#PEDRO

[dilfgifs]

ROB DELANEY Dying for Sex 1.07 "You're Killing Me, Ernie"

[xbeababyx]

Pedro Pascal the man you are.

[urfavpupgf]

my mans my mans my maaaaaaannsss

[andy-15-07]

Can you make a smutty or a hot fan fic of a VS model and an aspiring actress on an interview and she was asked who is her celebrity crush, she says the one and only Pedro and they meet at the met gala where she looks breathtaking and how it goes from there

You Had Me at Met

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1264| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The studio lights were warm on your skin, your silk dress catching the gleam as you crossed your legs on the plush interview couch. The host smiled, sipping his coffee dramatically, and then leaned forward.

“Okay, last rapid-fire question before we wrap,celebrity crush. Don’t overthink it.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Pedro Pascal.”

The host raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you mean Daddy himself?”

You grinned, adjusting your neckline just slightly. “Exactly. The one and only.”

The clip went viral within hours. “VS Angel thirsts for Pedro Pascal like the rest of us,” one headline read. You chuckled, scrolling through the comments as you lounged in your hotel room. Apparently, the internet liked your taste.

What you didn’t expect was a DM three days later.

Pedro Pascal: “Just saw your interview. Should I be flattered… or warned?”

You stared at the message, heart thudding. You typed, deleted, then typed again.

You: “That depends. Are you dangerous, Mr. Pascal?”

Pedro: “Only at the Met Gala. You going?”

You smirked.

You: “Guess I’ll see you there then.”

The Met Gala was chaos dressed in couture. You stepped onto the red carpet in a sheer, glittering black gown that clung to every curve, complete with thigh-high slit and a neckline that left little to the imagination. Paparazzi screamed your name, flashes exploded around you, and the cameras caught every angle of your smirk.

But your eyes? They were scanning for him.

And there he was.

Pedro, in a tailored oxblood suit with a silky black shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show a tease of his chest. His hair was slightly tousled, lips pulled into that wolfish half-smile. You watched his gaze land on you across the crowd,and stay there.

You met him halfway across the gala floor, near a glass sculpture no one cared about.

“Wow,” he said, low and rough.

“Wow, yourself,” you replied, lips twitching.

He didn’t hide the way his eyes roamed your body. “You look like sin in silk.”

“And you look like the man who might finally ruin me,” you whispered back, stepping just a little closer.

His hand brushed your waist,not possessive, but promising. “You flirt like someone who knows exactly what she wants.”

“I do,” you said, voice calm. “Do you?”

Pedro chuckled under his breath, dipping his head near your ear. “Tonight? You.”

Later that night, after too many glances, drinks, and an endless amount of restrained tension, your hand found his under the table at the Met afterparty. His fingers curled over yours immediately, like they’d been waiting for the cue.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice hoarse, inches from your lips.

You squeezed his hand. “Hotel’s five minutes away.”

He paid the tab.

The door slammed shut behind you two in your suite, and before you could even shrug your coat off, his hands were on your waist, then your hips, then your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that hit you like a fever.

You gasped into his mouth, and he growled, deep and primal, backing you into the nearest wall.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the second I saw you in that damn dress,” he rasped against your lips, his body pressed hot and solid against yours.

“And I’ve been thinking about this since that DM,” you whispered, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. “I wanted you the moment you typed the word dangerous.”

He smirked against your neck. “You wanted a villain, huh?”

“I wanted you, Pedro.”

Your gown slipped off your shoulders, and his breath caught.

“Jesus,” he murmured, eyes devouring the skin he uncovered. “You’re… goddamn art.”

You grabbed his belt with one hand and his hair with the other. “Then frame me. Worship me. I don’t want slow tonight.”

Pedro groaned, mouth crashing into yours again as you kicked your heels off and let the gown fall to the floor. You weren’t wearing much beneath it. The way his eyes darkened told you he approved.

He walked you backward to the bed, stripping his shirt off as he went. You trailed your fingers down his chest, then lower, taking in every inch of him.

You climbed onto the mattress, spreading your legs just slightly as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Like what you see?”

He let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve dreamed of less than this and woken up sweating.”

“Then make it real,” you teased.

Pedro knelt at the edge of the bed, grabbing your thighs and dragging you toward him with a force that made you gasp. His mouth found the inside of your leg, teeth grazing lightly.

“You taste as good as you look, I bet,” he murmured, tongue teasing along your skin.

You arched under his touch, breath hitching. “Pedro…”

“I got you, baby,” he said, voice like gravel and honey.

His hands were steady, his mouth hot, and every word he whispered between kisses made your spine tighten. Your fingers threaded into his curls as he brought you to the edge, slow and deliberate.

When he finally pulled himself over you, fully bare, flushed and wild-eyed, he paused.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice trembling slightly.

You grinned. “Why are your pants still on, Pascal?”

That was all he needed.

The moment he was inside you, it was like electricity,rough and raw, but intimate. He kissed you everywhere,neck, collarbone, breasts,as if he were mapping you. The rhythm was fast, urgent, like the months of mutual pining had built to this singular explosion.

Your nails scratched down his back. “Harder.”

He bit your shoulder lightly, hips snapping faster. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

And when it finally hit, when your release overtook you, he held you through it, groaning your name like it was a prayer.

You collapsed together in a tangled heap, sweaty, breathless, giggling between kisses.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered into your neck.

“And you love it.”

He didn’t deny it.

The press didn’t take long to start sniffing.

It began with the accidental Instagram story you posted,a candid of a table setting and Pedro’s unmistakable hand, ring and all, resting next to your wine glass.

Then came the paparazzi shots at a Lana Del Rey concert in London,your hands intertwined as you sang along, oblivious to the cameras.

Fans started dissecting everything: outfits, tweets, political retweets. “She posts a video about women’s rights,” one thread said, “and he posts a similar video four hours later.”

“Look at the watch,” another fan wrote. “SAME WATCH. SAME HAND. SAME MAN.”

Your team begged you to deny it. Your publicist practically choked when Jimmy Fallon pulled up the picture on air.

“So, rumor has it…” he said, grinning. “You and Pedro Pascal. Holding hands. Concert. Is this just friendship now?”

You laughed, brushing your hair over your shoulder like it was all silly fun. “Oh my God, that photo. We were… vibing. Friends vibe too, you know?”

The crowd chuckled. But the glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Jimmy raised his brows. “You sure about that? Because you’re both wearing the same shirt on two different posts last week.”

You feigned shock. “Coincidence.”

He played along. “Uh-huh. Okay, Miss Coincidence.”

But hours later, backstage in your dressing room, Pedro was waiting with takeout, hoodie low over his brow.

“Still just vibing?” he teased, handing you chopsticks.

You kissed his cheek and sank into his lap. “Tell the world what they want, or keep ‘em guessing?”

He smiled against your jaw. “Let ‘em wonder. That way they can’t imagine just how good it really is.”

And God, it was so good.

[filmgifs]

Homem com H (2025) dir. Esmir Filho

[just-allerlei]

Aaaaaaaaaaah.

menace.

[gigipinissoli]

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.

[willowsday]

No cause why did I actually start salivating

[bluetimeombre]

✨WIP✨

I have been in another rut but still have so much I wanna post,,,

J. Miller

Jessie's girl, you and Jesse were the it couple of Jackson. Shame Joel had to throw a spanner into the mix (smut!)

Here regardless of the pain, Joel could never regret what he did to save Ellie that day, but he didn't know if you could say the same. He'd always been holding on and it the darkest times, he doesn't want to let you go (angst!)

Friend of the family, you and Ellie had grown close since she'd come to Jackson and it totally had nothing to do with her smoking hot 'daddy' (smut!)

P. Pascal

Let's start some rumours, baby! Pedro Pascal would call himself a private person. He liked to keep things quiet about his love life, unless of course, he couldn't help himself (cute ig) (maybe slight sebastian stan x reader)

A. Morgan

You'll be going, You've been honing your skills, all of them. Arthur noticed, he just hadn't thought to ask why until he's faced with the reality you won't be here forever (angst)

Ruin it, you go into town, looking for a man, any man, willing to ruin you before your father can sell you off. Shame you didn't go to Arthur immediately (smut) (dutch's daughter)

When you take a cowboys hat, you're drunk and you take arthur's hat and christ he's so in love with you (fluff) (suggestive)

If anyone has ideas along these lines I’m happy to hear and try my best :)

[brinapedroswife]

uh, let's open this thread again

[dilfgifs]

KYLE SCHMID NCIS: Origins 1.15 "From the Ashes"

[xbeababyx]

I'm crazy about this, sexiest man ever.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Stormy night”

Pairing: Pre Outbreak!Joel Miller x babysitter!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here Part 2 here

Summary: You’ve been babysitting for the Millers for months now, admiring Joel from afar. Until one stormy night things gets spicy.

WC: 3,3k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m!receiving).

A/N: I know the babysitter is such an overused trope but i’m just a sucker for fatherly and domestic pre outbreak Joel. This has a little fluff and lots of smut at the end, so there’s that.

You’d been babysitting Sarah Miller for the last six months. Some might think she was a bit old for a babysitter—she was twelve, after all—and far smarter than girls her age. But her father, Joel, mostly hired you for the company. He worked long shifts that often ran well into the night, and he never felt comfortable leaving his daughter alone for so many hours.

And you? You were a typical college student—desperate for a few extra dollars. So, when you saw the flyer on the bulletin board, you didn’t think twice.

You loved working for the Millers. It never really felt like work. Sarah was sweet, and you genuinely enjoyed helping her with her school projects, watching movies together, gossiping, and giving her advice on boys like an older sister would.

Joel was a good boss, too. He always paid you on time, left you and Sarah money for takeout most nights, and always offered to drive you home when it was too late or raining.

And, of course, the looks didn’t hurt. You couldn’t help but admire him when he was around. Joel was a handsome man—rugged and worn, but in a way that made him even more appealing. He was nothing like the college guys you were used to seeing—the ones who couldn’t grow a proper beard, who talked too much and said too little, trying too hard to impress. Joel was the complete opposite. He didn’t need to impress anyone. He barely spoke to you most of the time, but when he did, it caused an impression.

You arrived to the Millers’, the relentless Texas sun high in the sky, making your skin glisten and your clothes cling to your body.

“You brought the nail polish, right?” Sarah asked eagerly as soon as you stepped inside.

“Of course I did,” you said, holding up the small pouch filled with bright colors. “Hot pink and glitter, just like you asked.”

You’d only just settled in when Joel came downstairs. His hair was damp, a towel draped over the back of his neck, and his shirt was tugged down just enough to reveal the faint outline of his chest.

“I’ve got a lot of work today. I’ll be back around nine, maybe a little later. You good with that?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

You nodded. “Yep, that’s alright.”

“Don’t let her stay up past nine,” he said, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table before heading out the door.

You spent the evening with Sarah, painting each other’s nails, watching silly rom-coms, and making dinner together. It was a routine you’d come to enjoy more than you cared to admit.

“My dad has the hots for you, you know that?” Sarah said, her voice muffled through a mouthful of mac and cheese.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah.” You chuckled, your face flushing a little as you nervously laughed off the comment. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“No, I mean it. He’s like… less cranky when you’re around,” she said, swallowing another spoonful. “And he looks at you like those guys do in the movies we watch.” She leaned back, making exaggerated and comical love-eyes at you.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You’re being silly.”

“I’m not. I know him better than anyone,” she said, chewing lazily as she watched you. “But he hasn’t dated in, like, forever. I’ve actually never seen him date. He’s weird.”

You chuckled, trying to brush it off and change the subject. It’s not like you hadn’t wondered about Joel’s love life yourself. You had. He only ever asked you to babysit when he was working, which implied he never had any dates, and you’d never seen a woman around the house.

No. Stop thinking about this. Doesn’t matter if he dates or not. He’s your boss. He’s significantly older than you. Nothing is ever going to happen. You’re being stupid, you told yourself.

By 9:30, Sarah was curled up on the couch, leaning against your shoulder, completely out of it. She didn’t even stir when Joel stepped inside.

“Howdy,” he greeted you, his voice warm but tired. He looked exhausted—dark bags under his eyes, his broad shoulders looking tense and stiff.

“Hey,” you said softly, brushing a few strands of Sarah’s hair away from her face. “She’s out like a light,” you whispered.

Joel gave a small, fond smile as he looked at Sarah, then came closer to the couch to scoop her up in his arms.

“I’m gonna put her to bed,” he said softly as he started toward the stairs.

There was something so endearing about Joel’s dedication to his daughter. Even if he worked too much and wasn’t around as much as he would’ve liked, everything he did was for Sarah, it showed how much she meant to him.

A few minutes later, he came back downstairs, looking even more worn out than before.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice raspy, and with that thick southern drawl of his, it made your stomach twist in a way you’ve never felt before you met him.

“I’m good,” you replied, swallowing nervously. “We had mac and cheese for dinner—there’s a bit left if you want it.”

He hummed softly, glancing over at you.

“So I guess that’s it for today,” you said, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s pretty dark out there,” he offered, his hand already on the doorknob.

“It’s cool. I don’t mind the walk,” you said quickly. You’d never wanted to feel like an inconvenience, even though he’d driven you home several times before.

“C’mon. I’ll drive you home.” He was already pulling his keys from his pocket, moving toward the door to walk you out.

The drive to your place was about fifteen minutes, but with every second spent in the truck beside him, the air seemed to grow thicker. The tension was palpable.

“How was work?” you asked softly, trying to break the silence and ease the tension.

“Well, everyone seems to be assholes who mess up the simplest orders, so you tell me,” he said, his voice carrying frustration, though his eyes stayed locked on the road ahead.

“Sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. I chose this hell.” He glanced at you for a brief second before returning his focus to the road. “How’s school?”

“It’s fine. Hard, but I guess I chose this hell too,” you replied, shifting in your seat.

He let out a low laugh, almost inaudible. “You study psychology, right? Makes sense. You’re good with people.”

You smiled. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’re good with Sarah. I don’t say it enough, but I really appreciate it.” His voice softened in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“Thanks… I really care about her. She’s a great kid,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “And you’re a great dad. She’s lucky to have you.”

He scoffed lightly. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing half the time. It’s all just improvisation.”

“Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. It’s working. You’ve raised an amazing daughter.”

Joel smiled at you—probably the biggest, most genuine smile you’d ever seen him give anyone.

A few more minutes passed in silence before you arrived at your place.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm for a second longer than you should have. You suddenly felt too embarrassed, your face flushed as you quickly got out of the truck without saying another word.

Joel watched you walk to your door, his eyes lingering a little too long. He couldn’t help but notice how your shorts shifted with each step, revealing more of your thighs, and how the strap of your top slipped slightly off your shoulder, showing the edge of your bra.

And he felt like a creep.

Every single time. He felt disgusted with himself. He’d tried to avoid it, but every time you were around, his mind wandered. Like when you’d come over after getting caught in a storm, your white shirt soaked and completely see-through. Or when you were on the floor on your knees, helping Sarah with a school project, and all he could think about was how good you looked on your knees like that. Or the worst—whenever he found himself flipping through an old secondhand Playboy magazine Tommy had left around the house many years ago, just trying to get his imagination going… only for his brain to drift to you. Always you. Until he cummed to the memory of your nipples under that wet white shirt.

Joel felt like the worst kind of man. He was older, a father, an adult who should know better. And yet, here he was, fantasizing about a girl half his age. Even if he never acted on it, it still felt wrong. On so many levels.

The next day, when you arrived, Joel had already left for work. A note on the counter, written in his messy, all-caps handwriting, told you he’d gone out to run some errands before work and wouldn’t be back until around ten.

By seven, the sky had split open like something ancient had broken loose. Thunder rattled the windows, lightning tore lines across the darkening sky, and the rain came down in torrents. One of the worst summer storms in years.

You and Sarah had decided that the weather made the perfect excuse for popcorn and horror movies that probably weren’t appropriately rated for kids her age. But she loved them anyway.

By nine, she was fast asleep on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, soft breaths rising and falling, completely unaware of the front door opening.

“Holy hell,” Joel muttered as he stepped inside, soaked from head to toe, shaking water from his hair like a dog. He pulled off his boots, leaving puddles on the mat. “It’s been years since I’ve seen a storm like this. Streets are flooded, some trees came down, and they’re closing off the roads. Barely made it back.”

“Gee,” you breathed, glancing at the chaos outside through the window, the trees swaying like they might break.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re gonna clear it ‘til morning,” he said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”

“I—thank you,” you murmured.

He glanced toward Sarah, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he stepped over and scooped her into his arms. He carried her upstairs like he always did, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he came back down a few minutes later, he’d changed into dry clothes. A gray t-shirt clung to the shape of his chest, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.

“You can take my bed if you want,” he offered as he walked into the kitchen, already opening the fridge. “Clean sheets and all. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, no—I can’t,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “The couch is fine. I already feel like I’m intruding.”

“Don’t,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I sleep on the couch most nights anyway.”

He pulled out some leftovers and popped them in the microwave.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I had popcorn,” you said with a small smile.

“Popcorn ain’t dinner,” he muttered. He grabbed another plate and started dividing the food between the two of you.

You sat beside him on the barstools at the counter, eating quietly, listening to the distant growl of thunder and the drumming rain against the roof.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said softly.

“I wouldn’t let my biggest enemy out in that mess,” he replied, chewing slowly. “Least I could do.”

Later, you were at the sink doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, warm water running over your fingers. Joel stood next to you, drying with a dish towel.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said again.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Are you ever gonna stop thankin’ me for every damn thing?”

“Hey, just bein’ grateful here,” you said, grinning as you flicked a few drops of water at his face.

The smile faded from his lips in an instant. His eyes locked on yours. Intense. Heated. Without a word, he reached for your wrist—his touch soft, but firm—and pulled you gently toward him.

You inhaled sharply. His body was warm and solid against yours. His face just inches from yours. His breath hit your skin.

“Joel…” you whispered uncertainty.

“Ask me to stop,” he said, his voice low, ragged. “Please ask me to stop.”

But you couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathed.

And then his mouth was on yours.

It started slow, hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe he was finally kissing you. But seconds later he lost all inhibition, his lips crushed against yours, hungry, desperate, as if he’d been holding himself back for far too long. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tight as he lifted you onto the counter like you weighted nothing.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest heaving.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been dying to do that,” he murmured, voice thick. “I feel like I’ve been losin’ my mind.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his hand moved fast, sliding down between your legs with almost no pretense, just need. You gasped as his fingers found the heat between your thighs—confident, greedy.

“Joel…” you moaned, trying to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

“If you want me to stop just tell me and I will,” he said again, lips brushing your skin as he kissed along your jaw, down your neck.

But you said nothing. Didn’t need to. The way you tilted your head to give him more access said everything.

He slid your shirt over your head, his mouth following the trail of bare skin as he moved down to your breasts. His hand cupped one, thumb brushing your nipple, twisting it softly, before his mouth went to the other one, closing it over it, sucking gently.

“They’re so perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before giving them both equal attention.

You could feel how hard he was through his pants—thick and aching, grinding against you like he couldn’t help it. You rocked against him, searching for friction, for more.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

“I got you, baby,” he rasped. “Gonna make you feel real good.”

His hand slid under your skirt, fingers finding your soaked panties. He groaned at the feel of you—hot, wet, and wanting like he’d never seen before in a woman, and knowing it was all because of him drove him near feral.

He was scared of being way too rusty and out of practice, after all he hadn’t done this in longer that he cared to admit. As a reflex he pushed your panties aside and pressed his thumb to your clit, making you gasp again.

“You this wet for me?” he growled, rubbing slow circles. “Christ.”

Two of his fingers teased your entrance, gathering your slick. “This feel good?”

“So good… don’t stop,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, muffled by the bite you gave his shoulder to stay quiet. Sarah was upstairs, but keeping silent felt impossible with what he was doing to you.

Encouraged, Joel pushed his fingers inside you. Slow at first, careful. Then faster. Curling them, finding the spot that made you see stars—and when you moaned, he knew he had it.

“Fuck, Joel… I’m so close.”

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered, his thumb relentless on your clit. “Please let me feel you.”

Your hips rocked against his hand. You were barely holding on. Then your orgasm hit, fast and hard, ripping through you. You bit your lip so hard you nearly bled.

He felt it. The way you clenched around his fingers, your whole body trembling, your chest heaving. He looked up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“That was… I’ve never felt like that before,” you said, breathless, blinking through the haze. “Not ever.”

He stared at you, flushed and wrecked, eyes locked on your blissed-out face. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful right now.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” you said, eager to return the favor.

“You are,” he affirmed, not wanting to force you into anything, but dying to relieve the pain he was feeling in his pants.

“Like this,” You slid off the counter and dropped to your knees, hands on the waistband of his pants with a confidence that surprised even you. “Let me make you feel good too.”

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, watching you. The image of you, down on your knees, eyes wide and eager, was nearly too much.

You pulled his pants and boxers down, releasing his cock. Thick, heavy, already leaking.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slow, building pressure. Then your tongue replaced your hand, hot and wet and perfect.

He groaned loud, his hands gripping your hair—not to push you down, but to keep himself grounded. You took more of him, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling.

“God, baby…” he gasped. “Oh that feels—fuck.”

Your mouth took him slowly, savoring every sound he made, taking your time to enjoy everything, from the curse he breathed out when you licked along the vein on the underside of him to the way his hips jerked slightly when you hollowed your cheeks.

“Stop—fuck, baby, you gotta stop,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t wanna finish yet.”

He hauled you to your feet, kissing you hard as he picked you up and set you back on the counter.

“Need you,” he growled. “Need to be inside you.”

You nodded quickly, breathless. “Yes, Joel. Please.”

He pushed your legs open, standing between them, with one hand he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance.

“You su���?” he tried to ask before you cut him.

“I’m sure.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch, letting you adjust to him. Both of you groaning at the overwhelming sensation. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled. “You feel perfect… perfect little cunt.”

He started moving, each thrust deep and rough, every inch felt like a delicious torture. The wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the kitchen. You bit his shoulder again, muffling your cries so you wouldn’t wake up the entire neighborhood.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern breaking through his haze of lust.

“I’m alright,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop… harder.”

He obeyed, slamming into you harder, faster, one hand gripping your waist, the other braced against the counter. His name fell from your lips like a silent prayer.

“I’m close,” he gasped. “You feel so good—I can’t—”

He began to lose control, his thrusts turning frantic as his climax approached. He didn’t care about pulling out—not right now—even if it was the most reasonable thing to do. Right now, he wanted to finish inside of you, to feel his cum filling you up until it dripped out of your cunt. He wanted to mark you in the most primitive way.

“Shit—I’m gonna—”

A sharp stillness took over him as he spilled himself deep inside you, cumming hard like he hadn’t in years, painting your insides with his seed.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “I— You— That was—Joel…”

“Incredible,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “Jesus. I don’t remember ever feeling that good.”

He stayed there for a moment, head buried against your chest, catching his breath.

You stroked his damp hair. Neither of you said anything.

After his intense climax, he felt so vulnerable. All he wanted was to lay down in his bed, arms wrapped around you, holding you all night long, keeping you close and safe, like you belonged there with him. And pretending that this wasn’t something fleeting. That this was something real.

“You’re taking the bed,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And I’m sleeping with you.”

You smiled at him, heart fluttering. “Deal.”

READ PART TWO HERE

‪dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Celebrities, Starstruck,

Main Song: It Could Happen To You by Laufey

CONTENTS:

Chapter 1: Hide Your Heart From Sight Chapter 2: God, I’m Actually Invested Chapter 3: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near Chapter 4: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You Chapter 5: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home Chapter 6: I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault Chapter 7: What Are You Doing To Me Now? Chapter 8: He Got My Heartbeat Skipping Down 16th Avenue Chapter 9: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You Chapter 10: Coming Soon Chapter 11: Coming Soon

[andy-15-07]

hi not sure if you’ve done this before but id LOVE a fic with pedro pascal helping reader through a depressive episode! completely understandable if you wouldn’t feel comfortable tho. maybe pedro gets home to find reader still in bed/sleeping on the couch and he already knows that she hasn’t taken care of herself all day but he asks her anyway (stuff like have you eaten, have you been out, when was the last time you showered). and then just description of him helping her do these things whilst reader is kind of fighting the help a little bit? like she doesn’t want to be a burden but deep down knows she needs the help. loads of praise and hurt/comfort and fluff!!!!! you are such a great writer im in love with all your fics ☺️☺️

Even If You Can’t Move, I’ll Be Here

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 939| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The key turned softly in the lock.

Pedro pushed the door open with one shoulder, balancing a paper bag of groceries in one hand and your favorite takeout in the other. He wasn’t expecting a grand greeting , he hadn’t gotten one in days , but the quiet stillness in the apartment hit him like a sigh.

You weren’t on the bed.

You were curled up on the couch again. Same oversized hoodie. Same blanket from the night before. Curtains still drawn, the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Pedro’s heart clenched.

He set the bags down gently, not wanting to startle you, though he wasn’t sure you’d even notice.

You did.

Barely.

A flutter of your eyes, then a quick glance away. No smile. Just the sinking guilt in your chest and the shame you couldn’t explain. Your throat felt tight before he even said anything.

Pedro crouched beside you, hand brushing your arm. “Hi, cariño.”

You swallowed hard. “Hi.”

He tilted his head. “Did you eat today?”

A pause.

“Not really.”

“Get outside at all?”

You shook your head.

He hesitated before asking gently, “When was the last time you showered?”

You almost wanted to laugh , not because it was funny, but because it made you feel even more disgusting. The tears started building before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pedro sat down beside you, arms opening before you could even blink. You fell into them like you always did , like gravity , and he held you close without a word.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just… tired. And that’s okay.”

“I feel gross.”

“You’re not.”

“I haven’t done anything today.”

“You’re still mine. And I still love you.”

Your face crumpled against his shoulder.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to take care of yourself. It was that every little task , getting up, brushing your teeth, opening a window , felt like climbing a mountain barefoot in the snow.

Pedro didn’t rush you. Just let you cry quietly for a while, his hand running slowly up and down your back. When your sobs faded into shaky silence, he pulled back to look at you.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We’re gonna do a few little things together, alright?”

You started to protest, but he kissed your forehead.

“Not all of them. Just a few. I’ll help.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You could never be. You’re the person I love most in this world. And I want to take care of you, even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t think I can do everything.”

“Then we’ll do the smallest version of everything.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means… we start with one thing. Like brushing our teeth. Together. I’ll even let you pick my toothpaste like a little gremlin.”

That got a soft, tired laugh from you.

“Then we can try something else. Maybe a shower. And then food. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just something. You can wear one of my shirts after, if that helps.”

You nodded slowly, still unsure, still hollow , but his voice felt like a lighthouse in the dark.

Pedro stood and reached for your hands. “C’mon. Let’s start with the bathroom.”

You followed, moving slowly, socked feet shuffling along the hardwood. It felt weird to be upright. But it also felt a little like relief.

In the bathroom, Pedro handed you your toothbrush with a small smile and squeezed toothpaste onto it.

“There. Hard part’s over.”

You managed to copy him, brushing in slow, lazy circles. He stood beside you, doing the same, humming something off-key under his breath. It made you snort a little, and he beamed at the sound.

“See?” he said, rinsing. “You’re killin’ it already.”

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“But you are,” he said firmly. “And I’m proud of you.”

The words settled in your chest like warmth. Like maybe they were enough to anchor you here, in this body, in this space where someone loved you even at your lowest.

Next was the shower.

Pedro didn’t rush you. He handed you clean towels and a fresh T-shirt (one of his) and sat on the edge of the bed while you stood under the warm water, letting it wash over the weight clinging to your bones.

You cried a little again , not because you were sad, exactly. Just… tired. Just overwhelmed.

And when you stepped out, eyes red, Pedro wrapped you in a towel like it was armor and kissed your cheek.

“You did it,” he said, grinning. “I’m so proud.”

You curled up next to him in bed afterward while he brought the food , your favorite noodles, not too hot, with broth on the side. You only ate a few bites, but he didn’t push. Just smiled and kissed your temple.

“This isn’t forever,” he said softly, pulling you into his arms as you laid back down. “I know your brain’s lying to you right now. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You buried your face in his chest.

“I don’t feel like myself.”

“That’s okay. I’ll hold the pieces until you do.”

Tears pricked your eyes again , but this time, they weren’t so sharp. More like a release.

Pedro pulled the blanket up around you both and whispered again, “I love you. Every version of you. Even this one.”

And for the first time in days, you believed it might be true.