goaways-stuff

[goaways-stuff]

just let me help - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: smut, blowjob (f!giving), dom-sub tones (soft), stress relief, emotional vulnerability.

He comes home quiet. That’s how you know it’s bad.

No usual whistle, no shoes kicked off with a sigh, no teasing little “m’home, baby!” He just walks in, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, brows furrowed so deep it looks like he’s still arguing with whoever pissed him off hours ago.

You barely get a “hi” before he’s collapsing onto the couch, head back, eyes closed, one hand rubbing at his temple.

You sit beside him, slow, gentle. “Bad day?”

He just grunts.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. “Wanna not talk about it?”

That makes his lip twitch. “Maybe.”

You slide your hand up his thigh.

“Wanna let me take care of you?”

His eyes finally open. They meet yours — tired, glassy, aching.

You don’t wait for permission. You just kiss his neck, his jaw, his lips soft and slow until he exhales that breath he’s been holding all day. Then you sink to your knees in front of him, between his legs, hands moving to undo his belt with practiced care.

“Baby…” he warns, voice already cracking. “You don’t have to—”

You look up. “I want to.”

And he’s gone.

You free him from his boxers and he’s already hard, thick and heavy in your hand, pulsing with need. You stroke him slowly at first, watching the way his shoulders drop, the way his head tips back, that first low groan slipping from his throat like it’s relief.

“Fuuuck—”

You take him into your mouth, slowly, deeply, tongue dragging along the underside like you know exactly what he needs. (You do. You always do.)

His hand finds your hair immediately. Not rough — grateful. Desperate. Fingers curling as he gasps your name.

You set a rhythm, wet and warm, sucking him deeper with each pass, letting your spit drip down your chin, letting him see how much you want to help. You look up again and he groans louder.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me—” His hips twitch. “God, that mouth—”

You moan around him and that’s it. He loses it.

“Please don’t stop—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

You don’t.

You take him deep, his thighs trembling, his voice wrecked, hand gripping your hair as he finally lets go — groaning your name like it’s the only word he remembers, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth, panting like he just survived a war.

You swallow, kiss the tip, wipe your mouth. Climb back up into his lap.

He’s wrecked.

Eyes glassy. Hair messy. Chest heaving.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, pulling you into him, arms tight around your waist. “You’re unreal.”

You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his sweaty temple.

“Better?”

“Baby,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. “You fixed me.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[goaways-stuff]

overstimulating joel until he cums. again.

content: oral (m receiving), joel is 61 and has a hard time keeping up with his much younger girlfriends sex drive, use of daddy, slight dubcon

a/n: this is how im choosing to cope with this scene, okay? i can’t help that he looks hot as fuck.

joel was too worn out to move.

chest heaving, mouth quivering, all he could do was lay there and watch you take from him.

you were such a greedy lil’ thing, one round was never enough. so eager and needy. always wanting more, like you wouldn’t last a day without his cock.

he kept up with you as best as he could for a man his age, making sure to stay in shape so he that maintained his stamina, but it only got him so far.

it was a guilty reminder— he was old. you were young. nothin’ he could change about that. he already ran through the small supply of viagra he was able to get ahold of weeks ago, which left him at your mercy.

even after a long day of patrol he came home and fucked you every night, just like you wanted. what was left of his energy he thrusted deep into your cunt with his seed to prove it, giving you a kiss on the cheek before pulling out and turning onto his back to go to sleep.

it had been a while since you went down on him. he didn’t have much control on when or how often he got hard, so when he was he used those moments inside of you.

except joel didn’t realize how much you missed him in your mouth, so badly that you needed it.

as he rolled off of you to his side of the bed, you noticed how his cock was flushed— coated with your juices and his cum. he was softening but stayed big, thick in girth with graying hairs at the base.

he didn’t have the chance to recover before you had his cock in your hand, sitting on your knees and holding him straight as you licked the shaft.

“baby… what’re y’doin?” he asked timidly, still attempting to control his breaths from cumming just a minute or two prior. you simply responded with a hum, looking up at him through your lashes as you swirled your tongue— tasting yourself on him.

you placed a kiss on his tip, his cock reacting with a throb that pulsed in your grasp. “alright, that’s enough.” he spoke low, a quavering warning for you to stop— but his tone lacked in confidence.

“let me have this, daddy.” as if he had a choice.

you took him into your mouth, lips curling around his cock as you watched his face twist from the sensation.

fucking hell, you were going to be the death of him.

he clenched his jaw, teeth grinding while he tried to hold himself back— hold you back. he pushed at your head, attempting to shove you with what little control he had left, but you didn’t budge. you only went further, inching his cock deeper down your throat. he was forced into submission.

joel was so sensitive that he whined from the mix of pain and pleasure, the line blurring the more you swallowed him. “i don’t have anythin’ left in me, honey... gave you of it already.” he told you slow, his voice trembling.

you moaned in defiance, mouth stuffed full of his length. you brought a free hand to his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze which made him nearly whimper. you pull away, spit dribbling from the corners of your lip. “can feel that you still got some in here, just gotta get it out, daddy. it’ll feel so much better.”

he clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together as you continued to suck him— bobbing at a teasing speed while you massaged the rest of his length at the same time. he twitched his hips, his body defying his words.

it felt so good that it was hurting him. your throat was beginning to burn due to lack of recent experience, but you were determined for it.

“just couldn’t wait, huh? so cock drunk that y’had to use your old man like this, knowin’ im vulnerable?” you nodded, that familiar ache in your core returning.

he was thinking of all the ways to punish you once you were done— ready to spank you until you cried, maybe edge you if he was feeling mean. he would find a way to make you pay.

joel was determined to give you one more load since you went through all of this to get it. he couldn’t disappoint his girl.

he was so numb that he couldn’t even feel himself getting ready to cum, his eyes glossy and in a state of haze at the sight of you drooling on his thighs.

the warm, soft flesh of your cheeks hollowing in on him brought him to his release, spilling hot, creamy ropes on the pad of your tongue. whenever you thought he was done it didn’t stop— drops still leaking out after you finished.

“better lick me dry honey. since you wanted it so damn bad.”

[goaways-stuff]

Dilf!Joel + Gilf!Joel

Twitter Links 18+ MDNI

⤷ you both still got it after having a baby

⤷ giving his limp dick a thighjob

⤷ he's almost bigger when banging his bsf daughter

⤷ teasing your tight hole

⤷ rough awakenings from your stepdad

⤷ one night stand

⤷ his favourite nurse at the care home

⤷ makes you work for it

⤷ taking the blue pill made him cum everywhere

⤷ you love his softer body

⤷ hotel hookups

⤷ finally seeing you after college

⤷ you loved your old man

⤷ he's so much bigger than you

[goaways-stuff]

prompt #20 - pedro pascal - “if you knew how good you taste…”

CW: smut, oral (f!receiving), munch!Pedro supremacy, worship vibes, filthy praise, overstimulation, unhinged obsession 😵‍💫💦

---

It should’ve been over.

You were breathless, legs still trembling from your second orgasm, fingers buried in his curls, trying to gently coax him up toward your mouth. You wanted to kiss him, wanted to pull him into your arms and tell him enough, that he’d done more than enough.

But Pedro wasn’t done.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, dragging you down further on the bed until your legs were fully open for him again, trembling and slick, your chest still heaving from the high he had just given you.

“Pedro—”

He looked up, eyes glassy, lips wet, flushed like a man starved.

“Don’t you dare stop me,” he muttered, mouth already moving back to where he wanted you most. “You have no idea how good you taste…”

Your head fell back with a broken moan, thighs instinctively trying to close—but he wouldn’t let you. His palms pushed them apart again, holding you open like a gift he refused to return.

“I’m serious, baby,” he murmured between licks, voice low and almost reverent. “I could die between your legs and I’d go smiling.”

You whimpered, back arching when his tongue circled you again—slow, deep, greedy. He groaned into you, sucking with just enough pressure to make your toes curl.

You tugged his hair, voice cracking. “Pedro, I—can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up with precision that made your vision blur. “One more. Give me one more. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

You cried out, hands fisting the sheets, body melting into the mattress as he devoured you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And when you came again—louder, messier, completely undone—Pedro moaned like he was the one getting off.

He finally came up, face flushed and glistening, the most satisfied, fucked-out smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed, laying beside you, kissing your shoulder while you struggled to come down. “You're never getting rid of me. I’m obsessed. Addicted. Ruined for anyone else.”

And you couldn’t even speak—not yet. But the way your body curled into him, the way your fingers found his hand under the blanket, said everything.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that. send me your prompt!

[goaways-stuff]

take them off for me ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluffy & soft, romantic + sensual kissing, established relationship, glasses Pedro, gentle dominance from reader, Pedro being a melted + aroused puddle of a man

He leans in to kiss you and the first thing you feel is the edge of his glasses pressing lightly into your cheek.

Still, you kiss him anyway.

Because he tastes like mint and coffee. Because his hands are warm and slow on your hips. Because his voice dipped low when he said, "Come here, baby," like he couldn’t wait another second. Because it’s Pedro, and he’s looking at you like that again.

But the second kiss, the deeper one—his nose bumps into yours, and the angle’s weird, and your breath catches—not from the heat but from the damn frame shifting between your faces.

You pull away with a quiet laugh, fingers finding the arms of his glasses. “These,” you murmur, lifting them gently, “are in my way.”

Pedro blinks, lips already pink and parted, watching as you fold them neatly and—of course—tuck them into the open collar of his shirt. Right where his chest is barely peeking out. Right over his heartbeat.

He watches your hands move like you’ve cast a spell. Like something’s just short-circuited in his brain. When you lean back in and kiss him again—slower this time, deeper—he exhales like it knocked the wind out of him.

A tiny, desperate noise leaves his throat. His grip tightens on your waist.

You pull back just an inch, lips brushing his. “Better?”

He nods, but he’s flushed now—cheeks blooming with heat, eyes hazy.

“You okay?” you whisper, teasing. “You look a little overwhelmed, amor.”

Pedro groans. “I don’t know what that was, but—fuck.” He buries his face in your neck for a second. “You can’t just take my glasses off like that and tuck them in my shirt and then act normal about it.”

You grin, smug. “Why? You liked it?”

“I—yeah,” he says, dazed. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Also…” He looks at you again, hands sliding up your back, voice deeper. “You’re gonna have to sit on my lap now. That’s the rule.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[goaways-stuff]

nothing to wear. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: dom-ish girlfriend!reader, playful smut, teasing, clothes stealing, soft chaos, Pedro being flustered and hot and bothered.

---

Pedro’s wardrobe had become… suspiciously empty.

At first, he thought maybe the laundry hadn’t been done. Then maybe he was just being forgetful — shirts misplaced, hoodies lent out. But then he walked into the living room one lazy Sunday afternoon, and there you were.

In his socks. His black Calvin Klein boxers. His freaking Rolling Stones t-shirt that he’d been looking for all week.

You were curled up on the couch like it was the most normal thing in the world, eating cereal and looking at him with your “what?” face. That face always got him. Mostly because it came with a little smirk you didn’t try to hide.

He leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning you with theatrical suspicion.

"Is there any part of my wardrobe you haven’t stolen yet?"

You smiled sweetly. “I don’t like the red flannel.”

Pedro blinked. “I— I like the red flannel.”

“Tough luck,” you shrugged. “It’s mine now.”

This went on for days — his socks mysteriously appearing on your feet, his underwear folded in your drawer, his hoodies always hanging on the back of your chair. You even swiped one of his favorite beanies, which looked infuriatingly cute on you.

One night, he opened his dresser and just stood there, deadpan.

You walked in behind him, now wearing his white tank top and sweatpants so big they sagged at your hips.

“At this rate,” he mumbled, pulling open empty drawers, “I’m gonna run out of clothes.”

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder. “Good. That’s the idea.”

Pedro huffed a laugh, turning just enough to meet your eyes. “Oh? So what, you want me walking around the house naked now?”

You blinked at him. Innocent. Dangerous. “It’s a good view.” And then you reached for the hem of his shirt.

He froze. “Wait, you’re— right now?”

You didn’t answer — just slowly pulled the shirt up over his chest, letting your nails drag across his skin on the way up. He shivered.

“Dios mío…” he breathed, eyes wide, breath catching when you pushed the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. “You’re evil.”

“I’m smart,” you corrected, stepping into his space, hands flat on his chest now. “Why waste time undressing you later when I can just keep you naked all the time?”

His laugh came out shaky — a nervous, aroused thing. “You really like stealing my clothes, huh?”

“I like taking everything that’s yours,” you said softly, dragging your hands down to his waistband. “Especially when I know you’ll let me.”

He swallowed hard. “Cariño…”

You leaned up to kiss his jaw, then his neck, then down to his collarbone, and his knees damn near buckled. His hands fluttered, unsure where to go — he was always like this when you took the lead, all breathless and eager and stunned by how much you wanted him.

By the time you got him fully undressed, he was flushed, dazed, and already leaking.

“You like this, huh?” you teased, running a hand down his stomach. “Me being in your clothes, and you being in nothing?”

He nodded quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “Too much.”

And when you pushed him back onto the bed and crawled over him, eyes locked, lips parted, Pedro had never been happier to have nothing left to wear.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[goaways-stuff]

nothing to wear. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: dom-ish girlfriend!reader, playful smut, teasing, clothes stealing, soft chaos, Pedro being flustered and hot and bothered.

---

Pedro’s wardrobe had become… suspiciously empty.

At first, he thought maybe the laundry hadn’t been done. Then maybe he was just being forgetful — shirts misplaced, hoodies lent out. But then he walked into the living room one lazy Sunday afternoon, and there you were.

In his socks. His black Calvin Klein boxers. His freaking Rolling Stones t-shirt that he’d been looking for all week.

You were curled up on the couch like it was the most normal thing in the world, eating cereal and looking at him with your “what?” face. That face always got him. Mostly because it came with a little smirk you didn’t try to hide.

He leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning you with theatrical suspicion.

"Is there any part of my wardrobe you haven’t stolen yet?"

You smiled sweetly. “I don’t like the red flannel.”

Pedro blinked. “I— I like the red flannel.”

“Tough luck,” you shrugged. “It’s mine now.”

This went on for days — his socks mysteriously appearing on your feet, his underwear folded in your drawer, his hoodies always hanging on the back of your chair. You even swiped one of his favorite beanies, which looked infuriatingly cute on you.

One night, he opened his dresser and just stood there, deadpan.

You walked in behind him, now wearing his white tank top and sweatpants so big they sagged at your hips.

“At this rate,” he mumbled, pulling open empty drawers, “I’m gonna run out of clothes.”

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder. “Good. That’s the idea.”

Pedro huffed a laugh, turning just enough to meet your eyes. “Oh? So what, you want me walking around the house naked now?”

You blinked at him. Innocent. Dangerous. “It’s a good view.” And then you reached for the hem of his shirt.

He froze. “Wait, you’re— right now?”

You didn’t answer — just slowly pulled the shirt up over his chest, letting your nails drag across his skin on the way up. He shivered.

“Dios mío…” he breathed, eyes wide, breath catching when you pushed the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. “You’re evil.”

“I’m smart,” you corrected, stepping into his space, hands flat on his chest now. “Why waste time undressing you later when I can just keep you naked all the time?”

His laugh came out shaky — a nervous, aroused thing. “You really like stealing my clothes, huh?”

“I like taking everything that’s yours,” you said softly, dragging your hands down to his waistband. “Especially when I know you’ll let me.”

He swallowed hard. “Cariño…”

You leaned up to kiss his jaw, then his neck, then down to his collarbone, and his knees damn near buckled. His hands fluttered, unsure where to go — he was always like this when you took the lead, all breathless and eager and stunned by how much you wanted him.

By the time you got him fully undressed, he was flushed, dazed, and already leaking.

“You like this, huh?” you teased, running a hand down his stomach. “Me being in your clothes, and you being in nothing?”

He nodded quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “Too much.”

And when you pushed him back onto the bed and crawled over him, eyes locked, lips parted, Pedro had never been happier to have nothing left to wear.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[goaways-stuff]

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than expected.

Not just the kind of wrong that came with whiteout conditions and freezing wind — this was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. A warning dressed up as weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping.

Your skin burned from cold, your limbs throbbed with fatigue — but none of it compared to the way your heart pounded. Not from exertion.

From fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to glance at you.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah, just—cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with the horse, unaware of how your whole body shook with more than frost. You hadn’t told them. Couldn’t. How do you explain that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward felt like walking away from safety?

Your heart was screaming in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left before you could fully wake up.

The echo of his voice still lingered in your memory — low and warm, brushing against your ear as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling”

But he hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the saddle still had damp with snow.

Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances. And the sky had turned gray with anger.

You shook your head, tried to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was wrong.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was shelter. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with more force than necessary.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care.

There was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. Your gloves were off before Jesse could even say anything. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol check-ins.

A burst of static.

Then another.

Finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, respond.”

Nothing.

The silence wasn’t ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t delay. It was absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

Jesse called after you.

But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, eyes wide and fierce. “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed without a word.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened.

And Joel and Dina were out there.

You and Ellie rode hard, the snow whipping across your faces like knives, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead — but then, in the distance, a glow.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill — firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. It wasn't from a patrol cabin or torch post. It rose in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“It’s from Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped.

Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, their coats soaked with snow, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No patrols. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit...”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it—It was about to break you open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting a pray, her eyes screaming please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Joel’s screams.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood and pain and something worse. His legs bent at unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying.

And above him, a woman. Blonde. Rage carved into her face like she’d practiced it. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focus on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared and tackled her with everything you had, all your weight, all your fury. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more.” you growled.

Her people came fast, like shadows. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife.

But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. You fought like someone who had nothing left but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had — a piece of wood, a broken lamp, your fists, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you screamed.

The crack of your shotgun echoed like thunder as the first shell slammed into one of the men flanking her. Blood hit the wall. Chaos exploded in every direction.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding in her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reached for you got a knife through the ribs. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

Abby swung the club toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“You wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first!”

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake.

Because Ellie broke free just long enough to grab your dropped shotgun and aim it at her. “Step back,” she spat, blood in her teeth, voice shaking but solid.

“Now.”

Abby looked between the two of you. At Joel — bleeding, still breathing — at her fallen group. Then she backed off, raising her hands slightly.

“This isn’t over,” she said.

“Yeah,” you snapped, “it is.” You said, pointing your gun right between her brows.

Your shotgun echoed in the stillness of the room.

The blast slammed into her chest, and her body jerked back like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the floor; eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reek of blood and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

You dropped beside as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before.

“Y-you---"he rasped, voice like torn gravel.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he wasn’t fully in the room anymore.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

Your heart lurched in panic. “Joel!”

Nothing.

You pressed your fingers to his pulse—still there, but faint.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now.”

You’d already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattling against the stillness. His face was swollen and unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, the side of his head. His legs—

Don’t think about the legs. Not now.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. You still with me?”

A faint groan. Barely audible.

But it was enough.

He was still here.

You pulled off your jacket and shoved it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened…?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew. The air had changed.

This was a war zone. A zone you had built in seconds because you didn’t know what else to do. You blinded yourself; you had become a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open — shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two broken.

Your voice cracked. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just… leave me—”

“Shut up,” you said, fierce now, your tears splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket and an old mattress from the back.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could, while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures.

Joel screamed.

It was guttural, raw as if he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t flinch. “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open — just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and you brush the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm.

Keep him alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split beneath Abby’s final blow. His blood soaked through instantly. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Your hands moved on their own now. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him. Stay with me. Please stay with me.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for direction.

Then your voice broke through the stillness.

“Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak.

You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand — limp and calloused in yours.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. A raw whisper. “Tell Tommy… tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

Silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing. The sound of blood dripping from the club Abby left behind.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked like bone. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s—he’s too heavy. He’s—”

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need a stretcher, a team. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I’ve got him.”

A pause.

Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud gasp “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged motions beneath you.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand.

That startled her.

It startled you too.

But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears — not yet — but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt. The fury. The fear that maybe… it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

And Ellie, for the first time in what felt like forever, let herself believe it.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once.

“I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway. “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside the room.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I—I need to stop the bleeding. His leg is bad. His ribs—fuck, I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer, still pale, still wide-eyed, her clothes soaked with blood—some hers, some not. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Shaken. Haunted. But standing tall.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath.

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once; jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second—boots pounding out the door, calling for Dina. You were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on floorboards.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “You hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slow, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet—except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

His legs were splinted crudely with a broken table leg and belts. His wounds were packed with gauze you tore from your own coat lining. You boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He’d faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the bloodstained wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still.

You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close.

No answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath broke in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

Still nothing. And then a twitch.

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

“…Sarah.”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open.

His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin again.

The smell of smoke and gasoline in the air. Sirens in the distance. Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder: “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was warm. Real.

He turned and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something dumb. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t want to blink—afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot.

Her warmth gone. He spun. He screamed for her. And when he looked down—

You were there.

In the memory. Not Sarah. You. Covered in blood. Crying. Calling his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you. He couldn’t move. The world was slipping.

And then—your voice cut through the haze.

“Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. Then again. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed.

He looked up at you, dazed, confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying…” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

And as the fire cracked quietly, Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close.

You didn’t sleep.

Your body screamed for rest, but you stayed next to Joel—watching the way his chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy. “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, y’know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath—maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. “…Learned from the best.”

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his—gingerly, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved—slow, searching—until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled like snow. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the walls. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then—his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words and that had broken you in the gentlest way.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry—not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief. He was alive.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was pain, muted but deep, like a dull echo in his bones. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on. Still there.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window like morning fog. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even in rest. You looked exhausted. Pale. Eyes ringed with shadows.

But you were here.

He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel…” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. Fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night…”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal. For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently but unshakable. “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in farm, together.”

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours. That’s not about deserving. That’s just how it is.”

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew, he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain—only release. Relief. Love.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. Alive. He was alive. The reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. Every damn day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked, but it was his. The first real smile you'd seen in so long it felt like a lifetime ago. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow and steady, like the beat of a familiar song you never thought you’d hear again. The machines hummed softly beside him. The faint glow of a streetlamp outside filtered through the hospital window, painting golden lines across the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.

[goaways-stuff]

weighted blanket ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: established relationship, soft cuddling, warm boyfriend Pedro, physical comfort, sleepy fluff, love language = touch.

---

You’re not sure when you stopped being two separate people on the couch.

At some point, his arm slipped around your waist. Your head tilted onto his chest. His fingers found that spot on your lower back where they always rest, and your legs tangled like they had nowhere else to be but wrapped around his. It’s quiet. The kind of cozy silence that only happens after hours of laughing, talking, and doing nothing together.

Pedro hums softly, thumb stroking your side. “Comfortable, amor?”

You let out a sigh, not even bothering to open your eyes. “Mmm. You’re warm.”

“I am a furnace,” he says proudly, shifting just enough to tuck the blanket higher over your legs. “One of my lesser-known superpowers.”

You grin against his shirt. “You’re like… my personal weighted blanket.”

Pedro chuckles, the sound rumbling through your cheek where it rests on his chest. “That’s adorable.”

“It’s true. You’re all warm and heavy in the best way. You make me feel so safe.”

He stills for a second—then pulls you even closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion and sleep, “then I’m never letting go.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” you whisper, smiling.

“It is. You’re trapped. Forever.” His arm tightens slightly around you. “Might even roll on top of you if you’re not careful.”

You giggle. “You already weigh like 1000 cuddly pounds right now. I couldn’t move even if I tried.”

“Perfect,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Exactly as planned.”

You melt into him, letting your body relax fully. His heartbeat under your ear. His warmth surrounding you. His breath slow and even, matching yours.

No alarms. No rush. Just you, your weighted blanket boyfriend, and the kind of peace that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[goaways-stuff]

Harry Castillo eats pussy after date night. Well, he technically eats pussy every night, but he especially likes doing it after date nights when he sees you all dolled up for him. Sometimes you wear panties, a skimpy black lacy number that really gets his heart pumping. Other times, you don’t bother to put anything that will block his path when he sneaks his hand between your thighs in the backseat of his car. Either way, Harry Castillo loves eating and playing with pussy, yours in particular.

[goaways-stuff]

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Harry's pulling you along for another event and, as expected, he needs you to keep him entertained. Alternatively, cockwarming, cum feeding, and creampies!

author's note | another one? yes. @gracieheartspedro said some shit that had me pausing and now we're here. i live in my docs lately, i'm sorry.

content warning | 18+ MDNI — sugar baby!reader, fancy events, harry is a damn fiend, cockwarming, cum feeding, public sex, exhibitionism, unprotected piv, bathroom sex, creampies

word count — 2.5k

You’ve never had an arrangement quite like what you had with Harry.

Nice men were few and far between when it came to the business. They were never pure of heart, always masked with cruel intention or wants, never acting out of genuine and authentic kindness.

Harry Castillo had changed that for you.

You’ve only been seeing him for three months, but the whirlwind it has swept you up into was nothing like you’ve ever experienced. You two were practically attached at the hip, rarely time to spend in your own apartment because you were always with him.

It only helped that you were being paid well, but the excitement and enjoyment you experienced with him was real. It couldn't be bought.

He was special—more than you could put into words.

He ordered the outfit for the night, a dress appropriate for the event he was intending to show you off at, sent his driver an hour before you were designated to be there, pulling around the back entrance to his apartment building as you took the staff elevator up to his penthouse.

Harry greets you with a smile, a kiss, a very quick glance over your outfit.

An examination, praying you passed his mental checklist.

You always did, smiling softly as he leaned in for another kiss, his hand tipping your chin up to meet his lips—one peck, two, both of you going back for more and more, until he’s forcing himself to pull away.

“What’s on the agenda tonight?” you ask curiously, clutch in your hands as you held it at your waist, watching as he stuffed his phone into his suit pocket before fastening the button on his jacket.

“Pretty boring, lots of guest speakers,” all they ever did was talk at the events he’s invited you to—you knew why he brought you along, not because you served as an accessory or a prize to show off, but because you kept him entertained, even without trying.

And when Harry gets restless, he’s unpredictable.

The first time it happened you were listening to the CEO of some company you’ve never heard of, his fingers wandering under the fabric of your dress from where you’re squeezed in beside him, the tablecloth hiding his movement as he pats your thigh gently.

You spread, obediently, watching him swallow at the feeling of your slick on his fingers—hot, wet, welcoming the stretch of him into your cunt like you had no other purpose then to keep him busy, your fingers encircling his wrist to keep yourself still, his eyes never parting from the front of the room, the rest of your table oblivious to his antics as they seemed almost hypnotized.

When you came, it was quick, a gasp you covered up with your silverware dropping to the floor.

Harry has that annoying, handsome smirk on his face the entire night.

Oftentimes, he just likes to watch you squirm.

Touches, so light it was like you imagined it.

He knows how hard it is for you to keep your composure around him like that.

It’s a challenge and he enjoys watching you lose.

–

The night starts as expected—handshakes and polite hugs, air kisses and curt nods.

Small talk for a half hour, a drink, and a small dinner that Harry barely touches.

You had a table in the corner of the room at his request.

Harry’s hand rests on your thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns along the fabric of your dress. 

The brush of his skin is subtle, but igniting. 

You fight back the yawn that crawls up your throat, his eyes catching the movement as you quickly try to stifle it, offering a soft giggle in return to his knowing smirk.

“Bored already?” he inquires, a squeeze to your thigh as his hand slips up higher.

You give him a knowing look, head tilted slightly as the corner of his mouth curls up higher.

Mischievous, that was the only word that came to mind.

“I’ve got an idea,” Harry begins, words that make the pit in your stomach swirl with anticipation.

Your pulse quickens with his words but this isn’t new.

Harry loves to push boundaries, and you’re more than willing to indulge him. It was your job, after all. 

A round of polite applause breaks your gaze as the speaker concludes. The next presenter approaches the podium, but your focus is entirely on the way Harry's fingertips toy with the hem of your dress, his head turning to lean toward you as he speaks.

“If you’re bored, I can keep you busy,” he suggests slyly, eyes flicking toward the floor and you already know, no need for him to elaborate.

You slip from your chair quietly, the thick tablecloth providing cover as Harry surveys the room, careful to inspect any watchful eyes, luckily everyone was distracted. He pushes the chair in quietly, removing any trace that you were around, his legs widening to accommodate you as you settle on your knees below, mouth already watering at the opportunity presented to you.

You were lucky the patrons at your table were running late, his throat clearing as you pulled at his zipper, catching sight of the bare skin underneath. He hadn’t even bothered wearing underwear and the touch to your chin, a gentle squeeze to your cheeks assures you that it was entirely for you, that he’d had this planned the entire night.

His arousal is evident too, the thick press of him straining against the inside of his slacks. 

You free him with ease, admiring the warmth of his skin.

His smell, heady and sweet, a mix of his expensive cologne and him, intoxicating.

His hand move with yours, under the table as both of your hands work over his cock, your tongue swirling gently around the tip as he jerks himself, slow and quiet, his unoccupied hand returning to your jaw again, guiding his cock down and into your mouth as he squeezed until your lips parted, a airy breathe pushing through your nose as the soft, velvety skin touches your tongue.

The sounds of the event carried on above, oblivious to the atrocity of sin being committed under the table, waiting until you had taken him fully into your mouth before his hands curled around the back of your head, gentle guidance but never forceful.

And you’re so eager to please, explorative licks of your tongue down his shaft and up before you’re bobbing your head in a steady rhythm that has his hand flexing to keep his need to take the lead at bay.

“Slow, slow,” he murmurs softly, lifting the cloth just enough that he can see you, shifting his chair slightly to move closer, regretting his actions almost immediately as your eyes turned up, wide and attentive, lips stretched around him, “just keep—keep it there,”

His cock, in your mouth, a solid weight against your tongue.

At this point, you were merely a placeholder for his pleasure.

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, your tongue tracing the sensitive ridge along his length, that saltiness of him. His thigh tenses, fabric shifting as your fingers press against the floor between your legs, his hands suddenly shift up above the table and you hear a voice, unfamiliar. A quiet exhale escapes him, almost inaudible, but you hear it—and it urges you on.

He carries the conversation effortlessly, like his cock was trying to bury into your throat just below the table, feeling him twitch against your tongue.

Your jaw starts to ache as he talks, his voice smooth and collected, like he’s not getting his cock sucked under the table. It’s almost like you’re not even there, just an accessory to his pleasure, a vessel for him to fuck and use however he pleased.

Your fingernails dig into the fabric of your dress as you adjust, chest heaving slightly with the weight of his cock in your mouth, letting him inch deeper and deeper until you have nothing left to give. You resist the urge to gag as the thick head of his cock presses against your throat, eyes fluttering shut.

Harry seems to sense your discomfort, easing you with a touch that could be mistaken for an itch from an outsider’s perspective as his hand presses against your throat, the heel of his palm resting underneath your chin as he urges you up, allowing you a moment to relax but not stray to far, his thumb drifting over your cheek. 

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll give you a call,” his voice strained, undetectable to anyone but you.

They carry on conversation idly, resisting the urge to moan as his fingers curl around the back of your head and tighten, forcing you down again, missing the warmth of your mouth even down to the base.

“....of course,” he says, almost breathless. “I’m—I’m looking forward to talking.”

Then, a shuffle.

Chairs moving. 

Your mouth is still full of him when the person leaves and there is an exhale of relief, also of need.

“No messes,” he warns gently, peeking at you from above, finally getting a sight of how wrecked he looked—of course, to most, he just seemed a little irritated, maybe annoyed.

But, to you, it meant he was holding back.

If it wasn’t so indecent, he would take you over the table in front of everyone.

You pull away slowly, the head of his cock catching against your bottom lip as you nod, letting Harry guide your mouth around and down his cock in tandem with the waves of applause, subtle grunts that were only for you to hear, his hand wrapped tight around his shaft as he kept you in place through the crescendo of his orgasm, his body tensing as he fills your mouth. 

It was hot and sudden, his hips jerking forward until you can’t take anymore, pulling back to breath and swallow, satisfied with how slick and wet you have left his cock from holding him in your mouth.

He watches you swallow, watches the way his cum fills your cheeks and overwhelms you for a slight moment, eager to have a taste of him after being so patient, but the best part about him watching you as that you can see him—it was small, fleeting moment as he tries to keep his composure but you can see it.

It’s why you started this arrangement with him—the thrill of knowing that underneath all that power was a man who would come undone just for you, only for you.

He tucks himself back into his pants without missing a beat, petting your mused hair down gently until you were clear to move, hearing him clear his throat as you shifted and stood, looking as if you had just returned from the restroom with the way your shift your dress and approach him at his side, turning to look at you with a smile as his hand slides over the curve of your ass and up to the small of your back, guiding you into your seat.

You can feel him watching you through the dim lighting, eyes locked on the speaker at the front of the room, both of you waiting eagerly for this whole thing to wrap up, feeling smug as you wipe your lips with your thumb and feel his hand tighten where it is, again, resting on your thigh, slipping the pad of your finger into your mouth as you glance over, savoring another taste of him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs under his breath, barely a whisper as he leans forward, lips brushing your ear, “think we’ll survive the night?”

You giggle quietly to yourself, looking down at his hand that squeezed with an unending need for you, never enough, “I saw a private bathroom on the way in,” you tell him.

His tongue clicks in his mouth, debating if he could slip out unnoticed.

He’s willing to risk it.

“Let’s go,” he urges, “before I tear that dress off of you and fuck you over this table.”

You shrug at his words, indifferent to the idea, though his hand is tight against your back as you slip through the maze of tables toward the front of the building, both of you sliding into the private bathroom and breathing out a sigh of relief that it was unguarded and unoccupied.

His mouth is hot and relentless the moment the door clicks shut.

 “I should make you wait,” he says against your skin, tugging your dress up as you hop up to settle against the bathroom counter, feeling his hand swipe away the neatly folded hand towels.

“I should put you on your knees again until I’m really satisfied,” his fingers skim upward, finding your core dripping with arousal and you gasp. He groans with the contact, feeling how wet you already are, “But, it seems like I need to take care of you—is that what you want?”

You nod, hand twisting around the back of his neck to pull him forward, his mouth pressing against your chest, face buried in your breasts as he quickly pulls your panties aside enough that he can slip his cock inside of you, already hard again and hungry.

You loved it this way—quick and desperate. It was Harry in his most raw form, eager to sink his cock into you in whatever way he could, his thrusts shaking the mirror that was digging into your skin, gasping as your hand wraps around his shoulders, pulling you tight to his chest as you lips press into his neck, moaning softly.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “you love this, don’t you?”

You nod eagerly, too worked up to care how fast your orgasm was creeping up on you, his hand working between your legs in time with his thrusts, mumbling, “ My filthy fuckin’ girl.”

His head dips, other hand gripping the edge of the counter next to your thigh as he pounds into you harder, faster. The sensation of his touch, his determination, and the way he’s watching himself sink into your tight heat over and over and over again, practically mesmerized.

It all tumbles over rather quickly, gasping into his open mouth as he pulls you to him, letting you ride through your high with soft, gentle praise, “There it is—give it to me, baby,” he begs, “feel how good that is?”

You nod weakly, hearing him growl into your neck as his second orgasm of the night creeped in, a hand tight at your hip as he held you close, coming inside of you with hard, sharp thrusts until he had nothing left to give.

And still, he was prepared to give you everything.

Anything.

[goaways-stuff]

I need to be fucked by this man and hated by all the neighbors.

[goaways-stuff]

he’s so send me on my way by rusted root here

[goaways-stuff]

Pedro Pascal during ‘THE FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS’ photocalll in Mexico City

📸 rogelblanquet | instagram

[goaways-stuff]

anyone else have days where all they can think about is giving head? i feel possessed.

[goaways-stuff]

Pretty Boy

Clint Flood x transmasc!reader

Summary: "hey, i donated to stonewall housing for the event. i remember you talking about a trans man clint piss kink idea at some point, could i request that?" Clint fucks you until you pee. Send tweet.

Warnings: PIV sex, reader is afab trans masc, piss kink <3 both being the pisser and the piss-e, f-slur but lovingly, mentions of anal fisting, gapping asshole, everything is assumed to have consent.

300 words.

***

"Not yet, baby boy, not yet..." Clint coos, stroking your face gently with those large hands he has as if he doesn't have you writhing under him with a full bladder and ready to cum. Clint jokes he used to have a fist of fury, and now it's "just a hand👋 " But it felt like a fist when all 5 knuckles were shoved up your asshole 5 minutes ago.

You were left gapping, and as Clint rails your other hole he likes to watch your asshole move and throb and try to close.

"God, I wish you could see yourself how I see you right now..." There's a hint of wonder there that was so reverent as he fucked you, it sounded like it belonged in a church, not in your bedroom, completely debased and sweaty and-

"Clint I swear to god I'm about to pee!"

He swats your ass lightly, reprimanding your attitude.

His voice was darker now, more firm, less room for being a brat. "Not until I'm done fucking this boy cunt, got it?"

"I c-can't!"

Gripping your hips, Clint sighs and decides to have mercy on your, and begins slamming into you. "Fuck it, let it out. Gonna piss on my cock, fucking faggot? Or are you gonna cum?"

It was both. Your arms give out in the relief but you keep your ass up for him, your bussy throbbing and pulse around him as you pissed on his dick, Clint moaning as he slammed into you over and over again. Piss went everywhere, splattered around by the ferocity of his thrusts, a load growling as Clint reached his own climax above you.

"Tell me what you are!!" he grunts, slapping your ass again. "Say it!"

"I'm your f-faggot!" The aftershocks of your orgasm are still pulsing, fingers twitch as the bliss reaches all extremities in waves of pleasure. "Yours!"

"Who owns this boycunt?"

"You! You own my holes!"

When Clint pulls out, he's not content with one hole being dripping with his mess. Aiming his cock at you, Clint pisses into your gapping asshole. You feel the warm liquid inside you, filling you and then overflowing to drip down your still-shaking thighs.

You lay there on the bed, covered in him and your own sick fantasy.

***

thanks for reading!!! I have a problem, i havn't even watched this yet and he consumes me ;-; I just need to wait until the perfect time. I don't like watching TV in the living room bc its gross bc the dogs and i dont wanna watch on my laptop. my friend and i were gonna watch it but then she found out how violent it was and she decided it wasnt best for them which is totally fine!

[goaways-stuff]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? I would love to read for my birthday coming up lol :)

happy birthday anon! i hope you enjoy!

˗ˏˋbirthday sex´ˎ˗

joel give you birthday sex — mdni, lowercase intended, f!reader, smut, mentions of: alcohol, drunkenness, intercourse⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ leave reqs!!

no matter how many times you begged, you couldn't stop ellie and dina from throwing you a small party — they claimed it wasn't a birthday till you blew out your candles. by the time the night was winding down, you were wiped, sitting on joel's lap with your full body laid back onto his.

"we should probably get you home, missy" his thick hands pat your hips from their hold. you smile lazily into his shoulder,

"but it's still my birthday" you drunkenly giggle.

"it's actually past twelve" he chuckles at your intoxication,

with the party having died down, many of the guests had left — leaving just dina and ellie to flirt in one corner as the rest of the guests lazily recovered from the night.

"the girls were too nice to do this for me, i should make em' something" you whisper with your eyes on ellie and dina.

"yeah they really love you" joel replies, kissing the crown of your head. you smile at the thought, knowing just how much you love them as well.

after an hour of goodbye's and thank you's, joel finally got you home — the alcohol making you extra talkative. however, the smile never one left his face as he watched you interact with those you loved, watching the light in your eyes as your friends wished you well in your new year of life.

as the two of you made your way into your bedroom, joel couldn't keep his hands off of you. watching you with other people the entire night had finally caught up to him and now he wanted to give you his own version of a 'happy birthday'.

two hands came to wrap around your waist as you opened the door to the room,

"you ready for your last present?" he rasps into your neck, hands gripping your hips.

your eyes instinctively closed as you lean back into him, the bulkiness of his chest hitting you immediately. the hands around your waist start roaming your stomach, fingers grazing the hem of your pants.

"you already gave me a gift" you tease, letting the feeling of his roaming hands take over. joel's mouth comes down onto your neck, teeth grazing at the sensitive skin.

"got another," he says into your neck, hands coming up to your breasts as his fingers pinched your nipples through your top.

your back arched against him and he quickly flipped you around, pressing your chest into his. joel's guides the two of you towards the bed, lips pressing into yours. one of his hands grabs at the hair at your nape as the other guides your body down onto the bed.

both of your breaths are rapid as you attempt to breath through the kiss, not pulling away once. joel's quick with your close, hands grabbing at the hem of your top, flinging it over your head. your hands tug at his own clothes and he laughs through the kiss at your enthusiasm.

soon enough the heat of his skin was pressed into yours, joel pressing himself as close to you as possible. his lips started a descend down your body, pressing sweet kisses into your neck then to your collarbone, on each of your taunt nipples, and down your stomach.

your back arched as his mouth went down your body, teeth grazing your abdomen. joel's teeth found the hem of your panties, tugging at it lightly,

"you had a good birthday, sweet girl?" he presses a kiss to the lace, rubbing his lips against the soft skin above it.

"mhm" you whine out, hips bucking in need of friction. you could feel the slick in your panties and needed the relief desperately.

joel chuckled at your slightly drunken desperation, finally tugging the lace of your panties down — joel slides his hands up the smooth silky skin of your legs, spreading them.

the sight before him causes his mouth to water on the spot, your cunt greeted him all glossy and swollen, begging to be relieved. he could see the way your hole clenched against nothing, desperate for stimulation.

"happy birthday, baby" joel presses a kiss to your clit before circling it with his tongue. you whine out immediately, hands coming down to grip his silvered hair.

joel's tongue flattened against you, licking a stripe from the bottom of your cunt to the top. his tongue prodded your hole, lightly making way into your velvet walls causing your legs to shake against his hold. his thick arms came around your thighs, holding you against him as he tortured your cunt.

he sucked your clit into his mouth, rapidly flicking your clit with his tongue and your hips immediately begin to rock against his face, squeezing your thighs around him. the way your moans filled the room did something to joel, making his cock harden against the bed beneath him as a slow rut of his hips began.

your orgasm rapidly approached as his tongue continued its rapid assault on your clit, you felt the knot in your lower abdomen tighten quickly. joel felt your thighs tighten around his head and let you take control of his face, your hips rapidly dragging your cunt against his tongue.

your eyes opened to find joel's eyes closed, hips rutting into the sheets, eyes furrowed as he focused on your orgasm — the sight sent you over the edge. you loved to see how much he worked to make you come.

joel felt the gush of your come against his tongue as your orgasm washed over you. he did his best to lap up as much of your come as he could before presses kisses to your clit.

"joel please, i need you" your hands come down to his shoulders, attempting to pull him up.

joel gladly obliges, pressing kisses back up your body. your hands find the buckle of his belt, quickly undoing it as he helps you guide off his pants.

"my sweet girl deserves everything today," he rasps against your lips, pressing his hips into yours — his boxers being the only thing separating you two. the wet warmth of your cunt heated his lengthening cock through the fabric, making his chest heave.

joel helps you as you push off his boxers, letting his thick cock spring free. he wastes no time before dragging his reddened tip against the slick of your folds, lips finding yours.

joel kissed you through the torture, sliding his thick tip against the sensitive slick of your clit,

"joel please!" you whine against him,

joel chuckles against your lips as he guides himself to your tight hole,

"you had a good birthday, baby?" he kisses the corner of your lip.

your head nods rapidly as he slowly presses himself into you, the full feeling hitting you immediately. joel sighs at the feeling of your warm walls slowly sucking him in, the heat and tight tug of your hole making his chest heave.

joel began a slow pace inside of you, staring a deep rhythm as he pressed into you as much as he could. every time his hips pressed into you, you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix.

"fuck" joel groans into your neck,

you felt your second orgasm approach you rapidly as joel kept up a passionate pace into your heat and it took everything in him not to come on the spot — the sight of you too much for him.

"you best come with me, baby girl" his mouth found yours again as his hips speed up, losing their rhythm.

joel felt your walls begin to quiver and tighten around him as your orgasm approach and brought one of his hands down to your sensitive clit.

the overstimulation sent you into overdrive, legs shaking as your second orgasm washes over you. joel's orgasm quickly followed as your walls tightened around him, sucking his cock into your cunt. heavy white spurts of his come painted your walls and cervix as joel fucked you through your orgasms.

not once did joel's lips leave yours as the two of you orgasmed together, ensuring the two of you felt completely connected in the moment. heavy breathes were shared between the two of you when you finally pulled away, joel slowly sliding out of you.

his hands came around your bare body, pulling you into him. one of his hands played with your hair as the other kissed your fingers,

"i love you baby, happy birthday" he whispered against your fingers,

"mm, thank you joel" you sleepily whispered into his chest.

[joel masterlist]