A collection of one-shots featuring various Pedro Pascal characters. Including: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Pike, Dave York, Javi Gutierrez, Oberyn Martell, Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, and Max Phillips. Most contain explicit content. Wa...
summary: Joel needs to ground himself after a nightmare, and you're more than willing to help.
rating: Explicit (This is smut. Unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), anal play, breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, dirty talk, spanking, slight d/s tones, spit mention, nightmares (nothing described), emotional hurt/comfort, Soft Joel at the end)
word count: 1.6k+
a/n: This can be read as a standalone or part of the September 'verse. It's them in my brain. I was thinking about how they'd handle their nightmares, and it consumed me.
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It's the movement and mumbling that has you waking from sleep, your body warm, nestled snugly beneath the blankets in the bed you share with Joel.
Moonlight filters in through a crack in the curtains, it still the middle of the night in Jackson, carefully turning towards him, needing to save him from whatever nightmare is plaguing him tonight, a common occurrence for the both of you after everything you've been through.
You wonder what hell his brain is conjuring this time—is he reliving the horrors of his past? Or fears of the future, you knowing it scares the shit out of him, the thought of losing Ellie or you.
He's on his back, the sheets bunched at his waist, skin bare, the little bit of light showing his eyebrows furrowed and mouth dipped down in a frown, looking concerned.
Gently nudging his arm, you whisper, "Joel, baby, you're okay. It's just a dream—wake up, babe. I'm here."
His body tenses as he wakes, choking on air, eyes flying open. He's looking around wildly, and you know he's taking in the room, coming back to himself, realizing he's safe at home and not whatever hellscape his mind was torturing him with.
You're rubbing his arm, turning his head to look at you, and there's visible relief on his face when his eyes lock on yours.
His voice is deeper and raspier from sleep, desperation in his gaze as he starts speaking, "I need... I need." He audibly gulps, and your heart breaks, hating that he's going through this, knowing he needs your help to ground himself and make it all go away.
Your hand cradles his cheek, understanding on your features as you softly say, "Take what you need, Joel—I'm here. Let me make it better."
He moves quickly, the blankets removed from your body as he takes their place to slot his hips into the cradle of your thighs, his forearms bracketing your head, moaning when his lips crash against yours.
His skin is hot under your hands, roaming the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles in his broad shoulders, the bones of his ribs, and over his scars while his tongue licks into your mouth to steal your breath.
