless if you were on the yacht or one of his villas. You never shared a room; in fact, any bookings were made to have as much space as possible between your quarters. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t catch him looking you over. There is one dress you figured out that he really liked you in. You’d bought it in a soft pink colour, and after wearing it once, 16 of the same dress in various colours appeared in your closet soon after. When you walked into parties and events, he would hold you close to his body, his hand on the small of your waist and he would keep you there all evening. Without giving you the strict instructions verbally, his body language alone told you that you were there for him and him alone -  no one else. During fancy dinners, if anyone spoke directly to you, his hand would migrate slowly to your knee and halfway up your thigh. It wasn’t a warning, it was more of a reminder. 

You were lonely every night. Yes, you had any and everything money could buy, but there was no emotional connection. You’d never brought it up to him but in the contract you’d signed, there was a clause that forbade you from having intimate relationships with anyone while you were ‘employed’ by him. Javi was denying you the chance to find love so he could have you by his side - untouched and unloved.

The idea that he had essentially bought you should have made you recoil in horror. Instead, it left you most nights, whimpering his name into your fist as you came on your vibrator, imagining his weight slamming into you or him under you, gripping your hips as you rode him. But they were only fantasies; fantasies that were becoming harder to ignore.

The way his fingers would gently graze your collar bone to brush the hair away as he adorned your neck with a new necklace. How he would straighten out your shoulder straps. The way he would look you in the eye for just a brief moment before asking if you were ready as the car came to a stop in front of the venue. All of it said he wanted something more; so why did he not just tell you what to do?

You’d decided as you ate breakfast that that evening, post dinner, you were going to broach the topic. He had said that you could speak freely about anything, as long as it was never in front of anyone else -  you had to be alone.

The day had been uneventful, filled with meetings and business calls. By the time you were back in your quarters on the yacht, getting ready for dinner, the mundanity of the day had almost erased the reminder to ask for a moment alone with him. You quickly fixed your makeup then changed into one of the dresses you know he enjoyed. 

Javi smiled up at you as you walked into the dining room. He stood up, as did the other two men who sat at the table, and moved to take your hand and pull out your chair. His eyes trailed up and down your body and a satisfied smirk adorned his mouth.

He moved in to kiss your cheek as he took your hand, softly breathing out, “You look beautiful tonight.” His words smelled of whiskey. 

You leaned in quickly after he softly kissed you, and responded.“I’d like to sp-.”

He interrupted you with a quiet yet firm, “No.”, then winked and gave you his characteristic half grin as he pulled back. His fingers gently nipped your chin so demeaningly, then motioned for you to take your seat.

You felt deflated, never having been denied anything like that by him before.

+++++

Dinner, while delicious, was nothing of note. The men were talking amongst themselves, occasionally including you, while they got even more drunk and ate their food. You just sat there pushing your fork through your food, keeping a sweet smile on your face as you internally panicked about what you had done to upset him or if Javi knew what you were going to talk about and that’s why he cut you off.

It seemed that being lost in your own thoughts made time pass quickly; before you realized it, your barely-touched plate was being removed from in front of you and Javi was standing with a slight waver to see his dinner guests off. You looked up at him, noting how apparent his enjoyment of dinner was by the stretching of his buttons across his belly and glazed look in his eyes.

You stood up as you were abruptly brought out of your thoughts and Javi gave you a predatory smile, a slight chill in the way his lips curved insincerely.

“Mi amada, if you please. I think it’s time for you to retire.”

You fought the lump in your throat and forced a small, polite smile onto your face. 

“Oh… of course, Mr. Gutierrez.” 

You held eye contact with him for a beat and he looked back at you with his jaw tightened, then turned to leave the room. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and you hoped that using formalities when he had almost begged you to not would give him a taste of how disappointed and hurt you were. 

+++++

You were back to sitting at your vanity, post shower and in your silk night robe, removing the last remnants of your makeup. You’d cried once you got back to your room, and again in the shower, feeling so humiliated that you’d let yourself fall for a man who clearly wanted you around for keeping up appearances and nothing more.

You replayed every interaction you’d had with him, trying to see where you’d misinterpreted his actions, his touches, his gaze, making yourself feel even more humiliated and foolish for convincing yourself you were just seeing what made your ego take less of a beating over being this man’s paid arm candy. You had an excellent education and were on track to doing great things and now you were whoring yourself out for a hollow lifestyle that was never meant for you. 

After the last smudge of mascara was removed and your night cream was absorbed into your skin, you heard Javi down the hallway. You paused and listened, hoping he might stop at your door, but he continued past it and towards his room. Sitting on the chair, your mind whirled. You could just wait until morning to confront him, to demand that he release you from this humiliation and torment. You’d had enough. If he was unwilling to give you what you wanted then you wanted out. 

It took you some time to get riled up enough and have the courage to rip open your door, stomp down the hallway and bang on his door. At first, there was no answer, then you heard what could have been a ‘come in’, but you couldn’t be sure. You waited a moment, then heard another sound, and decided that was all the permission you needed to enter.

The door was unlocked, and you pushed it open and stepped into the entryway of his suite. You heard a grunt and a few heavy breaths. Your brows furrowed and you stepped around the corner to see Javi seated on his couch, pants around his calves, his shirt buttons open over his belly, one hand pumping his erect cock furiously and his other bunching a pair of panties that were unmistakably yours under his nose.

You covered your mouth as you gasped and he looked up, wide eyed, his hand stopping and squeezing his cock. 

“Oh god! Jav-Mr. Gutierrez! I am - I am so sorry!”

He stood up clumsily, pulling his pants up and stepped towards you, helplessly panting your name. You turned and tried to bolt, but as you opened the door, Javi’s arm shot out and shoved it closed with a loud slam. His body was behind you and his heavy, whiskey-laden breaths were painting the back of your neck. Your hand was still on the door knob and the hand he held up on the door came down over it. His other softly came to your hip, gently holding you in place.

“Mi amada.”, he breathed as his lips tentatively ghosted over your skin. “Por favor quédate [please stay].”

You almost choked on how dry your mouth had gotten, and you trembled slightly in his hold. You knew he was drunk and that this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened, but you wanted more than it made you uncomfortable. The hand on your hip moved, his palm now splayed below your belly button and he pulled you back against him, his stomach forcing you to arch your back. 

“Please. Just…” His voice sounded desperate and he pressed his still-hard cock against your backside. “Don’t run…”

“M-Mr. Guti-”

“Please, for the fucking love of god!”, he snarled through rough breaths,angrily squeezing you harder against him. His large hand grabbed your wrists, holding them firmly against your chest and the other came down and began bunching your night robe up in the front, exposing your thighs and black lace panties. He forced his hand between your legs and cupped your mound. “How many fucking time do I have to ask you? Beg you??”

You struggled against his hold and let out shallow breaths as his fingers pushed against the scrap of fabric and felt them becoming damper with your arousal. He roughly pushed your panties aside and the pad of his fat finger found your clit, circling it roughly. You whined out, gasping and dropped your head forward, watching his hand be engulfed at the crux of your thighs.

“Try it again… what’s my name?”

You were slipping under his spell until he spoke, being brought back to reality when his tone was less pleading and more commanding. Then you were reminded of why you were coming to confront him in the first place and you felt the determination to at least make this harder for him ignite.

“Mr. Gutier-”

His hand came up quickly, and his fingers slick with you gripped your chin, turning it to face him. 

“Don’t you dare do this.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching with the tension in your body. The haze of alcohol was in his eyes and you couldn’t help but continue to tremble in his hold, given the way you were restrained against him.

“Mr. Gu-”

As soon as the first syllable left your mouth, his eyes burned and anger erupted over his face. He yanked you back away from the entryway, cursing under his breath in growls and tossed you onto his bed. You tried pushing yourself up, adrenaline and arousal screaming through your body, but his large frame stood over you and he gripped your ankles, hauling your backside to the edge of the mattress and the force of his pull made you fall back again.

“So fucking difficult. I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t be decent enough to even use my name.”, he snarled as he got onto his knees on the floor. “You walk through my halls, adorned in my gifts to you, but you won’t even use my name!”

His fingers dug into your thighs harshly, and you squirmed. It didn’t deter him, and each time you moved, his grip tightened. 

“And then tonight, you show up for dinner looking so fucking beautiful and you sit at my table and you woo my guests. You’re testing me, mi amada.” Javi’s words come out in a low snarl. You felt one of his hands grip your panties’ waistband and rip the flimsy fabric off you. You yelped out at the sudden snap! followed by him pulling your thighs further apart and he grunted as he moved his face closer to your core.

He sighed and his voice was softer. “Teasing me. I can’t have you like I want, hermosa.” He pressed his face into your cunt and inhaled, forcing a choked gasp from you. “Te quiero tan mala, mi amada [I love you so much, my darling]. You can’t have it both ways.”

You let your hand move down to his hair and you gently let the tips of your fingers feel how soft it was. The caramel streaks mixed with the deep mahogany curls felt like heaven, and the way his head moved with each breath caused the soft light to catch the odd grey woven into the beautiful waves of his hair. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on your inner thigh, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself this comfort.

“Javi…”

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you through his brows menacingly. “Oh, now you want to behave?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, shaking your head. What had he done to you? He was reducing you to a needy mess, with no hope of having a backbone with him again.  “Javi…”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you want something, huh?”

He pulled his heavy body up from the floor, his normally fluid movements slightly awkward from the whiskey, and stood at his full height. Pulling off his jacket, his eyes stared daggers at you.

“Take that off, mi amada. Or you want me to buy you a new one of those, too?” He spat out at you as his mouth pinched in a bitter scowl as he stared at you, and you knew that was an order, not a real question.

You sat up and began removing the robe, but you weren’t moving fast enough. He reaches forward and ripped it off your body, tossing it onto the floor. You were shaking at this point from pure adrenaline, arousal and fear. Your arms quickly covered your chest but his hands yanked them away. “Don’t you fucking dare! I want to see what my money has gotten me.”

He released you and stood up, licking his lips and smirking as his eyes stared at your tits. He shoved his already open pants and briefs down, and his thick, hard cock bobbed heavily, slapping against his full belly.

“J-Javi…” Your voice came out in a meek whimper.

He pumped his cock. He smiled darkly back at you, and sneered,  “That’s right, hermosa. Fucking Javi.”

The smile and his movement towards you egged you on. “H-how do you want me?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kneeled between your parted legs on the bed and shoved you back down. He lifted your knees, then gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, and loomed over you menacingly.

“I want you to take it like you take everything else I give you. With a thank you and a fucking smile.”

Javi pushed in, the pressure and stretch forcing the breath from your lungs. You clung to him and as he buried himself as deeply as he could, Javi grabbed your leg, securing your ankle on his shoulder, and began pounding into you. Any memories you had of his soft touch and gentleness were turned to ash in that moment with how hard he was fucking you, but you were reveling in it. Even if this isn’t what you thought you wanted, you took solace in the truth of it all - you were right. He did want you; you didn’t misread the signs. Closing your eyes, you lost yourself in the feeling of him and the thought of how right you were and smiled as he pounded into you, groaning praises about your pussy. 

He pulled out and shoved you down onto your side and flopped down onto the bed behind you. Engulfing you in his arms, he slipped back in and pounded into you from behind. He held you firmly and your hands gripped his thick wrists. His sweaty body was sticking to yours, and he pushed his bulk halfway on top of you, crushing you sideways into the mattress and his mouth was sucking sloppy kisses onto your shoulder, face and neck. It was overwhelming; the heat and the friction and the stretch and the way he was coating you in his alcohol-infused sweat and spit - you could feel your climax building. You wanted him to stop but you needed him to keep going.

“Feel so fucking good, mi amada… m’close…”…”

Crying out, you came and he groaned and bit down hard on your shoulder. You writhed and squirmed, screaming into the mattress, as his thrusts fell into disarray. Your core was spasming as he fucked into you a few more times, grunting and panting through the clenched teeth in your flesh, then he went rigid and stilled. 

Both of your breathing was rapid and staggered as your bodies relaxed. His bite lifted and he kissed the angry skin softly, then he sighed.

“I can’t, mi amada.”

Javi disengaged from you and pulled away. He stumbled as he got up, pulled on his night robe and left his room. You laid in silence alone, waiting to see if he would return. Eventually, you got up and went back to your suite, no Javi in sight.

+++++

The days that followed bore nothing that would have hinted at your encounter other than the invites in your e-calendar for upcoming meetings had been wiped clean, your schedule was now open and both your night robe and black lace pantied had been replaced silently without your knowledge. 

Javi was distant, but still kind. The odd hand on your leg still happened, but the gentle looks and soft edges of his words were missing. 

One evening after you had been dismissed from the dinner table, signaling that he didn’t need you in a meeting you had organized, he knocked at your door. 

You opened your door and he pushed his way in without a ‘hello’, and crowded you against the wall, pushing his mouth to yours. His hands were trying to make quick work in getting your clothes off. 

Shoving him back, you yelled angrily, “Javi! What the fuck?”

The same fury you knew was written all over your face was staring back at you in his. He stepped towards you again.

“What? This not what you wanted?”, he sneered, grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him. 

“No! Not like this! I wanted - “

“No!”, he barked. “No! You cannot have it like that!”

“Javi - why? I though you want- -”

“Thought i wanted what? Wanted you as my partner? My fucking equal?”

You stared up at him, feeling your heart sink and your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, and the realization of what he was saying washed over you. You really couldn’t have it both ways.

Sensing that you were finally understanding him, he leaned in, mouth ghosting over yours and said softly, “You think just because you finally got what you wanted that I'll let you have a say?”

He nudged his nose against yours and shook his head slightly, keeping his tone soft. “If you wanted me to respect you and your opinions on my business, then you should have kept your fucking legs closed.”

You sucked a breath in and your chin quivered. The tears that had threatened to fall finally did. He nodded and kissed you and you didn’t push him off you again. He may have won this round but you were smart and we’re ready to demand that seat back at his table in due time.

You weren't going down without a fight.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

HOW DID I MISS THIS?! This is so sweet!!!!

No Words Needed feat. Marcus Pike & f!reader

a @iamasaddie challenge fic | Rated: PG | word count: 694 warnings: body insecurities, self esteem issues, loud music, internalized fatphobia, sweet fluff, no smut A/N: Thank you to @noxturnalpascal + @strang3lov3 for their eyes and minds 💜 also, darn you @iamasaddie for having me write more fluffy Marcus!

Aries: Competitive but insecure

There is nothing an Aries cannot achieve once they set their mind to it—no mountain is too high. However, you will also find them nursing a hidden imposter syndrome that can chip away at their confidence if allowed free rein. 

+++++

The music was loud. Too loud. Marcus had made himself come to this music festival, desperate to spend more time with you, but he was getting close to his breaking point with the incessant drum beats and the bright, flashing lights.

He felt out of place. He was older than the majority of the people swarming around him, not to mention heavier - feeling the full effects of his weight with his tight clothes and sweating body, but it was the over stimulation of the sights and sounds that had him just-about ready to leave without seeing you.

A younger couple ran into him as they giddily moved to get closer to the stage, bumping into his distended belly. It made him feel even more insecure about his presence, but it also ignited a determination in him to find you. He’d made it this far, he needed to see it through. 

Wading through the sea of bodies, he kept his head up, eyes scanning over the crowd trying to find you. You’d told him you’d have pink glow stick bunny ears on, and it was all he had to go on, since all cellphones were confiscated at the door. Marcus disliked that immensely; his history in the FBI leaving him not feeling comforted by random people in security t-shirts while simultaneously being untethered from his contact to the real world. 

As his mind was just about to delve into how he could levy a complaint and prove that his thoughts were correct on the matter, he spotted your glowing pink ears, bopping up and down to the music a few rows away. He smiled as he got closer, admiring the view of your cute butt in pink and purple sequined hot pants, gyrating to the same beat your ears bobbed around to. 

The insecurities he had before were replaced with ones entirely focused on you; he silently prayed that he wouldn’t fuck this up by being too needy or not tough enough. He couldn’t help but compare himself to the younger, thinner guys dancing around in various states of undress, showing off their chiseled, lithe bodies. His own heavier form was covered in a pink t-shirt and a pair of bright beach shorts, both approaching the ‘too-small’ range of fit. But the moment you turned and your eyes met his, all of his fears melted away. 

He offered you his trademark sweet smile and you in turn scampered up to him excitedly, grabbing his hands in yours and placing a pair of ear plugs on a beaded cord in his hands. A crescendo of feeling swelled up inside that you’d thought about his comfort enough to bring these for him. There would be no way to hear what the other was saying over the loud music anyway, but the way you both looked at each other, no words were needed to start putting Marcus’ concerns and self esteem issues to rest.

Your hand moved up to the back of his neck and you pulled him into a hug, while the other subtly rested on his chubby love handle. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back, trying to push aside his knee-jerk reaction to pull your hand away from feeling how big he was. You felt him stiffen a bit at where your hand rested and you gave his slight overhang a gentle squeeze. 

He pulled apart from you, eyes searching yours for some insincerity or teasing, but all he saw was you smiling up at him with genuine affection. 

The hand that was behind his neck slid down his chest and landed on his belly, and your mouth moved. The loud music absorbed the sound of your voice, but Marcus could read your lips. 

“I like you, Marcus.”

He blushed and smiled bashfully, finally content in the knowledge that he had nothing to be insecure about with you.

no more taglist - follow @beefnotes for fic notifs!

Well, that was down right delicious! 🥵

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

Give me alpha!Dave!!!! 🫠🫠🫠

Stay with me

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader 

Word Count: 9.7k

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Omegaverse), Alpha!Dave, Omega!Reader, mentions of prejudices against Omegas, canon-typical violence, suspense elements, watch me make shit up about a/b/o to suit my needs, heats, rutting, knotting, scent glands, biting, compulsion (the thing with the voice), LOTS of sex, soft!Dave gets his own warning, enemies to lovers, Penny gets VERY vague about whatever the hell the DIA does, the plot is not the point of this fic

Summary: You’re Dave York’s ‘favorite’ analyst at the DIA. You’re also an Omega. When you go into heat during an emergency situation, can the two of you keep your mutual attraction from coming to a head?

A/N: Yeah, I don’t know where this came from. I truly think @leslie-lyman and I share the same braincell; she wrote 12k of Alpha Max and then the week after I was hit with an Alpha Dave idea and here we are. Thank you Les for egging me on, tolerating the constant depraved screenshots. Thanks for @pedropascalx and @honestly-shite, my two ‘Hot for Dave’ besties who ALWAYS encourage Dave filth. Now I promise I’ll go work on my stupid book. 

Masterlist

“The intelligence shows–”

“I fucking know what the intelligence shows, I’m looking at it,” Dave barks.

It’s not that Dave York is the type of Alpha to be an asshole, to be brash, inconsiderate, even violent. It’s the job that makes him this way; the years of military training that have muted his empathetic response, for better or for worse, in favor of emotionless calculation. It helps, when making life or death decisions.

Not so much when it comes to social interaction.

The man snaps his mouth shut, and Dave grimaces inwardly. It was probably the wrong thing to say. The head of Intelligence was an Omega; even on suppressants, as nearly everyone is these days, Dave can still sniff it out. It’s considered crass for an Alpha to shout one down–it fucks with their instinct to shrink away from an Alpha’s command, and no Omega wants to appear lesser at work.

Contrary to popular belief, Dave does not take Alpha suppressants. One of the military’s more creative trainings for Alpha special forces was to throw them in a room and pipe in the scent of Omega in heat.

For weeks at a time.

That sort of forced desensitization has left Dave with an unusually strong ability to resist Omega pheromones and a tight leash on his Alpha tendencies. They only really come out in times of high stress, when his tone of voice  can come out harsher than intended, or he accidentally uses Compulsion when giving an order instead of just… giving the order. Still, he's hardly the most aggressive Alpha at the DIA, a breeding ground for ex-military types in the first place.

Dave tries again. “Who wrote this report?” 

“One of our new analysts, she–”

“I want to talk to her,” Dave says abruptly. “I have questions.”

The Omega nods slowly as he backs out of the office. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Dave sinks into his desk chair with a sigh. This report is the last thing he wanted to see cross his desk. No one wants to hear that the call is coming from inside the house, so to speak, and this analysis points to a mole within the DIA, feeding classified information to outside organizations and compromising all of their operations. 

A few minutes later, someone knocks on his door, and Dave looks up. “Come in,” he calls out.

The door opens, and Dave is hit with the strongest smell of Omega pheromones he’s smelled in the longest time. He raises his eyes in surprise as a woman enters his office with a stern expression. “You wanted to see me?”

Dave frowns at her for a moment, at a loss. He’s never seen an Omega off suppressants, especially in the office like this. It must be incredibly inconvenient, having everyone gawking, right? He doesn’t understand–is there a medical reason she can’t be on them? 

“Sir?” she arches one perfectly-penciled eyebrow at him.

Dave clears his throat. “You wrote this?” 

“Yes,” she answers. “Is there a problem with my analysis?”

“You misunderstand,” Dave says. “I agree with the report. I want to know how you know.”

— — — — — — 

That had been Dave’s first of what would become many interactions with the woman who is quickly becoming his ‘favorite’ analyst. She’s the only person who doesn’t mince words around him, who’s brutally honest, almost cutting in her assessments, and doesn’t seem to acknowledge or care that Dave is an Alpha. 

In turn, Dave makes an effort to treat her the same way as he would any other Alpha around the office. Not that she needs his help–she carries herself with a haughtiness that would put most Alphas to shame. He's seen her face down conference rooms full of them without batting an eye, or purposefully not stepping demurely to the side to let an Alpha pass in the hallway, as many Omegas do out of habit, resulting in a few awkward shoulder-checks that Dave has observed with an amused smile.

Most Alphas around the office don't know what to make of her, and treat her with confusion at best, and outright hostility at worst. Dave–as much as he’s tried to stop himself, or, more accurately, stop his Alpha–is starting to view her as his. The long hours she’s spent in his office going over her intelligence reports have left him feeling possessive, even territorial, over his analyst.

"She's one of those 'Out and Proud' Omegas that think they're so fucking special just because of their designation," Dave overhears in the breakroom one morning, and for the first time in a long time, he has to stop his Alpha from reacting–grabbing the man's shirt and shoving him against the wall with a growl. 

“If she’s so proud of being an Omega, why is she so fucking standoffish?” is another scathing comment Dave has heard around the office. “Her designation is Omega. If she’s as proud of it as she claims, strutting around here with all those pheromones on display, she should be more demure.”

Dave doesn’t give a shit whether she’s demure; in fact, he likes that she’s assertive. She’s a challenge, his Alpha purrs. Dave likes a challenge. 

“Can I ask a question?” Dave asks, unable to help himself one morning when she’s sitting across from him in the spare chair in his office, an open report draped over her crossed legs..

She looks up from the report questioningly.

“You don’t take suppressants,” Dave says.

“That’s not a question,” she points out, and Dave smiles.

“Why?” he asks.

“I personally believe that Omegas should be allowed to exist in public whether or not they are on suppressants,” she responds quickly, in what sounds like a very well-practiced speech. “I’m part of a group of Omegas that refuse to take them in order to show that we’re perfectly capable of existing alongside Alphas, and that we deserve to take up space.” As she speaks, her voice becomes louder, more impassioned. Her chin tips up as if she’s challenging Dave to disagree. He doesn’t.

“Of course,” Dave says. “But isn’t that… inconvenient?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Is it inconvenient for me to exist in public?” she retorts with a scoff. “No, it’s not, thank you very much, and when it is, it’s because some asshole Alpha with outdated views on Omegas thinks they know something about it.”

“I don’t think that,” Dave counters. “I just mean, doesn’t it put you in danger?” 

“So I should suppress who I am instead of, y’know Alphas not being violent?” she snaps, rising to her feet.

Dave blinks up at her in silence, unsure of what to say. 

“Excuse me,” she says briskly, and walks out of the room.

That… hadn’t gone how Dave had intended.

— — — — — — 

You’re struggling to focus. The Threat Vulnerability Matrix you’re studying keeps blurring, and you blink rapidly to focus on the computer screen.

You keep thinking back to your meeting today, at the wounded expression in those pretty, dark eyes. Even after two months of working with the man, you don’t know what to make of Dave York.

Dave fucking York. An Alpha if there ever was one–abrupt, aggressive, and dominating. And yet, there’s something about him that you can’t put your finger on. He treats you the same as he treats everyone else in the office (which means he’s an asshole to you, but he’s an asshole to everyone, that’s the point). He doesn’t treat you like a subordinate, he doesn’t treat you like a piece of meat, and he doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass–which is the worst of the three, honestly. 

There are times when the two of you are in his office and he’s grilling you incessantly about the smallest detail in your latest report, and Dave will suddenly look up and smile at you with warmth in his eyes. Why? If you examine the evidence too hard, it appears that Dave York… likes you. 

But then he has to go and do something shitty, like question your decision to be off suppressants. Dick. 

Because of your position in Intelligence, you know things about Dave York that you shouldn’t. The man isn’t just the quintessential Alpha–he’s a killer. You’ve read the classified reports, read the things he’s done in nauseating detail. He’s ruthless, violent, and unforgiving. Typical Alpha behavior. Regardless of how those pretty brown eyes and plush lips make you feel when you steal a glance at the man, you’d do well to stay far away. 

Besides, a man who is so very much an Alpha would want nothing to do with you. You know what they say about you in the office. Assertive. (That’s one of the nicer ones.) Stuck-up. Rude. A fucking bitch. You don’t fit their expectations for an Omega, and they hate it. You don’t fit in any box, really. That’s why it was so refreshing when you’d found your tribe at Omega Out Loud. You could be yourself without having to feel like you were doing something inherently wrong. You have plenty of Omega traits, sure, but you also have a lot of qualities that would be more common in a Beta, or even an Alpha. As a result, many Omegas don’t think you’re Omega enough, and Alphas generally don’t see you as an attractive mate. 

You’re a real hit on dating sites.

It’s fine–you’re too attached to your work to spend much time worrying about whether you’re mate-able. In fact, that’s where you are right now–in your cubicle at 8pm, working late. 

You’d be at home in your pajamas already, but your heat is due any day now, and you usually take a few days off leading up to it as well in order to avoid any uncomfortable situations at work. It’s a little bit more of an inconvenience, but it’s worth it to be able to feel like you’re being true to yourself. No one ever mentions the fucking side effects of suppressants: Mood swings. Weight gain. Heart problems. High blood pressure. Sexual dysfunction. Why is it always assumed that Omegas want to be on them?

An uncomfortable twinge in your abdomen reminds you of why. Oh right–your heats. As much as you hate to admit it, Dave really was right–being off suppressants can be dangerous. If you run into an Alpha right now, your twin pheromones might cause both of you to act in ways you normally wouldn’t. An Omega that’s almost in heat is a fucking beacon signal. Get it here! And during that time, you’re frustratingly susceptible to an Alpha’s influence. As the slick starts to gather between your thighs, your inhibitions lower, and you start to crave something to ease the ache–a toy, your fingers, an unsuspecting Alpha with deep brown eyes and pouty lips and wavy hair and–wait, where did that come from?

You shake your head rapidly and continue typing.

You don’t focus for very long before the building lights flicker ominously, and your computer abruptly switches off. A power surge, perhaps? Frowning, you stand up, casting your eyes around the empty floor. Weird. It’s dark outside now–you hadn’t realized how late it was getting. Well, your computer randomly turning off is as good a cue as any to hurry home to where your nest, copious amounts of snacks, and your favorite knotted toys are already waiting for you.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you head toward the nearest elevators. You almost push the ‘down’ button, but something makes you stop, your finger hovering in the air as you look up. The numbers. They’re moving. The elevators are in use, all four of them, traveling down to the first floor and then up again, heading this way. Signals in your brain start to go haywire. Something isn’t right about this. You head to the window and look down at the entrance to the building. 

It’s being swarmed by unidentified people wearing black.

You can see their assault rifles from here.

A sudden stab of pain in your core makes you double over, your fist hitting the glass of the window. Shit. Want to know one of the best ways to trigger an early heat?

Stress.

Suddenly, the symptoms hit you like a freight train. Body sweats, cramps, light-headedness, you name it. You struggle to stay upright as you watch the tide of assailants entering the building.

You have to hide.

Any Alpha will be able to scent you out behind closed doors, so you have to choose somewhere with limited points of entry. Somewhere where you can potentially create a seal where air cannot escape. What in this building could be used to create a seal? You cast your eyes around in desperation before they land on a nondescript door labeled Maintenance. You drag yourself gingerly over to the door, and open it, rifling through the shelves for something you can use. Paint thinner? Sandpaper? Bleach? Screwdriver? Caulk? 

Caulk! You grab the bottle and shut the door, applying an inelegant line of sealant to the seam. You go over it once, twice, three times, four, before the bottle is empty and you cast it aside. Honestly, if any air escapes at all, you’d be surprised. It’s not pretty, and it’s probably overkill, but you have a feeling it’s going to work. 

It’s not a moment too soon, because as another wave of equal parts nausea and arousal hits, you hear voices as the intruders step off of the elevators and into the Intelligence department. 

It’s only then that you realize you left your messenger bag–and your phone–sitting by the windows. 

— — — — —

The call comes when Dave is at the gym.

“Sir?” the voice says. “There’s been a breach.”

Thirty-six hours of preparation later, and Dave York is slipping, silent and undetected, into the DIA offices, followed by a handful of his most trusted men. He’s covered from head to toe in black clothing, his favorite gun held aloft in front of him as he moves up the stairs to Intelligence. They make quick work of dispatching the guards along the way. They always make the same mistake–appointing their weakest links as guards. Half of them barely even saw him coming. 

The main office floor is a bit more of a challenge. The open floor plan makes any offensive position vulnerable, and Dave and his team are exposed and outnumbered the moment they open the door. Still, there’s a reason this team is the best at what they do. Before long, all the intruders are down and the floor is silent once more. 

“Sweep the area,” Dave orders under his breath, not wanting to break the eerie silence. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up–something isn’t right. He can feel–wait. He sniffs the air.

“You smell that?” he asks the Alpha beside him.

“Smell what?”   

Dave shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Someone is here. And not just someone…

Dave has been completely fixated on that smell for months. He can smell it on his clothes when he leaves work, he can feel the ghost of it on his skin even after a shower, he can call it up at night when he lies awake in bed. It’s an obsession for him. He can’t stop thinking of her–’his’ analyst. 

He would know her scent anywhere.

She works here, of course, so it wouldn’t be unusual for her scent to linger on her office chair, but that’s not where Dave smells it. 

It’s coming from that door. 

Frowning, he moves over to it and shakes the handle.

Locked. 

Holding his gun loosely–just in case it’s a trick–Dave steps back and slams his foot into the door.

— — — — — 

Can someone die of arousal? 

It seems like a stupid thing to ask, but as the time in your self-imposed prison ticks on, the question keeps coming around to haunt you. Each cramp is becoming more and more painful, each wave of nausea stronger, the sensation of emptiness more and more unbearable, to the point that your entire body physically aches and your hands are shaking.

You’ve tried to seek relief with your own fingers, but without a knotted toy filling you up, all it does is provide a seconds-long moment of temporary relief before the ache returns, stronger than before. You’ve managed to make a little nest for yourself out of some (hopefully) clean towels and shop rags, and you’ve discarded your pants and underwear as you try fruitlessly to work yourself through it. 

You can’t die from an unassisted heat… can you? 

You lose track of time. You know it’s probably been hours, because you’re also becoming incredibly hungry, but how much? Eight hours? Twelve? Twenty-four? It’s hard to mark time with no stimulus, no outward change that you can mark.

You fight down a frightened sob. This isn’t fair–you’re trapped in a maintenance closet trying to silently work through a heat unaided by any toys while people with guns are trying to hack into your systems. You can hear them trying–and they’ve as of yet been unsuccessful. If only you weren’t an Omega, you could stop them, somehow. If you were a Beta, or even better, an Alpha, you wouldn’t be shaking and dizzy from arousal in a storage closet, you’d be able to escape, to alert someone, to try and do something to thwart them yourself. 

Instead, you’re stuck. 

You think of what some of your fellow activists at Omega Out Loud would say. Your Omega is part of you. Be proud to be an Omega. Wear your designation with pride. You fight down a little moan as the cramps start to hit. It's relatively easy to embrace it in a work setting, in front of a bunch of Alphas who think they know better simply because of what they are. It’s much more difficult when your heat is interfering with a life or death situation.

You drift in and out of awareness, alternating between not-really-sleeping, rubbing your clit frantically, and being curled in a ball shaking with silent tears. 

Maybe you should go on suppressants, after all. 

You’ve completely lost track of what the hell is happening outside of the four walls of your prison when the door handle suddenly rattles, and a curse is muttered. Oh fuck. Oh shit. You’re in no condition to defend yourself. Even if you grab a spare hammer and hurl it at the intruder, your shaking hands and dizzy head all but guarantee you’ll miss. You can barely even hold the thing, much less throw it with all of your strength with the intent to disable your foe. 

Bam! 

The loud, jarring sound of a boot connecting with wood makes you drop the hammer anyway, sending you scooting backwards. 

Bam!

That kick dislodges most of the caulk that you’d applied around the seam of the door.

CRACK!

The third and final kick sends the door flying inward, and you scramble back into the corner at the sight of the man entering the room gun-first, swallowing the nausea and shame at being so utterly helpless during your heats. This is what your Omega turns you into, you think with a frustrated sob. You’re barely able to move, much less defend yourself, and you hate it. You’d been hit with the man’s scent abruptly when the seal on the door broke. An Alpha. He’s an Alpha, he’s found you, and you are so fucked. You look up at him, some sort of plea for mercy on your lips, before you stop. 

“D-Dave?” you whimper, your voice hoarse.

Dave’s eyebrows pinch together, his mouth pursing into a surprised oh as he takes in the scene–a makeshift nest of towels, the scent of Omega heavy in the air, and you, half-clothed and cowering in the corner of the room, one hand over your abdomen as it cramps with pain, the other held aloft in a gesture of surrender. 

“Oh my God,” he murmurs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Him. Why does it have to be him? Dave fucking York. You can smell him, and to your utter disgust, you want him, your Omega fighting for any kind of relief, from any source.

No. You bite back a grunt of pain. “Get away from me,” you cry out through clenched teeth, your voice wavering. 

“How long have you been trapped in here?” Dave asks, ignoring your desperate command.

“Get–please,” you try again. “I can’t–”

“Stop.” 

It’s a command, from an Alpha. So you do. Your mouth closes abruptly, but you don’t stop glaring at Dave defiantly.

“How long have you been here?” he tries again.

“F-few days?” you murmur. Another flare of pain courses through you, and you gasp, doubling over, clutching at your abdomen. “Fuck!”

“And how long have you been in heat?” Dave asks, his voice softening.

“I was–It was already coming on when–-when they got here,” you answer.

“And you stayed hidden?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Door…” you say weakly. “I put… caulk.” You gesture weakly at the empty bottle on the floor by the entrance. Dave purses his lips, looking impressed.

Your heat had been almost unbearable before, and now that an Alpha is here in the room, it almost feels like you’ll die if you don’t get relief. A few tears course their way down your cheeks as another cramp hits. 

“Do you not have anything to–?”

“No!” you cry out. “Does it fucking look like I do?”

The pain hits a crescendo, and you curl into a ball. “Shit, shit shit–” 

“Omega.” The word is barely audible, Dave says it so gently, but your Omega sure as hell hears it. You stiffen, quieting.

“It’s only going to get worse.”

Your temper flares again. “Are you just going to–hnng–stand there and… p-point out the obvious?” you grit out through the pain.

Dave doesn’t respond. He watches you for a few moments longer, then, with what appears to be herculean effort, starts to back away. 

Your Omega breaks.

“Apha, please,” you whimper, before you can catch yourself. 

It’s the phrase he’s waiting for; Dave suddenly at your side, lifting you into his arms and placing you gently back into your makeshift nest. 

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, “I don’t know if you’ve gone through a heat without help, artificial or not, but I’ve seen it used as a torture technique before, and I’ve never seen anyone who hasn’t broken.”

“Oh god–” you start to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dave urges. “I’m going to help you.” He reaches out to touch your arm, and you flinch away with fear, eyes wide. He looks pained, but he stops, his hand hovering just above your skin. 

“You don’t need to be afraid.” It’s not an order. The man puts zero compulsion into his voice, and yet you find yourself relaxing under his gaze. 

“Can I touch your arm now?” 

You stare incredulously at Dave. His hand is hovering inches from your arm. As an Alpha, he must have ironclad restraint in order to stop himself from simply reaching out and taking an Omega in heat, but the only outward sign of discomfort you can see is a vein on the side of his neck. His eyes are black pools, boring into yours, but his lips are soft and relaxed. He remains patient, waiting for your consent. For your trust. Slowly, you start to nod. 

Dave’s hand on your forearm sends a wave of relief coursing through you, and you crumple, slumping against him, your hands grabbing uselessly in your desperation. 

“Shh, okay,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m going to help you. Slow down.”

“Please, it hurts–” 

“I know,” he says, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Stay with me.”

“Dave…” 

“I’m here.” 

You feel his hand gently sliding up your inner thigh to your weeping cunt, and your hips buck of their own accord at the feel of Alpha’s touch. A finger slips inside, then two fingers, and it already feels far better than you were able to do yourself, making you sob in relief. 

“Good girl,” Dave soothes you as he starts fucking you slowly with his fingers. “Good Omega. I’m going to make you feel better, okay? I’ll make it stop hurting.”

You nod and bury your head in his chest, breathing in his scent. It’s been so long without relief that you come almost immediately, clenching around his fingers and causing another wave of slick to gather on his fingers.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so wet, Omega. Can you do it again for me? You went far too long without any relief, honey. You’re going to need more than one for it to stop hurting.”

You nod in agreement. Dave’s fingers don’t let up, thrusting in and curling up against your sweet spot over and over again while you whimper and babble nonsense into his chest. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you,” Dave keeps talking you through the unbearable heat. “Just relax, I’m going to take care of you. It’ll stop,” he soothes. “It will. I’ll let you come as many times as it takes.”

You come twice, then three times, on Dave’s fingers, but it’s not enough. Now that you have this, you want more–your Omega needs more. 

“Alpha, please, I need–” 

“What do you need, sweet thing?” Dave asks. “You need my tongue?”

You shake your head rapidly. “I need–she needs–oh, fuck.” You duck your head in embarrassment.

“Tell me.” It’s a compulsion, but you’re not sure if Dave had intended for it to be. His Alpha instincts have to be screaming at him right now. You aren’t sure how he’s remaining so incredibly calm. He grimaces at his own tone, but doesn’t say anything further. 

“Your knot, Alpha.” Even if he hadn’t ordered you, you would have told him anyway. 

Dave hums low in his throat. “You need more?” he asks. “You need another finger?” You feel another one of his thick digits slide into your heat, and you moan wantonly, but it’s not enough. You need him. 

“No,” you whimper. “It’s not enough. I want you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Dave murmurs, shaking his head against your temple. 

“Why?” you whine.

“You’re in heat,” he says simply. “You’re not in your right mind–neither of us are. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You fall apart again around three of Dave’s fingers with a strangled gasp and a wild buck of your hips, but your Omega reminds you that you’re empty, empty, empty…

“Alpha, please,” you say again. “I want it, I do. And… she needs it,” you admit, unable to meet Dave’s eyes. “I–I feel like I’m not going to get through this without it. W-Without you.”

“You don’t understand,” Dave says, his voice low and dangerous. “This is already very difficult. I’m already holding myself back. If I give you my knot, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back any longer.”

“Good. I don’t care. I don’t want you to hold back,” you say immediately. “It’s been days, I let it get too bad, I’m too far gone.”

Dave growls low in his throat. “I’ve kept this at bay for years,” he grits out. “I don’t know what will happen if I let it go. I’ll lose control. I’ll hurt you.”

Yes, your Omega cries. Yes, yes, yes—

You realize you’re saying it out loud as well when Dave interrupts your last ‘yes’ with his lips crashing into yours with a pained cry. 

Everything happens quickly after that. The rest of your clothing is discarded, along with Dave’s, and the two of you are molded together in the nest of blankets and pillows. He hisses when you reach out to grasp his cock, and you suddenly realize why he’s concerned about hurting you. If this is the size of his cock, what will his knot feel like? Your eyes flick up to him in trepidation, but Dave shakes his head, his jaw tense.

“You asked for this, little Omega,” he says softly.

Dave enters you in one, swift thrust. 

You throw your head back as he breaches you–far bigger than his fingers, both longer and thicker. It’s already too much, but your Omega finally feels sated after days of the burning sensation of being so incredibly empty. 

Your hands scrabble for purchase on Dave’s shoulders, and he doesn’t slow down, punching into you again and again and again until you’re gasping for air. He looks down at you with a smirk, watching you struggle–trying to squirm away from him and push yourself further onto him at the same time. 

“Come.”

This time, the compulsion is purposeful. Dave throws all of his intent behind the command, and your Omega obeys, clenching around his cock as he fucks you through it. 

“Good,” his Alpha purrs. “Again.”

You gasp in surprise as another climax follows, your Omega unable to disobey, even though the overstimulation is almost painful. 

You can feel Dave’s cock starting to swell as his knot rises. Tears are already squeezing out of the corners of your eyes as the pressure increases, and Dave’s nose scrapes against the swollen gland on your neck. Bite it, your Omega urges. Bite it, bite it, bite it–

“One more time,” Dave urges, dropping the edge from his voice. “You can do it. One more time for me, honey.”

You immediately shake your head. “T-Too much,” you whimper. 

“I need you to come while you take my knot,” Dave insists. “It will make your heat go away faster.”

“I-I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

“Don’t make me do it,” Dave says, his lips quirking upward with amusement, but you already know he’s going to.

His lips still brushing against your gland, Dave gives you one more command.

“Omega… come.”

Your back arches with the force of it, clamping down on Dave’s knot as it grows. Dave’s teeth start to scrape against the skin of your neck, and you throw your head back in invitation without thinking. Bite it bite it bite it—

At the last second, Daves mouth moves and he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead as he comes with a deep groan. You sink with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that Dave, a man you hardly know, didn’t accidentally mate you in the heat of the moment, but disappointment because your Omega very much wanted to be bitten.

You can’t focus on either emotion for long because Dave’s knot hurts in a way that you didn’t expect, even knowing the size of his cock. You whimper and squirm, starting to panic at your inability to move, but Dave is there, talking to you quietly and soothingly.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice far softer than it had been before. “I know, it’s a lot. It’s a lot, but you can take it. Look at you,” he purrs. “You’re all stretched out on my knot. It’s hard, huh? I told you I would hurt you.”

Your Omega is blissfully silent for the first time in days, but you’re starting to wonder whether you’d make a mistake in asking for his knot. You bury your head in Dave’s shoulder as the tears come.

“Breathe,” Dave instructs. “Breathe, little Omega.”

You think you might sleep. You drift in and out of awareness, only able to focus on the overwhelming feeling of fullness. It feels as if Dave’s knot will never go down, that you’ll be swollen with it forever. Eventually, it starts to hurt less, but you can’t tell if the knot is actually receding, or if you’re getting used to the feeling of him stretching you past your limits. 

When the little crease of discomfort on your forehead goes away and you relax into him fully, Dave starts to talk.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks quietly.  

“I was staying late,” you answer. “My–I knew my heat was coming in a few days, and I was trying to get caught up on work before I took a few days off for it.” Then they came, and I–I couldn’t evacuate the building,” you answer. “I misjudged. I was already so close to being in heat; I obviously couldn’t be in public. I hid myself in here and sealed the doors.”

“Why here?” Dave asks, amused. “Why a storage closet?”

“That’s where the caulk was,” you murmur. “I was running out of time.” 

Dave hums and rubs his nose along your scent gland again, making you shiver pleasantly. “Plus, no windows,” he points out. “Less ways for the scent to get out.”

“Exactly,” you say. 

“Smart girl,” Dave praises. 

“I didn’t really have a plan beyond that,” you admit. “I didn’t have any of my toys, I was just trying to get through it with my fingers, and it wasn’t enough–I felt like I was going to die.”

“Shh,” Dave whispers. “You did so well, my brave girl.”

When his knot goes down enough for him to finally slip out of you, Dave announces that he needs to get you out of here.

“You haven’t had anything to eat in here,” he observes. “And I’m not going to let you go through the rest of your heat hungry, in a storage closet.”

“I can’t move, they’ll know, they’ll see–”

“Oh, honey,” Dave tuts. “They’re all dead.”

— — — — — — — — 

Dave half-carries her through the office–where his team is cleaning up the aftermath of their operation tonight.

She flinches slightly at the sight of the bodies scattered about the floor, but otherwise barely reacts. She’s still somewhat delirious, and Dave can understand why. If the reports are correct, the building has been occupied since Thursday. It’s now Saturday night. He’s never seen an Omega go three days into a heat completely unassisted. She must have been in terrible pain, and yet she stayed quiet enough to go undetected, suffering through her heat in silence. 

Fuck, he’s so attracted to her.

The Alphas on his team whip their heads around when they detect the scent of an Omega in heat, but with one look from Dave–his hand curled possessively around her and his eyes black coals–they avert their eyes and go back to their work. 

They make it to Dave’s car without incident. 

“Tell me where you live,” Dave orders quietly, pulling up the map on his phone.

She recites her address in a monotone, her eyes falling shut as she tips her head back on the headrest. She must be exhausted–but another wave will come sooner rather than later, Dave is sure of it. 

She dozes while he drives, and he hates to wake her when they arrive, but he shakes her shoulder gently.

“We’re here.”

She blinks slowly, looking at Dave with parted lips and hooded eyes. “Alpha…” she murmurs.

So it’s starting again.

“We need to get you some food,” Dave says, getting out of the car and coming around to her side to lift her up. This time, he pulls her properly into his arms, inhaling her scent as he brushes his nose against her temple. 

It’s hard not to lay her down right inside the door and give her his knot again with the little whimpers and moans she’s making, but Dave grits his teeth and walks into her kitchen instead, setting her down on the countertop. 

“It aches,” she whimpers, grabbing onto Dave’s wrist like a vice. 

“I know,” Dave answers softly. “But you’re eating first, it’s been three days.”

“But I need–” 

“No.” Dave puts all of his intent behind the word, and not just for her. It’s for him, a reminder to himself that he has a responsibility to take care of her and not just rut into her over and over until his Alpha is sated. Except she’s looking at him like he’d just slapped her across the face, and he realizes he’d probably been too harsh. “What can I get you to eat?” he asks, opening cabinets at random until he finds the glassware. 

“I’ve got heat snacks in there,” she says, waving her arm at a cabinet behind him. He retrieves a few granola bars and fills the glass with water, and returns to her.

“Eat all of these, drink two full glasses, and then–” Dave cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

Even after he’s already filled her, it feels awkward to say it out loud. And then I’ll fuck you again. They both know what the end of the sentence was going to be, so he doesn’t bother continuing, and she occupies herself with the granola bars, taking big, enthusiastic bites interspersed with long swigs of water as if she hasn’t eaten in days. She hasn’t, Dave reminds himself. God, she’s strong. Whoever had said Omegas were the weaker sex were imbeciles–she went through a hostage situation with no food for three days, having to stay completely silent during an unassisted heat that must have been intolerable by the time he’d found her. 

The moment she’s done with the third granola bar, Dave gently grabs her face with both hands and presses his lips to hers. 

“Oh!” she makes a muffled sound of surprise. “Alpha–”

“Dave,” he corrects. “Don’t call me that–call me Dave.”

“Dave,” she says immediately, her wide eyes searching his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck, like that.”

“Dave, please,” she whimpers. 

“Hang on–” Dave grabs three more granola bars and two bottles of gatorade from the fridge. “You’re eating again right after,” he announces. 

“Yes, Alpha,” she drawls lazily, a small, dazed smile on her face, already drunk on her own pheromones. It’s incredibly cute. 

She enters her bedroom with a relieved sigh, moving forward and collapsing onto her bed, where a much larger and more comfortable nest is waiting for her. For them. She scrubs her hands over her face and lets out a groan that has less to do with pleasure and more with the relief of being somewhere where she feels safe. Dave feels off-balance for a moment, unsure if he has a place here, but then she looks over at him with a question in those sultry, half-lidded eyes. Alpha?

Dave smiles and walks forward, climbing over her on the bed and pressing his body against hers. Omega. She lets out a little gasp at the contact and arches into him, seeking more friction. 

“Patience,” he scolds teasingly. 

“Been three days,” she growls, clenching her teeth. “You don’t get to tell me to be patient.”

“Touché.” Dave grinds down on her roughly, making her cry out. “Then you won’t be opposed if I give this to you exactly how I want?”

“Depends on how you want it,” she retorts, although she’s already pulling at her shirt. 

“I’ll show you how I want it,” Dave grunts, sitting up to yank her pants and underwear off in one swift motion. “Turn around,” he orders. “Get on your knees for me.”

She’s nodding rapidly, her breath coming in pants as she obeys. Dave gives in to the temptation to grab her cheeks and spread her apart, showing him every inch of her glistening pussy. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growls. “You’re so wet; you’ve been waiting so long for this, honey,” he says, his voice honey-thick. “Let me give you what you’ve been needing all this time.”

Despite his posturing, Dave still enters her slowly, giving her plenty of time to adjust to his size. He rubs her lower back soothingly until he’s buried to the hilt and she’s letting out those pretty little whimpers that tell him she wants him to move. 

Well, Dave thinks with a smirk. He can do that. He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in, giving her his cock in long, hard strokes that immediately send her to her elbows as her arms give out. She moans wordlessly into the blankets, taking every punishing thrust with an arched back, her hands clutching uselessly at the sheets. When she starts pushing back onto him, Dave grabs her cheeks again and spreads her open the same way, using his grip to pull her back onto his cock. The new angle makes her wail and he feels her core starting to tighten around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on, come for me again. Come for me and then I’ll give you my knot, little Omega.”

She keens.

“Oh, you like that?” Dave teases. “Desperate little Omega wants my knot?”

She nods frantically into the covers, and Dave’s smile falters. 

“It hurt you before, silly thing. It made you cry. You sure you want that again?”

She mumbles something unintelligible into the sheets.

“I didn’t hear that, honey, say it again.”

“L-Liked it,” she pants.

It’s Dave’s undoing. His knot starts to swell as fucks into her once, twice, three times, and stills as the pressure in his cock reaches a breaking point and he’s fully seated within her.

“Good girl,” Dave whispers as it stretches her. “Good girl, you’re taking it so well. My good girl–my Omega.”

She whimpers and squirms just like the last time, a few more tears of discomfort escaping her eyes. Dave keeps murmuring to her, watching her face intently, seeing her lower lip tremble even as she sinks with palpable relief. Her Omega needs it, even if it’s too much, and his Alpha is practically triumphant that she wants his knot even though it hurts her. 

Still catching his breath, Dave lowers down and pulls her slightly on her side so that they’re both resting flush against each other, his knot still pulsing deep inside her. He places his hand on her lower abdomen, and fuck, he can feel the swell of his knot against his palm. He drops his forehead to her shoulder and hisses a curse under his breath. Down, Alpha. Dave swallows and presses a kiss to her skin before reaching for the food.

“Have some more,” Dave says, handing her a granola bar. 

She bites her lip, fighting down a whimper of discomfort. “RIght now? While we’re–”

“Please?” Dave asks softly. “Do it for me.” 

She finishes off all of the snacks he’d brought, plus the two gatorades, while his knot still pulsed thick and hot, refusing to go down. Good. The longer he fills her, the longer she’ll go without needing him again, and she can get some much needed rest.

“You should sleep,” Dave says.

“Mm,” she grunts. Her eyes are already closed.

Dave closes his eyes too, pulling her closer still. Just before sleep pulls him under, she speaks again.

“D-Dave?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this—I–” she swallows thickly. “I’ve never had an Alpha help me through a heat, and–fuck,” she cuts herself off again. 

“Where’s the assertive woman who yelled at me because I was ‘reading the data wrong?’” Dave teases.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Stupid Omega shit has me all… discombobulated.”

Dave chuckles. “Thought you were proud of being an Omega,” he counters. “That you deserve to take up space. Isn’t this part of taking up space?”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

“Damn you,” she whispers. “You used my words against me.”

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Dave says, fighting tooth and nail against his Alpha to keep the compulsion out of his voice. 

“Is this–is this just because of wh-what we are?” she asks, her voice wavering. “Our biology? Or is there–”

No, Dave immediately thinks to himself. No, no, no. Never just that. He opens his mouth to speak and then, inexplicably, loses his nerve. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t say what was on his mind, no matter the circumstance, but he finds himself second-guessing the words before he says them. He never second-guesses.

“Do you want it to be just that?” he asks softly.

“I–” she takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want that,” she says. “I don’t want this to just be scratching some primal urge, I want–” 

Frustratingly, she doesn’t finish, but Dave has the answer he needs already.

Tightening his hold around her, he presses his lips against her scent gland when he speaks. 

“It was always just you.”

— — — — — — 

You aren’t sure what wakes you. It could be the overwhelming need to pee after two large glasses of water and two gatorades. It could be your Omega starting to claw her way to the surface again, letting her desires be known. You’re still in your heat, after all. Or even still, it could be the fact that it feels as if a goddamn furnace is at your back, beads of sweat starting to pool between your shoulder blades as your body tries, in vain, to lower the temperature. 

It could also be the snoring in your ear. 

You smile to yourself as you look around the room. It’s daylight now–you must have slept through the night, although you don’t know what time Dave had rescued you, or when you got home. 

His cock had slipped out of you sometime during the night, and your hips shift back against him reflexively. You need it again. You need Alpha.

At the feel of your ass pressing back against his cock, Dave stirs, grunting softly as he wakes. 

Dave. Had you imagined last night? Not the rutting–the ache between your thighs assures you that was real. But what came after… It was always just you. Is that truly what he had said? You can still hear it–the exact timbre of his voice, the way it vibrated low in his chest, the feel of his lips forming the words on your scent gland, but it still doesn’t feel real. It was always just you. 

The subject of your ruminations lets out another soft grunt, his hand coming to your hips, guiding you back against him, then again, and again, until you’re rocking rhythmically together.

“That’s it,” Dave urges, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. “Does someone need me again, little Omega?”

“Yes,” you grumble, still half asleep even though your Omega is very much awake.

“Ask nicely.”

“Alpha, I need you,” you pout, pushing back against Dave.

“Try again.”

“Alph–” 

Dave growls low in his throat.

“Dave,” you breathe, and his grip immediately tightens on your hip. “Fuck, Dave please. I need you.”

“Me?” he asks, although the tip of him is already lining up with your cunt.

“You,” you answer, and Dave slides home.

This time, your coupling is unhurried–although Dave’s grip is still rough and bruising, his thrusts still deep and overwhelming, but his lips are soft and tender on your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your scent glands until you’re a panting mess.

Dave sucks his own fingers into his mouth and reaches down to rub little circles on your clit. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, and although it’s meant to be condescending, you can still hear the hint of genuine feeling in his words. “Going to be sore after this is over.”

You nod in agreement but push back harder on his cock.

“Fuck, you perfect thing,” Dave groans, his teeth biting down slightly on your gland–not enough to leave a mark, to properly mate you, but enough to feel his intent. “Fuck, I want–oh, honey–” 

“Please,” you whine. “Yes–yesyesyes–do it, please.” 

Dave’s thrusts speed up as he makes a broken sound of pleasure into your neck. You cock it to the side, inviting him in. Bite it, your Omega urges for the second time during this heat. Bite it, bite it–

For the second time, Dave’s mouth finds the meat of your shoulder instead, sinking his teeth into your skin with a rough groan. His knot swells again and you hiss at the mixture of pleasure and pain. It’s more of a stretch than any toy you’ve ever tried, but it seems that you’re finally adjusting to it after the third time. Hell, you don’t even cry. 

Dave’s hand finds yours and slides it sensually down your body–over your breasts and down to the soft swell of your stomach.

“Feel me there?” he asks, pressing down slightly.

Your breath catches. You can–there’s an unnatural fullness to your belly, a hard bump deep inside where Dave is filling you with his seed, over and over and over. Suddenly, your Omega rears her head, overcome with the idea of being filled, of being his, being Dave’s, of being his Omega and not just someone that he’s helping through a heat.

“Dave, why–” you begin. “Why didn’t you–” your hand moves up to your scent gland, where Dave had chosen not to mark you in the heat of the moment.

“I want you to want it,” Dave replies softly.

“I do–”

“I want you,” he repeats, firmer, “to want it. You. Nothing else.”

An avalanche of recent memories crashes through your mind. Don’t call me that–call me Dave. It was always just you. I want you to want it. 

He’s been telling you all this time: it’s not just an Alpha and Omega thing. It’s him–it’s you. The both of you.

“Dave,” you whisper, a shaky smile appearing on your face. “It was always just you, too.” 

Dave buries his head between your shoulder blades, but doesn’t say anything further. Finally, he says, “What would you like for breakfast?”

You giggle at the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You can’t just have granola bars all weekend,” Dave argues. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Are you asking me how I like my eggs?” you say with a playful wink.

“Tell me, or I’m making you what I fucking feel like making you,” Dave grumbles, apparently annoyed with your silly joke. 

You are still very hungry. “I like pancakes,” you offer. “And sausage. And bacon. And eggs, any style really. I’ve got toast, and peanut butter, and–”

Dave’s hand comes down on one cheek with a satisfying slap, and you squeal in surprise.

“Shut up,” he grumbles–with absolutely no malice in his voice. “When my knot goes down, I’m making you whatever the fuck I want.”

‘Whatever he wants’ turns out to be a little bit of everything–pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, some frozen fruit that he found in the back of your freezer–all prepared while you sit at the kitchen table, feeling a little silly, drinking the coffee that had also been made by Dave.

“Eat up,” he says, putting a heaping plate down in front of you.

You gape up at him. “You didn’t need to–”

“Eat.” Dave throws a hint of compulsion into his voice, but it has a playful tone to it–as if he’s doing it only to tease you. You used to hate being compelled, but you find that, with Dave, you actually like it. He always seems to use it in a way that’s caring–like when you’re being obstinate for no reason and he’s had enough, or when you’re feeling too overwhelmed to accept the help that he’s freely giving. 

You’re starving. You dig into the plate with gusto, devouring every bit until nothing remains. You smile up at him.

“That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” Dave asks, a smile teasing at his lips.

“No, Alpha,” you pout playfully.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Good. I think–I think it’s lightening up,” you say. “It doesn’t feel quite as urgent this morning.”

“Good,” Dave says. “It’ll probably be over before the day is up.”

“It’s been a hell of a heat,” you say with a sardonic laugh. “Not sure I ever want to repeat those first few days ever again.”

“What about the last few?” Dave quirks one eyebrow at you.

You duck your head, smiling shyly. “Remains to be seen.”

Dave huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re hard to please.”

“Am I?” 

“Mmhmm,” he grunts, stepping closer. “I need more practice.”

“Your knot just went down,” you protest, swatting his chest.

“I could go again,” Dave counters.

“Well I can’t,” you grumble. 

“No,” Dave agrees, giving you a far-too-tender kiss on the forehead. “You can’t.”

Instead, you spend the morning curled up on the couch, reading a book with your legs draped over Dave’s lap. His own choice is propped against your knees, his free hand resting on your thigh. He glances at you every so often, although you pretend not to notice. Your mind starts to wander as you read, and you start wondering about whether Dave has ever helped anyone through a heat before, whether he’s marked anyone before, whether he’ll want to see you when the fog clears and the two of you are back at work.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Dave remarks wryly.

“I’m reading,” you say quickly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask.

“Nope, I’m a virgin,” Dave drawls. You roll your eyes.

“Helped an Omega through their heat,” you clarify. “You know what I meant.”

Dave nods. “A few times, mostly out of necessity.” He looks over at you. “You’ve really never gone through your heat with an Alpha?”

You shake your head. “Believe it or not, I’m not much of a catch,” you deadpan. “At least, not to an Alpha. I’ve been with Betas, mostly.”

“Not a catch?”

“I know you know what the Alphas say about me around the office,” you tell him. “It’s pretty much the same everywhere else, too.”

“They’re idiots,” Dave remarks.

You stare at him challengingly. “What do you think?”

Dave is silent for a few beats, the two of you watching each other, apparently waiting for the other to snap.

“I think it’s time for lunch.”

“Dave!”

“I think you’re incredible, is that what you want to hear?” Dave says, his voice rising in volume. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve gone home with your scent on my skin and fucked my hand, wishing it was you? Do you know how fucking hard it is not to mark you as mine?”

Your mouth falls open at the outburst. There are a hundred things you could say–I like you, let’s go on a date when this is over, will you stay until tomorrow, can we go back to bed–-but the thing that comes out of your mouth is, “Do it.”

Dave searches your face with a small frown. “You understand what that would mean?”

You nod. “I want it.”

With surprising speed, Dave grabs you and pulls you properly into his lap, so that your legs are on either side of his hips and he’s pulling you down on him, kissing you messily.

“Not gonna make it to the fucking bed,” Dave mumbles against your skin as he hastily pulls out his cock. “Any objections to that?”

You shake your head. “I want it here.”

“Good girl.” 

It’s frantic–the two of you grasping, panting, fighting to get closer. Your nails dig into Dave’s back and he groans low in his throat. He guides your hips, helping you fuck yourself on him, slamming you down on his cock over and over again.

“Tell me you meant it,” Dave growls.

“Meant…?” you repeat in a daze.

Dave licks your scent gland rather than giving a verbal response.

Suddenly, you’re very clear-headed. The brain fog associated with your Omega taking over during a heat immediately dissipates, and while your Omega is very much along for the ride, it’s all you when you open your mouth to speak. 

“Yes, Dave.”

Dave grips your neck roughly and jerks your head to the side, baring you to him. He inhales deeply, scenting you one last time before his teeth sink sharply into your gland.

The pleasure is explosive. Dave has spent the last two days showing you exactly how good your heat can be with an Alpha, but no orgasm so far has compared to how it feels with Dave’s teeth buried in your scent gland. You buck helplessly against him as he holds you still, the pleasure-pain of the bite and his growing knot making you dizzy and weak. It seems to have a similar reaction on Dave–he’s lost in it, groaning loudly, his face buried in your neck and his hands pulling you down on his knot, seating himself even deeper.

Dave’s teeth don’t release from your gland until his knot swells to its largest and he’s filling you with his seed yet again. His lips drag from the throbbing bite mark up to claim your lips, smearing the little tinge of blood on your neck up to your mouth. It’s feral, it’s depraved, and you love it. 

“Mine,” Dave growls against your lips. “Mine, mine, Omega.”

“Don’t call me that,” you tease with a watery smile, throwing Dave’s request back at him.. “Call me by my name.”

Dave does, murmuring it over and over as you come down from your high. You realize you’re trembling with the overwhelming release of pheromones, and Dave makes soft shushing noises, rubbing up and down your back to soothe you as you slump into his chest. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” you say with a giddy laugh after you’ve calmed down.

Dave hums softly in response. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you argue back. “You just grilled me about my reports for thirty minutes.”

“Fair,” Dave agrees. “Maybe it was the second time I saw you.”

“I called you an idiot that time,” you remind him. “You read the fucking graph wrong–”

“I remember,” Dave grumbles. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“That’s when you wanted me as a mate,” you say skeptically.

Dave pulls back, arching one eyebrow in challenge. “Problem?”

Your face slowly spreads into a smile. “Not at all.”

— — — — — —

Six Months Later

“As you can see from the data, the threat of attack has decreased from 42 to 37 percent, which–”

“Actually,” someone across the crowded conference room interrupts, “I think that can be attributed to a number of factors, including–.”

“Are you… are you attempting to explain my own reporting to me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at the Alpha. 

The man glances over at Dave nervously, and Dave can see the fear in his eyes. He’s just insulted his mate, and he expects Dave to come rushing to her defense. 

Instead, Dave crosses his arms, leans back in his chair with a neutral expression, and waits.

“What are you looking at him for?” his mate snaps. “Look at me. I’m giving the report.”

The other Alpha jumps, tearing his eyes from Dave, whose eyes are now glimmering with amusement. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles, looking down at the conference table. 

“Let’s continue,” she says, stealing a fond look back at Dave before turning back to the presentation.

This was such a good read! I have been obsessed with that song lately and it really is the perfect fit for Joel. You captured it perfectly ❤️

Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much.  At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

🥵🥵🥵

I absolutely love this!!! So fucking hot and that ending?! So clever!

teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him. 

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him. 

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth. 

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves. 

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else." 

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future. 

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats. 

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all." 

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood. 

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?" 

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way. 

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum. 

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp. 

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely. 

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors. 

"Where is she?" 

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly. 

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides. 

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position. 

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses. 

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked. 

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him. 

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear. 

"How did you know?" 

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury." 

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed. 

"Amilius you are released." 

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty. 

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands. 

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well." 

"You are most welcome." 

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it? 

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation." 

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has. 

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome. 

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you. 

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure." 

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled. 

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway. 

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill. 

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here." 

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.  

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand. 

"I find my thirst rather quenched." 

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper. 

 "The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice." 

You bite so harshly you draw blood. 

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down. 

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment. 

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom. 

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well. 

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after. 

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes. 

"It is late," you tell Marcus. 

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun. 

"I thank you for the fire, General." 

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless. 

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you. 

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult. 

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit. 

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts. 

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving. 

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window. 

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly. 

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him. 

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!" 

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her. 

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him. 

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga. 

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him. 

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you. 

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint." 

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few." 

He can see the fight leave your body. 

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it. 

"What are these?" 

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands. 

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated. 

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?" 

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read.  You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore. 

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand. 

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure. 

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given. 

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid." 

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck. 

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn. 

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you. 

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?" 

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking. 

You don't need to wait very long. 

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices. 

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here." 

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on. 

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment. 

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages. 

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself. 

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him. 

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night." 

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk. 

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head. 

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting. 

What a waste. 

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire. 

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber." 

You lick your suddenly dry lips. 

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt. 

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."  

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you. 

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his. 

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms. 

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch. 

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth. 

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done. 

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts. 

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing. 

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression. 

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me." 

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy. 

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels. 

"I cannot." 

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap. 

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious. 

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable." 

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me." 

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason." 

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs. 

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear. 

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop." 

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood. 

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe. 

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn." 

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts. 

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another." 

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre. 

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you. 

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat. 

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him. 

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back. 

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance." 

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground. 

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals. 

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck. 

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward. 

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact. 

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head. 

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked.  She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there. 

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.  

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you. 

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest. 

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth. 

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure." 

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches. 

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes. 

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine. 

"Marcus, please more," you moan. 

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex. 

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel. 

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair. 

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there. 

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval. 

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head. 

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks." 

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum. 

"Marcus!" 

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks. 

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body." 

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night. 

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory." 

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment. 

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms. 

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing." 

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed. 

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips. 

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately. 

"What troubles you?" 

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it." 

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous. 

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night. 

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky. 

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite. 

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand. 

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am. 

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely. 

He's always enjoys a good chase. 

This entire little series is just amazing, hot, and funny all wrapped into one. Jesus Lo! You fucking genius! 😍😍😍

dress up Joel masterlist

pic by the wonderful @missredherring

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

general warnings: sex toys, dress up, festive/seasonal shenanigans, no use of Y/N, see individual fics for additional warnings

summary: when a mysterious stranger breaks into your house, and keeps breaking into your house, he gives you the fright, and the ride, of your life. Welcome to your seasonal encounters with one Mr. Joel Miller.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

✨ = new 🖤 = smut 🌈 = fluff 💥 = angst

baubles🖤 - 4.4k Santa Joel fucks you with his balls. That's it.

stupid cupid🖤🌈 - 5.2k Joel makes a return to your home, this time with another gift to give. Will you be his Valentine?

egg hunt 🖤🌈💥 - 5.9k What lies for you beneath the bunny suit, and in his Easter basket, aren't the only surprises Joel has for you tonight.

ghosted 🖤🌈💥- 5.7k

✨stars and stripes 🖤- 5k Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

extras

dress up Joel lore 🖤 What started as a simple joke from the youngest Miller brother quickly turned into a... beloved brotherly tradition. takes place prior to baubles.

interlude 🖤💥 Joel's egg hunt couldn't have gone worse, and so he confides in the one person who has his back no matter what - his baby brother. takes place between egg hunt and ghosted.

Well…. It’s later now. Thank you, thank you, thank you @goodwithcheese 🫠🫠🫠

Fifteen Minutes

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Being a cam girl isn't as exciting as people think it is, that is until a mystery of a deep voiced man asks you what makes a woman feel good. Warnings: Smut, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, sex work, Din reveals his face, silver dildo, Din's a virgin, premature ejaculation. Banner has nothing to do with appearance of reader, reader has no physical descriptors besides being AFAB. Words: 4,360 Author Note: Happy May the 4th, tell me why I spent all tonight writing this?

Masterlist

— —

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

$150 for fifteen minutes of staring at someone’s dick, of course you’re going to take it. Usually these calls consist of you rubbing your body and complimenting men you’d never even speak to while you try to recall if you remembered to order caesar dressing with your dinner. You look around your room, you have nothing else to do, your delivery won’t be here for another twenty minutes… you hit accept. 

“Hi babe, how are you tonight?” You smile into the camera, the smile your customers love, sultry bedroom eyes and a small grin. 

“…Good,” he breathes out.

Oh, his voice. You only see a black shirt… nothing else, but that voice is enough for you. 

“Tell me, have you done this before?”

“…No. My first time.”

“Alright, so you have fifteen minutes with me, once the timer is up we’re done and I disconnect. You’re allowed to touch yourself and I will watch you, I will do what you tell me to do within my own comfort, if I choose to end the call because I don’t feel right, then you will be billed the whole amount. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, great. Just so I know what you want before we start what are you interested in tonight?”  

“I’d like to watch you and learn.”

“Learn?”

“Yes, learn, I-I,” he sighs, “I’ve never been with anybody before.”

“Oh.” With that voice? You don’t know what he looks like, but his voice has already turned you on so much you can’t imagine somebody who sounds like that is a virgin. You turn the volume all the way up. “So, you want me to show you what girls like?”

“What a girl like you likes, yes.”

“I can do that for you. I’m going to start the timer now.” 

You know this feeling, the click of the mouse on the green BEGIN button, the lean back to get your body in the whole frame, the spreading of your legs to show your viewer what they really want to see. 

“What do you want me to show baby?” You ask as you run your hand along your neck and down to your breasts.

“Show me what you like when someone has you.”

How are you so turned on by his voice? The way it flows through your speakers, the deep baritone of his serious voice, it does something to you… and it’s just a voice.

“I like when a guy plays with my nipples,” your hands cup your breasts, pulling and massaging them into peaks. “I like when they lick them,” you dribble spit down to your chest, swiping your fingers through it and spreading it across your chest. 

His long exhale massages your body through those damn tinny speakers. Usually by now your  screen is full of your client’s dick, you’ve become very good at staring at the camera, ignoring the tugging and actions on the screen in your peripheral vision. This time, that voice makes you wish you could see him. 

“I like when they drag their hands all over my body,” your hand travels down your stomach to your thighs and back up. 

“I like when they tell me they want to touch my body. Do you want to touch my body?”

“Y-yes.”

“What do you want to touch?”

“E-everywhere, you look like you’re so soft. I want to touch your legs, they look so smooth.”

“I’d like that,” you smile at the camera, “do you want me to touch my pussy for you?” 

“Uh huh.” 

You lay back, spreading your legs wide, dipping your hand down to pet yourself. You’re not surprised to find that you’re already wet, the mysterious man’s deep voice mixed with the desolate black screen and the sight of his black shirt moving as he breathes is enough for you.

You wonder how old he is, what he looks like, why he chose your room, why he’s obviously not touching himself. He’s a mystery you want to figure out. You welcome the luxury of not having to pretend you like what you see. You like knowing that this total stranger is sitting in a dark room only focusing on you.

You rub a finger against your clit, your hips rising at the feel of the pressure against your sensitive nub.

“I like when they can feel how wet they make me.” You glue your eyes to the camera letting out a moan while your finger teases your clit. “I like when they dip a finger in my cunt and bring my juices up to my clit. Feels really good as they rub me with my wet.”

Your finger dips down to your entrance, sliding it into yourself. “Ohh baby, I am so wet for you,” you moan as you begin to fuck yourself. 

Your other hand begins its descent down your body until it reaches your pussy. It works over your clit as you fuck yourself slowly, your cunt already clenching around your singular finger. 

You’re so turned on right now, the excitement of this black screen, the knowledge that he picked your picture and trusts you to show him what makes you feel good. 

“You’re pretty quiet over there, you good?”

“Y-yes. I like watching you.”

“Why’d you choose me?” you slip another finger in with a moan. “Couldn’t you just have watched a video?”

“I wanted to see it for real. Is it for real?”

“With you, yes.”

You don’t know what it is about his voice. Why are you getting off on the mystery? 

“Are you touching yourself?” You never have to, nor want to, ask, but you want to know this time. 

“No,” he sighs, “I want to focus, I don’t want any distractions.”

“Okay, that’s okay baby,” you give him an understanding smile as you begin canting your hips up to pump yourself harder. 

Five minute warning. The red box pops up on the screen. You’re too focused on your bliss to close the warning. You’re always so good at turning off the video vixen and going right into businesswoman mode but tonight, you just want to make this stranger feel satisfied. 

“I really like it when my pussy is stuffed with a cock, I love feeling the stretch and I love when my hole is stuffed so full.”

You hear his deep groan. You can’t hide the smile on your face.

“Ohhh, you liked that didn’t you? How would you take me if you were here with me? Let me know baby, tell me.”

“I-I’d want to fuck you as I looked in your eyes, you have beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss you while I fuck you.”

“Oh,” a chill blooms through your body at how gentle his words are. Most men are crass and too forthcoming with their fantasies, never soft, most of their answers just turn into white noise. His answer is going to stay with you. “I like when a guy wants me to cum all over their cock, I love the feeling of my cunt pumping around a hard cock as I orgasm. I’m close, do you want me to cum for you?”

“Please, yes.”

His voice, you can’t stress this enough, his voice is so fucking hot. Your body begins to feel feverish as the loud squelch of your fingers working your cunt faster and harder gets louder. You hardly ever cum during these sessions, especially when you use just your hands, needless to say, you’re really good at pretending. 

You love your job, you really do, it allows so much freedom and pays well, but some nights are so monotonous and boring. Tonight seemed like one of those nights, until you accepted this call. Tonight you’re going to cum.

Your orgasm hits you hard, back arching, limbs tightening, eyes fluttering as a rush of slick soaks your fingers. You pant for air as you come down, slipping your fingers out and resting a hand on your chest. 

The countdown begins in the corner of your screen 60, 59, 58…

“Time’s about up,” you whisper as you sit up, “I hope I helped you.”

“Y-you did. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.” 

He disconnects.

Your account shows $250 extra. He’s an excellent tipper and you actually came for him. You really love your job tonight. 

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

The way, the way, the way. You’ve thought about him for the past week, wondering if he joined any other room, if he chose someone else over you. All you know about him is he owns a black shirt and has never been with anybody… and yet you’ve thought about him every single day since. Have you crossed his mind? You sure hope so because he picked you again tonight. Your heart beats faster as you try to hide the smile when you hit the accept button. 

“Hi again,” you grin. 

This time there’s a light on behind him, you can just make out broadness of his shoulders, really fucking broad, he’s in a black shirt again, but thanks to the light you can see he has golden skin.

“Hi, it’s nice to see you.”

Goodness you’re so thankful for that light, you can see the way his chest moves as he talks. There’s tiny peek of his toned neck at the top of the screen, you pray he dips lower exposing his face. His voice is just how you remembered it, low and bassy, you’re already getting wet at the anticipation of hearing more.

“I can see a little more of you now,” you wink, “I like it.”

“Heh,” he chuckles, the first time you’ve heard him laugh. His hand comes into frame, scratching at his chest. It’s beautiful and large, his fingers are thick, you wonder what they’d feel like against your skin.

“I have to give you the same spiel even though you’re a repeat. Once again, you have fifteen minutes with me once it’s up, I disconnect. Please feel free to touch yourself for me and I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Wonderful. Are you going to touch yourself for me tonight?”

“Uh, n-no, not yet.”

“That’s okay, I’m happy to do the work for you. You want me to use my hands, or do you want me to use a toy?”

“Do you have anything shaped like a-a—uh, a—“

“A dick?”

“Yeah.”

“I do. You want to watch me fuck myself with a cock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my favorite one just for you.”

You roll over and pick up your “briefcase” of sex toys, grabbing your favorite, the silver toned dildo. It’s thick, it vibrates, and it fits your cunt just right. 

“Is this what you want to watch me fuck myself with?”

“Ye—“ he clears his throat. “God, yes.”

You giggle. “Okay, I’m starting the timer now.” 

You tap the button. Fifteen minutes of him.  

“What do you want from me baby? You want to see how this cock looks in my mouth?”

“Yes” he strangles out.

“You want me to pretend it’s your cock?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“L-lick it.”

You smile, leaning closer to the camera as you bring the dildo up to your lips, sticking your tongue out and swirling it around the tip, your eyes focused on the screen, not the camera… the screen. You want another glimpse of his skin. 

“Mm, wish I could taste you. You think you’re leaking for me right now baby?”

You lick a line down to the base and back up. 

“I bet you’re so warm and soft there,” you whisper against the tip before opening your mouth and sucking it. You hollow your cheeks as you take the dildo in deeper, eyes widening and tearing as it hits the back of your throat. 

“Fuuuuck,” he leans back farther in his chair his chin comes into sight, well trimmed facial hair, strong chin, you know he has to be beautiful. 

You can’t stop looking at him, you don’t even know his name, where he lives, what he does, why in the hell he’s still a virgin. 

Drool escapes your lips as fuck your mouth moaning around the silver latex. 

Most of the time this job isn’t the greatest, you usually find yourself going through the motions, moving on to the next client, the next responsibility. Sure, sometimes you really connect with a watcher, sometimes you look forward to the name appearing knowing you’ll actually really enjoy the session, but most of the time, you deal and move on. It’s business. Sure as hell beats sitting in a cubicle. With this stranger, this puzzle you’re slowly figuring out? You love your job. 

“Want to see my pussy take this cock now baby?”

“Please.”

You nod, leaning back and spreading your legs open. 

“Do you feel safe telling me your name? I want to say your name as I get fucked by your cock.” 

“Ye—fuck yes. It’s Din.”

“Diiiiiiin,” you moan, as you begin to pump the silver cock in and out of you. It moves smoothly, you’re soaking wet for him, only due to his voice and whatever sights the light of the lamp wants to bless you with. 

Din. Three letters. Simple. Direct. Unique. Strong. 

“Oh Din, you feel so good in me baby, like how I take your cock? Tell me baby, talk to me, I want to hear you.”

“Yes. God, you’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so big, you’re stinging me so good. You like how my pussy looks stretched around you?”

“Yes, I-I do.”

“I feel desperate, so desperate for you. I love how you feel inside me. What are you looking at baby? Can’t see your eyes, what are you watching me do right now? Where are you focused?”

“On your face. I like watching the way you bite your lip as you f-fuck yourself.” 

God, he still sound so nervous. So new. He can’t be too young, not with that body.

“What color eyes do you have, Din?”

“Brown, b-brown eyes.”

“Mm, I like brown eyes, I bet you’re real handsome all brown eyed and tan skin. Now, have those brown eyes watch my pussy baby, watch how I take you. You can look at my face as I cum for you, Din. Right now I want you to look at my cunt. Are you hard for me Din? Are you as hard as the cock I’m fucking myself with?’

“Yes.”

The five minute warning box shows up again, this time it’s your nemesis that you ignore.

“Do you imagine a pussy as wet as mine when you get yourself off?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Did you make yourself cum after our last session?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, “right after, I-I jerked off.”

“Did you think about me?” Your voice coming out with more curiosity than you’d like. 

“I did, and every time since.”

Your body shivers from his words, “That’s a good boy Din, I like that,” you smile as your hips raise off the bed to meet your quickening thrusts fucking yourself harder.

He groans, long and low.

“I’m going to cum for you, Din,” you pant. ”I’m going to cum on your cock and then I’m going to lick myself up off of you, okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

You chant Din’s name as you pound your pussy, tingles shooting through you as you orgasm. You haven’t cum like this on camera in a long time. It’s devastating that not every one of your clients can be Din. 

You stretch your limbs out as you come down from your climax.

“God damn,” you giggle, “that was really fucking good.”

You slowly take the dildo out and bring it to your lips, raising your eyebrow at him and resting the tip against your lips.

“Yes, please, yes,” he growls.

You lick yourself off the silver latex, sucking your juices from the top, smiling as your mouth forms around it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Din’s voice edges you on.

“Mmm, Din, I taste so good, look how fucking shiny I made your dick.”

“Goooooood, fuck,” he pants, “you’re so pretty, fuck. Fuck, I-I-I I’m going to cum.”

The one minute countdown shows up at the worst time. You quickly lean forward and hit IGNORE, DO NOT CHARGE EXTRA.

“Cum for me Din, cum for me,” you try to disguise your prideful smile behind the silver dildo. 

The groans he lets out as he cums, the way his neck stretches as he angles his head up… it’s all you get, but it’s enough to keep you thinking about him at any chance you get. 

Sometimes a self esteem boost can be as simple as somebody complimenting your shoes or an attractive person giving you a friendly nod… this boost isn’t nearly as simple. Din just came in his pants just for you, without even touching himself.

“I’ve never done that, sorry,” his voice dripping with shame.

“No, Din, baby, no. I really liked it. A lot. I’m glad I could make you feel that way. Really.”

“You’re really… sweet, you know that?”

“I suppose I can be. Depends on the person,” you wink.

“I—uh, think I’m over my time.”

“You are, but I’m not going to charge you for it.”

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects. You lay back on your bed and grin at your ceiling. 

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

“Din,” you smile as the familiar black shirt appears on your screen. Thank god, the lamp is on. “It’s only been three days.”

“I know, I-I wanted to see you.”

“That’s good, I wanted to see you too.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you these past few days,” he pauses, “I’m sorry, i-is that okay?”

“Oh, of course it is. I’ve thought about you too baby.”

“You say that for everyone?”

“I do, but this time I mean it. Now, you know I have to give you the same base instructions. Fifteen minutes and then I disconnect. You can touch yourself, I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel right. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good, so what do you want tonight?”

“Yeah, I, uh, want to um—will you watch me tonight?”

“Of course baby, I’d be happy to.”

“Okay, yeah, thanks.”

You shake your head and laugh. “No need to thank me, I’m always happy to help you. I was really happy to see your name. So you want me to watch you tonight? Do you want me to do anything else for you?”

“Just, touch yourself and talk to me like you do. I-I’ve never done something like this, nobody has ev—nobody’s seen me like this before.”

He sounds so fragile, you want to take care of him.

“You want me to use a toy or my hand?”

“Just your hand.” 

“Okay baby, I’ll use my hand. I’ll start the timer.” You softly whisper the last part, trying to ignore that at the end of the day he’s is just your client.

He moves the computer farther away, new views are unlocked. His stomach, his crotch, his thick thighs all clad in black. 

You click the start timer button. Fifteen minutes left of this view. Fifteen minutes left of Din. 

You lean back and spread your legs to show him your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to play with my pussy for you? Get you nice and hard so you can fuck yourself until you cum for me?”

“Yes,” he hisses. His hand moves down to grip his crotch. 

Fuck, that sends a wave of pleasure through your body as one of your hands spreads your folds wide open.

“Do you see how fucking wet I am Din? How turned on I am by you, I don’t even know how you look, but you drive me crazy.”

He groans as he squeezes his bulge.

“I love how you groan, I wish I could feel it against my pussy while you eat me. I bet you’d lick me so well.”

“I want to taste you, fuck.”

“I want you to test me too. Now, go ahead, take your shirt and pants off. I want to see the rest of you.”

He quickly removes his shirt. God damnit, he’s perfect. Tan chest, tan stomach, the perfect amount of hair running from his chest to his stomach, down to where he’s currently unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. You can’t believe your eyes, as he lifts his hips to move the fabric down. Everything about him is big and strong. Lean, but filled out in all the right places. Strong and soft. How the fuck is he still a virgin? Your mouth waters at the sight of his erection now barely hiding behind the thin black fabric of his briefs. 

“Din,” you begin to rub circles around your clit, happy for the pressure, “you look so good for me, let me see your cock. Let me stare at it, you want me to see your cock?”

“Yes.”

He’s such a man of few words, you love it. His words are simple, straightforward, efficient, just like his name. Din.

He pulls his boxers down, his cock springs up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s rock hard, pulsing, golden toned, leaking from the tip, all surrounded by dark brown hair, you knew he had dark hair. He’s HUGE.

“Din, you’re fucking beautiful baby, I can’t believe it,” you gasp. “Fuck yourself for me, I can’t wait to see you cum all over your beautiful skin for me.”

His fist wraps around his shaft, you’ve seen some pretty hot things in your line of work. You’ve had some really attractive clients call in, but right now? Right now is the hottest thing you’ve ever been blessed to witness. Din stroking his cock for you, watching his stomach move with each breath he takes. You’re too focused on him to realize your finger has been paused on your clit since he first unsheathed his cock. 

“Fuck, Din, you’re making me forget what I’m doing, you look so good. I can’t believe it.” 

He groans, his grip tightens at the tip as he fucks himself. 

“Something about seeing you like this, hearing you moan and groan for me,” your finger runs a line back and forth between your hole and your clit. “It just does something to me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

He lets out a strangled grunt raising his hips and pumping his hand faster, “I-I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“That’s good baby, watching you is already making me want to fucking cum,” you stick two fingers in, your cunt already fluttering around them. 

“Wh-what would you do if I was with you right now fu—fucking you?”

“I’d kiss you,” your other hand travels down to begin circling around your clit, “I’d kiss your strong neck, I’d lick into your mouth and taste you. Wrap my hands around your big arms and hold on as your big cock destroys my pussy.”

“Goddddd,” he whimpers, “I-I’d like that.” His hand becoming a blur on your screen as he strokes quicker. 

The stupid five minute warning pop up shows up. You’re getting real good at ignoring it with him.

“You like that I’m about to cum on your cock? You really do something to me Din, I can’t believe how quick and hard you make me cum.”

His hips begin bucking into his first, the chair he’s on squeaking as he rapidly moves up and down. You love hearing the sound of him fucking himself mixed with the sound of you fucking yourself. 

“I’m going to cum baby,” he grunts, he called you baby.

Your eyes widen as you watch him spurt white ropes of his cum all over his stomach and thighs. There’s so much. 

Your cunt begins to spasm around your fingers as your climax crashes through you.

“Din, you feel so good. You came so good,” you gasp as you orgasm, trying to keep your shaking legs wide for him to watch. You pant for air as you get your bearings back, you’re obsessed with how this comedown feels. 

“That was amazing Din,” you smile, “not to be too forward, which is a funny thing to say right now, but you look really good.”

“Wow,” he laughs, “thank you. I feel the same way about you.” Your smile widens, you bet his face is so handsome when he laughs.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how in the hell are you a virgin with a dick like that?”

“Some weird religion stuff… I’m no longer a part of. Long story, maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

“I’d like that.”

The one minute timer shows its ugly head. 

“Fuck, we have a minute left,” you frown. “I, uh, would you take my number?” Now it’s your turn to feel nervous. 

“Y-yes. Sure.”

You lean forward and type your number into the chat box. 

“Please call me here next time you want to… talk with me.”

“I will.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects.

——

DIN DJARIN WANTS TO FACETIME 

You almost drop your phone at the name. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your heart begins to beat loudly against your chest. You click accept, and this time you really almost drop your phone. 

His face, you knew it… he’s beautiful.

“Hi,” he shyly smiles.

“Hi. Y-you’re gorgeous?”

He laughs, his big brown eyes disappearing behind the crinkles of his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do. I’m so glad you called me.”

“I am too,” his smile is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

Sometimes you love your job, especially when it brings someone like Din Djarin into your life. 

Well I’ll be damned! 😮‍💨🥵 This was delicious!

The nap

0k8 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: you wake up after a nap, and use Joel to get off Warnings: 18+ mdni. Established relationship, somnophilia, dirty talk, piv, creampie

a/n: same couple: 5 days collection, but can be read alone I had another fic in mind for them, but here we go Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕😘 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

You woke up in the afternoon after a nap. Joel's cock was still inside you after he fucked you thoroughly, lying against your back, breathing and covering your skin with kisses. And you both fell asleep.

When you moved slowly, his cock twitched inside you, and grew slightly. Slick ran down between your thighs, as you felt him swell against your walls. Slowly, you moved back and forth to feel his shaft harden. It throbed, taking its natural place between your folds. Gradually filling your pussy.

It felt good and so hot, that effect you had on him. To take advantage of him.

Joel had fucked you in your sleep countless times. But for some reason, you never used him while he was asleep. You knew he’d love it.

Your wetness was now covering his cock, the heat from his chest warming your bare back. You kept moving, slowly, very gently, so as not to wake him. You felt his cum dripping down to your thigh. A moan escaped your lips and you stopped for a few moments.

Feeling him grow inside you as he was sleeping made you shiver, and you held yourself back from fucking yourself harder on his shaft. To give your pussy what it was begging for. You breathed slowly to calm the fire, the desire and the need inside you, before resuming the roll of your hips. He was fully hard now, his shaft tight between your soaked walls.

“Can’t get enough of that cock, mmm, sweetheart?”

You stopped when you heard him, wondering how long he had been awake.

“Don't stop,” he said in a firm voice. “You wanna fuck me, baby? Come on then, fuck me.”

A new moan escaped your lips and you started sliding down his cock again. Harder. Your fist that had been clenched against the pillow released it, and your hand slid down to your crotch. Until he firmly grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t. You’re gonna come on my cock, without touching yourself.”

“Joel! Please, I don’t know if I can...”

“Keep moving, baby. Let your pussy feel it. She knows what to do.”

He pinned your wrist against your lower back and pulled away slightly to watch his cock disappear into your pussy. It was glistening, soaked with his cum and your arousal.

“God, you’re beautiful. It’s so hot, to watch you use me to get off.”

You whimpered, gliding on his shaft, listening to your sensations.

“Yeah, just like that. Use me, baby. Use my cock.”

He pressed his chest against you, and kept your wrist between you two. Feeling his whole body against yours always intoxicated you, and your pussy squeezed his shaft.

“She wants to come, sweetheart, I can feel it. Always so fucking needy.”

He growled. His nose was pressed to your ear and you could hear his heavy breathing, even if he was trying to calm it down.

Seized by a sudden impatience, as if it forced itself upon him, he thrust all the way in and pressed his pelvis against your ass, before letting you control the pace again. His cock was brushing against your g spot with each of your thrusts.

“Shit. That's good, baby. It turns me on to see you fuck yourself on my shaft. Couldn’t wait uh? No matter how many times I fuck you, you always want me in your cunt.”

“Yeah… yeah. Always need to feel your fat cock filling me.”

“Yeah? Until you come on it and milk it. She's gonna come soon, baby. She's screaming for it. You feel it coming?” He nibbled at your shoulder, making you whine, and his hand tightened on your wrist.

“Yeah, I… Fuck, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on, soak me. I want you to drool on my cock and balls. Come on, baby.” 

His words were the last thing you needed to come and your pussy clenched on his shaft. He kissed your neck as chills ran through your body, before trailing the kisses down your skin to your shoulder blade, his soft mustache making you shiver.

“Fuck, yeah… Always such a good girl for me. Don't stop moving, sweetheart. Keep fucking me until you dry my balls.”

You kept moving and his breathing quickened again. He let go of your wrist and gripped your hips.

“Shit. I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you, baby? Hard?”

“Yeah, use me, Joel. Take what you need.”

“Fuck…”

His fingers dug into your flesh as yours gripped the sheets. He began thrusting in, fucking your pussy with hard, deep strokes. Then faster, chasing his orgasm, growling, his nose brushing your back. His hand squeezed the back of your neck and used it as leverage, while the other was still holding onto your hip. Your moans grew louder, slowly turning into groans.

“Gonna fill you up”, he growled. “Oh fuck… fuck!” he grunted, as his cum started filling the depths of your pussy. He didn't release you until both of you caught your breath.

“Jesus, sweetheart… can’t believe you never used me like that before. Need you to do this again, as many times as you want.“

Same couple: 5 days collection

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring