#pedropascalxreader

[joelsrose]

For the Hour

Being a hooker in Jackson isn’t glamorous, but it pays in coffee, bullets, and the good kind of winter gloves. So when your regular—Tommy—asks if you’d see his brother, you don't hesitate in saying yes.

omg this is literally 11k words im ded - warnings: literally porn with a plot, sex work (mention of terms hooker etc), explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, age gap (Joel is in his 50s), subby!Joel energy, soft dom reader, emotional vulnerability, Joel has a bad back and feelings, praise kink.

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You caught your breath as the last wave of pleasure ebbed from your body, chest rising and falling in a slow, quiet rhythm while Tommy lingered there a moment longer, his breath warm against your neck as he let out a low groan, still half-drunk on the high you’d given him. The morning light filtered in through the tattered blinds, casting soft golden slats across the tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothes strewn across the hardwood floor. Somewhere, from the corridor or maybe the neighbors', drifted the scent of burnt coffee—bitter, familiar, grounding.

Tommy sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his damp hair as he muttered, “Shit,” under his breath, his voice still heavy with sleep and satisfaction. He glanced over at you with a lazy grin, tugging his jeans from the floor. “Remind me to come by more often.”

You laughed—quiet, genuine—watching him as he passed you a towel and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t part of the deal, not really. But then, Tommy had always blurred the lines—sweet in the way men like him weren’t meant to be, not in this town, not in your world.

“You’re already my best customer,” you murmured, eyes gleaming as you took the towel and began to clean yourself up, your voice laced with a teasing fondness, the kind reserved for people who came back again and again not just for the sex, but for something else they couldn’t name.

He stood with a quiet exhale, tugging his flannel over his broad shoulders, his belly soft where it peeked above the denim as he buttoned his jeans. His eyes lingered on you a second longer, not quite lecherous, not quite innocent either—just… watching, like he didn’t want to leave just yet, like he hadn’t quite figured out what you meant to him.

He watched you, gaze lingering over the bare slope of your chest, the way your skin caught the muted morning light spilling through the cracked blinds, casting golden lines across the sheets like something sacred.

You didn’t bother covering up—not with Tommy. The two of you had done this too many times, in too many rooms, on too many mornings like this, for there to be any shame left between you. There was something quiet in it now, a kind of unspoken understanding that had formed over time—not love, not quite friendship, but an intimacy that lived in the space between laughter and the sound of a zipper being drawn.

As he buckled his belt, fingers fumbling slightly around the worn leather, he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake something from it, something heavier than dust.

“Do you, uh…” he started, then hesitated, licking his lips like the question might taste strange coming out. “Do you have an age limit or somethin’?”

You tilted your head, brow lifting in easy amusement as you smiled faintly. “Sorry?”

He laughed, soft and awkward, and rubbed the side of his nose—a nervous little tick you’d seen before, like his body gave him away even when his voice didn’t. “I mean—with what you do,” he said, trying to sound casual but missing the mark by an inch. “With your… services. You got a limit, or...?”

“For my services?” you repeated, feigning offense, a teasing lilt in your voice as you leaned back against the headboard. “You make it sound so formal.”

“Quit,” he muttered, a laugh under his breath, but there was something beneath it—something that wasn’t quite a joke.

You smiled at him again, slower this time, more real. “Not really,” you said with a shrug, reaching for the towel more out of habit than modesty. “As long as they’re sweet... can get it up... and make sure they pay well.”

Because in Jackson, payment wasn’t green bills or cards anymore—those belonged to a world that had crumbled with the last election and the first outbreak. Now, people paid in what mattered. A tin of that good jam made from the summer’s last raspberries. A half-empty bag of coffee beans that still smelled like mornings from before. Gloves thick enough to survive the frost that rolled in from the mountains. Cans of peaches, salt for the roads, shotgun shells, antibiotics, clean socks. Favors. Names. Protection. A seat near the fire.

He chuckled at that, the tension easing from his shoulders like you’d let him off some invisible hook.

You tilted your head again, watching him as you sat forward slightly, your hair sliding over your shoulder in a loose, dark curtain. His eyes caught on it—just for a second, but enough to notice.

“So,” you said softly, the teasing edge slipping just slightly from your voice, replaced by something gentler—curiosity with a tilt of wariness, a shift in the air between you. “Why’re you askin’?”

Tommy exhaled with a quiet huff, running a hand back through his hair and catching the loose strands that had fallen from his ponytail, fingers dragging through it with a kind of frustrated carelessness.

“It’s just…” he started, voice trailing off before picking back up again with a sigh. “My brother. Joel. I think he could, you know—benefit from... all this.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, hand cutting through the air as his eyes flitted across your still-bare body, lingering but not ogling, like he was trying to make a point without being crude.

Joel.

The name landed with a quiet thud, familiar but unexpected.

Of course you’d seen him around—Jackson wasn’t big enough for anyone to stay invisible for long. He was older, that much was clear; wore the years like a weight across his shoulders and a scowl that never quite left his face. Always furrowed at the brow, jaw set like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet. Handsome in a rough-edged, quietly dangerous way—not like Tommy, whose smile came easy and whose touch always felt a little more like comfort than command.

Sometimes, when you looked at them side by side, you forgot they were cut from the same cloth. Same blood. Same broken world.

You let out a breath of laughter, amused and maybe a little intrigued, as you rose to your feet, the light catching along the soft curves of your body, bare and unashamed, each step toward him slow and fluid, the kind of motion meant to be watched. Your hips swayed with the ease of someone who knew exactly how she moved, your skin still flushed from the morning, the remnants of pleasure humming faintly in your limbs. Sensual without trying to be. Just a woman in her own skin.

“Your brother,” you said with a soft, knowing smirk, brushing your fingers gently through the messy strands of hair that had fallen across Tommy’s forehead, still damp with the sweat of sex and sleep and something in between. The gesture was easy, instinctive—your touch lingering only a moment before it drifted lower, settling at the nape of his neck where your fingers curled loosely, not to pull him close, but simply to stay connected. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d pay a visit to a hooker.”

Your voice was teasing, light on the surface, but there was something deeper threaded beneath it—some quiet question you didn’t ask aloud.

Tommy’s hands found your waist without hesitation, as if drawn there by muscle memory more than intent. His touch was broad, familiar, grounding—palms warm against your skin, a little rough from the kind of labor this world demanded of men like him, the kind of years that wore into the bones. There was nothing hurried about the way he held you, nothing that spoke of possession in the traditional sense, but it was there nonetheless—a kind of unspoken tether, something formed not from love or lust but from routine, from comfort, from the simple ache of being human in a place that had taken too much.

Whatever this was between you and Tommy—it didn’t have a name. There’d never been promises or claims, no plans made or futures built. But the line between business and something softer had blurred a long time ago, and neither of you had ever bothered to draw it back again. It was easier this way.

He looked down at you, lips quirking into a crooked grin that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, which always seemed just a little too tired, like he hadn’t had a real night’s sleep in years. “Yeah,” he murmured, the words softer now, almost thoughtful. “He ain’t. But maybe that’s exactly why he needs it.”

You hummed quietly in response, letting your hands slide from his neck down to his chest, fingers resting lightly over his heartbeat. You tilted your face up to meet his, chin angled just slightly, and the distance between you felt at once too close and not close enough.

“He’s fifty-six,” Tommy said, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth crooked and amused, eyes crinkling just a little as he shook his head. “Old bastard,” he added with a chuckle, like he was fond of the man but couldn’t help teasing him anyway, like it was easier to speak in jokes than admit the weight behind the thought—that time had moved on without asking, and they were all just trying to catch up.

You let out a dramatic gasp, sharp and playful, one hand flying to your chest as though genuinely scandalized, though the glint in your eyes gave you away immediately. “Tommy,” you said, drawing out his name in that mock-offended tone you knew always pulled a smile from him, “what kind of girl do you take me for?”

Your voice was honey-drenched, rich with pretend indignation, all wide, fluttering eyes and arched brows, even as you stood in front of him still completely bare, the golden morning light licking across your skin like it had been invited.

Tommy’s grin tugged crooked across his lips, slow and easy, like it had nowhere else to be. “The kind of girl who says she’s shocked,” he drawled, eyes dipping meaningfully down your body, “while standin’ butt-naked in my arms.”

And then, as if to punctuate his point, he gave your ass a firm, unapologetic slap, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Now put some clothes on,” he added, voice light but still edged with that gravelly fondness he tried to hide. “Before I end up stayin’ another hour and missin’ patrol—again.”

You yelped, laughing as you twisted away from his touch, jumping back into the warmth of the tangled bedspread, sheets twisted like vines beneath you. His handprint still tingled on your skin, a reminder of how close things could still burn even after the fire was out.

Tommy bent to grab his jacket off the chair, slinging it over one arm as he turned toward the door, but then paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with that half-smile he always wore when he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he meant.

“So, Joel?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t trying to care too much. “You’ll see him?”

You met his gaze, all ease and softness now, letting your weight sink back into the bed as you pulled the sheet loosely over your thighs. You smiled, slow and sure.

“I’ll see him.”

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Tommy sat at the far end of the Tipsy Bison’s bar, his knee bouncing beneath the table with a restlessness that betrayed more than he meant it to, jittery and twitchy like the truth was sitting in his lap and he didn’t know where to put it. His beer sat mostly untouched in front of him, beads of condensation sliding lazily down the bottle’s neck, forgotten. Across from him, Joel nursed his second glass of whiskey with the kind of single-minded focus that suggested he was trying not to think too hard about anything else.

Joel was mid-grumble, voice low and gravelly, muttering into his glass like it had personally offended him. “These kids on patrol,” he said, shaking his head, “they’re damn near still in diapers—think they know everything, but can’t read a fuckin’ map to save their lives. I had to double back twice today. And my knees…” he trailed off with a grimace, reaching down to rub one as if the act alone could conjure youth. “Shit don’t work like it used to.”

Tommy blinked, and then—without really meaning to, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them—he blurted, “Hey, you should go see this masseuse I know.”

Joel paused mid-sip, squinting over the rim of his glass like Tommy had just spoken in tongues. “Masseuse?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual but already feeling the weight of what he wasn’t saying begin to gather in his chest. “She’s real good. Works outta her place. Kinda… therapeutic.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. You did use your hands. You did know how to relieve tension. But if Joel had even the faintest idea of the things you did inside that soft little house of yours—the same one with the blue curtains and the jasmine Tommy had planted out front in exchange for a particularly memorable morning—he would’ve spit his drink out on the floor, gotten up, and walked home on those bad knees just to scold Tommy like they were kids again.

Because Joel, bless him, would’ve done what Joel always did—squint real hard, say something like “Jesus Christ, Tommy,” then go on about morals and dignity and how the world’s gone to hell.

So no, Tommy didn’t tell him everything.

Didn’t tell him about the soft, lilting laugh you had, or the way your door was always unlocked for him. Didn’t mention the way you said his name when he showed up late, or the sweet little things you did with your mouth that had nothing to do with pressure points. And he sure as hell didn’t mention the way you made him feel—warm and wanted and like the end of the world hadn’t already come and gone.

“Why the hell would I need a massage?” Joel muttered, voice rough as gravel as he leaned back in his chair, scowl etched deep between his brows. “What I need is for people to stop assignin’ me shifts with goddamn teenagers who can’t tell north from their own ass, and a patrol route that doesn’t run me straight into a fuckin’ ravine.”

Tommy scoffed, lifting his beer but not bothering to drink from it, eyes rolling as he shook his head. “You just spent the last thirty minutes complainin’ about your back, Joel.”

Joel shot him a look—sharp, defensive—the kind that had scared men once, back when fear was still a luxury. “That don’t mean I want some stranger touchin’ it,” he said, shoulders stiffening as he reached instinctively for his glass again. “Ain’t lookin’ to have someone mess it up worse than it already is.”

Tommy flinched at the word—touching—and it landed wrong, punched straight into his gut like a sucker hit. Not because Joel meant anything by it, but because he did. And before he could shut it down, there it was again—you—bent over him, lips parted, breath hot against his neck, your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow like you had all the time in the world. The soft sound you made when you sank down on him, the way your tits bounced against his chest, warm and slick, and how your fingers dragged down his spine, nails scratching just enough to make his hips jerk. His cock twitched, hard and immediate, a pulse of heat shooting through him that had no place in this conversation.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present. “Come on,” Tommy urged, voice lighter now, too easy to be innocent. “She’s real good. Not just in the way you’re thinkin’, either. She’s sweet. Quiet. One of those girls you don’t really notice till you do, and then it’s like you can’t stop.”

Joel arched a brow, unimpressed, suspicion already creeping into the lines of his face. “That so.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said quickly, pushing past the moment. “Real good hands. Knows what she’s doin’. And I’m tellin’ you—first one’s on the house. She won’t even charge you.”

Joel grunted, unconvinced, but didn’t push the conversation away completely. He just shifted in his chair, bones cracking, and muttered something under his breath about not likin’ surprises.

And Tommy—well, Tommy just smiled into his beer again, trying not to think about how you’d looked the last time he left your place, tangled in sheets and flushed with sleep, calling his name like it was something soft.

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Joel stood stiffly on your porch, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he pressed his thick fingers into the knot burrowed deep in the side of his neck, muttering low, gravel-soaked profanities beneath his breath—half at the knot, half at Tommy, and half at himself for agreeing to this in the first place. The porch was too damn pretty for cursing—lined with flower boxes overflowing with jasmine and wild mint, and some old rocking chair that looked like it had actually been made for sitting, not surviving.

He knocked twice—sharp, reluctant—and already regretted whatever the hell Tommy had gotten him into.

The door swung open almost immediately, like you’d been waiting on the other side, like you’d known he’d hesitate and come anyway.

Joel failed—spectacularly—to hide his reaction.

Tommy had mentioned you were a woman, sure. He had not mentioned that you were the kind of woman who made men forget how to breathe. The morning light spilled in behind him, framing you in gold like some holy sin, soft and warm, the robe you wore cinched lazily at the waist like it wasn’t trying to hide anything, just loosely draped to suggest comfort—but his eyes caught the line of your collarbone, the way the fabric parted ever so slightly, and dropped, uninvited, to the swell of your cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, hard.

What the fuck kinda masseuse looks like this?

He’d been expecting someone else entirely—some no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and orthopedic sandals, maybe a raspy smoker’s laugh and a mug that said #1 Back Cracker, someone who would offer him over-steeped tea and tell him stories about her son in the army or her time stationed in Kabul. He hadn’t planned for this—for lace peeking out from under your robe, for legs bare and smooth in the glow of a Jackson sunrise, for you smiling at him like you already knew he didn’t have the guts to walk away.

“Joel, right?” you asked, your voice light, almost teasing, as you leaned a little deeper into the doorway, the name tasting curious on your tongue. “Tommy’s brother?”

“Oh—yeah,” Joel said quickly, the syllable catching on the rough edge of his throat as he blinked like he was just remembering where he was. His boots scuffed slightly against the floor as he shifted his weight, shoulders twitching with a discomfort he clearly didn’t know how to hide. “I, uh… Tommy said you do massages.”

The words came out like a question, like he wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth himself—and maybe he wasn’t.

You paused, something flickering behind your eyes as your lips parted—then closed again. A breath. A scoff. Quiet, sharp, and laced with a kind of tired amusement as your gaze flicked briefly to the floor. Of course Tommy hadn’t told him the truth. Of course Tommy had sent his older brother to your door with that same boyish grin and a half-assed lie, hoping Joel wouldn’t figure it out until it was far too late to back out gracefully.

He hadn’t told him that this wasn’t just a massage.

He hadn’t told him that he was coming over to have sex with a woman—with you—and not in some hurried, transactional way, but slow, deliberate, intimate. The kind of encounter that lingered on the skin long after the door closed behind them.

You bit your lip without thinking, the movement soft and sensual, more out of habit than seduction—but it was still enough to make Joel glance away, like he’d seen too much too quickly and didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Well,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one bare leg to the other, the silk of your robe whispering across your thigh like it, too, was trying to decide what kind of evening this was going to be. “Come on in.”

You didn’t confirm or deny his assumption—just stepped aside and let him walk into the space where everything might change.

And Joel—standing there on your pretty porch, fingers twitching at his sides, jaw locked and eyes anywhere but your mouth—hadn’t figured out how to say no.

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Joel stood stiffly in your bedroom, hands twitching uselessly at his sides, his body held like a man trying not to breathe too deeply in someone else's space—already half turned toward the door, as if he could will an exit into existence before you returned.

His eyes moved over the room like he was trying not to look at anything too closely, but there was no hiding the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched every few seconds like he was already regretting stepping foot inside.

The room wasn’t what he’d expected—and not just because it was your bedroom, though that alone had made his pulse stutter. That part could’ve been explained away, justified somehow—people did all kinds of things out of their homes in Jackson. But it was the way the space was set up that made his throat feel dry.

The bed, wide and inviting, draped in soft cream linens that looked freshly smoothed, was positioned at the center of everything, with candles flickering gently along the dresser, casting long golden shadows across the floor. There were no towels. No oils lined up neatly on a cart. No clinical sterility to hide behind. Just plush throw pillows, lace-trimmed curtains, a faint trace of perfume lingering in the air, and the undeniable hum of something not quite professional.

And you—Jesus Christ, you—had offered him coffee or water, your voice light and easy like it wasn’t a loaded question, and he, too dazed to think, had said yes. You’d disappeared into the kitchen, and he’d barely exhaled since. He wasn’t sure if he was sweating or just uncomfortable in his own damn skin, but every part of him was screaming that he didn’t belong here—that you were too pretty, too soft, too young to be touching a man like him.

You, meanwhile, were grateful for the excuse to step away, your heels silent as you moved through the house, trying to get your own heart rate under control.

You knew it wouldn’t take Joel long to figure it out—that you weren’t really a masseuse, that this wasn’t some wholesome back-cracking session with a side of eucalyptus oil. That lingerie didn’t belong under robes worn for healing. And yet here you were, wearing it anyway, lace brushing against your skin with every step, wondering how long it would take before he got up and left.

When you stepped back into the room, he was still standing—just as rigid, just as uncertain. “Sit,” you said gently, offering a small, practiced smile, your tone breezy enough to keep the moment from collapsing under its own weight. “Please.”

Joel nodded once, tight-lipped, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like it might burn him. His knees were wide, his elbows stiff, his eyes trained directly ahead—on nothing at all—like he was trying very hard not to see any part of you.

You approached slowly, extending the glass of water toward him, the condensation already beginning to bead along the side.

He took it with a quiet murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—just a flicker, but enough for you to feel the heat of him, the way he flinched ever so slightly like he wasn’t used to being touched without intention.

“So, uh…” Joel began, voice low and hesitant, the sound rough like it had scraped its way out of his throat. He rubbed a hand along the side of his neck, eyes flicking briefly up to yours before landing somewhere over your shoulder, already looking like he regretted speaking at all. “How long you been doin’ all this?”

The words hung awkwardly in the air between you, heavy with implication but wrapped in a poor attempt at small talk—something Joel Miller was not known for. You could tell it took effort for him to say anything at all, that his instinct was to sit in silence and let the tension pass like a storm front, but some part of him—some flicker of politeness or nerves—had nudged him into conversation.

Your eyes widened just a little, caught off guard by the question, and then you blinked, like you needed a moment to remember who you were supposed to be in this room. “Oh—yeah,” you said, stumbling just slightly over the words. “Since I got to Jackson, really. Started pretty soon after I arrived.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. You had been doing this since you arrived—though massage had never been the core of it.

Joel nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with thought, and you could see him working through the gaps, filling in the blanks with whatever image he had in his mind. “So you, uh… didn’t have any proper trainin’? From before?”

You shook your head, lips parting as your answer tripped a little over your breath. “No. I—uh. No, it’s all… self-taught.”

His eyes lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, then shifted away again, landing on the corner of the bed, then the curtain, then the floor—anywhere but you. “Right,” he said finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say, like maybe he’d already asked too much.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold, but it was thick with uncertainty—his, mostly. His knee bounced once. His fingers tapped the glass in his hand. You could feel the weight of his restraint like smoke in the room, curling into the corners of the furniture, slipping under your robe.

You took a small step forward, smoothing your hands down the front of your robe out of instinct rather than necessity, and offered him a gentle smile—nothing suggestive, just a flicker of softness to meet his discomfort.

“Okay,” you said, voice quieter now, almost tender. “It might be easier if you take your shirt off.”

Joel’s eyes snapped back to yours—not wide, not shocked, just hesitant. Cautious in a way that wasn’t rooted in modesty but something deeper, older, worn thin over time like denim at the knees.

Still, he nodded, slow and uncertain, and reached for the buttons of his flannel, hands broad and calloused, fingers stiff with age and overuse. They moved with that steady, familiar rhythm of a man who'd spent most of his life taking off shirts for work, not for anyone watching. The ache in his knuckles—probably arthritis—tugged at him with every movement, but he didn’t stop.

He just tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had seen him like this—shirtless, stripped down, exposed in a way that wasn’t about survival. He tried not to wonder whether his body, changed by time and burden, would make you flinch. Whether the soft at his waist, the scars, the salt-and-pepper spread of hair across his chest would make you look away.

You turned away—not out of modesty, not to create distance, but to offer him something rare in this kind of space. The grace of privacy. The freedom to choose, or not choose.

Behind you, there was a quiet rustle—cloth shifting, boots scuffing gently against the floor, the faintest creak of the bed frame as his weight shifted.

“I’m ready,” Joel said at last, his voice low and gruff, the words shaped more like a sigh than a decision, like he was forcing them through clenched teeth.

You turned around slowly, hands folded softly in front of you, gaze lifting to meet him—and stilled for just a moment at the sight.

He was broader than Tommy. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, his body weathered with age and labor in a way that wasn’t unkind, just honest. The kind of build earned from years of carrying things—wood, gear, grief. His torso was lined with muscle that didn’t try to impress, but spoke of endurance, strength without vanity. Sparse hair dusted across his chest, silver threaded through dark, and a thin scar trailed down from his left shoulder toward his ribs, pale and healed and unspoken.

You cleared your throat gently, “You can lay on your tummy,” you murmured, voice soft, quiet.

He nodded once, eyes flicking away from yours, and with a heavy breath he lowered himself down, letting out a grunt as he adjusted his limbs, clearly not used to surrendering his body to anything but pain or sleep.

You dipped onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you knelt beside his frame, your knees brushing the sheets. He was tense—every muscle held taut, like even now, he didn’t know how to truly let go.

You reached out carefully, hands warm and deliberate, and let your palms press gently against the slope of his shoulders. The moment your skin touched his, he flinched—not sharply, not out of fear, but with the quiet recoil of a man unused to kindness. Of someone who hadn’t been touched gently in years—not without urgency, not without purpose.

“That hurt?” you asked softly, letting your fingers still against his back, giving him space to answer.

“No,” he murmured, voice muffled against the pillow, gruff and strangely quiet. “It’s just—”

You waited. He didn’t finish.

So you started to move again, slow and careful, letting your hands glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the rigid line of his spine, easing into the hard knots along his lower back. His skin was warm, rough in places, scarred in others, but beneath your fingers you felt something deeper—a kind of held breath, a body that had been bracing for too long.

And then—just there—just below his ribs, your thumbs pressed into a tight knot of muscle and he let out a sound. Low. Unintentional. Somewhere between a grunt and a breathless sigh, like the smallest piece of him had slipped loose without his permission.

You paused.

Not because he told you to, but because something in the room shifted—just slightly, but enough. The silence grew thicker, not with discomfort, but with heat. A different kind of tension settled beneath your palms, no longer just physical but charged.

You leaned forward, just barely—close enough that your breath warmed the curve of his neck. “That okay?” you asked, your voice low, velvet-soft.

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

So you let your hands drift lower. Slower. Testing. Exploring. And when your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, you felt him tense again—but not the same way. Not from pain. Not from unease.

From want.

A breath caught in his chest. His fingers curled in the sheets.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

You let your hands linger at the small of his back, then slowly, deliberately, splayed your palms across the wide stretch of his hips, fingertips grazing just beneath the worn hem of his jeans. The heat coming off him was no longer the warmth of skin—it was heavier now.

“Turn over,” you murmured, your voice barely more than breath, a suggestion wrapped in silk.

Joel hesitated—but only for a beat—before he shifted beneath your touch, his breath hitching slightly as he rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension, each breath like he was trying to steady something inside of him that had already tipped. His hair was mussed from the pillow, his ears flushed red, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze—his eyes somewhere near your shoulder, like he couldn’t decide if this was the moment he should speak or simply stay.

You looked at him—really looked—and it hit you with a kind of quiet intensity you hadn’t expected. Rugged. Shy. Ruined with restraint. For one suspended second, you felt your breath catch—your body going still with the weight of what you were about to admit.

“I’m not really a massage therapist,” you murmured, the truth threading from your lips like smoke, soft and unembellished.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise ghosting across his features—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t yell, didn’t get up and storm out the way you thought he might. He didn’t raise his voice or accuse you or spit something cruel. He just sat there—this man you’d heard whispered about around town, the one with the sharp jaw and the sharp aim, the one who’d killed infected like it was nothing, like breathing—and he blushed. His ears pinked. His throat bobbed. And for a man who was supposed to be all grit and gravel and gunpowder, he suddenly looked so soft.

Your gaze dropped.

And there it was—undeniable, obscene even—his cock straining thick and swollen against the front of his jeans, the fabric doing a poor job of hiding just how wrecked he already was. You could see the wet spot where he’d already leaked through, dark and damp and desperate, the denim pulled tight across the aching outline of him like his body couldn’t help betraying how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted you.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice low and cracked, almost pained, one hand dragging down his face like he could scrub the arousal off with enough pressure. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

The apology hit your chest like a bruise—small and self-conscious and entirely Joel. Like he couldn’t imagine that his desire was allowed, like he thought being this turned on was somehow shameful. Like he wasn’t sure if wanting made him pathetic.

It was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never apologized for being hard. He wore it like a joke, a badge, always ready with some cocky little line—“That one’s your fault, sweetheart”—as he adjusted himself without blinking. He got hard, you both laughed, he’d kiss your shoulder or slap your ass and go right back to whatever he was doing, comfortable in his skin, in his want, in the way he took up space.

You reached for him before that shame could bloom any further, your hand wrapping gently around his wrist—steadying him, grounding him—and you leaned in close, voice soft and sure and edged in something deeper.

“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your fingers slide slowly up his forearm. “Don’t apologize.”

Your gaze dropped again, drinking in the sight of him—his flushed neck, the way his thighs had tensed, how his cock twitched hard under your stare like it hurt to be untouched.

And then—without breaking eye contact—you sank slowly to your knees between his thighs, the sheets rustling beneath you as your robe slipped open just enough to reveal the tops of your breasts, the soft glow of your skin catching the light. Joel’s breath hitched sharply in his chest, and he didn’t move—didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—he just watched, wide-eyed and stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he was afraid that moving might wake him up.

“That’s why I’m here,” you murmured, your voice low, velvet-smooth as your fingers glided up the inside of his thigh. You could feel the heat radiating off him now—thick, pulsing heat—and you swore his legs trembled just slightly under your touch, like his body had been starving for this, aching longer than he’d ever dared admit. “To take care of you.”

You reached for his belt then, undoing the worn leather with slow, reverent hands, letting the soft clink of the buckle echo in the stillness. He sucked in a breath at the sound alone, as though it unraveled something inside him.

Before you even freed him, you pressed your palm gently over the bulge in his jeans—and fuck, he twitched beneath your touch, cock rock-hard and leaking, the wet spot soaking through the denim where he’d already been dripping for you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word trembling out of him like he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to say it. “This—this ain’t right.”

You looked up at him from between his legs, your position deliberate, your eyes steady and warm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shy away. You just smiled softly, your voice velvet-wrapped and laced in heat. “Why not?”

Joel’s gaze dropped—first to your mouth, then to your hand still palmed over the thick, pulsing bulge in his jeans. His chest rose in quick, shallow breaths, like he was trying to breathe through wanting. “You’re—fuck—you’re a hooker?”

His voice cracked on the word, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. Like it made him feel ashamed to be this turned on by someone he wasn’t supposed to deserve.

But you didn’t pull back.

You didn’t offer shame or explanations. You kept your hand right where it was—pressing gently against the thick, leaking shape of his cock—and leaned in, close enough that your breath warmed the sensitive skin of his thigh through the fabric.

“I’m here,” you whispered, slow and steady, “to make you feel good.”

Joel opened his mouth, ready to argue, to throw up some sad scrap of pride or guilt—but you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

Right on the inside of his clothed knee, a soft, filthy little kiss that made him twitch beneath your palm. So gentle. So patient. So goddamn unfair to a man who hadn’t been touched like this in years.

“Stop thinking so much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against him again. “Let me take care of you.”

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel it pulse between you—hesitation, thick and tight, the kind that came from deep inside a man who hadn’t let himself need in a long time. The want was there, throbbing—pressed up against years of restraint, of pride, of silence. But then Joel looked down at you—eyes wide, pupils blown, a little wild with it—and he nodded. Once. Sharp. Like the motion hurt.

“Okay,” he said. Then, barely audible—“Please.”

God, his voice on that word—so wrecked, so raw—you could’ve come from the sound alone.

You smiled, slow and warm, something curling in your chest, deep and satisfied. “Good boy.”

The words slipped out before you even thought them through—instinctive, soft, teasing. But the moment they left your mouth, you saw it hit him. His jaw clenched, his chest stilled, his breath catching like you’d yanked the air right out of him.

His eyes flicked away immediately, like he wasn’t sure what just happened or why it made his cock twitch so hard it strained visibly against his jeans. But it did. And he felt it.

He was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never waited. Never asked. He’d grip your thighs, mutter something cocky like “Bet you’re already wet for me,” and be halfway inside before you could catch your breath. He took control like it was his birthright—rough palms, fast kisses, always in command.

“Let’s get these off, huh?” you said gently, already reaching for the button on his jeans, your fingers working with slow precision, deliberate and unhurried, like you were unwrapping something rare.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, chest bare, arms braced behind him, watching you with a look that was part surrender, part disbelief.

You pulled the denim down, inch by inch, and then his boxers—already damp with arousal—until both were gathered around his thighs.

And then his cock sprang free.

Fuck.

It slapped up toward his stomach with weight, flushed and hard and glistening at the tip, fat drops of pre-come already trailing down the shaft. Not as long as Tommy, no—but thicker, meatier, with veins you could trace with your tongue and a curve that made your cunt clench just looking at it. The kind of cock that filled you. That stretched you.

Your mouth watered.

And below it—God. His pubes were wild, a thick thatch of dark hair streaked with silver, coarse and completely untouched, like he hadn’t even thought to groom because he never imagined someone might want to see him like this. And that happy trail? Not neat. Not delicate. Just a messy line of hair leading down from his soft stomach to the base of his cock—feral, raw, real, like the rest of him. This wasn’t a man who prepped for pleasure. This was a man who had been surviving.

And still—he was so fucking hard for you.

Visibly twitching with every breath you took.

Your hand found his thigh first, the heat of him pulsing beneath your palm, solid and thick beneath your touch. You let your fingers trace the curve of his muscle, the hair there soft and coarse at once, and you felt the faintest tremble as you leaned in closer, your breath warming the head of his cock just enough to make him twitch.

“You’re so big, Joel,” you murmured, your voice slow, low, reverent, like you were saying it just for him and no one else. “You’re already dripping for me, baby,” you added with a little smile, dragging your thumb across the head—slow, teasing, making his hips jerk like he hadn’t even meant to move.

His breath caught, chest rising like he’d been hit, eyes locked on you in disbelief. “Christ,” he rasped, the word escaping him like it physically hurt to hold it in. His hand twitched where it braced against the bed, knuckles white, jaw tense, his eyes dragging over you like he was afraid to blink and miss anything.

Then, softly, sweetly—you tilted your head, lips just brushing the inside of his thigh.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” you asked, the question falling from your lips like silk, delicate but charged, heavy with intention.

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed hard.

“I—” he stammered, and then exhaled like it cost him something. “Shit… can I… can I see you first?”

The request was so gentle, so earnest, it cracked something inside you. There was no demand in it. No entitlement. Just the soft ache of a man who hadn’t been given softness in a long time, if ever. He wanted to see you. Not just touch, not just take—see. He wanted you to be real to him, wanted to remember how you looked in this moment, flushed and glowing and his, if only for now.

You couldn’t help but smile. “See me?” you echoed softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He nodded—barely—a small, shaky dip of his chin like anything more might shatter the moment. And when he spoke, his voice was rough, low, wrecked, caught between awe and the kind of ache that sat low in a man’s belly. “Yeah… if that’s okay,” he said. “I just—fuck. I wanna remember it.”

You straightened slowly, your breath soft and even, fingers slipping to the sash of your robe. The silk felt cool against your skin, a faint whisper as it slid beneath your touch. You untied it with quiet grace, letting the knot fall loose, the fabric parting to reveal the delicate lace beneath—your lingerie soft and sheer, clinging to you like second skin.

Joel’s eyes were on you now—truly on you—and the way he looked made your stomach flip. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just wide-eyed and reverent, like you were something holy he didn’t know how to touch without ruining.

You stepped closer.

His hands rose slowly, hesitantly, the way a starving man might reach for fruit he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His fingers brushed your hips with the barest pressure—calloused and trembling, like even that much contact might be too much. His thumbs ghosted along your skin, just beneath the lace, pressing in gently like he needed proof that you were real and not some fevered hallucination his mind had conjured from loneliness and want.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough but quiet, like it hurt to say aloud—like he was asking permission just to want you. His eyes lifted to yours, and they were so fucking open, something vulnerable flickering there, raw and unguarded, as if a single word from you might send him crumbling.

You nodded, slowly, letting your smile bloom soft and slow—something deeper than heat, something that said yes, I want this too.

Your fingers threaded into his hair—thick and unruly, streaked with silver at the temples—and the second your nails grazed his scalp, he broke. Not loudly. Not all at once. But in the way his breath hitched, in the way his knees seemed to go soft beneath him, in the way his entire body leaned into your touch like it was the first good thing he’d felt in years.

His shoulders dropped like a weight had slid off of them, like your hands alone were holding him upright. He didn’t move his own—just kept them resting on your hips, loose and trembling, like he was scared if he held tighter, you might pull away.

And when you tugged gently at the strands, he let out the softest, smallest sound—a whimper, barely there, but so raw it made your chest ache.

He tilted his head into your palm like he couldn’t help it. Like your touch was oxygen. Like he needed it more than he needed to come.

Like he’d been waiting for this—not just your body, but your hands, your care, your permission to be held—for far, far too long.

“You can take this off,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers toyed with the straps of your lingerie. “If you want.”

He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, his eyes flicking up to yours again—wide, hesitant, a little stunned.

“You sure?” he asked, and God—his voice when he said it, thick with that gravelly drawl and threaded with something so soft it made your chest ache. His eyes were almost pleading—puppy-dog eyes, sweet and unsure, hidden under all that gruff exterior. The kind of look that said he wanted it so badly he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding as your teeth grazed your lower lip, voice as open and bare as the skin he hadn’t touched yet. “I want you to see me.”

His eyes stayed locked to yours, dark and wide and uncertain, but he nodded—just once, soft and small—his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Okay.”

You moved slowly, carefully, like the moment might break if you shifted too fast. Your knees sank into the bed, and you straddled him gently, your body folding around his like a promise, like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop wanting. His cock—hard and flushed and waiting—pressed up against the thin fabric between your thighs, heat meeting heat, and you felt him twitch slightly, breath catching in that way that made you ache for him.

He was still so nervous, so unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to want this, if you truly meant what you’d said—so you leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, your mouth brushing against his like you were giving him time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

Joel kissed you back with a kind of desperation that nearly undid you—like he was starving for it, like every nerve in his body remembered what his mind had forced itself to forget. His lips were rough, a little clumsy, but so eager, so full of want it made your knees weak. His hands gripped your hips first—tight, tentative—but then one of them slid slowly up your back, the movement stiff and unpracticed.

You felt his fingers fumble at the clasp of your bra.

Slow. Awkward.

A clink. A pause.

Then another tug that clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

You smiled into the kiss, unable to help the way your lips curved gently against his. The affection in your chest bloomed too big to contain.

“Need a hand, baby?” you murmured, teasing soft and warm.

Joel froze.

Literally froze, like you’d just caught him red-handed doing something far more scandalous than trying to get your bra off.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw, brows furrowed in mortified concentration. His hand was still awkwardly stuck on the clasp like it might bite him.

“Shit—God, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse, the shame already rising like a tide in his chest. “It’s just… I haven’t—fuck, it’s been a while. A long while.”

Your heart swelled. Not with pity—but with something softer. Deeper.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you whispered, your voice like balm, soft and steady. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

He huffed quietly, almost laughed—but it didn’t carry humor, just something strained and bruised, something that lived in the hollow of his chest. He shook his head, gaze dropping as he muttered, “I’m sure the other men you’re with…”

“Joel,” you said firmly, cutting him off before the sentence could reach its end, your voice soft but full of weight. You leaned in a little, pressing your forehead gently to his, forcing him to look at you, to feel how present you were. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now but you. Okay?”

His breath shuddered out of him in response, his eyes closing like he was holding that truth against his ribs, trying to believe it. After a moment, he nodded, the smallest, quietest movement—just enough to say he heard you. Just enough to say okay.

You smiled at him then, slow and warm, and leaned back just slightly. “Now,” you murmured, fingers slipping behind your back with practiced ease, “let’s get this off.”

Your hands worked quickly, but not rushed—there was no shame in the movement, no hesitation, no apology. Just the quiet, practiced confidence of a woman who knew exactly how powerful she was. The clasp of your bra came undone with a soft snap, the straps sliding down your arms with sinful grace before the lace slipped away completely, falling to the floor like it had never deserved to touch your skin in the first place.

And then—you were bare.

Joel’s breath caught so violently in his chest he almost choked on it.

Your tits were fucking perfect. Full and high, soft but heavy, flushed with heat, nipples tight and begging to be sucked. Lit by the golden light filtering through the room, they looked practically edible—glistening, mouth-watering, obscene in how pretty they were. They swayed gently with every breath you took, right at his eye level as you sat astride him, so close he could’ve buried his face between them and died happy.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Wide-eyed, jaw slack, pupils blown so dark they nearly swallowed the color. Like he wasn’t sure whether to worship or drop to his knees. Like it was his first time seeing a naked woman and you were every fantasy he’d ever had—all of it—wrapped in silk, sweat, and sin.

And fuck, the way he looked at you?

It made you wet. Soaking. Aching.

Because his gaze wasn’t greedy. It was wrecked. Full of awe. Full of reverence, like you were something holy and he was already praying.

His tongue flicked out, instinctive, desperate—wetting his lips like he could taste you just from looking.

And finally—hoarse, broken, like it physically hurt to say it—he murmured, “You’re… beautiful.”

You smiled at him then, your hands still resting gently at the back of his head, your fingers idly curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re handsome,” you said, and meant it—because even flustered, even blushing, even sitting there with guilt in his eyes and wonder on his face, Joel was beautiful. In a way he didn’t know how to carry. In a way you ached to show him.

He shook his head a little at that, bashful, like the compliment didn’t belong to him, like he didn’t know where to put it.

You leaned in slightly, shifting your weight just enough to press your chest a little closer to him, your breasts soft and warm in the space between you, your skin nearly touching his. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice low, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your breath shivered across it. “I like when people use their mouth.”

Your fingers slipped deeper into his hair, gently tugging at the roots, anchoring him in the moment, steadying him against the flood rising between you.

“Whatever you wanna do,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

His breath shuddered in response—just a single exhale—but it sounded wrecked, like you’d just undone something in him that had been locked tight for years.

His hands rose slowly, big and broad and calloused, shaking just slightly as he brought them to your chest. And when he finally cupped your tits—gently, reverently, like they might melt in his palms—you swore you saw his lips part in pure awe.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples—light, tentative—and his gaze flicked up to meet yours, wrecked and open and begging for approval.

You nodded.

And he leaned in.

Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair as his mouth closed around your nipple, warm and wet and so gentle at first, like he was still afraid he might do it wrong. But the moment he sucked—just a little, just enough to pull a quiet gasp from your lips—you whimpered, the sound leaving you before you could stop it, breathy and broken and so full of want it made his cock twitch against the inside of your thigh.

He froze for just a heartbeat, pulling back only slightly to glance up at you, lips still parted, a little swollen now, his eyes dark with something soft and searching.

“Am I…” he paused, his voice rough and low, so unsure, like the words tasted foreign in his mouth. “Am I doing good?”

God. God.

Your chest rose with the breath you sucked in, your eyes already glossed with it, your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded—hard, fast, desperate for him to understand just how much he was ruining you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hips already rocking forward, chasing friction. “Fuck, Joel… you’re making me feel so good.”

His eyes widened slightly at the praise, his breath catching in his throat, like he didn’t know how to carry those words—but needed to.

You cupped his face then, pulled him back to your chest, your thighs squeezing tighter around him as his hands cradled your hips and his mouth returned to your breast with more purpose now, more hunger.

He moaned against your skin, low and desperate, sucking softly, his tongue flicking over your nipple just to hear the way your breath stuttered.

“Shit,” you breathed, voice barely holding together, your body already flushed and trembling from the way he touched you like you were something precious, something sacred he didn’t know how to handle but wanted to try.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your thumb brushing gently over his flushed cheek, your chest still rising fast from the weight of his mouth. “Lie down,” you murmured, the command soft but firm, wrapped in something far more tender than dominance. “Get comfortable.”

Joel obeyed without a word, shifting beneath you with a quiet grunt as his back met the sheets, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left you. They dragged down your body like a prayer, following the way your hands slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, baring yourself to him inch by inch until there was nothing left between you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw you, the heat of your pussy glistening in the low light, your thighs already slick with want, your confidence quiet but undeniable.

You crawled back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, your knees parting as you straddled his thighs again, his cock thick and flushed and waiting, twitching slightly where it rested against his stomach. Your breasts—red and swollen and slick from his mouth—bounced gently with each movement, catching the light like they’d been made for him.

And then—just as you were about to reach for him again—Joel sat up.

“Wait,” he said, voice low and rough, and a little breathless.

You stilled, your hands settling on his chest, your brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the curve of his shoulder.

He looked at you—so shy, so unsure, like a man who didn’t know if he was allowed to ask. His cheeks were flushed, his lashes low, his voice softer now than you’d ever heard it.

“Can I…” he hesitated, swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll last long if you—if you use your mouth. Can I just—can I be inside you?”

You smiled, “Of course you can,” you whispered against his mouth, your lips brushing his with a sweetness that made him sigh into you, the sound barely audible but heavy with relief, like the permission alone had eased something he’d been holding for far too long. “I want you to.”

But before he could move—before he could even think—you reached down, your hand slipping between your bodies, finding his and lacing your fingers together. Gently, deliberately, you guided his hand downward, slower than necessary, not for hesitation but for effect—for connection—until his fingers rested at the slick heat of your entrance.

“Here,” you said, voice breathy, your eyes locked to his. “Feel.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and glassy, full of disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to give him this, too. His throat worked around a hard swallow, the tips of his fingers twitching against the soaked warmth of your cunt, already glistening for him.

“For me?” he asked, the words almost reverent.

You nodded, biting your lip, your breath hitching as his fingertip brushed just barely against your entrance. “For you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with heat. “I’m so wet, Joel. For you.”

He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part plea—and you could feel how badly he wanted this, how hard he was fighting to hold on to whatever control he still had.

“I—” he started, and then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Shit. My back’s bad. And my knees—”

You smiled, warm and teasing, as you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice turning playful as you reached for his cock and lined him up against your soaked entrance. “Gonna make me do all the work, huh?” you teased, your hips already rolling slightly, letting the thick head of him slip just barely into your folds.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, flustered, completely undone now, blinking up at you like you’d just caught him stealing something precious.

“I’m joking, Joel,” you said with a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into his hair, your lips brushing his as you began to sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the most perfect way. “Relax. Let me bounce on your cock.”

Joel exhaled like he’d been punched in the chest, his hands gripping your hips instinctively, not to control—but to anchor. His eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and filled with something that looked dangerously close to awe.

And then you sank down—fully—his cock stretching you wide, thick and throbbing and buried so deep it felt like you couldn’t possibly take more.

Your cunt clenched tight around him, soaked and fluttering with every inch he filled, your thighs trembling from the fullness. You held still, just for a moment—breathing with him, grounding yourself—as your body adjusted to the sweet, overwhelming ache of having all of him inside you.

And Joel?

He fucking unraveled.

His head tipped back against the pillow, jaw slack, throat arched, eyes squeezed shut as he let out the most broken, shaky moan you'd ever heard tear from his chest.

“F-fuck—oh my God,” he gasped, the words tumbling out of him like they weren’t meant to be said out loud. “Fuck—sweetheart—I—I can’t—”

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them—torn between holding you down and worshipping you. His whole body trembled beneath you, his thighs tight, chest rising in frantic, ragged bursts like he was trying not to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed again, voice high and wrecked, cracking under the weight of it all—awe, hunger, helpless fucking need. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight—so warm—I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—”

He looked up at you like you were about to ruin him—eyes wide and glossy, mouth open, chest rising fast.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice shaking so badly you felt it in your cunt. “Don’t—don’t move yet. I—I need a second.”

You nodded gently, cradling his face, letting him breathe through it—letting his cock throb deep inside you as your walls fluttered around him, gripping like a fucking vice.

But when he finally exhaled, when the tension in his shoulders dropped just enough—you moved.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips. One long, drawn-out rock that pressed your clit right against the base of his cock, dragging every inch of him against the softest, tightest parts of you.

Joel gasped.

His eyes slammed shut, his fingers digging into your hips like he didn’t know whether to pull you down or beg you to stop.

“You okay, baby?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek.

He nodded—too fast, too desperate—his head barely bobbing before he choked out, “Yeah, just—fuck, slow down—please. I ain’t gonna last long if you—”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, anchoring him in the heat between your bodies, and whispered against his lips, “That’s okay. You don’t have to last long, Joel.”

Another grind. Wetter this time.

His breath hitched violently.

“Just let me make you feel good.”

And then you rolled your hips again—slower this time, deeper—and his hands shook on your skin, his whole body going tight beneath you as he gasped and swore again, his voice barely holding together.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, one hand slipping up to your waist, fingers trembling, the other rising to your chest like he couldn’t help it. You guided him, curling his hand around your breast, moaning as his thumb grazed your nipple.

“Touch me, Joel,” you whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

And he was—his cock throbbing inside you, his mouth open, eyes wide and overwhelmed, his voice breaking as he tried to keep himself from losing it. But your pussy was gripping him so tight, soaking and pulsing and grinding down with every slow, filthy roll of your hips—and he was ruined.

“Shit—darlin, please—I can’t—” Joel gasped beneath you, voice catching as his fingers dug into your hips, trying desperately to still you, to slow you down, to regain any control over the way your body was grinding down onto his, slick and hot and perfect around him. His head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut like he was holding on by a thread.

But you didn’t stop.

You moved faster now, hips rolling deep and steady, your thighs trembling from the pace, your cunt clenching around him with every thrust. Joel’s hands flew to your waist, gripping you hard, like he could physically slow you down—but even as his fingers dug into your skin, his hips bucked up to meet you, chasing your rhythm like his body had stopped listening to him.

“Darlin’,” he gasped, voice fraying, wrecked, “you gotta stop—I’m serious—fuck, you gotta slow down or I’m gonna—”

But you didn’t stop.

You moved harder.

And Joel’s breath hitched, eyes wide, mouth open like he was trying to warn you and couldn’t remember how.

“Shit—shit,—stop movin’—I can’t—I’m not gonna hold it—fuck, I’m gonna come—you’re gonna make me come.”

His voice cracked on the last word, his grip trembling as he tried to slow you, tried to guide you off him—but his cock twitched violently inside you, and his hips snapped up in betrayal, chasing that edge like he couldn’t help it.

And then he broke.

With a sharp, shuddering gasp, his whole body arched beneath you, thighs shaking, eyes squeezing shut as he came hard, release spilling into you in thick, pulsing waves. His hands clamped down on your hips, not to stop you anymore—but to hold on, to anchor himself as the pleasure tore through him, brutal and sudden.

His jaw clenched, breath catching in his throat as he moaned low and hoarse, like he was in pain from how good it was.

You gasped softly at the warmth spreading inside you, the way his cock twitched with every pulse of it, the way he moaned your name—broken, wrecked—like a prayer against your collarbone, his breath shuddering as it spilled from him.

And then—he pulled you in.

His arms wrapped tight around your waist, dragging you down against his chest, like he needed you closer, needed to be grounded in the heat of your skin. His face buried in your neck, breath ragged, hot and frantic, his whole body still trembling with the aftershocks. He held onto you like he thought he might float away if he didn’t—fingers digging into your back, too tight, too desperate.

You didn’t move.

You just stroked your fingers slowly through his hair, soft and patient, cradling the back of his head like he was something fragile, like you were holding a man coming undone quietly in your arms.

And Joel? He didn’t even lift his head.

He couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven waves, his cock still buried inside you, twitching with sensitivity, every part of him too much—too raw, too fast, too gone. He pressed his face deeper into the curve of your neck, like maybe if he hid long enough, you wouldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

“Fuck,” he rasped finally, voice hoarse, choked, mortified. “I—shit. I’m so sorry.”

The words were slurred, mumbled into your skin, thick with shame, like they physically hurt to say.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I didn’t think I’d—”

He cut himself off, groaning in frustration, still unable to look at you. Like he was bracing for disappointment. Like you were gonna laugh. Like he’d failed some unspoken test.

“I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he whispered. “That’s… not how I wanted to do this.”

“Shh,” you whispered softly, stroking his hair a little slower now, your touch more comfort than seduction. “You don’t have to be sorry, Joel.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, your gaze tender, reverent. “You did so good for me,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth, your voice a hush of affection. “Made me feel so good. So warm.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure, and when he looked at you—really looked—he almost broke again.

“Look at me,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek. “Please.”

And when he did, you kissed him—slow, deep, soft enough to make him sigh against your lips. His mouth opened to you like instinct, and he almost whimpered into it, the sound desperate and sweet, like his heart was leaking out through the press of your mouths. He held onto you tighter then, arms curling around your waist, pulling you down against him like he didn’t want any space left between your bodies.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

He just breathed.

Held.

Tried to remember what it felt like to be this close to another person without losing something.

And then—so quietly you almost missed it—he whispered, “I don’t wanna go.”

The words cracked something in you. Not lust. Not even longing. Just something bare and soft and aching.

You kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and whispered back, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

He stayed.

Wrapped around you, still trembling, still catching his breath, holding you like you were the only safe place left in the world.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

TY FOR READIN - LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS IN THE COMMENTS !!!!

[foxlorests]

𝑰𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔

Read "Idealists" on Archive of Our Own here.

♫⋆｡Tags: 18+ Mature Content, Age gap, slow burn, PinV, Oral sex, jealousy, love triangle (Harry wins), pet names, possessive behaviour, masturbation, soulmates, domestic fluff, love confessions, new york city romcom vibes!

♫⋆｡Summary:

Harry lived his whole life being valued for what he had: possessions, money, status, charm, looks.

He gave generously, dressed impeccably, and dated strategically. But behind every relationship was a transaction, and behind every gift was the hope he might finally be enough.

After another quiet failure, fate caught up with him—in the form of a young cellist he met five years ago.

To her, he wasn’t a sum of assets or an entry in a ledger. He was simply Harry. And that was a revelation more powerful than any fortune.

AO3 | Wattpad | Spotify Playlist | Youtube Music Playlist

Chapters uploaded on Tumblr will be updated here as we go along! Updates every week on Saturday.

CHAPTER ONE: PRELUDE, IN THE RAIN CHAPTER TWO: THE REPRISE

[lionlena]

1. New job, new problems... (PedroPascalxreader) - one shot

Ok, so here's the first one shot of: one shots week. As I wrote, I was inspired by my problems, but don't take everything literally, because of course I changed some things, but generally yes, my new co-workers are mean bitches. But I've come to terms with it. At least instead of talking to them, I write ff xD

Summary: co-workers at your new job treat you badly. You try to hide it from your boyfriend, but even from a distance Pedro senses that something is wrong.

Warnings: little sad but later fluff and loving, caring Pedro

This can be considered as a continuation: ♡Just let it go…

You were happy when you got a new job where you made more money. No matter how many times Pedro told that you could have his money. You felt bad about it and wanted to prove to him that you weren't with him for the money.

However, you soon found out that your new job was a nightmare. And it wasn't the job itself, because it was easy and fun for you. Your co-workers were the problem. You ended up in a three-person team consisting of all women, and you felt their hostility from the very beginning. They had trouble giving you the simplest of information, like where the bathroom is. They responded with annoyance to your every question. But you thought they'd get used to you over time. You were polite and tried to have little chats with them, but it was not effective because they ignored you. With each passing day, you felt worse and worse, and as if your misfortune wasn't enough, Pedro flew to the set in Morocco.

You sighed heavily as you sat alone at a table during your lunch break. You've been scrolling through the photos fans have taken of your boyfriend. It always made you feel a little better and made you forget everything for a moment. Your boyfriend looked pleased, though you could see he was tired. You wanted so much to hug him and make sure he was taking care of himself.

Of course, Pedro wanted you to go with him. At least for a few days, but you couldn't take free time from your new job so quickly. Another minus.

And of course, every time you spoke to him, you said everything was fine. You didn't want to worry him. You knew he should be focused on a movie set.

You were just looking at a photo of Pedro wearing a white t-shirt that was visibly wet at the bottom. You smiled and started to wonder what your beloved had done. Knowing him, he probably spilled something on himself. Pedro was so clumsy sometimes. But you loved it about him. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even notice your co-workers walking past you. Their sudden giggles made you jump and almost drop your phone.

"Seriously Y/N," Jane said. "You'd better focus on your job, not on dreaming about some actor who doesn't even know you exist."

You had to bite your tongue not to say that unlike her, you work instead of filing your nails half the day.

"I don't know what these girls see in him," Michele said.

You perfectly saw how a few days earlier she was drooling at the monitor when she was reading an article about your boyfriend.

Before you could answer anything, they walked away laughing like crazy.

When you talked to Pedro in the evening, you could hardly keep your composure. He asked you several times if you were okay.

"Honey, you really do sound kind of weird," he said sadly.

"I'm really fine... I've had a busy day today and I think I'm having a migraine."

"My poor baby," he cooed. "Maybe you should lie down."

"That's what I'll do."

"Do you want me to talk to you on the phone until you fall asleep?"

You wanted to cry. Your boyfriend was so sweet and caring.

"Yes," you whispered.

You only felt worse for the next few days. Even during lunch, you didn't look at pictures with Pedro because your co-workers always sat at the table next to you. You were sure those bitches did it on purpose. It was ridiculous and you felt like you were in high school.

You started wondering if you should just start going out to some restaurant for lunch. You would have less time then, but you would gain peace of mind. Suddenly you heard some commotion behind you.

"Is that him? It's impossible," Michele murmured.

You turned around and your heart leaped. You couldn't believe your eyes. A smiling Pedro was walking towards you with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. You couldn't take it any longer and ran over to him. He welcomed you with open arms and hugged you tightly. You pulled away from him after a while, to look into his eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the silly faces of these three bitches.

"What are you doing here?" you choked out.

"Did you really think I wouldn't sense something was wrong?" He stroked your cheek gently. "I'm back only for two days, but I hope it's enough."

You nodded and murmured, "I still have a few hours left at work."

"I know, but I couldn't wait to see you. I'll pick you up in the car so you don't have to take the subway back and we'll spend a wonderful evening together."

You blushed involuntarily, and he chuckled and whispered in your ear, "Yeah, I'm thinking about that too."

You shook your head and groaned as you realized you had to get back to work. You kissed Pedro on goodbye.

Suddenly your co-workers wanted to talk to you, but this time you ignored them. It was really sweet revenge.

Pedro has come for you as promised. On the way, he picked up food from your favorite restaurant. At home, he lit the candles and asked, "Dinner first, or bath first?"

You looked at him lovingly. "Dinner."

After you ate, he prepared an aromatic, warm bath for you. The tub was big enough for both of you to fit comfortably. You sat between his legs and rested your head on his chest. His big hands traced patterns on your breasts and belly. You finally felt relaxed. You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. You felt Pedro kiss you on the head. "My love, can you tell me what's been making you so sad lately?"

You nodded and squeezed his hand tightly. Though you tried to be calm, your voice trembled a few times as you told him about your job and how your co-workers treated you.

Pedro listened to you carefully, and at the end of your story, he hugged you tightly and kissed your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry babe. These stupid women should be glad to be working with someone as great as you." He placed a kiss on your shoulder again. "I know we've talked about this before, but you don't have to work. You know that. Why do I need money if I can't make the people I love happy?"

You smiled and squeezed his arm. "I know baby. But I want to go back there and watch those bitches die of jealousy because I have the most amazing and handsome boyfriend in the world."

Pedro chuckled and hugged you tighter. "Can this most amazing and handsome boy take you to bed and enjoy your body?"

"Yes!" you squeaked.

A week later, your boss appreciated your work and decided to transfer you to a new, more experienced team. Your new co-workers turned out to be very friendly and communicative. Enjoyed your job again. Though it was nice knowing you had a great boyfriend thanks to whom you don't have to work. And you don't have to worry about money.

Taglist: @creedslove

[josephquinnswhore]

Don’t Listen - pedro pascal x bisexual! female reader

Summary: you receive hate from Pedro's fans because they think you're lying about your sexuality.

Word Count: 0.9k

Content Warning: bullying, online harassment, self doubt.

Note: I know it’s not pride month yet but IM PROUD TO BE APART OF THE COMMUNITY EVERY MONTH. Love you all so much 🏳️‍🌈. In Australia we recently just celebrated Mardi Gras - it inspired me to write something as a bisexual woman.

Pedro loved this time of the year, he supported the lgbtqi+ community loud and proud, using his platform, he became a public voice for people in the community to support them. You had reposted Pedro’s own tweet and made your own, being apart of the community as a bisexual woman, you wanted you extend your support and acknowledge the struggles the community has faced and face to this day, while admiring how far things had come in the past few decades.

Pedro’s ‘fans’ decided this was outrageous and they simply couldn’t accept it, Twitter users in general were blasting you, because you posted the pride flag and the bisexual flag, owning the hurdles and self doubt you’d felt with over the years coming to terms with your sexuality. Your brain kept repeating the words you read.

“Bisexual? She’s definitely cheated on pedro.” No. I would never.

“It’s any wonder she could attract one gender let alone two.” Everyone is beautiful.

“Fakeclaiming being apart of the lgbtqi community isn’t cute girl. Check yourself!!!!” I would never lie about something so important.

“Fucking dirty slut. Leave pedro and save yourself the embarrassment.” Why are do people say such horrible things.

“How can pedro be with someone like this?” He loves me, right?

Pedro hadn’t been oblivious to the fact that you’d received hate comments over the years as a result of being his girlfriend, it was expected, and usually you handled things great. Communicated with Pedro and your skin grew thicker over time, their comments about you held no weight, your kindness became power for you, disgregarding them like water off a ducks back.

This however, triggered you immensely and sent your mind spiraling, your brain searching for the memories that had traumatised you as a teenager growing up in a strict and homophobic household. It was the one and only thing you truly struggled with in your life, and thought you overcame.

Pedro has never seen a moment where you doubted yourself or a decision you seemed confident making. He had never been in the position where he has seen you so broken down as you are now;

Pacing the lounge room, tears streaming down your cheeks, red and swollen under eyes, and body trembling, the culprit of your broken demeanour coming from your phone, your eyes encaptured in a trance, unable to stop reading.

Pedro rushed forward and pulled you into his body, your arms in an awkward position press against your chests folded inward. You leaned your head on his shoulder, the softness of his sweater inviting you into him, adding to the comfort he provided. His hand caressed the back of your head, stroking your hair, his fingertips lingering on your scalp causing a ticklish tingle that send a shiver down your neck.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” His hushed voice whispering in your ear made you weak, your heart soaring and overflowing with love as he swaddles you in his arms, protecting you.

“Look at me baby.” You comply, your lip is in a small pout as it wobbles, your eyes shining with a gloss that made your eye colour more enticing as they’re full of emotion, a redness covered your cheeks and top of your nose that begged to be kissed to relieve their anguish.

“No one knows your struggle. You are an incredible, brave and intelligent woman and I am so proud to call you my girlfriend.” Tears fall from your lash line and tickle your red cheeks momentarily before Pedro wipes the tear away with his thumb.

“Repeat it with me baby.” The sincerity in his voice has your chest constricting.

“I am incredible.” His brown eyes watch you as you repeat him.

“I am brave.” Your lips mimic the words and he cracks a small smile.

“I am intelligent.” Your lip stops wobbling through the last affirmation, your eyes drying, tear stains on your cheeks crusting.

“You deserve me, I deserve you.” Your voice repeats his words solidly, believing his reassurance.

“Take some breaths with me now baby okay? Just follow my lead.” Pedro inhales deeply, you inhale, your lungs expanding and holding the air for a few seconds before releasing the exhaling with him. Repeating the process, your mind becomes clear with clarity, the overwhelming anxiety dissipating as your usual levelness settles in your brain like a freshly dried blanket providing some comfort.

You open your eyes to Pedro staring down at you, observing you. His eyebrows are raised upward baring concern, lines in his forehead creasing at the action. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your whisper barely reached his ears, your fingers tickling his face as you traced shapes along his patchy beard. “I’m always going to be here baby. You handled it incredibly, I’m so proud of you.” He leans his head down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead that lingers for a few seconds before parting. Brown eyes scanning your face, admiring the beauty of you, even after you had a breakdown. Pedro took you all, the good the bad, the fucking terrible. He would do it everyday if he had to. You were his girl, he would move mountains for you.

“I’m so lucky to have you. I love you Pedrito.” His nose comes down to nuzzle your own, foreheads pressed together lovingly in an effort of Pedro creating a safe space for you. “I love you baby, happy pride month.”

[meveispunk]

Okay, okay, OKAY. Listen! Hear this out,

I need (NEED) a fic about :

Francisco Morales being a single DAD x Reader is his kid teacher.

(Yes, Yes) that’s what I need. Please beautiful and talented writers of tumblr. PLEASE someone write this 😫

You will have my eternal LOVE.

[joelsrose]

Home

fluff that makes my heart

“Hey, sweet girl,” Joel murmured as he stepped through the door, his voice low and warm, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His work boots scuffed lightly against the floor as he made his way toward you. You didn’t even notice him at first, too busy glaring at your laptop screen, your brows knit tight in frustration. You’d been sitting at the dining table all day, your shoulders tense, and the sight made his heart ache a little.

He crouched down beside you, resting a hand on your thigh. “Darlin’, you’ve been at this all day, huh?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your leg. You hummed distractedly in response, your focus still glued to the screen, trying to figure out whatever had you so stressed.

Joel tilted his head, studying your furrowed brows, the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. His hand slid up to gently cradle your face, coaxing you to look at him. “C’mon, baby, give me those pretty eyes,” he teased, his voice full of tenderness. When your gaze finally met his, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.

“You’re gonna fry that pretty little brain of yours if you keep this up,” he said, leaning in to press the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to let you feel the warmth of him. “How ‘bout you take a break for me, sweetheart? Let me take care of my girl for a bit.”

Your chest fluttered at the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. “I just—this thing’s been giving me so much trouble all day, Joel,” you murmured, your voice a little defeated.

He shook his head gently, his hands sliding down to take yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “Honey, you’re the smartest, most determined little thing I’ve ever known. You’ll figure it out, I know you will. But not if you’re running on fumes,” he said, his voice so soft it made your heart ache in the best way. “Now, how ‘bout you let me fix you somethin’ to eat? We’ll sit down, and you can tell me all about it after, alright?”

The way he said it—low and steady, full of love—made the knot in your chest loosen just a bit. You nodded, letting him pull you out of your chair and into his arms. He kissed the top of your head, his scruff tickling your temple as he held you close. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice a little gruff now but still so full of affection.

Wrapped in his arms, the world seemed a little softer, your worries melting away as you let yourself breathe him in. Joel Miller always knew how to make you feel like the most cherished thing in his world.

[joelsrose]

Roses & Rust

Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Between Shadows & Light

Summary: You follow Joel and Tess through the QZ, drawn to their unyielding strength and survival instincts. When you're caught by Joel during a tense exchange, you find yourself unexpectedly pulled into a dangerous mission, questioning what you've just gotten yourself into while trying to prove your worth.

Joel.

That was his name—the man who had saved you, though you hadn’t known it at the time. His name slipped into your hands like a secret passed through the wind, overheard on the lips of another, whispered by someone in the market. The name lingered in the air like a sharp breath held too long, and now it echoed in your thoughts like a soft, persistent hum, a reminder of the collision of your life with his. You lay on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, the faint breeze slipping through the broken window, stirring the heavy air. Who was he? The question gnawed at the edges of your mind, growing sharper with each passing day. Why had he saved you?

From what you’d seen, Joel was a force of nature—moving through the world with a quiet, unrelenting intensity that made people instinctively step aside. His demeanor was hard, impenetrable, as though he never spared anyone more than a passing glance, like nothing could reach him. He seemed to carry the weight of something heavy, yet refused to let it show. And yet, despite that, he had saved you. As the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, your thoughts drifted to him—those deep lines etched into his forehead, the way sweat gathered on his brow after a day’s labor, and his lips, which you had never once seen curve into a smile.

You told yourself it wasn’t disappointment that ate at you after the failure of your deal. You had tried, and you had failed. And it didn’t take long to realize that, no matter how much you fought, survival alone was a battle already lost. The world was too vast, too cruel. People like Joel and Tess—they survived because they didn’t hesitate. They moved with purpose, their resolve unshaken. You had been alone for so long, learning to rely on only yourself. It had become second nature. But after that night, after seeing them, you couldn’t deny the truth that lingered in the quiet corners of your mind: you needed them. Needing them felt like a betrayal, a weakness exposed after eight years of solitary survival. Yet, it was unavoidable.

So, you followed them.

At first, it was subtle. You kept your distance, always watching from crumbling alleyways or behind half-destroyed walls as they moved through the QZ. Joel and Tess were always together, their steps synchronized in a way that spoke of years of understanding.

Joel’s presence was magnetic, like the calm before a storm—a quiet intensity that drew everything in without needing to make a sound. He moved through the chaos of the QZ with an effortless confidence, each step deliberate, his gaze sharp and unyielding. His arms often folded across his chest, as if guarding something buried deep within, while the silver threads in his hair would catch the light in fleeting moments, softening his hardened edges. There was a gravity to him, an unspoken weight that made people part in his wake, as if they understood he was someone you didn’t challenge. Beside him, Tess was his counterbalance—sharp where he was silent, commanding in the way only someone who had seen the worst of the world could be. Her eyes, always keen, seemed to strip the world bare with a glance, bending it to her will without the need for words. Together, they were an unspoken force—two sides of the same coin, moving in unison as if the world itself couldn’t touch them.

You, on the other hand, were a whisper—a silent presence, unnoticed.

They never saw you. Days turned into weeks, and you grew more daring, trailing them deeper into the black market. You watched their every move as though they held the key to your survival. You waited for the moment when you could prove yourself, to step out from the shadows and show that you could be part of their world.

That moment came sooner than you expected.

It was an ordinary evening, the sun sinking low, casting long shadows across the streets as curfew tightened its grip on the QZ. You followed them, close enough to hear the faint murmur of their conversation, yet always far enough to remain unseen. You watched Joel, how his presence seemed to guide Tess through the streets, a protective force that lingered beside her, even in silence.

They led you into an old, abandoned building, the air inside thick with dust and the scent of decay. You moved carefully, your steps light, but the streets outside could not fully mask the faint scuff of your foot against the cracked floor. It was in that instant that you saw them—Joel, Tess, and a small group, huddled in the dim light of the building. Tension clung to the air. This wasn’t an ordinary smuggling deal. Something was wrong.

Tess’s voice was low and urgent, speaking to a woman you didn’t recognize—her face pale, skin clammy with sweat as she pressed a trembling hand against a wound, blood seeping through her fingers. Standing nearby was a girl, no more than fourteen, her arms crossed, eyes filled with both fear and defiance.

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t just another smuggling deal. Something was wrong. And you definitely shouldn’t be here.

You took a step back, intending to disappear before anyone noticed your presence, but the sound of your shoe scraping against the rough floor echoed like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet. You froze, dread curling around your chest.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, years of survival sharpening his instincts as his eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness with lethal precision.

“Come out,” his voice commanded, low, edged with something dark and unyielding.

Your heart thundered in your chest. You hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, hands trembling by your sides. You felt exposed, like a child caught spying on something forbidden, the weight of embarrassment heavy on your shoulders. When you emerged from the shadows, your breath caught in your throat—Joel was pointing a gun at you, his expression unreadable.

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, brief and fleeting, before they hardened, dark and sharp, pinning you in place as if daring you to make the wrong move. Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. But even through the fear—through the threat of the gun trained on you—you couldn’t help but notice him.

He was a man built of rough edges and unspoken sorrow. The strong line of his jaw and the sharp angles of his face, framed in that fleeting light, left you breathless in a way you couldn’t explain. He was handsome in the way of broken things—handsome without softness, without intention, as if the world had shaped him out of its wreckage and forgotten to smooth the edges.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” His voice, thick with a southern drawl, was laced with frustration that bordered on anger. His dark, unblinking eyes weighed you down with suspicion, pulling you abruptly from the trance you hadn’t realized you’d fallen into. A flush crept up your cheeks, the warmth of embarrassment mixing with the intensity of his gaze.

Your throat was dry, the words stuck somewhere between your mind and your lips. You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Swallowing hard, you grimaced at your own silence. Great. He probably thinks I’m mute, you thought, a grim sense of irony creeping in. This was the second time you’d been struck speechless in his presence, as if the weight of his gaze alone had the power to steal your voice.

Before the moment could stretch further, Tess’s voice sliced through the tension like a knife.

“Wait,” Tess said, stepping between you and Joel, her sharp gaze flicking between the two of you before recognition dawned in her eyes. “I know her. She’s the doctor from the QZ.”

Your heart skipped a beat. How did Tess know you? You had worked in the infirmary for extra rations, but you had kept your head down, trying not to draw attention. Yet, Tess knew. Of course she did. Tess always knew.

Joel’s gun remained raised, though his eyes shifted to Tess, waiting for an explanation. Tess’s expression softened slightly as she gestured toward you.

“She might be able to help,” Tess said, nodding toward the woman slumped against the wall. “We need her.”

Need me for what? The question echoed in your mind, but you stayed silent, your heart pounding as the gravity of the situation settled over you.

A scoff echoed from the young girl standing nearby, her eyes rolling with exaggerated annoyance. “Another one? What is this, ‘Take Your Random Stranger to Work Day’?”

Joel shot her a sharp look, his voice hard. “Quiet.”

The girl huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Joel’s gaze returned to you, the gun still in his hand, though now lowered. His eyes searched your face, as if weighing how much of a threat you posed, or whether you were worth trusting. The tension in his jaw didn’t ease, but after a moment, he nodded. Barely.

“Fine,” he muttered, though he spared you only the briefest glance before turning his attention back to the situation at hand. His mind seemed elsewhere, as if, like you, he had found himself in a moment far bigger than he had anticipated.

You exhaled shakily, realizing only now how tightly you’d been holding your breath throughout the entire encounter. Tess gestured for you to come forward.

“That’s Marlene,” Tess murmured, her voice softer now as she motioned toward the woman slumped against the wall, her breath labored and shallow. “Shot by FEDRA.”

Your eyes widened as the severity of the wound hit you. The blood seeped through her fingers like a slow, inevitable surrender, too much for her to survive without immediate care. Every instinct in you flickered to life, pushing aside the fear as you dropped to your knees beside her. Your hands moved swiftly, tearing a strip of cloth to fashion a makeshift bandage. As you pressed it firmly against the wound to stem the bleeding, your mind raced, piecing together the gravity of the situation unraveling before you.

Above you, their conversation continued, a low, urgent hum that seemed to thrum through the air—Joel, Tess, and Marlene whispering in hushed tones about transport, the girl, and something far more dangerous than you’d realized. Plans were forming, intricate and desperate, and you were now in the thick of it.

“We can’t move her like this,” Tess said, her gaze flickering to Marlene with a grim finality. “She won’t make it.” She paused for a moment before adding, her tone steady, “We need to get the girl out of here. And we need her,” Tess said, nodding in your direction. “Medical skills might be the only thing that keeps us alive.”

Joel’s eyes shifted to you again, lingering with a skepticism that felt like a blade at your throat. He didn’t need to say a word for you to feel the weight of his mistrust; it was written in the hard line of his gaze. The sharpness in his eyes pinned you in place, silently assessing your worth, your potential threat, and whether you were just another burden to carry. But Tess’s word seemed to hold weight with him. He trusted her, and for now, that was enough.

After what felt like an eternity, Joel gave a terse nod, though his expression remained unyielding, and his gaze barely flickered in your direction. His mind seemed elsewhere—perhaps racing just like yours, caught in the sudden tangle of choices and consequences.

Your breath came in shallow bursts as you pressed harder against Marlene’s wound, the tremor in your hands betraying the fear you fought to suppress. The air thickened with the weight of what was unfolding around you, a moment too vast, too unpredictable to fully comprehend.

What the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

[lionlena]

5. Just breathe (PedroPascalxReader) - one shot

The last one shot of one shots week.

Summary: Your new book didn't go down well with the critics. Reading the comments under the critic's rating you get a panic attack... Luckily, Pedro shows up.

Warnings: mentions about depression and taking medicines, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, Pedro is sweet and lovely boyfriend

"Why is Pedro dating someone so untalented?"

         "Her latest book is a swamp."

"I died of boredom after five pages xD "

                   "I would die of embarrassment if my girlfriend wrote a story like that."

The words poured out of the monitor and hit you like needles. This was the comments section under the critic's article which rated your latest book a 2 on 8. You couldn't take your eyes off this. You knew you should have closed that page. But it was stronger than you. You didn't even notice your hands were shaking.

You didn't understand why people think they have the right to make these rude comments. They only saw your smiling picture. They saw Pedro embrace you. They saw what they thought was reality. They didn't understand that you were separated by a screen.

They didn't see the long talks you had with Pedro before you decided to be with him.

They didn't see the medicines you took every morning to keep your mind from drowning in bad thoughts.

They didn't see the sixteen hours you spent writing chapters.

They didn't see you arguing with the editors who thought there were too many queer characters in your book.

They didn't see the nights you spend comforting Pedro when he missed his mom.

And they didn't see you now when you were starting to lose your breath. As you felt your chest begin to tighten. You hated that feeling like you were suffocating, and no matter how deep you took your breaths, there was still not enough oxygen. Your vision went dark and you fell to the floor. You were terrified. It felt like hundreds of hands were coming out of your laptop screen and trying to touch you. You pulled your knees into your chest as much as you could, though it only made it harder to breathe. It was an anxiety attack, you knew it, but it didn't make things any easier.

You didn't even know when big, strong hands were on your shoulders. You immediately recognized who they belonged to. You opened your eyes to meet his warm brown eyes, with worry in them. Pedro began to stroke your arms rhythmically. He knew it would ground you. One look at your laptop gave him a clue as to what happened.

"Y/N, they won't hurt you." He let go of you for a moment to close your laptop and quickly came back to you. "They're not here. Breathe with me. Breathe in through your nose, hold it, and let it out through your mouth. Okay." A gentle smile appeared on his face. "That's right, baby. One more time. Deep breath, hold, and exhale."

His soothing voice and the warmth of his hands made your chest slowly relax. You were finally able to breathe, but then tears came. Pedro changed position and sat down next to you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you to him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

He immediately hugged you tighter and grabbed your hand with his other hand. "Hey, don't apologize. Never apologize for a panic attack."

"I'm sorry I let you down," you mumbled as more tears left your eyes.

Pedro gently grabbed your chin and made you look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"My latest book was going to be a bestseller."

Pedro shook his head and kissed the top of your head. "If the movie I'm in turns out to be a disaster, will you be disappointed in me?"

"It's not the same" you groaned. "You're not the director, you're not the writer, you're not the cameraman... You're not responsible for the entire film."

"But there will always be a critic who will write that my acting has ruined everything."

"I know you always put your whole heart into your acting."

"And I know you put your whole heart into this book. And a lot of people like it. I love it! Are you going to tell all of us that we're not allowed to like it?" You smiled slightly and rested your head on his chest. "You get so many messages from people saying your book helped them. Don't forget that."

You nodded and began to draw undefined patterns on his chest with your fingers. His hand stroked your back up and down. You sat in pleasant silence for a while, and you felt safe again.

"I bet fame is always bittersweet," you muttered.

"Unfortunately," he replied sadly.

"Would you rather be a little-known actor?"

"Sometimes. You know, I like that now I don't have to worry about bills and that I can lend money to someone and not the other way around, but... I hate the paparazzi. I hate people who think they can judge me. And judge the ones I love." He rested his head on yours. "And you? Would you rather be a little-known writer?"

"I don't know. There have always been people who didn't like what I write. And I used to dream that someone would make a series out of my book, and now... Now I hate it when people judge the actors who play my characters. But..." You squeezed his hand tighter. "I would never have met you."

"I told you everything has its ups and downs."

You sighed heavily, and then something came to your mind. "Aren't you supposed to be at the gym?"

"I forgot my shorts," he muttered.

You rolled your eyes and gasped, "I told you they were in the dryer."

"I know," he groaned.

You started laughing and just went back to your usual life like that, but your laptop was locked for the rest of the day. Just in case.

[josephquinnswhore]

Another angsty Pedro x reader fic being posted tomorrow. Kinda projecting onto this one 💁🏼‍♀️

Starting to think maybe I should write some fluff fics.

[lionlena]

A kitchen disaster (PedroPascalxreader) oneshot

Reader is Pedro Pascal's girlfriend.

Pure fluff.

*

It was no secret that Pedro couldn't cook. Really. He has even spoken openly about it in interviews.

Many times.

And yet you decided to change it. You just wanted give a try. To say your boyfriend resisted is like saying nothing. Even your very reasonable argument did not convince him.

"If you ever find yourself on a deserted island, you will die without knowing how to cook anything."

 It was a very serious argument, but Pedro was laughing.

But finally, after many weeks, he agreed to cook something. He knew you were going to have a long and hard week at work as the deadline for your reports was approaching. Pedro saw how stressed you were and wanted to do something about it. He has agreed to make dinner, provided you leave him instructions.

You chose pizzas. You really had the easiest recipe in the world. Only a few ingredients. It was enough to combine the ingredients, knead the dough, add pizza toppings and bake.

You were really excited. You kissed him on the mouth before go to work and said happily:

 "Everything is ready. I should be home at 6pm, so start getting everything ready an hour early."

 Pedro didn't seem as enthusiastic as you.

 "Fine," he murmured.

 "I believe in you" you said cheerfully and patted his chest.

 And although your day at work was hard, you came back to Pedro's house with big smile. Your enthusiasm quickly died as soon as you crossed the threshold.

 As soon as you walked in, you could smell burnt food.

 "Pedro, I'm back!"

 Pedro jumped out to you and... He looked terrible. His shirt was wet and stained with flour and possibly tomato sauce, which was also on his jeans. Flour was also in his hair.

You lost your breath.

 "Hey baby," he said happily.

 "What happened? Did you have sparring with pizza?"

 He laughed nervously and shrugged.

 "I told you it was a bad idea."

 You suddenly realized that if he looked like this then... What does the kitchen look like? Even though he tried to stop you, you passed him and...

Pedro lied in interviews saying he was bad at cooking. He was TRAGIC about it. The kitchen looked like a tornado went through it.

 "It's a disaster!"

 "Well, you wanted it. I warned you."

 You sighed heavily, placed your hands on your hips and hung your head. You saw Pedro coming out of the kitchen.

 "And you where?"

 "I'm evacuating."

 "You're not going to leave me alone with this mess, are you?"

 You haven't received an answer. Okay, you deserved it. You insisted. You sighed heavily and looked around the kitchen again. You decided to pour yourself a glass of wine before you start cleaning. At least that's what Pedro couldn't spoil. You grabbed a paper towels  to start cleaning the kitchen counter as your boyfriend came back into the kitchen. He cuddled up to your back and giggled.

 "Did you really think I was going to make you clean this mess?"

 He kissed your ear and you turned in his arms.

 "That would be fair. My idea, my mess."

 He shook his head.

 "I just went to order food. It'll be in fifteen minutes. I know you're tired. Go to the living room. Sit down on the couch and rest."

 You wiped flour from his cheek and kissed him.

 "God, I really love you."

 He hugged you even tighter.

 "I love you too, sweetie, but..." He narrowed his eyes and added, "Forget that I'll cook again."

 You laughed and nodded your head.

 "Ok. From now on, only I cook."

*

[lionlena]

Just let it go... (PedroPascalxreader) oneshot

Your boyfriend, Pedro, back to home and finds you distraught on the couch. He's trying to do everything to comfort you.

Little sadness, low self-esteem, hurt/comort

*

Pedro returned from the gym and when the silence in the house found him, he felt worried. He was sure you were there because he put his keys next to yours. So why was it so quiet?

It's not like you were a loud person. You were very quiet compared to him. And yet, thanks to you, the house was teeming with life. There were always noises from the kitchen while you were preparing your meal. Or music was coming from the garden. And sometimes the sounds of the show you were watching came from the living room.

Even when you were working, he could hear how fast you were typing or talking to co-workers on the phone. So the silence was unsettling. He cautiously began to pace the house and finally found you in the living room. You were sitting on the couch curled up in a ball and stared blankly at the wall.

"Y/N, I'm back, sweetheart."

You jumped suddenly, as if someone had snapped you out of a trance. You looked at him and forced a small smile.

"Hi."

He immediately saw that your eyes were red. He quickly walked over to you and knelt by the couch. He place his hand on your knee.

"What happened?"

You were in a good mood when he left the house and now he was wondering what could have gone wrong.

You sighed heavily and shifted uneasily.

"Do you remember that new job I wanted got?" He nodded and you continued. "They sent me an e-mail. "Your qualifications are not enough for us." In other words, you sucks."

"Hey, hey, don't say that." He got up for a moment to kiss you on the forehead. "You know it's not like that. You said that there are 150 other people running for this job. Your qualifications are great and they just overlooked it."

You looked into his warm brown eyes. You really wanted to hug and kiss him, but the feeling of heaviness in your chest was too much. You knew he was right. It's just that someone else was a little better, or had a little more luck. Maybe he did better in the job interview. But that didn't make you any worse. However, there were thoughts that tormented you greatly.

"I was really hoping to get this job and make more money."

"We're not short of money."

"You, Pedro, you have enough money. I'm the one who still borrow from you."

He shook his head and grabbed your hand.

"Y/N, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You know I've been in a place like this myself. Do you know how many times I've borrowed money? I believe in you, honey.

"Okay" you replied resignedly. You don't have strength to argue with him.

He got up, hugged you and kissed your head.

"Would you like something to eat? I can make you a sandwich, or I'll warm up yesterday's dinner."

You shook your head. You felt your stomach still knotted.

"No, but if you're hungry, go ahead."

"How about that? I'll make popcorn and watch Lucifer with you. Hmm. What does that sound like?"

Your heart clenched at how sweet he was. You knew he didn't like your show, yet he was willing to sacrifice himself. But you refused again. Pedro wasn't going to give up.

"Do you want to go for a walk? To a cafe?"

You sighed heavily as you felt a new wave of tears welling up in your eyes. His efforts were wonderful but you felt too overwhelmed.

"Pedro, don't be angry, but... I just want to be alone, in silence."

He tilted his head and... He looked like a sad puppy whose toy had been taken away.

"I can't agree to that. I can be quiet, but I won't let you drown in this abyss of despair alone."

Before you could say anything he had already sat next to you and pulled you into his lap. You couldn't resist him. You rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you tightly. His lips touched your head as he whispered:

"Just let it go... I'm here, cariño ."

So you let go and the first tears fell onto his shirt. The heaviness in your chest was slowly easing and the feeling of being worthless slowly disappearing. Pedro's body heat gave to you comfort and a sense of safety. You gripped his arm tighter and whispered.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, mi amor . We'll stay here as long as you need, but trust me, tomorrow will be a better day."

You nodded your head and closed your eyes. In your sweet Pedro's arms, it was easy to believe that things would get better.

*

A/N: Well, this happen to me today :( And I really need my "Pedro comfort zone".

I hope is well with you all <3

[lionlena]

We don't love each other (PedroPascalxreader) angst!

A/N: I can't believe I wrote ANGST. It breaks my heart. All because of this one gif. In my imagination, Tyler looks like Tyler Hoechlin.

Summary: You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don't love each other. You're friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other... Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn't mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything. 

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

*

You thought your arrangement with Pedro was transparent. You were friends with benefits. You two didn't spread it, but your closest friends guessed it.

You met Pedro a few years earlier when his career was just taking off. You liked each other and felt good about each other. You often went to parties together. One day you ended up in bed together. But you and Pedro didn't want something like that to end your friendship. Together, you made the decision to continue your friendship, adding benefits.

Men have needs... Women too.

You had to admit that Pedro was a truly wonderful man, not only in bed, but most of all, out of it. He took cared of you, gave you small gifts and comforted you after a date gone wrong. He was a great friend.

Unfortunately, over time, you realized that you felt something more for him. You really loved him, but you weren't going to tell him that. Pedro has always made it clear, "we don't love each other." He reinforced this position as his career began to take off. You understood and respected it. That's why you dated other men and didn't hide it from Pedro. You didn't sleep with him while you were in a relationship, and he respected that. Sometimes you were a little worried that Pedro rarely dated other women. But you explained it to yourself by his profession. He couldn't risk meeting someone who would announce to the world the next day: I slept with Pedro Pascal and he left me!!! He is an asshole!!!

Well, some women didn't understand that sleeping with a guy doesn't necessarily mean an engagement ring.

Yes, your arrangement with Pedro was clear, transparent and stable. You loved him, secretly, and he... He loved you as a friend. You thought so.

*

You were laughing on the phone when Pedro invited you to a party by the ocean that was supposed to last all weekend.

"Are you crazy! Did you really rent beach houses for everyone?"

"I want to celebrate my success! Y/N, you know me. I want everyone to have fun and no one to worry about how to get home."

"Are you suggesting we are going drink a lot?"

"A lot of!"

You both burst out laughing. You really enjoyed Pedro's success. He deserved it. Deserved all the love and attention. You knew what he went through in life. In your eyes, no one deserved it more that him.

"Okay. I think I can take a few days off."

"Wonderful. Just tell me, do you want a cottage for two?"

You bit your lip and started to think. Pedro obviously sensed that something was wrong and immediately asked:

"Hey, what's wrong? Did you and Tyler break up?"

"Uh, no... But things have gotten complicated for the moment and... I'd rather be alone."

"Okay, do you want to talk about it? I know I've been busy lately with The Last of Us , but we're still friends."

You smiled. Pedro was always worried about you, but you didn't want to spoil his mood.

"It's just a simple lovers' quarrel. He'll get over it."

"OK, see you soon."

"Bye, Pedrito."

You hung up and fell onto the couch. You lied when you said it was nothing. The truth was, you screwed everything up. You and Tyler were a couple for over seven months, it was your longest relationship. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Pedro was in Canada on the set of the show and rarely spoke. It was the truth you didn't want to admit. Tyler was handsome, kind, and... He took your relationship very seriously. A month ago at a family dinner, he knelt in front of you with an engagement ring, and you... You said no and ran.

You really didn't know why you did it. Why?! You tried to call Tyler many times and apologize to him, but he didn't answer. You weren't surprised at all. So you texted him explaining that you were just scared. But you knew it was a lie. The truth was, you missed Pedro. For his body, for having sex with him...

You screamed in rage and started throwing yourself on the couch.

After a few minutes, you decided to go through your wardrobe. Why would you care about Tyler when you could be with Pedro again in a few days. Even if he didn't love you, his presence could bring you comfort.

*

When you got out of the taxi a week later, you felt like you could breathe again and not think about Tyler.

The driver was just taking out your suitcase when you heard Pedro.

"Y/N!!!"

He ran straight at you and you jumped into his arms. You hugged him tightly and inhaled his scent. God, you finally felt good. You pulled back a bit to get a better look at him. You immediately noticed that he had a little more gray hair, but that only added to his hotness. He was wearing a white t-shirt and blue shorts. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, you could see how his eyes sparkled. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it. Pedro really loved see you.

"I missed you" you said and cupped his cheek with your hand.

"Me too," he purred.

"Who is already?"

"Oscar, Sarah, Linda, Thomas, Adam, Helen... And you. My most important guest."

You slapped his chest and pulled away.

"Stop. I know it's only because you haven't had sex."

It was a harmless joke, but you could easily see Pedro tense up.

"Hey, it's a joke... You know, nothing has changed. Our arrangement. Right?"

Pedro shook himself and nodded. He grabbed your suitcase with one hand and wrapped his other around your waist. He leaned his head towards you and whispered in your ear.

"You look lovely in that dress."

You couldn't help the blush that spread across your cheeks.

A few minutes later, Pedro was leaning against the doorframe of your beach house. He watched you unpack your suitcase. You glanced at him and noticed that he was strangely restless.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

"It's more of a question for you." He replied and took a few steps towards you. "We've known each other for over ten years Y/N. We started friendship when you were in your twenties. I know you and I know when you don't tell me everything. Imagine how surprised I was when I called Laura."

You suddenly felt your mouth go dry. Laura was a friend of yours and spoke to you regularly.

"She was very surprised to hear you were going to the party because I quote, Seriously, I thought she was devastated after she turned down Tyler's engagement."

You tried to read Pedro's face, but he was unfazed. You didn't know if he was angry or disgusted with you. You sighed heavily and sat on the bed.

"What do you want to hear, Pedro? I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was a bitch who broke a good guy's heart."

Pedro shook his head and sat next to you. He grabbed your hand and his thumb began to make comforting circles on your skin.

"I just want to know why? What happened between you two? Is it my fault? Is it because of our arrangement?”

You looked at him surprised.

"How did you get that idea? Tyler doesn't know about us. He know we're just friends, so don't blame yourself." You rested your head on his shoulder. "It just freaked me out, you know... His whole family was there. It wasn't fair. Like he thought I was going to say 'yes' for sure if they were looking at me. We haven't even talked about it and he suddenly jumps out with ring. Who does that?"

Pedro put his arm around you and pulled you closer.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I just want you to be happy."

You had to bite your tongue not to reply, "I'm happy. Here and now, with you." Instead, you pulled away from him and smiled.

"Hey, I'm not here to cry. I want to party, dance, drink and hear all the cool stories from the set."

"You want to hear how everyone was looking for me while I was sleeping?"

You started laughing out loud.

"Why doesn't this surprise me? You're the best nap-mate."

*

You felt wonderful during the party. You completely forget about Tyler. Pedro's hands on your hips while dancing were enough to make you happy. Everyone was laughing and drinking. When it started to get colder, Pedro lit a fire and you all sat on blankets..

Pedro, of course, was sitting next to you and hugging you. Still, you were shaking.

"Do you want my sweatshirt? I can bring you one." he asked tenderly.

He's always taken such good care of you. You nodded, but before he got up, you yourself were on your feet.

"Wait, I'll go myself. I have to use the bathroom anyway."

"Okay, take which one you want."

You didn't even notice that Oscar was watching the two of you closely.

You used the bathroom and sat on the bed to look through Pedro's suitcase. You felt your phone slip out of your pocket, so you took it out and set it aside. Then you noticed the navy blue sweatshirt Pedro was wearing earlier. You put it on and smiled as you smelled his perfume. When you got back to the fire, you took your seat and started talking to the others. At three o'clock in the morning, everyone was tired and slowly began to return to their temporary homes. You were going to do it too, but not before Pedro hugged you and kissed your head.

"Goodnight, Sunshine."

"Night, Pedrito ."

You gave him one last hug and walked towards your beach house. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Oscar grab Pedro's elbow and pull him aside. You didn't care. They were very close and always had things to discuss.

You threw yourself on your bed with a big smile. You wanted to check your phone when you realized you left it in Pedro's house. You groaned and got up. However, when you were about to enter Pedro, you heard Oscar's voice through the ajar door.

"Dude, you're exaggerating."

"Leave me alone, I didn't do anything. You can see I don't have Y/N here."

You were about to leave when you realized they were talking about you.

Oscar sighed heavily.

"You were about to let it go. You said you'd distance yourself, and what are you doing... You stick to her like a horny teenager during the dance, and then... "You want my hoodie" How old are you?

Your heart was beating like crazy.

"It doesn't mean anything to her anyway and... I just wanted her to have fun and forget about Tyler."

Oscar snorted as if he didn't believe his friend's words at all.

"You have to stop it, Pedro. Loving Y/N is destroying you. You don't date other women. You don't start serious relationships..."

You wanted to keep listening, but Oscar moved closer to the entrance, and you were afraid he'd see you. Besides, you thought you'd heard enough. You decided to go back to your cottage and watch from the window when Oscar left Pedro.

The waiting was a nightmare. You jumped and squealed and bit your lip.

Pedro loved you!!! He loved you!!! You were so happy. You finally can told him the truth. Poor guy thought he meant nothing to you. You had to change it.

As soon as you saw that Oscar left Pedro's cottage, you ran to the mirror. You fixed your hair and makeup. You almost ran outside and in less than five minutes you were on the doorstep of the beach house. You knocked lightly and entered. Pedro was sitting on the bed looking tired. You giggled like a teenager.

"You are not sleep yet, old man?"

He lifted his head and looked at you surprised.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

You smiled at him and winked at him.

"I left my phone on your bed while I was getting your sweatshirt."

He turned around and when he saw your cell phone he nodded. You shifted restlessly from foot to foot. You couldn't wait any longer. Maybe it was the alcohol still coursing through your veins, but you just let it out.

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you Pedro, I..."

Pedro jumped to his feet and shook his head furiously.

"NO!"

You were surprised by the anger you saw in his eyes.

"You're drunk," he growled.

Now you felt angry.

"No more than you," you gasped. "I know what I'm saying and you don't have to hide it anymore. Don't get upset. I accidentally overheard what Oscar was saying."

"You obviously didn't hear everything Y/N. You didn't hear me tell him that I don't want to love you, that it's just a problem..."

You felt like someone had punched you in the face.

"I'm a problem?"

Pedro huffed in annoyance and ran a hand over his face.

"Not you. My love for you is the problem. I'm not in a place where I'm supposed to love someone. Maybe I never will be. You're younger and you live a quiet life with no paparazzi. Do you really want to ruin it all for some fleeting feeling?"

You clenched your hands into fists.

"I've loved you for a long time, you fool!"

"Stop! Why are you ruining everything?! Why did you have to love me back?!"

 You couldn't believe that the same Pedro who hugged you when you cried was standing in front of you. The same one who brought you coffee in bed and kissed you on the forehead when you fell asleep. A complete stranger was standing in front of you. You couldn't hold back your tears anymore.

Pedro, seeing this, suddenly regained his composure. He looked at you resignedly.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I never meant to make you cry, but... I really don't want to love you."

He took a step towards you, but you jumped back. You quickly ran to where you left your phone and shouted:

"Leave me! Never come near me again!!!”

Then you just ran out of his beach house and locked yourself in yours. For a while you wondered if Pedro would try to get to you, but apparently he took your words to heart. You cried all night, and in the morning you packed up and called a taxi. By the time everyone woke up, you were already halfway home.

 Only one person saw you leave. His brown and tear-filled eyes watched intently as you disappeared from his life on forever.

*

Up all night on another red-eye I wish we never learned to fly Maybe we should just try To tell ourselves a good lie Didn't mean to make you cry Maybe won't you take it back? Say you were tryna make me laugh And nothing has to change today You didn't mean to say "I love you" I love you and I don't want to, ooh

Billie Eilish- I love you (cover/ male version)

Part II

[lionlena]

A perfect day for a perfect girl (PedroPascalxreader)

Okay, so this is a reward for @reniescarlett​  bc she is my 300th follower :D

Request from here.

I tried to make it really nice and sweet. Just one moment of uncertainty, but Pedro quickly dispels it.

Fluffffff

You felt soft kisses on your stomach and smiled. Without opening your eyes, you placed your hand on his head and buried your fingers in his hair.

"Pedro," you murmured.

"Good morning, Sunshine," he said and placed another kiss on your soft belly.

"Hmm, I'm still asleep," you replied, but you already knew you'd have to get up.

Pedro was sometimes like an impatient puppy. You suspected that he had been awake for at least an hour and impatiently waiting for you to join him. Actually, it would be a lie to say that you weren't excited either.

Today was your birthday and it was going to be a wonderful day.

There was going to be a little party tonight, nothing too crazy. You just wanted to have dinner with some of the closest people you loved and who loved you just the way you are.

Pedro obviously wasn't going to wait until the evening with all the nice things he had prepared for you.

You felt him move up your body and start kissing your collarbones: " Hermosa," he moaned.

You laughed and kissed his cheek muttering, "It's okay, I'm up."

You opened your eyes to meet his warm brown gaze filled with nothing more than love for you. He grinned widely and pecked your nose saying, "I'm waiting in the kitchen!"

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. Sometimes you wondered where he got so much energy from. Maybe it was the amount of caffeine he drank.

When you got up, you noticed a path of rose petals and a pleasant warmth enveloped you. Pedro really set out to make your birthday special. You followed rose petals to the kitchen.

Pedro was standing at the table with a big smile on his face and fidgeting impatiently. As soon as you crossed the threshold he shouted "Happy birthday!"

He ran over to you and hugged you tightly.

You laughed at his behavior and smiled back at him. As he moved away from you, he led you to the table and pulled out a chair for you. He placed a plate of pancakes and sweet syrup in front of you. You raised your eyebrows in delight. You knew he must have put in a lot of effort in this and that he probably burned at least half of the pancakes, but it was still impressive. Soon a bowl of your favorite fruit, orange juice, and coffee were also on the table.

Pedro came behind you and kissed your head.

"Here," he said and set down a small box with a ribbon. "Open it."

You looked inside curiously and found a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape, of your favorite animal.

"Oh, Pedro... It's really too much."

"No," he replied quickly. "This is just the beginning. You are special and your birthday is supposed to be perfect."

You stroked his cheek and for a moment you just stared at his handsome face. Until finally he broke the silence: "Come on, eat. I thought after breakfast we'd watch a movie of your choice, and then maybe we'd lie down by the pool."

You nodded your head. "That sounds great, but remember we have guests tonight."

"Take it easy" he purred and stroked your hip. "I'll help you with everything."

As Pedro suggested, you sat comfortably on the couch after breakfast. You cuddled up to his side and together watched the movie you chose.

Later, he prepared snacks for both of you and you lay down by the pool. Pedro took the lotion and asked you to lie down on your stomach. He started rubbing the cream into your back and you closed your eyes and focused on the pleasure. His fingers perfectly located the points where you were tense. By the time he focused on your neck and shoulders, you were in heaven. You could spend all day like this, but you really wanted to see your friends.

You felt Pedro kiss you on the ear and purr, "What about are you thinking, honey?"

"I could spend eternity here," you replied.

"If you want, we can cancel everything."

"Oh no. I really want to see everyone and wear a new dress."

Pedro laughed and nodded. "Okay. We're doing whatever you want today."

You spent another hour by the pool, but it was finally time for you to start preparing dinner. Pedro, as promised, helped you with everything, and when you went to change, he started to prepare the table.

You took a quick shower, did your hair and makeup, and finally put on a new dress.

You looked in the mirror and lightly smoothed the fabric around your hips. You tilted your head slightly and bit your lip. You turned sideways and then heard his soft voice: "Sweetheart? Is something wrong?"

You lifted your head to look at Pedro, who was staring at you in awe.

"I don't know. Isn't that dress... Too short? Too small?"

He immediately shook his head and stood close to you, placing his hands on your waist. "You look stunning and... I'm mad?"

"What? For what?"

"Because you'll be torturing me with your looks all evening. Everything I will want will be to throw everyone out the door so I can have you all to myself!" He leaned in and started kissing your neck.

"Stop it" you squealed and slapped his chest.

"But, this is true" he groaned.

You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. "I love you, you know?"

"I know. I love you, cariño."

All your uneasiness vanished instantly as his brown eyes stared at you with such love and devotion. You were ready for a great evening.

Your friends have not let you down. They gave you wonderful, unique gifts and made the whole evening full of laughter.

Pedro was always close to you and gave you kisses at every possible opportunity.

When the last of your guests left, you started clearing the table, but then Pedro put his arms around you from behind and started to pull you away.

"Honey, what are you doing? I have to clean up."

"Uh, no, no..." he murmured. "It can wait until morning... Or a week... Whatever. All evening I thought I had to give you your last present."

You turned around in his arms and looked at him surprised. "What?"

"Me," he replied, and you started laughing. "You look so beautiful. Please, let me take you to the bedroom. If you make me, I will beg for it on my knees."

You snuggled into him and sighed. "You don't have to beg me..." You pulled away and grabbed his hand leading him toward the bedroom. "I really want to unwrap my last present."

Pedro started to laugh and you felt infinite happiness envelop you. It had been a great day, and apparently, the night was going to be just as amazing.

[lionlena]

We don’t love each other (PedroPascalxreader) Part VII FINAL

So this is the end of this series. I never expected that the first part, which was supposed to be only one shot, would enjoy such interest. Thank you all for your comments and likes. You guys are great and I hope you enjoy the finale. 🥰

Summary:  You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don’t love each other. You’re friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other… Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn’t mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything.

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

*

Part VII

You were surprised that you managed to sleep for a few hours. It was hard for you to fall asleep, not only because of the flood of thoughts but also because of how uncomfortable the mattress was.

In the morning you felt exhausted, but also calmer. You weren't even mad at Pedro anymore and regretted yelling at him. It wasn't his fault Tyler cheated on you. Pedro just wanted to help you, as always. After everything that happened, he was still your friend. But you weren't sure if your friendship would last. Maybe Pedro wanted to talk to you so badly because he wanted to end everything. He wanted your paths to part forever but in a peaceful way.

The thought made your heart clench painfully. But you had to face it. You got out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. You had just finished styling your hair when you heard a soft knock on the door.

Pedro was leaning sideways against the wall next to the door. He looked as exhausted as you. He looked at you with sad eyes and raised a hand holding a paper cup of coffee.

"I come in peace," he murmured, and your lips involuntarily lifted up.

You took the coffee from him and nodded. You were sure this was coffee you liked. You stepped aside and let him come inside. There was an awkward silence between you for a moment. Pedro was still standing near the door as if ready to be kicked out at any moment. You leaned your hip against the bedside table and took a few sips of your coffee.

Pedro sighed heavily and finally said:

"Y/N, sorry about yesterday. I overreacted." He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "I think Laura's mood got the better of me. Now I know I should have called you first, met with you, and shown you the pictures."

You shrugged.

"Never mind, this relationship really didn't stand a chance. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, I'm sorry."

After your words, he moved slightly towards you. He was calmer knowing you weren't mad about the day before. But he knew there was still much to explain.

"Y/N, I know maybe it's still early. You're tired and... Sad for sure, but can we talk about us?"

You placed your cup on the table and crossed your arms over your chest. So the moment has come. Farewell.

"About us? There is no "us"... There was never an "us".

Pedro shook his head violently and took another step towards you.

"Don't say that, please. I can't believe you've stopped feeling something for me. I've been thinking a lot about you these last few weeks..."

And suddenly you just felt a surge of anger. He was thinking about you? When? Before or after fucking another woman?

"You thought in alone or was that blonde girl helping you? Or maybe you only had her for one night or..."

He leaned back slightly as if he had been hit.

"What are you talking about?"

He still had the audacity to pretend he didn't remember the woman. Or maybe it was true. Maybe he'd had so many of them in the last few weeks that he couldn't remember them anymore.

"Three days ago I went to your place because Oscar asked me to talk to you. A blonde woman in a robe opened the door for me!"

Pedro started laughing and you glared at him angrily.

"Is this so fucking funny?!"

"Yeah! Oscar spent years finding me girls to make you jealous, and you didn't bat an eyelid, but... A completely random woman made you furious. So yeah, it's kind of funny." He calmed down and looked at you kindly. "But... June is an old friend from college. She missed her flight and called me to see if I knew of a hotel because the one she wanted to stay at had no room left. You know, there were all those music festivals, and actually, most of the hotels were booked, so I offered her to stay with me."

You snorted and looked at him accusingly.

"And I'm supposed to believe it?"

Pedro huffed and pulled out his phone. He was looking for something for a while and finally showed a photo on Instagram.

"That's her?"

You didn't even have to look twice. You would recognize her anywhere.

"Yes," you murmured.

He scrolled to the next photo, where the same blonde was lovingly hugging another woman, and there were two children between them.

"Is that her too?"

This time your eyes were stuck on the picture for a longer time.

"Uh... Yes."

You slowly lost your confidence. When you saw the photo of two women kissing, you knew that Pedro wasn't lying to you.

"Uh... I'm sorry."

Pedro couldn't help but rub your arm gently.

"Okay, I know what it might have been look, but... I haven't had anyone since we had the fight. How could I? I know I screwed everything up and I want to fix it so much. I loved you for years, but I was afraid to admit it."

You felt a wave of sadness welling up inside you. He was standing so close to you and all you wanted to do was snuggle into his body, but at the same time, you didn't believe him. He has never tried to tell you that he loves you. He never tried to kiss you on the lips. You were the one who tried to break that rule, but he would always stop you, look at you suggestively and say, "You know the rules, honey."

You shook your head and looked at him with teary eyes.

"You know, what is the truth? That you were just comfortable. You knew me, you trusted me and you didn't have to have any obligations. That's why you didn't want to tell me you love me!"

"No, Y/N. It's not like that."

"So how?! How the hell, Pedro?!" you growled.

Pedro walked past you and sat down heavily on the bed. He sighed and lowered his head.

"Do you remember our first night..." He lifted his head slightly. "I mean the first time we had sex." You looked up at him and nodded your head. How could you forget it? "In the morning, while you were still sleeping, I went to the websites, the gossip ones. I felt that someone was taking pictures of us and I wasn't wrong. It only took a moment and I found it. We looked like a couple in love. You were so radiant and happy and you looked so young " You raised your eyebrows and he quickly added: "You were young, you're still young, but... In those photos, you were wearing this gauzy dress and light makeup and you looked like you were eighteen. And then I started reading the comments." You inhaled sharply through your nose and he nodded. "Yeah, I know. I told you many times not to do that. I don't know what hit me then. Some of the comments were neutral. Some were even funny, referring to the character of Oberyn, like "Pascal found his Ellaria". Unfortunately, some were nasty. The ones that pissed me off because they insulted you, but... Then I saw some people discussing that you're so young and you don't know what's going on, that I've definitely used you, and that I'm going to cheat on you with some other co-star. I tried to push those thoughts away. After all, what could these people know about us?" Pedro fell silent and you couldn't help but gently stroke his head. Emboldened by this gesture, he looked at you and said, "And then you woke up, went to the bathroom, and when you came back, you were so... scared. I realized that maybe those comments were true. I used my fame, I used you... And I will hurt you. But because I was fucking selfish, I couldn't finish it. So I dragged you into this sick deal. "

You felt so relieved when you heard all this. Pedro really loved you. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh god... Fucking period."

"What?"

You stood between his legs and cupped his face with your hands.

"I got my period this on that morning. I didn't have a tampon or pad with me and I was so embarrassed. If it was now or... a few months later, I'd probably just send you to the store for tampons, but then... I was ashamed. Still, I didn't know you that well. And you were the star of Game of Thrones. It's so stupid."

"So that's why you wanted to go home so soon?"

"Yes!"

"Fucking period," he muttered, and you both started laughing.

Pedro placed his hands gently on your hips. He missed that closeness so much.

"When did it all go so wrong?" he asked sadly.

"Don't you see? It's always been broken. We broke it after our first night together. We should have been a couple then. That's the truth. We screwed up when we decided to be friends with benefits."

"We were younger and we got into a spiral of misunderstandings."

"We were younger, but we weren't children, Pedro."

He nodded and looked at you, making those puppy eyes.

"How do we fix all this?"

You thought for a moment and replied:

"You know, sometimes to fix something, you have to break something first."

"What do you mean?"

"We have to break our rules."

You happily sat on top of him.

And it was just like in your dream. You were sitting on his lap, facing him. His lips kissed your neck, his hands squeezed your breasts.

"Pedro," you purred.

He looked at you and you kissed him on the lips. He gripped you tighter and held you as if afraid you would run away. But you weren't going to run.

You always knew his plump lips were perfect for long, passionate kisses. When you finally broke apart, you both had puffy lips and wide grins on your faces. Pedro touched your lips with his thumb and said:

"Let's break another rule, mi amor. I love you."

You nodded your head and replied:

"I love you." And then you added, "I really missed you. I want to feel you again. I want to kiss you during sex."

You shifted uneasily in his lap. Pedro chuckled lightly and stroked your sides.

"I'd rather not here."

"What's bothering you about this place? Remember when we did that in your trailer when you were filming The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent?"

"Oh my god! Don't even remind me! Nicolas nearly caught us!"

You both started laughing and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Still, this mattress makes me sick to think of how many people..." he murmured.

"Okay, okay... Give me five minutes to gather my things."

But Pedro wasn't about to let you go just yet. His hands still gripped your hips tightly.

"I know, getting old," he muttered.

You laughed and cupped his face in your hands. You gently stroked the wrinkles around his eyes with your thumbs.

"You don't age. You mature like fine wine. You'll never be too old for me and I'll never get bored of you." You leaned in and kissed him again on the lips. Now that you could do it freely, you couldn't get enough. Barely moving your lips away from his, you whispered, "And I love that you still act like a boy sometimes."

Pedro hugged you tightly and sighed.

"I missed you so much, Cupcake. You're the only one who makes me feel like I can beat the world."

You dug your fingers into his hair and let him hold you for a long moment. He needed it, and you were going to give him everything. You've hurt him too many times.

*

Coming back to his house was full of holding hands, kissing (every time there was a red light), and laughing.

As soon as you entered the apartment, you immediately began to get rid of your clothes, you were left in only your underwear. Pedro took off his shirt and you showered his bare chest with kisses and he lightly bit your shoulder. He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bedroom. There he threw his pants on the floor.

You lay on your back on the bed and he started kissing your belly and slid his fingers into the waistband of your panties, teasing you slightly. You started to move your hips and...

Pedro's phone started ringing furiously. He rolled his eyes and continued, but someone was really stubborn.

"Answer or turn off," you groaned.

Pedro reached for the phone and muttered, "Of course it's him."

You suddenly felt like having a little fun. "Give me that." Pedro obediently handed you the phone, and you swiped your finger to the green receiver and greeted with a cheery voice: "Hey, Oscar!"

There was consternation on the other side.

"Umm...Y/N? Are you with Pedro?!"

"Yes..." You bit your lip as Pedro's mouth started to nibble your thigh. You let out a slight gasp as his tongue brushed your clit through the fabric of your panties.

"Did you... Uh, never mind. Did you make up?"

"Yes. We became a couple."

"God, finally!"

"I'm surprised you're happy."

You bit your lower lip as Pedro began to take off your underwear. He had such a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"If you spent as many years as me trying to connect two idiots in love with each other, you'd be happy too!"

Pedro pulled away from you and reached for the phone.

"Give me him." You handed him the phone. "Oscar, you're interrupting us."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"So get lost and... For God's sake, never play matchmaker again because you suck at it!"

"Fuck you, Pedro!"

"That's what I'm going to do!"

"Aaa... You're disgusting. I hate you!"

Pedro laughed out loud.

"Yes, yes Oscar, we love you too, bye!"

He tossed the phone aside and licked his lips.

"So where did we end up?"

His hoarse voice filled with lust made you shiver.

"You had something to do between my legs"

"Ah yes!"

"But first." You pulled him close and kissed him deeply on the lips. "I remind you that from now on, we do this for love, not for benefits."

*

An hour later you were naked, exhausted, sweaty, and incredibly happy. Pedro put his head on your stomach and hugged you tightly. You were sure that arm that was under your back had gone numb long ago, but apparently, he wasn't going to let go of you. You intertwined your fingers with his hand that was on your stomach. You played with his hair with your free hand.

Pedro tilted his head back without taking his cheek off your skin, looked at you, and asked, "What's next?"

"We'll get up, we'll take a bath..." Seeing him roll his eyes, you laughed. You knew he was asking about the future of your relationship. "I know, I know that's not what you're asking. Well, I suppose I'll have to move in with you."

He nodded.

"If that's what you want. I mean, I always thought you lived here. Now that I'm so busy, that would be the best solution."

"Okay then" you mumbled and he kissed your belly. "What about the rest of the world? What about your fame?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't want to hide our relationship, but I also don't want to expose us to all these lights. What do you want?"

You brushed some unruly curls from his forehead and went back to stroking his hair.

"I think we should wait. A couple of weeks, maybe months, until the "The Last of Us" craze subsides a bit. I mean, if someone asks you if you're in a relationship, you don't have to lie. I'll agree to anything. I want just to make you happy."

Pedro snuggled even closer to you and in a sleepy voice said:

"I'm happy, as long as you're by my side and I know we love each other."

*

Days passed slowly, lost and low

You gave me hope and now there's only

 Blood running in my veins

I've never been here before

And I got love falling like the rain

I never could've asked for more

I got so much soul inside my bones

Take a look at me now

I'm young forever in the sun

Ever since you came

I'm living ultralife

I'm living ultralife

I'm living ultralife

 Oh Wonder - Ultralife

Part VI

Thank you Oscar for unexpectedly becoming my favorite a minor character 🤣

[lionlena]

We don’t love each other (PedroPascalxreader) angst! Part V

Summary:  You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don’t love each other. You’re friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other… Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn’t mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything.

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

*

Part V

He rested his forehead against the tiles and sighed as he felt the streams of warm water hit his hard muscles. God... He was so tense. It's all through pretending. He smiled when he saw the fans and when he signed autographs. He laughed during interviews. But it was all a lie, and he was working hard to make the world believe him.

He had no cause for joy, and going out into the outside world was a torment.

Maybe, only the interviews with Bella, did him feel better, but that was only because she reminded him of his little sister in some way, and he felt the need to take care of her. He was wondering, if you would like her? Probably yes.

You and Bella would probably tease him about taking naps on set, and he'd allow it.

He felt the pain in his heart again. God, he was so tired, so sad... Yes, he'd screwed up and he had no excuse for it. You had every right to hate him, and yet... Part of him wanted to tell you that it wasn't all his fault that he tried... He tried so hard, but he failed.

When he got out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked over to the medicine cabinet. He reached for sleeping pills and immediately took two, washing them down with tap water. He doubted it would help anyway. He couldn't sleep since you left. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your tears and the horror on your face. What did he expect? He's never yelled at you before. Yes, in play or while you were helping him with role. But he never shouted in anger. Though honestly, he wasn't angry at the time, he was terrified. Terrified that he ruined everything. That he spoiled everything for years.

He entered his bedroom and put on a t-shirt and sleeping shorts. He glanced at his phone and winced at the two missed calls from Oscar. He didn't want to talk to his friend and had been ignoring him for several days. It's not like he blamed him for the current situation, and yet... Oscar had tried for years to help him, in a way to put it mildly: useless. First, he urged him to break off the deal with you. Then he thought Pedro should confess his love to you. Then he said him that since you two been stuck in a suspension for so many years, it's better for you if your paths diverge.

However, when you parted ways, Oscar saw how wrong he was. Pedro was tired of listening to his advice. There was nothing to fix. Everything broke down.

And even though he knew it, he stared at the phone screen for a while longer, hoping that your name would be displayed on it. But nothing happened, so he decided to fetch a bottle of water from the kitchen and at least try to sleep.

As he entered the living room, the blonde sitting on the couch smiled at him. She put down the tablet she was holding in her hands.

"I already checked everything. I have a flight tomorrow morning. So, I won't bother you any longer."

Pedro shook his head.

"No problem, June. You don't remember, when I living with you and Ann for two weeks in college."

"Yes, but... I feel so stupid."

"Anyone can miss a plane. Don't worry."

June looked at him carefully.

"You look tired."

Pedro smiled sadly. If she only knew how exhausted he was.

"Yes, fame is tiring. That's why I'm going to sleep right now, but you stay as long as you want."

June immediately replied:

"Oh no, no. I'm going to bed too. If I miss my flight again tomorrow, my wife will kill me."

Pedro laughed and suddenly remembered something.

"While I was taking a shower, I thought I heard a bell ring."

"Ah yes, your neighbor was looking for her kitten."

"Hmm, strange. I didn't know they had a cat. Well, I hope she finds this kitty."

"Me too. She looked very nervous."

Pedro nodded, wished her good night, and went back to the bedroom . He laid down on his stomach and drew to himself the pillow that you always slept on. He stuck his nose in it, though he knew it was useless. You hadn't been in his bed in months, and yet he felt like he could smell you. Well, maybe because he used your shampoo in the shower. He whined as he realized how pathetic he was. But he needed so much a minimum of comfort. Just your smell.

He couldn't stop the tears escaping from his eyes. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, hoping the pills would finally take effect. Maybe his brain will show him mercy and see you in his sleep?

*

All I want is nothing more

To hear you knocking at my door

'Cause if i could see your face once more

I could die a happy man i'm sure

 When you said your last goodbye

I died a little bit inside

I lay in tears in bed all night

Alone, without you by my side Kodaline - All I Want

*

Part IV 

Part VI

Storm is coming....

There will probably be 2 more parts to this series, but I am slowly approaching the end of this series (which was never meant to be a series).

[lionlena]

His Curls (PedroPascalxreader)

Inspired by this post from @pedrotonin​

I don't know if you expected this, but... I wrote it. It's short and a bit silly.

*

You loved your job and you were used to famous people. You were a hair stylist for models, singers, journalists... You were good at what you did and always kept the highest professionalism.

However, Pedro Pascal was your weakness. Your Achilles heel.

You told yourself it was because you were his new stylist. You had to get to know his hair, adjust the cut, select the best conditioners...

But that was a lie.

The truth was that when Pedro first walked through your door, you were immediately struck by the light and warmth emanating from him. This man was just a walking sun. A human golden retriever puppy.

It was impossible not to love him. He was kind, modest, and smelled so good. He talked to you about all sorts of things and made you laugh with his silly jokes.

You tried to be very careful while combing his hair. You made sure not to do or say anything inappropriate.

But today Pedro told you he had a bad night and you told him to take a nap. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for you. People working in show business were overworked and often fell asleep in your chair.

He told you that you are an angel and you tried to hide your blush.

You're used to Pedro not closing his mouth.

Silence was also bad for your mind. Your thoughts began to revolve around Pedro. You wondered why he was having a bad night.

Did he have nightmares?

Oh, you imagined hugging him and whispering comforting words.

Or was he at a party?

A video of Pedro dancing appeared in your head.

Oh, his moves were so sexy.

You bit your lip and shook your head. You had to focus.

You started to massage his soft curls with conditioner when another intrusive thought took over your mind.

Or maybe he had an intimate night with some woman.

Images of Pedro, shirtless with his hair disheveled, flashed through your mind. Your hand sank into his hair. You grabbed his curls and pulled him towards you.

You heard his moan and...

 Oh my god! You understood what you did. Your cheeks turned a deep red blush.

" Pedro, oh god... I'm sorry, I... I..."

You dared to look at him and then you noticed it. Pedro was blushing too.

One sec! The moan you heard... Was it a moan of pain or...

Oh god, oh god, oh god!!!

He covered his crotch with his hand. He cleared his throat and smiled shyly at you.

"Maybe next time before we get into the hair-pulling thing, you'll let me invite you to dinner?"

"With pleasure."

Pedro gave you his sweetest smile. He sat down more comfortably in the chair and said:

"Wonderful. I can't wait."

You nodded and went back to gently styling his hair. The smile never left your face.

*

Taglist: @deansgirl79​

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/lionlena/717577458143117312/his-curls-pedropascalxreader-part-2?source=share

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/lionlena/717696242092769280/his-curls-pedropacalxreader-part-3?source=share