𖥻 𝐊𝙸𝐒𝚂 𝐌𝙴 ! ! !

“Fuuuck,” you whine again, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly. 

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather. 

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!) 

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call emergency services, but of course, it has zero bars. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine. 

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again. 

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man. 

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time. 

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready. 

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.” 

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the surge of gratitude at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’ve been paying your rent all on your own, buying your own groceries, making your own meals. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“Actually, I don’t need your help, Joel. I meant to go into this snowbank,” you lie.

“Oh really?” He asks, dubious, immediately picking up on it. 

“Yes, and I'm going to get out of it. Just watch!" 

You’re making a fool of yourself, but at this point, you really don’t want to be rescued by him if only because of the bruise to your ego and definitely not because of other extenuating circumstances. You feel a boost of confidence when Joel actually steps back from the car when you start it up again, like he really believes you, but then when you shift the gear into reverse and try to make it out of the snow bank, nothing happens.

Joel steps up again, leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.” 

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes. 

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you. 

Stay? With him? 

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out. 

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat. 

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow. 

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile. 

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter. 

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.) 

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?” 

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie. 

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel. 

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first. 

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before. Could…someone else be here? 

“Joel,” you whisper, your hand landing on his arm. He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. 

“What?”

You point to the kitchen. “Is someone here? Am I intruding?”

Joel glances at the kitchen then back at you with a confused expression that evens out into a self-satisfied smirk when he realizes what you’re asking.

“What, you think I’ve got a date over?” 

Embarrassment creeps through you. “Who else could be cooking!”

He looks offended, though there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable.”

“Joel,” you say, unimpressed.

“I'm alone, peach,” he reassures, hanging his coat up. “That’s my cookin’ you’re smellin’.”

Your eyes widen, genuine surprise written on your features, relief lingering behind it as you take your own coat off. “Is it edible though?” 

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Joel starts toward the kitchen and you trail behind him. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile. 

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.” 

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it. 

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Hell yes.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room. 

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin. 

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands. 

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily. 

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite. 

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it. 

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.” 

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?” 

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’” 

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now. 

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok. 

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you. 

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?” 

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“ 

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process. 

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words. 

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.” 

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave. 

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect. 

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night. 

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin. 

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.” 

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly. 

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on. 

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow. 

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.  

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.” 

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in. 

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs. 

Holy shit. 

You can feel everything. 

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck. 

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours. 

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin. 

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts. 

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel. 

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you. 

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way? 

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator. 

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going. 

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat. 

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals. 

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt. 

“Joel—“ you quietly moan. 

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake. 

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?” 

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp. 

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?” 

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being. 

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.” 

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.” 

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release. 

“Hhhoh— Joel!” 

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat. 

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan. 

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep. 

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck. 

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten. 

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”  

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible? 

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled. 

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

 “There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand. 

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow. 

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release. 

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you. 

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises. 

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs. 

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good? 

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you. 

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear. 

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties  underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always. 

See you soon. 

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over. 

Always. Does he really mean that? 

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time. 

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases. 

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock. 

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps. 

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks. 

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.” 

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago. 

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin. 

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused. 

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

 “No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess. 

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his. 

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you. 

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed. 

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone. 

Its symbolism is not lost on you. It had seated some of the evilest men, who had brought terror and despair across the Seven Kingdoms and its people. When you had arrived at King’s Landing and entered the Red Keep before the wedding, you had expected to see arguably the worst of them all, King Joffrey, stare back at you.

Now it was empty.

The crimson that daubs the floor in splotches reminds you of the events just hours before. Reminds you of the lifeblood that leaked from the young king’s nose and slipped down his pale, blotched cheeks, dripping into the golden collar of his robes at his neck. Reminds you of the bloodshot colour of the whites of his blue eyes and the way they seemed to almost threaten to bulge out of his sockets. A gruesome death for a gruesome king. 

You hoped that his mother’s screams, ex-queen regent Cercei Lannister, mirrored those of the countless he had killed in these halls so brutally. Hoped it would bring those dead some peace. That it please the Old Gods and the New so that the kingdom could find peace and crown a more considerate, less destructive sovereign. 

The Great Hall was quiet. With no king to keep the Iron Throne warm, there was no requirement for anyone to be here. With this knowledge, you slowly make your way up the steps, the sound of your soles scuffing the stone floor ringing out in the vacant room. This close, you could regard the details. The ridges of the sword handles catch your eye, and the hilts of the weapons all ensigned with symbols that represented their owners long gone. While it didn’t meet your expectations, it was undoubtedly a throne for a king. 

You cast your eyes over the armrests, reaching out to touch them. They seemed so uncomforta-

“It’s underwhelming, is it not?” 

You snatch your hand back from the Throne with a gasp, like it had scalded you, eyes wide as your head whips around to look at the source of the sound. 

Oberyn smirks, standing in the centre of the large floor before you. His warm energy radiates despite the distance between you, and the golden robes he wears provide some much-needed colour to your bleak, almost desolate surroundings. You had asked him to wear those patterns for the ceremony, confessing they reminded you of the sun-kissed beaches of home. Oberyn agreed, delighted to represent Dorne this way. 

“You startled me, my prince!” You exclaim, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to steady yourself. Your Viper had always been stealthy. 

“Apologies, My Sun, but you were so lost in thought that I fear I would have startled you regardless,” he muses, slowly crossing the floor. He looks so at ease in these four walls, sauntering as though he owns them. In honesty, this is how Oberyn always acts, but he is expected to uphold respect in the Red Keep and appear humble. He certainly didn’t seem to care much for that expectation now. 

Despite this, he regards you with a whisper of concern. 

“Are you well? What you saw back there… It wasn’t pleasant,” he treads carefully, uncertain how you had handled the events of the wedding, given he had sent you away from the gruesome scene. But, much to your surprise, the only thing that you happened to find grim were Cercei’s pitiful cries of “take him!” You swore they still rang in your ears like the screams of squealing pigs. 

“Just fine, my prince,” you promise him, dropping your hand to your side. You were fine, honestly. While you weren’t often exposed to atrocities in Dorne, you had certainly seen your fair share of them. Choking to death paled in comparison. 

Finally, he steps upwards, making his way slowly up the levels to stand before you. You’re taller than him on the top step, so he cranes his neck to look into your eyes. There is a glimmer in the blackness of his pupils - vindication. 

“And so the boy dies,” he says, voice quiet as he reaches for your waist. He slowly brushes his palm up the curve of your waist. 

“He was a Baratheon, Oberyn,” you remind him, watching how his eyes trace the neckline of your dress. A knowing smirk flickers across Oberyn’s usually measured expression. He knows something you don’t. 

“So they say,” he appears to pick his words carefully, despite your isolation. The walls of the Red Keep have ears, and unsavoury words often come back to haunt the utterer. “I fear his pedigree has come into question.”

A frown pulls at your eyebrows, searching Oberyn’s guileful countenance for an answer to your unspoken query of ‘why?’

“You saw how that wretched boy acted. Are you to tell me he isn’t a Lannister?” He questions you, holding your gaze. His usually warm brown eyes have that very same intense look he aimed at Cercei and Tywin at the dinner. Abhorrence. How were you to deny what he saw, what you saw? Joffrey was a monster, the kind of cruelty he dealt only shared with one family- lion’s jaws would easily maul a stag. Regardless of whose blood had pumped his heart, he deserved every moment he suffered. 

“Well,” you sigh softly, agreeing with your lover, “I suppose if the shoe were to fit….” 

“It does,” he speaks, dismissing any question of the legitimacy of his opinion, “This is a triumph.” You nod firmly, the two of you acquiescing unanimously to this fact. It was of no consequence who Joffrey truly was. The most imperative truth was that his death had devastated the Lannister family, precisely what Oberyn had set out to do. While he couldn’t claim responsibility, it certainly didn’t diminish his appreciation in seeing the panic amongst the blonde-headed savages - the infighting. 

Oberyn’s hand creeps from your waist and down the small of your back, taking hold of your ass and gently squeezing it. His eyes are hooded as you look down at him, iris’ hidden as he gazes down the neckline of your dress. 

“This could be your chance to become king,” you muse, smiling playfully as his eyes snap up to your face, disgust evident if only briefly. 

“Live here in King’s Landing? As sovereign? I would rather be abstinent,” he muses with his own knowing smirk, “not even your bewitching looks could implore me to rule the Seven Kingdoms.” 

You huff, acting disappointed as you cross your arms across your chest in apparent dismay. Oberyn simply arches an eyebrow, the edges of his lips lifting up in intrigue at your little display of audaciousness.

“What is it, My Sun?” He asks you, clearly amused. You purse your lips slightly, playing coy as you reach for the collar of his golden robes and brush your fingertips over the silk, moving them down slowly until you hook them into the leather belt that sits loosely on his waist. You tug harshly, catching him off-guard and forcing him to move up onto the top step beside you. 

“Oberyn, play the game with me. We’re celebrating, remember?” You whisper, looking deep into his eyes. They always reminded you of the bark of the blood orange trees that grew in the orchards in Dorne, the wood a deep brown colour that lightened with flecks of gold in the light. His tan reminds you of the sunshine, his sigil, the very name he affectionately calls you. Everything about him reminds you of home. 

He regards you for a moment, knowing exactly what you want. You want him to imagine what it would be like if he was king- just for a moment. 

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, allowing you this happiness. You grin, launching into questions as you smooth your hands down his chest again, ignoring how his voice dips an octave.  

“What would you wear, My King?” You ask, smiling wide as he places his large hands on your hips. His palms practically eclipse you, which always makes you feel safe, even in King’s Landing. 

“I would wear golden silk,” he muses, turning you ever so slowly until he stands between you and the Iron Throne, his back to it. You watch him for a moment, the deviant look in his eyes, “I would wear velvet, and I would ensure you were to dress just as remarkably.” 

You allow yourself to imagine that for the two of you, always matching to ensure everyone knew you both belonged to each other. 

“And what would you eat?” You ask him, finding yourself lost for words just seconds later when Oberyn takes the initiative to sit himself upon the Iron Throne. He sits back, legs spread wide, looking up at you. Your blood runs cold, and you glance around quickly for a King’s Guard. There’s still no one around. 

“What would I eat?” He repeats your question, smirking as he retakes hold of your hips, “I would order that all the best foods of Dorne be delivered periodically, blood orange, pomegranates.” His palms work their way behind you as he talks, resting on your ass and pulling you forward. 

“Oberyn-” 

“We’d gorge upon the finest venison, the boar from the woods and wash it down with our wine,” he continues, pulling you forward until you were forced to straddle his lap, bracing yourself with your hand against the ‘head’ of the Throne, “We would want for nothing, the finest food always available to me upon my request….” 

Oberyn’s hands pull your hips down gently, rolling your hips against his. He’s stiff in his tight brown pants, his body disclosing his need for you. 

“And I would eat you,” he ponders cheekily, a smirk crossing his lips as he sees your surprise at his readiness to take you here, in the Grand Hall, upon the Iron Throne. You have barely a moment to snap out of your shocked stupor before he’s working at shucking your skirts upwards, fingertips grazing the inside of your thighs. 

Heat sparks up your spine at the realisation- he actually wants to do this. He wants to fuck you now, here. You spring into action almost immediately, working hastily on the belt that encompasses his waist. 

“As for activities, we would have magnificent feasts, drinking the night away. We’d fuck-” he punctuates with a spank to the bare skin of your inner thigh, causing you to gasp, “into the early mornings, with as many whores as you desire….” He trails off with a smirk as you slip the belt open and pull open his eggshell-coloured long coat, adorned with golden patterning to expose his bare chest under his low-cut tunic. 

As you work on the ties of his pants, fingers trembling with anticipation, he slips a finger into your exposed core, causing your back to arch into his touch. Your jaw slackens, the sensation electrified when accompanied by the possibility that anyone could just walk in. The two of you could be put to death for this, as it certainly constituted a charge of treason. 

“So wet for me, My Sun. Does the prospect of fucking me here excite you?” He teases unrelentingly, gazing at the needy expression on your face. You can feel him search for that spot inside you, the one he knows will have you positively dripping with anticipation. 

“I-I’m the one asking questions,” you say, wanting to sound assured and confident, but you find yourself rushing the words so as to not get cut off by a moan. It made you sound ingenuine. Your lover just smirks knowingly, slowly working in a second finger. You’re already so aroused that it doesn’t take much effort. 

“You are?” He murmurs, watching the way you keen for his touch, feeling your hips rock forward in search of contact with that sweet spot inside of you. If Oberyn put his mind to it, he could make you cum in seconds, but he liked to draw it out. Wants to torture you with pleasure. “Ask away.”

You let out a soft moan as his knuckle brushed your clit, fingers buried deep inside your cunt. Drunk on the building pleasure between your thighs, you allow yourself to consider for a moment what kind of king Oberyn would be. With a broken train of thought, as he focused on building your arousal, you find a half-answer of ‘compassionate and just’. 

“How would you wish for your crown to look?” You finally find the strength to ask of him. You work him out of his pants slowly, easing his cock out and brushing the swollen head with your thumb. Even through your lustful haze, you could imagine all kinds of styles he would wear, but always gold. 

Oberyn, though still moving his fingers, seemed to pause to contemplate this. His eyes searched your face, almost as though looking for inspiration. The silence of the Great Hall is cut only by your laboured breathing, the soft sounds of the fabric of your clothes rustling, and the wet sound of Oberyn pleasuring you.

The quiet is almost too much, and you find yourself growing anxious. Only as you turn your head over your shoulder to check for people does the Prince of Dorne take your chin in his free hand, forcing you to look back at him. He always did ask for your undivided attention.

“I ask they do not place a crown on my head,” he finally drawls in that pretty accent you had come to adore, removing his fingers from you and taking hold of the curve of your ass to lift your hips upwards and align you with him, “Just you on my cock.”

Before the words can settle into your bones, he’s sinking himself into you, using his hold on you to bring you down slowly. You both exhale shakily, the sound teetering on a moan and a whine as he stretches you out around him. He grits his teeth together, the muscles holding his jaw pulled tight as your warmth and tightness overwhelm him. 

You begin to circle your hips, grinding them against him as he leans back into the Throne, gliding his hands from your knees and up your thighs, smirking at the obscenely wet sounds that come from where he fills you. 

“Lift your skirts,” he murmurs, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. They are practically black, the pupils having swallowed the brown of his iris’ with need, “I want to watch myself fuck you, My Sun.” You whine softly, not in complaint but in contentment, as you bunch your skirts around your waist higher, exposing the sight to your lover. 

Oberyn doesn’t allow you to put in all the work, grinding his hips upwards to meet yours each time you sink onto his cock. Your head lolls back, enjoying the trail of tingling skin he leaves as his hands brush over the skin of your waist under your dress. You always claimed that Oberyn had sunshine in his fingertips, his touch leaving a trail of warmth as it brushed your skin. You can feel it now, the gentle heat that swirls under your skin as he drags his hand over your abdomen. 

And Oberyn just gazes up at you, dragging his eyes over every inch of you. He loves how your eyes roll back into your skull as he rolls his hips and hits something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. He feels the way the muscles in your thighs twitch at the sensation, and that’s how he knows he’s found it. 

“Right there?” He murmurs, voice so low and smoky that it creeps down your spine and settles deep inside your cunt. You can’t manage words, your voice stolen by the throbbing in your clit, so you just nod in agreement. 

Typically, he would begin to thrust harder, chase his high. But half of the reason this feels so good is the anticipation of being caught. He wants to drag it out as long as possible, so he uses the grip on your hips to slowly rock them back and forth on his cock, ensuring that each time he pushes into that spot inside you. 

You’re clamping down on him, wailing quietly as he teases you. Oberyn was brutal, never settling for anything other than blinding pleasure. But this is almost acute, so strong that you could cry- you do, tears welling in your eyes as he circles your hips slowly, his tongue brushing his lower lip as he watches his dick slide in and out of you. 

The sopping sounds of Oberyn’s cock continually slipping in and out of you ricochets off the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. Your whines of bliss appear to spur him on, lighting something ablaze in him that had sparked with King Joffrey’s last breath. He’s almost delirious when he speaks but utterly sincere.

“I want you to conceive a child - here on the Iron Throne. I want you full of my seed, knowing he was born for the Throne itself.”

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The words had kept him off her ever since she returned from the US, barely out of the hospital and shirking her new responsibility to rejoin the hunt for Escobar.

“Javier…”

He swallowed as she said his name for the first time in his life, her tongue darting out to lick her lips as though she was tasting him on her. Her lips glistened under the scant light that hung from the ceiling of her apartment.

“Javi.” Determined, stern, sure. None of the hesitation with which she said his full first name. He was never Javier to her, let alone Javi. Always Peña— as the Agent Peña from the first months of their friendship to the Peña of recent. He took a step towards her, waiting for her to take a step back, to push him away or step aside from him— anything, anything to indicate she didn’t want this.

His hand acted of its own accord in cupping her cheek. He knew because he would never do this. She closed her eyes, looking serene for the first time now that she hid the war zone in her as she closed the windows to her soul. He’d made mistakes in life before, big ones. But even he wasn’t vile enough to do this. Right?

He didn’t know the answer to that. Couldn’t stop long enough to ponder upon the question as he caught her leaning towards him. Barely, but still… He brought his other hand to cup the other side of her face and placed his lips on her. Suddenly, none of it mattered. If he was a vile man, then so be it. Because the taste of her lips was anything but vile. The muffin he’d forced her to eat earlier that day combined with the whiskey she had alone in their office and the cigarette they passed between each other by her living room window. She was heavenly.

Her gun callused hand ran up his arm slowly, barely touching, very unlike the soft, confident hands he paid to touch him these days. Taking her wandering hand as permission to cross lines, he let himself explore her, moved a hand down her back and stopped at her waist. Losing himself in the softness of her lips, he squeezed her waist and pulled her closer to him, pressing himself against her body. She gasped and he let himself, like the vile man he was, to slip his tongue inside her mouth. She whined, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in her hand.

He was kissing her, he realized a bit too late. And she was kissing him back. Enthusiastically, pulling him closer and leaning in and pressing her body against his like he had only dreamed she would. Any time now, it felt like he would wake up on his bed embarrassingly alone to touch his cock with thoughts of her in his head. But none of that was going to happen because this was real. She was real. Their tongues gliding together, her hand in his hair, the gasps and whines, the nibbles of his lips and the way she arched her neck back to give him precious access to parts of her that made her gasp and cry his name— Javi. It was all real.

“Javier, please,” she begged, cradling his face in her hand. Need. Her eyes screamed need. Oh how long he had wanted her to look at him this way, watching enviously as she chose another man to be her partner when he was right there, already her partner at work. Years later, she was giving him exactly what he craved. Everything had a price, he thought as his heart clenched and he had to pull her closer to himself to make sure he didn’t crumble from the ache.

“This is wrong, baby,” he breathed, contradicting himself with the nickname. It seemed to be the night of new names for each other…

“I know. Kiss me anyways, Ja—” she whimpered as he followed her order, not as sweetly as the last kiss, but still passionate, wanting. She walked backward, pulling him along with her. Her hand shakily unbuttoned his shirt. He would have helped, but nothing could draw him away from drinking her sweet sounds right out of her lips.

She was the one to pull back first. He almost leaped back into the kiss, to pull her back into his orbit after she’d danced around and away from him for so long. But he realized that maybe, she wanted a bit of a break. To breathe, to process all this, to make time to pull away entirely if she wanted to. If she needed to make sure that this mistake would be worth it, that she could bear this on her soul along with everything else she bore. He should be a good friend; he should pull away and walk out of her apartment. It would be awkward at work, but nothing they’d experience would be as terrible as the guilt that would eat away at him for the rest of his life.

He was not a good friend. Of course he wasn’t. He was barely a good man. He reached between them and undid her belt, pulled off the DEA badge that matched his own and unbuttoned her pants.

He was not a good man. He was the kind who stood in front of his grieving friend, making her commit a mistake she could never take back. She wouldn’t look him in the face after this, but he decided it was something he could live with if he could have her just this once. He was ashamed, but not enough. He would keep kissing his friend throughout the night. His coworker. His partner. His friend’s wife.

He hovered over her bed, the same bed he helped carry into this very room as he teased her then fiancé about wedding night sex. He hurriedly popped the buttons off of her white blouse, afraid she might realize her mistake soon, afraid he’d have to take everything he wanted from her as quickly as he could.

“Gonna take care of you, hermosa…” he whispered into her neck as he palmed her breast.

She curled his hand over his and his breath caught in his throat as he felt the cold metal of her wedding band touch him. His thumb and index finger pinched around the band, ready to pull off the offending jewelry. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it drove him insane to feel her wearing that even as she lied under him on the bed she shared with her husband.

She entwined her fingers with his, cursing him to feel the crushing guilt throughout their mistake. But he needed her. Needed her so fucking bad.

In one deft movement, he rolled her onto her front and pulled her blouse off her arms, tossing it away before pulling his cock out of his slacks. She buried her face in her pillow, an accomplice to his betrayal as he pushed her panties aside and pushed a finger inside her. A few pumps of his finger in her cunt had her wet and ready for the taking.

He rolled a condom over his weeping cock and forced himself inside her, relishing in her moans of his name. Why couldn’t she have let him all those years ago?

“Dilo de nuevo, querida. Di mi nombre,” he begged, thrusting back inside her.

“Javier, Javiiii!” She cried as he reached under her to find her clit. He may be a selfish bastard, but he wasn’t in the business of leaving women unsatisfied in bed, best friend’s wife or not. He balanced his hard thrusts into her with gentle pressure over her clit.

“Te sientes, muy bien. ¡Muy bien para mí, mierda!”

He buried his face in her neck, kissing, biting and licking, doing every depraved thing to take everything he could from her, to consume her whole. The lingering scent of her perfume and her sweat from their day running behind sicarios intoxicated him. Her skin tasted salty on his tongue, but he didn’t mind; loved it, actually. He snapped her bra open, rubbing her hand over the expanse of her back. There was nothing sexy about his touch, nothing romantic. He wasn’t a man trying to prove himself in bed, he wasn’t trying to get his pesos worth out of her. He was but a desperate man, taking in anything and everything she offered before it would inevitably be taken away.

In his next act of desperation, he reached under her to find her breasts, kneading one in his hand as he basked in her muffled moans. Pride filled his chest with the realization that he was the one getting these sounds out of her.

“Fuck, Javi!” She breathed, thrusting up to match his quickening pace. Flesh slapped against flesh, so obscene yet so beautiful. He pulled her up from her bed, pressing her back against his chest with a hand around her throat while the other hand continued to work on her clit. He moved his hand from her throat, back down to her tits, groaning in frustration when he realized he wanted to touch all of her at the same time. All that fucking beauty and he wasn’t man enough to enjoy its wonders to the fullest. He cursed the limits of man, cursed her name as he attempted to rescue his mind from drowning in her too quickly. This was his one goddamned chance to have her and he wouldn’t fuck it up for himself by coming too soon.

He fucked his frustrations of the day into her and she fucked right back. They were failing at work, being sent on one goose chase after another and watching helplessly as the drug cartels wreaked havoc on innocent lives, as Escobar eluded them every single day. Before, the three of them chose to drown their anger in bottles of alcohol. But then they fell in love, formed their own partnership and left him out to fuck his frustrations into prostitutes. He didn’t complain, but fuck it hurt to be left out.

“Javi, I’m—” she gasped and threw her head back on his shoulder, forcing him to confront her face. How could he not, when all this beauty was leaning against him, her hair tickling his neck and his chin and his cheeks as she whimpered in the pleasure he gave her.

“¿Qué, cariño?” He taunted, knowing very well from how she clenched around him, what she was about to say.

“I—” she cried, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as he worked on her. She didn’t pull his hand away or do anything to stop him from touching her. She was just holding his fucking hand for the sake of it, to find purchase in the real world as he worked hard at fucking every thought out of her head.

“¿Qué? Halba, cariño.”

Amidst her incoherent moans, he heard his name once or twice. Fuck! He wanted to fuck her so hard she knew nothing but his name. Fuck her so hard she’d forget why they were in Columbia, putting up with all the shit they put up with and dodging fucking bullets on the streets. Fuck the pain out of her, fuck her so good she no longer walked around with the weight of the world on her shoulders. He was a fucking fool, but he didn’t know how else to help. Giving her an outlet to get her emotions out, that was all he knew and all he was useful for.

“Fuck, Javi! Pull my— pull my hair—” she choked on her words, her throat vibrating with the words beneath his hand. Grabbing her hand, he forced it to replace his on her clit before threading her hair in his fist and pulling. He grunted and groaned she she tightened around him, making it harder for him to fuck her as her cunt gripped him.

He looked down at her, mesmerized as her tits bounced from how roughly he took her from behind. They probably hurt her, but fucking hell he couldn’t form a thought even for a goddamn second to do something to make her more comfortable. She was everything and she was everywhere, taking over every thought in his head and every cell in his body, disappearing all his notions of self and replacing it with just her.

“Gonna come, Javi,” she cried, making him close the non-existent gap between them. Fuck! He wanted her closer, even closer than skin touching skin, closer than her cunt squeezing around his cock, closer than her cheek pressed against his as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I know, I know. Do it, cariño. Come for me,” he said between his gasps for air. She followed through, despite being the stubborn woman she was. She came for him, her thighs shaking and her sore throat making a sound that sounded vaguely like his name. He wasted no time or mercy on her as she still rode down the high of her orgasm, her eyes empty, but from pleasure this time.

He pulled her off of him, making her whimper at the sudden loss of contact. But he made up for it quickly, flipping her onto her back and entering her with one quick stroke. One hand pinned her to the bed by her throat and the other joined her own, the wedding band she wore forgotten in his quest for comfort as he got closer. Dios mío! What a selfish bastard he was, seeking comfort from her when he had given her none, when he had abandoned her in her time of need… That was what he always did— he took and took and took without giving anything in return, be it her or his friend or this fucking country.

Again, he took as she pulled him down for a kiss, teeth clashing and accidentally biting a little too hard. There was nothing pretty about it, nothing good about their betrayal of the man they loved. But he took his pleasure out of her, screaming curses as he collapsed on top of her.

Fuck! What had they done?

“We shouldn’t have,” the words slipped out of him despite himself. There was no hurt in her eyes, nothing changed. It was like she was expecting this. Or she was accepting of the knowledge of how terrible they both were for their betrayal.

“I know…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Javi?”

For my shitty intel that got your husband killed, for widowing you, for your toddler who died in his father’s arms, for not attending the funeral, not calling even once, not offering a word of comfort, for taking advantage of your vulnerability just now.

Where should he fucking start?

“Why are you here?” He asked, avoiding her question. He couldn’t speak the words without breaking into tears.

“This is my apartment, Javier,” she said dryly, her fingers drawing unrecognizable patterns on his back.

“Why are you here?”

She stilled in his arms and looked away from him. He heard her swallow. He should apologize, move away from the topic. It was clearly making her uncomfortable. But he couldn’t. The question was driving him mad ever since he opened the door to his office and saw her back at her old desk, answering calls and scribbling down notes.

His stubborn silence worked and she eventually gave him an answer probably just to break the awkwardness.

“Couldn’t sleep. They were in all my nightmares, asking me why I let them die.”

He forced himself to look into her eyes, hollow yet haunted. She had to be reliving the horrors of that day as she spoke of them, digging her nails into his arm.

“It wasn’t your fault!” He snapped, angered by her placing all this blame on herself. Is that why she was here? Because she thought she needed to atone for her family’s killing?

“He was so little, Javi… So vulnerable and fully dependent on me. And I,” she stopped as she choked on her words as she spoke about her son, his godson. He squeezed her hand and pulled her into a hug. “I failed him,” she took a deep breath, shaking in his arms as he kissed her forehead in a piss poor attempt at providing comfort. “Should’ve protected him with my life.”

“You did everything. You did everything to save him. You heard the doctors,” he said, recalling what was easily the worst day of his life. “Don’t blame yourself, Cariño.”

He wasn’t particularly fond of kids, but he happily accepted the role of godfather in the little one’s life. He promised to be the cool uncle who’d teach him how to pick up girls and to find the best cigarettes when the time came. He had a long life ahead of him, just like all of Escobar’s victims.

“You shouldn’t be here, in this fucking place— there’s so much left for you, a life, Cariño. You lost Hugo, you lost your son, but you have—” he stopped, ashamed that he didn’t even know whether she gave birth to a son or daughter, whether she gave birth at all.

“I can’t even look at her, Javi,” her voice broke as she spoke of her newborn. “What am I supposed to say when she asks if I protected her brother, if I avenged her father? How can I raise another one of his children when I let the first one die?”

“It’s not your fault,” he spat, grabbing her face in both her hands. “If not your fucking fault!” Her family was one of the casualties of the war against drugs, one of the many casualties on both sides. An addition to the increasing number of widows and orphans Escobar made. Just like all the other families on that list, hers did nothing to deserve this, no particular mistakes she could’ve avoided to escape this misery.

“I should do this whether or not it was my fault. Hugo…you know Hugo was passionate about this. Wanted peace for his ancestral country at any cost— Would be a waste of his life if I ran back like a fucking coward. I can’t let it be for nothing.”

What was he supposed to do? Tell her she was wrong? Tell her to move on with her life when she still wore the wedding band from a dead man? There were countless people like her in the country, some thirsting for revenge and some running far away from this mess. He couldn’t blame either type. Unlike the others, they had some power to do something about that monster.

“We’ll do it together,” he promised. “You have me.”

“I know.”

.

.

.

It was late at night, and you were still working at the police office with some paper work needed.

Your eyes were tired, and your body tense. 00:30

You sighed, you were one of the last persons staying, all the lights almost gone. There was you, and him.

Javier Peña.

He was a pain in the ass sometimes, always coming to you for favors in that sweet honey tone of his, but you gave in every time. You like him after all, and he always made sure to make it up to you with a good scotch.

You hear his door open and close, his steps growing closer and you sighed when you saw him stand right in front of your desk. Your eyes met his and that stupid soft smile of his.

“Oh, love the color sweetheart, suits you a lot. I’d that a new shape?” he inquired, casually staring at your long red nails and taking your hand in between one of his, touching them.

You rolled your eyes.

“What now, Javi?” he scoffed but still smiled before leaning in and letting a sheet of paper fall on your desk.

“Need you signature, honey, and no word about it.” you sighed, squinting your eyes to him.

“What are you on about, hm? Trouble as always?”

“You don’t wanna know.” he promised and after a few seconds in silence you agreed.

“You’re right. I don’t.” you nodded, and took your pen to scribble your signature at the bottom of it.

“You’re the best, have I told you that?” you laughed.

“Yeah, every time you come to me with one of your favors.” you shrugged and he winked at you.

“Got some alcohol at my office. Let me pour you a glass for the inconvenience, yeah?” you sighed, and he smiled when you got up from your chair. You groaned, your whole body stiff and muscles aching for how long you had been working non-stop.

You followed him into his own office, the door shutting gently at your back. The liquor a warm brown as he poured it into an empty and clean glass for you. You thanked him when he handed it to you, pouring himself the same amount. You groaned in pleasure when the liquid cursed down your throat, burning and making you feel lightheaded.

He smiled. “Long day?” he inquired as you took a seat on the leather couch at your back.

“You have no idea…” the leather sank under his weight as he sat next to you, his cologne hitting your nose. He looked so good, with his brown hair perfectly styled and his tight tight button shirt and jeans…

“How so?”

“There’s just a lot of paperwork to do since now Escobar is taking out all his guns. Motherfucker…” you took another swing to your drink, emoting the glass that was quickly refilled by him.

“You’ll get wrinkled in that pretty face of yours if you keep frowning like that, you know?” his thumb smoothed put the crease in between your eyebrows and you sighed at the warmth of his fingertips. He noticed, noticed the way you were so rigidly sitting on his couch, how you had reacted to his touch. It was no surprise, he could see it in the way you looked at him every time he’d come for you, every time he’d brush you on the kitchen while going for coffee and his hands would take your waist to softly move you away. Maybe he liked touching you a little too much, as well as your attention. Maybe he liked you. “You just need to relax, sweetheart…” he whispered, his brown eyes making you shiver just as much as her warm and big hand pressing against your naked thigh, just below the rim of your skirt.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on your skin as you drank once again. “Tell me how…” you sighed, your body incredibly stiff.

“Maybe I can show you…” he muttered, and when you found his eyes you shivered. He was looking at you though his black and long lashes, his brown eyes shining with a promise. He smirked when you unconsciously looked at his lips. So maybe he hadn’t imagined all of it… Maybe you liked him too. You silently and slowly nodded and he rose his eyebrows. “Yeah? Want me to help you relax, pretty girl?” you let out a breathy wine, biting your bottom lip as his hand softly made his way up and underneath your skirt.

“Yes, Javi, please…” you begged, and he was quick to pull you for a kiss. It was deep, and messy, all tongue and teeth clashing. Spit was dribbling out of your lips as he hungrily kissed you, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck and making you moan as he sucked. “Been wanting to do this since such a long fucking time…” he muttered, and you gasped when his warm palm cupped your cunt. “Hmmm, looks like you have too, so wet already…” you whimpered as he teased you from above your panties.

“Javi… Please…” you breathed out, voice breathy due to his kisses.

You watched him as he got down on his knees and in between your thighs.

“Why don’t you just lean back for me and relax, hm? I’ll take good care of you, baby, promise.” he whispered, his lips leaving a soft kiss to your thigh, making you shake. You followed his orders, leaning back and opening your legs further apart for him. “Atta girl, looking so pretty like this…” you bit down on your lip as his fingers slowly pushed up your skirt, ‘till your clothed cunt was fully exposed for him. He groaned at the sigh, the cotton of your panties damped in arousal for him and only for him. Your back arched when he sucked a new bruise on your thigh, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

It must be a dream, Javier Peña being in between your thighs and looking at you the way he was, but if it was you surely were hoping to not wake up. Ever.

“Can I take this off, sweet girl? Wanna see you.” he inquired, looking into your eyes to make sure you were okay with everything he was doing, with the way his fingers were tugging at your underwear to bring them down your legs. You nodded. “Words, baby, I need words.” you whimpered.

“Yes, please Javi.” you begged, and he let out a hum as he pushed your panties down, the cold air of his office hitting your now exposed and leaking cunt. His eyes were glued to your sticky lips, dripping for me, even when he fished your underwear and pushed them inside his pocket. For later. He groaned, pulling you closer by your legs ‘till his breath was hitting your core, throbbing in need. “Fuck!” you whimpered when he wasted no time on leaning in, his tongue hungrily leaping through your fold in a slow and big stroke that had your mind reeling and your back arching. He groaned against your cunt.

“So fucking sweet…” you moaned as he sucked on your clit, a hum leaving his lips when you tugged on his hair, bringing him closer.

“Fuck Javi, just like that.” you whined, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when one of his fingers went inside, it’s girth making your thigh shake at the side of his face and a pornographic moan to leave your lips.

“Fuck, you sound so good baby, you like that?” you cried out when he curled his finger, hitting your g spot.

“Yeah, shit, oh my god…” you moaned, another finger filling you up and making you see stars.

“Javi is fine, darling, don’t need to over do it.” he teased, before his lips were back lapping at your cunt and sucking at your clit. You were drowning in your own whimpers and sighs. The feeling too much, enough to have you teetering the edge in mere moments.

“Javi, fuck, ‘s close…” you breathed out, your walls clenching around her fingers as your hips bucked against his face. You could feel your orgasm approaching at an incredible speed, the knot on your stomach about to snap.

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my face, baby?” he inquired, speeding up the curling of his fingers and making you moan louder, your body shaking, about to release. “Yeah you are… Look at how tight you are getting… Cum for me, pretty girl, I’ve got you…” he whispered before going back and sucking at your clit. Your fingers tightened on his hair as you whimpered.

“Fuck, Javi, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!” it only took a last lap at your clit for you to fall apart in between his fingers, thighs clenching and pussy dripping on his lips. He lapped at everything you would give him, humming at the taste, his cock impossibly harder under his tight jeans.

Your body seized before it would relax, your muscles finally leaving behind that tension that they had been holding onto for the whole day. You leaned against the couch, hissing and pulling from his hair when the overstimulation became too much, relaxing against the cushions as you saw him detach from your core and take out from your pussy his fingers, covered in your sticky and white release. He popped them into his mouth, his eyes on you, and then smirked. “You better, princess?”

“I am.” you smiled, sighing, the remains of your high leaving you dizzy. You took a glimpse at the bulge poking from underneath his jeans, and you rose your eyebrows. “Though I think now is you who needs to release some tension.” he chuckled and straighten his back to face you properly, lips brushing against yours.

“Maybe you could help me back at mines.” he whispered, and you answered by bringing him back against your lips, kissing him wetly and soft.

Oh you were in for a long ride.

-

pedro pascal masterlist! <3

javier peña masterlist! <3

It had been a rough day full of deadends and slaps on the wrists from higher ups. Too tired to take a shower, he heads to the bedroom immediately, stripping himself naked before joining you under the ridiculously fluffy duvet you’d convinced him to buy.

Soft things. Comfort. You deserve that Javi.

He’d agreed begrudgingly though he wasn’t sure any of that was true. Admittedly, he does sleep better these days, but maybe that’s because you’re at his side.

All he can do is look at you, watching with wonder as you sleep peacefully. You’re completely naked, and his body can’t just ignore that, especially when you shiver, rolling over to press yourself into his warmth. He pulls you closer, using a strong hand to hoist your leg over his hip, his erection nestled in between the pliant silkiness of your thighs. He’s hungry for you, and while he’d love to skip the preamble and sink into you, he knows he has to get you ready.

His mouth finds your neck and you whimper softly when his teeth sink into the skin there, his tongue soothing the spot afterwards. He gets a hand on your breast, gropes it with a needy sound in the back of his throat. His mouth nips and kisses at your neck as he takes your nipple in between his fingers, rolling it gently. He knows your body, and that with just a little bit of this you’ll be wet for him in no time even in your sleep. But touching you is a luxury and he takes his time, savoring the taste and feel of your skin so tenderly that it allows you to continue sleeping, relaxing into him further.

“You’re so perfect, querida,” He whispers when his hand drifts between your legs, two fingers sliding easily into your slick, wet pussy.

Carefully, he turns you over, holding you open for him and his buries himself into your tight heat. He can’t hold in the loud groan that builds in his chest when your walls flutter around him. He holds you tight, rocks himself into you gently a few times, burying his nose into the nape of your neck to inhale your scent. And when you stir, the pleasure blooming in your lower belly lifting you out of sleep he dusts kisses across your skin.

“Javi,” You breathe sleepily, your hand reaching back to grope at his hip.

“Hi, baby,” He murmurs against your throat, thrusting into you harder now that you’re awake.

“You needed me?” Its a teasing question that both of you already know the answer to and you yelp softly when his teeth nip at your skin.

“I always need you, baby, you and your perfect little pussy.”

“Fuck, Javi, yeah,” You whine, hand moving up his body to get your hand firmly planted in his hair.

“Look at how well you take me. Even in your sleep, you let me in so easily,” He whispers sinfully into your ear, and all you can do is nod feverishly, pushing your ass back against him to work him deeper into you.

He rolls you over onto your stomach, bringing his hips all the way back to pound into you with a roughness that makes your eyes roll back into your head, “You were made for me weren’t you? I can fuck you whenever I want because you’re made to take my cock.”

“Yeah, baby, made to make you cum. For you to use,” You gasp, fingers searching for a pillow in the darkness to anchor you as he fucks you almost brutally.

“You’re so pretty, you smell so good, feel so good,” He praises, his breathing quick and harsh.

“All for you, Javi. Always for you, I love you.”

“I love you too baby, gonna show you, fill your pussy with me,” He grits out between his teeth, a subtle sheen of sweat coating his skin from the strength and length of his movements.

He must be close because with those words he snakes his hand between you and the mattress, starts rubbing perfect circles into your clit that make you clench around him. His pace doesn’t stop and soon, your orgasm floods your body, a soft cry leaving your lips as you’re brought to the peak. Javi follows suit, grinding himself into you to not waste a single drop— he had promised to fill you up.

As the room quiets, nothing but the sound of deep regulating breaths and the sounds of the night pouring in through an open window Javi says something that surprises you.

“Move in with me.”

“What?” You shift under him the best you can, turning to look at him.

His eyes are wide, full of hesitancy but he repeats his previous words, even adds some reasoning, “Move in with me. When’s the last time you slept at your own apartment, mi amor? The last time you did laundry there? I bet your plants are hanging on by a thread.”

You study him for a moment, “Are you sure?”

He nods slowly, pulling you closer, “Would I ask if I wasn’t?”

It never gets old, the concept of him loving and choosing you despite the way he lived before, and your heart quickens as you answer, “Okay, yeah, I’ll move in with you. Begrudgingly you add, “And my plants are just fine.”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I know the perfect way to celebrate.”

“Mmm, what’s that?”

He pins you down again, kissing his way down your body until his tongue finds your sex. And he stays there for what feels like hours, thoroughly celebrating the next step in your relationship by bringing you to the peak of multiple orgasms.

All you can remember is that he's a DEA agent and that he'd offered to pay you for some information. You'd spoken to him briefly at the bar for about twenty minutes, told him what he needed to know, tried not to be too obvious as your eyes scanned the length of him in the booth. He was a lot older than you, had a mysterious but friendly quality that made you feel safe with him. He smoked during the whole conversation and you'd been drawn to the way his lips wrapped around the filter of his cigarette, the way his gaze dropped to your mouth every so often as you answered his line of questioning.

He'd slipped what you were owed beneath the table then placed his hand, solid and firm, on your thigh.

"How about you come home with me for a little bit?" he'd murmured, tilting his head and stubbing out his cigarette, eyes dark.

And now here you are, hands gripping the sheets in his bed tightly as you feel the wet tip of his cock at your entrance, silently seeking permission as he leans down and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

"I d-don't remember your name," you gasp out as the head slips inside, wide and hot.

You feel him smile against your skin and he clicks his tongue, leaning back so he's standing over you, the end of his cock laying still inside your cunt.

"You don't remember my name," he echoes back, then slowly begins to slide his cock further inside you, long and thick.

Overwhelmed by his size, you bury your face in the fabric of his duvet, inhaling his masculine scent. You feel his hand on your back as he presses his palm flat against your spine, pushing you down further into the mattress.

"I've got my cock buried in your sweet little pussy and you don't know my name, huh?" he finds this funny, chuckling to himself as he continues to push inside.

"I f-forgot," you whimper, fisting the sheets.

He bottoms out then, his full length stilling inside of you. You moan at the fullness and release the material from your grip, upper body suddenly relaxing now that you've taken all he has to give you. He leans down again and kisses the tender spot behind your ear.

"My name is Javier," he whispers, "But you call me Javi when I'm fucking you good like this, yeah?"

You remember now, remember the way he shook your hand and told you what it was, but you'd been too distracted by how large his hand was compared to yours that you'd barely registered the name. Even then, in those first few seconds of meeting him, you somehow knew you'd end up in his bed.

"Please move," you whimper, shuffling back a bit and whining at the sensation of how stuffed you are with his cock, "Please."

"What's my name, baby?" he murmurs, hands gripping your waist as his thick fingers splay against your lower back, "Whose cock do you have deep inside this pretty pussy right now?"

"Javi," you breathe, closing your eyes.

javi has your dress bunched up around your waist, panties tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his mouth lowered to your ear to whisper the filthiest praises you’ve ever heard.

“that’s it, pretty baby, taking my cock so well,” he coos, brows knitted together as he focuses on the roll of his hips in the confined space of his car. he was supposed to just drive you home from the bar, just drop you off at your apartment less than 10 minutes from the place. somehow, between your hand resting on his thigh and the noticeable way you squeezed your crossed legs together in the passenger seat, he had pulled off into a dark alley and quite literally manhandled you into the back.

his lips smothered your own in hot, slick kisses that burned down to your chest. javier’s hands squeezed at you affectionately, swallowing down your squeals and moans while his cock nudged at the perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.

“javi— oh, fuck. shit—“ you whined against his mouth, fingers threading into his hair and tugging hard. his responding growl spurred you on further to pull at his inky strands, head dropping back against the car door.

“i know, baby, i know,” he whispered, rough and harsh while the tip of his nose brushed down the column of your throat. “let go for me, okay? let me feel you. want this pretty little pussy to soak me,” javi growled. his hand slipped down between your bodies to fund your clit, circling the pad of his middle finger over it in perfect time with his hips driving into you hard enough to bruise your inner thighs.

“that’s it. just like that, sweetheart. feels so good,” he whimpers as you fall apart below him.

It should make you feel ashamed, but it only made you smile.

Joel was so good, and so fucking earnest in his desires. It made you drunk to be looked by him, and it made you high how much he liked this. As much as you.

When he first started, Joel was nothing but a gentleman. He opened you up with his tongue first, always. Then, he gave you his fingers, one by one, until you were a squirming mess. He always took his time. Always whispered and chuckled—dirty, condescending.

It was hotter than you'd like to admit.

Then, Joel started seeing how unabashed you were getting.

His words started to follow the motion.

"Look at you, darlin'. I mean it—look in the mirror. Look at fuckin' good you look right now takin' my fingers. God... what a fuckin' sight. This is what you like, isn't it? Hearin' how much you get me hard and desperate for ya? How much I dream about spending hours inside of ya? Just feeling you hot and tight around me—you're so fuckin' tight, darlin'. Jesus, look at it. That's it. Scream my name all you want. You like when I talk to ya. Get so stupid every time."

He was right about that.

It was just too much. Never fucking enough.

You wanted Joel as much as he wanted you, you like dto believe. Sometimes, you wondered—it felt too big for something this huge to exist inside the same room as you, but then, you caught him looking at you before you looked at him, and it caught up to you. How much he stared, too.

How much he liked to be close.

It did you in, the way Joel enjoyed your proximity.

He explained why he felt so comfortable with you, once. It’d been snowing outside, and you only remembered that because you were lost in how a few snowflakes were falling right on his face as he spoke. They mingled with the foxy shiny bits in his hair and beard, and you were no longer cold. You had his jacket, his body heat pressed next to yours, his voice rich and grounding in your ear.

That’s what got you that wrecked.

He was in this for more than just a release, and even if now sometimes it could be about that, it was more often for that not to be the case.

Joel liked his hands on you. He was vocal about it. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not gonna finish this,” you heard plenty of times.

It took you very little time before you were opening up to him unashamed. Not too long before you were actively pulling you towards the room, or hooking a finger through the hoops of his pants. Joel laughed as he let himself be taken, sometimes even going as far as pretending to protest.

“I’m startin’ to think you like interruptin’ me when I’m workin’ and that’s all.”

“No. I just like seeing that concentrated look on your face.”

“Yeah? Is it familiar to you?”

“How did you know?! That’s exactly it. That—this little pinch here in your brows.”

“You just like playin’ with danger, don’t you. C’mere.”

He knew you did. He just never knew how much you’d been craving and waiting for this, too, and when you started to ask for more, to give yourself more, Joel took it all, sometimes wide eyed, sometimes whimpering just like you.

For him, his darker side came out when you lost the ability for coherent sentence. When words left your mouth, that’s when Joel started to smile. To laugh. To talk at you — something he made sure to ask beforehand, with his cheeks on fire and he southern accent making everything stupidly sexy for some goddamn reason — but talk down.

It felt liberating, to be at his mercy like that.

He cooed at your inability to speak, and spun you around like a doll at his mercy. Melted at the will of his hands and arms. “Turn around for me. Just like that—m’pretty lil’ fuck doll. You’re doing—so good. So damn good. Fuck… those lil’ whines means—feels good for you, too? Can’t even answer—me. Fuck.”

Whenever those memories crept upon you, a shiver ran from the base of your neck all the way down your spine.

Everytime he glued his front to your back and got himself positioned just right, you liked to pull Joel to lay almost all the way on top of you. His weight, his thickness inside you—sometimes utters of lost words came out of you, prayers of his name, incomplete pleas for more, or drowned on, delirious mumbles of how thick he was. Deep. S’thick. Like that. Please. Joel. Joel. So good.

Joel liked taking his time on you, and seeing how long he could drag out his own release.

He was a sadist, a masochist, and, in return, he made you suffer the consequences of being dragged to the edge, only to be pulled back once, twice, three times.

Joel shushed you, kissing all over your face when your frustrated cries ended up with you scratching along his back.

“‘s okay, darlin’. I’ll give it to you. Give it—a sec. Like this… open up for me. That’s it.” Joel liked kissing you when he was buried all the way in, kissing with his tongue and teeth nipping at your sensitive lips. He kissed until you were feeling dizzy and full. “Takin’ me all the way. Are you gonna let me… fill you up?”

“Joel.”

“Joel, Joel. Fuckin’ — love my name. On your mouth. Say it again.”

It was in more than just your mouth. You cried it for him. “Joel.”

“Hold onto me.” Joel hooked his arms underneath your knees and pulled your legs higher up around his middle, starting to slow down his pace. To slam harder into you. Not brutal—with the right hips. The right drag. You were crying with overstimulation, but he stills drags one of his hands between your bodies and presses the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit, making you scream. “Yeah. Gonna feel me twitchin’ inside of you. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Dumb lil’ doll always — cums. When I fuck you like this. Right? Cum for me, darlin’.”

He made you see white, a tunneled and sharp vision, and you did feel twitching inside of you. The warmth of him not only around, but in you.

“‘m not done with you.”

Joel, your mind whispered. He chuckled in your neck, as if he somehow heard it.

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You'd been in King's Landing for 10 days without so much as an unescorted walk along the palace. Maybe it was your father's paranoia, or your mother's awareness of your less "civil" interests but they'd kept you on a short leash. They'd been hoping to use King Joffery's wedding as an impromptu dating event, hoping to convince you to marry. But you had your eyes on a much better prize.

Prince Oberyn of Dorne. Tales of his…escapades crossed rivers and mountains as did tales of his beauty. If the tales were true- well you simply had to find your way into his bed!

Which is where you found yourself now. On the precipice on the prince's doorway. After sneaking past guards and the watchful eye of your mother, you had made it. You watch him lie lowly in the sun, feeding himself from a basket of fruits he'd had brought to him. The tales did him no justice. Spread across the lounger, he was long and slender, not much unlike a viper at all. He moved with an insurmountable grace. Every move of his hands was controlled and swift. Even now you could envision how he earned the title The Red Viper.

His face is uniquely chiseled. Dark brown hair barely curls up on his forehead. A beautiful arched nose that reaches up towards the gods, old and new. His soft pouty lips wrap around a strawberry. Juices dribble down his chin that he eagerly wipes off with his thumb and returns to his mouth. A quiet pop as he releases his thumb from his mouth with a smile.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" The Prince turns to face you, dark brown eyes tracing over the intruder. "Or do we have business?"

For just a moment, you freeze. Prince Oberyn's gaze sat heavy on your body, pinning you in place. His eyes drink down the sight of you. Suddenly, you were very pleased with yourself for dressing well. The fabric you wore was clung nicely to your body. You'd purposely chosen something that was soft to touch.

"My Prince," you say with an unsteady bow, "I was told you may seek some company up here…I thought I would offer you my services."

"Services?" He repeats, eyebrows raised. "What is it you have to offer me?"

"Anything you want, but I thought I'd start by feeding you, My Prince."

He chuckles quietly, resting his head back against the cushioned lounger. When you do not immediately go to move he prompts you, "I don't like waiting!"

"Y-yes, My Prince." With that you nod and shuffle over to him. Gods, he was even more lovely close up. His hair looks so soft and fluffy. You wanted to run your hands through it. From above, you can see down the low V of his mustard robe. His bare chest and neck were intoxicating to look at.

"The grapes to start." He hums below you, eyes closed.

You do as he asks. Taking the bundle of grapes and lowering them down to his lips. Watching with excitement as he pulls it between his teeth. A groan of happiness spilling from him. He continues on, one after another. A subtle smirk clings to his face as he feels your eyes trace over his body.

"Do you find this amusing?" He humors you, taking another grape between his teeth.

"I do not know what you mean, My Prince." You say smiling, trying to put on your best show.

"Posing as a servant. Feeding me grapes in this-" his hand falls from his chest and lands on your back, thick fingers tracing over the thin fabric resting on your spine. "most exquisite fabric. If I were a lesser man I would ask what you want, but I can see what you want." He leans in closer to your chest, "I can see in your face that your feelings are driving you wild." He smirks, reclining back in his chair with a laugh and removing his hand from you.

He'd seen right through you…your face grows warm at the realization. "I'm sorry, My Prince…I was curious-"

"Do not apologize." He cuts you off. "But I must ask- Does your mother know?" He chides with a smile

"Know what, My prince?"

"That her child has snuck out to proposition the prince of Dorne?"

"I am grown. I need not the approval of my mother."

"Grown." He scoffs

"Enough." You retort.

The quickness of your response catches his attention. His eyes snap up to meet yours, "Quite the tongue you have, Little Viper." The Prince slithers out of his chair, quickly crowding you. "Grown enough, hm? I will be the judge of that."

You whine at the harsh grip Oberyn has on your waist. He looks down at you, taking inventory of your features. Even going as far to spin you, wanting to look at you from all sides.

"Cute." The Prince marks nonchalantly. "But young." He says with a shrug. His hands fall from your sides as he takes a step back. "Come back to me in …two sun cycles. Then we shall see."

Recovering from having his hands on you, you slowly process what Oberyn said, "Two years?"

"Yes. Do you take issue with that?" He asks, returning to his bowl of fruits and throwing a raspberry in his mouth.

"I may be married in two years, Prince Oberyn. Do you not wish to take what is not already claimed?" You attempt to reason with him.

He smirks, "Certainly there will be enough room in your marriage bed for a third."

You pout at his assertion.

"Oh, do not pout Little Viper. I will still flirt with you." His deep brown eyes flick up to catch yours, "Dance with you…if you wish. But no more."

"My Prince…do most men not seek young partners? Why is it you turn me away?"

Oberyn muses the question for a moment, an eyebrow raised as he ponders. It was true, most men sought young brides and young men to take to their beds. Youth was priceless. A nonrenewable resource. But for Oberyn, he was always a bit greedy when it came to lovers. He cared not for young adults still struggling to fill out their frames. He wanted their entirety. The best of them. All of them there ever would be. Chests filled out, shoulders wide, faces matured. He wanted them at their best.

"Allow me to show you, Little Viper." The Prince offers you his hand.

You put your hand in his, allowing him to lead you away to the balcony. Together you cross the threshold to the bedroom where he leads you to a large mirror. He stands you before it, taking his place behind you.

"Look at yourself." He runs his hands over your hips. "I wish to see how you grow. You are a pretty rose…but not yet in bloom." He nips at your neck. "Here…" Oberyn's nose runs along your cheek, "your cheeks are still round with youth." A large hand runs across your shoulders. "and these are not yet at their full width." His other arm moving lower down your thigh, "Hips are lovely, but not yet at their proper shape yet." His hands retreat down your waist, holding you still for him. "You still have much growing to do." Oberyn comes close to whisper into your ear, " And I never pluck a rose too soon." Finishing his assessment, his eyes wander up to your face. a curious question growing in his throat. "Tell me Little Viper- are you untouched?"

"What consequence is it to you?"

The reflection of his face in the mirror goes serious. "Because. If I were to bend you over that table, and force my way into your walls the way you tempt me to. It would be a most unpleasant experience for one so pure." A pleased smile returns to his face at the way you hold your breath. "The price would be yours to pay, Little Viper. Thankfully for you, I consider myself a most merciful prince." He grounds his bulge into your behind, a low moan escaping him as he does. "Now. Return to the nest in which you came, Little Viper." He pushes you off with a firm snack on the ass, making you jolt.

You sciddle off shyly accepting his rejection. Perhaps you had been in a bit over your head. As you turn the corner off the balcony, you look behind you to see him watching you. Feeling a bit brave you call back to him, "In two sun cycles I will return!"

Oberyn Martell is a storm. He's a whirlwind of power, a force of nature that few can withstand should they cross his path. He has the agility and strength to destroy. To take life. Yet at his very centre there is a hidden eye that boasts a calmness and patience that contrasts his destructive outer shell.

He has a problem with lust, with indulgence, with rage. A problem, in that he has far too much of it. Yet he's also fiercely intelligent, can be calculated, measured - and gods if he is nothing else, Oberyn Martell is affectionate. 

When he dines on you in the confines of his silk dressed bed, he doesn't just take a bite of you; he drinks until he drowns. He indulges himself in mapping every cell of your body, appreciating its shape, it's curves, as if he were an architect. Not an inch of you doesn’t feel covered or attended to by the wandering attention of his hands or his lips. He takes his time pulling pleasure from you, stripping back your senses so that even his smallest touch sends shockwaves to your core. He always knows what to do, what to say; when to rock into you slow and savouring, and when to bend you over a table and pound you until you can't speak.

This duality within him served as all the enticement you’d needed to wander into his bed chambers. And by all the gods - it was impossible not to fall in love with him.

He has your face in his palms as he bucks his hips into you at a purposeful pace and angle. You're spread aloft him, sheets pooled at your hips. He moves his hips as though he's trying to reach a place inside of you that he'd never been before. 

Your forehead falls against his as you breathe through your pleasure. Oberyn takes the opportunity to relocate his hands to the handles of your hips, forcing himself even deeper inside you, as he drives your movement in line with his own desires.

The door opens behind you.

"Your grace, I-" the voice cuts off as it takes in the scene.

Oberyn side eyes the doorway frustratedly, his chest heaving. He waves a hand dismissively,

"Speak." His voice is direct and commanding.

His advisor begins to tell him a lengthy report on a nearby group of mercenaries that are getting dangerously more powerful and are now of significant political interest. It sounds important, even to your untrained ears.

Oberyn, meanwhile, has resumed his assault on your cunt despite the interruption. He simply recaptures your attention with the heat behind his eyes, leaning forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He spreads your cheeks with his palms and continues to spear you on his cock as his advisor idly continues and begins giving his recommendations.

Oberyn growls, bites your bottom lip and flips you onto your back. He licks the flushed skin of your neck and pinches one of your nipples as he lines himself up and enters you again.

"And what does Doran think about this?" Oberyn asks as he adjusts his knees to give him more purchase on the bed, and therefore more power behind his thrusts.

"Prince Doran asked that I consult you, your grace. He is currently indisposed."

"Am I not?" He asks, lifting his gaze to the man in the doorway as he slams his hips against yours and forces a loud moan from you. 

It would have been louder had he not had one of his large palms wrapped delicately around your throat, locking your head against the edge of the bed, eye line in perfect sight of the interruption opposite the bed.

“Look at him, Dove.” He speaks sweetly in your ear, planting a kiss on your jaw. You force your eyes open, blinking up at the stranger in the doorway. 

“You see this, Thorald.” Oberyn continues “You dare tear me away from these eyes. You’re a cruel man.”

Thoralds eyes turn downward and with a guilty inflection he responds,

“My apologies, your Grace. Prince Doran was quite clear that this was an urgent matter and that I was to ask you for your immediate attention.”“Hmm.” Oberyn grumbles impishly “Prince Doran has never been inside this delectable cunt, Thorald. What would he know?”

As Oberyn speaks he thrusts against your walls at a relentless pace. His thumb, from the palm still adorned around your neck, has made its way past your lips and you suck on it lustfully as he uses you.

“You’re welcome to wait, Thorald.” He speaks between thrusts “Sit.”

Thorald is hesitant, his gaze is still firmly fixed on the floor and he seems unsure of the correct course of action.

“I said sit.” Oberyn soon clears this up for him in a commanding tone, one Thorald had heard many times before and knew not to disobey.

Thorald sits at a small table in the corner of the room, attempting to busy himself by counting the number of apples in the fruit bowl in front of him, unable to escape the squeals of pleasure coming from the scene to his right. 

Oberyn is a mess, his dual natured desires meet in a storm of growls and harsh grips on your body, pawing at all of his favourite parts of you to force his body against yours closer still. Equally alongside this came a multitude of soft kisses, peppering your cheek, neck, and forehead. An occasional soft hand runs a knuckle along your cheek or over your hairline, and he whispers sweet and adoring sentiments into your ear that drip from him like a poem.

“That's it - give it to me.” He coos as he feels you squeeze around him, strangling his cock “I’m going to fill that pretty hole full of me, Dove. Let's hope it takes this time. I don’t think I have enough daughters already, my love.”

He continues to spew adoring filth in your ear as he makes good on his promise, his words stuttering the closer and closer he got to his release. As he fills you his hardness and desperate edge dissipates and only tenderness remains. Softs breathing, holding your face between his hands to savour you, as if at any moment you could turn into sand and simply slip through his fingers. 

“Right, my little dragonfly.” He whispers, a hand gently running the length of your exposed body, adoring the softness of your skin “I am going to go and kill some bandits - and when I return I’m going to fuck my come back into you, and then give you some more. So you stay right where you are.” 

“Is that an order, your grace.” you muster a whispered response as you struggle to catch breath.

“Of course.” He smirks “Although, perhaps if you were to disobey it wouldn’t be such a tragedy. I’d like to see you in handcuffs.”

He kisses you sweetly, lingering against your lips. He then plants one palm behind your head and lifts it gently to him, planting a quick kiss against your forehead. Now standing from the bed, bare and covered in a light sheen of sweat, he turns to Thorald.