josepedroo

[josepedroo]

exactly where i want to be ── ✦

requested! thank you. content: established relationship, exhaustion, comfort, cuddles, food and wine, soft domesticity, sleepy!Pedro

Pedro had been running on fumes for weeks.

Long days on set. Early mornings at the gym. Voiceovers. Interviews. Costume fittings. Flight after flight. Everyone wanted a piece of him. And he gave, and gave, until he barely had anything left.

But this weekend? This weekend he was yours.

You waited until he got home — bags dropped, hat low over his eyes, hoodie swallowing him whole. He looked half-asleep in the doorway, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he’d walked into the right apartment.

Then he smelled the pizza.

“Baby,” he croaked, lifting his head. “Is that…?”

“Frozen pizza,” you smiled, already walking toward him. “Your favorite kind. Burnt just the way you like it.”

He groaned and practically melted into your arms.

And it only got better.

Two burgers from his favorite takeout spot were waiting on the coffee table. A bottle of Chilean red already breathing. His Star Wars hoodie neatly folded by the couch, paired with your Star Wars pajama shorts, which always made him a little stupid in the head.

He blinked at the spread. “Are you seducing me with carbs and nostalgia?”

“Trying.”

“I’m weak.”

You poured him a glass of wine. He chugged the first sip like it was holy. Then stuffed his face with half a burger and a slice of pizza in record time.

“Slow down, love,” you giggled, brushing sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“Can’t. Might die if I stop.”

He was draped over the couch before the opening crawl of A New Hope even faded, one arm over your lap, his head resting against your chest like a sleepy dog. You were combing your fingers through his curls when you felt it — his breath evening out. His body going limp.

“Pedro?”

No answer.

You tilted your head. His lips were wine-stained and slightly parted, lashes resting on flushed cheeks, one hand still tucked against your thigh like he didn’t want to lose contact.

You smiled softly, pulling the blanket over him.

You’d planned on riding him until he saw stars — complete with new lace lingerie and a "surprise me" playlist. But this?

This was better.

Him. Safe. Full. Loved. Snoring like a baby with pizza in his belly and your hand in his hair.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve got you,” you whispered, even if he couldn’t hear it. “Always.”

Outside, the city buzzed on. But in here, it was quiet.

Exactly how he needed it. Exactly where he wanted to be.

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

[josepedroo]

brain go brrrr ── ✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: wife!reader, post-shower, domestic fluff, munch!Pedro, oral (f receiving)

Pedro’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his hoodie and boxers, talking about work with one hand running lazily through his hair. He’s not even looking at you — he’s looking at the wall, animated, hands moving as he talks about tomorrow’s shoot.

“So we’re doing the space scene tomorrow. You know, where Sue and Reed—”

You walk out of the bathroom, towel-drying your hair, completely naked.

You don’t even think about it. Just wander across the room, grabbing one of his old t-shirts from the drawer and a clean pair of underwear, humming softly to yourself.

Behind you, silence.

You glance back. “You were saying something about the space scene tomorrow?”

Pedro is just staring.

Mouth parted. Eyebrows raised. Hands frozen in mid-gesture. Eyes glued to your ass like it personally offended him.

He blinks. “Uh—I—I’m going to space?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Still stunned.

You smirk, finally turning to face him fully. “You okay, astronaut?”

He drags a hand down his face like it’ll help reboot his brain. “You just… walked out here all—” He gestures vaguely to your body. “Naked and damp and glowing and like you don’t know you’re the hottest thing on this planet or any other.”

You snort, stepping closer, amused. “You’ve seen me naked a thousand times.”

“Yeah, and every single time it’s like—” He cuts himself off, staring again. “I can’t even form sentences right now.”

You pause in front of him, tilting your head. “Did I just make Pedro Pascal forget how to talk?”

His hands shoot out, grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He presses slow kisses to your belly, lips soft and reverent. Then lower. And lower.

You gasp when he nuzzles right between your legs, his nose brushing your soft curls.

“Pedro—” you murmur, laughing breathlessly, “you are so easy.”

“What?!” he mumbles against your skin, kissing gently, his voice all faux innocence. “You’re gorgeous. And naked. And my wife.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers curl into his hair anyway. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“I am,” he says shamelessly, licking a soft stripe up your mound. “So let me show you how much.”

You look down — he’s already staring up at you with those damn puppy eyes, mouth hot against your center, all needy and sweet and entirely gone for you.

“Can I eat you out?” he asks like it’s the most important question in the world.

You raise an eyebrow. “Like you haven’t already made that decision.”

He grins, pulling you even closer. “Just being polite.”

And then his tongue is on you — slow and deliberate, kissing and licking like he’s savoring dessert. Moaning like you taste better than whatever was in his fridge.

You give up trying to tease him. Just throw your head back and let him worship you like he was built for it.

Tomorrow, he’ll go to space.

Tonight, he’s right where he belongs — face buried between your thighs, soft curls against his nose, humming like your pussy’s a love song.

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

[josepedroo]

i’m hooked & i’ve only read the first sentence😩

splintered back in winter

joel miller x fem!reader

word count: [16.9K]

summary: Last winter, you nearly died at the hands of raiders during a supply run gone wrong. Joel Miller, head of scheduling, indefinitely barred you from participating in any more of them, as a means to protect you, not just from what lurked outside, but your own incessant need to provide even if it meant risking your life to do so. After a year of being at odds with each other, you and Joel finally throw caution to the wind and begin to unravel at the seams—this time, winter isn’t just about surviving, but mending what was always there.

warnings: no use of y/n, age-gap (joel's older than reader), mentions of blood and wounds, brief mention of sarah, cursing, mentions of physical violence (punches), two terrible communicators, smut, fingering, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap pls), joel's a soft dom (ofc he is duh!), aftercare, basically porn with plot!

Everyone in Jackson had a specialty. Teachers. Doctors. Builders. Cooks. The list goes on and on, with roles that contributed immeasurably to the functioning of the town, despite how some may carry more weight than the others. But no matter how big or small one’s role was in the community, everyone appreciated the efforts, for the town needed the collective help to preserve its integrity beyond the gates that closed it off from the rest of Wyoming.

And all you knew since your arrival was that the town was the closest thing you’d ever had to a home. Something real. Somewhere safe. The one thing you couldn’t possibly bear to lose, for you didn’t know if anything would ever suffice the way this town had.

You weren’t a stranger to the cruelty lurking outside of the gates, spending a good portion of your life weaving in and out of the fallen QZ’s and deserted cities, just hoping to survive another day, until you finally stumbled upon Jackson.

They had taken you in with tentative, yet open arms, allowing you to adjust to the town you would come to call home before asking what it was you could provide. What you could give back to Jackson, not just for you, but for all its citizens. After all, the town belonged to everyone—those old and young, seasoned and novice—living for the hope of it all to make it to another day.

And so you were a supply runner, one of the most distinguished specialties the community was always looking to have more of, and it was just their luck that you weren’t just good at what you did.

You were great.

Reliable.

Confident.

Never coming back empty-handed even when something unexpected was thrown into your path.

Last winter proved that.

It wasn’t a part of the plan to stumble upon a group of raiders during a run all by yourself, and truth be told you didn’t want to kill any of them. But the second your presence was known, the moment you saw the greed in their eyes, the realization dawned on you that you needed to do what was necessary.

It had been hours since your expected arrival, and a few members of Jackson’s committee including Tommy, Maria, and Joel were waiting impatiently behind the gates. Joel suspected something went sideways, proposing a search party go out and look for you, but he’d been outvoted. His brother assuring him that everything was fine and that you always came back in one piece.

When they finally spotted you from a distance, a blob among the falling snow and dwindling daylight, they almost breathed a sigh of reprieve, but as the gates creaked open to greet you, and you drew closer, it all came crashing.

You were hunched over your horse, clothing tattered and blowing against the wind. A rope tightly wound across your waist, dragging duffle bags of enough weapons and ammunition to last months of patrol across the blankets of snow. The pungent smell of blood saturating the air before they finally took sight of it staining skin.

Protocol was ignored, Joel bolting to you without thinking twice.

He hauled your half unconscious body off your beloved horse Ivy, diligently clutch the back of your head as he laid you down and his brother dropped beside him, immediately going to undo the knot around your waist.

Joel’s eyes flashed over your face, taking in your appearance, searching for any signs of life. Your heavy-lidded eyes were barely hanging on, frost bitten lips parted with weak breaths, and your cheeks and chin daubed with dried blood. It was a miracle that you even made it back, but that optimism instantly seemed to fade when he spotted more blood, the steady dribble of blood trickling onto the frosty snow beneath you. 

With shaky hands, he tore through the rest of your shredded coat, discovering the deep incision on your abdomen, angry and throbbing, pooling with enough blood to make his run cold. His hands were coated in your near-death, transporting him back to that harrowing memory of his dear Sarah, reliving the greatest loss of his life all over again.

He knew the cost of hesitation and he wasn’t going to let it take you next. Lifting you back into his arms with a devastatingly rehearsed movement, he clutching you tight to his chest, rushing you to the infirmary paying no mind to the shouting voices behind him. 

He didn’t need to be told to know what you had done.

He had already pieced together the story once he saw the crimson and the baggage you pulled behind. 

He knew what you had done to survive. 

But most importantly, he knew what you had done to risk losing your life.

To Joel, you weren’t good. Not even great. Just plain reckless. Willing to put yourself in grave danger against god knows how many of those ruthless raiders just to make it back with a contribution without ever weighing your own chances of survival. 

He knew what this town meant to everyone, how much your recklessness would provide for everyone’s safety, yet he couldn’t look past what it meant beyond the surface.

You possessed a sort of recklessness that teetered the edge of selflessness, the one thing that would end up costing your life one day–and even if it wasn’t his place to care as severely as he did, he couldn’t let you go on. 

Since that last winter, Joel kept his sights on you, refusing to send you out on any runs or patrols, alone or grouped, even despite your argument that every journey beyond the gates was risky no matter what. All you could see was him punishing you, his all of a sudden authoritarianism taking away the one thing you could give to this place that fucking mattered.  

You didn’t understand why he was putting so much effort into controlling you, when at some point you were nothing more than a body to send outside of the gates to protect the community and him. 

Granted, you and Joel were never more than just strangers forced to interact scarcely. Joel made the patrolling and run schedules, posted them up, and only if you ever needed to switch, was when you talked to him.

And that was almost never.

But since his imminent shift in demeanor, you found yourself almost always at his throat, while he sat back silently, brushing you off like you weren’t even there, though you knew deep down his stoicism was crumbling with every hurtful word you threw his way.  

He enraged you.

You wanted to crack him open. To get a reaction out of him. The one you knew he was actively burying deep within him day by day. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d understand where he was truly coming from.

Why was he punishing you? 

Why Joel Miller wanted to keep you in a cage that made you feel useless to the community you knew you were obligated to provide for?

Luckily for you though, his authority didn’t last long into the next winter where the need for supplies grew.

Tommy had been a lingering presence in and out of Joel’s makeshift office, hinting at the abandoned hospital miles out that was stocked with necessities that would tremendously benefit Jackson and the influx of new individuals coming in.

Joel wasn’t stupid, though. He knew exactly what his little brother was getting at, trying to convince him to put you back on runs without twisting his hand and making him feel as though he had no other choice. It wasn’t working and Joel knew it was only a matter of time until Tommy would intervene, putting a stop to whatever power he held. 

He knew it was coming.

You were the only one who knew enough about the ins and outs of the particular route, what shortcuts to take, what possibilities you could run into. And with Jackson getting desperate to brave out the winter with as few hiccups as possible, he knew Tommy was going to put you on that run–solo or grouped it didn’t matter–but it was going to be you.  

It didn’t take much convincing from Tommy to get you on board, but he still respected his older brother and his position as head of patrols and runs. And so there you were in his quaint office, pretending Joel’s existence wasn’t real as you stared down at the shabby fading map with a pen in hand as Tommy listened and Joel brooded silently.

“The run will take a day and a half.” You explained, drawing a messy line across the paper, detailing the route, “Half of day one is traveling, alone. Then we’ll gather supplies, and clear whatever infected there is.” 

Then you circled a different spot on the map, fitting your eyes up to Tommy’s.

“Before sunset, we have to stop at this cabin. It’s a safe house. We’ll need to rest and so will the horses. The next morning we’ll make it back home by around mid-day.”

Tommy agreed without a second thought, and that alone made Joel’s irritation boil over. His brother had always had blind faith in these sorts of things and Joel never understood why he couldn’t be a little more skeptical, especially considering what they both faced together.

“What do you think?” Tommy wrung his head towards Joel, meanwhile you bit back the urge to say ‘fuck what he thinks.’

He looked unimpressed, jaw clenching and his broad shoulders standing stiff as his boots rocked against the creaky floors. The tension was palpable if anything at all. Whatever strain that lingered between you and Joel filled the room with something so suffocating, Tommy couldn’t wait to be freed. 

His silence was like drowning and you’d be damned if you let him take you under.

“It’s a good plan, Joel.” You spat sharply, pressing your hands against the desk, straightening your stance.

He only grunted, narrowing his sights on you, before he finally spoke.

“What happens if you aren’t out there alone? If there’s infected in that building? Or if there’s raiders in that cabin.”

His jab at your expertise disguised as concern made your blood boil, your self control withering by the second, especially when he brought up the raiders.  

Tommy was going to be thrown into the middle of you and Joel’s indifference whether he liked it or not. He was immediately regretting not dragging Ellie or Maria along to try to at least neutralize the situation or better yet free him of his developing migraine.

Whether you believed it or not, you and Joel were cut from the same cloth of obstinance, the kind of flaw that got the best of you both, the one that Tommy was going to need to put up with. 

“What the fuck is your problem, Miller?” You accused, shuffling across the room to where he stood, “I’m not incapable and you know that. Whatever vendetta you have against me, fucking drop it, Joel.”

His arms uncrossed over his chest, dropping to his sides as he flexed his fingers stiffly. You were damn near getting under his skin, and he had been so good at showing otherwise. He didn’t have any vendetta against you—it was tolerance, mercy, postulation—something you were too young, too reckless to possess, let alone see with your own eyes.

“I didn’t say you weren’t capable, but what you are is reckless.” He bellowed too loudly for your liking. “And I don’t need that type of recklessness out there bein’ brought back here.”

‘Or not making it back at all,’ Joel bit back. 

Without taking his eyes off your heated glare, he muttered to Tommy who was already burrowing his head behind his hands. 

“She’s not going on that run.” 

You furrowed your brows, lips twitching with anger, “The hell I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Enough.”

Tommy’s voice silenced the two of you, once and for all, slicing through the tension. 

“She’s going on that run with Jesse.”

Joel’s eyes widened, hands clenched into fists as he turned to his brother, ready to tell him he needed to know his place. Yet the younger stood his ground, shaking his head and holding his hand out with purpose, keeping both of you silent. 

“You’re still in charge here and she won’t go alone. It’s a compromise, and it’s final. Jackson needs this.”

‘Still in charge’ my ass, Joel thought, dropping his gaze down to the floor as his hands rested on his hips. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but be pleased by the decision, happy to be finally getting your way after all this time forced to yield to Joel’s rules. 

“They’ll leave in a few days.” 

With that, Tommy didn’t stay any longer than he needed to, not trying to mitigate the feelings between you both, as he knew you both were too far gone to help. He stomped towards the door, grumbling to himself before letting it slam behind him. 

You and Joel didn’t say a word, and part of you wanted to antagonize him. Tell him that his old ass needed to find a hobby other than trying to control you.

But you didn’t. 

You caught the hitch in his chest, the way his scowl undoubtedly slipped into something almost insistent when he finally looked up at you. You wanted to ask what his deal was all of sudden.

But you didn’t.

He didn’t stop you from leaving.

Didn’t try his very hardest to explain where he was coming from because believe it or not, he too was in your shoes at one point in his life. Too confident for his own good. Too willing to lay it all out without thinking of what he would be leaving behind.

He knew you wouldn’t see it the way he did. He didn’t want to waste his breath expressing words you wouldn’t take to heart.

He didn’t. 

But he wasn’t letting you go.

Joel knew you were going to find out what he did before daylight. Before every run and patrol, you’d stop at the stables the night before, checking up on your horse Ivy and double checking the written schedules he always had posted up. It was only a matter of when and how angry you were going to be with him. 

And as if he could feel it coming from a mile away, your rage approached and suddenly the double doors of the cafeteria swung open and he watched you sweep over the room until your eyes fell onto his. 

“What the fuck, Miller!” You roared, making a beeline towards him. 

Ellie, who was sitting right across from him, wore a shocked expression, mouth moving to ask Joel what was going on, but before she could, your voice echoed through the room again. 

“Why’d you take off the run? And why the fuck are you going instead of me?” You demanded, slamming your palms against the table, shaking it roughly. 

He sighed, picking up his napkin as he ran it across his mouth, eyes moving across the room, seeing the concerned and taken aback faces from the others watching—waiting to see what he was going to do.  

“Let’s go outside.” He mumbled quietly, beginning to stand up. 

You shook your head, hitting the table once more, “No, I want to know right now! Who the fuck gave you the right to—”

“Outside. Now.” He growled, patience wearing thin, taking hold of your arm tightly.

You fought against him feebly, attempting to jerk your arm back as he walked towards the backdoors, pulling you behind him until the cold air hit your skin and he finally dropped his grip. 

“Do you get off on this? Punishing me for no reason at all?” You snarled, clenching and unclenching your fists, trying to control your anger and stop yourself from decking him right across the jaw.

“M’not punishin’ you—”

“Then what is it?” You demanded, cutting him off, “Why are you icing me out of the one thing I’m good at, Joel?”

You couldn’t miss the scoff he let out, as if he was laughing at you. Mocking you for feeling the way you felt after all these months. It fucking ticked you off.

“You think you’re good at what you do?” He stared down at you with a coldhearted gaze. 

“I think I’m great at what I do.” You rebutted, tipping your chin up at him. 

“You call making it back here, damn near falling off your horse while you bleed out, great?” His nostrils flared, arms tightening over his chest as he waited on your smartass remark he knew was coming. 

And so you jabbed a finger into his chest, voice filled with disdain and fury. “I brought back months of supplies that you and the rest of the goddamn commune use on a daily basis and I don’t hear them giving me shit about—”

His resolve snapped, gripping your wrist strongly as he leveled face to face with you. Through gritted teeth, his voice came out in rigid whispers, making sure only you heard every word he had to say. 

“You think you’re special because of what you provide here, but you’re too damn stupid to see past that.” 

You blinked, caught off guard by the mild ache around your wrists and his unforeseen reaction that you never thought you’d get.

But he didn’t stop. 

“These people don’t give a shit if you make it back alive or not. You’re. Replaceable.” His eyes bored through yours, forcing you to take every word like bullets on skin. 

You loathed the way he quickly made you feel so small, so unimportant. Embarrassment creeping into your chest, blood rushing towards your cheeks, and stinging blooming behind your eyes.  

There was regret in your bones for angering him, for driving him to reveal such a mean version of himself that you wished he kept suppressed. You wanted to strike back with words just as cruel, your mouth opening with a wobbly breath, yet you weren’t sharp enough to stop his turmoil. 

“You needa think deep down what you’re doing all this for. Why is it you’re so eager to risk your life because I promise you it isn’t for them and it sure as hell isn’t for me.” He dropped your wrist as if he was determined to get away from you, but his words only drilled deeper. 

“Someone else could walk through those gates, just as great, if not better than you are, and no one would think twice about whether you made it back here with something to show for, alive or not.”

Your jaw trembled, eyes blinking, letting a single tear run down your cheek as you braced for more, but all that came was silence and the devastation of his words sinking bone deep. 

It stung, and what hurt the most was the fact that there was truth behind everything he said. You tried to breathe through it, clenching your fist tight ready to throw it his way, but you couldn’t do it.

The shame twisted in your gut, and more tears flowed without restraint. 

“F-fuck you, Joel.” You choked, voice barely a whisper, turning around and walking around the building refusing to let anyone else see you cry.

It was the first time Joel managed to wrangle any reaction besides anger or frustration out of you. But he hadn’t meant to make you cry, or let his words out with such crassness, and he sure as hell didn’t expect to break you. 

He fucked up, and he knew it. All he wanted was to keep you away from runs and patrols. For you to see that you were more than the work. He didn’t ever intend on making it seem like he didn’t care. 

He walked back into the cafeteria, aloof to the eyes that drifted back down to their plates or the whispers that wondered where you were. Returning to his seat across Ellie, he picked up his fork and poked at his food as if nothing happened. 

“Dude what the hell was that?” Ellie chided, nudging his leg under the table, getting his attention. 

He shook his head and shrugged plainly, brushing off her question and posing one of his own.

“You goin’ to see Jesse tonight?”

Her brows pulled together, and she nodded. “Uh, yeah why?”

“Tell him he’s off tomorrow. I’m goin’ on the run with her.”

He was thankful that Ellie didn’t throw 101 questions his way, simply nodding as they finished their dinner in silence and parted ways. He spent the night packing what he needed for the two-day trip, replaying what had happened in his head, wondering if he could ever right the wrong and make you understand. But there was no way, not when he was going to complicate things even more by leaving like this.

The next morning, with his gun and pack slung over his body, he saddled up Ivy, signing out without writing another name next to his, sneaking past the gates without causing a scene.

Joel would throw his life into the unknown before letting anyone, but especially you drown in it without care.

You sulked in the bitterness in the comfort of your own home, refusing to leave your bed until the sun beat too brightly past your curtains, forcing you to mope from room to room as you kept yourself busy. 

Sleep barely came to you the night before as Joel’s words echoed through your head like a record stuck on repeat. You tried to bury the shame into a pit deep down inside of you, attempting to brush it off the same way he probably did to all your venomous words thrown his way.

But it was impossible.

You’re too damn stupid.

You needa think deep down what you’re doing all this for.

It isn’t for them and sure as hell isn’t for me.

He was haunting you in ways that had you second guessing if Jackson was ever home to begin with. If all this time, this place was merely a facade ready to forget about you the same way they let you in. And if you really were replaceable like Joel made it sound, then what was the point of ever risking your life if it didn’t matter to anyone else besides your internal ache to provide?

Everyone had someone and yet you…

You had acquaintances–people you called friends and nothing more. But they had always had someone else. Someone they mattered to.

Siblings. Parents. Partners. 

You had no one, and Joel was right.

There was no reason for you to so willingly put your life on the line—there was no one relying on you, forcing your hand to succumb to whatever death lurked outside Jackson just to make sure they were well off. Instead, all you had was the longing buried deep into the vault of your soul–the thoughts of maybe one day, meaning something more than what you could provide, but just for who you were.

You had spent all this time thinking you were so important, only to realize that it was only ever significant to you. The role Jackson played as your only home made it seem as if you had to carry it on your shoulders, gamble your life in order to keep it in the palm of your hands, when in truth it was never yours to begin with.

Tears had spilled down your cheeks relentlessly, like a petulant child learning how it felt to be told ‘no,’ for the first time. And even though you wanted to hide away, pick up the backpack you stocked for what was supposed to be today’s run and leave Jackson behind—you couldn’t give Joel that satisfaction.

He deserved to know how much he hurt you. To know that even if you had no one standing in your corner of the way he had Ellie or Tommy, you had yourself, and you would be OK. 

At least you hoped you would. 

By the time the purple and pink hues began to tumble across the sky, you found the energy to leave home and grab dinner at the cafeteria. You were already dreading seeing the faces of those who witnessed your outburst yesterday, but then again the thought of Joel’s words–no one caring about you–made the dread seem miniscule in comparison. 

Rocks and sludgy snow croaked under each step you took, the winter breeze pushing past your layers as you approached the double doors, shoving them open as you kept your gaze on the ground. You picked up a plate, moving along the half empty trays of food, muttering out a quiet thank you as a few cooks spooned you whatever was left. 

Then suddenly your name was shouted across the room by none other than Ellie. You flinched, furrowing your brows as you looked her way, and took in her indecipherable expression. Before you knew it, she was striding over with urgent steps, lips pursing and breathing getting heavier as she neared you. 

You sighed, placing your plate down on the line ready to hear whatever she was probably about to throw your way in order to defend Joel’s honor. 

“Look whatever Joel told you, I don’t want to hear—”

“What are you doing here?” She cut you off sharply, her voice subduing the rest of the cafeteria with her anger and confusion–and just like her, you mirrored it.  

“Excuse me?” You blinked wildly, shaking your head at her, not realizing what she was going on about. 

“Yesterday, Joel told me that he took Jesse off the run. That he was going with you.” She gestured her hands in the air, signalling to her table across the room.  

You shook your head once more, baffled at her words that didn’t make any sense, until you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach when you saw Jesse stand up and reveal himself.

Right about now, he was supposed to be with Joel. He was supposed to be with him since early this morning, and he wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. 

Your blood ran cold, immediately twisting around and bolting out the building without a second thought. Voices shouted and footsteps pounded close behind you, but none of it was registering. Your mind was a blur, repeating the same harrowing thoughts one after the other, over and over. 

Joel was out there. Alone. On a route he barely knew. On a run too dangerous. 

You nearly knocked your front door off its hinges, ripping a thicker coat off the hooks and sliding your arms through it in a haste. You grabbed your pack, flinging it over one shoulder. Flipping open an old shoe box, you clutched your knife, sliding it into its protective sheath the securing it over your belt loops. 

Ellie stood in your doorway breathless as she watched on, there was a delay in her movements to follow your lead but she spoke. 

“I’m coming with you.” She panted, going to turn around and rush home for her things. 

“No, you’re not.” You snapped, stopping her in her tracks before she could even leave your porch. 

She whipped around quickly, voice ragged. “If you think I’m gonna let Joel die out there alone, then you’re wrong!”

Despite her scowl, you could read the tears starting to cloud her eyes, the way they filled with fear and hopelessness. Joel mattered to her, the same way she mattered to him. 

You understood what their bond meant–how important they were to each other, but you also knew you couldn’t let her follow down this path. Wherever Joel was, you knew he’d make it back to her, and it was your job to make sure she understood that.

“He’s not going to die, Ellie. I won’t let him.” You said firmly, stepping up and holding her by the shoulders. 

You took a breath, hoping your next words would be well received, despite the visible state of distress she was in. 

“I know you want to go out there for yourself and make sure he’s okay, but I’ve got this. If anything were to happen to you, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.” 

It was almost scary, the way she mirrored Joel’s mannerisms when he was at odds with his words and what he felt inside. It was that same shift you saw when Tommy left his office, leaving you two there alone, where you knew Joel wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to. 

You were going to tell him all about his and Ellie’s similarities right after you kicked his ass for doing something so stupid. 

“I promise, he’s gonna be ok.” You squeezed her shoulders again, offering a tight smile, a contrast to the panic you were feeling inside.

“Swear on his life.” She whispered. 

You didn’t hesitate. 

“I swear on Joel’s life, I’ll do everything I can.” 

She nodded once. 

“Go.” 

You didn’t waste another second. Sprinting to the stables and throwing a saddle over the first horse you saw. Only when you hopped on and gripped its reins, did you realize it was Callus–Joel’s horse. The gates opened with a high-pitched creak as you crossed over. Shouts belonging to Tommy who seemed to have caught onto what his idiotic brother had done, was trying to stop you. But before he could, you barked out a command to the horse, letting him take you away into whatever lay ahead as desperation seeped in. 

Making it to Joel and seeing him alive. 

His bones ached, exhaustion gnawing over every inch of his aging body that threatened to give out under pure fatigue and the added weight of the supplies he snagged hours ago. Still, he managed through, mustering enough strength as he dismounted off Ivy, securing her around a tree to rest up for the night. 

He tossed a ration of his food onto the ground, giving her cheek a proud pat, before stumbling the rest of the way towards the cabin in the distance, not wanting to alert anyone of his presence if someone was inside. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” He sputtered under his breath, drawing his pistol out. 

As quietly as he could, he padded up the rickety porch steps, peeking through the dusty windows with his fingers hovered over the trigger reach to shoot. Thankfully, though, there was no one in sight thus far, prompting him to give the jammed door a stern push until it gave way. 

He had heard about the cabin in passing before you mentioned it in his office a few days ago. Back before the incident last winter, you’d often be cooped up there after long runs, needing a day’s break to recharge before heading back home. It wasn’t the prettiest or most homey place, but it made do with its lumpy couch and half-burned candles you kept stashed away behind the flimsy kitchen cabinets.

His eyes raked over the area, ensuring it was all clear, before lowering his gun and dropping the bags against the ground with a heavy sigh. He hadn’t been hurt, making it out of the hospital without a scratch, though his luck seemed to run dry as he was leaving. There was a group of infected on the shorter trail, forcing him to clear what he could before giving Ivy’s reins a stiff jerk and tearing back around to the longer route.  

Clearly it had been stupid to do what he had done, his body paying the price, finally collapsing against the frumpy couch and giving his limbs a rest. Leaving Jackson without telling a soul, especially Tommy, would come with consequences, but he knew he had his reasons–good ones–or at least he liked to think so. 

They’d probably put up in front of the council for trial when he returned, but if it meant steering you out of danger, then he could live with it. 

Selfishly, he didn’t care about the orange bottles filled with unknown medication or the expired vials of local anesthesia stuffed in his pack that would benefit the community he called home.

Something else was haunting him. Someone. You. 

He stormed room to room with shaky hands, snatching whatever he saw, yet the only thought racing through his mind was the fact that you had been in the same predicament on multiple occasions. Alone. 

Even as he exited the hospital unscathed, he couldn’t shake the twist in his gut. It only wound tighter as he bullied an infected’s head into the ground with his boot–his mind playing out a hundred different scenarios where you had been fighting not just them, but the unturned monsters. 

The raiders who almost took your life. 

The scary realization ate him up when he trotted along the route with Ivy in search of the cabin–that the near death experience you had wasn’t the first–it was just the one Joel had seen with his own eyes. 

The blood you didn’t have time to clean up. 

A fake smile you didn’t rehearse when you got past the gates to mask the ache in your bones. 

All of the hurt you had endured was not consoled in an empty cabin all alone before you made it back and pretended it didn’t exist. 

You had been relinquishing your safety each time you went out of the walls and each time you came back you weren’t held up by your strength, but rather what you had to show and give. 

It was a familiar feeling that Joel used to know well, the one that lived in his bones back when Jackson was just a figment of his fantasy. Back when living in QZ’s meant not knowing if tomorrow was promised and putting his life on the line to bank on another day. 

But Jackson was home now, and even when those fearful pains attempted to sprawl up through the pit of stomach, wanting to spread through the bones once tainted, he remembered there was more to life now other than survival. 

Ellie was his light, his second chance, and he’d spent every waking moment protecting her in any way he could, even when he knew she didn’t need it. He had Tommy, the pain in his ass brother that he was still so lucky to bicker with even at their age. 

And even though he couldn’t admit it out loud, for the past year Joel had you.

A lingering presence he couldn’t keep his mind off of. Constantly plagued by your insistence to step out of the walls that almost took you away, and most of all your plea to mean something again when all along you had meant so much more than you’d know. 

The moment he saw your blood pouring as you laid lifeless in his arms.

When all he could do was stand back and watch the doctor and nurses do everything, they could to bring you back. 

Every day he spent sitting at your bedside while you weaved in and out of consciousness.

Putting his foot down and telling Tommy and Maria he wouldn’t be sending you out to meet your death anymore. 

Even when you bombard him with ignorant fury and resentment for taking away what made you useful.

He knew what he was up against–not just the dangers that lurked outside waiting to claim you, but yourself, too. 

Your selflessness had morphed into recklessness that should have cost you, and Joel promised himself, even through all the animosity you held towards him, that you would never have to touch that feeling again. 

He needed you to understand that it wasn’t your responsibility to give so much of yourself to matter. That getting close to death on multiple occasions, whether he knew it or not, was a wake up call that you had a bigger purpose. That you were worth more than what you could risk and provide.

You deserved to be protected the same way you did for the town. You deserved to matter, even if you didn’t see what Joel was doing as such.  

“Quit it.” He muttered to himself, trying to fight away at all the guilt he had built up and was beginning to split him up at the seams. 

Sleep should have hurdled towards him, for he knew his body was begging for it, but all he could see was your face, as if it was etched in memory. And come morning he hoped it would be you greeting him at the gates even if you were wearing an angry snarl because at least then there wouldn’t be any blood split from you, no traces of a life almost lost, no risk taken. 

A piece that mattered ripped away. 

None of that. 

The sunset was ebbing away with each second that passed, clouds dissipating as a looming gray hue cast above. By now, Joel should have made it back to the cabin, and if you were right, he would have needed to take the long route back there.

You did your best to keep your breathing at bay, uttering words of encouragement as Callus continued steadily, as if he knew you were guiding him to his loyal companion somewhere out in the woods.

“Easy boy, that’s it.” You gently petted through his mane, seeing the cabin in the distance, slowing down in case anyone who wasn’t Joel picked up on your presence.

You weren’t as quiet as you thought, or maybe Joel wasn’t as deaf as he once was, but he picked up on the sounds just beyond the walls. The crunching of leaves and mush of snow that snapped him out of the fatigue he felt. He gripped his gun tighter, moving up off the couch and making his way behind a wall still in view of the front door, waiting for movement.

You spotted Ivy in your peripheral as you got closer, her body lax against the forest floor resting from what you knew was a treacherous journey. Joel had taken your horse, and yet even when you should have felt relief, you wouldn’t allow it… not until you saw him with your own eyes. 

You drew your knife out of its sheath, footsteps as silent as they could be under the leaves and twigs. Stepping up on the creaky porch, you squinted through the dusty windows, making out the faint flickers of orange flames from a lit candle. 

With one fluid push, you nudged the door open, stepping forward and holding your breath, hoping he was there. Joel squinted through the fog of exhaustion, thinking for a split second that his old eyes were playing a trick on him, seeing the familiar silhouette that was supposed to be back home, not right in front of him. 

He stepped out into view, and your eyes snapped to his. The two of you stood face to face mere feet away until your voices collided in the air. 

“The hell are you doing here?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You shared a wide-eyed look, chest heaving as you stared at each other. Joel lowered his gun, listening as you shut the door and let your knife clattered to the ground. Before he could say anything, you closed the space between you two. Footsteps heavy against the floorboards as your mouth twisted into a snarl.

“Do you have any idea how stupid you are?” You roared, pushing at his chest, not realizing the way he winced at your touch, “What the fuck were you thinking going out all by yourself?”

“M’fine—“

Your palms met his chest again, this time harder. 

“It’s not fine, Joel! What if something happened? What if you got bit or… or if you weren’t the only one out there searching for supplies?”

He tried to open his mouth, attempting to tell you he had the same concerns just a few days ago that you seemingly brushed off, but before he could spit it out, you kept going.

“What about Ellie? Tommy?” You demanded, not missing the way his shoulders stiffened at the sound of their names. “Do you have any idea how worried they are right now? How distraught would they be if something happened to you?” 

You shook your head at him, puzzled and disappointed at the fact that he would go as far as to risk everything he had just to spite you.

He didn’t answer.

He knew what he did wasn’t right–putting his daughter and his brother through hell once more, but he knew he had to do it…for the right reasons… for you. He couldn’t apologize for something he wasn’t sorry for, so instead he settled for something else. 

“You would’ve found me.” 

He spoke so sure of himself, as if the thought had passed through his mind more than once, a kind of statement that was completely unwavering. His sentiment caught you off guard, a clear look of disbelief covering your features as you stood there glaring. 

“W-What?”

He swallowed, arms crossing over his chest never letting his sights wander from you.

“If something did happen, you would’ve been in charge of the search party. You would have found me and brought me back home. I know you. It’s what you would’ve done.”

You stand with that sentiment for a moment, letting the scene play out in your head. 

What if you didn’t leave your home until the next morning? What if something happened, and he was out there all alone? What if he didn’t make it back at all?

Ellie and Tommy would surely be in shambles. The turn of events alone who have them acting on impulse, but you knew you wouldn’t let them, not in the distraught state they would be in. It’s the same reason why you didn’t let Ellie follow you, and it’s exactly why you left before Tommy could join you. 

If all those ‘what if’s’ played out so cruelly, would you would have done what you did just hours ago without thinking twice? The answer was so obviously ‘yes.’

Perhaps it was impulsive and hypocritical in itself, but Ellie and Tommy had Joel to hold onto, someone who was too important to lose even if they had good intentions of seeking him out themselves. 

“No.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest as your lips pursed, “I would not.” You lied straight through your teeth.

Joel didn’t look convinced in the slightest, huffing out a strained, almost bemused breath of laughter, letting his eyes bore straight through you, as if he knew your every thought, spoken and suppressed. 

“I know you would because if you had done what I did, I’d do the same for you.” 

You rolled your eyes at his admission, but you couldn’t feign the feeling of warmth swarming through your chest. It was utterly stupid to think anything more of Joel’s altruism that he wore proudly on his arm despite his reserved demeanor, but you couldn’t help but feel as if he was showing you his cards–the hand he once kept hidden, now laid out bare for only you to see. 

You swallowed down the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue. The ones that wanted to ask him why he suddenly was beginning to level with you and why he couldn’t have done it sooner. 

Instead, you settled on something safer. 

The one thing you knew he needed to hear coming from you, because then maybe he would understand how lucky he was and how him doing what he did was pure stupidity. 

“You shouldn’t have done this to begin with,” you countered, turning your back on him as you walked away and picked up your knife off the ground. 

“You’ve got too much to lose.” You muttered, sliding it back into its sheath, undoing the button from your belt as you tossed it onto the dusty counter. 

His eyes narrowed at your figure as if he was trying to get deep into your thoughts and wonder why you were selling yourself short when both of you had too much to lose. He refused to let you think that, even if he did sign off on letting you come out here alone, it still wouldn’t change the fact that you were risking too much.

“And you don’t?” He shot back, almost accusatory.

You whipped your head around, a ridiculously obvious look on your face, “You know what, yeah, I don’t. I’ve come to realize that over the last twenty-four hours all thanks to you.”

“You really think that?” He argued.

“Don’t act so damn surprised, Joel. You said it yourself. Nobody gives a shit about me. I’m replaceable.” You mocked his gravelly voice, rolling your eyes as you watch him take it in regretfully.

A beat of silence passed, remorse permeating his face as he shut his eyes, recounting the events of yesterday that he seemingly buried beneath the fresh thoughts of seeing you here before him.

“I didn’t mean—” you lifted your hand in the air, silencing him with a long pointed look. 

“Save it, I don’t need your pity all of a sudden, alright.” You exasperated deeply, letting your hand fall against your side. 

Your eyes shifted past him, surveying the small living room where you had no choice but to bear the nightfall with him just a few feet away. There was no point in arguing with him any longer. All you wanted to do was sleep just so you could avoid him. His apologies would mean nothing at all, not when he was only saying it because he was forced to. In an attempt to brush past him, his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you to face him once more. 

“Joel, stop–” You griped firmly, though the desperation was unmistakable in your voice, coming off as begging as you tried to pull your hand back. 

The last thing you needed right now was a repeat of what happened back in Jackson. Not only did you have nowhere to run, but not a single fiber of strength left to hear whatever cruel words Joel had kept harboured for you, now ready to be unleashed. 

But the bitterness and the usual look of disdain never came. Instead, his fingers loosened just slightly, still firmly anchoring you to him, and there was that catch in his breath, a frown that meant more than just disgruntlement. 

“I didn’t mean what I said. I just—it came out wrong.” His voice came to you with a softness that hadn’t been heard before, completely taking you aback all over again.

“You matter, but you take risks–you live your life like you don’t.” His voice nearly broke, betraying himself as he pinched his eyes shut frustratingly. 

You stared at him, trying to search for an ounce of pity or deception that would’ve made you snap, but all you could find was him. When his eyes snapped back to yours, there was nothing but truth and even if you didn’t believe any of it personally, he deemed it true to him and that was enough to send you reeling. 

“You don’t think I don’t hear the end of it from Ellie and Dina?” He dropped your wrists, running his hands over the scruff of his beard, looking down at the floorboards then back up at you.

“Always beggin’ me to put you back on patrols and runs with them?” 

There was an apparent heat behind his words, not towards you, but the thought of letting you out of safety–out of his sight. 

“Then why don’t you let me?” You asked coolly, crossing your arms over your chest trying to get down to the truth this time, not provocation. 

“Because I know you’d throw your life on the line to protect them.” He spoke harsher than he intended to, sighing deeply, regaining his composure and swallowing hard, “To bring back whatever it is that the town needs.”

He faltered just slightly, as if guilt was eating him alive for knowing he too was the one who’d benefit from your 

He wasn’t wrong. There’d been many close calls before the one last winter. Runs with Jesse, patrols with Dina, even occasional ones with Ellie, where you throw yourself in the face of danger without thinking twice, perhaps forcing them to watch you die in order to save them and give the town what it needed. 

Before you could tell him, it was for good reason, especially to protect his daughter, he spoke up again. 

“But I already saw you once on your deathbed, and I can’t see you there again.” His voice pinched, refusing to consider the thought of you slipping away, even if it was only in mind. 

It never occurred to you–not until now–just how present Joel had been during the time you were in and out of consciousness, teetering the dead and the living. Somehow, without needing to hear him elaborate, you grasped the weight he carried from that day. How wound up he was had been seeing you in that state, that even now it still destroyed him, but that wasn’t you… not anymore. 

“I’m not made out of glass, Joel.” 

Your throat tightened, taking an effort to bring the words to the tip of your tongue and out into the open, because in that very moment, all you felt like was glass. Completely see through for Joel to read inside and out, to know your every fear and thought, to know you were in as much denial as he was. 

“You sure ain’t.” He huffed sarcastically, his hands coming down on hips as he shook his head and let his shoulders fall. “You have no idea what it was like for me. To… to know I was the one who let you go out there all by yourself because you were so sure, and not able to do anythin’ but stand there and—and hope you’d wake up.”

He went on before you could stop him. 

“I mean what the hell were you thinkin’?” His brows furrowed deep, staring at you with a look that you had seen before, but never with this much anguish tangled within him.

“The second you killed the last guy, you should’ve come back home right away. But no. You stayed back and took your time bagging all that crap instead of saving your goddamn self first.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, the frustration and helplessness behind them, revealing something unprecedented to the indifference he always offered instead. This wasn’t the Joel who’d brushed you off or the one yesterday that yelled at you with no mercy–this was a cry for understanding, a last-ditch attempt for you to finally see where he was coming from all this time. 

You were at a loss for words, mouth parting, trying to figure out what you could say, how you could reason with his regard to ease the burden you had no idea had been carrying all this time. It wasn’t his place to care as much as he did and hide it all behind a facade he should’ve never put up, but he did it and you were willing to compromise. 

“We… we’ve all got things we’re not proud of. Guilt we have to live with Joel.” 

He barely let your sentiment hang in the air before his voice tumbled. 

“Yeah well, if you had died… if you didn’t make it back, I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself.”

You never pegged Joel Miller as the type of man to drop down to his knees and beg for forgiveness for anything, let alone to some unknown God for almost letting you die. But there he was confessing to you like he had committed a sin so abysmal that he couldn’t bear to go on if death ever came close to you again–on his watch or not. 

All this time, he had been protecting you, shielding you from what you refused to see in the same light as he did. Even if it bruised your pride to admit, Joel had been seeing you. Truly seeing you from a distance and doing what he could, what he deemed right to keep you safe. 

To keep you from ever feeling like you needed to die to mean something. To keep you from leaving behind a place that was home without ever needing to prove yourself worthy of it. To just know that you weren’t going anywhere if he was around to save you first. 

Your lips began to part, a small croak pushing past them before you spoke quietly, enough for him to hear. “Would it help if I forgave you now?”

He blinked, standing still with eyes filled with turmoil, trying to decode what it was you were saying.

“If I forgave you for sending me out on that run even though I asked for it. If I forgave you for icing me out even though you had good intentions. If I forgave you for letting me go this long thinking no one cared about me.”

He inhaled roughly, shaking his head at you as if he was trying to dodge your words, unsure if he was worthy of letting himself be freed of the guilt, even by your words.

“You… You don’t know what you’re asking for.” He muttered, wiping a hand over his face, processing everything you just said. 

You had never been more certain. Never been more willing to forgive so easily because you both needed it. Not just him, but you, too. 

“No,” Your voice grew stronger, standing your ground as you stepped closer to him. “I know exactly what I’m asking for–what I need.”

His eyes leaked of hesitance, body tensing when you got close. Too close than you’ve ever been with the air as thick as it was between you two. There were barely any inches separating your bodies, the warmth of your shallow breaths fanning over his face flooding his senses before you spoke.

“You’ve been haunting me…making me think you were just out to get me all this time, when in reality you’ve been the only one seeing me.” 

He felt stuck, heart beating out of his chest, at a loss for words to tell you how wrong it would be to let himself show you just how much he’d been seeing you. 

“I’m right here, Joel.” 

It was all he needed to hear.

He crashed into you. Lips first then body. Large and calloused hands holding you to him as your mouths moved against each other, like your lips were finding a home they’ve been searching for all this time. Somehow, there was an effortlessness to the neediness you two felt, meshing together so perfectly that nothing else had ever felt so right. 

Your feet shuffled with every backwards step he took, dragging you with him across the cabin. Neither of you dare to pull away, even when the need for air became burning. All you two could offer were labored breaths as your hands carelessly undid the buttons of his flannel, while he roughly tugged on the zipper of your coat. 

A trail of your outerwear laid messily across the cabin floors, leaving you in a thin tank top and him in his gray undershirt. Joel collapsed against the couch cushions with a heavy thud, pulling you down with him on his lap. There was a pause in his kiss the second his back met the couch. He sucked in a sharp hiss, body tensing beneath yours just for a split second, but it was enough for you to detect. 

His hands went to pull you to him again, but you refused, eyes leaking with concern as you shook your head and let your hands roam across his body. 

“Are you hurt?” You were quiet but panicked, searching for any signs of injury, feeling stupid for not asking sooner, before all of…this. 

“It’s nothin’, just sore.” His features mellowed, running his hands through your hair in an attempt to soothe your worry, but his words only caused more unease.

“Do you have a hard time breathing? Did you take any painkillers yet?” You asked again, worried that he was hiding something from you because he didn’t want to bother. 

“Baby…” 

The word slipped out so easily, rolling off his tongue and reigning down on you as if he was bestowing a sacred title. You couldn’t pretend to be unaffected even if you wanted to, cheeks flushing and lips tugging up unabashedly. 

“M’fine, I swear.” He gave you a sure nod, opening his hand against your thigh, waiting for you to lace yours through his. 

Sighing, you thread your fingers between his, the feel of his thumb beginning to stoke along the curve of your wrist, grounding you to him–making sure you knew he was safe. 

Your eyes peered up from your hands, drifting to his face where you found his eyes studying you like he didn’t want to miss a thing. As selfish as it was, there was nothing more you wanted than to stay right there, despite the visible fatigue that was lingering behind his weary eyes.

You took your time and savored the comfortable silence, memorizing every wrinkle, every sunspot, every inch of his face that you never gave much thought to before. When you had your fill, certain that by the time you fell asleep you could picture it behind your eyes, did you finally stop being selfish.  

“We should probably get some sleep,” you whispered quietly, your free hand coming up to push his graying curls back into place, “You’ve had a long day and we’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow too.” 

Joel hummed in agreement, but his fingers stayed tangled in yours, not daring to let go. He just kept on watching you, letting his thumb continue the comforting path over your skin–this time it was him who was being selfish. 

Just moments ago his body wanted sleep, but the second you walked in, it was you he craved. It had always been you, even when he tried to starve himself off and convince himself it was nothing more than him being vigilant. Fulfilling his duty by making sure you didn’t drive yourself into the ground because you put others first. 

When he boiled down all the irritation and anger he had once felt, he was still left with you. You had become part of him whether he liked it or not–always living in the back of his mind, deep within the cracks of himself until the truth finally clawed its way out. 

If he had haunted you, then you had certainly been plaguing him, holding him hostage to a feeling he didn’t think he’d ever set free until he had no choice but to. 

He needed you, and he wasn’t going to deny himself any longer.

His hands slowly loosened from yours, trailing up your waist, ghosting over the pulse of your neck, stopping just shy of your jaw, cradling your face between his palms.

“I don’t wanna pretend anymore…” He mumbled, shaking his head, coasting his thumb along your jaw, eyes burning into yours, “spent too long pushin’ you away and actin’ like an ass… but I want–need you.” 

Your chest tightened, air trapped in your lungs all while your heart raced and your blood ran impossibly hotter. Maybe it was desperation or quite simply the heat of the moment, but it swallowed you whole. His confession wrapping you up and keeping you there where, for once, you could just be.

He undid you and pieced you back together all at once, suddenly filling spaces that were once hollow but not broken–seeing and needing you was just enough. 

“I need you, too,” you whispered, leaning forward to close the space, pressing your forehead to his, lips ghosting over one another. 

“You came all the way out here for me, gotta say, you know how to make a man feel special.” A weak chuckle leaving his mouth, breathing fanning over your face. 

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders timidly, “just did what you would’ve done.” 

“That right?” 

Before you could think twice about the smirk on his lips, his hips shifted up, the stiffness behind his jeans pressing against your center. 

Your breath hitched, head thrown back while your hips move once then began to roll against his, needy for more. He took advantage of the skin calling out to him, pressing kisses up the column of your neck, letting you grind and seek out the dull pleasure that wasn’t at all ever going to be enough. 

“Want this off, sweetheart,” He nipped at your jaw lightly, his hands dropping to curl around the fabric of your camisole. 

There was a broken hum, an eager nod as you felt his fingers guide the garment up your body, leaving you in a basic black bra that was surely two sizes too small and no help to the breathlessness in your chest. But he didn’t seem to notice it, not when his eyes suddenly went somber, trained on a particular scar on your skin. 

It was no longer than a few inches, just a thin, fading line of skin that healed a shade lighter than the rest of your body, but nonetheless still apparent. Joel knew what it looked like before–clean cut, too deep, even more bloody. Just seeing it reeled him back to that winter, even when you’re in his lap, safe and well as can be–he still felt the weight of his guilt. 

“Joel,” you wrapped your hands around his wrist gingerly, leading his fingertips to the scar and keeping him there, “I’m right here… safe.” 

Your voice called out to him steadily, softly, trying to ground him back here with you, instead of his dreadful memories of your dying self that were swarming his thoughts. His fingers traced the skin, eyes never leaving it as he spoke something thick and rough. 

“It shouldn’t have happened to you.” 

He didn’t need to say it for you to understand that what he meant was it should have been him instead. But it was your choice. It always was, even when it was him signing off on letting you exit those gates–it was because you felt secure enough to go and he trusted you at one point. 

But even now, he couldn’t take place and you couldn’t let him blame himself any longer. 

“But it did.” You said, setting your hands on top of his, letting them splay across your skin, hiding the scar behind his palms, not wanting him to think back on those memories any longer. 

You then wrapped your arms around his neck, tethering yourself to him completely as his gaze finally softened when he saw your eyes locking onto his.

“It happened and I can’t go back to change it, but even if I could, I wouldn’t dare to because it means I’d risk leading myself to you.” 

Even when you looked at him so delicately, weary of his own emotional turmoil for something that happened to you, your voice remained sure and strong, like roots settling into the scariest parts of him and promising you weren’t going anywhere. 

His heart ached, this time with a feverish warmth that threatened to take his life just because he couldn’t fathom this–you–and the way you made him feel. He didn’t need to say much, not when his lips were already encasing yours, hoping you could feel all the things he wanted to say but wasn't quite strong enough to, just yet 

The message was received loud and clear, the two of you simultaneously needing more and acting upon it. Your fingers threaded through the messy curls at the back of his head, pulling him deeper into you just as his hands curved around your waist forcing your bodies flushed against each other, fitting perfectly.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” He mumbled, lips never straying away even as he caught his breath. 

He felt you giggle, then placed another kiss on his top then bottom lip, teeth grazing at his skin, “Trust me, death isn’t fun… I would know.” 

He rolled his eyes with another deep sigh, debating on whether he should scold or kiss you to quiet down your sweet laughter for a joke so vicious. He decided on the latter, relishing in the touch of your lips and the way your laughter died subtly with every part and glide of his tongue against yours. 

“Can I?” His hands hovering over the elastic of your bra behind your back. 

You hummed, pulling away to lean back on his thighs, giving him the perfect view. Your arms rested beneath the bust waiting as his fingers unclasped the closure with a smooth flick. The straps glided off your shoulders with ease and you helped pull the garment the rest of the way before tossing it to the floor. 

Joel sucked a deep breath in, palms sliding up and down the tops of your thighs, using whatever restraint he had left to resist the urge to lay you back and make you his. But he wanted to take it slow, to show you how much he cared and make up for the time that was wasted. 

“So beautiful,” He rasped, letting out a groan and throwing his head back against the cushions needing to shut his eyes for a split second, giving himself a moment to take you in. 

You couldn’t help but blush, a weak, almost shy giggle escaping your mouth at the thought of him being this affected by only a portion of your naked body. Deciding to coax your shared neediness, you brought his hands up to your chest, causing his eyes to snap open. He was momentarily stunned, unsure of himself, but not for long as he felt you practically melt under the newfound touch.

“God, baby.” He muttered, thumbing your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger, giving them a gentle pinch. 

You let out a broken moan, hips jerking up instinctively into the hardening bulge beneath his jeans. Your sweet sounds and desperate friction egged him on, repeating the deliberate pinch and rolls watching closely as you began to unravel at the seams. You were shamelessly seeking out more, hips moving faster over him with your lip caught between your teeth. 

“Let me get this off you, sweetheart.” He spoke lowly, pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin, fingers running along the waistband of your jeans. 

You blinked, tilting your head down at him swallowing the dryness in your throat. 

“I-I can do them,” you whispered, attempting to catch your breath and fight the urge to rut your hips again.

Joel nodded, letting you take a moment to breathe and pull yourself together. In the meantime, he pressed chaste kisses to wherever he could reach before you shuffled out of his lap, standing wobbly between his spread thighs. 

He watched as you bent down to work off your boots first, nudging them off to the side before your shaky fingers undid the button and zipper of your jeans. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband, you gradually pulled them down, hips swaying naturally, lifting one foot then the other, peeling the denim off the rest of the way without breaking your gaze with him. 

He shifted, straightening his back against the cushions, while his eyes swept over the expanse of your skin, drinking you up, committing every inch of you to his memory. 

“C’mere.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you back on top of him, needing to feel you close. 

You let out a short squeal, carefully placing your knees on either side of his hips, letting the thin and undoubtedly soaked fabric of your panties graze the rough material of his jeans head on. 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself even more.” You chided, running your hands underneath his t-shirt feeling the warmth of his skin, moving the fabric up higher with every sweep of your palms. 

“Worth it.” He smirked, letting you guide the t-shirt off his body the way you wanted, until he had no choice but to tug it over his head, leaving nothing between your chest and his. 

You braced your hands against his sternum, gliding to feel the beat of his heart before connecting your lips once again. You learned quickly that kissing him nice and slow allowed you to really feel him. The dull scratch of his stumble against your skin, his hands mindlessly roaming across your back, the push and pull of breaths he took.

But nice and slow, could only do for so long, quickly turning urgent and messy. 

He took advantage of your desperation, giving the small of your back a gentle but firm push, rocking you back and forth over the tent in his jeans before your hips began to move on their own accord, resuming your earlier pursuit of pleasure. 

“Please.” You gasped, abruptly pulling away to stare up at him with frantic eyes. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He cooed, almost condescendingly, amused at the fact that you were already this wound up without him doing much. 

“Touch me,” you reached behind you to take one of his hands, guiding it to where you needed him most, “Need you to touch, right here.”

His fingers smoothed over the arousal soaked fabric, groaning to himself as he pressed his digits right over your clit, making you whimper. 

“I’ve got you.” 

He pulled his hand away to maneuver you into a more comfortable position. Cradling you into his side and letting your head rest against his shoulder, he guided your legs to sling over his thighs.

“This OK?” He asked, running his hands up to shin down to your ankle wanting you to be as comfortable as possible. 

“Perfect.” You nodded eagerly, leaning up for another kiss, thanking him for being so considerate even in the heat of the moment. 

When you pulled away, he nodded at you to lay your head back on him while he did the work. His fingers finally trailed up over your hips, sliding under the waistband of your underwear. You lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to drag the fabric off your body and tossing it somewhere. His hand settled on your knee farthest away from his body, bending it just enough for him to open you up further and give him a complete view of your soaking center. 

“Jesus,” he choked out, his fingers gliding up and down the seam of your folds, torturing you slowly, “Need it bad, huh sweetheart.” 

You whimpered, nodding your head as your nails scraped down his chest, digging into his skin, asking for more.

“Gonna make it better,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your temple, “just let me do all the work and you feel good alright?” 

He didn’t waste any more time, parting your folds with his pointer and middle, dipping them into your heat and gathering your arousal, only to take it up towards your clit where he pressed down firmly and began rubbing slow circles. 

“F-fuck!” Your hips stuttered up, chasing his movements that felt like too much, and not enough all at the same time. 

Joel tsked, shushing you quietly as he used his free arm to settle you back down, holding you tight. 

“Shh, shh, relax.” He eased up just slightly on your bundle of nerves, helping lull you, “Need to take it slow, wanna make it last.” 

You wanted to tell him that there was no need to take it slow, not when he could have you for as long as you lived from this point on. But you could barely focus, let alone form coherent words as he murmured praises into your ear, picking back up the pressure of his thumb over your nerves. 

Your chest dipped with a sharp breath, eyelids fluttering shut while your fingertips dug into the flesh of his biceps, anything to keep yourself from lifting your hips from where he wanted. 

“Feels good darlin’?” He asked, deliberately dragging his digits lower, sliding them into your core with ease, crooking them up before his thumb ghosted over your clit. 

“Just like–fuck–just like that,” you panted, tongue running over your lips, feeling yourself grow wetter. 

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” 

You didn’t need to open your eyes to tell there was a smile on his face, the feel of his hand giving your waist a squeeze where he held you still, while still keeping up his movements. 

“Been needin’ to feel this.” 

The cabin was filled with your moans and labored breaths, squelching between your thighs falling deaf on your ears as Joel dragged the pleasure on and on, not daring to tear his eyes away from such a sight as perfect as you. 

“Open those eyes, c’mon,” He commanded softly, his thumb stilling on your clit again, but his fingers still continued those deep strokes, “Wanna see those eyes when I tell you this.” 

Your eyes open, glazed over with pleasure, a whimper leaving your mouth seeing the content smile on his lips at your obedience. 

“Atta’girl.” 

You thought that was it. The praise dripping with heat and honey, enough to have you plunging past the finish line as your eyelashes kissed the skin under your eyes. But the action only made him grunt, prompting you to keep them open, for he had more to say that would completely unravel you. 

“Should’ve never let you walk away yesterday.” He said, thumb resuming their movements on your clit, but just lightly, enough to keep you focused on his words and the pleasure-something tolerable for now.

“Should’ve apologized and told you that I care for you.” 

“J-Joel, I forgive you. I do.” You stuttered, swallowing down a moan, hoping he’d believe you just as much as you did him. 

He shook his head, more so at himself, before continuing.

“You scare the shit outta me. Always givin’ so much of yourself without ever askin’ for anythin’ in return.” 

“You don’t know how much I think about you.” He admitted, fingers speeding up, dragging a new string of moans out of you, struggling to keep your eyes open. 

“If you’re takin’ care of yourself,” he murmured, trailing kisses over your warm cheek. “If you know how much I want to protect you.” 

“Iknowiknow,” You babbled, leaning your head against him as your thighs shook when he prodded at the deep spot inside you, “I know n-now.” 

His eyes stayed glued to you, watching every word escape through your lips with extra effort, before becoming muddled with your moans. Nails leaving crescents across his skin anywhere you could grab him and anchor yourself to the feeling. Your pussy shuddering with every stroke and prod of his fingertips bringing you closer. 

“Should’ve told you sooner baby. You gonna let me make it up to you?” He crooned. 

“Yes, p-please…I will, I promise I–” 

“Let me show you how much you matter to me.” He stuffed his fingers impossibly deeper, thumb relentlessly orbiting your clit with more pressure now. “How it feels to be mine.” 

“I’m yours, Joel…please, I’m so close.” Your voice cracked, head beginning to tip back as your body gave in completely, but he wouldn’t let you fall apart without seeing it for himself. 

He threading his fingers through the back of your head, guiding your forehead to his. 

“Cum for me baby,” His lips crashed onto yours, the final catalyst that sent you over the edge as he pulled away, breath ghosting over your lips. “Give me what’s mine.” 

Only then did your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed with the intense pleasure that seemed to be never ending. Your limbs shook against his body, breathing deeply through the waves of euphoria that he kept you on. His fingers still stroking, rubbing, coaxing everything out of you, tethering you to him, watching your every move as you succumbed. 

“I–baby, I…please.” Your voice was weak, your body feeling equally weightless going limp against him.  

Your hands instinctively reached for his forearms, squeezing him tightly, needing more of him to help ground you through the shocks of pleasure still coursing through your nerves.   

“I’ve got you,” He murmured, finally dragging his slick fingers away from your oversensitive heat, cradling your body closer. “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” 

He tucked your face under his chin, kissing the crown of your head, letting his hands soothe over your tingling skin to bring you back down to the delicate place with him once more. Your breathing was still irregular, shallow puffs of air hitting his chest, feeling his heart pound over your lips where you pressed soft, mindless kisses, grateful for his tenderness. 

“S’ok, baby,” His voice remained soft, cooing more words of praise to you before guiding your face away, just enough for him to see you and know you were back with him. 

His chest tightened at the sight of your wet eyes blurring with a sheen of tears and lips swollen, flashing him a devastatingly sweet smile.

“Oh, sweetheart...” 

You blinked, laughing nervously as you felt his thumb swipe away at the tear before it could tumble down your cheek.

“T-that was nice,” you cleared your throat, voice still a little hoarse and spent all thanks to him. “Really nice,” you added, stroking your fingers over his stubble. 

He grinned, tucking your messy hair behind your ears, “Glad you enjoyed yourself.” 

You stared at each other, all dopey and lovesick, basking in one another like nothing else in the world mattered. It should’ve felt unnatural, a little odd for the two of you considering the state of your relationship just twenty-four hours before, but instead it felt familiar, something so intimate and complete without much labor to make it feel as such.  

You used your arms as leverage, wanting to sit back into the original position on his lap. He helped you, carefully holding you by the hips as you maneuvered only for you to let out a gasp catching him by surprise. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Joel.” You looked down half embarrassed, half amused, fingers trailing over the dark patch of your wetness that settled on his jeans. 

He followed your sights, shaking his head as he laughed and laced his fingers with yours, pulling them up to his mouth to press a reassuring kiss over your knuckles. 

“Nothin’ to worry about, it’s for memory’s sake.” He joked lightly, easing you of any self-consciousness even after he brought you to a breathtaking orgasm just minutes ago. 

You shifted your hips against his lap, eliciting a groan from him, jaw tightening and his hands squeezing yours. He grew harder beneath his boxers, the tip of his cock begging for release behind the garment and his thick jeans, at this rate probably dripping with pre cum too. He could have easily flipped you over and given into what you both were needing, but he curbed the thoughts, letting you set the pace. 

“I can feel you.” You whispered, taking your time circling your hips lightly, core still overstimulated, but somehow demanding more, “Can we…” 

Your voice died with a hint of uncertainty, eyes shifting to his, hoping he’d read your mind and understand that you still needed him…you just didn’t know what to call it. 

Fuck? 

Make love? 

Neither sounded right to say aloud. You knew crossing this line would mean more than just a quick fuck, but you also realized it was too soon to call it love–though you were positive you’d fall, eventually. 

He rested his hands on your thighs, eyes boring into yours, trying to read your anxiety, not wanting you to feel pressured just because he was rock hard. 

“We don’t have to do any–” 

“No, I do,” you interjected hurriedly, shutting him up as he smirked at your insistence causing you to roll your eyes and smack his chest.

You sighed, wringing your fingers nervously, shifting your eyes to his lap instead as you spoke. “I just haven’t… I want it to be good for you.” 

It was no surprise that an outbreak would leave getting laid one of your last priorities with survival being number one. But truthfully, it had been a long while, and even as natural as it felt to have Joel pull an orgasm out of you with his fingers, you hoped to God you’d be able to deliver something just as good for him. But before you could let the perturbation swallow you whole he laughed. 

You quickly shot your eyes up to his, watching the crow’s feet around the outer corner of his eyes crinkle, his chest rumbling with snickers, causing you to pout, wondering what amusement he got out of seeing you like this. He settled after a few seconds, shaking his head in disbelief going to grab your hands once more even as you tried to fight him off weakly. 

“Sweetheart,” He started, rubbing his thumbs over the top of your hands, silently telling you to loosen up, “Do you know how close I’ve been to creamin’ my pants like a fuckin’ teenager?” 

His bluntness made your cheeks go up in flames, wanting nothing more than to hide away in the crook of his neck and laugh there, but he didn’t let you, cupping your cheeks and thumbing your heated skin. He was old enough to understand why you must’ve felt the way you did, but he too was devoid of anything as intimate for years. You’d already made him feel the tenderness and lust he once thought was over for him, and he’d be damned if he let you think otherwise. 

“You don’t gotta worry about anythin’ alright? It’s goin’ to be good because it’s with you.” He confessed, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, then to your lips, making you smile as your heart rate began to pick up once more. 

“I wanna be on top,” you started, a new wave of boldness washing over you as he smirked and nodded. 

“I can do with that.” He hummed, leaning back just to get an eyeful of your naked body, pinching himself for finally getting to have you. 

“Here, I’ll–” You went to undo his belt, a mixture of excitement and neediness urging your motions, but before you could he stopped you, moving your fingers out of the way. 

“I got it, sweetheart,” he pulled the end of the leather through the buckle, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t need to lift a finger.” 

You giggled, tilting your head and raising your brow. “Hmm, cause I’ll be too busy lifting my ass, right?” You quipped.

“There’s my brat,” He huffed feignedly, pulling the leather through the loops and tossing it to the ground. 

You let out a giggle, moving off of his lap causing him to protest, only for you to drop down to your knees between his legs, pulling at the laces of his boots and tugging them off. 

“What? You said I couldn’t help with the belt, not stripping your jeans off.” You winked up at him while he grumbled, simply undoing his fly and zipper before letting you do the rest. 

He lifted his hips as you tugged on the waistband of his jeans and boxers His cock came into view, thick and heavy, tip glistening with pre-cum as it rested against his stomach. Your gut twisted tighter, heat growing hotter between your thighs as your mouth watered, eyes remaining fixated on his length. 

Your visible engrossment made him twitch, the hunger in your eyes causing his blood to rush and welcome the newfound attention. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling your fingers wrap around his shaft, barely able to cover him wholly even with both hands. You leaned forward, parting your lips, breathing warmth over his tip before you closed your lips around him gently, humming at the salty bead, salivating for more. 

If he had any more willpower, he’d let you have your fill. To swallow him down the way you wanted to–messy, slow, deep–but right now it was ebbing, and all he wanted to do was bury himself within you. There was no way he was going to let himself finish within the first minute of you getting him naked.

As if it pained him, he grimaced and cradled your jaw, pulling you off with a pop, and almost immediately you began to pout, mouth opening to tell him you wanted a proper taste. 

“Come back up here.” His eyes were glazed over with need, voice dripping with a gentle firmness as he offered you a hand, helping you lift off your knees and take your place back on his lap. 

“I’ll let you have it in your mouth next time.” He promised, placing a kiss to your lips in an apology, guiding you to sink your knees into the cushions beside him. 

You smiled, breath catching in your chest at the thought of ‘next time’ because it meant that Joel wanted to have you the same way you did him. Truthfully, there was no turning back, and you and Joel were both aware of the implications, too far gone in each other to think you’d be walking away from each other after this. 

His hands looped securely around your waist, pressing his forehead against yours as your noses brushed against one another. 

“Take it nice and slow, alright?” He cautioned sweetly. 

“Y-yeah.” You nodded, kissing him once more before you pulled away and took a deep breath.

You brought your fingertips to your mouth, swiping them over your tongue, reaching down and curling your hand around him. You stroked him slowly, mixing together your spit and his precum, which you knew would help the slide. He stilled his hips, keeping from rutting up into your hand, letting you do what you needed to first. 

Bracing one hand on his shoulder, you guided him towards your entrance, the thick head notching inside of you with a stretch as you dropped your hips, settled down on the first few inches of him. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” you whimpered, thighs trembling weakly as your eyes flew shut at the sudden fullness. 

“Slow down, babygirl…breathe for me,” he steadied you carefully, hands squeezing your waist, letting you adjust. “Know it’s a lot, but you’re doing so good.” 

The sound of his voice was warm and guiding, reminding you there was no need at all to rush. Your head spun at the praise and guidance, using it as encouragement while you kept your eyes closed and took a deep breath in through your nose and held it for a moment. He hummed something that sounded like approval, spurring you on as you released the breath and sunk down to take more of him. 

A strangled moan left your lips, his cock already reaching parts of you that had been untouched for what felt like forever. And even as the fluttering walls of your pussy sent a tremor up his spine, he swallowed back his own grunt, gritting his teeth and setting his focus on soothing you instead of his frenzied pleasure.   

“Sweetheart, you gotta–” He spoke raspy and strained, but whatever he had left to say, never came as you blew your eyes open to meet his, all glassy and filled with ruin already.

“J-Joel,” you whined, grabbing harshly at his shoulders, trembling over nearly half of his cock, but already feeling split open and ready to fall over the crest of pleasure. “S-so full, already.” 

He nodded understandingly, clenching and unclenching his jaw, as he stroked your sides, hoping to calm the shivers that were dancing along your skin. He leaned up slightly, nudging his nose across cheek until he settled soft kisses along your earlobe. 

“It’s all yours baby, right sweetheart?” He murmured possessively, staking your claim over him before you could do it yourself–but he wanted to hear you, needed to hear that you understood he was yours now. 

Your lips parted with a breathy moan, walls clenching around him at the thought, before you swallowed thickly and nodded against him.

“Uh, huh… mine.” 

He grinned, satisfied with your response and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, feeling your hot labored breaths against him. 

“So take it.” 

He snaked one of his hands between your bodies, using your wetness and circling your clit with enough pressure to make your eyes roll back and your mouth drop open. The added stimulation helped distract you from the massive stretch, but not enough to send you over the edge just yet. 

“I know you can do it, sweetheart.” 

And somehow you did. 

You focused on the sound of his voice, shutting out all the tingling nerves and worries in the back of your mind, sinking down the rest of the way, and nestling his cock deep inside you. 

“S-shit, sweetheart,” Joel hissed, digging his fingers into your hips as his eyes dropped down to where you fully sheathed his length. “Fuckin’ grippin’ me so damn tight.” 

Your stomach clenched, walls clinging to every inch of him, carving out a new home where you’d crave him constantly. He couldn’t look away even if he tried, his eyes sailing towards your face and back down your body, reveling every gasp and shake not wanting to miss a thing. 

Your brows furrowed, finally testing the waters by rolling your hips in small circles, anticipating the first rumble of pleasure. But with him buried so deeply, relentlessly budging the spongy spot inside you, the small action stole your breath altogether, sending you toppling, slump against his chest.

“Oh my–fuck…toomuchtoomuch, Joel–”

“Hey, shh, relax for a minute,” His hand came down to the back your head, pressing you deeper into his chest, stroking your hair and feeling the way your walls spasmed around him uncontrollably. 

Joel hugged you close, letting you bury your face into the crook of neck where you could feel the thrum of his heartbeat racing just as quick as yours, yet still somehow sounding unaffected as he continued whispering words of solace, gently caressing your body like you were all that mattered to him. 

“I–I’m sorry…” You choked between a sniffle, not knowing exactly why you were apologizing suddenly, probably because Joel had spent more time comforting you through your pleasure without giving in to his. 

You needed to make him feel good. 

He grunted disapprovingly, kissing the crown of your head. “Baby, you don’t have to apologiz–” 

You attempted to lift your hips off of him, going to ride him the way you wanted to, but his hands immediately stalled your movements as you protested. 

“Joel, let me, c’mon.” 

“Sweetheart,” He shook his head, tugging your face away from hiding, staring at you all dark and tender.

“This is gonna be over before you even start,” He reasoned, rubbing the back of your scalp, wanting you to ease up, “You’re sensitive and she needs it gentle.”

“But I’m supposed to be taking care of you now and I–” 

“Hey, listen to me,” His voice was stern though his eyes remained a softened contrast, “Feelin’ you around me is already you takin’ care of me. Now, let me take care of you at the same time. Deal?

“Okay...” you whispered, nodding your head as he kissed you deeply before lifting his back off the couch, allowing him to lay you on your back. 

You spread your legs, letting him bracket his hips closer, planting one foot on the ground to give himself leverage, while the other remained bent at the knee on the couch. 

“How’s that sweetheart?” His hands glided over your stomach, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses up between the valley of your breast until he stopped at your chin peering up at you. 

“B-better…” You breathed, palms meeting his right over your stomach and pressing down slightly, “I can feel you deeper I think.”

“Good,” His lips quirked up into a smile, nipping your jaw before leaning up the rest of the way and pressing his forehead against yours, “I’m gonna move now. You say the word and we’ll stop whenever you want, alright?” 

You nodded, connecting your lips as you wounded your arms around his neck, readying yourself for the first thrust of his hips. His hands slid up to your ribcage, gripping you there tenderly, pulling his hips back barely a few inches, before sawing back in. 

He swallowed up your moans, dragging his hips back once more, setting a slow yet thoughtful pace, stretching out your combined pleasure, basking in other another. With every thrust, the pleasurable sensation blossomed brighter within you, your legs spreading more, hips stuttering up not wanting to let him go far from where he belonged. 

“Takin’ it so good, baby. Nice and deep.” Joel panted against your lips, pulling out almost halfway now, then back in again, eliciting a soft cry from your lips. “So perfect for me…my girl, my fuckin’ pussy, right?”

“Yes, yes, it’s yours…I-I’m yours, Joel.” You choked out, nails raking across his shoulder blades and down his back, “Please don’t stop, please, just–fuck!” 

“Keep fuckin’ you baby?” He teased, your whimpery moans agreeing with his filthy words, “Never gonna stop, sweetheart…promise. You just keep feelin’ good on my cock.” 

Your throat tore with a high-pitched squeal, Joel pulling out nearly all the way before driving back home, repeating the movement that had your legs trembling around him. The sounds were obscene, wet slaps of your skin nearly overpowering your moans, occupying the cabin. 

“Hear how wet you are?” He gritted, sucking in deeper breaths with every squeeze of your walls, “Pussys’ leaking all over me. She’s a sweet thing, alright.” 

“S-s-so good, you’re so deep,” You gasped, “M-more.” 

“Let me,” He guided one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing impossibly deeper, making you moan loudly.

“Fuck! Right there, p-please just like that,” You held him tighter, muffled words beating against his skin.“Don’t stop, please don’t–” 

“I won’t baby,” Joel assured you, maintaining the deliberately deep pace, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips, “Let me feel you, c’mon, give my cock some lovin’, let me feel you cum.” 

You crashed hard without even thinking twice, incoherent begging jumbled with your moans as stars flashed behind your pinched eyes. His movements didn’t falter, working every inch of himself within you, encouraging you to ride the wave of pleasure for as long as possible, reeling in the way your nails scratched down his back, pulling him tighter into you until your body went lax. 

Slowing his thrusts, he placed a chaste kiss to the inside of your knee, guiding your leg back down, allowing you some reprieve. He felt your motionless hands along his back, settling for weak grazes across the fresh scratches you left behind, while your chest rose and fell deeply. 

“Too much?” He rasped out, hands going to cup your cheeks, forcing your eyes to open and blink through the haze, “Need a break, baby?” 

You let out a shaky noise that told him ‘no,’ turning your head just slightly to take a deep breath in the out, repeating the action until you could bear to open your eyes, taking in the mouthwatering sight of him.

His hair was tousled all thanks to your grabby hands, sweat beading at his hairline, trailing down the sides of his face. His lips were as swollen as yours from the endless kisses you two had shared, and his eyes burned through you with fire, so strong yet delicate, needed to get close and finally feel the heat soar through you.

“K-Keep going,” you stuttered, still catching your breath, snaking your hands through his hair, gawking up at him hungrily, “I need it–I need to feel you…”

The realization washed over him, and you swore you could feel the twitch of his cock spur inside you, a restrained jerk of his hips sending his length somewhere deeper—right where you needed him to stick.

“Needa feel me extra deep, is that right?” He whispered, one hand splaying over your stomach, groaning to himself when he felt the faint brunt of himself beneath your skin. “Need me to leave my mark, remind you who you belong to?” 

You licked your lips, nodding frantically. “Yes… I-I want that…I’m all yours, please.” 

He reached for your free hand, intertwining them as he bent to kiss your shaky knuckles. 

“I’m yours too, baby…never lettin’ you go.” He began to thrust into you again, pressing his hips flushed between your thighs, grinding deep and precise. “Promise.” 

It didn’t take long to have you breathless all over again, your legs moving on their own accord to wrap around his waist, barely allowing him any escape from your heat—just simple, heavy, deep strokes, that caused tears to prickle at your eyes, the blossoming happening all over again, and this time stronger than the last two he so graciously gave you.

“Joel–shit, I’m…” You gasped, crushing his hand tightly, your entire body beginning to quiver as you tiptoed to the edge.

“Just like that… fuck, darlin’” He hissed, throwing his head, feeling your walls close in on him impossibly tighter, like they were begging as much as you were for him. “Just keep feelin’ me… every goddamn inch baby..” 

You did more than just let yourself feel. But be all consumed by him. Giving in to a need that would never be satiated by anyone besides Joel Miller, not that there was anyone else who could suffice, anyway. You gave yourself to him wholeheartedly, the same way he did to you. More than just a feeling. A deep-seated care that would never leave, always within you wherever you strayed because Joel proved it to you.

His hand untangled with yours and before you could whine out of protest, one escaped thoughtlessly, the feel of fingers sliding over your mound, easily finding your clit and rubbing steady circles. Y

You were dangling over the edge, just waiting to drop.

“Oh… oh,” Your jaw went slack, voice so small, “Joel, please.” 

He cooed softly, infatuated with you beneath him, ready to give you his all. “Need to feel you fall apart one more time baby, let me see it.” 

“Cum with me,” you begged, snaking your hands through his hair pull him closer, letting him swallow and steal your every breath, “Please… I need it. Fill me up, p-please.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, body seizing up into his, walls clamping greedily, taking him right over the edge with you.

“Fuckin’ hell… oh, fuck,” Joel groaned, hips stuttering, grinding and pushing deeper, spilling everything he had to give you, as he reveled in your take.

There was a saccharine smile on your face, weak but still there. Cheeks stained with a warm flush as tears remained stuck in their path, littering the wisp of your lashes with faint drops, blinking up at him starry-eyed. It was a sight that made his heart ache—not haunting or plaguing in a sense, but chained to knowing it could only ever be you from that point forward, and there was no need to deny himself.

Quietly, the two of you came back down together. Hands lazily roaming the skin your fingertips could reach, lips resting, not kissing, just feeling each other be there, and your hearts settling into a shared thump.

You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat,

“T-thank you.” You croaked out, reaching up with shaky hands to hold his cheek in your palm, not caring about the sweat trickling over your already sweaty skin.

He turned just slightly, chapped lips pressing into your pulse point.

“You’re… you’re thanking me for…” He tilted his back at you raising his brows with a smirk, still catching his breath, meanwhile you laughed weakly and shook your head. 

“That too, but mostly for seeing me… for showing me I matter.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for any of it,” He assured you, bringing his hand to wipe the tears off your cheeks, “and I don’t think I said it earlier…but I’m sorry everythin’.” 

“I forgave you already,” you replied with a smile, welcoming the feel of his lips on yours again as he kissed you so tenderly.  

Slowly, he helped ease your legs from around his waist, swallowing up your whines as he apologized lowly, shifting his hips back to pull out of you. The emptiness felt foreign, almost unbearable, but the faint trickle of your shared spent seeping out was a filthy yet pleasant reminder that you two were stuck together.

He reached down, picking up his discarded t-shirt, bending down to catch a better glimpse of the mess, holding himself back from wrecking you some more.

“So you’re just going to let me ruin all your clothes at this point?” You shivered with a laugh, watching as he carefully swiped the shirt between your thighs, cleaning up the mess between your thighs.

He looked up at you, kissing the inside of your knee. “Got a whole drawer at home waitin’ for you,” He winked, making you roll your eyes as he tossed the fabric to the floor after cleaning himself up too. 

Carefully, he maneuvered you off your back, sliding his body against the cushions to take your place, before setting you inside his side—your warm naked bodies tangling snugly to brave the winter night.

“I’ll take first watch so you can rest darlin’,” Joel whispered, running his palm along your shoulder blades while you traced random shapes over his chest.  

You rocked your head against him slightly, whispering loud enough for him to hear.

“We’re safe out here.” 

It was loaded, both a promise to take and a question for him to answer.

“Yeah, we’re safe, baby.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, eyes falling shut effortlessly, the sight of you still fresh behind his lids. “I’ve got you. Always, got you.” 

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!!

a/n: i'm horny and ovulating, im sorry!!! thank you to my love, Effie for proof-reading and unapologetically encouraging my delulu for dilfy joel 💕💕

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[josepedroo]

i’m sat immediately🙂‍↔️

pedro pascal x fem!interviewer!reader

at the premiere of Fantastic Four: First Steps, a sharp-witted interviewer and pedro pascal unexpectedly hit it off, thanks to a perfectly timed polka dot coincidence, a little flirtation, and one unforgettable rooftop moment.

yes this is about the recent premiere his outfit ATE DOWN he looks so handsome and yeah maybe i pretended to be an interviewer that asked him questions and maybe i dreamed he actually fell in love with me on the carpet in that exact moment. i’m delusional ok? sue me… get it? Sue me?

also sorry if this is cringe as hell obviously i’ve never met a celebrity or been to an event like this so if the dress isn’t to the correct dress code or you hate it simply don’t read it 🤷‍♀️

masterlist 🎞️ 4.8k words 🎞️ pedro being his charming, dorky, & adorable self, fluff, banter, heavy making out, they get horny, & no smut but they talk about sex !

You turn heads on the blue carpet in a dress that’s equal parts playful and vintage. The rich chocolate brown fabric, scattered with tiny white polka dots, hugs your frame as the sleeveless cut keeps things breezy and fun. A wide beige collar frames your neckline, drawing attention upward as you move confidently with your mic in hand.

The off-center line of oversized buttons running down the front adds just the right touch of quirky charm, while the cream waistband cinches your waist before the skirt flares out in soft ruffles that sway with every step. But it’s the oversized bow at your hip, crafted from matching beige and brown fabric, that truly steals the show, giving you a sweet, standout silhouette as you interview stars and steal a bit of the spotlight yourself.

You’re mid-interview with a producer when you spot him—Pedro Pascal, working his way down the line, flashing that signature smile and offering hugs and cheek kisses like they’re party favors. You try to keep your cool, mentally double-checking your notes, but the second his eyes land on you, it’s like the world briefly hushes.

And then he does a double take.

Pedro’s brow lifts, and that warm, curious smile starts to form as he makes his way over. “Wait, wait a second…”

You tilt your head, already grinning. “Caught you staring.”

“I wasn’t staring,” he says, but the little hitch in his voice betrays him. He gestures between you two. “We’re matching.”

You glance down at your dress, then up at the polka dots on his tie, and you gasp with playful offense. “Are you saying you copied me?”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “You wore it better. I’ll concede immediately.”

His eyes drag over the bow at your hip, the bounce in your skirt, and then—his gaze dips to your hand as you lift your mic again.

“Wait… your nails.”

You hold your fingers out just slightly, letting the overhead lights catch the glossy brown acrylics, each dotted delicately in white. “The commitment to the theme,” you say, wiggling them. “I take my job very seriously.”

Pedro looks stunned for a beat. He bites back a grin and mutters, “You’re killin’ me,” before immediately laughing at himself. “Seriously, I’m not even sure I should be interviewed by you. You’re making me nervous.”

You arch a brow. “Pedro Pascal. Nervous? Around me?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says with a little dramatic flair, but there’s real warmth in it. “You’ve got polka dot nails. A bow. A collar. You ask questions and look like you walked off the set of the cutest Wes Anderson movie ever. I’m thrown.”

You lean in slightly, teasing, “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

“Oh, both,” he replies instantly. “Definitely both.”

The camera’s still rolling, but it doesn’t feel like a press interview anymore. You toss one of your prepared questions aside and go rogue.

“Alright,” you say. “Tell me the truth. Do you pick your red carpet looks, or do you just show up and let a very stressed stylist handle it?”

Pedro chuckles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “A very stylish and slightly bossy stylist. I show up, they sigh at my socks, and fix everything.”

“Well,” you say, sweeping a look down his suit. “They did great. Twinning with me? Bold move.”

“I’ll thank them later,” he replies, giving you a look that lingers maybe half a second too long.

You continue for a few more minutes—he answers your questions, but always with that smirk, that lean, that little tilt of his head like he’s listening to you more than anyone else on the carpet. The moment feels tucked away from the cameras, even as flashbulbs pop behind him.

As the crew starts to wrap and you lower your mic, he leans in again, softer now.

“You staying for the premiere?”

“I am,” you say, suddenly very aware of how close he is. “Row J, media section. Why?”

Pedro smiles, and this one is different. Less for show, more real. More him.

“Well, if you feel like ditching that seat,” he says, slipping a folded pass from his jacket pocket, “there’s one next to me. I promise good snacks and better company.”

You blink at the VIP pass, then at him. “Are you bribing me with popcorn and charm?”

He grins. “Is it working?”

You take the pass from his hand, your fingers grazing his—and that’s when he sees your matching polka dot nail on your ring finger and actually blushes. Like, full-body, pink-eared blush.

“Dangerous,” he murmurs under his breath, half to himself.

And just before he walks off, he turns back, points at your dress, and says: “Seriously. You stole the show.”

The moment Pedro walks off, you blink a few times, trying to ground yourself before someone calls “aaaand cut!”

You keep the mic up a beat longer, then lower it slowly, exhaling like you’ve just survived a near-death experience via charming Chilean actor.

You glance toward the camera with wide eyes, still smiling. “Okay,” you say, breathless. “So no, he did not slip me his number…”

You lift your free hand, flashing the VIP pass with a little shake.

“…buuuut I may or may not be sitting next to him for the film.”

Then you lean into the camera just slightly, lowering your voice like it’s a secret you’re letting the audience in on.

“Which means, I now have approximately twenty-five minutes to calm the hell down and pretend I’m not already planning our wedding.”

You end it with a ridiculous wink—cheesy, exaggerated, fully unserious.

Your producer stifles a laugh off-camera. “You’re glowing, by the way.”

You fan yourself with the pass. “I need a fan and a shot of espresso. In that order.”

You’re in the women’s restroom, both palms planted on the marble counter, staring yourself down in the mirror like you’re about to walk a runway instead of sitting next to Pedro Pascal in a dark theater.

Your heart’s still thumping. A little too fast.

“Okay,” you whisper, straightening your posture. “You are a professional. You are composed. You are not gonna spill your drink on him. You are not gonna trip walking up the stairs. You are definitely not gonna sniff his cologne like a freak.”

You pause. “…Maybe just once. But subtly.”

With a huff of nervous laughter, you pop open your lipstick, chestnut brown, a wine colored gloss, and you reapply, carefully and slowly. Then the matching dark brown liner. A little finger tap to blend. You press your lips together, check the teeth (clear), check the bow at your hip (still perfect), then pull your small travel perfume from your bag.

A soft spritz of vanilla at your neck. Another for luck on your wrist.

“Showtime,” you whisper, tucking everything back into your purse like it’s a ritual.

Outside the theater, an usher scans your special pass and gestures to you toward the reserved seating near the front of the VIP section. Rows of producers, stars, and studio execs then him.

Pedro’s already in his seat, arm draped lazily over the back of the one next to him, eyes flicking toward you the second you step in.

And he smiles. A real one. That slow, warm, just-for-you one.

You walk toward him like you’re in stilettos on a Paris runway instead of kitten heels at a superhero premiere.

As you slide into the seat beside him, Pedro leans over slightly and murmurs, “You smell good.”

You blink, cheeks already heating. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

He chuckles, the sound low and pleased. “I mean, it’s kind of unfair. You look like that and you smell like a dessert.”

“Vanilla bean,” you whisper back, like you’re letting him in on something private.

Pedro’s lips twitch, and he murmurs like a dare, “Dangerous.”

The lights dim. Trailers start.

His arm stays right where it is, hovering behind you, fingertips brushing the back of your seat, like a tether he’s not quite ready to admit to.

And when your knees gently touch halfway through the second trailer… neither of you moves.

The movie starts, and the room darkens, the glow of the screen painting your faces in flickering light. Your shoulders brush lightly against Pedro’s, sending a tiny, unexpected thrill up your spine.

Midway through a tense scene, explosions, flying debris, heroic saves, and Pedro leans in just enough so his warm breath tickles your ear. His voice is low, smooth, almost a purr.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side. You’re watching all of this violence with a straight face.”

You bite your lip, heart fluttering. “Is that your idea of flirting or a warning?”

He grins, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe both. But mostly a compliment.”

The action ramps up on screen, a daring escape, a close call, and Pedro nudges you gently with his elbow.

“You know, you’d make a killer sidekick. Quick, smart, and you have a killer fashion sense.”

You glance at him, amused and flushed. “I’ll take ‘killer sidekick’ as a promotion.”

When the film hits an emotional moment, Pedro’s voice lowers to a whisper and he says, “don’t worry. I won’t cry… unless you hold my hand.”

You glance at him, surprised by the honesty masked in his tease. You reach out just a little, letting your fingers brush his.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans in once more, lips barely grazing your ear as he whispers:

“Best premiere ever.”

The credits start rolling, the theater dim except for the glow from the screen. The room begins to stir with applause, but you barely hear it. You’re still caught in the bubble of the evening, his warmth, his presence, the light brush of your fingers.

Pedro shifts slightly, turns toward you with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says low and easy, voice just for you, “after all this… you sticking around?”

You smile, heart flipping. “I was thinking I might. Why?”

He glances toward the exit, then back at you, cheeks coloring just a bit in the dim light. That rare, genuine flicker of nerves. “There’s an after party nearby. I’ve got an extra invite.”

Your breath catches. “An extra invite?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but the way his eyes lock on yours says everything.

“I’d like it if you came with me.”

You pause, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Then you grin, matching his energy.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

His smile grows, genuine and wide, and he reaches over to gently bump your knee with his.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice soft. “Because I have a feeling the night’s just getting started.”

The venue is sleek and softly lit, buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses, neon blue lights echoing the Fantastic Four branding across the walls. Pedro’s hand hovers at the small of your back as the two of you step inside together—close enough to be protective, but still testing the boundary.

He leans over as you pass a cluster of publicists and murmurs, “You good?”

You nod, smiling. “You’re not gonna ditch me for a shrimp tower, are you?”

He smirks. “I was planning to, but now that you’ve said it, I guess I have to keep you around.”

Before you can throw a playful jab back, Pedro spots someone across the room and taps your arm gently. “Come on—I want to introduce you to the cast.”

Your pulse kicks up just a little.

He leads you to a corner where Vanessa Kirby, Joseph Quinn, and Ebon Moss-Bachrach are mid-conversation, laughing over something in Joseph’s hand and what looks like a terribly drawn caricature from a novelty photo booth.

Vanessa’s the first to spot Pedro, and her eyes flick immediately to you with interest.

“Well hello, who’s this?”

Pedro casually slides his hand off your back but stays close. “This is…” He pauses, glancing at you with a slight grin, “…the woman who made me forget how to answer interview questions tonight.”

Joseph lets out a very Joseph Quinn “oooOOoh,” while Ebon raises his glass and says, “Scandalous.”

You laugh, waving it off. “I swear I was just doing my job.”

Vanessa steps forward, extending a hand. “I saw your interview and you had brilliant questions, and that dress? It’s giving a vintage journalist in her prime.”

“She interviewed me before you,” Joseph chimes in, squinting at you. “Right? You’re the one who asked me if The Human Torch could outdrink Eddie Munson?”

“That was me,” you grin.

“And you said I’d black out after one whiskey sour.”

“Because you would,” Vanessa says, rolling her eyes affectionately.

Pedro’s watching all of this unfold with an expression that toes the line between awe and giddiness. You’re clearly winning the room.

“See?” he says, nudging Ebon. “Told you she was cool.”

Ebon raises a brow. “Didn’t take much convincing. We’ve been talking about you for like ten minutes.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Joseph grins. “He was out here all flustered before you showed up. Said—and I quote—‘She had polka dot nails. I’m too old, I might have a heart attack. I’m not built for this anymore.’”

Pedro covers his face with one hand. “I regret bringing you into my life.”

You laugh, eyes gleaming. “So you were nervous.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “Maybe a little.”

Vanessa slides a cocktail your way. “You’re stuck with us now. You passed the vibe check.”

You raise the glass and clink it lightly with Pedro’s. “Guess I’m part of the team.”

Pedro leans in with a smile so soft you barely catch it.

“Guess you are.”

You’re perched on a plush velvet couch in a quieter corner of the party, your drink in hand, something bubbly with a fruity twist, just strong enough to loosen the nerves. Pedro’s next to you, thigh brushing yours now and then, body angled completely toward you like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

He takes a sip of his tequila neat and glances sideways with a teasing smile. “Alright, important question.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hit me.”

He leans in slightly, like this is serious business. “What’s your go-to movie snack? And you have to choose one.”

You laugh. “That’s your big question?”

“I said it was important, not deep.”

You pretend to think, tapping your lip with one finger. “Hot popcorn, lots of butter, but you mix it with peanut M&Ms. Salty-sweet masterpiece.” (yes the real @lowrisemiller ™️ does this)

Pedro clutches his chest like you just proposed. “That’s… wow. Marriage material, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Alright, your turn.”

“Red vines and Diet Coke.”

You blink. “You mean Twizzlers?”

“No,” he says, mock offended. “Red Vines. There’s a difference, and I will die on this hill.”

You snort into your drink. “That’s tragic.”

“Tragic is not recognizing true candy royalty,” he replies, gently nudging your knee with his.

A couple of fans approach, hesitant and polite and Pedro immediately shifts into his warm, welcoming mode, standing up for a few quick selfies. He glances at you between photos with a soft, apologetic smile, like don’t go anywhere, and you just nod, sipping your drink and watching the way he makes everyone feel seen.

When he finally sits back down beside you, cheeks a little pink from smiling, he lets out a breath.

“You’re good at that,” you murmur.

He shrugs, glancing down at his glass. “Comes with the job.”

“But I mean it,” you say. “You’re not just…on autopilot, it’s charming.”

He looks up at you then, really looks at you, and something shifts behind his eyes. A little quieter, a little softer.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he says. “I think that helps.”

The air between you settles into something slower. The music in the background pulses faintly, but neither of you moves to fill the space too quickly. You swirl the last bit of your drink, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he’s sitting.

After a beat, he nods toward the side door, a little away from the main crowd.

“You wanna get some air?”

Your eyes meet. Warmth stirs in your chest. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, setting your glass down. “Let’s go.”

He stands first, offering his hand without thinking. You take it, and don’t let go as he guides you through the crowd, out toward the night.

You follow Pedro out through a side door that leads to a narrow stairwell, his hand still loosely in yours. Neither of you mentions it, but neither of you lets go.

The rooftop is quiet, save for the distant buzz of traffic and the occasional laughter wafting up from the valet below. The air is cooler here, the kind that kisses your shoulders and carries the faintest smell of pavement and summer rain.

Pedro holds the door open for you, then steps beside you, hands tucking into the pockets of his suit pants as he looks out over the city.

“It’s nice up here,” you say softly.

He nods, glancing sideways at you. “Better view now that you’re in it.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster anyway.

There’s a moment of silence, the good kind, the kind that feels like a shared secret instead of something awkward.

He breaks it with a quiet, “You interview a lot of people?”

You glance over at him. “Yeah. Comes with the job.”

He nods. “You’re good at it. You made me forget there were cameras.”

“You say that like it doesn’t happen to you all the time.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head a little. “Not like that.”

You don’t push. You just lean your elbows on the ledge, looking down at the city. The lights blur slightly in the breeze, and you take a deep breath, vanilla perfume curling in the air between you.

Pedro steps closer. Not in a rush, just… drawn.

“You ever get nervous?” he asks.

You glance over at him with a smirk. “What, like before interviews?”

“No.” He looks at you, full-on. “Like right now.”

Something about the way he says it, honest and quiet, like he’s not trying to charm you, just be real, makes your breath catch.

“A little,” you admit.

His smile returns, slower this time. “Me too.”

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, and the space between you seems to shrink on its own. He looks at your face, then down at your hand resting on the edge of the wall. You feel his fingers brush yours, tentative and featherlight.

He shifts closer, quiet and sincere.

“Do you ever just want to skip the small talk and see what happens?”

Your lips part slightly. There’s a pause. A slow warmth spreads in your chest.

But before you can respond, he winces, like he just heard himself out loud and cringed.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, half-laughing, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell was that? I’d never say that.”

You blink, then burst out laughing. “You just said it.”

“I know,” he says, grinning, visibly flustered now. “I blacked out for a second. That was, like, premium grade-A bullshit line delivery.”

You’re giggling, hand over your mouth, but he keeps going, cheeks blushing and warm now.

“I love small talk! I’m a huge fan of small talk—especially with you. I think you’re amazing,” he says, voice rushing a little. “I just—I don’t know if we’ll get an opportunity like this again. You’re you, you’re a young successful woman with good taste and cute nails, and I’m a guy whose prime apparently waited until he turned fifty.”

You’re laughing so hard you nearly lose your balance against the railing. “Did you just say ‘terrifying nails’?”

He gives you that look, the boyish, scrunched-up smile that completely undermines his own attempt at being suave.

“They haunt me in the best way.”

You’re still catching your breath, but then he looks at you, really looks, and the laughter slows, settles, turns into something else. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes bright, and you can feel that exact second where the mood shifts again.

You say quietly, still smiling, “You’re ridiculous.”

He whispers, “You’re gorgeous.”

And then he leans in slow at first, lips brushing yours with a teasing softness, a taste, a test.

You meet him halfway. You have to.

The second your mouths fully connect, the heat between you ignites. It’s not tentative anymore—it’s full, deep, a collision of breath and want. His hand moves to the back of your neck, cradling you, while the other slides down to your waist, tugging you closer, closer until there’s no space between your bodies at all.

You gasp against his mouth, just enough to let his tongue brush yours and that’s it. That’s when he loses his careful control.

Pedro groans, low and needy, backing you gently but firmly toward the wall of the rooftop, never breaking the kiss. Your spine meets cool brick, a contrast to the heat blooming everywhere else. His thigh slides between yours, parting your legs just slightly, just enough.

His hands are on your hips now, gripping through the fabric of your dress, thumbs dragging slow circles against the bow at your side like he’s trying not to rip it off.

“Fuck,” he mutters between kisses, voice ragged. “You’re—this dress—it’s— you’re unreal.”

Your hand fists in the lapel of his blazer, the other sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again into your mouth. It’s messy now, deep kisses, gasps, and a moan slipping from you when his thigh presses just right.

He mouths at the corner of your jaw, down to your neck. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his breath hot. “Because if you don’t, I’m not gonna be a gentleman.”

You exhale sharply, tilting your head back. “Then don’t.”

His teeth graze your pulse point and you feel it, his restraint starting to crack. His hand slips down, fingers ghosting along your thigh beneath the hem of your dress, and your back arches slightly against the wall, silently begging him for more.

And then—

He stills.

He pulls back, barely, forehead pressed to yours, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You’re breathless, dizzy, clutching the front of his suit like you might collapse if you let go. “We… could—”

“No.” His voice is soft but firm. “Not like this. Not up here, not rushed.” He opens his eyes, still inches away from you. “You deserve more than half-drunk rooftop sex. I want to take you out properly.”

You blink, still dazed. “A date?”

“A real one,” he says, lips brushing yours one more time. “With a reservation and chairs and napkins and me pretending I’m not dying to do this again the entire time.”

You smile. “So chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Barely,” he breathes. “You make it incredibly difficult.”

You both laugh, shaky and flushed, as he steps back enough to let you straighten your dress. He gently fixes your hair, fingertips lingering a second too long.

“Okay,” you say, teasing as you wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “Let’s go before I change my mind and drag you back to that wall.”

He mutters something in Spanish under his breath. You know you’re not ready to translate out loud.

As you step back into the party, slightly tousled, visibly glowing, Joseph Quinn catches sight of you both, and immediately wolf-whistles across the room.

“Well damn, Pedro,” he calls out, grinning. “You take her up there to read poetry or what?”

Pedro laughs, sliding an arm around your waist.

“You wouldn’t believe how good her small talk is.”

Vanessa clinks her glass in your direction. “Tell us everything at brunch.”

Pedro leans in, low and smug at your ear. “…Assuming you’ll want brunch after our date.”

You grin. “Only if you bring Red Vines.”

dividers by @cursed-carmine & picsart 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @millersdoll @inbred-eater @thezatannaprint @stvrl1ghtt123 @umadirectioner @aj0elap0l0gist @heather81 @subconsciouscollapse @catch1ngmoths @grayandthyme @pandapetals @littlejoels @lizziesfirstwife

[josepedroo]

the sparkle in his beautiful eyes🥺

whoever took this picture, thank you.

[josepedroo]

sunbathing ── ✦ pt.2

requested! thank you. | pt.1 content: explicit smut — outdoor sex, fingering, ass slapping, tanning oil, use of pet names, very needy/praise-heavy Pedro, reader is topless and oiled up, possessiveness, unprotected sex

Pedro doesn’t go back inside. He doesn’t even try to control himself.

You said you were staying right here, spread out and glistening like a sin, and he took it as a goddamn invitation.

His mouth is hot on your back as he lowers himself over you, hands already roaming—fingers gliding through the oil slicking your thighs, your waist, your lower back. He groans like he’s starving, like he needs to devour you.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he mutters, dragging his cock along the curve of your ass, slow and teasing. “Out here like this… fuck, baby, you're gonna kill me.”

You push your hips back toward him. “Then die like a man.”

That makes him growl. He spreads your legs further on the chair, tugging your bikini bottoms to the side with a practiced swipe of his fingers—and then he moans. Actually fucking moans at the sight of your pussy dripping for him.

“Always so wet for me,” he mutters, kneeling between your thighs. “You like teasing me, huh? Like making me lose control?”

“I love when you lose control,” you pant, looking back at him.

And that’s all it takes.

He drags two fingers through your folds and sinks them in—deep and slow. You gasp, arching under him as he fucks you with his fingers, curling them just right, watching the way your body trembles.

“Mierda, you’re so tight,” he hisses, kissing the small of your back. “So perfect. My perfect girl.”

The oil makes it messy. Filthy, slippery sounds echo with every thrust of his fingers, and when he adds a third, your hips jolt.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he breathes. “Need to be inside you, cariño.”

You whine at the loss of his fingers, but then he’s pushing in—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch of him stretch you out. You’re clenching around him, moaning into the sun-drenched air as he fills you up completely.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Pedro…”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he pants, holding your hips steady as he starts to thrust—slow and deep, hitting all the right spots. “You feel that, baby? That’s mine.”

His hand snakes around your waist, slipping between your thighs to rub soft, filthy circles on your clit. You’re gasping, shaking, moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know.

And then—smack.

His hand lands on your ass again, harder this time, and you shudder around him.

“Such a bad girl,” he groans. “Laying out here, topless, knowing I’d come fuck you like this. You wanted it, didn’t you?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes—yes, baby, wanted it so bad—”

Pedro picks up the pace, thrusts getting rougher, sloppier. His other hand grips your hair, pulling your head back gently so he can kiss the side of your neck.

“You’re gonna come for me out here,” he pants. “Want the neighbors to hear how good I fuck you.”

You’re already there—legs shaking, body pulsing, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm rips through you. Pedro fucks you through it, hips pounding, chasing his own release.

He presses his chest to your back, groaning your name like a prayer as he finishes inside you, thick and messy and perfect.

For a second, there’s only the sound of both your breaths, heavy and warm in the sun.

Then Pedro kisses your shoulder and mutters, “Next time? I’m putting a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the damn gate.”

You giggle, still blissed out. “You think I’m letting you wait that long again?”

He smacks your ass again, just because he can.

“God, I love you.”

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

[josepedroo]

sundress season - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: boyfriend!pedro x reader, summer vibes, sundress thirst, established relationship, pedro being feral in the softest way, outdoor teasing, indoor payoff (light dom!pedro, oral f receiving, overstimulation, possessive praise, lots of soft filth)

---

You wear it on a saturday.

A little white sundress—thin straps, low back, flirty hem, soft cotton hugging all the right places. No bra. No care. You weren’t trying to kill him, not really.

But Pedro takes one look at you and forgets how to function. He opens his mouth to say something normal—hello, good morning, anything— but what actually comes out is:

“…You wore that on purpose.”

You glance over your shoulder. Innocent. Deadly. “What, this old thing?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s always the sundresses, baby. You know what they do to me.”

You twirl once in front of the mirror, the hem floating up just enough to flash the soft curve of your thighs. Pedro mutters something that sounds like Jesus fucking Christ.

It doesn’t help that you’re out running errands together—farmer’s market, record store, little coffee shop patio. You’re glowing in the sun, skin warm, dress swaying with every step.

And Pedro?

Pedro is suffering.

His hand stays on your lower back the entire time. Protective, yes—but mostly so he doesn’t grab your ass in public. He leans down and whispers, “You’re killing me, hermosa. That dress should be illegal.” You just laugh, all sugary sweet. Then cross your legs real slow when you sit down.

By the time you get home, his jaw is tight. His restraint is gone.

The second the door closes, he turns to you, eyes dark.

“Take it off.” “Make me.”

You’re still smiling when he pushes you up against the wall, lifting the hem with both hands, eyes locked on yours.

“You wanna be a tease?” he growls, mouth hot against your neck. “Then I’ll play.”

The dress doesn’t even come all the way off. He pushes it up around your waist, drops to his knees right there on the hardwood floor, and buries his face between your thighs like he’s starving.

You moan, loud and sudden. Your fingers curl in his curls, tugging— He moans back, licking slow and deep, holding your hips like they’re his lifeline.

And when you come, shaking, voice wrecked, he doesn’t stop.

Just grins up at you, lips slick, beard wet. “You wanted attention in that dress, baby? You’ve got it.”

You whimper, knees buckling.

“Pedro—too much—”

He presses a kiss just above your clit, smirking. “Then next time, wear jeans.”

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

[josepedroo]

✦ pedro pascal — love languages headcanons

1. words of affirmation

“mi amor. my girl. my heart.”

always complimenting you. but not just your looks—your ideas, your mind, your way of existing. “the way you see the world? it’s magic, baby.”

uses pet names like they’re spells: “mi vida,” “princesa,” “baby,” “my girl.”

whispers the softest things when you’re falling asleep, like, “i hope you know how much i love you. i really do. like... dangerously much.”

if you're insecure or anxious, he talks you through it gently but firmly: “nope. we’re not doing that. you’re everything, do you hear me? everything.”

2. acts of service

“you sit pretty, i’ll handle it.”

he notices everything you need before you even ask: carrying your bag, ordering your coffee, bringing you meds when you’re on your period.

he’d 100% learn how to do your hair or help zip your dress like a pro.

if you're overwhelmed or stressed, he's the king of: “okay. you go take a bath, i’ll clean this up and we’ll watch your comfort show, deal?”

you mention once that your favorite flowers are tulips? next week he’s got a whole bouquet. “just ‘cause.”

3. receiving gifts

“i saw this and thought of you.”

not flashy, but deeply thoughtful. he gives you books with notes in the margins, playlists titled with inside jokes, or little necklaces you mentioned months ago.

randomly: “i got you something dumb. you don’t have to like it. but also i will cry if you don’t.”

every trip he takes, he brings back something that reminds him of you. once gave you a rock from the beach in chile: “it’s dumb but i held it while thinking about kissing you, sooo. it’s magic now.”

4. quality time

“you and me. that’s it.”

he craves time alone with you. doesn’t care what you're doing, as long as he gets to just be with you.

loves slow mornings—reading together, cooking eggs, your legs across his lap.

wants to do everything as a team: grocery shopping, cleaning, even just existing in silence.

if you’re apart, he calls every night. even if it’s late. “just wanted to hear your voice before bed, baby.”

his dream date is staying in, ordering takeout, and cuddling on the couch while talking about weird shit.

5. physical touch

“come here, baby girl.”

constantly touching you. hand on your waist, thigh, back of your neck. always.

kisses your forehead and nose like it’s a ritual.

sleeps tangled up in you—one leg over yours, arm around your waist, hand under your shirt.

when you're shy or quiet, he just pulls you close without a word.

if you ever flinch or get shy when he’s affectionate in public, he leans in and murmurs: “you’re mine. i want the world to know.”

sex? slow and intense. the kind where he’s whispering “you’re perfect, look at you, you’re so good for me” the whole time.

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

[josepedroo]

first date with pedro pascal ── .✦

He overthinks it. So much.

He picks the date spot carefully, making sure it’s low-key and cozy. Not too fancy, not too loud. Somewhere that feels like him. He has a full-on fashion crisis beforehand. Stares at himself in the mirror like, “Too cool? Too casual? Do I look like a man who respects therapy?” Spoiler: he looks perfect. Always does.

He’s there ten minutes early. Just pacing. Probably texting his friends: If I say something awkward, should I fake a cough and run? Be honest. They all tell him to calm down. They’re right. Because when you show up?

He forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Wow,” is all he says at first. Quiet, wide-eyed, smile slowly spreading. Then a little laugh. “You’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”

—

The vibe is easy. So easy.

Conversation flows like you’ve known each other in ten other lifetimes. He’s goofy. He makes fun of himself. Tells stories with too many side tangents. You laugh until your cheeks hurt. He watches you like you’re the main character in his favorite book.

You learn that he likes secondhand bookstores and hates olives. That he reads poetry sometimes before bed and leaves voice memos for his friends when he misses them. You tell him about your weirdest dreams, your favorite trash TV show, the dumbest lie you told as a kid. He loves all of it.

—

He brings you a tiny little gift.

It’s not flashy. He’s not trying to impress you. He just... saw something and thought of you. A tiny pin from a vintage shop. A short story. A folded page from a magazine with something beautiful on it. He hands it to you like he’s nervous you’ll think it’s dumb. You don’t. You treasure it instantly.

—

He wants to touch you. So badly. But respects every second of your space.

If your knees touch under the table, he doesn’t move away. If you brush his hand, he smiles so shy and proud. Eventually, he gets brave enough to hold your hand. When he does, his thumb immediately starts tracing little circles on your knuckles, like he’s soothing both of you at once.

—

When it’s time to leave, he walks you wherever you need to go.

To your car. To your door. He stays until he knows you’re safe. He’s buzzing with the kind of affection that feels too big to fit in his chest. He wants to kiss you so badly—but only if you want it, too.

If you do kiss him, it’s soft. Like a promise. If you don’t, he still leaves you with the warmest smile and the gentlest goodbye.

“I had the best time. Like… scary good. Can I see you again?”

—

That night, as you lay in bed replaying it all, he sends a voice note. His voice is low, a little tired, but sweet as ever.

“Hey... just wanted to say thank you. You’re kinda stuck in my head now. Hope that’s okay.”

And that’s the first of a million times he makes you feel like the only person in the world.

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

[josepedroo]

wait i’m obsessed with this

What's left in Life part 1

When you were in the darkest place of your life, you met this amazing stranger who keeps creeping back into every single thought of yours. You know what you swore to yourself, but it's hard to keep that promise. Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Warnings: slow-burn, fluff and angst, mentions of terminal illness, meet cute (kinda), quiet conversations and soft banter, smoking, no description of reader (only that she has a terminal illness and a sister), no proofreading (the warnings change with every chapter) Word count: 3.6k

You never in your life would have thought that everything could turn onto the other side in just a few weeks.

The doctor’s voice still rang in your ear as he said out those awful words under the fluorescent lights and white walls. Terminal illness. Not more than a few months. I’m sorry. No cure. We can manage it with medicines. The whole thing was like a very bad joke, like a nightmare. You would wake up one day in sweat and realize that it was just a dream, that you could go on with your life like nothing happened.

Except it was real. And there wasn’t anything that could help you.

So, you did what you always wanted to.

You bought a little apartment above a record store in Los Angeles with your sister’s help. If you didn’t have any time left, at least you would be living in your dream place with the dream view.

You were sitting on the edge of the rooftop, camera in hand, and you were looking into the soft orange rays of the sun as it was descending into the horizon. Taking photos was one of your hobbies that got you through everything, and now you sure had tons of pictures of sunsets and sunrises, people walking on the street, the little café on the corner that always welcomed you with open arms.

The wind was blowing softly against your cheek, but it was a calming feeling. Like it was trying to say that everything is going to turn out okay, and deep down you were still hoping it would.

How strange that one day you are sitting next to your sister in a café, listening as she excitedly tells you that she is going to marry the love of her life in just a few months, and in the next you are crying in the comfort of your old home, curtains closed, the darkness swallowing you, just like your thoughts and your feelings.

A sharp sound tugged you out of your head, and as you looked to the side you saw a raven sitting just a few feet away from you, its wings spread like it was trying to fight against the wind.

“Well, aren’t you a hell of a reminder?” you muttered under your breath and let out a heavy sigh. The camera was placed beside you on the concrete with a soft sound, and you reached into your pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You have never smoked in your whole life. You were sick by even the smell of it, but now that you experienced that life’s too short? If you’ll die, why not make it a little faster?

As you put the cigarette to your lips, and brought the fire under it, another sound—this time from behind you—startled you, and you watched as the little roll slipped between your fingers and fell to the street below you.

“What the hell?” your head snapped back to see the source of the sound, and your eyes stopped on the most interesting man you’ve ever seen. He was standing in the doorway that led to the rooftop, hand resting on the thick metal door. His eyes searched the roof, and when it landed on you his expression turned a little surprised and amused. Well, he definitely doesn’t see women sitting on the edge of a building every day.

He was wearing a grey t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, white shorts with a matching white sneaker. When your eyes fell onto his face, you saw every little detail of him. The beard that was covering his jaw—patchy in some places—the warmest look in his eyes and the messy curls on top of his head that was flying in different directions due to the wind.

“Jesus, man,” you called out, your voice slightly strained. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he asked back, and took a step closer to you, the door slamming shut behind him with a loud noise. You looked at him with a frustrated expression, putting the lighter into your back pocket.

“Photographing, enjoying life,” a soft and bitter laugh left your lips at your answer. Enjoying life, really? “Now, back to my question.”

“Uhm, it’s not that important,” he was now standing next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You were looking up at him, and with a simple gesture, you pointed beside you in an attempt to make him sit. Otherwise, your neck would have cramped even more than it already did.

He accepted your invitation, and lowered himself with a soft groan, legs dangling from the edge. For a few seconds neither of you said anything, you just enjoyed each other’s company and the sound of the passing cars below you.

“Now really, why are you here?”

“Let’s assume that I came to water one of my best friend’s plants and…” he looked at his hands that were resting in his laps sheepishly. “Maybe I locked myself out.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, that was surely not what you expected, but it would do. But as you looked at his face, you couldn’t stop the little chuckle that left your throat, even though you tried to stop it.

“Yeah, okay, I know. It’s really funny,” his cheeks turned into a soft pink shade. “Can we please not talk about it?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you made a gesture of zipping your mouth, locking it and throwing away the key.

“I’m Pedro, by the way,” his hand is held out in front of you, and your eyes linger on it for a second. Should you take it? What if he wants to throw you down the building? He is still a stranger; you don’t know his intentions. But as you were thinking about it, your hand moved without you even noticing it. His larger one enveloped yours, the warm immediately seeping into your skin, into your bones.

“Nice to meet you.”

He held your hand for longer than necessary, and it was you who broke this little spell that fell over the both of you. He cleared his throat, and the hand that was holding onto yours fell to the back of his neck. Meanwhile, you reached for another roll of cigarette.

“Would you like one?” his eyes fell on you at your question, and you held up the cigarette so he could see it better.

“Actually, I try to stop, and usually I chew on gums instead, but one roll couldn’t hurt,” you dug into the pack for another one, and gave it to him. His fingers brushed against yours, and a shiver ran through your body, but not at the feeling of the wind or the cold.

“Yeah, the good old ‘I try to stop’ speech,” you lighted your cigarette, and passed the lighter to him. “Everyone says that.”

“Hm. You must know then.”

“Actually, I just started it,” you took a long drag of the roll of tobacco, the bitter feeling of the smoke traveling down your throat and spreading in your lungs.

“Then you’ll have plenty of time in your life to give that speech too.”

You didn’t answer. How could you? How could you explain it to him that you have only a few months to live, and not years or even decades? How could you explain the constant fatigue that you feel in the mornings, the constant pain radiating through every part of your body, making every single movement unbearable? How could you give him an insight into your thoughts, into your feelings? Yeah, you’ll have plenty of time. In the next few months.

“So, you live here or…?”

“Yeah, moved in just a few weeks ago,” you answered him, and exhaled the smoke into the air, the wind blowing it away easily. “It was my dream.”

“Was it hard?” he asked, as he took a drag of the cigarette. For a moment you didn’t understand what he was talking about—too absorbed in the skyline laying in front of you—so you looked at him with a questioning look. “I mean the moving. And getting used to the new neighbours.”

“I’m still getting used to it, but it’s easier than I thought it would be.”

“Happy to hear that. This neighbourhood can be overwhelming sometimes,” he put out the cigarette, and threw it aside. “I also lived here some point of my life. It was quite good,” he looked in front of him, and you saw how he got absorbed in his memories.

The sun was now replaced by the moon on the sky, scattered stars glowing around it. The city was now buried in darkness; the only source of light was the tall lamps and the soft glows of the signs above the shops and restaurants. Everything was calm, young people heading to a party or a bar, couples holding onto each other while they were on the way to a date, elderly ones walking their dogs in slow pace.

And here were you, sitting on the rooftop with a stranger, smoking cigarette in complete silence.

Your life couldn’t turn any more pathetic.

“Shit,” your eyes fell on him as he quickly stood up after he took a glance at his watch, straightening his shirt and pants. “I should go. Thank you for the little conversation and for the cigarette.”

“You owe me one, you know?”

“What?”

“I dropped my cigarette when you basically broke through the door, so you owe me one,” you smiled at him softly, and he shook his head in disbelief with his hands resting on his hips.

“For my defence, the door was stuck.”

“Yeah, good one,” you stood up as well, gathering your things in your hand.

He was standing a few feet from you, studying your stance, your every movement. When you caught him looking, he lowered his gaze to the ground, and his hand flew to his neck again. Walking backwards he nearly fell over a wooden board that was laying on the ground, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“Good night, Pedro.”

“Good night,” he threw the door open, and disappeared behind it, leaving you standing alone on the roof. You let out a breath that you weren’t even aware that you were holding in, and you looked to the skyline of the city.

Yeah, life was strange.

How would it send the most amazing human being into your way when you need reassurance the most? Because no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was a stranger, you felt an unexplainable attraction between you.

But you didn’t want this. You swore to yourself that you didn’t want any relationship, that you didn’t want anyone close to you, this way there wouldn’t be people that were going to get hurt in the process of you dying. In the process of becoming weaker, becoming more tired, losing your appetite, your body failing you.

When you were a child, you always dreamt of getting married, of starting a family. You wanted to find the man that was going to treat you the way you deserve, helping you, standing beside you in everything. The picture of a little house in the countryside, two children running in the garden yelling to each other as you are chasing behind them while your husband is mowing the lawn. But it all fell into tiny little pieces scattered on the ground the moment the doctor told you the bad news.

You weren’t even sure if you could be there at your own sister’s wedding.

You took the camera in hand and took a picture of the city with the moon watching over it. With a sigh you went to the metal door, and opened it, leaving behind the rooftop, the beautiful view and the memory of Pedro sitting beside you with a flustered expression.

That night sleep didn’t come easy, but in the last few weeks you got used to rolling around in bed, throwing your blanket to the side, being awake at 3 a.m. thinking about all the things you still wanted to do before everything ends. But this night beside these things there was something else too. Or someone.

Pedro.

His warm smile, his soft brown orbs, the messy curls of hair, his charm, everything about him was haunting you. It got burned into your mind, and you couldn’t seem to be able to forget him. But you were sure he already did. He doesn’t have time for people like you. Another burden beside the others.

So, you weren’t hoping for anything. Not even for a friendship.

You closed your eyes with a soft sigh, letting the glow of the moon creep into the room. Moments later you were on your side, deep in your sleep, dreaming about a life that could never be. And in those dreams?

A pair of beautiful brown orbs were staring into your soul with understanding.

—-—

“Jesus Christ,” your groan was muffled by the soft cushion of your pillow as you tried to stop the alarm clock on your phone. When you couldn’t find your phone for the third time, you looked up from your place, but you were blinded by the sun that was streaming into the room.

Turning onto your back, you looked up at the ceiling, your hands flying to your face. Another day, even more things to do. But at least you were still alive.

Waking up was definitely not the easiest part of the day. Your back hurt from trashing around during the night, your neck was cramping even though the pillow under your head was the softest you could find in the shop, and your limbs felt like they were being punched with a hundred needles at the same time.

You got out of the bed with a loud creak from your knees, and you groaned at the feeling. At least your legs still worked.

—-—

Walking down the street you quickly realized that maybe you shouldn’t have put on a sweater, the sweat running down your temples, your neck and your whole body. Everyone was either wearing tank tops or t-shirts, but this was the last of your worries. You worried about being late to that little old bookshop where you promised to help out with the books.

Passing by couples on the street who were making out, a tall businessman who was walking too urgently, women whose only problem was the bad smell beside the pavement, you tried not to react to any of that.

The little bookstore came into your view, the flowers outside framing the battered books laying outside in boxes.

“Mrs. Hayden,” your voice echoed as you stepped inside the little building, the smell of the old books creeping into your nostrils.

“Oh, my dear,” the old lady came up to you from the back of the shop, her silver hair shining in the dim lighting. Her movements were slow, but she was in front of you in just a few seconds. “I thought you won’t come.”

“I’m sorry about that. Just a bit rougher morning than usual,” your tone was apologetic, and she nodded like she understood you.

Mrs. Hayden was the only one beside your close friends and family who knew about your condition. When you told her one day, you didn’t see pity in her eyes, and you were grateful for that. You didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for you.

“There is already a handsome man here. He said he was just looking around, but could you see if he needs any help?”

“Of course, Mrs. Hayden,” you smiled at her, and started walking towards the shelves when she called after you.

“Dear, just call me Lucy.”

You nodded, and she turned away, walking to the back again. Looking around the stacks of books, you tried to find this ‘handsome’ man.

You heard a sharp sound followed by a chain of soft curse words coming from somewhere close to you, and you walked towards the source, but stopped in your tracks when you saw the same man from yesterday. Only difference that he was now wearing a brown sweater with black slacks and glasses perched on his nose.

He was crouching on the ground, trying to pick up some books that he knocked over, but when he heard your footsteps, he looked up, and your eyes met.

“First, you’re almost tearing down the door, and now throwing books to the ground?”

“Hey, they were in the way.”

“Yeah, just like the door, huh?” you smirked at him, your eyebrows raising. Pedro rolled his eyes softly, but a small smile was playing in the corner of his mouth too. Placing the books back in its place, he stood up and looked at you. For a moment his gaze flickered down to your body, but you tried to ignore it.

“So, you are looking for something specific or…?”

“Wait, you work here?” his tone was surprised, but his face remained calm.

“Sort of,” you watched as he nodded in understanding, a lock of brown hair falling over his eyes. Pedro looked around again, the shelves full of books reaching the ceiling, the weathered rugs on the floor hiding the old floorboards beneath it.

“I’m just looking around. Saw this little shop and thought why not visit it one day?”

“Well, I can recommend you a few books if you’d like, although I’m not sure you’ll like them,” he looked straight into your eyes, and you felt the familiar feeling of a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“That would be amazing.”

“Alright. How do you stand with Orwell?” your voice was low as you looked around, trying to find the books you were talking about.

“I was thinking about reading things from him, but didn’t really have the time yet,” as he finished his sentence, you held a book in front of him, the cover only showing a number. 1984.

“A bit heavy topic, but I think it’s good.”

Your voices were low as the conversation started about books, and the stack in his hands became larger and larger with every classic you loved. Gone with the Wind. The Great Gatsby. Animal Farm. To Kill a Mockingbird.

“So, these are all of it. You can choose from them, read the back, see which one picks your interest,” you tried to walk away, but he followed you while balancing the stack between his palms.

“I’ll take all,” you spun around, and looked at him with wide eyes. “What? You said they’re good.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were going to pick out those that you like.”

“Can I pay for them?” you nodded and gestured him to follow you to the desk in the front. Your footsteps were muffled by the rugs under your feet, but you felt his presence behind you, his eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. You slipped behind the old counter and started to write down the books and the prices on a paper.

“Would it be too inappropriate if asked for your number now?” you looked up at him and saw the sheepish smile spreading across his face. God, his smile was beautiful.

“I guess I could give it to you,” you were watching as Pedro’s eyes shined up with excitement, and you ripped a little part of the paper that was laying in front of you on the counter. Slipping it between the pages of a worn copy of the Metamorphosis, you placed it before him with the other books too. He placed the money on the table, exactly the price of all of it, and he smiled at you again.

“Thank you. Next time I swear I won’t barge through doors or knock over anything.”

“You better not,” he was laughing as he left the shop, and you looked after him with a studying gaze. Your eyes flickered to his broad shoulders and back, his arms flexing as he carried the books. Travelling down his body you had to realize that he surely went to the gym more times than you’ve seen one. Jesus, his body was beautiful too. And his backside—

“Well, he’s hell of a lucky man for sure,” Mrs. Hayden showed up behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You saw the look in his eyes?”

“What? What look?”

“Oh, dear. He likes you; I can see it. I have eyes for these kinds of things.”

“No, that’s not possible. We just met yesterday,” you tried to think about what she said, but it was really hard.

“Hm. Doesn’t matter,” she turned to walk between the shelves, but she stopped in her tracks and looked back at you with a mischievous smile and glint in her eyes.

“By the way, did you see his ass?”

“Mrs. Hayden,” your voice was raised with disbelief, but a hint of amusement was playing on your face.

“What? I’m a woman after all. And it was pretty hard to look away. The curve of it? I wish I had something like that when I was younger.”

“Jesus,” a blush spread on your cheeks at the memory of him. She wasn’t exactly wrong, but still. What the hell was going on with you? “Do I have to listen to this?”

“My dear, all I'm trying to say is that if you give up on him, I swear I’ll come and take him instead.”

“Alright, that’s enough. I’ll go and work instead,” you heard her soft chuckle as she disappeared behind the shelves, and you shook your head in disbelief. She was old enough to be your grandmother; it was too surreal that she was thirsting over a man who was old enough to be her son.

But you had to admit, he really had a great ass.

Taglist: @mani-pedro @glitterspark @mystickittytaco @little--spring

[josepedroo]

Give and Take

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Apparently, your IUD failed when your then ex-husband fucked you against your bathroom sink. Luckily for you, when you tell him the news, he fucks you again to make sure it sticks.

W.C: ~6.6k

TL;DR: check for your iud strings, y’all.

Warnings: ex-ex!joel x ex-ex!reader (y'all are fine now), sarah cameo, domestic life, sappy shit, joel is a tits man, breeding kink obvs, softdom!joel, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex. reader gets called ‘mama’ while they’re doing it. (no outbreak!)

Note: second part of beck and call to appease the horde !! happy late father’s day to this guy

Part One | Part Two

You didn’t intend on falling asleep beside your ex-husband when you invited him over to fix your broken sink.

And you definitely didn’t intend on waking up in his arms, either.

Yet, there you were, tangled together in the worn mattress of your queen-sized bed. His right arm was folded below his head. His left was slung over your waist, holding you close to him as your head rested on his firm chest.

His heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Like a wordless promise to you that he was there. That last night, whatever it was, meant something.

Growl.

You froze.

Even more insistent, groooowl.

Apparently, there were three people in your bed: you, Joel, and your appetite.

As carefully as you could, you freed yourself from Joel’s embrace. He frowned, grunted petulantly in protest, and muttered your name in his sleep, before turning on his side. 

And then, you pulled on a ratty old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts before quietly making your way downstairs, careful to avoid the second-to-the-last step of the staircase that always creaked.

The kitchen was still bathed in the golden glow of the early morning, light filtering in through the blinds in soft stripes. You padded across the cold floor and got to work.

Coffee, first. Then, as the machine did its job, eggs.

Eggs for two, just like before.

You stared down at the sizzling pan as if you were waiting for it to answer the question you were too scared to ask.

What now?

Because last night, Joel told you he still loved you. 

Because you had kissed him, and he kissed you back, and he made love to you in your bathroom, of all places. 

Because, instead of kicking him out, you pulled him to your bed and slept in his arms. 

Because this morning, you wanted everything back. You wanted him back.

You rubbed your hand down your face and gave the eggs a stir. And then you turned toward the staircase at the muffled sound of soft, sleepy footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

Joel appeared by the doorway, hair dishevelled from sleep, gloriously shirtless, eyes half-lidded and tender.

“You makin’ us breakfast?” He said, voice low and slightly raspy.

“No, all this is just for me. But I’m sure the McDonald’s a few blocks down is open if you’re hungry.” You deadpanned, smiling to yourself and returning your attention to the eggs.

“Ha-ha.” Joel hummed sleepily and ventured nearer.

The two of you fell into what had been your daily routine. Joel fished out two mugs from the cabinet above the dishwasher and finished the coffee (milk and sugar for yours, black for him), right as you scraped the eggs off the pan onto two plates.

And, there you were, sitting across the kitchen table from the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“So.” You poked at your eggs with your fork.

“So,” Joel echoed, glancing up at you as he brought his mug to his lips.

“Are we gonna … talk about it?” 

Joel blinked, then set his mug down. “What, last night?”

“Yeah. Last night.” You pushed around a clump of your breakfast. 

“What about it?” His brows furrowed.

“Did you mean it?”

Your mind flashed with his sweet nothings. His confessions of longing and love and all else. 

Joel’s gaze softened. “Every word.”

“Okay.” Your heart felt a little lighter. “Well, then, I’d like for us to try again.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that, very much, baby.” 

“Okay,” You said again, smiling right back at him.

“Okay.” He repeated, reaching across the table for your hand, softly lacing your fingers together.

And at that moment, you wanted to thank the stars above and the ineffable mercy of the universe for giving you a second chance. 

For letting you find your way back to him, and him to you.

You shook your head, laughing. “My lawyer’s gonna have a field day.”

“You think you’ll get a refund?” He raised an eyebrow, lips pulling into a grin.

“Nope.” You clicked your tongue. “Maybe I’ll get my next divorce half-off, though.”

Joel chuckled and looked at you with this quiet, reverent warmth floating in the richness of his dark brown eyes that said he was falling deeper in love with you all over again.

Because he was. And, god help him, he didn’t remember how not to be.

Scooping the last of his eggs off his plate, he then pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He walked by you to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “And then… well, we can sort the rest of this out.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

He then shot you a quick wink, and you watched as he disappeared up the stairs, basking in the afterglow of his lips still tingling on your scalp.

And the house went quiet, save for the occasional creak of the pipes and faint sound of running water from the upstairs ensuite.

You stared down into your coffee.

It was still slightly hard to process the dramatic turn of events hurled very suddenly toward you at full force. Just last week, you were negotiating which major holidays you’d get to spend with Sarah (no, Joel could not get Christmas in exchange for St Patrick’s Day—when in your life have you all celebrated St Patrick’s Day?), and now you were very eagerly ‘trying again’.

Not that you were complaining.

You’d try again a hundred more times if that were what it took to be with him again.

Smiling like an idiot, you rose from your chair and collected your plate in your hands, reaching over to stack it on top of Joel’s.

And, at that exact moment, the front door swung open, and a voice called:

“Mom? I’m home!”

You froze in place.

A few seconds later, your twelve-year-old daughter strolled into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, mom.” She passed you a weary smile, setting down her duffel bag on the table.

“Sarah! You’re home early.” You breathed, voice an octave higher and excessively bright. “I thought your grandparents were still keeping you hostage at the lake house.”

“Yeah, well, Papa threw his back out trying to reel in a muskie.” She rolled her eyes, then walked over to the fridge to pull out a Capri-Sun. “Grandma had to drive us home so he could get checked out quickly. Nagged him the whole way back ‘cause her license expired back when I was still teething, apparently.”

You forced an overly responsive laugh.

It sounded less like a laugh and more like a startled cough that got lost halfway through a choke.

Sarah arched a brow, stabbing into the juice pack. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, bug.” You shook your head, glancing at the staircase. 

“Okay.” Sarah dragged out the syllables, eyeing you over suspiciously. “How was your date yesterday?”

You choked. “Fine.” 

And that was when Sarah’s eyes landed on the two plates you were holding tightly to your chest. Then they moved over to the two mugs sitting opposite each other on the table. And then, over to the pan on the stove littered with fresh egg residue.

“Right.” She made a face, then trudged over to sling her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see myself out until your guy leaves.”

“Sarah–”

“It’s fine.” She marched back toward the entryway. “I’ll go play outside, for once, or something. Aren’t you always saying that I should do that?”

Should you tell her?

You pressed your lips together, watching her shove her feet back in her worn Converse. “Sarah, would you stop for a second?”

Yeah, you should probably tell her that her dad’s ‘the guy’ upstairs.

Sarah bent down to tie her laces. “Mom, I don’t want to be traumatised by—”

And then her eyes widened.

She straightened up and shot you a look that was some amalgamation of disbelief and extreme confusion, nodding towards the welcome mat.

“Are those…dad’s boots?”

Shit.

To make matters worse, apparently, amidst all the kerfuffle, you had failed to notice that the shower had stopped running a good few minutes ago. And, right after Sarah’s astute observation, Joel descended the stairs. Hair slightly wet and wearing the flannel from yesterday evening.

“Good news, sweetheart, your sink’s  still busted, but your shower’s—Sarah?”  

The colour drained from his face.

“Dad?” She gaped back at him.

And suddenly, you somehow found yourself locked in what appeared to be a modern-day Western Standoff, except, instead of the threat of gunfire, there was the threat of someone saying something to make this situation even more unbearable.

For a good few seconds, there was absolute stillness.

No one moved. No one spoke. A bird chirped from somewhere outside, completely unaware of the domestic chaos unravelling within the house.

Ultimately, Joel decided to break the silence.

“Hey, kiddo.” He said casually, attempting a relaxed smile. “What are you … doin’ here?”

You held yourself back from facepalming into an early death.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “How long have you been here?”

Joel looked at you. You looked at Joel. Joel looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at you. Everyone looked at the boots.

“Not long.” You cleared your throat. “My sink was broken. Your dad was just helping me. With my sink.”

Smooth.

“So, you called him at eight in the morning and he took a shower in your bathroom?” Sarah said slowly.

“Well, you know your father. Always up at the crack of dawn.” You breathed, trying to sound breezy. Your voice was nothing of the sort.

“Just can’t help it.” Joel nodded.

Sarah blinked once.

Then twice.

And then looked between the two of you, wholly unconvinced, crossing her arms and somehow adopting the role of higher authority in this predicament.

“You two are being weird.” Was her final verdict.

You sighed and glanced at Joel before turning toward your daughter.

“Look,” You began, gently stepping toward her. “This is new. Like, very new. But … your dad and I are just figuring things out.”

“As in,” Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re un-divorced?”

“Not really a word, pumpkin.” Joel offered helpfully. “But we’re back together, yes.”

He caught your eye and gave you a small, reassuring smile.

Sarah’s expression softened.

“Jeez. I’m gone for three days, and this is what I miss?” She shook her head and waltzed back inside, past you and Joel, toward the stairs. Before she could set foot on the bottom step, she paused and faced the two of you. “I’m glad you two are whatever you are, but can we talk about this after I’ve taken a nap?”

Joel let out a huff of laughter. “Go and get some shut-eye, pumpkin.”

Sarah shrugged, already halfway up. “Cool. Just, like … warn me next time, maybe. I don’t wanna see things I can’t unsee.”

Your face heated. “Sarah!” 

“What?” She called over her shoulder. “It would be extremely harmful to my development!”

And with that, she headed upstairs.

You turned toward Joel, wincing. “Think that could’ve gone better?”

Joel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. 

“Probably.” He sighed. “But, at least that’s over with. Telling our kid, I mean.”

“Right. Next up is telling family.” A shudder ran through your spine.

Joel smiled softly and beckoned you closer with a curl of his finger.

You acquiesced, moving to stand right in front of him. His hands immediately settled on your hips, softly caressing whatever exposed skin his thumbs found.

“We don’t have to tell everyone just yet, if you’re scared, baby.” He said, voice low and sweet and reassuring, his eyes holding yours like a lifeline.

“I want to.” You placed your hands on his chest, fingers fanning out and feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them. “Just … not how we told Sarah.”

“Agreed.” Joel leaned forward to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes as he did so.

You felt yourself smile.

“Next time I stay over, I’ll hide the evidence,” Joel mumbled.

“Stay over?” You pulled back to look up at him.

Joel looked back at you quizzically, a wrinkle making itself known in between his eyebrows.

“Yeah…?” He blinked. “We … well, we aren’t embracin’ some form of celibacy, are we?”

“No, I mean—I thought you were gonna move back in. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” You inhaled, suddenly feeling your chest tighten. “Or, not. You know, it’s a very big thing, and I’d completely understand if you wanted to keep living in your apartment. I’m just offering it since, you know, we’re working things out and maybe it’d be easier to share a single … living space. Eventually. Not, like, tomorrow. Unless you want—”

Joel smiled. “Baby?”

You winced. “Uh-huh?”

“You’re ramblin’.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel hummed fondly, bringing a hand up to trace his thumb along your lower lip. “‘Course I’ll move back in.” He then pulled you into him, wrapping an arm around your waist, and kissing you like it settled the matter.

Your lips moved slowly against his, savouring the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of his body against yours.

Before you knew it, he spun you around so that your back hit the wall, all but caging you in against it.

A breathless gasp slipped from your mouth, so he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and—

“Seriously? I leave you two alone for one second.”

You both tore yourselves apart like you were struck by lightning, finding your daughter shaking her head at you.

“Came down to get my bag.” Sarah coughed, holding up her duffel.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Joel ran a hand through his hair.

“Gross.” She muttered under her breath, retreating back to her room.

You held back a laugh, returning your attention to Joel and trailing a hand down his impossibly broad chest.

“You wanna … take this somewhere else, big guy?” You tilted your head, a certain glint of mischievousness dancing in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and a smirk carved through his scruff. Right when he opened his mouth to respond to your suggestion, however, an exasperated grunt echoed down the stairs:

“I can still hear you!”

You both burst into laughter.

It had been a few weeks since you and Joel decided to get back together—a very good few weeks, at that. 

Life seemed to fall into place perfectly.

Joel moved back in, you two were attending Sarah’s soccer matches at the same time, and nothing at all was going wrong.

Until it all went wrong.

“Dad,” You balanced the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you wiped down your bathroom mirror, already regretting your choice to heavy-clean your ensuite on your day off from work. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll pop out one of your hip replacements or something? 

“It’s just fishing. Besides, why have a lakehouse if you can’t even use it this often?”

“The doctor said—”

A hearty chuckle sounded from the other line.

“Peanut, you sound just like your mother. The doctor can say all she wants, but nothing gives her the right to dictate my life!”

“No, no, just a fancy little medical degree.” You grumbled, rubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge in the glass.

“You only live once.” Was his fortified argument.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, opting to let out a long sigh instead. 

Evidently, he heard it.

“I’m fine. Really.” Your dad insisted. “In fact, better than fine. Reeled in quite the catch yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” You said distractedly, spritzing the mirror with more glass cleaner.

“Oh yeah.” Your dad parroted, a big, proud grin in his voice. “Caught myself a whopper yesterday—a big ol’ largemouth bass that fought me tooth and nail. Then there was that sneaky little crappie hiding under the dock. Darn slippery fella. Literally. Almost slipped right through my hands. Oh, and don’t get me started on the catfish. Little guy had the longest whiskers I’d seen, too.”

You tried to focus, but your stomach twisted with a sudden sharpness. You set the rag and glass cleaner bottle down.

“Dad, hold on—” You started, but he wasn’t done.

“Had to wrestle that sucker outta the mud, muddy as all get-out, slime glistening in the sun, gills flapping like a crazy bird. It was a damn enthusiastic fighter. I swear, Peanut, if I weren’t as strong as I am, I would’ve lost.”

Your vision blurred a little, and your hand flew up to your mouth.

“Dad, wait, hold on—”

Before you could say anything else, your stomach flipped violently, and you dashed to kneel in front of the toilet, dropping your phone as you felt yourself give way to what had been your breakfast.

The sound of your dad’s voice echoed faintly over the phone. “You alright, darlin’?”

Holding yourself up with an iron grip on the toilet seat, you let out a long breath.

Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again.

“Yeah, just—can I call you back, Dad?” You managed, slowly reaching for your phone.

“‘Course. I'd better get back to the lake, anyway. Give Porn Stache and my little Sarah-Banana my love.”

“He has a name, Dad.” You smiled weakly.

“He’s gotta earn it back after the divorce.”

“We’re not divorced anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

And, with the routine exchange of ‘I-love-you’s, you ended the call, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head hang above the toilet bowl.

This wasn’t normal.

‘This’ being, spontaneously hurling your guts out without preamble or provocation. And people don’t just throw up for fun.

A tiny, traitorous voice elbowed its way to the front of your mind. Unless…

No.

No, you couldn’t be. There was no need to panic; you had an IUD.

Sitting yourself on the toilet seat, you very ungracefully spread your legs and felt your way up your walls.

No strings. No IUD. 

Maybe there was a need to panic.

You sighed, angling your head up at the ceiling. There was only one way to test the very realistic hypothesis you didn’t dare say, let alone think, aloud.

So, you cleaned yourself up, grabbed your car keys, and headed to the nearest drug store.

When Joel came home a few hours later, you were already waiting for him at the kitchen table.

He stepped through the doorway, boots heavy against the hardwood, and froze mid-step upon seeing you there. Because you were stone-faced, worrying your lower lip with your upper teeth, and clasping your hands over the table like you always did when you had to get something off your chest.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

He tentatively neared you.

You didn’t answer. Not right away. You hadn’t exactly prepared a speech in all the hours you had before Joel ended work.

“Baby, you’re scarin’ me.” He whispered, taking another step.

And then, he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Don’t get mad.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Now, why would I get mad?” A delicate kiss to your left wrist.

“Because…”

You took a breath. No sense in sugarcoating this.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slipped out like they didn’t belong to you.

Understandably, Joel’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated, slowly, voice barely surpassing that of a whisper.

You nodded and pulled away to reach to the side, pulling a little brown bag from the drugstore onto the table and tipping it over. Three sticks clattered out.

All positive.

“Before you say anything,” You hugged yourself, watching as Joel’s mind buffered. “Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I thought I had an IUD. Apparently, it fell out. No, I didn’t know before today.”

Joel was still oddly quiet.

Your heart violently pounded against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

“Say something.” You whispered. “Please.��

“I don’t quite know what to say.” Joel shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Anything. Say anything.” You braced yourself for the worst.

“I mean, I’m thrilled—”

What?

“You’re thrilled?” You echoed, not entirely convinced.

“Yeah, fuck, sweetheart. I am. Thrilled, but awfully caught off-guard.” Joel ran a hand down his face.

A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth, and he leaned slightly back on his heels.

“I mean, one minute I’m patchin’ drywall in someone’s guest bathroom, and the next, you’re tellin’ me I’m gonna be a dad again.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, but the big smile growing on his face told you that there was no trace of fear or devastation at all in his voice.

You blinked.

“So… you’re okay with this?”

Joel’s smile widened.

“I love you, baby. ‘Case that weren’t clear enough.” He took your hands in his again, your fingers dwarfed in his big calloused palms. He squeezed your hands gently in a wordless reassurance. “And, I’ve already been fortunate enough to have one incredible kid with you. The thought of doin’ it again … well, that ain’t somethin’ I’d complain about in a million years.”

You were speechless for a moment, lost in the magnetic pull of his impossibly warm, sincere eyes.

God, you loved him.

“This was not how I thought this conversation would go.” You admitted.

“You really thought I’d run for the hills?” Joel chuckled, shoulders bobbing.

“Fifty-fifty.”

He grinned even wider, the wrinkles creasing the edges of his eyes disappearing.

Then, he opened his mouth to say something. And then, apparently, decided against it, pressing his lips together. 

You tilted your head to the side. “What is it?”

Joel shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating again.

“Ah shit,” He eventually muttered. “I was hopin’ to make this a little more special.”

“Make what more special?” You arched a brow.

“Stay right there, sweetheart, don’t you move.”

Before you could ask another question, Joel turned on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen. Judging by the quick, dull thuds ascending the stairs, he had run off to the second floor.

You sat there, stunned.

A full minute passed. Then two. The faint sounds of drawers opening and shutting drifted down the stairs. Almost a ruckus enough to drown out a muffled string of quiet curses. 

It didn’t take long for Joel to return after that.

And when he did, he held his hands behind his back and smiled brightly.

“Joel, what are you…?” You laughed.

But the breath from your lungs was stolen for you when he slowly knelt in front of you, revealing what he was looking for upstairs.

Small. Silver. Studded with a single shining diamond. Princess-cut, of course, you picked it out yourself.

“Is that…?” You whispered, covering your mouth with your hands.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah, it is.”

You shook your head slowly. “You were supposed to sell it.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He gave you a sheepish little look. “Y’know, for safekeepin’.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your eyes kept flicking between his face and the ring.

Your ring.

“Are you … proposing again?”

“Is it that obvious?” He raised his eyebrows, gasping slightly theatrically.

You lightly smacked his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but failed to disguise the wide beam forming on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” Joel interrupted softly. “I want to.”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself and glancing down at the ring in his hands.

“I was gonna wait a little while longer ‘til I did this again. Let things settle, maybe find the right moment. But, well, I feel like this is the right moment.”

And he looked up at you.

And, seeing the tenderness on his face, you already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked yet.

“I love you. And I am dead-set on doin’ things right, this time around. I’ll take out the trash more, cook on weeknights, hell—I’ll even go to those damn parent-teacher meetings. Long as I get to be with you again. Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I ain’t lettin’ you go this time.”

You blinked fast, attempting to overcome the emotion swelling in your chest and threatening to leak out of your eyes.

“Meant what I said that night,” Joel murmured, bringing your knuckles against his lips, eyes still holding onto yours. “You’re it for me. You’re everything. Always will be.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders softening as he held your gaze.

“So.” He cracked a shy little smile. “If it weren’t clear enough until now, I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me. And I’ll spend every last breath I have lovin’ you like you deserve. And you deserve far more than I can give, but I’m willing to try my damndest, anyway.”

Joel raised the ring, the jewel catching the fluorescent lights of the overhead lighting and shimmering softly.

“So … will you marry me, sweetheart?” He asked, voice low and vulnerable and hopeful. And then, he added through a light laugh, “...again?”

His eyes held yours as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. An entirely fitting simile, because the truth of the matter was that you were his world. And such a fact was written plainly in every line of his face, in how he wore every piece of his heart in his eyes.

You didn’t give him an answer.

Instead, you leaned forward, cupped his jaw with trembling fingers, and kissed him.

You pressed all the feelings you had accumulated over the past day onto his lips. Fear, wholeness, but most potently—love.

And Joel gave the latter and more back to you, curling a hand into your hair and holding you against him, his brows furrowed.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips.

Breathless, he asked, “That a yes?”

“What do you fucking think?” You outstretched your left hand.

“Just checkin’.” He grinned, gently took your hand, and slid the ring onto your ring finger. It fit just as perfectly as the first time.

Joel turned your hand slightly, admiring the way the diamond glinted, how it sat there like it had never left. 

“Looks real good on you,” He murmured, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. 

Your heart was full and thudding as you stared down at it. And then at him.

“Always did.”

Through a love-drunk smile, he slurred, “is that right?”

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time, but just as deep. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, the other still holding yours, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world vanished.

You were so lost in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice how Joel’s jeans grew tighter, giving way to a hardness in his lap caused by the sensation of your body against his.

However, you did notice how Joel snaked his big hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the table.

You gasped against his lips. “What—?”

Urgently, “Where’s Sarah?”

“Sleeping over at a friend’s house. Why?”

You pulled away just enough to catch the almost depraved grin that split his mouth, heightened by a certain dark glint in his half-lidded stare.

Almost too casually, almost as if it was incredibly obvious, Joel replied, “Gonna make sure it sticks, baby.” 

And he pushed you down, causing you to lie flat on your back, a half-baked protest swallowed by his mouth and dying on your tongue. Or rather, his.

He hitched your shirt up, up, up, until the fabric gathered just below your collarbone.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Joel tutted. “Need to show these tits some love before I gotta share ‘em.”

Well, fuck.

With that, he trailed a messy line of kisses down to your sternum, nipped at the peak of your right tit like he just couldn’t help himself, and closed his mouth around your nipple.

You gasped, a hand clinging to his messy curls, holding him to you as he took and took.

He alternated between swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and sucking it into his mouth, brows knitted as if he couldn’t decide whether pleasure was pain or salvation.

And it wasn’t long before he gave the same amount of attention to your other tit, moaning against your tender skin in desperate need, unable to get enough of you.

You were practically drowning in a pool of your own arousal from Joel’s ministrations, feeling a demanding wetness grow in your underwear by the second.

If he didn’t touch you there, you were very sure you’d—

But your hazy mind was robbed of finishing that thought when Joel came off your tits with a wet pop, leaving a light sheen across your cleavage, and dipped his fingers under the waistband of your sweats.

With an impatient yank, he pulled them down, revealing the dampened seat of your panties. An airy curse left his lips.

“Can I—?” He breathed.

“Yes.” You nodded, instantly.

Feverishly, he shredded the material in half with eager hands, leaving the halves to hang loosely on your hips.

A low growl escaped from his throat.

You were drooling for him, puffy folds glistening with your wetness and beckoning him to indulge himself in the most irresistible of temptations.

And Joel was nothing if not a sinner.

“Fuck that’s pretty.” He sighed. “Need me that badly, huh?”

You whined restlessly in response.

Taking such a noise as assent, Joel easily slid a thick finger into your crying mound, stroking your pulsing walls.

He gave no time for acclimatisation and, shortly after, sunk a second finger alongside the first, curling both again and again and reaching that spot of yours that summoned little black dots to dance in your vision.

“One more, baby.” He cooed. “One more and I give you my cock, hm?”

A third soon joined his motions, and you flung an arm up to grasp his bicep, feeling it tense as he pumped his fingers and dragged down your walls at an erratic pace.

Sweet words spilt in a loose mumble from his mouth, easing you into your orgasm. His lips worshipped you with whispers, ceaselessly praising:

That’s my girl.

C’mon, baby, just like that.

So pretty for me.

And other such gentle murmurs.

He continued fucking you with his fingers, relentless in face of your writhing, until, with a scream of his name and your clint grinding against the heel of his palm, your stomach tightened, fluttered, and let go.

“There we go. Oh, so good for me.” He sighed, breath tickling the hollow of your ear as he worked you through your climax.

When the tingling pleasure had fully subsided, he slid his fingers from you and kissed a path up your neck to your lips, licking into your mouth almost greedily.

As if it were second nature, your hands flew to undo his belt, desperately trying not to break the kiss and feeling Joel smile against you.

Just when you found the outline of his hardness in his boxers, Joel groaned and took your wrists in his hands, pinning them over your head against the cool oak of the table.

“Let me.” He said, breathing raggedly.

And he shifted to take hold of both your wrists with his left hand, while his right hurriedly fished himself out of his jeans.

You never quite got used to the obscene sight, and you doubted that you ever would; thick and tanned and dribbling slightly with pearls of his precome.

And, lord help you, he was big.

Joel hovered his mouth above your needy cunt as he slowly pumped his drooling cock. You held your breath, mistaking his position for a hesitant desire to taste you and fuck you with his tongue. 

To your surprise, Joel, instead, spat directly onto your quivering pussy.

You gasped as if it was betrayal, clenching on nothing as his glob of spit slid down your already-dripping mound like a soft caress. 

“Please.” You whined pathetically, hands still stubbornly restrained and held captive by the broad span of his left hand.

He lined himself up, nudging his flushed, almost angry tip against your soaked entrance. And, with a firm grip around his base, he dragged his cock through your puffy folds once, then twice. And the creamy blend of his precome, your arousal, and his spit smeared over his head, staining it in a pale blur.

“You don’t gotta beg, sweetheart.” Joel shushed you, dipping down to press a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you everything. Give you the whole damn world if you asked for it.”

Despite the almost painful dawdling, his words were a soothing reassurance.

Another pass through your soaked folds. And then another, his tip catching onto the seam of your cunt for a single delicious second.

And then, in a low, possessive rumble, “Anything for the mother of my children.”

You squirmed against his hold, feeling a bolt of heat run through you, unable to stifle a moan bubbling up your throat. 

The mother of my children.

Your moan, however, quickly graduated into a shrill wail of his name as he chose that exact second to sink his drooling cock into you, forcing himself in until he was seated fully inside.

A sharp inhale came through his clenched jaw.

“Fuck, you feel perfect.” He whispered, more to himself than to you, but you were happy for the praise.

He was a tight fit; this, you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Every slow push in of his thick cock against your tight walls caused you to choke his length. Every slow drag out pulled a shaky breath from your parted lips.

“Yeah—” His breath caught in his throat as he felt you clamp down on him after an especially rough thrust. “—that’s it, mama, let me in. Jus’ like that. We’ll take it slow, for now. Then I’ll fuck you full of my come, again. Make sure I put a baby in you.”

You felt yourself flutter around him in response, pulling a breathless expletive from his lips. His dick twitched inside you, practically begging to make good on that promise.

And there was that depraved grin again. “Oh, you like that? ‘S true, mama.”

He rolled his hips into you again. 

And again.

“I’d give you ten more if I could.” He grunted, cloudy, lust-drowned eyes locked onto yours. “Love knowing that it’s my come in there, swelling you up. My baby. My woman.”

And, with that assertive claim, Joel picked up the pace, setting a tempo that had you on the verge of passing out.

You were overwhelmed by the sensation of his cock pounding in and out of you, the insistent sound of his balls slapping wetly against your ass, the feel of being held in place by his grip on your wrists—powerless to the force of his adamant desire.

Joel’s gaze fell to your tits, which were helplessly jostled by every persistent thrust of his hips.

“And these…” He all but growled, his free hand coming down to brush a thumb over one of your nubs. You shivered in response. “Fuck, they’ll look so pretty, all swollen up.”

A familiar warmth pooled in your gut; your eyes fluttered uncontrollably; your heartbeat sped up against your ribs as if it were going to burst out.

You were going to come. And hard.

“Joel—Joel, I’m close.” You bleated.

He grunted from above you in acknowledgement, stray curls falling over his forehead as he rammed into you. And he brought his hand to press against your belly, feeling the faint outline of him sawing into you.

“Let go for me, then, beautiful. Let me feel you come on my dick.”

And you did. 

And it was toe-curling and back-arching and forceful. So forceful, in fact, that it managed to steal your consciousness away for a moment or two.

Your eyes fluttered open after you had ridden out the entirety of your orgasm, finding Joel breathing heavily through his nose above you, his pace paused.

“Shit, that was pretty.” He said, in awe, releasing your wrists from over your head. “You got one more in you, baby?”

Unable to speak, you nodded.

Smiling proudly, Joel whispered, “Attagirl.”

He carefully pulled out of you—which made you involuntarily whine at the sad feeling of being so empty—and gently turned you over, your stomach pressed against the table and your feet planted on the floor.

Not wasting another second, Joel fed you his entire cock in one steady thrust.

You hissed as your walls once again struggled to accommodate his generous size, but were ultimately helpless to the throes of his white-hot need.

His arms came around you, hugging you to him and pinning you flat to the table under his crushing weight as he slowly built up a rhythm that matched his earlier manic tempo.

The carpenter of the table that had stood in your kitchen for over a decade probably hadn’t foreseen that such craftsmanship would be instrumental in the ferocity of Joel dicking you down. But you were, nevertheless, thankful for the sturdiness of his creation.

Because Joel fucked you into that table like he wanted to break it.

Every thrust had his tip kissing your cervix.

Every thrust sent the table knocking against the hardwood floor.

Every thrust had you seeing stars.

“Make some noise for me, mama.” Joel’s voice was in your ear, low and absolutely wrecked. “Show me how good it feels.”

Obediently, your mouth fell agape. An incoherent string of moans and mewls of his name spilt from your lips, tumbling out in a staccato rhythm that was emphasised by every snap of his hips as he frantically chased his release.

It took a dozen more before you felt him seize up.

“I’m … shit, I’m almost there, baby.” He gasped shakily. 

And, miraculously, so were you. You would’ve alerted him of such a fact if he hadn’t already fucked your brains out.

Oblivious to your predicament, Joel continued. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? S’all you can do, baby. Lay there and look pretty while I stuff you full of my come.”

“Please.” You whimpered. “Please, Joel—”

He came like he had been holding off for an eternity, shooting pearly ropes of his seed inside you, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and face desperately buried into the crook of your neck.

Thankfully, his orgasm sent you toppling over the edge for what felt like the thousandth time that night, and you fell completely limp against the cool surface of the table as Joel rode out the last of his climax.

He recovered after a minute, pressed a sweaty kiss to the spot in between your shoulder blades, and delicately pulled out, wincing as he did so.

“That enough for you? Hm? Let me see.”

Tiredly, you spread your legs and pushed your ass out. Needless to say, Joel was entranced by the filthy sight of his milky come oozing slowly out of you.

“Oh, baby.” He tutted. “As beautiful as that is, we can’t let that go to waste, now can we?”

He didn’t wait for a response and gingerly plugged your cunt with two thick fingers, pushing his come back inside. You blew out a breath at the sensation.

“That’s it,” Joel cooed, eyebrows furrowed. And then, softer, “that's my girl.”

Satisfied that he probably gave you twins, Joel gently took your chin in his hand and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was tender and slow and felt like home. Because, as you finally realised all those months ago, Joel was your home.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss.

You pulled away, a dopey grin on your face. “You know, we should really do this on a bed, sometime.”

Joel laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did.

“Good thinking.” He smiled.

thank YOU for reading and for waiting (my bad) and ty all for the love & support y'all have given for this two-parter!! hard to believe there are people who are interested in the silly things i write :-) more to come!! 🏷️ (1/3 — sorry if your @ somehow didn’t work?? tumblr isn’t feeling me today): @onlythehobi, @billionairecowgirl, @lonely-ey3s, @kellyxo1, @missxjennipascal, @bloodyfkghell, @marlynn97, @pedritosgfreal, @kja06, @hhallefuckinglujahh, @irmpyrz, @joelspeach, @lostinthestreamofconsciousness, @mori1b2bpad, @hannahmassey30, @staley83, @lanternnightgarden, @themarvelousmaks, @ilovppascal, @yslgreen, @joelspickle, @possiblyafangirl, @strawberrylis, @bonneyszk, @whaddupbaby, @callofdiva, @trixcate, @p1tterp4atter, @immalosersblog, @sohaaa6, @alesomoza99, @faceache111, @pedge-page, @appl3ogr, @heartsandstars34, @niaissodone, @reiketsunomizunomegami, @zohree, @beebloopbleep, @holholliday, @amoooeba, @smexy-bucky-waifu, @keerygal, @pearl-diver-m, @teenytinylilcrawdaddies, @oh-thats-cute, @ivuravix, @kissykris, @lovesbyblog, and @wkuwcb.

[josepedroo]

Hey!! I saw some of your work separately and just now I realized it was all you. Also saw that your request are open, so might as well request something, hope it's not too long.

Okay, so summary, reader comes exhausted from work to Pedro waiting for her with dinner ready and all, after eating he helps her shower and into her pajamas. And when he carries her to bed he kisses her and starts getting handsy. Reader firstly says no, but he insists that he just wants to make her feel good. She is hesitant at first cause in previous relationship her partners never wanted to eat her out, and if they did, they wanted the same or to fuck her afterwards. Anyways, thats it. Pedro being the best boyfriend to her tired and in-need-to-relax girlfriend.

If it's not too much to ask, could you make her a little insecure also? Like, she's plus size so she doesn't even believe he wants her.

I know I wrote like the Bible or something in here, and it's very specific, but I had it in mind for some time and I love your work. Thank you so much if you end up doing it 🫶🏻🫶🏻

And sorry for bad english lol

Take care of you

After a long day at work Pedro helps you relax, making you dinner, showering with you, and giving you a whole new experience. Pairing: Pedro Pascal x plus size!reader Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), insecurity, slight body image issues, Pedro being an amazing boyfriend, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, soft aftercare, cuddling, no proofreading Word count: 1.7k

It was a long day at work. Your boss was always in your back, nagging you about finishing those files he gave you faster, or shoving more paper in your hands. You were sitting behind your desk all day, back hunched, the words blurring in front of your eyes. And when you finished with half of the files, it was already late.

So, when you stepped through the front door, and the scent of dinner creeped into your nostrils, you relaxed a little. Not much, but enough to forget a little about everything that happened in that small office of yours.

“Pedro, I’m home,” your voice sounded like it didn’t belong to you. You kicked off your shoes and threw your keys into the little ceramic bowl that Pedro insisted on placing out, so neither of you would forget your keys. Your bag landed on the ground at the same time as Pedro stepped into the doorway in comfy clothes and his apron still tied around his waist.

“Cariño, hey,” he walked up to you with open arms, but you tried to stop him.

“No, I’m all sweaty and—” he wouldn’t let you finish, pulling you into his chest. At first you were tense, but at the feeling of his strong arms around you, your head fell on his chest and your hands rested on his back.

“I don’t care, cariño, you know that.”

You didn’t know how long you were standing there in the doorway, holding each other, but Pedro was the first one to pull back, and lead you to the dining table. It was full of food, and each one looked more delicious than the other. Your eyes widened in surprise, finding Pedro’s profile in the dimly lit room.

“You did all this?”

“I did,” his tone was full of pride, a smile that showed off his dimple playing on his lips. “I looked at videos because I didn’t want to fuck it up, but I think I did anyway,” you laughed at his soft comment, the memory of today long forgotten.

“You’re incredible. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you,” he frowned, eyebrows pulling together, eyes full of concern and soft reassurance.

“Then I think I could say the same thing.”

The room fell quiet as he led you to one of the chairs and pulled it out for you. You were eating in silence while he was telling you about his day on set, hands moving in the air. Listening carefully to every word he said, you finished your dinner. Your eyes were dropping slowly, the day catching up with you. Pedro was looking at you with understanding eyes, and he walked around the table, softly pulling you to your feet.

“Come on, let’s shower,” he guided you through the house into the bathroom, but you were too tired to even say anything at that moment. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Pedro turned towards you. You reached for the button of your shirt, but a soft grip from him stopped you.

“Pedro—”

“Let me,” his hand moved to the buttons, fingers undoing them with swift motions. He reached for the waistband of your skirt, pulling it off of your body. He reached for the clasp of your bra, and you nodded at him. He tugged it free, letting it fall to the ground. Now you were standing in front of him with only your underwear on.

He lowered himself to the ground, his forehead resting against your soft stomach. Your hand came to the top of his head, tangling in the messy curls. You felt the soft on your panties, and with slow movements it was on the ground, next to the other pile of clothing. He placed a kiss on your skin then stood up, towering over you.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and pushed his sweatpants and his briefs down in one motion. Now you were both naked, and he guided you under the shower. As soon as the warm water hit your skin your eyes closed shut and your back found his broad chest. His hand came around you, resting on your belly. Your head fell against his shoulder, and he leaned down to place soft kisses against your hair and your neck.

He reached for the shampoo bottle on the little shelf, pouring a small amount in his palm, and bringing it to your hair.

“Can you turn around, hermosa?” you turned towards him as he started to work the liquid into your hair. He leaned down every now and then to place soft kisses on your lips, and your hands were resting against his chest.

“Hm, this feels good.”

“I know, cariño, I know,” he walked you both under the stream of water, letting it wash away the foam.

—-—

Later, you were both laying in the bed covered in the soft sheets. Pedro was curled into your back behind you, holding you close. You were wearing one of his shirts and only your underwear. He started placing kisses across your neck, his arms tightening around you.

“Pedro, not tonight,” you murmured when you felt his kisses become hungrier.

“Shh, cariño, I just want to make you feel good,” his hand moved lower on your body, and that was the moment when your insecurities kicked in. Your hand covered his, stopping it from moving anywhere.

“Pedro, you don’t have to,” your voice was weak. Before Pedro, no man wanted to make you feel good. But if they did, they always wanted something in return. And usually, it was either a blowjob or sex. You knew you didn’t have a typical model body, and they weren't blind either, so they only used you for their own pleasure.

“What do you mean, cariño?” he pulled back, and that was your cue to turn around and face him.

“I mean, I have never been…” you paused, searching for the right words to describe what you were feeling. His eyes were fixed on you, studying every expression. “I never really received any pleasure before you and—”

“So, no men went down on you before?” you shook your head, and his eyes softened. His hand squeezed yours, and he shifted closer, not breaking the eye contact. “Let me be the first, cariño.”

When you reluctantly nodded, he leaned in and kissed you. As you melted into the kiss, you let go of his hand, and as soon it was free, it continued its path lower. When it reached the waistband of your underwear, he leaned back and looked for a final confirmation.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand slipped into the soft fabric, and you gasped as his skin made contact with yours. His fingers dipped teasingly between your folds, and you grasped his shoulder. His fingers moved back and forth between your legs, and a low groan left his lips.

“Jesus, darling, you’re so wet already,” his voice was deep and filled with desire. His thumb found your clit and started circling it with slow motions. You let out a quiet whimper, overwhelmed by the pleasure. He started to kiss a path down on your throat, while his free hand moved to the waistband of your panties. Tugging it down, he moved between your legs, thumb still working over your clit.

He placed soft kisses across your inner thighs, and you were shivering by the feeling of his hot breath against your bare skin. When he came close to the most sensitive part of your body, his finger stopped its movements, and he found your eyes. Without any hesitation, he spread your legs wider, and dived into your pussy, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. You threw your head back into the pillows, and your hand grasped the sheets under you.

His tongue moved with deliberate movements, dipping between your folds. He found your clit again, closing his mouth around it and sucking at it gently. You were a writhing mess under him, moaning his name like never before. Your legs tried to close around his head, but he stopped them with his hands on your thighs, opening you even wider.

“Pedro.”

“Shh, I know, hermosa. You’re doing so good for me,” he was speaking against you, leaning down to continue his ministrations. His tongue moved lower, the strong muscle dipping into your entrance while his nose was rubbing against your clit. You gripped the sheets harder, one hand moving to the messy curls on his head.

He let out a content hum, the sound vibrating all through your body, making your head spin. One finger moved to your entrance, replacing his tongue as he slowly pushed it inside you. He was watching as you looked down at him, eyes half-lidded, jaw slack as you were moaning incoherent words in the otherwise quiet room. He started moving it inside you, every move grazing across that soft spot.

His mouth moved back to your clit while he inserted a second finger, his moves speeding up by the minute. You were close, your hips rising under his free hand. He noticed, of course he did, so he started to move his tongue faster in time with his fingers.

“Pedro, I’m—” you didn’t finish your sentence because the pleasure crashed over you in strong waves. You were feeling like you were on cloud nine, his movements slowing down as rode out your high.

When you pulled back your hips, he moved back up beside you on the bed, and you looked at his face. His chin was shining with your juices, and his eyes were glinting with happiness.

“So? How did I do?” you reached for his face, pulling him into a slower kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I guess it was alright,” his look was full on offended.

“Just alright?”

“Maybe. I guess you’ll have to repeat this another time. You know, to make sure that I have a very good opinion about it,” he smirked as he turned you on your side and settled in behind you, his hand coming around to rest on your soft stomach.

“Anytime, carino. Anytime.”

[josepedroo]

dad!pedro 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Serious conversations

A quiet family dinner is broken by the very interesting conversation between Pedro and your one-year-old daughter. Pairing: dad!Pedro Pascal x mom!reader Warnings: established relationship, fluff, family moments, Pedro being an amazing dad, pure cuteness of a one-year-old Word count: 484 A/N: This turned out to be a lot more shorter than my previous fics but the important part is in it!

You were sitting at the dinner table with Pedro and your one-year-old daughter. He somehow managed to get home before seven and you were glad, he did because your little girl was fussy all day, refusing to sleep, eat or just even calm down for five minutes no matter what you did. You even tried to jump around her like someone who was doing a rain dance, and all you received was a bone and soul shaking scream.

And the moment Pedro came home and held her in his arms?

She calmed down within a minute, melting into his arms like it was second nature. Pedro’s eyes were fixated on her, and he turned to you with a huge shit eating grin on his face, and his dimple showing in full light.

Now, your daughter was sitting in her highchair, baby food in front of her babbling like her words were so important that she had to give it out of herself. You were watching as Pedro was answering with full commitment to the incoherent words that were falling from your baby’s mouth. A slow smile crept to your lips at this little act of tenderness playing in front of you.

“What did she say now?” you asked curiously when a pretty serious sounding chain of incoherent words flew into the air between you. Pedro was listening until she finished her talk and looked at you with a serious face.

“As the translator of the Princess of Everything,” he started, and you let out a little chuckle when you heard the given name. “She told me I’m her favourite,” he finished with a bow of his head and a hand on his heart, and your eyes rolled in its sockets by the funny act of him.

“Yeah, that’s surely what she said,” you smirked as you stood up and picked up the dirty dishes from the table, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “It sounded more like she was trying to say she is tired but if you translated it that way then I believe you.”

His grin grew even wider as you took the dishes to the sink and started to clean them. You heard them behind you ‘talking’—in this case only Pedro—and you sank into your own thoughts. Finishing the drying you turned around and leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of you as you looked at the little family you built with Pedro.

No. It wasn’t always perfect. Pedro wasn’t at home for weeks even, but when he was here, present, he always tried to make up for the missed play times, the missed diaper changes—even though he was grossed out by it—and all the missed milestones in both of your lives.

It wasn’t always quiet. But it was yours. And you wouldn’t give it away for anything in this whole damn world.

[josepedroo]

Ride or Die | Chapter Seven

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : There are five stages of grief and anger is showing its ugly face in the aftermath of your accident.

chapter warnings: to avoid spoilers, i'm not going to post very specific warnings for this chapter, but here are the basics: angst, fluff, trauma, violence, and switching POVs.

word count: 10.3k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

ICU — The Next Morning

The sun was just beginning to rise behind the heavy clouds outside, painting the hospital windows in soft gray light. The whir and beep of machines filled the silence in the room. 

Joel sat slouched in the corner, eyes heavy with fatigue, but still trained on your still figure lying in the hospital bed. He hadn’t moved much since the night before — not really. Not when the only thing that felt right anymore was staying close to you.

He heard the soft knock at the door before it creaked open.

"Good morning... just here to check a few things.” Dr. Patel said softly as he entered with a clipboard in hand and a nurse trailing behind him. 

Joel straightened slightly, rubbing his face, trying to read their expressions before either of them spoke in regards to your condition.

The nurse gave him a soft smile — but it was the kind people used when they felt bad for you or the situation you were put into.

Dr. Patel lowered his voice as he turned toward the bed. “Let’s check her neuro signs.”

Joel stood slowly, stepping back near the wall as the doctor leaned over and began the exam. He watched as the doctor lifted your eyelids, shining a light in each one. No response. He gently tapped your sternum, trying to elicit any movement.

“Pupils are sluggish,” the nurse reported, noting it in the chart as she spoke. “Reflex response still minimal.”

“Glasgow Coma Scale remains at 6,” Dr. Patel said quietly. “Still no spontaneous eye opening. No verbal response. Withdrawal from pain only in the left arm.”

Joel’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what half those words meant, but the weight behind them was clear.

“Respiratory effort?” the nurse questioned.

“None. Full ventilator dependency still.” Patel sighed, straightening. He turned his head slightly to the nurse and added in a lower voice, “ICP hasn’t come down like Callahan hoped. Edema’s still pressing against the left temporal lobe. We should prep for a repeat CT today.”

“Should we alert neurology?” she asked just as quietly.

“Just did,” he said, putting away his phone. “But we’re running out of options.”

Joel stepped forward slightly, voice hoarse. “What does that mean?”

Patel looked at him for a long moment. “It means… she’s not responding the way we hoped. The pressure on her brain isn’t decreasing. There are no signs of improved cognitive function yet.”

Joel swallowed hard, listening, trying to absorb everything. “So you’re saying she’s not—she’s not waking up?”

“I’m saying we’re at a critical point. Sometimes swelling like this resolves slowly… sometimes it doesn’t.” Patel took a breath. “We’re watching for signs of brainstem activity. But as of this morning, she’s still not initiating breaths on her own. That’s not what we want to see.”

Joel pressed a hand against the edge of the bed, gripping it to stay upright. “And her voice? Someone mentioned late last night she wouldn’t have her voice… said to ask you...” he asked, almost a whisper.

The nurse answered gently. “We noticed bruising on her larynx during initial intubation. ENT did a consult and confirmed trauma to the vocal cords. We won’t know the extent until she’s awake… but if she does wake up, there’s a possibility she won’t be able to speak immediately.”

Patel nodded, adding. “There’s scarring. If the cords were torn or the nerves damaged, it could be temporary aphonia… or worse. Again — we won’t know until we get her off the ventilator. That’s another reason we’re watching so closely.”

Joel stared at you — his chest tightening, rage and helplessness mixing like acid in his veins. That son of a bitch had taken so much. Nearly all of you. And now maybe even your voice — possibly your memory too?

The nurse gently touched Joel’s arm. “We’ll come back after the imaging is prepped to take her for that CT.”

The two quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

He didn’t even realize Everly had come back in until her hand brushed his shoulder. “Joel?” she asked, voice low.

He turned, slow and dazed, like he was underwater.

She took one look at his face and frowned. “What’d they say?”

Joel looked at you. At the machines. At the way your chest rose with the help of a machine. At the bruises around your throat. He let out a breath. “Not good,” he said. “Swelling’s not goin’ down. She’s not breathin’ on her own. And her vocal cords might be—” His voice cracked. “She might not even be able to talk when she wakes up.”

Everly looked down at you, lips trembling. “Oh God…”

Joel turned away from her and rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing.

The machines behind him hummed. Beeped. Breathed for you. A constant reminder that you couldn’t do it yourself. Not yet.

His stomach twisted — and his eyes were far away. Going somewhere darker, as the devil on his shoulder began whispering to him.

‘You should’ve been there.’

His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

‘You let her go. You knew it felt wrong, and you let her walk into that house - alone.’

And then it started to get lower, colder, curling into the back of his skull.

‘But you still have time. Time to fix it. Time to make it right.’

He tried to blink the thought away.

‘You know where he is. You’ve already driven past it…’

‘Come on… it’d be easy. In and out. Tommy would help.’

Joel’s jaw clenched, and then another voice — softer, slower — tried to reason.

‘Don’t. Don’t do it. Think about her. Think about what she’d want. About what you could lose…’

But then he looked at the bruises again. The feeding tube. The blood still crusted in your hair.

And the angel on his shoulder didn’t stand a chance as the devil pushed harder. 

‘She didn’t ask for justice. But she deserves vengeance.’

‘Think about what he’s doing right now? Eating? Sleeping? Breathing free air? What while she’s here choking on a goddamn tube? Unable to breath on her own?’

His breath hitched, his teeth grinding together.

‘He hurt her. He choked her. He tried to kill her.’

‘Make him pay.’

He could feel his heart start to pound. The adrenaline, the rush of what it’d feel like starting to fuel him. 

‘Make him pay for the bruises. For the fear in her eyes. For the blood on still in her scalp. For the words she might never be able to speak again.’

He shook his head, so the angel tried to reason:

‘What will you say if she wakes up and asks what you did? She’s asked you not to fall into his trap…’

But it was no use,

‘What will you say if she doesn’t wake up? What will you say you did? Nothing?’

A beat passed — then another.

And the angel finally tried, one last small and desperate plea.

‘This isn’t you, this isn’t what she’d want. You’re better than this.’

But Joel’s gaze lifted toward the ICU window. The faint outline of the machines and your body lying still beneath sterile sheets stared back at him — and the last piece of him snapped.

‘No. You were better. And look where it got you. Look where it got her.’

He looked at Everly as she sat on your bed, gently brushing your hair back, and it was like a switch was flicked.

“Hey uhm, I gotta go home,” he said. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated…" he started gathering his things.

Everly turned to look at him and nodded, completely oblivious to the internal battle that just took place, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.”

Joel came over and leaned down, brushing a kiss to your knuckles, then to your forehead. His voice was a breath. “Keep fightin’, baby. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

He rose slowly, gave you one last look, and headed toward the door.

The second your ICU door sealed behind him, he felt the shift fully.

That thudding pressure in his chest—the one that had been clenching tighter since the moment he heard of what happened—turned sharp. Less grief now, more heat. His jaw ticked as he walked down the corridor, boots heavy, fists clenching at his sides.

He passed the elevator, didn’t even glance at it. He needed to move. Burn it off. 

Every fluorescent bulb overhead seemed to buzz louder. Every passing nurse and echo of voices in the hallway grated against his nerves. The image of your bruised throat, the ventilator pumping your chest, the coldness of your sweet skin he just kissed poems into days ago, the way the doctor said “if” you wake up— it was like fire under his skin.

He reached the far end of the hallway and slammed his palm flat against the wall, breathing hard, shoulders shaking. The dull ache in his hand didn’t even register.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn't breathe on your own. And the bastard who did it? He was still out there. Still breathing, still free, and still living.

Joel's vision swam, red edging in at the corners.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with shaking fingers to see ‘10% Low Battery’, then behind it — your photo on the lock screen. Laughing. Glowing. Alive.

He stared at it like it might ground him, but it didn’t. Not this time.

He opened his contacts and found Tommy’s name, then pressed dial. It rang once before the line picked up. 

“Joel? What’s wrong? It’s… fuck— its 4:30am…” Tommy answered, sleepy and concerned.

Joel didn’t even hesitate, “Meet me at the Rosewood Motel. Wear somethin' you don't care for.”

Then he hung up.

His grip on the phone was white-knuckled now. And behind the grief and panic, something darker was rising. 

Something cold. Something ready. Something fueled with anger and regret of not doing it sooner. 

The parking lot of the Rosewood Motel was washed in the early morning light. The neon sign above the front office buzzed faintly. It looked like the kind of place people disappeared in or went to disappear from somewhere else — no questions, no names, just cash at check-in and a back door to run through when things went bad.

Joel sat motionless in the driver’s seat of his dad’s truck, his eyes locked on the peeling door of room 217, the one that for the last couple days when driving by; kept all the restraint in the world to not drop in, pay a visit to — the one that Riley’s blue truck was parked nicely in front of. 

The silence in the cab buzzed louder than the neon above. His jaw ached from clenching. His chest hurt from breathing. 

Tommy’s headlights pulled up behind him, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. His door shut, and his heavy boots approached.

Joel didn’t move; he just kept staring at the number 217 as his mind ran over the ways he was going to take the air from his pathetic lungs.

Tommy opened the passenger door and slid in, glancing at his brother’s profile — tense, jaw wired tight, eyes locked forward like a bomb that hadn’t quite gone off yet.

“Want to tell me what we’re doin’ here at 5 am in the mornin'?” Tommy asked, voice low and slightly annoyed.

Joel’s fingers flexed once on the wheel before he spoke. “That day — the day she got blindsided by her dad and Riley showin’ up — I walked her out when things got tense.” 

Tommy nodded, “Yeah, and?”

“We passed Riley’s truck.” His hand clenched tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t think much of it then. But on the dash, there was a paper. Scrawled notes. IOUs. Two names —  Ten grand for the leader of Los Serpentines and nine grand for Eddie Mason.”

He swallowed, voice turning hard. “And there was a pen clipped to it. Rosewood Motel. Logo stamped clear as day.” he nodded to the motel in front of them. 

Tommy’s brows pulled together. “He’s stayin’ here?”

Joel gave a single, tight nod. “See that?” He nodded to his truck. 

“He hasn’t left town, and didn’t like what Judd said he did before she went there yesterday. They lied to everyone. And then she walked into that house… where that son of a bitch waited for her.”

Tommy sat back, piecing it together. “So we’re here to… what, Joel?”

“I can’t… sit there anymore, Tommy. I can’t watch her hooked up to machines, praying she wakes up, knowing he did that to her and he’s just…” He trailed off, knuckles going white again. “He’s just livin’.”

Tommy sighed softly, “Joel, you know we can’t—”

He froze as Joel slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The sound cracked through the cab like a gunshot.

“He almost killed her!” Joel’s voice broke.

His breath came faster, more ragged now. The fire behind his eyes trembled as tears finally broke past the edges.

“I sat next to her all night last night. I just sat there… held her hand and prayed to God or whatever is up there.... begged them to wake her up.” 

His jaw jutted, and tears fell down his cheeks. “She can’t even breathe on her own. I can’t count the times I told her that I loved her over and over in the last 12 hours, and she can’t even hear me…” His voice cracked. “I failed her, Tommy.”

Tommy stared, stunned by the broken, furious wreck beside him.

Joel wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand quickly, shoving it all back down, breath shaky. “I won’t fail her again. This ends… right here — right now.”

Tommy’s voice was quiet. “You’re not thinking straight, Joel.”

Joel turned on him, eyes blazing. “I am, Tommy. For the first time with this fucker, I am.”

A beat passed, then Tommy exhaled slowly.

“Alright. Fuck it.” He nodded and looked at the door Joel had his gaze stuck on. 

“We do this smart. No signs of forced entry. No prints. We leave nothing they can pin back to us.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Nothin’ that can make him look like the victim.”

“Agreed,” Tommy nodded.

Joel’s breathing finally started to slow. “What’s the plan?”

Tommy looked at the motel, at the shadows in the corner, the cameras that clearly didn’t work.

“I go in first,” he said. “Knock on his door, pretend I’m housekeeping or the front desk. If he opens it? I get inside. See if he’s alone. If he is… I drop him. Quiet. No mess.”

Joel nodded once, the tension coiling tighter in his gut.

“Then I turn on the lamp to signal you…” Tommy continued as the most of the lights were out in his room. “You come in, we do what needs to be done. And then…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, turning to look at his brother. “Then what?”

Tommy smirked faintly. “We make it look like one of the guys he owes came for collection.”

Joel blinked. “You want to pin it on one of the names?”

Tommy shrugged. “He already owes ‘em, and both of ‘em would do something like this but one would keep the cops away...”

He nodded toward the room as he continued, “We swipe one of his notes. Add some flair — leave it behind as like a warning. A little message in Spanish…” 

Tommy could see the gears in Joel’s head start to turn, the muscles start to tense in his jaw the more he convinced himself it would work. 

Joel looked at the room, “You're right... you know how jumpy the cops get when cartels are involved. They’ll step back…”  He looked at his brother.

Tommy shrugged, “Plus, we’ll be each other’s alibis if they come sniffin’ around.”

Joel stared at the door of room 217 again, then down at his hands, now shaking slightly.

Tommy leaned forward and put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Look, we are either doin’ this right now or we’re walkin’ away… there’s not goin’ to be another chance.”

Joel nodded after a split moment, face set. “This ends now.”

Tommy opened his tool bag and pulled out a black ball cap, tugging it low over his eyes. He also pulled out an old hoodie and a pair of leather work gloves.

Joel looked over at him and nodded as he watched. “No fingerprints. No skin.”

Tommy smirked. “This ain’t my first rodeo, hermano.”

As he opened the door to leave, Joel reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hold me back in there...”

Tommy looked him in the eyes. He saw how dark they were, how much rage he had behind them. He could see the guilt melted into his brother's normally light and bright brown iris’s — it now making his eyes almost black. 

All he could do was nod and offer a tight smile, “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Joel watched him walk across the lot, each step echoing with quiet vengeance.

And as the street light flickered overhead, the only thing he could hear was your voice — soft and trembling in his memory:

“You make me feel safe…”

He whispered into the silence: “Forgive me, mi vida.”

Then he leaned over and pulled out the Glock he had from under the passenger side seat that he hoped he wouldn’t need to use, and put it down the back of his jeans, checked the time, and waited for the signal.

Everly's POV - 7:04 am

The room hummed with a type of quiet you can’t describe — the low murmur of machines, the soft hiss of the ventilator, the steady, unchanging beep of the heart monitor.

You hadn’t moved — not in the hours since surgery. Not since they brought you up from the ER and into the OR. You looked so fragile and pale, so still you hardly looked like the girl who used to shout across the pasture in the wind or laugh until you hiccupped.

Everly sat at the small chair near the window, fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee. She hadn’t sipped it in nearly an hour. Not really. She just held it like it might anchor her to the moment – keep her somewhat warm in this cold world without your light.

Joel had been with you all night. He hadn’t even moved to eat or drink. He just sat beside your bed, one hand clasped in yours, like letting go might make something worse. His eyes had been bloodshot, rimmed with the kind of pain no sleep could fix. Everly tried to offer him food or rest, but he refused. He said he couldn’t leave you, he couldn’t bear it. 

But then — sometime after the doctors came in for their morning rounds — something in him changed after Everly came in.

“I gotta go home,” he said after a long beat. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated...”

Everly nodded without a second thought, she understood he might need a break, she doubted he’d be gone for too long.  “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.” she said after kissing your head. 

He’d kissed your hand. Your forehead. Whispered something only you could hear then turned around and left.

That was two and a half hours ago.

Her thumb brushed across her phone screen. No new messages. No calls. Nothing from him.

She stood and stretched, the quiet in the room beginning to press too tightly against her chest. She moved to your bedside, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead gently, watching your chest rise then fall a few times with the help of the ventilator.

“You’re still fightin’. I know it,” she whispered. “I know you’re still in there.”

The door creaked open behind her, and she turned quickly.

Wes stepped in, shoulders hunched, eyes still tired.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’s she doing this morning?”

You sighed slightly disappointed, and turned back, “No change,” nodding toward your still form. “Breathing tube’s still in. BP’s stable for now, but she’s not stirred. Doctors said a lot of medical things this morning — none of it good.”

Wes walked closer, eyes sweeping over the machines before landing on you. “Jesus…”

He paused. “Where’s Joel?”

Everly hesitated. “Went home a couple of hours ago. Said he’d be back quick.”

Wes furrowed his brow and looked down at his watch. “Couple of hours?”

“Almost three now,” she said, checking the time again. “He hasn’t texted or called…”

“That doesn’t sound like him...” Wes said, setting down his things.

“I know,” she said with a concern to her tone. 

“Did he seem ok?” he asked, coming over to sit in the chair by your bed, taking your hand. 

“I'm not sure... I think somethin’ rattled him after the doctors came in earlier.” She said, quieter.

They both stood in silence for a beat.

“He was wrecked last night,” Wes added. “Didn’t wanna leave her side for even two minutes. You think he…?”

“I don’t know,” Everly murmured, her voice uneasy. “He said he was just gonna shower and check in with his parents. Maybe something came up. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Wes perked, eyebrow arched. 

She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know, Wes. He’s just… he’s been glued to her. Like she’s all he’s got. Somethin’ just doesn’t feel right.”

Wes exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want me to try him?”

“I already did. Texted twice. No answer.”

Wes frowned, pulled out his phone, and tried calling. He held it to his ear for a moment.

“Straight to voicemail,” he said after a second. “Either it’s dead… or off.”

The pit that had been forming in Everly’s stomach dropped a little deeper.

She stood and started to pace to the window, arms folded tight across her chest. “Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe he stopped to check on something with his folks. Maybe he’s just sitting in the shower letting it all catch up to him.”

“Or maybe he went and did something dumb.” Wes said more to himself. 

She turned to him, eyes flashing something between anger and concern.

“What? I’m not sayin’ he would,” Wes clarified, holding up his hands. “I’m sayin’ he looked like a man hangin’ on by a thread last night. And he’s got one thing on his mind… one person — to be more specific.”

“Riley.” She sighed.

Wes nodded. “That piece of shit damn near killed her. Miller’s ain’t the kind to let that go. You know that. They are known for keepin’ things balanced…”

Everly chewed her lip. “You don’t think he’d actually go looking for him?”

“I think if he thought Riley was still walkin’ free and breathin’ the same air, he might. Especially if he found something, or overheard something. He wouldn’t let that shit go...”

Everly’s eyes flicked to you again — to your pale, bruised skin, the hiss of the vent, the wires.

“God, if he does something reckless…” She came to sit by you again. 

“He won’t,” Wes said, but it didn’t sound confident. “He’s smarter than that.”

But even as he said it, they both knew the truth.

Joel might be smart — but he was heartbroken. Furious. And terrifyingly quiet about it.

“I’ll give him thirty more minutes,” Everly said, voice tight. “Then I’m calling him again. And if I don’t hear back…”

“I’ll call some buddies of mine and go find him.” Wes offered.

They both looked at you again, the rhythmic beep of the monitor filling the space between them.

Riley’s POV - 5:19am

The air conditioner rattled in the window like it was trying to shake itself loose, drowning the room in a mechanical hum. Riley stood shirtless at the sink, rinsing his face, the cold water doing little to chase off the anxiety curling in his gut from the line of coke he had just snorted.

The duffel bag on the bed was nearly packed.

A few shirts, a pair of jeans. All of which were under stacks of wrinkled cash, and the folded IOU slips he hadn’t dared throw out. Sloppy? Sure. But part of him still thought he could bargain his way out of this whole mess.

He zipped it up halfway, stuffing the papers deeper inside as his burner phone buzzed on the laminate nightstand.

Incoming call: Judd

He sighed and clicked answer. “What do you want, Judd?”

“You still in town?” Judd’s voice was lower than usual, tense.

“Where the hell else would I be?” Riley muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“They’re sniffin’ around,” Judd said. “I just got a call from a buddy down at dispatch. Sheriff’s office flagged your name — said you might’ve been involved in what happened to Y/N… their lookin’ for you.”

Riley froze. “It was a car accident...”

Judd didn’t answer.

“It was a goddamn accident,” Riley repeated, pacing now. “She ran a light, that’s what they’re sayin’ on the news. That ain’t on me.”

There was a silence on the line, then Judd said flatly, “That buddy of mine said she’s got marks on her...”

Riley stopped walking.

“What?”

“On her neck. Her arms. They’re sayin’ it doesn’t match the accident injuries. They’re gonna ask me questions, Riley. And when they do, I’m not going down for this shit with you. You didn’t say anythin’ about hurtin’ her like that...”

Riley swallowed hard. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to hurt her, alright? I grabbed her. That’s it. She wouldn’t listen, and then she tried to leave—”

“Jesus Christ,” Judd hissed. “You told me you just wanted to talk to her.”

“I did!”

“But you grabbed her?” he scoffed.

“Just her arm. And her face for like—” he hesitated, exhaling. “Fuck—I lost it, okay? She was bein’ dramatic, you know? You know how she can be, right?”

Judd cursed on the other end. “You better start cleanin’ this up. They're gonna come after you — not me. This ain’t fallin’ on me.” 

Riley’s jaw clenched. “Unbelievable. This was your idea! You’re the one who said I deserved a chance to talk to her—”

“You weren’t supposed to touch her!” Judd snapped. “You weren’t supposed to leave fucking marks! God you’re dumber than your daddy…” Judd coldly chuckled before he said in a low tone, “You better listen and listen well — get the fuck out of town, got it?”

Riley nodded then swallowed, “Got it.” 

The line went dead as Judd hung up.

Riley stared at the phone, then tossed it onto the mattress with a curse. He yanked the duffel up and sat down hard on the bed, trying to breathe. His knee bounced. His mind raced.

'This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to have more time to come up with a plan.'

'Fuck. What am I going to do? I can't handle the cops on my ass..."

Then—three quick knocks.

“Maintenance,” a voice called from outside. “Got a report of a plumbing issue in one of the top rooms—need to check the lines.”

Riley blinked.

He looked at the door then the duffel. The duffel full of cash and pretty much two death notes. 

“Fuck—” He muttered, his pulse spiked.

“Be right there!” he called, pushing the bag under the bed quickly. 

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, grabbed a t-shirt, and tugged it over his head before opening the door.

A tall man stood there, maybe mid-20s, sun-worn, built like a man who worked with his hands. He wore jeans and a tucked-in button-up shirt — dark blue. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing a dusting of sawdust. He carried a silver toolbox in one hand, a wrench in the other, hands gloved. He looked the part, there was no doubt he was maintenance.

“Sorry to bother you so early, sir,” the man said with a hint of a Hispanic accent, his voice easy. “Got a call ‘bout a leak. Mind if I check your fixtures? Just routine.”

Riley narrowed his eyes slightly at the fixtures behind him. “Don’t think I noticed anythin' leakin' or off…”

“May not show yet. Could be coming through the wall,” the man said, motioning to the unit beside with a slight nod. 

Riley hesitated but stepped aside. “Yeah, ok… yeah, um, come on in.” 

Tommy stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind him. “Just you in here?” 

Riley nodded turned back toward the small kitchenette. “Yeah, just me.”

He cleared his throat softly and followed close behind as Tommy took a few steps inside, looking around. “So, uh—what part do you need to check?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

Then a voice — low, calm — in fluent Spanish:

“Nadie escapa de la mordida de la serpiente.” (No one escapes the serpent’s bite.)

Riley turned, eyes wide.

“Wait, what did you say—?”

Then before he could register, the wrench came down hard — a sickening crack splitting the silence.

Riley’s body crumpled like a ragdoll against the edge of the bed frame, one arm twisted beneath him, the other limp at his side.

Tommy stood over him, breath steady, but his heart thrummed like a bass drum beneath his ribs. Not from fear — from fury. From the hate he had for men that hit women — especially good ones like you sank deep into his bones. 

He rolled his shoulders back, suppressing the tremor in his right hand.

The wrench was slick with a smear of blood near the joint. Not enough to kill. But enough to remind Riley what it meant to be prey for once.

Tommy bent over and checked the pulse at the bastard’s neck. 

‘Still there. Stronger than you deserve.’ he thought to himself.

"Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath in Spanish.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped the wrench down clean before tossing it back into his open toolbox, careful not to leave anything out of place.

Then he turned and gave the room a once-over.

'Duffel under the bed. Burner on the sheets. Coke on the dresser. God, you couldn't have set this up better for us, pendejo.'

He crossed the room, nudged it open with the toe of his boot, and crouched. Inside: bundles of cash — crumpled but thick — and a worn manila envelope.

Tommy pulled it out and unfolded it carefully.

The two IOUs.

$10,000 and $9,000. One marked with a familiar name — “D. Santos” — the other with just initials: E.M.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “No solo un pedazo de mierda, sino uno roto también…” (Not just a piece of shit, but a broke one too.)

He made a quick estimate of the money, maybe a couple grand — not nearly enough to pay either debt off. 

He stood and flipped open the burner phone. No lock screen. No passcode.

‘Cabrón.’ he huffed. 

The most recent texts were short, code-like. But one caught his eye as he scrolled through his inbox:

Riley: “I’ll get her to come around. One way or another.”

His stomach churned. That bastard sent it to Judd — and typed it to boot, too. Joel had been right. They were planning this. It was calculated.

He exhaled through his nose, fingers gripping the phone hard before placing it back.

He looked around the room once more then went over to the lamp in the window and turned it on and off twice before looking at Riley’s pathetic limp body. “Desearás no haber regresado nunca a casa.” (You're going to wish you had never come back home.)

Joel’s POV

The engine idled low beneath Joel’s boots as he leaned forward, elbows braced against the steering wheel.

His eyes locked on the second-story window.

Room 217.

The curtain didn’t move, but then—there it was.

A flick of light.

Once. Twice. That was the signal.

Joel swallowed hard. His throat felt tight — dry, like it was full of splinters.

‘It’s clear.’ he told himself.

His pulse began to thud, slow but strong. He could feel it in his neck, in his chest. In the places that had been numb to the last 24 hours.

He should’ve felt relief — but he didn’t.

Instead, something cold curled inside him — that flickering, bitter hesitation. The part of him that had been raised to walk away when the line between right and wrong blurred. The small part of him that was screaming:

‘This could ruin everything. If someone sees us. If Riley wakes up and talks. If she wakes up and needs you—and you're behind bars? Don’t be a fucking idiot.’

He exhaled, hard through his nose.

Then leaned back in the driver’s seat and opened his wallet he’d sat in the cup holder. 

Inside, tucked neatly between a fifty dollar bill and an old parking ticket, was the two photobooth strips from the fair. He pulled them out, fingers already softly gliding over the photos — over the light of his life. 

You.

That smile — god, that smile — frozen in time.

His hat perched on your head as you smiled when his lips touched your cheek. Your lips on his as he pulled you in for the first of many kisses. The warmth these eight photos and two strips of memories held.

He stared at it, thumb brushing over your image and he closed his eyes.

The weight in his chest was unbearable.

These same images had gotten him through the last 15 hours. Through the blood. The wires. The tube down your throat. 

He hadn’t left your side once — not since.

Not until this. Not until he heard those doctors this morning suggest you’d might never come back to him. 

Joel clenched his jaw and looked up at the motel window again. Then he thought of the marks on your neck, the handprints on your arms.

He thought of the way your voice must have cracked when you begged Riley to let you go with his hand around your throat. 

He thought of the way your father invited Riley back, knowing damn well what kind of man he was.

Joel’s hand slammed down onto the steering wheel with a guttural grunt. His head dropped forward, forehead resting on the cool leather wheel. His breath heaved — sharp, ragged. And his chest ached with a fury he could no longer name.

This wasn’t just about retribution. This was about protection. Your protection. 

You’d been prey — and he had failed to stop the wolf at the door.

Not again. Never again.

He lifted his head and shut the voice off, hardened himself to where it was all turned off and the only thing fueling him was the pent up rage he felt for this waste of space. 

He opened the truck door slowly. The hinges creaked — the only sound in the quiet midday air.

His boots hit the pavement with weight. He put the hood of the hoodie he wore around his head and ducked his head down. 

No one lingered outside. The blinds in the other windows were drawn. Just a lonely soda machine buzzing on the walkway beside the staircase.

He walked toward the stairs slowly, every footstep heavy, but sure. Like each one stamped down the wrath. Buried beneath it, was the beat of his own heart.

He climbed the stairs in silence, his hands clenched in the pockets of the hoodie to keep him from exploding. 

When he reached the door, he paused.

One last breath. One last glance down at the photo from in his wallet — your smile, your eyes, your happiness.

‘For her.’ was all that he needed to tell himself before he slid the photo back into its sleeve, tugged his gloves on, and knocked once then three times on the door.

Tommy cracked the door a few seconds later, nodding once, face hard but calm.

Joel slipped inside.

The air was stale, and the room smelled like old smoke and something bitter beneath the bleach.

Riley was slumped in a chair. Still out cold.

He was zip-tied to a motel chair — wrists looped tightly, ankles bound to the legs — posture slumped and broken. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

His own dirty sock, used as a gag stuffed between his teeth had long soaked through with spit and blood. The duct tape held it all in place, tight around the jaw, silencing everything except his choked whimpers.

Tommy stepped back, arms crossed.

“He’s still out — but not for long,” he said softly in Spanish. 

Joel’s eyes locked on the man before him — his heart turned to steel as he reached for the wrench sitting in Tommy's open tool box.

Riley groaned, head lolling forward beneath the pillowcase tied over his face. The fabric was soaked through near the top — blood from where the wrench had split his scalp — but not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to scare. 

From across the room, Joel's boots moved slowly.

Measured. Heavy. Unforgiving.

He stepped into the dim light by the bedside lamp. No mask. Just eyes filled with hate, and his jaw set like stone.

He said nothing at first.

Just crouched beside the chair. Close enough for Riley to feel the heat of his breath through the cloth.

Then, quietly asked:

“¿Me escuchas, cabrón?” (Can you hear me, asshole?)

Riley suddenly twitched violently. A choked grunt escaped behind the gag.

Joel leaned in just a little closer, breath cold as ice.

“Vas a pagar todo lo que tomaste.” (You’re gonna pay everything you took.)

No names. No hints. Just the voice of a reckoning.

He stood again, slow and methodical, and reached for the wrench he’d had resting beside the chair.

He paced once in front of the chair. Then again, before coldly commanding.

“Confiesa lo que hiciste.” (Confess what you did)

Riley thrashed weakly and shook his head. 

Joel didn’t hesitate — he drove a fist straight into his gut.

The chair rocked with the blow, the zip-ties creaking as Riley bent forward, gag-muffled cries filling the air.

“Confiesa, cuenta tus pecados” (Confess, tell your sins) Joel demanded again.

Riley tried to speak — begged through grunts — but again shook his head.

Joel hit him in the face this time, a clean, hard punch to the jaw that snapped Riley’s head to the side.

Tommy stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed, face unreadable, eyes dark.

Joel circled again, his veins filled with nothing but anger and rage, eyes black, chest starting to heave.

“You like power?” he hissed, slipping back into English. “¿Te gustó verla estremecerse? ¿Oírla llorar?” (You liked watchin’ her flinch? Hearin’ her cry?)

He struck again, knocking his head the other way.

Riley jerked and whimpered.

Joel’s nostrils flared.

He stepped back, bringing the wrench into his grip.

He heldd it high over Riley’s right leg.

“Veamos cuánto te gusta sentirte impotente.” (Let’s see how much you like bein’ powerless.) Then the swing was swift — brutal.

CRACK.

His kneecap gave instantly. Riley screamed behind the gag, thrashing, bucking, head whipping back and forth in immense pain.

Joel didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.

He waited. Let him writhe. Let him feel every second.

Then leaned in close again and whispered into the soaked pillowcase, putting his hand on the back of the chair to hold it still.

“Vas a rogar para morir antes de que termine.” (You’ll beg to die before this is over.)

Riley sagged, nearly faint.

But Joel wasn’t done.

“Confiesa,” he said once more — lower now, quieter, a devil’s lullaby.

Riley groaned something unintelligible.

¿Qué fue eso? No te entendí…” (What was that? I couldn’t understand you…)

He swung the wrench again, turning what was left to dust. 

Riley’s body strained against his restraints and sobbed, his chest heaving quickly, unable to beg for him to stop. 

“Stop?” He taunted in English, grabbing his hair through the pillow case, tilting his head back, setting the wrench down by the chair. 

Riley’s head nodded through the pillow case, his sobs muffled. 

“¡¿Me estás pidiendo que pare?!” (Are you asking for me to stop?) he yelled in his face, rage now taking over. 

Riley could be heard agreeing as much as he could through the gag, his head beginning to nod more frantically. 

Joel grabbed his face by grasping his jaw, keeping his head straight before he whispered only for him to hear, “¿Ella te pidió que pararas?” (Did she ask for you to stop?)

Riley sobbed, not knowing what was being asked of him. You could faintly hear him begging, "Please" through the gag, his chest heaving quickly up and down.

Joel held his face tighter, then muttered, "Fuck you." then wound up with a final, massive punch to the side of Riley’s face — and the chair buckled. One leg snapped out from beneath it with a sharp crack. Riley tipped backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud. His head struck the tile hard. 

For only a split second the entire room went still — then Joel stepped forward, breath ragged, fists clenched, gaze locked on Riley’s body.

He stood over his limp, crumpled body and continued hitting his face — fists like hammers, falling again and again.

He didn’t even realize he was growling — something primal and broken in his throat. Every hit was a scream. A memory. Her voice. Her face. The bruises. The blood.

Tommy lunged forward when he heard bones begin to crack.

“¡Basta ya!” (That’s enough!)

He grabbed Joel by the shoulders and yanked him back hard.

Joel stumbled. Chest heaving. Eyes wild and rimmed red.

His hands shook — the gloves now covered in his revenge.

Tommy looked down at Riley’s body — still breathing, barely.

“¿Terminaste?” (Are you done?) Tommy asked, quiet but firm.

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at his own hands.

Blood, dirt, and your name still echoing in his head.

He looked up, nodded once, and then turned his back on the body as he began gathering everything into Tommy’s tool bag.

Tommy went to work fast to set it all up. He dragged the duffel into the center of the room, smearing Riley’s blood along the edge of the dresser, then back toward the cracked chair. He dipped his fingers in the pool of blood near Riley’s mouth and drew the crude cartel symbol on the wall. The “S” with the line through it. Los Serpientes.

He tossed Riley’s burner phone beside the duffel. The manila envelope with the IOUs was placed carefully beneath it.

It all looked deliberate now — calculated.

“Vamos,” Tommy said as he closed the tool bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Joel lingered by the door, chest still tight.

He looked back once at Riley’s body lying in his own small pool of blood. 

He prayed God wouldn’t be merciful. That he’d let him live — that he would have to come to head with the consequences of his actions of what he did to you. That he’d rot behind bars for it. 

Then turned back and walked out into the early morning sunlight, the motel room door swinging shut behind him like a coffin lid.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, fists still clenching and unclenching at his sides as they made it back to their trucks.

“You good?” Tommy asked, dropping the toolbox into the bed of his work truck.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the rusted motel sign, the curtained windows, and the silence beyond the door.

“I’m better now than I was yesterday, now that I know he can’t hurt her again,” he muttered.

Tommy nodded. “We need to call it in.”

Joel nodded and took off the gloves he wore. Tommy took them and told him he’d take care of everything. 

They walked two blocks down, boots crunching over cracked pavement, until they reached the corner liquor store. A dusty old payphone sat bolted into the side of the brick wall, faded blue handset dangling like a relic from another lifetime.

Tommy wiped it once with his sleeve before handing it to Joel. “Dial star-sixty-seven. Then 911.”

Joel took it with steady hands, pressed the buttons, and turned his back to the parking lot.

The phone rang once before a dispatcher picked up.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

Joel lowered his voice into something nondescript. “That man that’s wanted on the news, for beatin’ that girl from the accident? He’s at the Rosewood. Room 217.”

The line was quiet for half a second, keyboard clicks then, “Ok thank you for that information. Can I have your name for the police report?”

Joel paused. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Click.

He hung up and turned to his brother.

Tommy gave a small nod, pulling his cap lower on his head. “Let’s get gone before sirens show.”

They didn’t rush. They walked back to the truck slowly and steadily, just two working men leaving a job site. Nothing frantic. No guilt. No red flags.

Inside the cab, Joel stared out the windshield for a beat, his jaw tense.

“You think that’s enough?” Tommy asked quietly, leaning in through the passenger window from outside.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“He won’t ever come near her again, and that’s all I need to know,” he said finally, turning the key to start the engine.

Tommy nodded and stepped back, gently patting the window. “That’s enough for me.”

By the time Joel pulled into his long gravel driveway, the adrenaline had worn off.

He stepped out of the truck and grabbed his phone from the cupholder. It had been dead since leaving the hospital. He could feel the tightness in his shoulders, the toll of every punch, every held-back scream.

He entered the house, walked past the photos on the wall, past the chair where you always curled up in the mornings with your coffee. He couldn’t stop to look at them, he needed to focus on getting back to the hospital — back to you.

Inside the bathroom, he started undressing, placing everything into a trash bag, and turned on the shower water.

He plugged in his phone, and when he powered it back on, messages started lighting the screen like fireworks. Missed calls from Everly. Wes. One from his dad. Two from his mom.

He quickly showered, taking as little time as he could to avoid any further suspicion on how long he’d been gone. 

Then, just as he was toweling off, it buzzed against the counter.

Incoming Call: Everly

Joel’s heart thumped — not fast, not panicked. Just… ready.

He answered, voice low and steady. “Hey, everythin’ ok?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Everly’s voice cracked with worry. “I’ve called a dozen times—”

“I know, I’m sorry, my phone died right as I left, I just realized,” Joel said calmly, like nothing had happened. “You alright? Is she ok?”

There was a pause. Then a sigh of somewhat relief from her: “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay. She’s the same. Still sleeping. The doctors came by about an hour ago… they are gonna try to wean her off sedation starting tomorrow, see if her cognitive tests improve...”

Joel’s eyes fell to the photo of you both on his nightstand — one of the two of you from the night at the cowboy bar, Tommy had taken of the two of you dancing in the middle of the crowd. His thumb brushed over the glass.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said. “Just needed to finish cleanin’ up. I’ll bring coffee.”

“You sure you’re alright?” she asked.

He could tell she heard it — the quiet. The stillness in him that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said.

And for the first time in hours, Joel smiled with a sense of satisfaction washing over him.

Joel stepped off the elevator and walked down the unfortunate — yet familiar hallway. His boots echoed softly against the linoleum with each step he took. The scent of antiseptic burned in his nose, but he barely registered it. His body moved on autopilot, every step back to your room rehearsed in his mind.

When he reached the door, Everly was seated by the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Wes stood at the foot of your bed, talking quietly to a nurse. As he entered, both siblings turned — Everly with narrowed eyes, Wes with something colder.

Joel offered a calm, quiet nod. “She doin’ okay?” he looked at the nurse. 

She nodded and gave a small, polite smile, “Just checking vitals, still stable.”

Everly stared for a second too long, then added. “Still asleep. No changes.”

Joel’s gaze moved to you instantly — the way your fingers still lay where he’d left them just hours before, your chest rising and falling. His expression was calm, but the storm behind his eyes hadn't yet passed.

Wes stepped forward, stepping into his gaze that was on you. “Hey… you mind stepping out with us for a sec?”

Joel blinked, setting down the to-go tray of coffee he’d brought for the three of them. “Yeah, what for?”

Everly stood slowly. “Just want to talk, give her a moment of some quiet, yeah?”

Joel hesitated, then walked over and gave your forehead a gentle kiss before he backed up and followed them into the hallway.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wes didn’t wait. “Where the hell were you today?”

Joel’s jaw tensed at the tone he gave. “Told you. Needed to clear my head, plus I told you I had things to take care of.”

“Bullshit,” Wes snapped. “You ghosted us for hours. Didn’t answer a single call. Now you show back up lookin’ like you’ve seen a war, what the hell?”

Everly’s voice was low. “Joel… you’ve got this calm thing going on, and that’s not like you. Not right now — not since yesterday.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Wes took a step closer. “You went after him, didn’t you?”

Joel met his eyes. “Like I said, I had things to take care of.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wes muttered, turning away for a moment. “You think that’s what she’d want?”

Joel’s voice didn’t rise. “I think what she wants is to never need to be afraid again.”

Everly looked between them. “Just… just tell us you didn’t do anything that could tie back to you.”

But Joel didn’t respond, he just took a deep breath in and stared past them, avoiding the interrogation. 

Then the television screen above them flickered, and the hospital hallway stilled as one of the nurses turned up the volume.

BREAKING NEWS: SUSPECT OF ASSAULT WAS FOUND BRUTALLY BEATEN AT ROSEWOOD MOTEL - POLICE SUSPECT TIES TO THE CARTEL. 

The news anchor announced, “…suspected connections to cartel retaliation, possibly linked to unresolved gambling debts. The victim, Riley Jameson, was discovered bound and unconscious, with multiple injuries including a crushed knee, broken jaw, severe head trauma, and fractured ribs. Police say there is no current suspect, but the scene suggests organized involvement as the Los Serpentines tag was found inside the room along with an IOU note in Jameson’s possession.”

The anchor continued, but all three of them were frozen as they watched flashes of the crime scene shown.

Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all.

Wes turned to him slowly. “What did you do?”

Joel said nothing and looked at Wes with eyes that were begging him not to make him say it out loud.

Everly pulled the three of them closer and lowered her voice, “If this was you and God knows who else, just look at me and tell me one thing — were you smart?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak at first; he just did one short nod before he cleared his throat and ran a hand over his scruff then inhaled deeply and quietly said, “Yes. Of course.”

Everly and Wes looked back at the TV and watched as Riley’s photo flashed on the screen. It continued going on about him being the main suspect in your investigation. 

With that, an agreement was passed between the two of them without needing to say a word. They looked back at each other and silently vowed to never speak of this again. 

Later that night 

The soft click of the door closing echoed louder than it should’ve.

Joel stood still for a moment, blinking against the dim hospital light. The only illumination in the room came from the monitors — little green lines blinking, humming, keeping rhythm for the woman that held his heart lying still in that bed.

Everly and Wes had finally left to grab food. Promised they’d be back in thirty minutes. He nodded like it mattered, but all he could hear was the stillness — the kind that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes.

He ran a hand down his face, then walked to your bedside slowly, his boots quieter now, like even they knew they shouldn’t disturb you.

You looked just the same — too pale, too still, too hollow.

A tube still down your throat, a bruise blooming a deeper shade of purple with each hour across your neck, tape clinging to your wrist where the IV line fed its steady drip.

He sat down in the same chair, assuming the position of the same posture. That same knot in his chest that hadn’t loosened since the day before.

His fingers reached for yours without thinking, threaded between them — holding onto you tight.

“You missed a hell of a sunset,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Orange like fire over the ridge. Buck would’ve loved it — Wes said he damn near galloped when he let him out to pasture.”

No answer — just the beeping.

Joel’s throat worked. He leaned forward, elbows braced the edge of the bed, thumb brushing slow circles into your knuckles.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to say this,” he whispered. “I’ve never been good with words. But I think you always saw through me anyway.”

A heavy silence continued.

“I did somethin’, sweetheart.”

He swallowed. “I don’t regret it. Not one goddamn second of it. I’d do it again. A hundred times over.”

His voice cracked then, raw and low. “But I wish… I wish you didn’t have to pay for it. I wish none of this ever touched you.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly. His stubble scratched against your skin as he lingered there.

“This ain’t how your story ends,” he whispered against your hand. “It can’t be.”

Another beat passed, then a sob climbed out of his chest — quiet, guttural, and stolen.

“Please don’t leave me…” he choked, dropping his forehead against your joined hands. “Fight. Please fight.”

Tears slipped from his eyes, soaking the edge of the sheet.

“I’m right here, baby… waitin’. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll be the one to remind you who you are if you forget.” His voice shook. “Just don’t quietly go away. Don’t slip through my fingers like this...”

His body trembled now, voice breaking open like something sacred inside him cracked wide.

“I need you.”

The words spilled out like a prayer. Like a surrender.

“You’re my home. My girl. My heart. If you go… I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”

He kissed your hand again, then moved forward, leaning forward and kissed your temple — soft, worshipful — like the kind of touch meant for memories, not flesh.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

Careful not to tangle in wires or disturb a single part of you, he climbed onto the edge of the bed, curling his larger frame against the small space you took up. His arm slid gently beneath your shoulders, the other resting protectively over your waist. You barely weighed anything. He could feel your ribs rise and fall against him with each breath the ventilator pushed.

His lips brushed your hairline as he settled close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “Come back to me, baby. Please…”

The room stayed silent aside from the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitor.

He closed his eyes, letting his cheek rest against your forehead, his body pressed against yours like a shield. “We’ve got so much left to do,” he murmured. “I want to tell you so much. Show you that canyon we drove past. Take you dancin’ under real stars — not ones strung up over a bar floor.”

He exhaled shakily. “I want a life with you, a family — I want to grow old beside you.”

A brief moment of silence took up space, and then — a twitch against his hand. One so faint he thought he imagined it.

His eyes opened. He looked down where your hand lay loosely in his. The monitor beeped on, steady. His thumb brushed across yours again, and this time— it moved.

Your finger curled — not by much, just the smallest twitch — but enough.

Enough to snap the breath from his lungs.

Joel sat up slightly, staring at your hand in his, as if willing it to move again. And it did.

Another flutter. Just as small. But just as real.

He let out a quiet, broken sound and brought your joined hands to his chest, holding them like a lifeline. His forehead dropped against yours once more.

“I understand,” he whispered, voice cracking with relief. “You’re fightin’.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, one after another.

“I’m right here when you’re ready. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

His voice went quieter still.

“I’ve got you, baby.” he said as he held you close — not like you were slipping away, but like you were slowly, beautifully… coming back to him.

In the early hours of the next morning, the room was dark but not silent — the rhythmic hum of the ventilator filled the quiet space like a lullaby. Joel’s arm stayed around you as he lay curled beside you in the narrow hospital bed, your fingers still resting in his. One dim light above the sink cast a pale wash across the room, but otherwise, it was still. Peaceful.

At some point, he drifted off, forehead still resting near yours.

His dreams weren’t deep. They were full of disjointed memories — your laugh, your hand tugging his toward the photobooth at the fair, the way you whispered his name half-asleep in his bed a few mornings ago. He murmured something in his sleep, his hand twitching around yours.

And then a soft knock at the door stirred him from his sleep.

He blinked slowly, then sat up in a haze, disoriented, but a protective instinct kicked in immediately.

The nurse’s voice was low, gentle. “Mr. Miller?”

He rubbed his face and blinked again, taking in the sight of her and a man in scrubs standing just beyond the threshold. The badge on the man’s coat read Dr. Hayden Callahan, Neuro.

Joel straightened immediately, clearing his throat softly. He almost didn’t recognize him, he looked so different without scrubs on.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you. We just need to do a quick neuro check, if that’s alright.”

Joel nodded and slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb you. His boots hit the tile softly as he moved to the side, folding his arms and watching like a hawk.

Dr. Callahan stepped in first, shining a penlight into your eyes, murmuring to the nurse.

“Pupils are equal and reactive. No anisocoria.”

The nurse was already adjusting the bed, raising it slightly to position your head better.

“Can we remove the paralytics yet?” she asked softly.

“Already cleared with ICU protocol,” the doctor replied. “We’ve begun tapering her sedation, too. Let's see how her reflexes are responding...”

He leaned down and spoke to you calmly, clearly.

“Okay, sweetheart. If you can hear me, I want you to try to squeeze my fingers. Just a little squeeze — that’s it.”

Joel held his breath. His fingers curled tightly into his palms as he watched.

There was a pause — one second, two — and then— a twitch of your right pointer finger.

“Slight contraction in the right hand,” the nurse said quickly, her eyes flicking to the monitor, watching for anything to note.

Joel’s heart skipped. He took a step closer. “She… she uh, moved a couple times last night. Same thing as right now.”

Dr. Callahan nodded once. “She’s tracking. Still delayed, but she’s responding. Let’s try a command.”

He leaned closer to you again. “Alright, Y/N, can you open your eyes for me? Even just a little?”

After a few moments, your eyelids fluttered. Barely — just a tremble. But it was there.

Joel nearly stepped forward again but stopped himself, holding his breath.

“Good,” the doctor said gently. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

He turned to the nurse. “Mark this — reflexes are beginning to return. I’d say 36–48 hours until full arousal is likely, barring any unexpected pressure spikes.”

“Still risk of retrograde amnesia?” she asked softly.

“Always with temporal injuries,” he replied, adjusting the chart. “But it’s promising. Swelling is down nearly twenty percent from yesterday’s baseline.”

Joel’s throat caught. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to steady his breathing.

You were coming back to him.

Not in full — not yet. But it was happening. Little by little. You were fighting. 

He watched as they finished their assessment — the nurse checking the IVs, adjusting your ventilator slightly — before she turned to him with a small smile.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” she whispered.

Joel nodded, eyes locked on your peaceful face. “Always has been.”

She nodded towards the door, “Mind if we step out for a moment?”

He pinched his eyebrows, confused, and looked back at you once, “Uhm, yeah, of course.” 

She led him out to the middle of the hallway and hesitated before saying, “Uhm, there’s… one other thing.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowing.

“Her father’s here,” she said carefully. “He’s been in the waiting room for about an hour, he tried last night too. Apparently, he’s trying to get in to see her.”

Joel’s jaw tensed.

“We’ve denied him access per law enforcement instruction — the hold is still active while the investigation is pending. He’s refused to leave until he gets answers, but as you know, we can’t share any details with him due to HIPAA.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it briefly before muttering, “Christ.”

The nurse shifted her weight, lowering her voice. “Do you want us to call hospital security? Or contact the sheriff to have him removed?”

Joel looked through the window again — to you.

You were starting to look warmer, like you were coming back, you were refusing to give up. 

He stared for a moment longer and then turned back to the nurse.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice calm but threaded with steel. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Her eyes widened a little. “Are you sure?”

He gave a slow nod. “I won’t start nothin’. Thank you for letting me know.”

She hesitated, then gave a respectful nod. “The waiting room’s two floors down. Just take the east elevators. I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

Joel didn’t say another word.

He looked back at you once more — at the color returning to your cheeks, the slow rise and fall of your chest. 

“I’ll be right back, my love” he whispered, then turned, squared his shoulders, and walked down the hallway towards the elevators. His boots were silent but filled with a quiet rage — his purpose burning, steady, with every step.

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[josepedroo]

and then there were three. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: established relationship, new parents, Pedro and reader bringing their newborn daughter home, soft domestic bliss, gentle tears, baby coos, full heart fluff, overwhelming love

Pedro doesn’t let go of your hand the entire ride home. One hand on the wheel, the other wrapped tightly around yours, like he still can’t believe this is real. That she’s real.

Your daughter—your daughter—is asleep in the car seat behind you, tiny and perfect, swaddled in soft yellow with a hat that keeps slipping off her head.

You turn to look at her for the hundredth time. Pedro catches your smile out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re gonna give yourself a crick in your neck,” he says gently.

You sniffle, laughing. “I just… can’t believe they let us take her home. Like. We’re allowed to do this?”

He squeezes your hand. “Apparently. No background check. Just vibes.”

You both laugh, but there’s a quiet weight in the air—of awe, of fear, of something so big and tender it doesn’t fit into words yet.

—

When you finally walk through the front door, Pedro pauses. You do too. The three of you in the entryway.

It smells like clean laundry and home. The couch is still covered in baby gifts from friends. There’s a half-built bassinet in the corner and an untouched baby bottle on the counter.

Your daughter stirs in your arms, a soft whimper escaping her tiny lips. Pedro turns to you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I hold her?”

You nod and carefully place her in his arms. His eyes shine immediately, lips parted, arms instinctively protective and soft.

And then he just… stands there. In the middle of the house you made together, holding the baby you made together, like the world finally clicked into place.

“You’re crying,” you whisper.

He chuckles, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m fine. I just—she fits. In my arms. In this house. In my whole damn heart.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, watching her tiny fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt.

“She’s gonna love you so much,” you murmur.

He kisses your temple. “I already love her more than anything. But you—you, mi vida—thank you. For her. For us.”

—

Later, you both lie on the couch, baby girl tucked between you, dozing in Pedro’s chest while you stroke her cheek.

Pedro whispers, “You think she knows she’s ours?”

You smile. “She’ll never not know.”

And in the softest, safest place on Earth, the three of you fall asleep—together, tangled in warmth and love and a forever you didn’t even realize you were dreaming of until it happened.

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

[josepedroo]

all about that ass. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you.content: partner!reader obsessed with pedro’s butt, playful + thirsty tone, domestic teasing, soft + spicy moments, light biting, slapping, grabbing, squeezing — all consensual and loving and just a lot of ass worship

---

It started as a joke. A casual slap in the kitchen while he was washing dishes, one cheeky little smack and a giggle.

Pedro had gasped like you'd committed a crime. “Excuse you,” he huffed, swiping a wet hand at your thigh.

You’d just grinned. “What? I’m only human.”

But the thing is — you weren’t kidding.

Because Pedro Pascal has the ass. Perfectly shaped. Round. Solid. Absolutely irresistible when it’s hugged in jeans, devastating in sweatpants, and downright illegal when he’s in boxer briefs, all sleepy and soft and unaware of the effect he has.

—

Exhibit A: He’s brushing his teeth, bent slightly at the sink, just wearing his low-slung briefs.

You wander in, pretend to be casual about it — and then bite him. Right on the curve of his left cheek.

Pedro jumps, nearly chokes on toothpaste. “Did you just—did you bite me?” he asks through a mouthful of foam.

You smirk. “Barely. That ass is asking for it.”

He groans dramatically. “I should’ve known when I started dating a biter.”

—

Exhibit B: Lazy Sunday morning, he’s face-down in bed, the sheet barely covering him. One leg out, boxer briefs twisted low, cheek half exposed to the sun and your sinful thoughts.

You crawl onto the mattress, kiss a trail down his back, and sink your teeth lightly into the softest part of him. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to claim.

Pedro lets out a sleepy moan, voice deep and muffled. “You’re obsessed, baby.” “Can you blame me?” “…no. carry on.”

—

Exhibit C: In public. On set. At a party.

You never cross the line, but you absolutely give it a friendly tap when no one’s looking. Just a light little pat. A promise. A you’re mine, you fine-ass man reminder.

He side-eyes you every time. But his smirk says he lives for it.

—

Exhibit D: In bed, heated, skin on skin, and his hips are grinding down into yours just right.

Your nails dig into his ass without thinking — hard enough to make him hiss. “Shit—baby,” he pants, rutting deeper, loving it. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” you growl, squeezing the muscle in both hands like it’s the first and last time. Pedro’s voice goes wrecked. “Can’t help it. It’s all yours anyway.”

—

You even have pet names. “Cheeks.” “Booty boy.” “General Rump.” (he hated that one, but it stuck.)

---

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

[josepedroo]

action, cut, come here. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: husband!pedro x wife!actress!reader, unresolved tension after a fight, they're shooting a romantic scene together, pedro is a menace

The fight wasn’t huge. It was stupid, actually—something about him forgetting to text when he got back from dinner with the director. You didn’t want to be that wife, the clingy one, but you were tired, worried, and he brushed it off.

Now you’re both on set, in costume, in character—supposed to be madly in love and moments away from a kiss that’s going to make it into the trailer.

Perfect.

Pedro walks over to his mark slowly, lazily, like he knows you’re fuming and is thrilled about it. “Morning, mi vida,” he says, voice smooth, low, teasing. You don’t look at him. “Don’t ‘mi vida’ me.”

He leans in just enough so only you can hear. “But that’s what I’m supposed to call you. In the scene, of course.”

You narrow your eyes. He smiles wider. Menace.

When the director calls action, Pedro is all charm. He looks at you like you’re the center of the earth. He touches your waist like he’s never felt silk or skin before. And his eyes? Dark. Hot. Holding yours too long between lines, as if saying are you still mad now, baby? Even when I look at you like this?

The lines blur. You’re not sure when his thumb starts stroking circles into your hip. Or when his mouth gets way too close between sentences.

You’re meant to kiss now. Just one soft, simple kiss. But Pedro leans in slow. Nose brushing yours. Breath warm. His hand slips behind your neck and stays there, just a little tighter than necessary.

Your lips are nearly touching. You’re breathing his air. And then— The director calls cut.

You blink. Pedro smiles, like the devil himself. “Guess we’ll have to do that take again,” he says, smug. “Shame.”

You shove his shoulder lightly. “You’re evil.”

He leans down, whispering into your ear: “You were so mad at me this morning, amor, I had to remind you why you married me.”

You roll your eyes. He kisses your cheek anyway. Soft. Real. And says, “We’ll talk after. I’m sorry, okay?”

You sigh. Still annoyed. But your heart? Already traitorously melting.

“…Do the kiss right next time.” He grins. “Oh, I plan to.”

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