#lucien flores smut

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Mutual | Lucien Flores x f!Reader

summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. smoking, drinking. idk, hate fucking essentially. misuse of a champagne bottle, edging?, sexual tension, f!masturbation, unprotected p in v (you know what to do, and it's not this), oral (f!receiving). reader wears a dress and is implied to be shorter than lucien, but is otherwise undescribed.

wc: 4.8k

an: i succumbed.

The only thing you and Lucien Flores have in common is the need for a cigarette after dinner. 

Nothing else.

You stand on opposite sides of the patio outside the open glass doors which lead back into Anna and Alex’s house, and you know that Anna, at the very least, will be watching you. Making sure you play nice.

Something you’d vowed to do when she’d called to invite you to this dinner party. Lucien will be there, she’d said, it’d be great for me, for us, if you two just tried to get along. 

So far, you’ve succeeded. You’d listened politely to his stories at the table, hadn't even rolled your eyes when he laughed and joked and flirted with your fellow guests. You’d drunk your wine and stayed quiet through it all, offering your own contributions to the equal delight of the friends who'd gathered. You’d been surprised when Lucien had smiled along with them, even going so far as to chuckle at your story about the dog next door.

And now, outside, the rule still stands. You eye each other as you smoke, finding yourself amazed again by the way he doesn’t speak. Not a snide thing to say, no quip to make, just him watching you. Eyes flitting from your legs, to your hips, to your chest, to your face. And you’d tell him to quit it if you weren’t doing the same thing. If you weren’t enjoying the way his silk shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, the way his curls flop over his forehead, the way his chains catch the light, the way his stupid, pretty eyes glitter across from you. You hate yourself for it, want to crack some nasty sentiment across the stone, but you don’t. 

You’re on your best behaviour, after all.

Something which Lucien has clearly forgotten as he pushes himself off from the wall he’s leaned against, stepping closer, closer to you by the bush with the red flowers. You brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, for whatever smoke he’s about to blow in your face, gearing up for the taunt you’ll throw back. 

He stops before you, barely an arms length away. You tense, waiting.

He holds out the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the table on his way out. You blink at him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m playing nice.’

You stare at him, sceptical. This is not Lucien. This is not something you’re used to.

But maybe he’s trying, too. 

You take the bottle from him, and he lets it go easily. You watch him as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up until the bright fizz of the bubbles meets your tongue. He watches your mouth, pink slip of his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he drops the butt of his finished cigarette to the floor, not looking where it lands. You swallow, take another gulp for good measure, and hand it back to him. His fingers graze yours as you do. 

You freeze at the jolt of electricity his touch brings, hand remaining outstretched as he brings the bottle back to his side. You watch, aloof, as he plucks your cigarette from your fingers and flicks it into the darkness before slotting your hands together, mind swirling as he pulls you closer.

‘Come on. Want to show you something.’ 

Maybe it’s the wine, but you can’t find the words to protest as he tugs you away to a deeper part of the garden. 

Lucien turns you to face him at the furthest wall he can find, and you finally find your words as your back hits the concrete.

‘What did you want to show me?’

You glance around behind him at the flowers that burst from the ground, bright even in the darkening half light. The water feature Alex had installed last year trickles musically somewhere to your left, though you can't see it.

His answering grin is dirty, something fluttering in your tummy as you grind your teeth, nostrils flaring. You do not have the patience for this man, or the butterflies churning in your stomach.

‘Lucien.’

His hands find your waist and the curve of your ass in a flurry of movement, his grip strong, the bottle cold through the material of your dress. The air leaves your lungs. He hums as he draws himself close to your lips.

‘How beautiful you look tonight.’

You snort at him, disbelieving. He can’t be fucking serious.

‘Lucien, what the fuck -’

He cuts you off quickly, dipping to fit his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, hand moving from your ass to your jaw as he licks into your mouth. Your blood roars in your ears as your own hands scrabble to find purchase on his chest, slipping against the silk. You mean to push him away, but somehow you pull him closer, your body doing the opposite of what it’s told as you open your mouth further to him, groaning softly. He tastes like champagne and cigarettes, and you grip his neck to bring him further in, your other hand smoothing over his bunched shoulder, his strong bicep, down to his waist, fisting his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, and sharp anger surges in your gut. Shit. This is Lucien.

You use the hand at his middle to push him roughly away from you.

‘Get the fuck off me.’

He smirks, one hand still on your hip as he takes a swig from the bottle of champagne. You watch him, breathing heavily, stare as his lips close around the mouth of the bottle, and you're betrayed by what you’ve only pictured in your most secret moments. Your eyelids flutter, fingers twitch for him, cunt clenches around something that isn't there. He comes towards you again, and this time you close the gap, leaning forward to crash your mouth against his. You lick at the seam of his lips but he keeps them obstinately shut, and with irritation flashing through you, you drag your nails hard down his forearm in retaliation. He grips the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, and taking advantage of your open lips, spills the champagne off his tongue and onto yours. It's warm, still sparkling. Tastes like him. You swallow it down greedily, reminding yourself that you should be disgusted, certainly shouldn’t be pulling him in to kiss him again, shouldn’t moan so loud when he grinds his hips against yours as he rumbles how you drive him fucking insane against your neck. Shouldn’t be so wet, pinned up against this wall by a man you have long held such disdain for, shouldn’t grind back against him, shouldn’t be panting into his mouth like some kind of dog, shouldn't be forgetting where you are, who you’re with -

This time, you’re more forceful. Lucien stumbles back with hooded eyes and shining, swollen lips, his own breathing coming fast and deep. You stare back at him, still stunned, and without meaning to, your eyes drop down to his crotch, finding the fabric there tight with his arousal. He’s big, must be with the way his zipper is straining. Your mouth runs dry, your stomach swoops. Fuck.

You watch with as much disgust as you can manage as he palms himself roughly to relieve some of the ache, your own hands itching to do the same.

‘So pretty, baby,’ he teases, stepping forwards, head falling towards yours again. Why won’t he stay away? ‘So pretty, wanting me like this -’

‘Stop,’ you hiss. It’s unconvincing even to your ears, and he smirks like he knows. He knows. ‘I don’t - I don’t want you like this -’

He presses his forehead to yours, not touching you this time, instead letting his nose trace your cheekbone, your jaw, down to your neck.

‘You don’t want me like this?’ He purrs. You manage to shake your head. You can feel his smile as he laves a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you whimper, hot all over, so wet, so needy for him. He chuckles again. ‘No,’ he confirms. ‘Then maybe… like this.’

He sinks to his knees in front of you, curls mussed, lips parted, eyes blown. He stares up at you, reverent, taunting, as he skates his broad palms over the tops of your thighs, stroking the skin, murmuring how soft you are. Oh, and you are so fucking angry. So fucking angry as he grips and soothes your flesh, as he squeezes and kneads your ass, as you hold onto his strong shoulders and breathe his name. Even more pissed when he doesn’t have some kind of asshole comment to make, furious as he leans into you and presses kisses to where his hands have been, mouthing at your skin, leaving it wet with his spit, with champagne, so fucking mad as he sips from the bottle again and spills the liquid from his mouth onto your thighs, as he kneels back to watch it trickle over your knees, down your shins, to your feet, to drip onto the floor. You are on fire.

‘See? Beautiful.’ He murmurs. And oh, what you’d do. What you’d do to him. You’d pull at his hair and scratch at his chest and bite into his neck and you’d make him suffer, make him ache, make him feel the same heat you’re feeling. You just can’t seem to move.

Can’t seem to move as he brings his mouth closer to your cunt, splitting the folds of your wrap dress further, pushing his hands up to your hips, holding you still as he takes in your lace panties, the only thing covering you from him. He looks up to you again, burning with desire. Your cunt pulses painfully, and you hiss his name.

He smiles, cruelly.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, ‘We’re playing nice, remember?’

Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his face to your clothed cunt and breathes in deeply. He moans loudly, and you whimper in response, hands flying to his hair at the feeling of his hot breath on you, tugging as he mouths at your pussy through the material. You feel his tongue, warm and strong, drag over the lace covering your clit and you groan, going slack against the wall. He nudges the swollen nub with his nose, his free hand coming between your legs to touch you.

‘So wet,’ he breathes, ‘That what I’m doing to you?’

You shake your head no even though he can’t see you, still playing with your pussy through your underwear. A plea bubbles up your throat, and you swallow it down. You will not beg Lucien Flores to touch you. You don’t even know how you got here in the first place.

But that’s forgotten as he moves again, kissing your clit through the fabric as he brings his other hand, still holding the bottle, between your legs. You hiss as he presses the lip of it to your hole, all protests forgotten as he grinds it against you, the pressure easing a small amount of the ache you feel.

You forget that it’s wrong as he uses it to push your panties to the side. Forget as he runs the cold glass through your wetness, almost do beg him to touch you, to lick you, to do something before he settles it against your slit, right where you think you might need it most.

‘Still don’t want me?’ he breathes against your skin.

A shallow breath escapes you.

‘Fuck you.’ You whisper, no conviction behind your words. He rests his forehead against your hip, and begins to press, begins to relieve some of that ache, that want -

‘Luce?’ Anna calls out from the direction of the house. You freeze, fist tightening around his curls, but Lucien is unphased, working the mouth of the bottle past the tight opening of your pussy. You gasp brokenly at the cool feel of it, fingers constricting even further. Lucien moans beneath you, moving to nose at the crease between your thigh and your cunt, pushing the neck of the bottle further in. You moan loudly, knees giving a little, and he clutches your hip tighter to keep you from falling.

‘Luce?’ Anna calls again, a little closer this time. You groan his name in response, torn between wanting more and wanting this to end before disaster.

The next Lucien? comes even closer, and you use your grip on his hair to pull his face away from you, tipping his head back so that he meets your eye.

‘Stop.’ You bite out. He grins and gives one more pump of the neck of the bottle. You whimper, head falling back to the concrete behind you as he removes it completely, rising to his feet with a groan. You watch, bleary eyed, leaking, chest heaving, as he dusts off his pants and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He steps back and away, eyes raking over your body as he raises the bottle to his mouth, licking around the neck before taking a deep drink and disappearing back up the path.

He’s sick. You hate him.

You return to the house on shaky legs through the backdoor, hoping to make it to the bathroom, only to be intercepted by Alex. He’s scraping leftover food into the bin, and smiles as you enter before double taking at your appearance. You must look wrecked.

‘Are you alright?’ He asks, brow creasing with concern.

You hum, clearing your throat before answering.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at you.

‘Did he say something to you?’ he asks.

‘Did he - what?’

‘Lucien. Did he upset you?’

You blink at him. Right. Play nice.

‘I - no. He didn’t. He was actually quite pleasant.’

Alex stares at you.

‘Pleasant?’

‘Yeah.’

You hold his gaze for a little longer, feel a guilty little heat crawl its way through your belly. 

You’re warm, so unbearably warm.

‘Is it alright if I go and lay down upstairs for a bit?’ You ask. ‘I feel kind of funny.’

Alex frowns, placing the plate he was holding on the counter.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘Do you need anything?’

You smile weakly, shaking your head.

‘No,’ you reassure him, ‘That’s okay, thank you. I just need a moment.’

The guest room on the top floor is cool, and the curtains are open. Warm, orange light floods in from the street outside, and you settle yourself on the middle of the bed, ready to get this over with. There’s no way you can go back downstairs with this need, this coil wound so tight in your belly. You swoop your palms over your body, nipples tightening beneath your dress, feeling the swirl, the drip of yourself between your legs. You grind the heel of your palm against your mound and moan softly, rucking your dress up to your hips so you can slip your fingers beneath the lace.

Fuck, you are so wet. So goddamn turned on by that stupid man that you may as well throw your underwear away. You sweep a finger over your clit, hips twitching at the contact, eyes falling shut as you dip the digit to your entrance to collect your arousal, working the nub in tight circles. 

Your legs fall slack as you build yourself up, moans falling from your mouth in quick succession as you imagine what it would have been like to have him take you there, against the wall. What it would have been like to be fucked with the bottle, to have his tongue really on you, mimicking your movements now, to fall apart against his mouth, see him pull away with your slick covering his face. You rock your hips against your hand, quickening your movements, fingers dipping in and out of your slit between working your clit as the coil tightens and tightens, as the hot, heavy feeling grows and grows, as sweat beads at your temples and the valley between your breasts, as you try not to moan his name -

Like you’ve summoned him, Lucien clears his throat in the doorway. 

You snap your legs shut, heart hammering in your chest, heat blooming through your cheeks.

‘You fucking - asshole -’ you seethe, and he laughs, eyes roving over your sweaty body. ‘Get out.’

‘Wanted to check you were alright.’

You gape at him.

‘Fucking bullshit, Lucien,’ you grit, snatching your hand out of your soaked cunt. You bundle it in the silk of your dress as you try to cover yourself, but his eyes follow, tracing the glint of your slick in the dim light. 

‘Seems like you’re okay, though,’ he continues, slouching against the doorframe. ‘Just look like you could do with some help.’

You choke on a laugh, frozen, glaring at him from the bed. He bites his lip.

‘You’re fucking insane.’

‘Insane enough to fuck you.’

You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the flash of arousal that shoots through you, clenching your jaw.

‘You are not going to fuck me.’

Lucien steps away from the doorframe, moving into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Without looking, he reaches out with one hand and twists the lock with a click. 

He comes towards you slowly, eyes hungry. Your heart is in your mouth as you watch him, adrenaline kicking in so hard even you’re not sure what you want. Aren’t sure whether you can admit what you want. 

He reaches the end of the bed before dropping a knee onto the mattress, reaching out to grab an ankle, pulling your leg flat. You burn at the feel of him holding you, preventing you from moving, from hiding.

‘Then stop me.’

You don’t. You can’t as he crawls his way up your body, as he touches every inch of skin he can so gently, so delicately. Fresh slick pools out of you at the feeling, at the sight - 

His stupid puppy dog eyes and floppy curls and broad shoulders beneath his silk shirt, silk shirt that looks like sin as it drapes over him, moves with him like water, and his chains, his chains, how they’d look swinging over you as he buries himself inside you, raw and hungry and -

You can’t stop the moan that slips from your lips as his hand cups your cunt, as his mouth finds your neck. Body quickly liquid, molten beneath his touch, legs falling open.

‘Please -’ it slips from your mouth before you can stop it, but it feels good, finally, to have him give you what you need.

‘Good girl,’ he says, ‘Playing so nice.’

He slips his hand beneath the lace of your panties, trailing two fingers through your arousal, mirroring your moan as he does. He circles your clit, dragging you back to where you were, drinking down your noises with his mouth close enough to swallow your breath, but not close enough to kiss. You stare up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, a line forming between your brows. You gasp, so pretty, and he hums, slowing his movements to an agonising pace before slipping them from your heat entirely. You whine at the loss, huffing against the mattress, pouting at him pathetically as he smiles down at you.

‘Let’s get these off.’

He kneels back to pull your underwear away from you, and you wriggle at the cool air that comes into contact with your cunt. You watch, breathless, as he bundles them up and slips them into his back pocket, irritated, but not irritated enough to demand them back. They were expensive.

He drinks in the sight of your bare pussy with ravenous eyes, resting his cheek against the flesh of your thigh. The scruff of his beard tickles and scratches, the feel of it so Lucien, but you can't find it within yourself to care. He brings a single finger up to trace through your folds, and you whine desperately, embarrassingly at the sensation.

‘Pretty enough to make a grown man cry, baby,’ he hums, nuzzling your thigh as he blinks up at you with burning eyes. ‘You ever made a man cry before?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Wanna see if I can make you cry, too?’

He grins, a dirty little thing, before closing his teeth over the soft skin at your hip. You moan again, and he leans in closer, licking a long, hot, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You shudder, a broken sound escaping your mouth. God, what is wrong with you?

‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, ‘You always this wet when someone teases you?’

You arch your back against him, head turning in the sheets.

‘No,’ you groan, ‘Get this wet when I’m about to make myself come.’

He huffs a laugh against you before driving his tongue against your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. He is hot and wet against you, so strong and soft like velvet as he tastes you, holds your thighs apart with his strong hands, fingers pressing in so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. You writhe beneath him, hands flying to his hair, grinding up into his face. He licks and licks, devouring you, moving his head from side to side, gripping your hips to keep you moving against him as he quickly builds you again back to your high, sliding two fingers inside easily, curling them up into the spot deep inside you. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from him, the strong curves of his body, the sweat on his forehead, the way his eyelids flutter at your noises, those deep brown eyes watching you with something carnal, something possessive in them.

You whine and moan above him, keening as he reaches his other hand up to swipe a thumb over your nipple, pinching it as you plead for more, as you tighten around his fingers, as you flood his mouth, as the toil tightens again, as you teeter on the edge -

Lucien pulls his mouth from you with a wet sound, withdrawing his fingers at the same time. 

You cry out.

‘No,’ you whimper, ‘No, Lucien, please -’

‘Atta girl,’ he says, ‘I knew you could ask nicely. Knew you’d beg.’

Your back flies off the mattress as you reach to claw at him, ready to rip him to shreds, but he’s too quick, kneeling back again to undo his belt, unzip his fly, pull himself out, and oh -

Oh. Fuck. He’s big. The heavy weight of him held in his fist as he pumps himself slowly over you turns your clawing into gentler hands, and he moves so you can wrap yourself around his cock. He feels like silk, so close to his shirt, rock-hard and twitching as you move your hand languidly up and down his length, squeezing, swiping your thumb over his tip as it drips precum. It's hard not to admire him like this, hard to remember why you hate him so much. The ache between your legs borders on unbearable.

He groans loudly, rocking his hips before wrapping his hand around yours, untangling your fingers to hold himself again, guiding his cock towards your entrance. He runs his length back and forth between your folds, covering himself in your slick, feeling your clit twitch beneath him until you beg again - ‘Please, Lucien, please - fuck me -’ before he’s sliding home in one long stroke.

The air is knocked from you at the feeling, at how full you are. He hinges to cage you with his arms, and you clutch at his shirt as he begins to move, slow, so slow. He licks his lips as he watches your face, your mouth in a little ‘o’, neck straining against the pillow, and you move a hand to the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him, taste him taste of you. You want to take his plush bottom lip between your teeth and hold it there, hold it there until you taste blood. Bu he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and faster, and you lose your grip, back arching as the delicious burn returns yet again.

‘Fuck -’ you gasp, ‘Holy fuck, Lucien, oh my god -’

‘I know, baby,’ he whispers, fucked out and broken as you already. ‘I know.’

He groans from somewhere deep in his throat, head thrown back to expose his neck, and you want to kiss him again, swallow him down, consume him whole.

You close your teeth over the chain that’s swinging in your face so he can't pull away, and he moans, forehead knocking against yours. You bite down harder, wanting it to break, wanting to shatter it, shatter him. As if he can feel it, he grinds deeper, harder inside of you. You feel yourself clench, feel it begin to spiral. You spit the jewellery out to whimper, scratch down the length of his back over his shirt. He feels so good. Feels so fucking good, and it’s infuriating.

‘I hate you,’ you whine breathlessly. He moans into your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ he gasps, ‘Feeling’s mutual, baby.’

He marks the sentiment with a particularly dirty kiss to your throat, and with that, you see stars. You clench and break and stutter around him, splintering and bursting around his cock, crying out so loudly that he secures his large palm over your mouth.

‘Yeah, good girl,’ he pants, ‘Good fucking girl.’

You moan again, and he can feel your body twitch with the aftershocks, contracting and leaking around him. He takes both your legs in his hands and places them on his shoulders, folding you into yourself, fucking into you deeper, harder than before, hitting another angle even more intense than the last. You cry desperately into the pillow, wincing as you tighten again, impossibly fast, too intense, too far away to warn him. But he knows. He can feel it. Tries to hold himself back a little longer to fuck you through it, reaching down to thumb your clit, swiping through the mess you’ve made, he’s made, entranced by the sounds you’re making, the slick sound of him moving in and out of your cunt, the lightheaded feeling he’s got, the desperation, the urge, the need -

He breathes in the scent of your skin as his thrusts get sloppier, inhaling deeply through his nose. He wishes he could kiss you again. Wants to feel the press of your mouth against his, the breaths you take, your tongue against his.

But if he does, it’ll be over. The game will be up, because he won’t be able to hold back the real want he feels, where all this anger stems from. He’s so nasty, so mean because he wants you so bad. So bad, from the moment you met. From the moment you looked him up and down and listened to his arrogant introduction with a little sneer. He wants that attitude - wants to fuck it right out of you.

Your ankle smells sweet against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss and bite the bone there, feeling you tense and pulse around him at the scrape of his teeth. You twist in the sheets, breathing ragged, eyes scrunched shut, fists clenching the cotton as you moan his name, as you try and bite back the gasps and cries of your second orgasm.

‘Again,’ he grits out, ‘Again.’

‘Lucien -' you cry, reaching for him, ‘Lucien, fuck -'

He comes at the first flutter as you clamp down around him. Buries himself right down to the hilt as he spills inside you, coming with a pained moan and a murmur of your name, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks in and out of your pulsing cunt, fucking his spend deep. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders as he catches his breath, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he watches you come down, staring at the rise and fall of your chest beneath your dress, nipples still straining against the fabric. He wants to take them in his mouth, wants to work you up to take you again, but he slips out instead, brushes his hair back from his forehead, watches his cum begin to dribble out of your puffy cunt. You catch him and reach down to run your fingers through the mess of you both, and Lucien looses a strangled groan as you feed it to yourself, tongue working over your digits. You remove them with a pop, sliding your legs closed and settling yourself on your elbows.

He kneels back on the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to focus on something that’s not you for just a moment as you rearrange your dress and swing your legs off the bed. He feels like he should say something, something to cut across what you've just done. Something appropriately callous, but he can't bring himself to. Can't find it within him.

He hasn’t even finished buttoning his pants before you swan out of the room, dress as perfect as it was before, clinging to your curves, moving with your steps. You don’t look back at him as you leave, don’t utter a word.

That familiar flare of anger rises in his chest again. A muscle ticks in his cheek, and he sits down heavily on the bed, clasping his hands together over his knees. He takes a deep breath, exhales through his nose. He soothes himself with the thought of your cunt leaking his cum all over your seat downstairs, thinks about how it’ll ruin your pretty little dress. Tries not to think about how he won’t be tearing you out of it later, won’t be able to taste himself mixing with you like he wants to.

Tries not to think about the perfume you had applied to your ankles.

Tries not to think about how maybe, just maybe, you’ve thought about this, too.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores fanfiction #the uninvited #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #lucien flores smut

[notjustjavierpena]

Five Minutes

A/N: As promised, y’all. Thanks to @strang3lov3 and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always helping me improve my work ❤️💖 Just to put it out there: The translations aren’t always literal but paraphrased to maintain context.

Summary: Lucien kisses you outside during your house party and puts his hand under your dress.

Pairing: Lucien Flores x reader (no y/n)

Tags: Teasing/banter, pet names, passionate kisses, groping, dirty talk, over panty clit stim, degradation, slight verbal humiliation, overstimulation, bit of exhibitionism

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54514960

Five Minutes

Your head is swimming with how close Lucien is. His breath tickles your skin when he talks, ghosts over your ear as he noses along the side of your head. In the smoke-filled room where the floor shakes from the music playing, you can smell his cologne on him. He is velvety soft when he speaks, enchanting you, “Let’s get out of here, just for a second.”

“We can’t,” you turn your head a little and look up at him through your lashes, “It’s my party, baby.”

“I don’t care,” he nods towards the open screen door in your living room, “When everyone is distracted, we could slip out. Nobody will notice.”

“That their host is gone?” You tut in disbelief, “Luce…”

“Corazón (honey),” he mimics your tone of voice, “They’re too busy to notice us leaving for a few minutes.”

“Oh, it’s a few minutes now? It was getting out of here a second ago,” you tease him playfully. In reality, you have already decided to give in and all he has to do is drag you away from the crowds. You won’t protest.

“I feel like we’re throwing out a lot of terms about time on the table here,” he grins against your forehead, having moved slightly to hold you close. His arms rest along the small of your back.

“I’ll give you, hmm,” you pretend to think, “Five minutes. Is that satisfactory?”

“I’ll give you satisfactory,” he unwraps himself from you to grab your wrist. You giggle as he drags you through the loud house, slipping the both of you out of the half-open door to your backyard.

The air inside was oppressive; smoke-filled, hot, and with a distinct smell of alcohol. The air outside however is filled with mischief and adventure, your garden smelling of freshly-cut grass and blooming lilacs. Lucien’s hand slips down your wrist so he can entwine your fingers, his hand sure in its grip when he guides you past a group of people who are talking loudly. He hadn’t been wrong; no one seems to notice you passing by as they are all too invested in their conversations. Lucien would probably phrase it that they have their heads too far up their asses.

He leads you to the wall of your house that is enshrouded in darkness now that the sun is no longer shining. The chatter from your guests fades into background noise, replaced by the cicadas singing in the night breeze and a gentle rustling of the leaves on the trees.

As soon as you become your only witnesses, Lucien backs you up against the rough exterior of your house. He cups your face with gentle, calloused hands, and then suddenly, he kisses you deeply and forces you to do a sharp intake of air through your nose. It is like he tries to be soft and sweet but there’s something more behind the way his lips meet yours, and he easily slides his tongue into your mouth because you cannot help but moan at the taste of him.

His thumb goes down your cheek, settles on your chin to pull your mouth open so he can lick hotly into it. You place your hands on his shoulders to dig your fingers into the muscles there, then tilt your head to meet him even more while desire pools in your belly.

The hand that isn’t holding your mouth open for him slides down to rest on your shoulder. However, it moves quickly to grope obscenely at your chest over the fabric of your dress and you let him as his thumb brushes over a nipple. It stiffens immediately despite the indirect touch.

The moan you let out turns into a snicker that interrupts you. Lucien’s fingers have slipped under the dress strap on your shoulder and he tries pulling it off. You shake your head while laughing quietly, “No, Luce, c’mon.”

“But you have such pretty tits,” he argues with almost a raspy whine whilst you pull the strap back in place, “Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).”

“That’s very nice and all but I don’t need the whole party to see my breasts,” you bump your head slightly against the wall when Lucien’s head descends to kiss your neck, “You’re gonna have to get creative, I’m not going to strip in my garden like I’m in my teens.”

As he noses along your pulse point, both his palms skim down your sides and eventually cup your ass with lewd hands. You think that might be it, but suddenly his fingers bunch up the fabric of your skirt only to pull it upwards so he can slide his hand underneath it. You gasp as he drapes his palm over your whole mound on top of your underwear.

“You’re certainly determined,” you say breathlessly as he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. More blood goes south. You reach for his hair to pull his mouth to yours again, moaning as he guides two digits over your clothed slit.

“You’ve put me on the clock here,” he replies between kisses, voice a mere growl, “I don’t think I need much time though, do you? You’re sticky through your pretty panties already.”

He moves his hand to run his knuckle over the damp patch on the fabric, pulling away from the kiss to show off the shiny knuckle between your faces whilst he holds the skirt of your dress in his free hand to keep it from falling down again. He smirks in a self-satisfied manner and your mouth falls open in aroused surprise when he sucks the slick off his digit, “Tienes un coño precioso, mi amor, sabes tan dulce (You’ve got a pretty pussy, my love, you taste so sweet).”

“Lucien,” you breathe.

“That made you say my whole name, huh?” He grins boyishly but he is more filthy than anyone knows.

“Touch me,” you look down between the two of you briefly and then find his gaze again, your eyes becoming heavy as the anticipation settles in the evening air. Without a word, his hand finds its way down between your legs again. You widen your stance slightly, open your legs for him.

Your eyebrows scrunch together when he skims his palm over the soft skin right below your belly button. He teases you for a moment, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear before letting them remain on top once again. He finds your clit easily despite it being covered - it’s so hard that he cannot miss it - and presses his index- and middle finger on it. He rubs your cunt in torturous circles and suddenly, the whole world seems to close in on you.

You spread your legs as wide as this position will allow you. Lucien chuckles quietly at your desperation, covers your mouth with his own as you pant with each little pulse of pleasure that he beckons from you.

His fingers shift between featherlight touches to just the right amount of pressure, sending you through a rollercoaster of arousal. You know the white cotton underneath his ministrations is see-through by now, messy and wet from the way your whole cunt flutters and clenches in the absence of anything he is willing to give you. You gush every now and then, and he groans into your mouth each time he feels his palm soak.

“Put your fingers in me,” you beg when it becomes especially unbearable but he doesn’t.

“I don’t think you need the whole party to see this pretty pussy, it’s mine,” he mocks your argument from earlier and pecks your lips impossibly soft compared to how he is treating your clit, “You’ll have to make do with what I give you, mi flor (my flower). I don’t care if you start begging me like a wanton little whore.”

“That’s so unfair,” you whimper as the first tells of your orgasm approaches. Lucien notices immediately and pulls his head back a little to watch your blissed-out expression. He circles in on your clit even further to make you cry softly, biting down on your bottom lip so you won’t alert anyone nearby.

“Shut up and come for me,” he is too pleased with himself. He can probably feel your cunt throbbing against his fingers when you finally do, doing a sharp intake of air as pleasure starts flowing through your lower body. You let it wash over yourself, clenching walls pushing more slick out to wet the thin fabric. If you had time, you would have told him to have a peek.

“You are so fucking cheap and easy,” he reminds you with a sleazy grin but you are too lost to coming from his fingers that you fumble for the right retort and decide to say nothing. Instead, you try not to lose your balance as he keeps stroking your oversensitive pussy until you have to grab at his wrist.

He bites at your jaw, stronger than you ever will be, and keeps up his torture over your panties. You are forced to come again less than thirty seconds later, and now, you start to actually cry out to the point where he has to kiss you quiet again.

You cling to him when he finally stops. He is your anchor in this state of mind-altering dopamine rush.

“You don’t even know how hard you make me,” he whispers against your lips, “Should drag you to the bathroom and fuck you stu—“

In the aftermath, two guests, much younger than him, round the corner. They are deep in drunken conversation, all giggly and eager, and appear to be searching for a quiet spot to do the same thing as you have just done. With a rush of adrenaline that clears your mind, you push Lucien away and yank your dress back down, smoothing out the fabric to remove any evidence that it has been crumpled by desperate hands, something that Lucien points out is only visible to your eyes before the intruders are within earshot.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them says as the other kisses their neck. They try to bat the other away with an embarrassed smile, “We didn’t know you were out here.”

Lucien wraps his arm around your waist and leads you away with his cock shamelessly straining against the front of his slacks. He smiles at the couple and they offer their bottle of wine to him as an apology. He takes a swig from it but doesn’t give it back.

“That’s okay, how could you have known?” He begins the lie, “We’ve only been gone for five minutes.”

.

.

.

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#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #the uninvited #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores smut #my writing #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

[freelancearsonist]

I Was Fixed On Your Hand of Gold

➔ Lucien Flores x afab!Reader - 1k

➔ When Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander. OR Lucien uses his fingers for good evil underneath the table at dinner with your friends.

➔ Rated MA for exhibitionism kink, fingering (r receiving), pet names (baby), references to smoking/nicotine use, no use of y/n, reader has female anatomy but no pronouns used. [please let me know if i missed any :)]

➔ i don't know anything about this man other than that he looks scummy and i'm in love with him. thank you to the dieter bravo brainrot club discord server for feeding my madness and to @shakespeareanwannabe for proofreading this incoherent horny babble <3 title is from 'would that i' by hozier wow what a surprise another cece fic named after a hozier song

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

It’s growled so low in your ear that you could almost believe it’s imagined. But with the way his fingers are dancing against your burning skin, tracing little circles along the length of your thigh, there’s nothing but intention in his voice–regardless of how raspy and deep it is.

Eager fingers push your skirt out of the way, impatient yet calculated. He moves slowly and with deliberation, careful not to show anything above the tablecloth.

“Don’t ignore your friends, baby,” he murmurs low into your ear so only you can hear.

It reminds you of where you are, and why this can’t happen right now. There’s five other people gathered around the table, all smiles and camaraderie and little sips of cheap wine. It’s been a good evening, really. But they’re your friends, not Lucien’s. He won them over within five minutes of meeting them and he’s been bored ever since. And when Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander.

It’s wrong and you should really stop him. You should push his hand away before his nomadic fingers can climb any further up your thigh than they already have. But he finds the wet spot that’s pooling against your panties, and there’s no denying how much you want it.

It takes every ounce of your restraint not to moan when he finds your clit. It’s like his fingers gravitate to it, like there’s some kind of magnetic pull–even through the barrier of your panties, the cocky bastard doesn’t struggle at all.

He doesn’t even blink. His thick, practiced fingers swirl against the seat of your panties with ease and he doesn’t react even remotely when his fingers immediately come away soaked.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, watching him chuckle at the story your best friend is telling across the table and all the while pretending that his greedy, heavy fingers aren’t pushing your panties aside to swipe through the gathering slick.

Your knee jolts before you can control it and knocks against his thigh, thankfully not causing any noticeable disturbance to the rest of the table’s occupants. But the look he gives you is enough warning–head tipped down, dark eyes impossibly darker, jaw set. He looks dangerous, and it makes your traitorous cunt soak his fingers even further. He’ll only tell you once: if you can’t sit still, you’ll be going home aching and unsatisfied.

You need to come so bad in this moment that you feel like you might cry–so, despite feeling rather like a scolded child under his gaze–you lock every muscle in your body to the best of your ability and let the horrible, delicious onslaught continue.

You swallow thickly when you feel the first real press of his finger. It swirls from your clit down to your entrance, and that’s all the warning you get before he slowly, torturously presses it into your cunt.

He lets it rest, just for a moment, knuckle deep–he knows that even this single finger is a slight stretch. After a moment or two to adjust, he withdraws completely and you have to fight back the whine that builds in your throat. But before you can betray your impatience he’s back, overwhelmingly so, two fingers pressed deep and curled in the exact way that he knows will make you shatter. It’s cruel to do this to you right now, to find that most sensitive spot when you can’t moan or even shudder in reaction to the delicious onslaught of pleasure.

His fingers are relentless–there’s a skilled craft to the way his arm stays completely motionless while his middle and ring fingers flutter and scissor against your g-spot.

Your thighs shake from the sensation the closer he brings you to release. As much as you try to ignore it–to focus on the current story about something that happened in a grocery store parking lot last Thursday–he’s bringing you to the brink so fucking fast that there’s no denying it. There’s no hope for composure, especially once his calloused thumb joins in to swirl tight, rapid circles over your clit.

Above the table, you make eye contact with one of your closest friends and laugh breathlessly at the meaningless story they tell. They never even suspect that below the table, you’re squeezing and fluttering around Lucien’s hand as the most intense orgasm of your life sweeps through you.

It takes a solid few moments for you to be able to breathe normally again. And Lucien, the smug bastard, just leans back in his chair and spreads his leg comfortably, free hand resting behind his head in the most casual manner possible like he didn’t just make you come all over his fingers. And then, when he’s sure no one is looking, he brings his right hand up to his lips and sucks his fingers deep into his mouth–looking directly into your eyes as he does so. He licks every drop of your cum from his digits so carelessly in front of your friends that it nearly makes you come again.

You think he’s had his fill. Your head stops swirling and he laughs along with your friends and you think he’s done. You’re wrong. 

He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers together, guiding you ever-so-slowly to palm him through his loose sweatpants. His cock is straining, hard and insistent, against the thick cotton fabric–it makes you squirm in your own seat a little bit.

He’s impossibly casual about your touch as he wiggles a half-spent pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

“Go ahead, baby,” he mutters right into your ear. “Take care of your fuckin’ mess.”

And who are you to decline after he so generously took care of you?

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fanfiction #lucien flores one shot #the uninvited #cece writes

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

On The Verge of a Usual Mistake ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

On the Verge of a Usual Mistake | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): ex!Lucien x actress!reader x ex!Dieter

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  2.3k | CONTENT: this is truly just porn with minimal plot (I'm so proud of myself lol), Dieter and Lucien are messy exes, threesome activities, Twister but with genitalia, Daddy and Papi kinks

| SYNOPSIS: You've been avoiding your exes Dieter Bravo and Lucien Flores all night at this event, but you're forced to come to terms with how things ended in both relationships when they seek to right their wrongs.

“My publicist is gonna kill me!” you hiss into the dampened light of the small room Lucien unceremoniously ushered you into.

“Baby, come on. The tabloids loved us together, remember?” he coos.

“The two of you can’t just be pulling this shit! Not when I’m trying to talk to Wayne from A24 about—”

“The fuck’re you two doing in here?” Dieter whispers loudly as he closes and locks the door behind him. “You seriously going back to him after turning me down?”

“Dee, this is not the time,” you snap. “And I’m not doing a fucking thing with this asshole. He practically herded me in here.” You’re grateful neither of them are aware of the pooling slick between your legs you’ve been dutifully ignoring all night with them both chasing you around and begging for a moment alone.

“Well, three makes a party then,” Dieter decides.

“We’re not interested in that sort of partying,” Lucien cuts in.

“Oh, cut the sober lifestyle bullshit. I’m not the one you’re gonna fool with those bogus rehab claims,” Dieter scoffs.

“Well I guess if anybody knows about stints in rehab, it’s you,” Lucien snipes back.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you huff. You push past Lucien who grabs for you, but it’s ultimately Dieter’s gentle but firm hold that keeps you from exiting. “Dee, let go of me. The two of you can have at each other all you want. Besides, you don’t need me here when neither one of you is gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Don’t be like that,” Lucien pleads. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me all night.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you laugh without a hint of amusement. “You want me to listen to you. Never the other way around. It’s the same with both of you. Always has been. Neither of you know how to put anybody else first. Why do you think I ended things? You’re just two peas in a fucking pod.”

“You really feel that way?” Dieter’s hold on you has slackened to a weak grip. Your head whirls back around to look him in the eye. He looks hurt. Dammit. “You think I don’t want to put you first?”

“I never knew that,” Lucien admits quietly. He edges in closer until you’re practically sandwiched between your exes.

“It’s not like I didn’t tell you,” you grumble, aggrieved at their past mistakes and kicking yourself for not just bolting out the door before they mess with your head like they always do.

Some quiet exchange happens between Dieter and Lucien, and you recognize the silent conversation just as it appears to end. Lucien’s hand creeps along your lower back while Dieter’s hands crawl back up your sides and arms.

“You’re right, baby. I never did things how I should’ve when it came to you. I blew it. Messed up the best thing I ever had. S’why I’ve been on your heels all night just trying to get a word with you,” Lucien says softly into your hair. You shiver at his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“I miss you so much,” Dieter confesses in a hush. “Let me show you how much I miss you. Please.”

“Let us both show you,” Lucien adds. “Let us show you we can listen. Let us show you we can put you first.”

You’re going to give yourself a stern talking to in the mirror tomorrow morning, but right now all the reasons why this is a terrible idea are like wisps of smoke catching to the wind. When Dieter nuzzles against the crook of your neck and Lucien is already down on the ground and underneath your dress, your resolve shatters into a million pieces. “Okay. Yeah, I–oh fuck, Lucien–”

The fat wet line of his tongue between your folds jolts you forward into Dieter who busies himself with lifting and tucking your dress aside so he doesn’t miss the show. He’s already got the top of your dress shoved down so he can suckle on your tightening nipples. “Dee,” you gasp.

“I got you,” he groans, nipping and teasing your nubs. “God you look so good. Missed this so fucking much. Missed these tits so fucking much.” He gropes them in appreciation, and his eyes go wide in that wondrous sort of way that they always seemed to whenever the two of you fucked. Every time was like he’d never seen a woman before, not with the way he’d shower you with compliments and superlatives.

Your legs are already shaky with Lucien working between them, and you don’t even bother feeling ashamed at the orgasm that’s already building. It’s been a long time since you’d been with an attentive partner, and nothing quite compared to the likes of Dieter or Lucien. They’d ruined other sexual partners for you forever, but you wouldn’t be caught dead telling them as much. Their egos were inflated enough as it was. Besides, they’d just hear that and not the other side of the coin which was how they were stingy, selfish companions when it came to the emotional aspect of a relationship.

“You want to be Mommy tonight? Or do you want me to be Daddy?” Dieter asks a little breathlessly.

Throwing all dignity out the window, you reply, “I want Daddy tonight.”

He almost sounds pained as his eyes clamp shut at your answer. “Fuck yeah, I can do that. I can be Daddy. You need your Daddy?”

You nod so loose and frantic it feels like your head isn’t attached to your neck. Lucien never stops but inches forward until he’s looking up at you from between the cradle of your thighs. “Tell Papi what you want,” he husks.

“I-I want you to make me come, Papi,” you whine with a roll of your hips. 

He suctions onto your clit, and you’re gone. Dieter seems absolutely giddy to watch another man make you come, but something about it is comforting and endearing. You hate how familiar and heady this all feels, knowing full well that come tomorrow morning it’ll be another fading memory to lump in with all the others. You push away the painful acknowledgement before it ruins your orgasm entirely.

Dieter’s fingers slip inside you with no resistance, and you both moan in unison at the way you part for him. Lucien’s wet mouth and chin leave a sloppy trail across your neck where he lays even sloppier kisses. “Can I take this off?” he asks. You nod, and he unzips and unfastens your dress before tossing it onto a nearby table. “I fuckin knew you wouldn’t be wearing panties,” he says low and needy into your ear.

The rhythmic plunge of Dieter’s fingers has you hurtling towards another climax. “Been a while since somebody gave you what you needed, baby?”

You bite your lip and dip your head. You hate how easily they could both read you. It made you feel laid bare, and not in the fun sort of way.

“Let Papi and Daddy make you feel good, okay? Don’t think about anything except letting us make you feel good,” Lucien whispers against your temple from behind. You feel the hard curve of his clothed cock pressing against your ass. You push back against it and stifle a grin when he moans. The grin slips away the moment Lucien’s fingers slide down your body to rub your clit in time with Dieter’s fingering. You aren’t sure whose hand comes to cover your mouth while you come, but you’re glad somebody has enough sense right now to think about other partygoers overhearing.

“You were always so pretty when you fell apart,” Dieter reminisces with a goofy, tender smile. He slips his fingers from you and licks them clean. “Better than I remembered.”

The sound of Lucien’s belt and zipper draw your attention backward. “You gonna let me fuck you wide open, baby? Think you can take all of me? It’s been a long time.”

“I can take it,” you breathe, arching your back for him to enter you from behind.

“Good girl for Papi,” he praises. He jerks himself a few times with a slip of spit and lines his cock up to your entrance. “Always such a good girl for your Papi, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Papi. I’ll be good,” you choke out.

He inches inside you with an agonizing, languid pace. Your breath catches when he finally bottoms out. He’s so much bigger than you remember, but you still want more. Dieter captures your mouth in a heated kiss just as Lucien starts thrusting, and your high pitched cries of pleasure are caught between his lips. “Daddy,” you whine as you latch onto his shoulders for support. Lucien’s pace picks up quickly, and for a few minutes the small room is only filled with panting and the squelching sounds of him splitting you open.

“You’re taking his cock so good, baby,” Dieter says against your teeth. “You like taking raw cock, don’t you? You always begged Daddy to fuck you raw.”

“Fuck! Yes, I like it when Papi and Daddy fuck me raw,” you cry. “I want Daddy to fuck me raw, too.”

“Yeah?” he goads with a smile. “You want Daddy’s cock after Papi fills you up?”

Lucien grunts and whimpers as he struggles to keep his pace with all the back and forth filth.

“N-No, Daddy. Want you and Papi to fuck me raw together,” you beg. “Please, Daddy. Please Papi?”

Dieter rushes to free his cock and wet it with spit as Lucien starts chanting yes yes yes. He stills for Dieter to push against his own length and fight for the tight space of your cunt. They work together to hoist you higher until Dieter is notched at your entrance and finally pushing inside. The stretch burns and makes you feel present in your own body in such an overwhelming way for the first time in a long time. The first few thrusts are experimental and slow, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already crying and coming and losing yourself in the intoxicating sting of both their cocks wedged inside the fist of your cunt.

“Christ,” Dieter hisses. “Fuck, this is gonna make me come too fast.”

“Tell us what you want,” Lucien urges, sounding close to the edge himself.

Your pussy throbs and clenches around them both as you try to make your brain and mouth cooperate. “I want you to come in me, Papi,” you whine. “Want you and Daddy to fuck me and make me come again. Make me come and then fuck me ‘til you come inside me.”

“Anything for my girl – Papi’s good girl,” he assents.

“Daddy’ll give you whatever you want, baby,” Dieter adds in a hoarse sounding wheeze. “Gonna milk my cock in this tight little pussy. Gonna give you whatever you want.”

Despite never really caring much for one another, Dieter and Lucien seem to sync up with the common goal of giving you another mind numbing orgasm. The feel of their thick cocks crowding your insides, sliding against each other so that each push and pull is a constant punch of a cockhead against your cervix. “Fuck I’m gonna come again,” you blurt out as your climax surges and swells without warning.

You’re sandwiched between two sweaty and breathy men who now seek their own release. Dieter comes first with a pitiful little stuttering whine. His mouth rounds out in a messy kiss as he pulses inside you. Lucien is just behind him with a gravelly moan as he fucks you nonstop. There’s so much of them spilling inside you and being pushed out, and the warmth of it makes you feel sated and soothed.

You’re a boneless bag of flesh when they both catch their breath and ease you off the spear of their cocks. You sigh at the feeling of them drooling out of your pussy. With their concentrated, streamlined focus, your dress is put back on and properly closed back up. Lucien turns you to face him for the first time since you tried to leave earlier. “Can I kiss you?”

You want to laugh at his request given the fact that he’s currently leaking out of you alongside the efforts of your other ex, but you know why he’s asking. He knows certain types of intimacy are something that mean more to you and have to be earned back in trust. “Yeah, Lucien. You can kiss me.”

His body nudges yours against Dieter’s, hands coming up to cradle your face as he tenderly presses his lips to yours. It’s slow and soft and damn near perfect, especially considering Dieter is dotting the curve of your neck with his own kisses. You aren’t sure how long you and Lucien are lost in each other, but it’s blowing your mind to see Dieter be patient for once. Maybe they both really meant it when they said they wanted to do better by you.

You pull back with red, puffy lips and heavy eyes. Lucien looks down at you with a soft smile. “I miss you.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the unspoken words laced within: I love you.

“I miss you every day,” Dieter agrees quietly.

“Look, I–I miss you both, too, but I can’t promise anything,” you warn them. “You both really hurt me before. But, tonight was… nice. It felt nice.” You wonder why it never occurred to you to do this before. The two best lovers you ever had, at the same time. It was a no brainer, really. Probably all that pesky broken heart stuff clouding your mind that kept you from realizing what a good time it could be.

“You don’t have to make promises anymore. That’s not your job anymore.”

“No, baby. We’re the one who need to make promises so we can show you that we can keep them,” Dieter adds.

It might be the dumbest mistake of your life, but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t fight how good it feels to be with them both. Despite all the pain and heartache they’ve caused you over the years, they both always felt like home in a way. “I think I might be willing to let you try.”

Okay the Lucien Flores brainrot got to me. As far as exes go in the celebrity world, you could do a lot worse than Lucien and Dieter. Also, reader clearly has a type haha.

#lucien flores x reader #dieter bravo x reader #lucien flores x you #dieter bravo x you #lucien flores smut #dieter bravo smut #pedro pascal characters #the bubble #the uninvited

[jksprincess10]

Precious || Sugar daddy ! Lucien Flores x reader

Summary: You meet with your sugar daddy at his California residence. (2k words)

CW: sex in exchange of money and luxuries, feelings, slight angst, infidelity (Lucien is married), jealousy, daddy kink, English and Spanish pet names, f masturbation, fingering, blowjob, praise kink, dom!lucien, unprotected p in v, emotions, sad-ish ending (sorry i'm feeling emo), minimal editing. Also, I haven't seen the movie, so this might be OOC,

A/N: We all saw that video right? Thank you twitter for this. Also, thanks to @ozarkthedog who inspired some of this.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you made an arrangement with an older man for money, you hadn't expected that he would be... hot. You also didn't expect to fall for him.

But standing in front of you, Lucien Flores was something else. A colorful, silk-like shirt let you see glimpses of golden skin. Expensive jewelry on his throat. A wedding band on his finger as he brought the cigarette to his lips. From a wife he did not care about. A wife he left at his main residency.

But here, in California, everything was a dream. He treated you like a princess, all you had to do was to be pretty and let him fuck you, which wasn't hard when he was so handsome, and when you were madly in love with him.

"Was your trip okay?"

"Yes, everything was perfect. Thank you for the first-class trip, daddy."

He smirked and let the cigarette fall to the ground, before crushing it with his shoe. He sat on one of the lounge chairs on the patio and patted his lap to encourage you to sit on it. You climbed up and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down to you. His strong cologne tickled your nose.

"I missed you." He whispered, and you wished you could believe him. You wished he had missed your personality, your humor, and not only the way you sucked his cock.

"I missed you too." You responded truthfully.

“Sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

“I don’t know, what will you do?” You responded mischievously.

“Did you bring the bikini I got you? Will you go lay prettily in the pool while I get some work done, hm?”

You nodded enthusiastically, and got off his lap to strip off your tight dress to reveal the red bikini that covered barely anything. The top was just enough to cover your nipples, and the bottom was more of a g-string than anything else. Lucien’s gaze devoured you, making you feel vulnerable, but hot.

You did as he said, laying in the pool on top of an oversized donut as he took work calls on the patio, attentive dark eyes looking at you from time to time.

After an hour under the sun, waiting for him, you got bored, and you wanted to play. Lucien was still on a call with a client, and you vaguely heard him speak Spanish, words about house prices and vague promises. You waited until he looked at you, then, your hand sneaked under your bikini bottoms that left little to the imagination. Like an automatism, your fingers recolted some of your wetness before circling your clit. The point wasn't as much to pleasure yourself than to provoke Lucien.

His eyes darkened, his attention fully on you as he kept speaking. He simply curved his fingers in your direction, beckoning you to come closer.

So, you did. You ungracefully got out of the pool and walked towards him like an obedient puppy.

"What are you doing?" He mouthed to you, while his client talked on the other end.

"I'm waiting for you." You responded innocently.

Lucien didn't seem satisfied with your answer. He got closer to you, until you were stuck to the patio door, your ass leaving a mark on the clean glass. He kept talking on the phone, as if nothing peculiar was happening, and he pulled your bikini to the side, so he could access your seam. His fingers went through your slit, sensing how wet you were. He looked at you with a disapproving look, and you gasped as he started circling your clit.

"... yes sir, with your budget, I certainly can find you the house of your dreams... I'll see you on Friday."

He hung up and put his phone in his back pocket.

"You want my attention so bad? You have it now." He groaned. His free hand held your waist tightly, and you wished he kissed you in that moment.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and bucked your hips against his fingers, gasping when he put two of them in your wet hole. He started pumping them in and out unceremoniously, filling the air with your obscene wet sounds. You cried softly, your back arching against the door.

"Lucien... please...I'm sorry..."

You felt him hitting that spongey spot inside of you again and again, as his palm rubbed against your clit. Your legs started to shake, and he held you up as you almost fell under the intensity of your orgasm.

"There you go baby..." He pressed his nose against your hair as he guided you through your ecstasy, inhaling your sweet, intoxicating scent. When your eyes met his, you stopped fearing he would push you away and you pulled him into a kiss. He crowded you against the house, holding you tight as he responded back with his whole body.

Only to be interrupted by another phone call. He groaned and let go of you. Still, his hand held your shoulder and he slowly pushed you to the ground.

"You will suck me off while I take this call, yeah?"

He took the call before you could say anything, but he knew you would obey. You unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers until his dick sprung free. Thick, uncut, and perfect. You salivated just looking at it. You started by licking the tip almost timidly, looking up at him through your lashes as he talked about serious work-related stuff. He looked so in control. You took him in the warmth of your mouth slowly, his hand cradling your head indicating that you were doing a good job. You were so horny for him, you could barely hear him talk, only hearing the soft vibrations of his deep voice. You bobbed your head up and down slowly, how he liked, sometimes adding a bit of teeth, just grazing the sensitive skin.

"Good girl." He mouthed to you, and you warmed up at the praise.

You accelerated eventually, hollowing your cheeks to make him feel everything. His hips bucked lightly into your mouth, encouraging you to keep your pace. His breath was getting heavier, and you could tell his concentration was failing him slowly.

"Can I call you back? I have another line I have to take. Yeah, okay."

Lucien hung up and dropped his phone to the floor.

"God... this mouth of yours, baby."

One of your hands played with his heavy sack as you kept sucking him, his body responding to you with thrusts.

"Let me come on those pretty tits." He breathed.

You hurriedly untied your top and just as you let his cock fall out of your mouth, he guided his cock with his hand as his come started spurting out. He painted your chest, and you let him make a canvas out of you.

Lucien helped you up and pecked your lips.

"Go wash up, make yourself pretty for your daddy while I finish a few calls. I left a few things for you in my room. We'll have dinner and I'll spend the night focusing on you, okay?"

"Okay, daddy." You looked at him one last time, and you disappeared in his house.

Lucien treated you like a princess, and you indulged in a delicious meal in his presence. You tasted the best wine the restaurant had to offer.  You enjoyed his company and you talked about everything. The only cloud to your evening was a call from his wife, and you tried to burry your jealousy. Your job was to be the young and pretty mistress to the rich man, not his wife.

But you knew Lucien read you like an open book. When he brought you home, to his large bedroom, he crowded you against the wall, one of his large hands beside your head, the other one low on your back.

“What was that about, baby?”

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear his big, sad brown eyes that would unravel the truth so easily. The hand beside your head cradled your jaw, and you had no choice but to look at him.

“Nothing.”

He tsked. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t like when you talk to your wife when I’m here. It feels… wrong.” You sighed.

“Mi corazón… ” He cooed. “I have to play the part of the loving husband. Doesn’t mean you’re any less precious.”

You bit your bottom lip, swallowed your tears.

“Prove it.”  

Lucien leaned in, and his lips grazed yours, his big nose bumped against the tip of yours. “You’re my precious little thing. Can’t live without you.”

Your body responded to his, molding against his chest as you arched your back. He kissed you, fiercely. The hand against your face almost bruising. Your whimper of his name died against his lips, swallowed by his tongue. When you came back out for air, his lips traced your jaw, your neck, your cleavage. Expert hands unzipped the dress he bought for you, and it pooled at your ankles. You kicked it away, and in a hurry, you undid his soft shirt. You leaned down to kiss his chest as he smelled your hair, holding you close.

“I want you.” He whispered painfully. The older man guided you and discarded your body on fire on his comfortable bed. Lucien got rid of his pants as he took the time to look at you, sprawled on his bed, dressed in precious lace. “My pretty girl…”

You felt heat rush to your face, and you realized how much you wanted to be his.

 You both peeled off the last layers separating you, and he laid between your spread legs, his body warm against yours. You were always so ready for him. It took him mere seconds for to make you come, only so he could slide into your wetness easily and selfishly. He didn’t deserve you. You wrapped your legs around his hips as he stilled. Your cheeks were wet with tears, that he kissed away.

“Look at me.”

You did with a weak smile.

“There you are, my pretty girl.” He cooed.

“Yours, yours yours” You chanted back as he started moving slowly, but with strength that took the breath out of your lungs and made you close your eyes.

“You’re always taking me so well.” He praised. “Keep your eyes on me. Keep your mouth occupied, mi corazón.”

You sucked on the chain dangling from his neck, the metallic taste keeping you grounded as you watched him with adoration. You muffled your cries and kept your eyes on him as he started thrusting his hips faster, making your eyes want to roll in the back of your head. But you kept your focus on him, on the slight crows feet around his eyes, on his smile lines, on his beautiful, adoring eyes.

“You will come on my cock, baby.” His hand reached to where the two of you were joined, and his thumb pressed on your swollen clit, circling it at the same messy rhythm as his hips, letting you tighten and convulse around him. “Good girl.”

His words, his fingers, and the tip of his cock that kept hitting your G-spot made you see stars. You kept your eyes strained on him as you choked his dick and came around him with a muffled moan. He guided you through it, before grabbing your hips and fucking you deep and fast. His chain left your lips, and you replaced it with his mouth, kissing him slow and deep.

“W-Where do you want me?” He groaned inside your mouth.

“Inside.”

Lucien cursed as he spilled inside of you, before laying against your body, his head on your shoulder as he caught his breath. You caressed his curly hair and held him close, scared of loosing him.

“I love you.” You said in the smallest voice possible.

He looked up at you with sad eyes, and he kissed you long and slow. He would break your heart and you both knew it.

#pedro pascal #lucien flores #lucien flores smut #lucien flores the uninvited #lucien flores x you #lucien flores fic #lucien flores fanfiction #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x yn #lucien flores x y/n #the uninvited #the uninvited fic #the uninvited fanfiction

[katiexpunk]

The Invited | Pairing Lucien Flores X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lucien Flores is invited back into your life in a very unexpected way, at a very bad time – what are you going to do about it? 

Warnings: Borderline abusive, controlling relationship (not with Lucien). Like literally, we hate the reader’s fiancé. No, I’m serious, read this one with caution, there are heavy undertones of the reader’s fiancé being controlling and generally not a nice guy, no matter how much he tries to play the part. Implied infidelity. Heavy flirting, heavy tension. Religious undertones. Alcohol. References to Lucien being a playboy. References to wealth, art, and money. General Hollywood/California vibes. This one will have a happy ending. No use of daddy, no use of Y/N. This is gonna have some filthy fucking smut, hand to my heart. 

Part 1 W/C: ~3.5K 

A/N: Just, yeah…yep. I am as horny for him as you all are (like what the actual fuck). This story will continue as I learn more about Lucien and his character. P.S. Sorry if you got double-tagged, I accidentally deleted the whole fic so I had to repost.

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It started with one look, as many things do.

Initially, it was all just innocent glances across a crowded room, perfunctory nods, and polite whispered hellos in shared spaces. It didn’t take long for it to turn into more than that; that’s just who he is and the effect he has. You can’t say you didn’t hear the rumors, heed the warnings through the grapevines of the limitless supply of women who came before you, but listening never was your strongest skill.

The only girls you know who listen are strapped to a church pew, on their knees, and for what? Salvation? At least you know the pleasure of worshiping at the altar of a man who promises he’ll make you see god, a man who follows through on his word, no questions or fuck-all commandments required.

Or at least you did.

Maroon 5 said it best, even the sun sets in paradise.

++++

As you stand by your bedroom window, the last rays of sunlight paint the room in a warm, golden hue, casting elongated shadows across the minimalist decor. The gentle breeze from the Santa Ana winds whispers through the trees outside, carrying with it a sense of anticipation – dread – for the night ahead. You hate these things, but schmoozing is part of the role you have to play, just one of the many rules he’s slowly but surely made sure you follow. The good girl he’s made you become.

Focusing on fastening the back of your earrings, you watch the sun dip below the horizon, a silent witness to the transition from day to night – light to dark – although things don’t feel that light these days.

"There she is," comes a familiar voice from behind you, causing you to turn and find him leaning casually against the door frame. His presence brings a sense of unease, a reminder of the doubts that linger beneath the surface.

A forced smile plays on his lips as his eyes trail over you, his gaze filled with a familiarity that feels suffocating rather than comforting. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, you wonder if he believes it or if he’s just saying it to say it.

Most of the time, his admiration feels hollow, a facade that fails to mask the cracks in your relationship. In his eyes, you see reflections of expectations and obligations, a reminder of the compromises you've made at the expense of your happiness. It wasn’t always this way, especially in not while you were just dating, but things quickly shifted once you said yes.

You turn your attention back to the vanity in front of you and slip one final detail – your engagement ring.

“Thanks. Ready?” You ask, feigning excitement as you glide across the room, wrapping your arm around his. You can tell from the way he looks at you that he has something to say, something to critique, but he remains silent.

You descend the steps in the grand foyer as it welcomes guests with its opulent charm, bathed in the soft, flickering light of countless candles. The air carries the delicate fragrance of freshly cut flowers, mingling with the subtle scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The walls boast exquisite paintings and sculptures, each hand-picked, and sourced from all corners of the globe – a deliberate show of wealth.

As you step into the room, conversations swirl around you, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and bursts of laughter. You observe the guests, their designer attire and dazzling jewelry all but scream like me, I’m rich.  Among them, art connoisseurs and collectors engage in lively discussions about the latest exhibitions and acquisitions. Directors, models, and Hollywood elites mingle effortlessly, their conversations flowing freely.

You're well aware that in L.A., half of the business dealings often occur in the shadowy corners of closed-door meetings, or in the expanse of lavish parties like this. It’s a city where nepotism runs rampant and connections are king. It's a city where who you know can often be more important than what you know, and navigating the intricate web of relationships is a skill in itself.

Dressed in an elegant gown, silky and yellow, your neck frosted in diamonds that shimmer like the stars above, you glide through the crowd with a grace that contradicts your inner turmoil. You’re good at this part, faking it, blending in. You might have grown up with this, but you never really felt like you belonged. It’s sort of strange to be surrounded by a sea of people, all while feeling like you’re stranded alone on a remote island.

As you exchange polite pleasantries and forced smiles, a nagging doubt creeps into your mind. Are you even meant to fit in with this crowd? Lord knows you wouldn’t be if you had anything to say about it, but being the daughter of a politician is a special kind of hell. We all have to make sacrifices. And you have – a lifetime of them. Sometimes, you can't help but long for simpler pleasures – a quiet Saturday night with frozen pizza, a bottle of wine, and a comforting movie. Fuck, you can’t even remember the last time you went out with friends, drank too much tequila, and flirted in innocent fun, or the last time you dipped your hand below the waistband of your panties without the fear of being caught.

Sipping your champagne, you endure a rather tedious conversation between the CEO of a tech startup and a broker. It doesn’t take long for the sensation of boredom to settle in, mingling with a growing sense of disillusionment. A dull pain throbs in your feet from the pressure of your heels. Their voices start to fade into the distance as you zone out, feeling increasingly disconnected from the authenticity you crave.

You decide you need a break, some fresh air. They’re not even listening to you; you're not even sure if they notice you're here or not. But still, forever polite, you excuse yourself anyway and make your way across the room, weaving through the crowd of suits and couture. You’re not thinking about anything except getting the hell out of here until you hear your name called behind you.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere, in any lifetime, in any place. You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says.

What the fuck? You’re sure you must actually be drunk now, or so bored that you’re delusional brain is conjuring him up. You don’t say anything in return, you just stand there. The room slows around you, bodies pause mid-motion, and your world goes silent.

“Been a long time,” he casually says, lifting the glass to his lips, eyes intent on yours.

His words, the low rasp of them, snap you back to reality.

“Lucien – wha, what are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

You barely hear his response. Fuck, he looks so good. Handsome as you remember him, all salt and pepper curls, dark facial hair, and broad shoulders. He’s clad in dark jeans, and a colorful silk shirt, the buttons at the top undone, giving just the slightest glimpse of his sun-kissed skin and the chains that rest there.

Arousal pools in your belly, thick and heavy, a feeling that you haven’t felt in years. Not since him.

"Invited, by who?" you ask, your voice laced with challenge. He takes a deliberate step closer, his presence enveloping you in a heady mix of desire and tension. The air around him is thick with the sticky-sweet smell of cigarettes and the woody notes of his cologne. He smells good.

He's close now, close enough to send a shiver down your spine. You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. Shit, those brown eyes. Your pulse quickens as his large palm closes around the back of your left arm, the touch sending electric sparks through your body. It's a soft but firm grip, possessive and confident.

As he trails his palm down the length of your arm, you hold your breath. He stops once your hand is gently balanced in his, and you feel his fingers brush against the cool metal of your engagement ring. Glancing around the room for a brief moment to make sure nobody’s watching, he dunks his head, and whispers in your ear, his lips so close that you think he might kiss your neck.

“I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

What.

He places a soft, innocent kiss on your cheek as he retreats and takes a step back. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body, lingering for a moment too long on your collarbones. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and he gives you a polite nod, before stepping away, slipping into the crowd, leaving you woozy and confused.

What the fuck does that even mean?

As you internally grapple with what the hell just happened, your fiancé finds you in the crowd, possessively trails his hand along your waistline, and plants a wet, rather drunk, kiss on your lips.

“What did he want?” he asks, harshly.

“Nothing, just saying thanks for the invite,” you respond, hoping he can’t sense your lie. Hoping he falls for your trap.

“If you’re lying to me sweet pea, that’s gonna be a real problem.”

“I’m not.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“So why do you look so flustered, huh?”

“You know how I get when I drink champagne,” you retort, playing up your innocence.

“Right, well you better pull it together, can’t have my girl sloppy,” he warns, his voice a little slurry himself, his balance unsteady as he takes another sip. He’s moved on from champagne to whiskey. A bad combination, a dangerous one.

“You know the only reason I invited him tonight was that I think it’s an important lesson for you –”

You interrupt, “YOU invited him?”, your voice clear and stark. The truth hits you like a freight train. You want to cry, throw up and scream all at the same time.

“Of course. Listen, baby, I know you went through your slutty phase, but look how far you’ve come.. look how much I’ve helped you grow,” he slurs, “men like that, don’t deserve women like you.”

And there it is – the truth.

Your blood hits a boiling point. You give him a death glare, but he doesn’t seem to notice before he’s quickly moving on.

“Come on, baby.” I’m not your baby, not anymore, haven’t been for a long time.

“I’d like to introduce you to some people,” he says, grabbing a fresh glass off of the passed tray, and handing it to you with a little too much thrust, enough for a few drops of it to spill over onto the silk of your dress. Your fingers grip around it and you follow his lead, despite the bitterness you feel. Ugh. Why is it so easy for you to fall into line now? Secretly, you hope the dull burn of the alcohol will distract you – calm you – make you forget.

You’re drunk, aroused, mad, and confused, and on top of it all, you’re fading in and out of the dull conversation your fiancé has you engaged in, or rather than listening to. Not like he lets you get a word in, anyway. You scan the room looking for him whenever you get the chance, trying not to be too obvious. You finally spot him in the corner and try to ignore the magnetic pull that lassos around you once you do. He’s talking to a model, because of course he is. Is he intentionally trying to make you jealous? Or is he just being his usual fuck boy self?

You chug what must be your sixth glass of champagne to forget the bitter memory of the last time you saw him – when he told you that you should just keep things casual, that he couldn’t handle the pressure of being with the daughter of a politician, that he would never measure up, and that this was just temporary, just sex.

It wasn’t, and you know it. You know he knows it.

But fuck it –

If he wants to play games, you can play games. You’re the one who’s engaged, this is your house, your space. You’ll show him what he’s missing.

With that in mind, your personality shifts a bit, part in courtesy of the alcohol, part because of your rage. You do your best to intentionally play up your happiness in a room full of strangers, show him that he doesn’t affect you. Show him that he doesn’t matter, that he never did. You cling tight to the arm of your fiancé, being sure to pull out your best doe eyes, your innocent fuck me eyes that you know men can hardly resist. The eyes you know that drive him wild.

But there’s no point, he sees right through it.

Shit.

He knows you too well, better than all the rest. You let your guard down with him, trusted him, and now he knows all the signs – all the tells – he knows where your heart and mind truly rest, probably before you even do.

Shove it down. Shove it down. He doesn’t matter. You are engaged. This is the life you want.

It’s not.

You watch through the corner of your eye as he excuses himself from the conversation with the model and walks through the crowd, intentionally finding your eyes as he does. He slips up the stairs, away from public view.

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.

You can’t. You know you can’t.

Before you can even register what’s happening, you’re stepping out of the conversation you were never really in, letting your instincts guide you. You lift the hem of your dress, your heels teetering slightly as you make your way through the bustling, suffocating room.

Each step up the stairs is a battle between your mind and your heart, your brain screaming warnings while your emotions, your arousal, tug you forward. It’s always been this way – a magnetic pull, an invisible force drawing you in to him like a moth to a flame.

This is a mistake.

Don't do this.

Do this.

You want this.

You're engaged.

Stop thinking.

Climbing the final stairs, your heart pounding in your chest, you surrender to the emotions swirling inside you. Your brain protests, but your heart has already made its decision.

"Luci—" you timidly call out, but before you can finish, he reaches out in the darkness and pulls you into his chest. You let out a little oof of surprise, but soon find yourself settling into the embrace, his warmth enveloping you as his hips press tightly against yours.

He doesn't utter a word, simply holding you close, his body a comforting anchor in the dimly lit hallway. His hand rests at your waist, the other gently cradling the swell of your cheek as he gazes down at you. Despite the darkness obscuring your features, you can sense him drinking in every detail, every curve, the small details you’re not sure anyone notices anymore. He’s looking at you like he always has, like you’re the main character in every story he’s ever cared to read.

With a tighter grip, he guides you further down the hallway, away from the prying eyes at the top of the staircase. Your back eventually meets the cool surface of the wall, and he pauses there, his presence dominating the space, sucking up the air around you. His grip on your waist remains firm, as if he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.

Under his touch, you feel yourself melting, surrendering to the intensity that is the two of you. There's a confidence in his demeanor, a certainty that courses through you. A live wire of energy that you’ve never felt with anyone but him. He knows exactly how to read you, how to anticipate your every desire, and you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the ring on your finger, and before you can protest, he’s already speaking.

“He’s not the man you think he is, sweetheart.” His words pierce you like a knife.

You don’t respond. What can you even say? He can already see your truth, your reality, written plainly across your face. He searches your face for hesitation, any sign that he’s crossed a line.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and you can only nod. Yes, please.

This isn’t normal, this isn’t a thing that people frequently experience – it’s wrong, you’re engaged. Even if your fiancé is a grade-A asshole, you can still maintain your morals.

But the thing is – there’s something so electric about the two of you together, an undeniable force, a promise written into stone long before you even realized it.

The combination of your bodies, two halves of a whole, is the only excuse you can muster for why you’ve found yourself in your current predicament – pressed up against a wall, his broad frame pinning you into place, the weight of his gaze like a flame threatening to swallow you whole, turn you into ashes.

Even though it’s been years since he’s pressed his lips against yours, the weight of the pretty little rock on your left finger fades into distant memory, and he pulls you back to a different reality.

A reality where nothing else exists, a reality where your timelines converge, a reality hand-sculpted just for the two of you. One where he didn’t fuck up, the one with the happily ever after.

With your lips connected, it’s easy to let your mind fall silent.

And when he breaks for a bit of breath, your eyes connect once more and you can’t help the thought that crosses your mind.

What a pleasure it is to burn.

His hand finds its way to your thigh, and his fingers make their way to where you so desperately need them to be. Nipping at your neck, he whispers sweet praises into your ear, each word sending sparks of arousal that dance along your skin. It's carnal, primal, an undeniable biological reaction that leaves you practically dripping for him.

"You know me, better than anybody," he rasps against your skin, his words a seductive promise of something more. Planting a soft kiss on your collarbone, he leaves you reeling with need.

But just as you're about to respond, the telltale sound of creaking wood and heavy footsteps echo up the stairs, accompanied by the call of your name. Panic floods your senses as you realize who it is.

Fuck, shit – no, god damn it.

Lucien quickly steps away from you, and sneaks off into the bedroom adjacent to the hall.

Your fiancé appears at the top of the steps, his gaze sharp and knowing, as if he can sense the tension in the air. In that moment, you know you can't keep hiding, can't keep pretending that everything is fine.

“What are you doing up here?”

Fuck it, be bold.

“We need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED

If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @syd-djarin @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @yxtkiwiyxt ily.

#lucien flores #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fic #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #pedrohub #pedro stories #pedro pascal characters #lucien x reader

[bluemusickid]

The Heiress

Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

Dull.

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

That is till you met him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.

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

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

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

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

"You alone?" He drawled.

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

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

"So. Long time no see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love ya!

-xoxo Lexi <3

#pedro pascal characters #lucien flores #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x fem! reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x plus size reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal #lexi writes #pedro pascal drabble #pedro pascal fanfiction #lucien flores fanfiction #the uninvited spoilers #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader

[katsheadinclouds]

Summer nights, you and I

Lucien Flores x f!plus-size!reader

summary: You explore your feelings for your high school sweetheart, who comes to your birthday party.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, bad communication, mention of drinking, no mention of pronouns for reader but body parts are mentioned, reader wears a dress and has hair, smut, car sex in a public place, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it up folks!). No use of y/n. Not beta read. If I forgot something, let me know!

word count: 3.7k

notes: Happy birthday weekend to me! Yesterday, when I saw the new pictures and videos of one mr. Lucien Flores, my brain got fried, and inspiration hit me. I ended up writing this thing in the middle of the night and thought I’d share it now to celebrate me turning 30!  

dividers by saradika-graphics

He watches you mingle in the crowd, eyes following your every move. People talk with him, to him, but the words slip out of his head as soon as he hears them. He watches as you laugh at a joke someone tells you. He watches you listen to someone. He watches the arch of your lips when you answer someone’s question, how your tongue drags over the softness as you wet them before sipping on your drink.

He knows you’re aware of him. He sees it in the way you turn around if you get too close to him. He sees your head twist away after you’ve locked your eyes on him when you think he hasn’t noticed. It’s in the way you pretend to not see him even when you’re facing him, trying to force yourself to stay present in the conversation you’re engaged in.

But every few seconds your eyes drift to watch him past the guest’s face. Your shoulders tense up, you breathe a little deeper, and you try so hard to not let his presence deter you from the deep desire to keep your head straight. You told him that you two can’t keep seeing each other. You told him that repeatedly; every time you came knocking on his door at odd hours of the night, every time you called him to ask if he was free the next weekend, every time you sighed out his name when his mouth was buried between the roundness of your thighs. It was a reflex. A chanting wish to keep yourself from him.

Yet every time you came back, saying the same thing, “we can’t keep seeing each other like this.”

He had looked at you under his brow, ready to indulge you in the orange gloom of the streetlights glowing in through the window. “How do you want to see me then?” He mocked.

He didn’t expect to be pushed on his back, your fingers gently around his throat, your hot palm against his feverish skin, your lips against his ear, “I don’t,” you whispered. Almost like it was an emphasis on your resoluteness, you rose to your knees and guided him into you. Your arousal pooled instantly at the base of his cock when you heard him moaning.  He dug his fingers against your ass and helped you ride him until your thighs were burning. Here you were, trying to meet all your guests in the dusky garden you had rented for your birthday party. “I don’t want you there,” you had said when you gave him the invite.

“Then I won’t come there,” he answered.  You gave him a long look, your fingers pressed against his before you turned on your heels and left his place before the sun rose.

Here you were, avoiding him at your own party, trying to act nonchalant about the man who you wanted in every way but never wanted to admit it even to yourself. You knew how people saw him. How they’d see you if they knew about you two.

You were always the good one, ready to help, never backing out even in the bleakest situations. People trusted you, and you gave all of them a reason to do that. Lucien on the other hand, he is nothing like you.

He has always been the quiet rebel, the one with the free spirit who sometimes disappears without a word to chase his dreams and wants. Untrustworthy, ready to jump when everyone else expected him to stand still. You can’t accept that he has changed, even when he tries to prove it to you.

You knew you couldn’t get attached like you had when you two were teenagers, with heated cheeks and coy smiles. Back then you were shy and your hands always shook when you wanted to touch him. Even if it was just to hold his hand or to push his unruly curls off his eyes.

The kisses back then were timid, full of nerves, when either of you weren’t used to having someone so close yet. The teenage romance ended before it even had a chance to properly start. He left and you stayed. Your tears were never ending, they dried out your soul. The hope for feeling like you had someone you could trust to stand with you, to have someone in your corner, withered away. It was by accident when he saw you again. At a coffee shop on a busy Tuesday morning. He could recognize your voice from a mile away and the smile in your eyes when you thanked the barista for your coffee. And the curve of your lips that you licked with the tip of your tongue before you took a sip.

He didn’t know if he should call out for you or let you go. He did neither. He was on his feet before he had the chance to decide, and stood in your way as you were heading outside with your takeout cup, smiling at something on your phone. You almost crashed into him, barely catching yourself before you spilled your coffee on his chest.

“Excuse me,” the annoyance was palpable, but when you looked up and saw his face, the realization hit you like a train.

“Lucien,” you half whispered with wide eyes in the full coffee shop. He was so close he could smell the mint in your breath from your toothpaste.

“Long time no see,” his mouth found a crooked smile and you gasped out a laugh, not believing that he was standing in front of you, not knowing what to do next. It wasn’t forbidden. The love he feels for you, or the love you feel for him. You’re protecting yourself, he knows that. You don’t want to feel like you’ve lost something when he decides to leave again. You don’t want to find yourself alone again. You don’t want to feel like you’ve been abandoned again.

You were inseparable for a while. He was a lifeline for you when you felt most lonely, without friends and belonging in any group that had formed at school. He was a friend, first and foremost, then your first love.

By the end of it he was nothing when he followed his dad to another state one summer. So, you keep telling him that you can’t meet anymore. That it’s not wise to see each other anymore. That this is the last time, before you come back again and tell him the same things again and again. “Happy birthday,” he finally finds you alone by the drinks table, catching your breath after all the socializing and meaningless conversations with people you’ve collected throughout the years to make yourself a safety net that has holes in it. You had said it yourself, “I don’t belong with these people, I don’t know why I think they’re my friends.”

“Thank you,” your quiet voice trembles when you face him and look at him deep in his eyes.

“I have something —,” he begins, but is cut off by the other people who burst into explosive laughter. The sound is a mix of joyful and horrifying at the same time, too loud yet held back.

“Come,” he takes your hand and pulls you away towards the gates of the garden, getting further from the party and the droning chatter with every step. You hold onto his hand with your fingers twined with his and let him take you anywhere he wants.  

He opens the doors of his car but pulls you to his chest before pushing your back against the side of the ride. Your hands reflexively reach for his shoulders and drag him in. Your hungry mouth is about to repeat your script but gets distracted by his lips and the wet glide of his tongue against yours. “What were you about to say out there?” You groan when he sucks at the soft flesh right under your jaw.

“That I have something for you,” the low murmur of his voice makes shivers run down your spine. Your hands don’t shake anymore when you reach for his kisses, when you reach for his belt and pant against his mouth when the now familiar feeling of his tongue fills your mouth. Smoothly he reaches behind your back and pulls the door open, leading you to the backseat. The pleasant mildness of the night feels scorching in the closed car. The windows are fogged up and your hand is slipping against the glass when he buries himself snuggly into you. Your breath catches in your throat every time he reaches that place deep inside you. He makes you discover the fine line between pleasure and pain with every stroke.

He’s careful with it, making sure you never cross that line to painful but teeter on the brink of it. Who would’ve guessed you’d be getting fucked in Lucien’s car by the end of the night, sweat pouring out of your pores, feeling spread open and the intense pleasure with every stroke of his cock in the tightness of your pussy, electrifying your spine and travelling in waves up and down your back. He licks at the side of your neck, a long stripe from your collarbone up to your jaw. He plants soft kisses along it until he reaches your lips. Slowly he lifts himself up to look at you, hovering over you.

His arms are like a cage on either side of you, your leg trapped against his arm. If you were to straighten it, your toes would tickle the dark lining on the roof of the car. The chains around his neck sway with every thrust, all ending up tickling the centre of your chest. You reach for them and wrap them once around your finger.

“I want you to be rough,” you tell him. He looks at you, the seriousness in your eyes. He’d like to wipe away your fears, your need to push him away while simultaneously pulling him in. He considers it, giving you what you ask for. But it’s only part of the script you’ve written in your head to feel better if he were to leave again.

“No,” he says and leans down, touching his lips feather light against yours. He rocks down and watches you take a deep breath. He feels you pulse around his cock, adjusting to the slow invasion. “I’ll give you rough when you believe when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” He sees your resolve crumble immediately. You’ve been caught, you both know it. You’ve kept yourself from feeling anything for Lucien while feeling so much for him at the same time, so much so that it has turned overwhelming. Your protection has turned into self-sabotage when he’s the one reaching out while he watches you build even higher walls around yourself.

He moves slow, almost pulling out completely, before pushing back in with a slow roll of his hips, until his pelvis is flush against yours and another breath is drawn out of your lungs. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers winding around the curls at the base of it, forcing him to hold his forehead against yours. The chains slip from your hand and hang loose once again. They tap against your chin with every little move he makes.

“I want to hear it,” his voice rumbles and buzzes in your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, while he demands your attention with the push of his hips. The arm that was supporting your leg at the bend of his elbow suddenly secures the sole of your foot against the passenger seat while your ankle presses against the center console.

You open your eyes just as you feel his fingers slip between your legs, his thumb finding your slicked clit without much trouble like he has mapped out how you like to be touched. He gathers even more of your wetness from around his cock and circles the sensitive nerve endings in sweet circles, making your eyes roll back into your head and your back arch off the leather seats.

“Tell me,” he demands softly, bringing you back from losing yourself to the pleasure. He doesn’t stop touching you, only slows down the circles, just like he slows down his thrusts to be a continuous movement, in and out, keeping your pleasure on high alert and your orgasm ever present, but not letting it take you away from him, not just yet.

“What?” You gasp out when he once again reaches deep, tilting his hips up.

“Tell me you believe I’m not going, and I’ll give you rough.” You moan out at the feel of his thumb suddenly losing pressure for it to only move up and down against your clit.

The words are on your tongue, catching the humidity of his breath. You’d want to believe him, you’d love to believe him. But you can’t.

You know this isn’t the first time he’s back in the city. He has come and gone many times, and you’ve only heard about it afterwards, when he’s long gone already. And every time, even when you hadn’t seen him, it had reminded you of how he left when you were still a couple of kids, trying to navigate the world that seemed too big and too small at the same time.

You’d want to tell him you believe him. You’d want to have enough faith in yourself to not break apart when he will eventually leave. You’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now, but the fear is still there, only growing stronger. You wait for the moment, when he’s just gone.  

You force yourself to look at him in the eye, to see the dark pleading in them. To believe him. He sees the same in yours. To not hurt you. He shoves himself in you and holds the tears in your eyes with heartbreak in his.

He gets it. There’s nothing he can do, or say, to make you change your mind about him. He pushes himself up and runs his large hand down your soft side, his thumb tracing the line of your bra under your breast.

You brace yourself for what he’s about to do when your request from earlier hangs heavily in the humid air between the two of you. His eyes rake down your clothed front, sees the budding bruises of his mouth right by the edges of your bra. Your dress, which he hiked up to your waist, has gathered the few drops of sweat that have dripped down from his face.

Last, his eyes fixate on the gleam of your lips around his length, how he still hasn’t stopped the push and pull of his hips, drawing out more and more of your slick. He thumbs at where you’re joined, earning a groan from you that invites him closer to cumming. It’s your final warning for what’s to come.

The air smells of sex, heady and thick. He grinds his teeth together and breathes deep. His thighs are on fire from kneeling between your legs for so long. Some of the seams on the seats chafe against his legs.

“Just do it,” you cry out. Your voice isn’t only asking for him to take you however he pleases. You’re pleading for him to do what you expect from him. To take what he wants, and to leave.

Without waiting any longer, he digs his fingers into your hip, squeezes the supple roundness of your bottom and slams himself into you, starting a ruthless rhythm. You scream out before you manage to cover your mouth with your hands. You breathe harshly between your fingers while he takes and takes, forcing you to gasp out your moans.

It's too much, his hold, his thumb on your clit, the thickness of him between your legs, in you, his grunts and heavy breaths that intoxicate you. You love to hear his voice when he’s close. It’s the most erotic sound you could ever think of. You record it in your mind, only to repeat to yourself when you know thinking about these moments together won’t cause too much pain.

He does this thing where he reaches deep inside you, presses his whole length against the squishy, most sensitive parts of your flesh, and uses it with abandon. You can’t hold in your moans behind your hands anymore; the sound only turns into whimpering screams.

He doesn’t stop. He’s giving you what you wished. Your birthday wish. He abuses the softness of your pussy repeatedly. He forces your palms off your mouth and wraps his hand around them to push them against the door so you can scream your pleasure into his mouth.

Your blissful climax topples you off your awareness. There’s only Lucien, guiding you through your orgasm with slowing thrusts when you squeeze around him. He gasps into your mouth and licks into it, against your tongue, and lets you ride it out, but he doesn’t stop.

He listens to your whines and makes them the sound that encourage him to cum. With weak arms you fight his hand off yours, and wrap them around him, the other under his silky shirt, the other in his thick, damp curls.

You kiss him with newfound fervor, barely hanging on to your rationality while he makes you forget yourself in the intense pleasure. Pins and needles run up and down your skin, it’s almost painful.

“Let go for me, Lucien, cum for me,” you manage to mumble against his lips. He gives out a ragged moan when the grind of his hips stutters. His whole body trembles. Sweat pours down his temples, down his neck, and his chest glistens in the half light of the hidden parking lot with a blush that has crept up to his cheeks.

He catches his breath against your neck with shuddering exhales, his moans heating your skin. You massage the back of his neck and allow yourself to close your eyes. You imagine what it would be like to let him love you, to let yourself relax without any uncertainty.  You’re still split open by him, and if you could, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for longer.

Lucien opens the door and lets the cooling night air slip into the car. You push yourself up and with shaky fingers try to close the buttons that will hide the hickeys he left on your breasts.

He leans his head back against the headrest. He pushes his hand through his drying curls, leaving them tousled. You try your best to make your hands stop shaking, but they don’t. It almost seems like it’s getting worse.

“Let me,” he whispers, and you’re met with his quietness as he reaches towards you and steadily fastens the small buttons, covering your skin.

“Lean back,” he tells you and you do as he wishes. He gets something off the floor, which you recognize as the lace of your panties. He maneuvers them on you, and up your legs until you have to push your hips up and you replace his hands with yours. He sees the mess between your legs, his cum that is slicking the insides of your thighs.

“Was this what you wanted to give me?” You ask, almost hopeful that he’ll say yes. He looks up as he lifts his own hips to pull his trousers back up the rest of the way, closing the button right under the softness of his belly.

He shakes his head once and accompanies it with a chuckle. His eyes stay the same, rich and admiring, serious and playful at the same time. He buttons up his shirt while you put space between the two of you.

Suddenly, even after all the times you’ve fucked, you’re nervous. You don’t like to feel vulnerable around him, when it only means that you’re putting yourself at risk.

“No,” he finally says and reaches for the center console between the two front seats. Inside is a small box that he hands to you.

“Happy birthday.” It comes out so much deeper than it did before, full of the remains of his lust for you. You take the box and manage to get it open.

“It reminded me of you,” he says when you see a small, dark green gemstone pendant on a thin chain. You swallow against the dryness of your throat and touch it with the tips of your fingers.

“Let me,” he tells you softly and takes the box from you. You turn your back to him and close your eyes to fight the tears that are threatening to spill onto your cheeks.

The chain feels cool at first, but then burning hot when he closes the lock behind your neck and traces the metal against your skin. You turn back towards him and look at the gem between your fingers. Even in this faint light you can discover vivid red flakes on the surface.

“Thank you,” you reach for him and close him inside your arms. He buries his face against your neck and kisses it, the chain pressing between his lips and your skin.

“Want to go back?” He asks and with a trembling sigh you separate from him. You let him pull you out of the car and to your feet.

He straightens your clothes. The dress you chose to wear just because you knew he’d like it on you and which you hoped he’d take off you. He brushes his thumbs under your eyes and over your forehead and combs his fingers through your hair to make you look at least somewhat like you weren’t just fucked in someone’s car. The fresh air clears your head. It cools the deep burning in your chest and the dripping cum in your panties. It lets you close your heart from him again.

“Yes,” you say and lead him back towards the party, while you’d want to turn around, get back into his car and ask him to drive you away from here. He could take you anywhere, and you wouldn’t say no.

#lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores x female reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!plus-size!reader #lucien flores x plus-size!reader #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fic #lucien flores fanfic #lucien flores fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #katsheadincloudswrites #summer nights you and I

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite LUCIEN FLORES Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Exposed Masterlist - @boliv-jenta Featuring Dieter Bravo

Lucien Drabble - @julesonrecord

Kill The Lights - @nervoushottee

Blessing In Disguise - @pedgito

The Dinner Guest & Not Without You - @musings-of-a-rose

Filthy Hooligans & One Pass For The Both Of Us Featuring Benny Miller - @nerdieforpedro

Azalea - @morallyinept

The High Of You & Me - @kedsandtubesocks

Precious - @jksprincess10

The Party - @aurorawritestoescape DDNE

Moaning, Panting, A Regular Slut & Peachy - @iamasaddie

Two-Pack Habit & A Motel Tan - @trulybetty

I Was Fixed On Your Hand Of Gold - @freelancearsonist AFAB!Reader

Red Light Glow & Hungry Eyes - @missredherring PlusSize!Reader

Watercolor - @magpiepills

Like A Moth To A Flame & Lucien Ask Drabble - @ozarkthedog

The Invited - @katiexpunk

Summer Nights You & I - @katsheadinclouds PlusSize!Reader

On The Verges Of A Usual Mistake & The Blossoms We Wear - @gasolinerainbowpuddles Featuring Dieter Bravo

What I Want From You - @nerdieforpedro

Untouched - @lunitawrites

The Heiress - @bluemusickid Heiress!Reader

Chained - @5oh5

Mutual - @luxurychristmaspudding

Five Minutes - @notjustjavierpena

Nicotine Kiss - @maggiemayhemnj

The Apartment - @suzdin

Coup De Foudre - @ladamedusoif

What Do I Tell You? - @nerdieforpedro

#lucien flores #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores smut #jett's fic recs #fic recs #pedro pascal character fics

[nervoushottee]

Kill the Lights | Lucien Flores x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (Explicit MINORS DNI!) Minor smut, cowgirl sex position (we riding this man queens), age gap (not specified) , unhealthy almost toxic relationship

Summary: Lucien Flores is your older brother’s bestfriend and to you he was always off limits and vice versa. Until one night that changes…(one-shot about how you and Lucien became a “couple”)

Note: hey hottees…so this happened. I kept seeing this picture everywhere on Tumblr that this story just came to me. I have no idea how this character actually is and I’ve tried to look but there’s not really much about this movie from what I can find.

So this is just based on the vibes I was getting from this beautiful image above and I was listening to the song De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier on REPEAT while frantically typing this out on my phone.

Enjoy!! (Not edited)

———————

Lucien Flores was forbidden for you and you were forbidden for him.

But that didn’t stop either of you from falling in love.

Your love was passionate and painful all at the same time. Full of chaos and pleasure, comfort and anger. It was always vibrant, in both the best and worst ways.

But to you? It was beautiful. A love you would never forget, a desire that could never be quenched by anyone but him. You were the only one for him, he said it to you a billion times.

In bed when you both reached your highs. In the shower when he held you close against the running water. In the front seats of his car before dropping you back at your apartment.

But that didn’t mean you had to believe it…

Lucien Flores was many things but he wasn’t healthy for you.

The two of you weren’t healthy for eachother.

The level of want and need between you both consumes your sense of thought or communication. The obsession of one another outweighs the negative traits in your relationship and it always leads to you breaking up and making up more times than you could count.

Your roommate told you countless times that he wasn’t healthy for you. That you weren’t healthy for each other, but that didn’t stop you from calling him in the middle of the night to pick you up or him asking if he could come home to you.

Every touch of his skin on yours felt like fire igniting. You never knew love could feel like this until you got with him. Until you crossed that boundary and broke the little rule your older brother always thrown at Lucien.

“Luc, she’s off limits.”

And Lucien tried to listen, fuck, he really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered in the end. The two of you were meant for eachother. The minute he met you, he knew that there was something there. Something more, but he ignored it and did his best to look at you as his best friend’s younger sister. He kept up at being the older brother's best friend and didn’t push it much further.

It wasn’t until one night you called him. Cried and stressed out saying your date had left you stranded and you didn’t want to call your brother. Knowing he’d be asleep.

Lucien didn’t hesitate to get in his car and drive to where you are before you could even ask him.

That night changed everything. He gave you his jacket when he arrived at the rundown diner where your date left you, wiping the runny mascara from against your cheeks. He asked if you were okay, giving you a once-over before he hugged you.

You were engulfed in the warmth that was him. The smell of his cologne, the cool feel of his gold chain he wore frequently against your temple.

He brought you the comfort you needed.

He held your hand when he drove, your interlocked fingers in your lap. He stopped the car immediately when you asked him to pull over, rubbing your shoulders in comfort as you cried from embarrassment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” You sniffle

“Shh stop, stop.” Lucien says to you softly, trying to quiet your cries, using his hand to guide you to look at him. With your eyes on him, he cups your cheeks.

“You’re not. You never could be, ever. Fuck that guy, he’s missing out on someone as beautiful as you.” Lucien tells you with an amount of seriousness in his voice you haven’t really heard before.

You don’t know why you did it. Maybe it was his comforting voice, the look in his eyes, or maybe how his thumb kept rubbing softly against your bottom lip. But you kissed him.

And he didn’t stop you.

When you backed away from him to apologize, the words couldn’t come out of your mouth. Because you felt- you knew that you didn’t need to apologize for anything. You knew that the both of you felt something for each other.

There was always this subtle game of cat and mouse you two played. Flirting ever so subtly so your brother couldn’t tell. Hands lingering after embraces at family get-togethers. Eyes always flickering back to the other after a conversation was finished.

You knew he wanted you.

Lucien was the one to bring you back in for another kiss that was a lot more demanding than the first. It was hard, like he had been dying to kiss you for a long time.

You fucked in the front seat of his car that night. the end of your dress hiked up to your stomach. Your underwear ripped and tossed at the floor of the passenger seat. That roads dark, with no car to pass by to see the two lovers finally admit their feelings.

The sounds that came from the both of you. The feeling of his hands gripping against your ass, as he guided you when you rode him. The way he spoke to you constantly, his words alone nearly getting you there.

“Fuck that’s it baby- you got it, you got it. Look at you, holy shit.” he says, moving his attention back and forth from your face and looking down at where the two of you meet in disbelief.

“I’ve wanted you for so long-, wanted this for so long.” He groans at the feeling of you clenching against him.

“You’re the only one for me. The only one I want.”

After that night the two of you loved each other in secret. Only your roommate knowing and having to pick up the pieces that was you after a fight with Lucien that would happen time and time again,

Loving Lucien probably wasn’t stable or healthy for you or him. But you don’t know if you’d ever want anyone else as much as you wanted him.

Dividers by @saradika

#lucien flores x reader #lucien flores #Lucien Flores smut #lucien flores fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #the uninvited #pedro pascal fanfiction #lucien flores fic

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Hi, I'm Em!

It’s lovely to have you here <3

This blog is a safe space for kind people, all my LGBTQIA2S+ loves, and spiciness. It’s a dangerous one for bigots, terfs, and twats.

Love, peace, and good vibes,

LCP x

Divider from the incomparable @saradika

JOEL MILLER

Clot

summary: joel has lost something. but once he pieces himself back together, he'll remember what it is.

Need To Know

summary: 1k of horniness with dbf!joel

FRANKIE MORALES

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

Tommy's Party

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

pt. i - you and your friends pt. ii - tommy's party

DIN DJARIN

let me be needed

summary: the mandalorian pays you an unexpected visit. you both get more than you bargained for.

LUCIEN FLORES

mutual

summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

DAVE YORK

sedated

summary: you and dave are no strangers to this business, to death. so there can be no harm in relying on each other in a time of need.

JOEL MILLER X FRANKIE MORALES X SANTIAGO GARCIA X F!READER

listen

summary: you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel. swept off your feet by the sweet southerner, and charmed by pope, the boys come together to show frankie exactly what it is he’s missing.

watch

summary: after showing frankie what he was missing, something seems to have been awoken in you all. with joel away on a contract and santi called out of town, you're left in frankie's care. except one rule still stands - you can't touch.

BONUS: al's handy guide to reading watch

#pedro pascal x reader smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #tlou #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #masterlist #pudding's list #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x you #frankie morales x you #joel miller smut #frankie morales smut #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores #lucien flores smut #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut

[chiriwritesstuff]

constellations; from the vault

the first of the many short drabbles i wrote while deep in my writer's block.

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader

rating: E (18+, MDNI)

word count: 831

warnings: allusions to rough sex, reader talks about the bruises from rough sex, infidelity, reader and Lucien just can't quit one another, this is rough but so am I, not beta read at all

a/n: here is a drabble I wrote around the time ::that:: video came out, I knew I wanted to write something but eventually abandoned it. this is really rough, probably doesn't make any sense but I hope you like it anyway? I have a few more of these drabbles with other Pedro boys so if you would like me to release them, let me know!

"Where are you going?"

As you ask, you catch a glimpse of his dismissive scoff in your peripheral vision. He retrieves his crumpled slacks from the floor, sliding them on without bothering with his boxers. Flopping onto the nearby lounge chair, he buries his head in his hands, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table.

His spend is still leaking out of you.

Balancing the cigarette between his lips, he mutters, "Why does it matter where I'm going, huh? Didn't you say this was the last time?"

"Well, you certainly didn't fuck me like it was the last time," you bite back, staring up at the ceiling. "Not unless you didn't mean to force me to say that I would never leave you."

He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the soft click of the lighter as he ignites his cigarette.

Finally, he exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "I don't know, okay? I wish I did, but I don't."

You watch him through a haze of conflicting emotions, each flicker of the cigarette casting shadows across his face. Memories flood your mind, unbidden and unwelcome, of all the times he's shattered your heart with his constant infidelity. It's a cruel dance you've performed too many times, the steps familiar yet no less agonizing with each repetition.

"Why do you do this to me, Lucien?" The words spill from your lips, heavy with the weight of all the pain and betrayal you've endured. "Haven't I given you enough? Am I not enough for you? What else more do you want from me?"

Your voice trembles with a mixture of anger, hurt, and desperation, each word punctuated by the ache in your heart. You've poured everything into this relationship, sacrificing pieces of yourself along the way, only to be met with deception and disappointment time and time again.

Lucien's gaze flickers with a shadow of remorse, his own pain reflected in the depths of his eyes. "I don't know," he whispers, his voice strained with emotion. "I wish I had the answers, but I'm just as lost as you are. I'm a fucking monster."

You think back to the countless promises made in the aftermath, the hollow apologies that echoed in the silence of your shared space. Each time, you swore it would be the last, that you'd finally find the strength to break free from the cycle of pain and betrayal.

"They don't know me as you do, baby," he groans into your ears as he fucks you from behind, his hands harsh against your hips, clutching your skin so tightly you swear that he'll leave a mark.  

His mark. Branded across the expanse of your skin, like a constellation of stars that eventually fade, only to appear again and again and again, each time more painful than the last.

But here you are again, caught in the gravitational pull of his presence, unable to tear yourself away despite the scars etched deep within your soul. It's a masochistic pattern, one you know all too well, yet you find yourself powerless to resist its allure.

As he takes another drag from his cigarette, you're reminded of the fragility of your resolve, the delicate balance between love and self-preservation hanging in the balance. The truth is, you're tired – tired of the heartache, tired of the uncertainty, tired of clinging to a love that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

His words hang heavy in the air, a confession wrapped in a shroud of resignation. "I can't quit you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you've rarely seen. "I know that I'm fucked up. But I can't quit you."

"If you don't love me, then why do you even bother with me?" The question hangs from your lips, edged with frustration and a hint of resignation. "Surely those other women are much more appealing to you."

Lucien's gaze softens, his expression betraying a hint of regret as he reaches out to touch your trembling hand. "It's not about them," he murmurs, "It's about you. You're the one who sees through the façade, who knows me better than anyone else ever could."

His words offer a fleeting sense of reassurance, a glimmer of hope amidst the storm of uncertainty raging within you. But deep down, you know that words alone are not enough to mend the fractures in your relationship, to bridge the chasm that divides your hearts.

But as his gaze meets yours, a silent plea hidden beneath the smoke and shadows, you realize that some part of you still yearns for redemption, for the possibility of a love that transcends the pain. And so, with a heavy heart and a weary soul, you resign yourself to the dance once more, knowing full well the risks that lie ahead.

#from the vault #this probably makes no fucking sense and im sorry #lucien flores #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fanfiction #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you

[ozarkthedog]

Lucien Flores Master List

(*) Contains Smut or other warnings.

(Fluff) Contains Fluff, no warnings unless specified.

All Reader Insert. Each fic is marked with potential triggers. Read at your own risk!

like a moth to a flame *

drabble about his chains *

updated: March 15, 2024

#lucien flores #lucien flores fanfiction #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores smut

[pedgito]

𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄

summary | you're his best-friend's daughter and he's at a party he can't be bothered to care about, luckily you're the one thing that catches his attention. [5k]

pairing | lucien flores x fem!reader (best-friend's daughter!reader and/or alternatively, dad's best friend!lucien)

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, age gap (not specified, but it's girthy) smoking, semi-public sex, daddy kink, f!oral, unprotected piv, light choking, mentions of reader having hair that can be grabbed (to some degree), lucien is a major dilf and divorced, if i missed anything lmk!

author’s note | so, we know next to nothing about lucien but i have been sitting with this idea in my head and i wrote it. sue me. characterization could be completely off by the time the movie comes out but let's just enjoy the pwp and be hornknee, xoxo. also i hc that lucien does use some spanish. it's very minimal but it's there!

Lucien couldn’t give anyone a valid reason why he was here. Unwelcome and well, uninvited. At least, by the people who owned the house—his ex-wife and her new husband who referred to him as a leech who liked to mooch off the enjoyment of others because really, who was he to turn down an invite? He had a few close mutual friends who insisted that he be there, demanded it, even. He was personable enough, he could charm anyone, the other party-goers and it wouldn’t disrupt a damn thing.

Until he spots you.

He knows you from a distance—polite looks, short greeting and small talk, it never stretches beyond that. Maybe a few one off dinners here and there. You were his friend's daughter—best friend, but that didn’t matter.

And you know him well enough—through stories from your dad and pictures sent while he was away on vacation or work. He had a certain…aura to him that felt charged, overwhelming, and it provoked you to keep a distance when he was around. A charming smile and a wink in your direction never fails to make you weak in the knees and you know there’s no meaning behind, but it never fails to make you throb, something deep and primal in your gut.

You were half his age and clueless—he’s well-beyond your years, more experienced. In all aspects of life, but he can’t be that oblivious to the effect he has on you. Not within the handful of years he’s gotten to know you.

It’s the first time he’s seen you since you graduated college, a bright smile on your face as you sip on the flute of champagne in your hand, conversing lightly as he pops a cheese cube into his mouth, taking the freshly opened beer from your father and turning in the direction of the masses, sipping greedily as he leaned against the counter.

And given you’re a few glasses in, you feel a gentle buzz in your head that has you smiling when you set eyes on him. 

Lucien was fine to remain unassuming all night, but the moment your eyes track him he’s perking up. Subtly, but you arms are outstretched as you approach him and he pulls you in like it was a regular greeting,

It wasn’t. Hardly at all.

Rough palms over warm skin, large and dexterous fingers pressing into your shoulder blades as you bury your face into his chest, the cold press of a chain against your temple. He says your name softly, a kind greeting as you smile into his chest and whisper his name in return.

When you pull back, he’s flashing a quick wink. Something he has done a million times before, but it feels electric, and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you feel his fingers lingering against your skin before your father is cutting in—

“Told you he’d show up.” He speaks indifferently, outing your obvious want and hopefulness for him to show up—which yeah, you perked up at the mention of it being a possibility. But, you didn’t expect your father to throw it back in your face. You grumble something low and Lucien can’t help but smile, cheek dimpling on one side like it always did—a sign of a true and genuine smile.

“Missin’ me, are you?” Lucien teases, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest in frustration, ignoring his question. “That’s…sweet.”

Your eyes roll slightly, watching as your father melted away easily into the crowd, knowing he’d disturbed the peace and left you to clean up the mess. Not that you minded, but it didn’t help that Lucien had your body riddled with nerves, noticing the way he clocked every single movement—even the most subtle.

You kept rubbing at a spot behind your ear, uncomfortable with the crowd as you shifted from foot to foot and Lucien took note, tapping your elbow as he nodded toward the back door.

And you nearly talk yourself out of it, but he’s flashing that sweet smile your way and it’s hypnotic, feet moving before you can deny him the opportunity.

Luckily, the backyard was empty and that provided some peace. And privacy, at the very least. 

-

You follow Lucien silently, feet shifting against the gravel as you follow him around to the side of the house, noting as he looks around curiously—he’s never been here either, clearly. He chews at his lip and nods again before finding a quiet spot, leaning against the side of the house, solid cement pressing into his back as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“So, college?” He asks idly, struggling slightly as he opens the fresh pack. Lucien knew enough about you, through small talk with you and your father and he seemed genuinely interested, like he wanted you to elaborate, so you did.

“Just graduated,” You tell him honestly, fiddling with a thin, decorative bow on your sleeve, complimenting the intricate flowery design of your dress, flowy and trimmed high at your thigh, a muted yellow that he knows is your favorite color, “how’s business—you know, with my dad and everything?”

Which you couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about, but Lucien appreciates the gestures and chuckles, cigarette slipping between his lips as flicks open the lighter and burns the end of the cigarette until it flashes a deep amber before stowing away the pack and lighter into his pocket. 

“Good,” He says gruffly through a deep inhale, exhaling jaggedly as he offers you the cigarette hesitantly, eyebrow raised in question, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your dad.”

You shoot him a look of annoyance, nose scrunching up as you pluck the cigarette from his fingers. You’ve never smoked a day in your life, but he didn’t need to know that.

He did. But, it doesn’t stop him from letting you take a puff, struggling to hide the grimace as you pass it back.

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” You retort flippantly, “It’s been, like, eight years. You can drop that already.”

Lucien huffs out a short breath through his nose as his eyes track the ground, puffing at the cigarette robotically, moving through the motions as he flicks the ash away.

You notice his change in demeanor, subtle but there.

“What?” You ask curiously, a tinge of amusement in your tone as you tilt your head to meet his eyes, hands resting loosely against your hips as you leaned against an opposing half-wall, ass hitting the edge as you backed into it. “If you have something to say just say it. You never have a problem making fun of me any other time.”

“Not makin’ fun,” He responds calmly, shaking his head—he puffs a few more times before the cigarette sits lonely between his index and middle at his side, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, that’s pretty damn obvious.”

Your chest rattles with a gentle laugh, feeling slightly relaxed now that he didn’t throw another easy jab your way, but you feel the heated implication behind his tone, the way his eyes drag along your body but he doesn’t act—he wouldn’t, right?

He seems fearful, hesitant. So, you play into it.

“What gave it away?” You tease. “I mean, I would flash off my degree but I don’t have that with me.”

Your arms cross over your chest again, tighter this time as your breasts shift obviously, nearly spilling out of the top of your dress and Lucien swallows with irritation, throat burning with the sting of nicotine but also a deep, deep want for…something. 

He thinks, has a line locked and loaded in his head but he decides against it, laughing at the absurdity and knowing you would laugh about it too. But, the quiet chuckle and lack of response has you pressing him. You take a few steps forward, still a comfortable distance but he follows it, eyes tracking and following the line of your body as you question him.

“What?” You ask, “What's so funny?”

Lucien wants to bite his tongue, but he can’t resist.

“Just, uh—“ He shakes his head abashedly, a grin breaking out on his face, “was gonna suggest you flash somethin’ else but that’s—it’s stupid. Just a joke, that’s—“

And you hate how he’s looking at you now.

It’s desire—insatiable and needy and he blindly stubs out the cigarette into the wall behind him before he’s discarding it on the ground.

Fuck it, you’ll bite.

“Tell me,” You urge, “tell me what you wanna see.”

He releases a shaky breath, a small cloud of smoke passing his lips as he turns his head away and you take the chance to invade his space completely, fingers running along the outside of his now empty hand, guiding it along your hip slowly—he follows the movement intently as you speak, “I’ll listen, I swear.”

His hand squeezes gently at your hip, the gradual guide toward your breasts nearly killing him before he’s finally speaking, “Your tits,” He breathes, thumb brushing over a clothed nipple, hardened under the fabric and he can feel it, knowing it’s the only layer that’s keeping him from a bare touch of your skin, “show me.”

And it should worry you that you’re only a few feet from the back door, but you weren’t worried—these types of people, they never lingered outside. They chain smoked and filled the house with a haze, the house littered with empty cans of booze and idle chit chat. The low hum was a comforting ambience, a reminder that you had each other to yourself. 

You anticipated the feeling of being riddled with nerves, but his words spark a surge of pride through you, seeing how he gives into your plea to command—you want him to want it too, to demand it. You bite your bottom lip through a smile that has him cracking one similar, looking around briefly before you’re pulling the straps of your dress down in unison, his fingers cautiously catching the falling fabric as he helps keep your dress just under the valley of your breasts, allow the wide expanse of his hands to cup the soft tissue, your fingers curling around his own as he squeezes and admires in awe, bottom lip parted and wet from his tongue peeking out to soothe his chapped skin. 

“Fuck, they’re—“

You cut him off with a snarky comment, “Just like you imagined?” You smirk subtly, catching the guilty look he flashes at you, eyes admiring as he flicks a thumb over the nipple of your left breast, the other one squeezed gently in his hand. Your pussy throbs between your thighs and it makes your heart swell, the soft groan he releases as he watches the skin pebble and goosebump under his touch. “It’s okay, I know you’ve thought about it.”

It’s not right. It never was. But, you’ve caught him red-handed. He nods slightly, a quick jerk of his head that you would miss if you weren’t locked on his face, mouth falling open in a soft sigh as his thumb and index finger pull and twist at your nipple, experimenting with your reaction. “Better than I imagined, if that’s possible.” He admits wholeheartedly, before his hands are leaving your breasts and curling around the back of your thighs, carrying you the short distance to the perch on the half-wall, resting your ass against the cold slab of concrete before his mouth is assailing your breasts without warning, fingers fisting into his beautiful and messy coiffed curls, full of product and smelling faintly of citrus—he groans, his wide tongue flattening over the skin before he’s sucking a pert nipple into his mouth.

You gasp sharply, palm slapping into the concrete at the sudden shot of pleasure it strikes to you core, knowing you were soaking through your panties with every passing second and his free hand was only a few inches away, lingering against your thigh as he squeezes, blunt nails digging into the skin as you mumbled mindlessly. 

“Please,” You whine softly, “please—“

You’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Lucien feels the charge, the want you crave with his demanding nature and he pulls away briefly, hands leaving the other parts of your body to attach to your face, cradling your head momentarily as he examines your face, the slow drag of your teeth over your bottom lip as you dare to keep the eye contact, a glint of feral desire in your eye.

“Have you ever had your pussy eaten before?” Lucien asks boldly, point-blank as you shake your head. “Good.”

He backs away briefly, allowing you to rush to remove your panties, no words to be spoken to tell you to do so—you were more than eager, ready to toss them to the ground before he’s stuffing them in the loose pocket of his silk button up.

And really, you could find a million reasons to complain right now. Knowing there was a house full of people just inside, that you were ruining your dress with the patch of dirt against the edge of your ass or how it was going to get under your fingernails as your hands squeezed into the soil as he settled between your legs, crouching until his face is right in line with your pussy, bare and glistening in his face and he swears he’s never seen anything more mesmerizing—says it too. 

It has your stomach doing flips, his fist bunching into the fabric of your dress as he pushes it up and away, eyes slanting up to look at your as he nudges your thighs apart, resting one gently over his shoulder for support as he gives a teasing, testing lick between your lips.

You sigh shakily, leaning back on your palms but keep your chin against your chest, watching as Lucien kept his eyes locked on you while his tongue traced along your seam, sucking testingly at your clit and that draws a ragged gasp out, which is rewarded with a big grin and a small chuckle, “Oh fuck,” You say on a punched-out breath, “fuck that’s so—“

“Language, nena,” Lucien chastises and you almost lose your grip on reality, reeling at how easily he can assert himself, “don’t need your daddy hearing all that, right?”

Not the fucking time, you think. A hand fists into his hair, pulling roughly as he ups the pace, tongue lapping you up greedily, swirling around your quickly swelling clit with a precision that takes years of practice to master—and you’re sure he’s had plenty, but then he’s piping up again and it has your breath catch in your throat.

“Not—not the time,” You gasp, “fuck—Luc, oh my god—“

He pulls back suddenly, chin gripped between his fingers as he speaks, smothering and far too close than he needs.

“Unless you need me to play daddy for you,” He challenges, “keep that dirty mouth in check, amorcito.”

You whine slightly, both from the tinge of pain and the implication of him labeling himself like that. So boldly and unashamed. You can’t help but give him what he craves.

You nod quickly, “O-okay,” You respond softly, earning a gentle tug of warning as he waits, “Yeah—yes, daddy.”

Lucien grins devilishly, a quick decent as he resumes his previous actions with no blip, mouth attaching to your pussy with ease and falling back easily into the motion, devouring you with a fervor that consumes you, arms nearly collapsing out underneath you as he dares to slip a finger in with his greedy tongue, biting your lip until you taste that faintness of copper, desperate to muffle the sounds as he sucks at your clit until you’re begging to come, words teetering on your tongue as you feel a swell of boldness fill your chest, guiding his face against your pussy in a way that Lucien can only describes as needy, giving you some credit as you give into your own pleasure so easily, unashamed at how badly you want to come—even without asking. 

“Hu—oh, don’t—don’t stop—I’m gonna cum.” You plead, soft but desperate, his tongue swirling rapid, messy circles against your clit that forces your orgasm to creep up on you, body buzzing with electricity as it builds and explodes, releasing a tired sigh as you collapse onto your back, “—oh my god.”

Lucien rises with a slight grimace, aging knees not too appreciative of his current position, his hands engulfing your forearms as he pulls you sturdily upright. And you could stop here, go back inside, pretend nothing happened, and see each other a few years from now.

But, neither of you want that. 

Lucien cradles your face once more, slow creeping movements as his fingers curl behind your ears and cradle your head gently, eyes shifting between your wide eyes and slightly parted lips, swollen from being assaulted by your own teeth, biting and chewing away nervously. He soothes the skin with a touch, the pad of his thumb swiping over it gently before he’s following up with his lips, kissing you gently. Silently.

He didn’t ask and you didn’t want him to.

“What do you say, nena?” He asks teasingly, “Want me to fuck you?”

“Right here?” You whisper against his lips, sounding scandalized despite what’s already progressed within the last several minutes.

Lucien soothes your worries with another kiss, deep and desperate as he tongue licks into your mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” He pleads softly, feeling the way your fingers grip into the fabric at his shoulders, “fuck, you’re so tense, nena.”

You breath softly, a small exhale that Lucien clocks and soothes, “Let daddy take care of you,” He teases sweetly, hearing the sharp intake of breath you take as his nose nudges at the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth following the touch and biting gently, “go on, ask for it.”

You nod lazily, moaning softly as he mouths at your neck. “Do it,” You command gingerly, and Lucien’s hands squeeze at your skin, the fingers on one hand gripping tightly at your shoulder—“daddy, please?”

He runs the back of his fingers down your chest, through the valley of your breasts and your thumb rubs at the small tattoo etched in the space between this thumb and index finger. It’s always been so prevalent, eyes spotting it whenever he scratched at his face or wiped at his mouth during one of the rare dinners you had with him and your father. 

You hated how easy it was for you to notice and memorize the small things about him, stuff that shouldn’t mean anything but ended up meaning entirely too much—the faint trail of freckles that cover his chest, muffled by his tan skin but at this proximity, under the small spattering of chest hair, under the dangling of a few gold chains, you can spot them.

Allowing your movement to mimic his as your finger hooks into the material of his shirt, just over the highest, fastened button and he stops you, eyebrows furrowing. Thick fingers wrapping around your palm guide you down, your own fingers flexing against his stomach and Lucien wants to jump at the touch, the boldness you take on now as you pull him in, continuing your descent as you palm him impatient over his jeans, the uncomfortable stretch of the fabric apparent with the press of weight against your hand.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask, voice a soft whisper–fearful someone may hear you.

Lucien shakes his head and you have the nerve to be frustrated, pulling your hand away hesitantly but his reflexes are too quick, fingers encircling your wrist as he pulls you into him, chest pressing into his, looking down at him slightly with your unfair height advantage.

“If you’re good, maybe,” He explains, “Can you be a good girl and listen, nena?”

You nod eagerly, using his shoulders for support as he guides you off the ledge before quickly spinning you until your stomach presses against the cold wall, his hands working to shift your dress up your hips, the entirety material bunched around your stomach and leaving you nearly naked, his body the only cover to someone who wanted to peek around the corner and catch an eyeful, his belt buckle jingling loudly behind you.

You almost turn—almost, but his hands are faster than you, wrapping gently around your neck, traveling up until he can cup your chin back and tilt your head back, looking up at him from an angle that stretches you uncomfortably, but the hot press of his cock against your ass soothes any discomfort, eyes squeezing shut as he rubs his middle finger over your clit testingly, gaging your sensitivity.

And clearly over-sensitive still, he chuckles. 

“You come for me again and you can have whatever you want,” Lucien barters with you, canting his hips slightly to guide through your wetness from behind briefly, his hand hooking around the back of your thigh to lift it up, allowing for more room and leaving you, essentially, putty in his grip—pliable and moving where he guided you, “you want it inside of you, nena? Ask for it.”

“Luce, please,” You whine softly, a gentle squeeze at your throat as you open your eyes, slightly bleary from how tight you had them closed and he’s looking at you pointedly—right. He watches you take a short, shaky breath, “fuck—daddy, please?”

Lucien bucks his hips gradually, heart racing from the teasing glide of his cock through your folds, he could chastise you for speaking so crudely but the sweetness in your voice is enough to leave him satisfied, dropping your leg suddenly as he adjusts himself, slightly, pressing into you slowly, hand gripping his shaft as you gasped, the stretch of his thick cock more than you were used to and he sees it, feels it in the way you squeeze around him.

“De mierda,” He curses quietly, “used to fucking college boys, yeah?”

“Huh—a—a couple,” You admit, gritting your teeth slightly as he jerks his hips slightly, seating himself inside of you fully then, a collective groan leaving your lips, “but you’re so—”

Lucien chuckles darkly, burying his face into your neck, the burn of the stretch from the angle he has your head becoming more prevalent, but the way he mouths at your skin makes it easier to ignore, moving his hips slowly to allow to adjust, the soft jingle of his belt against the starchy denim in the back of your mind, “So what, nena?”

As if to prove a point, he pulls back suddenly, slamming back inside of you with force, ripping a strangled groan groan from your throat that he stifles with his palm, eyes connecting with yours in a warning, forehead pressing against the underside of his chin from the angle he has you. His hand grabs greedily at your backside, fingers digging into your cheek and guiding you back pointedly.

“B—big,” You answer brokenly, “so fucking big, daddy.”

You can feel the imprint of his smirk into your skin as he squeezes at your flesh, moaning freely into the guise of his hand, muffling your sounds as he fucks into you from behind, watching as you fail to keep your eyes open, falling deeper into your own mind as he reaches blindly for your arms, allowing him to lock them behind your back with his large hands encircling them easily.

“Look at me,” He breathes gruffly, the deep creases in his forehead showing with how hard he’s trying to hold himself together, his soft brown eyes darkened to near black as he admires you openly, mouth parted slightly, “baby, look at me.”

You force your eyes open despite your state, sobbing openly into his hand as he allows you some relief, guiding your head back down slowly but nearly wrapping himself around you as he sandwiches you between him and the wall, setting your hands free and pressing his own against the ledge in front of you, the other one gripping your hip harshly.

He’s mumbling something behind you, sounding wrecked beyond repair—some in english, some in spanish. His voice is heavier and slurry, small groans escaping when you squeeze him just a little too tight, “Cuidado, nena. Easy, easy,” He begs into your shoulder, “I can feel it, baby.”

“I wanna taste it,” You tell him suddenly, driven to near insanity by the thought of it, his heady taste on your tongue as he jerks himself into your mouth—and if this was only a one-time thing, you just couldn’t pass that up, “please?”

And fuck, he can’t say no to you.

He switches gears, fingers finding your clit and circling quickly, determined to bring you over the edge once more, before he can reach that point himself, following through on his promise to make you come again as it hits you suddenly, muffled into the hand that finds your mouth again, biting gently at the inside of his palm in an effort to stifle your moan, his movements going far past the point of over-stimulation and you swat him away, hearing his voice strained from behind you.

“On your knees, nena.” He directs and you move quickly, seeing the pained and pinched up look on his face as he grips his cock, glistening with your slick as he jerks himself in front of your face, gravel digging into your knees but you can’t be bothered to care, eagerly sticking out your tongue to feel the press of his tip against it. 

“Good—good girl, look so fuckin’ sweet down on your knees.”

Your delicate fingers grip into the silk material of his shirt as he cradles the top of your head, fingers gripping into your hair roughly as he comes with a strangled groan, muffled through clenched teeth. 

Thick spurts paint your tongue, your lips wrapping around his head briefly as you swirl your tongue around the head, determined to clean up whatever mess was left as you swallow it down, flashing your tongue in show as he loosens his grip on your hair, stumbling back slightly.

The aftermath is quiet, fumbling with clothes to redress yourself as you pull your straps back over your shoulder, adjusting the dress back over your hips and Lucien keeps a careful eye on you, tucking himself back into his briefs, jeans slipping back over his ass as he buckles the belt into place, noticing how you squeeze your thighs together instinctively, suddenly remembering where your missing garment had gone.

You start to reach for it but his hand covers the pocket, brow furrowed in a playful frustration as he swats your hand away, “Luce, I need those.” You insist, but he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Maybe I want an excuse to return them,” He admits, puffing out his shirt and smoothing the wrinkles, running a lazy hand through his tousled hair before giving you a quick one-over, assuming you didn’t want to stress the…fucked-out look you’re sure you sported, to some degree. A small hum slips from his lips as he nods toward the back door, “I’m gonna smoke another, if you wanna head inside.”

Less conspicuous, less obvious. Besides, he needed a minute to collect himself. Clearing his throat as he reached into his back pocket for the second time that night.

You leave quietly, a simple nod but a lingering touch as he fingers trail along your wrist as you leave, a definitive wink your way as he turns away, faint lighter flick in the distance.

You mold back into the small talk with ease, only catching him entering through the backdoor several minutes later, a faint blush to his cheeks from the sticky heat and you linger, selfishly.

And he’s hoping to blend in, avoid any and all conversation for the rest of the night—but there’s your father, hot on his heels as he sways a little on his feet, looking eager for conversation.

“How’s your kid doing?” He asks casually, “I’m sure she talked you head off about college.” There’s a subtle nod in your direction that makes you uncomfortable, shrinking slightly from the wall you rested against.

“Fine.” Lucien bites back his words, giving little away.

“I get it, college ain’t easy on us,” He replies, “But, I sure am proud of her.”

Lucien smiles slightly, a small huff of a laugh hidden behind pursed lips.

“Should be,” He agrees, “she’s something special.”

And if your heart doesn’t swell ten sizes then, it’s later. Wondering how he got your number as he sends a picture of the ruined panties he kept for himself, draped over his lap as he sends a short message.

Got a minute? Wanted to return these.

Fortunately for you, you had all the time in the world for Lucien.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories #my writing

[notjustjavierpena]

Masterpost

All content is rated +18, so MDNI. I write fem!self-insert, exploring different kinks, so make sure you read the tags to each piece of writing. No use of y/n, and reader's appearance as unspecified as possible for your pleasure.

* indicates smut

Requests are CLOSED.

TAGLIST: FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

Joel Miller

One-Shots

Cruel*

Diner*

Swelter*

Series: DILF!Joel In chronological order

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Introductions, Wasp, Fussing, Kiss* (Completed)

Hurried Morning*

Candy*

Tremble*

First - Time*, Date*

The Making of Ellie - Baby-Making*, Tempers*, Reveal, Libido*, Happy (Completed)

Series: Mean!Joel In chronological order

Hate*

Mean!Joel slaps your face* (Drabble)

Hurt*

Him*

His*

Series: DBF!Joel In chronological order

Switch*

Gush*

Eat*

Misbehavior*

Pillow*

Reunion - Tonight*, Clamp* (Completed)

Panties*

Painted*

Series: Sugardaddy!Joel In chronological order

Perfect*

Wake*

Shopping*

Javier Peña

One-Shots

Are you staying?*

Buzzing*

Sucía - Birthday Girl*, Hungover*

Series: Husband!Javi

Masterlist

Series: Six Weeks

Chapter 1

Frankie Morales

One-Shots

Gum*

Lucien Flores

One-Shots

Five Minutes*

Ted Garcia

One-Shots

Practice Makes Perfect*

#pedro pascal characters #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena fic #javi pena #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #narcos #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales smut #lucien flores

[suzdin]

The Apartment

(Lucien Flores x F!reader)

Summary: Porn with very little plot. Lucien is your sleazy pot dealing neighbor.

Warnings/Content: Drug use (weed and blow), nicotine use, alcohol use, groping/sexual harassment (not from Lucien), some mild jealousy, age gap between Lucien and another chick (20s), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, pull out method, spitting of bodily fluids (idk the proper term for it).

Word Count: 4,900+

Dedicated to: @ohheypedrito who held a gun to my head until I wrote this (lol jk, or am I? 😰)

Other Tags: @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @natdeandar @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept idk who else to tag.

You hear the party long before you even make it to your apartment block, droning 90s alt rock cascading down the sides of the building.

The residence itself is aging and quaint, not exactly located in the nicest area of downtown, but also not the worst. At least, you’d like to think so.

You had inherited the apartment from your grandmother when she passed several years ago. Roughly four dozen or so residents, including yourself, shared the building with you.

Amongst said residents was Lucien Flores, who had also inherited his apartment, from his mamá Claudia, who now lived in the suburbs, last you cared to hear. You didn’t speak to Lucien often, or the other inhabitants for that matter, other than in passing in common areas.

It’s roughly 11PM when you arrive home from work that night, your legs weary and straining as you make your way up the creaky old stairs to the third floor.

Lucien lives at the opposite end of the hall on the same floor as you, but that doesn’t seem to make the music any quieter, or the cloying stink of weed any less prominent. As you navigate your way through thick plumes of smoke and fog, you’re sure you’re getting a contact high just walking to your apartment.

You sigh. It’s going to be another long night.

The hallway is crowded and you push your way through a myriad of faces you’ll likely never see again after all is said and done.

As you make your way through the gauntlet of tight and twisting bodies, you feel unknown hands belonging to a faceless entity groping and pawing at you as you pass; you snarl and slap them away. Your palms sting from the contact, incorpereal laughter bellowing in your wake.

You spot Lucien just as you’re reaching your apartment, propped up on his shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed casually, watching you. Silk watercolor shirt practically dripping down a broad torso, hair mussed and gnarled, a gold chain nestled in the hollow just beneath his throat where his shirt is undone to the third button, exposing smooth, olive skin.

He wasn’t the man who groped you, no, you’re sure of that. He was too far away for that to be possible.

A filterless cigarette is perched between two of his fingers, cherry glowing brighter as he takes a long drag, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and consolidating with the rest as his dark eyes study you.

You stare back, unblinking. And then he moves without warning, graceful and fluid as a lithe cat, pushing his way through the crowd and seeking out the man who had touched you only moments before. Unlike yourself, he could pinpoint the man’s face without hesitation.

Without so much as discarding his cigarette, Lucien’s free hand twists around the man’s collar, pulling his face close to his own. Teeth gnashing, face contorted in a sneer, Lucien spews what you can only imagine is pure venom from two plush, pink lips. You wish you were close enough to decipher the words, but the last thing you want to do is fight and claw your way through the crowd again. So you perch against your door and watch, doing your best to garner context clues as the man’s face goes pale and his eyes widen.

Their gazes suddenly dart to you in tandem, making you flinch. And then, seemingly cowing to Lucien, the man lifts his hands in defeat, drifting down the stairs and out of sight without so much as another word.

Lucien’s dark visage finds yours again, his head cocked forward, as he brings the cigarette to his lips a second time, cherry visible through the fog.

You dip your head in acknowledgment and gratitude before disappearing to the welcoming confines of your home.

——

Just after 2AM and the music is still raging, hard as ever.

You aren’t surprised. Lucien, your building’s resident pot dealer, seemed to know everyone. And everyone, him.

His parties were commonplace enough to be a regular hindrance to your sleep cycle. Not to mention the other residents. But the cops were rarely called… people in your neighborhood didn’t particularly care for law enforcement. Cops weren’t too fond of the neighborhood, either.

You lie in bed, wide awake as the bass thrums on without an end in sight, clad in only a pair of panties and a t-shirt. Your head hurts, and you have work tomorrow. You crossed the border of pissed long ago. Now you are fucking livid.

Lucien couldn’t keep getting away with this. You had to say something.

You slide out of bed, throwing on your house robe and slippers as you make your way back out to the corridor.

Most of the party had drifted inwards, into his apartment, but a few stragglers lingered here and there. Some were drinking, some smoking. Some were doing a little of both.

You could see into his home just slightly, getting a glimpse of the pink walls his mother had painted years ago, the ugly palm frond wallpaper lining the kitchen.

Your eyes zero in on Lucien right away. His shoulders, rounded and bunched around a thick and corded neck, colorful silk shirt swimming along his waistline.

His back is to you, a young woman — who you think can’t be older than 24 or 25 — is pinned between himself and the wall, one of his hands positioned next to her head, the other folded as he lifts a pile of white powder to her nose. She brings one of her hands up to pinch the other nostril closed as she snorts the substance into her body; Lucien’s lips curve into a wry smirk.

Your gaze shifts lower when you register movement, finding her opposite arm extended between the two of them, palm cupping and stroking his cock over his pants. Lucien doesn’t appear to be reciprocating her touch, which seems to have her more than a bit… frustrated, judging by the look on her face.

Cinching your robe tight, you approach the couple, clearing your throat loud enough to catch them both off guard.

The woman, whomever she is, draws her hand back instantly, eyeing you with disdain at the unwelcome interruption.

Lucien’s eyes flit to yours. Then, slowly, blatantly, the same dark irises travel down your form, methodical in how he checks you out. He isn’t even attempting to hide it in front of her.

You glance away, your skin heating.

With a scoff, the woman dips under Lucien’s arm, whispering something to him before she joins the rest of the party inside. He nods to her, disinterested, before turning back to you.

She’s beautiful and young. Lucien is twice her age and roguishly handsome, a truth you didn’t care to indulge often. You aren’t the least bit surprised by what you walked in on, as he always seemed to have a revolving door of women hanging around.

“Hey, baby. Want a bump?” he asks you.

“Fuck, no. I actually want to sleep tonight,” you tut, crossing your arms in indignation. “I have work tomorrow and I’m already exhausted. Do you think you could lower the music? Shut your door, maybe?”

His face falls and his lips pinch into a frown at your utter and outright rejection, although he understands your reasons and chooses not to argue, checking you out a second time. You feel your skin growing warm beneath the robe at the attention.

“For you. Anything,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes but dip your chin in gratitude anyway. “Thanks.”

He turns to shut his door behind him, drowning out a better chunk of the noise than you expected. As you turn to walk back to your apartment, you feel a warm, broad hand circling your elbow.

You stall, contorting your body to look back at him. “Lucien, what—“

“Hey. Are you okay?” he questions.

“No, I said I’m fucking tired and I have work tomorrow…” you reiterate, looking down at where his hand currently connects to your body.

His grip loosens and he lets his hand fall away from your elbow.

“No, I mean, from earlier. The man… who was pawing at you like some horny dog,” he explains, recounting the events that you would care to forget. “Are you okay?” he repeats, gaze softening, fluffy curls framing his face.

Your heart races at the sight of him, and you swallow down the rising lump in your throat.

No. No, you are not going to get involved with your drug dealing neighbor. Stop it.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks… thank you.” You offer a faint smile, suddenly flustered.

He nods, plush lips parted in thought, brow furrowed as he studies you. Those eyes of his are goddamn entrancing.

“Here,” he says, placing his palm against the small of your back as he gingerly directs you back to your apartment, halting in front of your door.

He fishes a freshly rolled joint and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt, holding both items up so you can see. The light overhead catches the chain around his neck, reflecting it, making it shimmer.

“Girl Scout Cookies,” he explains, his voice low and hypnotic as he gives the joint a heady whiff, “So you can sleep.”

“Or… you could just turn off the music and ask everyone to leave instead,” you suggest, plucking the joint and lighter from his fingers anyway.

“They’ll drift out little by little the rest of the evening,” he counters, watching you ignite the joint and take a hit, holding the smoke in your lungs. “Most of them have left already.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, snorting. Take a second hit. Pass it back to Lucien, whose callused fingers brush yours as he takes it.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem too keen on leaving,” you point out.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Okay, girl you want to fuck,” you correct.

He takes a long, slow draw of the joint, exhaling the plume through rounded lips as he watches you. “Isn’t that, either.”

“Oh, so she was grabbing your dick for no reason, then?” you retort, arching a brow.

Lucien takes another hit, forming his lips into an ‘O’ as he blows the smoke gently in your direction. He scrunches his lips up in thought.

“Precisely. Wasn’t even that hard,” he explains.

You choke out a small laugh, leaning against the wall. “Jesus, Lucien.” You open your door to go back into your apartment, alone. “Thanks for the weed.”

“You brought her up, not me.” He grins.

“Goodnight…” you say firmly, trying not to let your vision linger on his lips. Or his puppy dog eyes. Or that goddamn gold chain. Fuck.

“Wait,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm again. Warm, thick fingers brushing your skin.

“What?”

He takes another pull from the joint, trapping the smoke in his lungs as he moves languidly into your space. Free hand cupping your cheek, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, he hovers over you, mouth nearly touching yours.

Your lips part instinctively, causing his smirk to widen even more as he exhales the cloud directly into your mouth, your lips briefly making contact. You take in a deep, heady breath, tasting the smoke, tasting the essence of him.

The small point of contact is enough ignition for both of you to act. It was the catalyst needed to convince yourself yes, yes you ARE going to let yourself get involved with him, reputation be damned.

His hand travels from your cheek to your hip, squeezing, smirk transforming into a grin as he guides you backwards through the mouth of your apartment.

And you let him. You’ve been nursing this unhealthy crush on your neighbor for long enough, you realize.

Your own hands find the collar of his shirt, and then his chain, wrapping the metal heated by his skin around your knuckles, dragging him into you. He smells like weed and clove cigarettes, like cheap red wine and musky cologne.

You aren’t sure who closes the door, but somehow, it closes with a bang behind you, and he spins your body, wedging you between himself and the hard surface, his hand unmoving from your hip as he bends to thrust his pelvis flush against yours, grinding his hard length against your center. Even through the robe, it’s unmistakable.

“Thought you said you weren’t very hard,” you tease.

“Wasn’t…” he replies with a wry smile, grinding into you, hand moving back up to your neck as his lips crash into yours.

He deposits the still smoldering joint in the small metal bowl by your door where you keep change for laundry, hands bracketing either side of your face, pressing himself firmly against you as his tongue slips into the hot cavern of your mouth, eliciting a small mewl of longing and desire from your lungs.

He tugs at the binds of your robe, the material falling open like the wings of a butterfly for him, revealing your bare legs, your soft cotton panties with the little cherries.

“Well, well…” he groans, palms locking onto your hips, thumbs moving in semicircles along your silken flesh as his fingers flirt with the elastic band of your underwear, snapping it against your hip bones.

He dips to grind his erection against you again, and this time, without the barrier of your robe dampening his motions, you feel his hard cock dragging over the sensitive nub of your clit, your hips bucking back with equal fervor.

He kisses along your jawbone, down to the sensitive apex of your jaw and column of your neck, mustache and beard gently scrubbing at your skin, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“Only reason I was hard at all is because I was thinking about you,” he whispers, before taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a slight tug.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, breathless, and although you can’t see it, he grins, giving the elastic another harsh snap before his thumbs hook around the material, sliding them down your legs, cool air licking at your exposed folds.

“I don’t bullshit,” he grates, lowering to his knees in front of you, kneading your upper thighs in his hands as he takes in the vision that is you.

Slick dribbles down your inner thigh as he spreads you open and admires you, everything about you.

“Look at you, opening up like a pretty little flower for me,” he groans, leaning forward to swipe his angular nose through your soaked folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

A small chirp escapes the back of your throat, fingers sinking into his dark curls for balance as his tongue flicks out to taste and tease you, lifting one of your legs to toss over his shoulder.

His tongue breaches your entrance, penetrating you deeply, your body juddering with every broad stroke of his tongue inside your walls.

“Fuck, Lucien…” you purr. He hums in approval, hands sliding up your backside to cup and massage your ass as he drinks of you.

You find yourself gyrating against him, your body chasing the sensation of his mouth, and not only does he let you, he furthers it along, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he pulls you into him repeatedly, groaning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, protesting the loss of his mouth on you as he pulls away for a beat, the feeling only short lived when his lips circle and tenderly suction around your engorged clit, two of his fingers sinking into your fluttering hole.

The resulting squelch as he fucks into you with his fingers is lascivious and loud, your spine forming a perfect arc against the door.

His fingers curl inside of your tunnel, making contact with the soft, spongy flesh at the mouth of your womb, each thrust getting you closer and closer to seeing stars.

“God, oh my fucking god…” you moan.

Your walls begin to tighten, your hips shaking, fingers twisting against his scalp as you feel your pleasure mounting. And you swear you see his lips hook into a grin as he gets you there, the sight of it with his nose and curls, the way the silk and gold chain catch the light, only spurring your pleasure on. It’s all so much. So much and not enough.

“I, fuck, I’m gonna cum…” you sob as the sensations reach a head and the feeling consumes every fiber of your being, your vision going white as your head lolls against the door with a faint thud, hips rutting forward to chase his mouth.

He rides you through it, growling into your core almost as though he’s enjoying it as much as you are, the reverberations making you crave more.

He pulls away from you when your body calms down, mouth coated in a sheen of your slick, hair stamped down with sweat from where your palms had gripped onto him.

Catching his breath as he stands, his lips and tongue tangle with yours once more, letting you taste the evidence of your release before dragging you toward the bedroom.

You can feel the cannabis coursing through your system now, relaxing you, making you feel lighter than air. You smile to yourself, knowing your orgasm is going to be sweet and lingering.

“You would look beautiful by my side at every party,” he says, brown eyes twinkling back at you, head tilted.

“You have plenty of other women for that…” you reply, letting him guide you to the bed as he slips your shirt over your head, revealing your naked breasts to his hungry gaze.

“And none of them are you,” he tuts, “None of them are as beautiful as you… as this.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he pushes you down into the mattress and crawls over you, teeth dragging along your shoulder, your collarbone, upper body propped on an elbow while the opposite hand kneads one of your breasts. He plucks the nipple to a sharp peak between his fingers, making you arch and moan.

He sheds his shirt and pants nearly in tandem, your vision settling on him as he slithers out of his underwear, a girthy, uncut cock between his legs, twitching at the sight of you.

“Fuck…” you gasp, his eyes shining in amusement as he manipulates you onto your back, pushing your legs apart and taking up residence between your thighs.

“I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he groans and kisses you again, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Fisting himself at the base of his cock, he teases it along your folds, gathering your slick, nudging your still swollen clit. Your breath is ragged and unsteady in your chest, every motion of his body leaving you wanton and desirous.

“Lucien, please,” you plead and he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Need it that bad?” he asks, bemused, dragging the head of his cock over your clit again, making you cant your hips, chasing the sensation.

“That must be a yes,” he purrs, his voice low and velvet.

He lines himself up at your entrance, giving a few short, preliminary thrusts with just the head, teasing and testing how ready you are to take him, before pushing himself further in, inch by inch.

After a few more precursory thrusts, he bottoms out with a long exhale and faint moan, lower lip taut and jutting outward, holding himself within your walls for several seconds, before pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, slowly. Oh so slowly.

You grunt and arch your spine, your hips lifting to meet his, needing him to move faster…harder.

“Come onnnn,” you groan.

A smirk forms on his lips as he cages your head in with his upper arms, lips finding your throat, whispering against your pebbled skin.

“Always knew you’d be cock hungry, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you a chance to recant, pulling himself partially out and then slamming himself in again as hard as he can, teeth grazing your tender skin, gold chain smacking you in the face with the momentum of it.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Not that you mind much, either.

You whimper and paw at his shoulders, clinging to him, still needing, desiring more.

“Yeah? You liked that, didn’t you?” he whispers again, slamming into you hard a few more times for emphasis, making you keen, your bed smacking the wall harder each time.

“Need you to go faster, please,” you whine.

“Alright, baby. Since you’re asking so nicely…”

He leans back now, settling his weight against his calves as he lifts your legs to rest against his vast shoulders, tan skin shiny with perspiration. His dark curls are skewed and clinging to his face, dark brown eyes glistening with lust.

He looks so goddamn hot like that.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, fingertips digging into the meat of your calf muscles as he begins railing you with everything he has to give, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the room, shaking the bed with impact.

He’s more than focused now, teeth exposed, brow furrowed, droplets of sweat pooling in the little divot of his collarbone. You wish he was closer so you could lave at the sweat collected there.

It isn’t long before you start to feel the familiar, telltale tightening in your lower abdomen again, your breath hitching in your chest, droplets of perspiration forming at your hairline.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t slow down! Don’tslowdooooown!” you cry, your hands reaching for his, where they grip your legs, fingers curling like talons around his digits.

Everything about you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, feels as if you’re floating.

A few more rough slams of his hips against yours and you’re seeing stars, head falling back against the pillow with a cry as your walls flutter around him, strangling his cock, sucking him deeper. He growls, his breath hissing through clenched teeth, and you know he’s almost there as well.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… fffuuuu—“ Lucien grunts, sucking in lungfuls of air as he pulls out of you at the last possible second, perched on his knees, pumping himself in his fist with your slick.

The squelchy wet noises of Lucien beating himself off fills your ears, and he emits a loud, guttural groan as he reaches completion, tendrils of seed spurting thick and hot across your stomach, some of it collecting in your navel.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you hardly have time to gather your thoughts and bearings before you feel his tongue gliding across your stomach, scooping himself onto his tongue.

His mouth hovers over yours as your lips part, Lucien spitting the cocktail of saliva and cum onto your waiting tongue, his own tongue meeting yours as he kisses you deeply, moans getting lost in your throats.

“Fuuuck,” you sigh when your lips eventually pull apart.

You both settle on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, still catching your breaths. You stare up at the ceiling, your head still light as air and swimmy.

The party continues on down the hall sans Lucien, but it’s quieter now, more subdued.

“I’m definitely going to sleep really well after that, but I may call in to work tomorrow anyway,” you giggle.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, eyes shining with mischief as his hand trails down your body, fingers swirling through the remnants left on your stomach.

“But all those strangers in your apartment. Are you not worried?” you ask.

“I have someone watching it for me. It’s okay.”

His lips tease along your neck. “You’re like a goddamn drug, baby.”

You don’t even question it further, smirking as his fingers lift to your lips, painting them like gloss, laughing inwardly to yourself when you realize that the girl in the hallway doesn’t get to have him like this, like you do, as he dips his head to kiss you again.

—

fin. xx.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #pedro fanfic #romance #author