#daddy pascal

You’re in bed. Clock says 3 am. AC’s humming.

He’s right next to you. Javier Peña. Your fucking boyfriend. Naked. On his stomach. One arm under the pillow, the other by his head, face buried in the sheets. Breathing slow, heavy. He came home wrecked tonight. Probably something with Escobar, or that psycho Los Pepes crew. He’s been quiet lately. Off. Tired as hell.

You wanna let him sleep. You really do. But your pussy is throbbing. You want him. You want his cock. Yeah, he already fucked you stupid before bed. Gave you two orgasms. But now? Almost four hours later? You need it again. Just thinking about what he does to you makes you drip.

Get a grip. Let him sleep. You try to behave.

But then you turn toward him. See that perfect fucking ass peeking out from under the blanket. And yeah. That’s it. You’re done. You need something. Anything. So you slip your hand between your legs. Just a little relief. Just enough to take the edge off.

You rub your clit, slide a finger in and fuck, you’re soaked. Like actually soaked. No idea where all that came from, but now you can’t stop. You pull the blanket over your head just in case. Hips start moving. Knees up. All you can think about is what he did to you earlier.

“Ohh fuck,” slips out. Louder than you meant. But you don’t give a shit. You’re too far gone.

Until like - maybe a minute later - the blanket gets pulled off your face. You freeze. Eyes snap open.

And there he is. Hovering over you.

Javi.

Shit.

“What the fuck, hermosa…”

You freeze. Face on fire. Look at him like you’re all innocent.

“Seriously?” he mumbles, voice low and rough. “You’re fingering yourself next to me while I’m out cold?”

“You were out like a fucking rock,” you blink up at him. “I didn’t wanna wake you.” Then after a second: “I missed you. I missed your perfect cock. What was I supposed to do?” You give him a look, you know the one.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

You shake your head.

“You want me to watch… or take over?”

“Take over. Handle it, Javi,” you whisper. You’re begging now.

“Alright then… spread your legs for me, hermosa. This is my job now.” He grabs the hand that’s still between your legs. Pulls your finger out - the one that was inside you - and puts it in his mouth. Sucks on it. Just… slow and dirty. You almost fucking die. It’s disgusting. It’s filthy. It’s so Peña.

And yeah. That little “ohh fuck” that woke him up? So worth it.

He pulls your finger out of his mouth and drops your hand by your side. Then moves right between your thighs. You’ve already got them spread wide for him. Just how he likes it. And he’s just watching you. Staring like he owns you. “Look at me.”

You do.

And fuck, the way he looks back at you; you can’t look away even if you tried.

“This–” He pushes two fingers into you without warning. Deep. “–this is mine. And now you’re gonna show me how fucking desperate you are. How much more you need me than your own fingers.” He starts moving them immediately. Circling right where you need it. Pressing exactly on that spot you can never fucking get by yourself.

You’re squirming under him, already panting, eyes rolling back. He’s not breaking eye contact, not even for a second. You can’t see shit anymore but you feel it. The way he’s staring. Like it’s burning right through you.

There’s thunder outside. Low, distant. But it makes everything feel ten times heavier. Wetter. Louder. Colombian storms hit different. So does he.

You lift your hips into his hand. Needing more. Needing all of it.

He grabs your ass with his free hand, pulls you right into the angle he wants. “Who made this pussy wet?” His voice is low and rough and wrecked.

“You,” you whisper. That’s all you can say.

He stops moving. Just for a second. Still buried in you, fingers soaked. Then pulls out. Slow. On purpose. Fucking glistening.

You feel that emptiness hit like a slap; but then he pushes your hips down, spreads you wider, and goes down on you. No warning. No teasing. Just mouth on your clit, tongue deep, all in. You let out a sharp gasp, whole body tight as a wire.

“So fucking sweet. So wet for me.” His voice is muffled against your pussy, and it makes your spine arch off the bed. “Don’t do this shit without me again. You hear me? This is my job.” He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t stop. He just holds you down and eats you out like he’s been starving for you for days.

You’re grabbing at the sheets, twisting them, trying not to scream. Long, slow licks. Then sucking. Then circles that make your eyes blur. Tears hit your cheeks before you even realize it. And outside - the storm’s getting louder. Crashing, rolling. So is your fucking body.

One hand’s on your hip, the other flat on your stomach. He’s keeping you exactly where he wants you. He’s not letting go until you fucking break. “I wanna feel it when you come,” he mumbles, still buried in your pussy. “Wanna feel it right on my tongue.” Then he starts sucking harder. Tongue moving in circles right there, hitting every nerve you have.

And it’s too much. You can’t fucking take it. There’s nothing to hold onto. Nothing grounding you. The pressure’s climbing fast, tight like a wire inside your skin, and it’s like your whole body’s breathing through his fucking mouth. You’re gasping, fingers digging into the mattress, thighs shaking… you can’t run, can’t hide, and you don’t even want to, but fuck, it’s too much. It’s fucking torture. “Javi…” It slips out, broken and desperate. You don’t even know if you’re begging or warning him.

He fucking smirks. You feel it against your skin. Like he knew this was gonna happen. Like he wanted it like this. And then - he slides a finger inside you. Just one. Long. Deep. Smooth. Like it’s nothing. Like you’re not already fucking falling apart underneath him.

And then it fucking hits. That hot wave deep in your stomach - sharp, sudden, unstoppable. Your whole body snaps tight, your heart skips a beat, and then… you fucking squirt. It shoots out of you in a fast, hot burst that rips a raw sound straight out of your throat. No filter, no control, just a full-body, desperate cry.

It hits his mouth.

And your hands fly into his hair, grabbing tight like you’re falling off the fucking edge. Maybe you’re pulling. Maybe you’re just holding on.

He doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t act surprised. Like he’s done this a hundred fucking times. He just swallows. Keeps going. Keeps licking like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

Your eyes are wet. Your legs feel heavy. Your whole body’s fucking melting in his hands.

He finally pulls back, mouth shiny, breath heavy. And leans in close, whispers it into your thigh like it’s a secret: “There it is, hermosa… that’s what I want. That’s what I fucking need. You - like this. Fucking mine. My squirting miracle, you hear me? Only my tongue get this out of you.”

And you know he’s right. It’s only him. Only his mouth. Only his fucking tongue. Only him.

Your grip loosens in his hair. You can finally breathe again.

He slowly drags himself up your body, torso pressing into yours, mouth brushing your skin on the way up. He doesn’t sit up. Doesn’t leave you. Just presses his chest to yours, hands sliding under your ass, you feel all of him.

His cock’s hard as a fucking rock. Pressed low against your stomach, desperate, heavy. “This is what you do to me. You and that perfect fucking pussy…” He growls it out, then pulls back just enough to line himself up.

And then - no warning, no questions, just a rough hiss through his teeth - he fucking slams into you.

Your body takes him so easy, so fucking wet, that it rips a low, broken sound right out of his throat.

He sinks in all the way. Buried to the fucking base. He moves once - hard, deep - and then he’s holding you like you’re the only fucking thing that matters. “So fucking beautiful… all mine,” he mumbles into your ear, and then starts to fuck you. Steady. Hard. Focused. Like he’s punishing you. Like he’s worshipping you. Both.

But it doesn’t last long. You’re still shaking. He’s hanging by a thread.

And when he finally comes, he holds you tight, buries his face in your neck, and just lets go. You feel all of it. Hot, deep, everything he’s got, spilling inside you like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. He stays on top of you, doesn’t move.

You feel grounded. Safe. Like you could actually breathe.

His hands are stroking your sides, face pressed into your neck like he can’t let you go even for a second. He starts kissing your collarbone; soft little bites, the way he always does. You used to laugh about it. How he’s such a fucking nibbler. Always going for your throat, your jaw, like he’s starving. He fucking loves it. And you love that he loves it.

“So fucking beautiful…” he whispers after a second. Voice wrecked. “Don’t ever wanna do this any other way.”

You smile into his shoulder. Because yeah. You don’t want it any other way either. Not when he’s still inside you. Not when you can still feel him everywhere.

• thanks for reading •

Hate is a strong word, and Pedro wasn't not one to throw it around easily, he was all for peace and love and everything but this guy... this guy was really pushing the limits

And what the actual fuck was he even doing here tonight?

"You're staring"

Your soft, amused voice pulled him out of his own thoughts, his eyes sliding to you

"I just don't get why he's here"

You stifled a laugh as you answered "The same reason why we are baby"

"he's not even nominated" he grumbled,

"neither am I" You smiled, placing your hand on his cheek, feeling his soft scruff graze your palm "It's not a big deal babe, he probably said my name just because it was the first one that popped into his mind" you shook your head "I bet it's not even true"

Yeah right

He would have believed that if you were anybody else, but you... fuck- it didn't take him even a second to fall in love and you expected him to believe that that guy didn't have a crush on you? He would have sooner begun believing that Mark Zuckerberg was one of those lizard guys.

You were everything anyone could have ever dreamed of, you were funny, so incredibly smart it made him feel like a fifth grader in comparison, and god you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen 

he knew what you did to men, he knew what you did to men because that's exactly what you did to him,

and he didn't even mind that much, he'd never been the jealous type, but the problem with Shawn wasn't that he liked you (because he clearly did), but it was that he had the audacity, the smugness to fucking say it out loud, to admit it in front of a camera for anyone to see, like the woman he was talking about didn't have a husband, like he wasn't her fucking husband.

"I saw him look at you before"

This time, you did let out a little snort

"what, how dares he?" you mocked him, laughing again as his face remained completely unamused "It's your big night babe, don't let this silly little thing ruin it, please"

But just then, just when he was finally starting to let go a little, the focus of all of his loathing appeared beside you

"I'm sorry to interrupt-"

Then fucking don't

"I just wanted to introduce myself" 

Shawn's eyes were only on you, as if he didn't even exist, as if your hands hadn't been on his cheeks but a moment prior

"I'm Shawn," he said, offering his hand to you "I'm... well, I'm a really big fan" he ended with a soft laugh, smiling in that charming way that surely made women all woozy

"Hi Shawn, it's a pleasure to meet you-"

As you shook his hand, Pedro was closing his into fists

This fucking guy-

"Hi pal"

Pedro's voice didn't sound even a little bit not completely pissed off

"I'm Pedro," he said "her husband"

The flicker of amusement that sparked behind his eyes made Pedro seriously ponder whether or not a little punch was that bad of an idea

"Oh, I didn't know you were married"

Andrew's eyes were back to you, and god it was taking all of Pedro not to grab him and throw him to the other side of the room

Just the fact that he was looking your way seemed too much, 

How dare he look at you, at his beautiful wife, at the love of his life?

It felt wrong, it was wrong, and it was making him furious

"I'm sure you didn't" Pedro grunted, taking a slow step closer to him "Shawn right?" he asked, even though he knew much too well who he was "What exactly are you doing here?" Pedro's eyes narrowed, his head tilting "I didn't notice your name in any of the nominations"

"baby" your soft warning was met with a soft smile from him, one that faded into a stoic/murderous gaze as soon as your husband's eyes were back on the man before him

"I'm just asking a question sweetheart, that's all"

Shawn seemed to accept Pedro's challenge in the blink of an eye

"I'm here with a friend, he's the one that got the nom"

Pedro nodded slowly, "ah. Right," he said, his hand going to your back and drawing gentle circles on it

He didn't miss the way Shawn followed the movement

"And why exactly are you talking to my wife Shawn?"

Now that, that seemed to take him aback a little, but he recovered quickly

"What?" he laughed "is no one allowed to talk to your wife without your permission or something?"

"Oh absolutely not, my wife can talk to whomever she wishes," Pedro spoke "I'm just not very fond of her talking to men that have openly admitted to liking her" he shrugged as if his eyes and voice weren't yelling murder 

You, in the meantime, were busy looking for the fastest way out of this place

"You've seen the video," Shawn said more like a statement

"I sure did" Your husband nodded "I especially liked the part where you described her as your "dream woman""

Shawn sighed loudly, shaking his head

"listen, man-"

"No, you listen, man" Pedro interrupted him "How 'bout you get the fuck away from me and my wife, mh?" he said more like a threat "How bout that?"

Shawn let out a loud breath before responding

"whatever man" he sighed, his eyes moving to you "It was nice to meet you y/n, maybe we can meet another time..." he glanced to the man on your right "when the guard dog isn't around"

"yeah" Pedro scoffed "Go fuck yourself, buddy"

You both stared at his back as he walked away, but after no more than two seconds, you couldn't help but let your lips pull into the smile you'd been holding this whole time

"that was a bit harsh"

Pedro only grinned as he brought you flash against him with his hands on your waist

"Like you haven't done worse" he smirked

Yeah... while Pedro wasn't usually jealous, you were... let's just say you were not exactly on the same wavelength

"you looked ready to kill him" you chuckled, wrapping your arms behind his neck

The nice thing about having amazing friends was that they cared about you. Really cared. Ride-or-die, cry-on-the-floor, hype-you-up-at-every-audition kind of cared. They pulled you out of the dark places and danced you breathless in the bright ones. You loved them, fiercely and unconditionally.

The bad thing?

They absolutely, categorically refused to mind their own business, especially when it came to love.

Sarah and Oscar had been in your life for years now. You’d met Sarah on a Netflix production when you were still baby-faced and wide-eyed, an up-and-coming actress with too many nerves and not enough sleep. She’d scooped you right up and dropped you into her friend group like it was fate, this glamorous, intimidating little club of people whose faces you’d seen on red carpets before you ever dared dream of one. Now they ruffled your hair at parties and called you the baby like it was a job title.

Tonight was one of those nights that made your younger self do a double take. Sarah’s apartment glowed with golden light and big names. You were curled into a corner of the living room with a glass of champagne that tasted expensive and at least three different people complimenting your last project. You nodded, smiled, thanked them graciously, but your eyes kept flicking toward the door.

Not that you were looking for anyone in particular. Obviously.

“Isn’t Pedro coming?” you asked, as nonchalantly as a person who’d been staring at the entrance for fifteen minutes could possibly manage.

Sarah raised a perfectly arched brow and immediately shot a look at Oscar.

“Why?” she asked. “Are we not enough for you? You need your little loverboy here too?”

Oscar snorted into his drink. “God, you two are so obvious.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, heat blooming up your neck. “Will you stop! He’s not my—”

Two hands covered your eyes from behind. Familiar ones. Warm, careful, smelling faintly of clean laundry and a trace of cigarette smoke. The kind of scent that felt like slipping into someone’s hoodie.

You froze. Smiled, despite yourself.

“Guess who?” Pedro whispered, voice too close to your neck for this to be casual. It sent a traitorous shiver down your spine.

“Oh my god,” Oscar muttered, half-laughing, half-disgusted. “Get a fucking room.”

You tapped your chin in mock thought, his hands still gently pressed to your face.

“Hmm… I really hope it’s Jonathan Bailey,” you said sweetly.

The hands dropped immediately.

“Mean,” Pedro mumbled, stepping around to face you, eyes half-lidded but betraying the faintest smile.

“Late,” you shot back.

“Missed me?”

“No,” you lied, too fast.

Sarah and Oscar exchanged another look like smug cartoon villains.

You took a sip of your drink and pretended your heart wasn’t punching your ribcage in Morse code.

Pedro barely had time to say hi before Sarah clutched her chest like she was witnessing a Shakespearean tragedy.

“Ugh. The tension. The longing. I feel like I’m in a slow-burn series finale.”

Oscar fake-wiped a tear. “We beg you to just make out already so we can all move on.”

You rolled your eyes. “You two have too much time.”

Pedro looked around, clearly amused. “What did I just walk into?”

“Your intervention,” Oscar deadpanned. “We’re worried about all the pining.”

Sarah leaned in. “Honestly, I started shipping it months ago. I’ve got moodboards. Pinterest boards. A private playlist.”

You snorted into your champagne. “You guys need hobbies.”

“We have hobbies. Our hobby is you two being in denial,” Oscar said.

Pedro just raised his eyebrows like he was enjoying the show, but when your eyes met his for a second too long, it was like the volume in the room dipped. Just a little. Just enough for your stomach to flip.

You cleared your throat. “I’m going to the kitchen.”

“I’ll grab my coat,” Pedro said casually.

Oscar pointed between you both with wide eyes. “You’re not even pretending anymore!”

Sarah gasped. “At least lie to us a little! Give us something to work with!”

But you were already walking away, hiding your smile in the rim of your glass.

—

The hallway was dim and quiet, just far enough from the party that the music had softened to a low thump behind the door. Pedro caught up to you with that slight bounce in his step, that unreadable half-smile playing on his lips.

He leaned against the wall, shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just stood there, side by side, the kind of silence that felt like its own kind of dialogue.

“I missed you,” he said, soft and low.

You turned to him, almost laughing. “Pedro. We woke up next to each other ten hours ago.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on your mouth. “Ten hours too many ago.”

Something caved inside your chest. That gentle, aching kind of collapse.

You blinked up at him, torn between kissing him and teasing him again. But your body made the decision for you. You leaned in, slow, shy, a little shaky, and he met you halfway.

The kiss was stupidly tender. Like he was memorizing you. Like you were something he’d almost lost once.

Your hand slid into the collar of his jacket, and his fingers brushed your jaw like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you.

“I missed you too,” you whispered against his lips.

He smiled, and it was that smile, the quiet, reverent one that turned his whole face gentle.

“Hey,” he said, forehead resting against yours now. “We’re not very good at this secret thing.”

“No,” you said, grinning. “We’re really not.”

From somewhere behind the door:

“IF YOU’RE MAKING OUT IN THE HALLWAY I SWEAR TO GOD—”

You both broke into quiet, breathless laughter.

Pedro kissed your temple. “We should go back in.”

You pouted. “Or we could hide in the coat closet for ten more minutes.”

He tilted his head. “Tempting.”

“But then Oscar wins.”

Pedro sighed dramatically. “Fine. Let’s give them a show.”

You didn’t go back in.

Of course you didn’t.

Because the thing about kissing Pedro was, it was addictive. Like your lips had memory. Like your body forgot how to do anything else once you started. The quiet hallway, the low music, the warmth of him in front of you, it all blurred into the kind of moment that refused to be interrupted.

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in closer like he couldn’t stand the distance of even a breath. Your hands tangled in the collar of his jacket again, and you let out a quiet laugh against his mouth.

“We should go back,” you mumbled, eyes still closed.

“We should,” he agreed, kissing you again anyway.

Another kiss. Then one more. 

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

You jumped so hard you nearly dropped your glass.

Pedro instinctively pulled you into his chest like a protective human shield, both of you spinning toward the sound.

Oscar stood in the doorway, arms out like he’d just won an Olympic event, his mouth open in full dramatic glee.

Sarah was beside him, hands over her face, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie.

“You guys were eating each other in the hallway?!” she squealed. “I knew it! Didn’t I say?! Oscar, didn’t I say?!”

Oscar pointed at Pedro like he was a criminal. “You liar. You said you were just friends. Friends don’t kiss like that. That was a full rom-com makeout montage. That was season finale energy.”

You buried your face in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is my actual nightmare.”

Pedro just laughed, warm and unbothered, rubbing soothing little circles into your back with one hand.

“I mean, technically, we didn’t lie,” he said. “We were just friends. At one point.”

“At one point?!” Sarah shrieked. “How long has this been going on?!”

Pedro looked down at you, raising his brows like, should we tell them?

You shook your head into his shirt. “Nope. I’m staying in here forever. This is my new home now.”

“Oh, baby,” he teased, voice low and fond, “you can’t live in my sternum.”

“I can try.”

Oscar clapped once. “Wow. So this is what it’s like. I feel like we just discovered a conspiracy. Like we should be wearing tinfoil hats.”

“Oh, we are such good detectives,” Sarah whispered dramatically.

Pedro tilted your chin up, just enough to see your flushed face, eyes still wide with secondhand embarrassment.

“You good?” he asked gently, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I was until I got ambushed by the Greek chorus of chaos.”

He grinned. “They’re not wrong. You were making out with me like I was the last man on Earth.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You kissed me first.”

“You followed me out here.”

He leaned in again, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. “Worth it.”

Sarah made a noise like she was physically imploding.

Oscar covered his ears. “I refuse to be here for this next part.”

Pedro wrapped both arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Should we go?” you whispered, still hidden in his chest.

He shrugged. “Could go home. Could make out in the coat closet. Could stay here and keep traumatizing our friends.”

You grinned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”