#pedro rpf x reader

[javarium]

Occupational Hazard | Pedro Pascal.

Note(s): Comedian! Reader, Large but Legal Age Gap (MC is 30+), Female Reader, mentions of assault and injury, Pedro and MC are engaged 💍 (also, more often than not, when you ask for no salt on the fries at a fast food place (where I’m at anyway), the fries are always hot and fresh), wrote this in a span of, like, two days so it’s not proofread! enjoy!

Summary: Being a successful comedian, you’ve made all sorts of jokes, especially ones at your own expense. But not everyone has the same sense of humor, and Pedro finds out how dangerous some of these people who find your jokes “offensive” are.

****

Pedro hadn’t expected your text message so late. He had just gotten home an hour prior, tired and exhausted. But after his shower, he heard the ding of the two minute reminder on his phone. He plucks his phone from the charge and reads: Would you be available right now? To pick me up? Had an incident tonight.

He’s dressed and out the door not even five minutes later, wet hair slicked back away from his face so his glasses wouldn’t get wet.

It unfortunately takes him thirty minutes to get to the comedy club where you were scheduled to have an event, much much longer than he wanted. But when he arrives, he’s ushered in by the guards that already know him and the fact you and him are in a relationship.

A female guard in plain clothes is waiting for him the moment he steps through the doors, more than likely the one who informed the ones outside you had sent for him and to let Pedro through.

A couple of twists and turns down some hallways and he’s at the stage where you do your work.

He grimaces to himself, and his heart fills with worry and concern.

Not even five seconds upon entering the room did your eyes lock onto his form, his presence something you’ve always noticed immediately regardless of his quiet he was — always seemed to know when he walked into a room, your soul practically locked onto his own.

When the doctor pulls away, finishing her job, Pedro sees the damage done: a full black eye that would be shut for several days and a split lip, with a nose almost broken with a dot of dried blood at your nostril. You’d probably have to go to the hospital in a day or two to have that checked out to make sure it healed properly.

Everyone pulls away from you like opposing magnets, leaving the room to give you both some privacy. He’s glad. He also doesn’t want them to see him pissed off, because he was almost fucking livid.

He pulls a chair from where the crowd sits and places it in front of you. You give him a smile through the pain, and he wants to kiss you so bad but your lip is split damn it—

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey yourself,” he whispers back, trying to smile back and not be angry. One hand is laced between the fingers of your left hand that has that pretty diamond engagement ring on it, his other cupping your cheek on the side that doesn’t have a black eye and rubbing your skin fondly. “What happened, baby?”

You shrugged. “Not everyone has the same kind of humor.”

Pedro raises his brows. “Meaning?”

You inhale heavily, releasing an equally heavy exhale.

“A guy got pissed at a deadbeat dad joke I made,” you said. “I guess he fit the criteria, knew it, and got pissed. Felt called out, I guess.”

His eyes go wide with shock. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” you admit. You run your thumb over the skin of his hand and continue, “I think I’m gonna cancel my next three shows.”

Pedro’s against it the second the words leave your mouth. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am.” You give him a face, one he recognizes easily: you’re not going to budge, and there’s no point in him arguing. “I think he universe might be telling me to take a break.”

He nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, you’ve been going as hard as me lately. I’m starting to think this line of work is more dangerous than what I do.”

You slap his shoulder in a light and childish manner. “Oh, shut up. You do a lot more taxing work than I do.”

“But you’ve done a lot more shows than you have in the last, what, year?” Pedro argues this time. “That’s a fucking lot. Not even I’m sure I could handle that much moving around the states so fast.”

You jab back, “That’s why I pack lightly, baby.”

He laughs. “Har har. Got me there…” Pedro leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of your temple. “I love you, mi princesa.”

You giggle, warmth flooding to your cheeks at Pedro’s affection and soft declaration of love for you.

You almost get to say it back, but he grins cheekily because he already knows and proceeds to ask, “Want some McDonald’s?”

You stand to your feet immediately. “I want two twenty piece McNuggers, two fries without salt, and a big-ass Sprite.”

“You eat too damn much.” Pedro snorts, smiling ear-to-ear. “And you and your no-salt on the fries, I swear.”

“It’s better that way!” you reply, mock offended. “And you get them fresh, too! That salt isn’t any good for high blood pressure anyway.”

“Whatever you say,” he remarks. “So, McDonald’s in the car, go home, shower, and cuddle with a movie on until we fall asleep?”

You love him — absolutely and positively love him. This man knows how to make your bad days better like the back of his hand.

“Sounds perfect.”

You’re so glad to have him. You’re the luckiest woman in the world, no doubt, to call such a perfect man yours.

[fooled-around-and-fell]

Can you write a one shot with Daddy Pascal? They have an age gap of 20 years and she’s super nervous to go public with him cause she’s afraid that his fans won’t like her? And he comfort her

A/n: hell yes I can, and hopefully you'll like this. Also this gif is freaking hot.

Pairing: Pedro Daddy Pascal x reader

second part || Masterlist

--------------------

"It's not that easy."

"It is." Pedro stood closer to you. "I just want to be able to call you mine in public."

You sighed, gnawing on the peeling skin of your lips, something you do when nervous. "I.. I can't."

"What?"

"I can't, I'm sorry.. I just.. I can't. Not now."

Pedro couldn't believe his ears. Both of you have been together for two years, and this has been the one thing Pedro wanted. But he kept it a secret for you, because of the age gap, because he knew you weren't ready.

But now after two years.. you're still not ready.. so what now?

---

That conversation was a week ago. Pedro got pretty upset after that, wouldn't really call you when he's on break, wouldn't tell you if he's coming home, wouldn't call you pet names -- but you understood. Pedro was justifiably upset, but you didn't think it was a good idea to go public at the moment. And it's all because of-

Pedro shut the door with a soft thud and was surprised to see you lying on the couch on your phone.

"Hey. You're still awake?" He asked, though you're obviously still are.

"Yeah, I was just browsing social media." You gave him a little smile.

Pedro nodded and proceeded to go to your shared room. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes did not go unnoticed by you, and the way he was walking tells you he was probably from a nightclub.

It's not like you two had to report your location or schedule at all times, but usually going to a nightclub is something you tell your partner.

You shook your head, not wanting to overthink it, but your thoughts kept coming back to it, and so you followed him to the bedroom and asked him.

"Were you out clubbing?"

Pedro sighed and undressed, ready to go shower. "Yeah, it was a last minute thing with some coworkers. Sorry I forgot to tell you."

"'S okay." You offered another small smile.

Ignored. Pedro walked past you to the bathroom.

As he was showering, you wondered how you should talk to Pedro about going public. It's not like you didn't want to, but have you seen the amount of fans Pedro has?

The amount of people that call him daddy, that make edits of his movies, his interviews? The amount of people who love him?

And if they find out that he's dating someone who's about 20 years younger than he is, what would happen to him? Would he be accused of grooming? Would his fans understand?

You didn't realize how long you've been standing at the same spot until Pedro gently touched your back after his shower.

"Cariño, are you feeling okay?"

Cariño.

You looked at him and exhaled. "Can we talk?"

Pedro had a feeling he knew what you wanted to say. He sighed and sat on the bed, with only his damp towel hugging his waist.

"So, have you decided I'm too old for you?"

You frowned, "what?"

"Let me guess, it's been fun but you want to find someone who's closer to your age? Or is it because you realized this lifestyle isn't for you?"

You felt a little hurt. Did Pedro really think you're going to break up with him because of this? "Pedro, I'm not breaking up with you."

"Then what is it? I've been holding back mentioning your name during interviews when they ask me if I have someone I love, and yes, I do - It's you! I love you, so so much. I want to be able to bring you to places, show you off - I know it's probably a lot to ask, but cariño... I.." he sighed, unable to finish his sentence.

He was obviously frustrated, and this was mostly the aftermath of the alcohol talking. You sat next to him and held his hand.

"I'm scared." You admitted.

"Cariño-"

"Do you know how many videos of you are out there? Ones that your fans make, some even edit them from interviews from years ago. Or how many fanfictions there are of you? Or just the amount of fans you have that worship you day and night?"

You looked at him, worry in your eyes. "They all love you and look up to you so much, and so do I. I don't want to.. to ruin your life because we're going public. We have a huge age gap between us, that doesn't normally sit well with people."

"I also want to show everyone you're mine.. you know how ugly jealous I get when I see some of your costars flirting with you on the red carpet." You placed a hand on his cheek.

Pedro chuckled, leaning into your touch. "I guess I hadn't thought about that part.."

He pulled you closer to sit on his lap, his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. "But I still want to. If they're really my fans, they'll understand. And yes, our age gap is.. pretty big, but I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."

"You are.. mi amor, mi vida. And I'd do anything to be with you." He kissed you softly.

You ran your hands through his hair, and they rested on his neck. "Okay."

"Okay?" You could hear the excitement in his voice.

"Okay." You nodded, reassuring him.

He gave you the biggest grin he had as he hugged you and pulled you both to lay down on the bed, laughing while he was at it.

"Then it's decided. You're coming to the next red carpet with me. As mine."

----

A/n: my crush on this man is starting to feel dangerous.

second part

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a seat-filler at award shows, and now I can’t stop thinking about sitting next to a flirty Pedro Pascal.. (especially since they say you aren’t supposed to talk to the actors!)

The idea of him introducing himself (as if he isn’t a famous actor), sharing candy he snuck in with you or trying to make you laugh while on air and having to shoo away the award show employees that try to intervene. Him just being smitten with reader the whole night.. okay, I’d *love* to hear your take if it interests you!

Hi Nonny dearest, sorry it took me so long to respond, I just had to get my thoughts together because I LOVED this idea so much!! So here we go, hope you like it.

The Seat Filler

Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: here's another one, hope you all like it. No hateful comments please. Again I gotta shout out @ziggyrocket for the support ❤️. It's 6:32 in the morning, apparently I don't sleep like a normal person, I'm on my second cup of coffee, so any typos or whatever are my bad... and Maxwell house coffee's.

Warnings: none (well, corny jokes I guess)

----------------------------------------------------

You had signed up for this gig half on a dare and half out of curiosity. Being a new sign-up, you hadn’t expected to be called in right away, but yet, here you were, in a borrowed gown, in a theater mixed with some of the biggest stars and regular people just like you: seat fillers. 

You remembered the main rules the director told you: 1) look like you’re enjoying yourself, always smile and 2) most importantly DO NOT talk to the actors, meaning the actual celebrities. You nodded and murmured your understanding along with everyone else who was there to work as fillers, not really thinking anything of it. What celebrity would want to talk to me anyway? You mused as you took your seat.

You looked around the theater, excitement flooding through you at the idea of being in such a place surrounded by people you had admired from afar, in magazines, and online. You took a deep breath to steady yourself; you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. You glanced at the empty seat next to you on your left and wondered who’d be in it.  On your right was another filler and on their right was another empty seat.

The filler next to you leaned over slightly and whispered, “Who do you think they’re gonna put next to us?”

You shrugged. “No idea, hope it’s someone good.”

He nodded in agreement, then a look came over his face as he glanced over your shoulder.  You turned your head to look and you blinked hard as you recognized the man coming towards you, and taking the vacant seat next to you. While the man next to you was busy getting settled,  you glanced back over at your fellow seat filler, whose jaw had semi-dropped. You both exchanged excited looks, then you nudged him lightly with your elbow and he shook himself, cleared his throat lightly and sat up. You both faced forward, determined to be on your best behavior. 

Unfortunately for you, your newest seat mate had different ideas. Pedro knew the whole deal with seat fillers and how they were told not to speak to anyone. But he felt a mischievous streak go through him when he saw you glance at him briefly. 

“Hi,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Hi,” you said back, nervously glancing around to make sure that no one saw you speaking to him. 

The two of you smiled at each other, before you turned back to face the front. He took a few seconds to study your profile as you sat there, determinedly facing the front, sitting as still as a statue. 

He glanced down and saw that your elbow was resting on the shared arm rest. With a small smirk, he placed his on the arm rest too, bumping yours. 

You looked over at him, smiled awkwardly and whispered a hurried, “Sorry,” before moving your arm and facing forward again.

After a few minutes, you placed your elbow back on the arm rest, and, noticing that, Pedro, bumped your elbow again with his. You moved your arm again. And then a few more minutes later, you placed it back again, only for him to bump you again. After the fourth time this happened, you looked over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and he just smiled innocently at you.

A few minutes later you felt him shift next to you, you looked over and saw him pulling out a bag of Skittles. You tried to hide your smile, but he noticed and nudged you slightly and offered you some. You looked around, making sure that there was no one watching, and then you held open your palm and he shook some of the candies into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered and popped a few into your mouth. 

A little over an hour into the show, you could feel him getting restless next to you. You figured the sugar had gotten to him. After the Skittles, he had pulled out a candy bar, broke it in half and shared it with you. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knee and the seat. You tried to ignore it, but you had to admit it was more than a little distracting.

“Are you okay?” you whispered hurriedly to him.

He turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you though?” you asked, gesturing to his jiggling knee.

He smiled. “Yeah.” But his knee kept jiggling, you had to suppress a laugh at that. 

He noticed you struggling to keep a straight face, and decided to aim the restless energy he had at you. He was going to make you laugh, really laugh, by the end of the show. His mind was made up.

He thought for a moment and then he leaned over to you, “Psst, hey.”

“Yeah?” you answered looking straight ahead.

“I have a question.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Why did the bicycle fall over?”

You were confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I said: why did the bicycle fall over?”

“Uhh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it was two tired.”

You turned to look at him after that, he laughed at the look on your face.

“That was corny,” you said, shaking your head, but pursing your lips to keep from laughing.

“Oh, that reminds me of another one,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He looked around,  cleared his throat, and then asked, “What does corn say when it gets a compliment?”

You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to say anything but wanting to hear the punchline, you turned to him.

Barely able to suppress his giggles, he answered,”Aw, shucks!”

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh you felt escaping your lips.

“Okay, one more,” he announced. 

“Oh, lord,” you groaned.

“It’s a good one, I promise.”

You waved your hand slightly for him to go ahead, knowing he would anyway.

“Okay, why are pirates called pirates?”

You bit your lip trying not to laugh. “I don’t know why?”

He leaned closer. “They just arrrr!” he whispered the last word in a bad pirate accent. 

You couldn’t help it, you snorted, then quickly covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, but he’d heard it, and he smiled at that.

“Good one right?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, oh my god, that was bad, but…” you couldn’t finish as a fresh wave of giggles overtook you. Your shoulders shook with your suppressed laughter.

He smiled and laughed along with you. For the rest of the ceremony, he would lean over and whisper comments about one person’s speech, or another’s outfit, nothing malicious or mean, just something to make you smile. And he always had a bad joke or two to whisper to you. 

By the end of the program, your cheeks were hurting from all the smiling and your stomach was sore from the laughing. You couldn’t help it, a few had escaped, luckily it was during the jokes the emcee told, so it looked as if you were enjoying the show. Truth be told, you couldn’t remember what had happened during the show, or who had won which award. If someone had quizzed you on it after, you surely would have failed; but you felt it was worth it because being seated next to Pedro had made it the best night of your life. You hadn’t laughed that hard, or enjoyed yourself that much in a long time.

After the show was over, you headed out with your fellow seat filler.

“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself,” he said as you filed out into the lobby.

You nodded with a huge grin on your face. “Yeah, I did.”

“I could tell,” he said, nodding, “what was he saying to you to make you laugh so much?”

You shrugged. “Oh, just a few jokes, and comments that’s all,” you said lightly.

He looked at you curiously, but when he realized you weren’t going to elaborate he commented, “Lucky you. The one they put next to me was on her phone the entire time.” He shook his head. “At least you got some entertainment.”

You two chatted for a little more, making plans to grab a late dinner with him and some of the rest of the seat fillers. Before you could leave, however, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

“Okay, I have another one,” you heard Pedro’s voice in your ear before you could turn around. “Just thought of it.”

You looked at him. “All right, go on.”

“Which bear is the most condescending?”

You started laughing then answered, “what?”

“A pan-duh!”

You burst out laughing along with him. “Where on earth did you even hear these?”

He shrugged. “Internet.”

“They are so bad,” you said, still chuckling.

“And yet, you laughed. Therefore they did their job,” he pointed out.

“True enough,” you agreed, “thanks though.”

“For what?”

“Making this event… well, eventful. I was prepared to be bored out of my mind, sitting there like a statue, smiling a fake smile the entire night.”

He smiled at you. “Well, I’m glad I could help. So, what are you planning on doing after this?”

You shrugged. “I was gonna grab something to eat with some of the rest of the seat fillers…”

“Oh, okay, I'm doing the same.” He nodded and looked away. You noticed that for a second he looked slightly nervous, but before you could get a good look, his face cleared and he turned back to look at you.

“I guess I should let you go then…” you said, turning to catch up with your friends.

“Wait, one more question.”

You stopped and looked back at him. “What's up?”

“Well, you know, I have a lot more jokes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, and, well, all my friends and family have heard them. But you haven’t, at least I’m pretty sure you haven’t….”

You nodded. “I haven’t, I don’t think.”

“Good, well, I shall have to inflict them upon you, you know, if you don’t mind. Maybe over dinner tomorrow?”

You thought for a second. “I don’t mind at all,” you answered with a huge grin.

[avenging-fandoms]

You have a little fight with Pedrito before you leave for the Oscars. His agent doesn’t think it’s a good idea that you go together as a couple since not many people even know that you guys are dating. So you go separately, but when Pedro sees you on the champagne carpet he can’t help himself. Secret is out 😉

Pedro Pascal Masterlist 1

Pedro Pascal Masterlist 2

-

“This is dumb, I’m going to be late because of you and I had more things to do to get ready” Pedro’s make up artist brushed powder off his face and Pedro rolled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry we all can’t be perfect, honey. Five minutes and we’ll leave” Pedro replied and you huffed, sitting on the couch.

“Actually, Y/N, your ride is here” you and Pedro look at Nicole, his agent, confused. “We feel it’s best for you two to arrive separately so the attention isn’t all on your relationship that no one knows about. There’s already speculations. If you want to keep it secret, you arrive separately”

You laugh and stand up, grabbing your clutch. “Well, at least I won’t be late anymore” your heels clicked against the ground as you walked out of his hotel room, heading down to the lobby.

On the way to the Oscars, you couldn’t help but think about the fight you had with Pedro. It felt like you were suffocating by keeping this relationship a secret, it was a year next month.

You wanted to bring it up, you wanted to say something, but it wasn’t the time or place. You wanted to tell him you were ready to tell everyone you two were together, but was he?

You wondered if his agent didn’t want him arriving with you so the attention was only on Pedro and she wanted headlines of his name instead of yours next to it.

Little too late for that.

You step out of the car and hand your clutch over, heading onto the carpet with a bright fake smile. You did your best to hide your nervousness and your anxiety as Pedro wasn’t next to you like he normally would be.

Pedro arrived about 5 minutes after you and as soon as his shoe hit the carpet, his eyes spotted you. It was this neat trick he had. Any room, any size crowd, he could always find you.

His insides burned. His mouth became dry as he stared at you looking serious on the champagne carpet, he couldn’t stop his feet from rushing over to you.

As you made your way down further your heard loud screams and the chant of your boyfriend’s name. You tried to ignore him, posing for different cameras and keeping your body turned from Pedro.

“Princesa, look at me” your body instantly turned to Pedro and he smiled, holding your hips as your hands held his biceps, the cameras happily clicking away with money signs in their eyes.

“I didn’t get to tell you before you ran out, but you look absolutely stunning” his lips kiss down your jaw and neck as his arms get tighter around your waist, dipping you a bit.

You giggle as your leg kicks back, arm around his neck with the cameramen egging you two on.

Pedro stood back up and you look at him with a smile. “What happened to keeping us a secret?”

“Fuck that, I was gonna wait until we hit a year but you look so gorgeous tonight I wanted to make sure people knew you were mine” you smile and Pedro kisses you quickly, wrapping his arms around you.

[f10werfae]

Mi Princesa

pairing: Sugar Daddy!Pedro Pascal x Pregnant!Reader

summary: Some morning loving with Pedro Pascal and his very pregnant wife, and maybe a little spice in the shower (DILF Warning ) Disclaimer 18+

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Full Masterlist, Pedro Pascal Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Good morning mi princesa, and good morning mi amor” Pedro whispered bending down to kiss his wife’s 6 month bump, the coldness of his wedding ring making her flinch. “Baby, ya woke her up” She whined feeling the small fluttery kicks erupt at the tip of her stomach, her eyes still closed but her lips already aiming for Pedro’s, giving him one hell of a wet kiss. “I’m sorry baby, daddy wanted to talk to his princesa” He whispered gruffly, one of his hands sneaking up her sleep shirt to cup and squeeze at one of her swollen breasts, massaging it softly.

“Eh? What about your other princesa?” Y/n winked biting her lip, softly moaning at the feeling of his cold hands on her tits, he was always so gentle with her; almost as if she was made of glass. “Mm can’t forget about her, but you’ve been upgraded baby, tú eres mi reina”

“Hmm sounds sexy what does it mean?” Tracing the side of his face she felt his hand fall back down to her rounded stomach, a habit he had picked up over the past few weeks, along with the belly kisses and telling his baby-girl stories. “Means you’re my reina, my queen, and this little girl, is our princesa”

“God could you get any sweeter, sexier and even more handsome Pedro” She squealed using her energy to hoist herself up to straddle him, even with her stomach in the way, she leant down as best as possible to pepper kisses all over his neck; giggling once she felt his hand on her ass, softly drumming against it with his hand. “Oh shit, I may have peed a little” She said suddenly sitting up, knowing damn well how much her precious princess loves using her bladder as a cushion, sending her to the toilet multiple times an hour.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love your waddle?” Pedro whistled watching her speed waddle into the toilet, a hand on the small of her back as she sent a glare his way, sticking her tongue out at him. “ah baby don’t get like that with me, I can’t stand it when mi reina gives me that face” Pedro sighed springing himself out of the cotton sheets, following his wife like a cute little puppy, just watching her wash her hands and brush her teeth. “Stop giving me those eyes, Mr Pascal” She warned spitting out the rest of her water, reaching behind him to pull on the water heater,

“What eyes Mrs. Pascal? The eyes you fell in love with? The eyes you look into while-“

“Yes yes, those eyes, now help me” She smiled widely holding both hands up in the air, watching on as Pedro pulled his shirt off her body, hearing him wolf whistle once he saw her nude body; acting as if they hadn’t been going at it like rabbits due to her raging hormones. “Come on daddy, don’t ya wanna shower with the mommy?” She smirked slowly stepping into the shower, her hands rubbing over her stomach as she tilted her head cutely, knowing damn well what it did to her sugar daddy husband.

“Mierda, the things you do to me woman” He groaned quickly ridding himself of his shorts and t-shirt, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist to bring her side flush against his chest, the gruff of his facial hair softly scratching against the top of her head. He could practically feel the heat coming from her wet centre the more he felt up her wet body, taking his sweet time to kiss and grab at all his favourite spots (which was basically everywhere) Taking his time to kiss at her breasts, her stomach, her arms, even bending down to kiss at her thighs.

“Please Pedro, you know what you’re doing, s’not fair” She sighed stomping her foot lightly, furrowing her brows as his tongue licked stripes up her neck and into her mouth; causing her to moan into his hot wet open mouth. “I need you daddy, please” She whined using the nickname that started their relationship in the first place, on that dodgy sugar baby site. Her hand leading his down to her already swollen clit, directing his fingers to rub slow soft circles on her button.

“I’ve got you mi vida, got to help my princesa’s mama, mi reina” He whispered kissing her lips then her cheek, his fingers moving at a steady pace as he felt her grasp onto his forearms for balance, her forehead leaning against his chest.

“I-i’m close baby, so so close” She whispered kissing his pec, gasping when she felt his fingers sort through her holds, swiftly inserting a finger into her snug hole; with one finger at her clit simultaneously. “Let go for me mama, i’m right here, let go for me gorgeous girl” He sighed against her temple, feeling her clench onto one of his fingers as she shook against him; her legs slightly trembling. “Good girl baby, feel and taste you so good” Rubbing her folds gently to let her ride her high, he slowly removed his hands, licking them clean as he looked into her eyes.

“You’re crazy Pedro, but I love you so much for it” She breathed out, clearly out of breath, her body fully leaning onto his for support; before wincing again when she felt an extra strong kick being delivered to her ribs, her little girl was finally awake again. Pedro’s hands immediately rushing to her stomach, shushing his little baby at the same time, he was in awe at her sheer strength. His lips meeting the stretch marks on his wife’s belly, his eyes marvelled in awe at how beautifully they were spread on her skin, the marks telling a story of how she was carrying his baby, their baby. Their princesa

“mi princesa, no le hagas daño a tu madre, she takes such good care of you, making sure you’re safe and healthy in her amazing beautiful body. Take care inside there okay? You can kick papa all you want when we meet you, but for now stay calm mi princess, te amo mucho”

———

no le hagas daño a tu madre = Don’t hurt your mother

PSA: This was so cute to write I loved it so much🫶 So I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

*All Spanish came from online as i’m not fluent, if something needs corrected please let me know :)*

See you guys at the next update 🫶

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal x Reader - Here with me

Summary: During his time in Morrocco, Pedro finds himself in need of reassurance. You are happy to help.

Relationships: Pedro Pascal x Reader

WC: ~1200

Tags/Warnings: RPF, Gender-Neutral Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pedro is a softie in this, the morroco pics made me do it, pedro pascals cream-colored hat, age differene (not specified), insecurities

AO3 LINK

Notes:

i hope yall like this! it is my first time posting a pedro work so id love to hear your thoughts on it <3 also watch me settle the six pack debate through the power of fanfiction.

_________________________________________________________

“I look stupid.” He muttered under his breath as he stood in front of the mirror. You weren't sure if he was talking to you or to himself. Still, you had caught every word.

“You do not look stupid.” “Fine, then I look- I don't know - bad.”

You sighed, finally turning your full attention towards the man you adored so much.

“You do not-” You crossed the bedroom in a few strides until you were behind him and could gently brush your hand over his back:” look stupid or bad-” He opened his mouth to protest but you immediately cut him off:” or whatever other similar attributes you have prepared.”

Pedro grumbled but it soon turned into a soft sigh as you carefully brushed the wrinkles out of his white tee and stood on your tiptoes to look over his shoulder, glancing at him in the mirror. He looked more than good, in your opinion. His skin was sunkissed, the colorful trunks went well with the basic shirt, he had put on some comfy sneakers and the light fedora he'd brought from Los Angeles. His hair was still a little messy after the shower you had shared and bits of it stuck out below his hat, making him all the more adorable.

You pressed a small kiss to his shoulder, just below his neck. The skin was soft and warm, having absorbed the sun throughout the long day you had spent exploring the streets of Morocco.

“You were so excited about bringing the hat when we packed, baby.” You mumbled to him, searching for his gaze through the mirror in front of you. He still didn't look at you, his eyes instead wandering over his body once more. Your lips were still on his skin and the vibrations of your voice carried into it as you spoke:” What's going on?” Pedro let out another small sigh:” Its nothing, I'm sorry. Just a long week.”

You knew shooting had been draining, the long hours combined with the physicality of the role and the heat- you admired how well he coped with it. Then again, maybe he didn't. Very gently, you stepped back and lowered your heels to the floor, returning to your normal height. You placed a hand on either side of his hips and slowly nudged him to turn around until he was fully facing you. Your left hand stayed on his hip while your right one wandered up to cup his face. He hadn't shaved in a while and you ran your thumb over his beard.

“What's going on?” You asked again, gazing up at him. You both knew he couldn't resist opening up to you. Not when you were looking at him like that. The words almost tumbled out of his mouth.“I just want to go somewhere without it ending up on social media. I want to go out with unwashed hair and a stained shirt and not worry about repeating an outfit or looking stupid or old or-” You shushed him gently, your hand still caressing his cheek.

“Baby, you can. Noone will mind, I promise.” He still looked doubtful. You didn't want to push him but at the same time you felt like you wanted to get to the bottom of this. You knew he needed the reassurance.

“You're afraid you'll look old?” He shrugged a little but it was accompanied by a small nod. So, that was it. “Can I ask something?” Your thumb had begun to draw circles on his cheek and he gave another silent nod.

“Are you scared that someone will think you're old?” You paused for a moment:” Or are you scared I will?”

His large brown eyes finally met yours and-

Oh.

Pedro barely had time to react as you leaned up and pressed a desperate kiss to his lips, trying to convey how much you adored him, making up for the words you couldn't find. He wrapped his arms around you, almost protectively and it suddenly occurred to you that he must've had that thought for a while.

“Pedrito, I- I don't think that.” You mumbled:” What makes you think I do? And don't say it was the stupid hat, you've worn that before.” He kissed you again, buying some time before he had to reply. “When we were at the beach a few weeks ago and I didn't have my reading glasses with me.” You knew exactly what he meant. And you immediately felt guilty. It had been a rare day off for the two of you and you'd decided to pack up some towels, books and snacks and spend the day at the beach. And then he had realized that he'd forgotten his reading glasses. And you had teased him about it.

“Baby, I didn't mean- Why didn't you say anything?” You asked quietly. You had pulled back a little more, to properly study his face. Just like you, he seemed to struggle with finding the right words. “I didn't want to make a whole deal about it. And I didn't- I didn't mind it. At first.” He explained gently. His voice was low and his gaze kept flickering away from your face:” I don't want you to miss out on things just because I, well, just because I'm older.” You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at that. Pedro stared at you like you had gone crazy:” What's so funny about that?” He demanded. You grinned up at him, your thumb still rubbing circles into his skin:” I'm not some rich Hollywood guy with a fancy yacht. I'm not going to trade you in for some young hunk with a six pack.”

You could tell he still tried to look a little mad but the corners of his lips curled a little as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile. That earned him another small laugh from you. “With this role, I might have a six pack soon, you know.” He teased as he finally looked down at you again. Your hand that had rested on his hips slowly moved under his shirt, finding his small, soft belly.

”As long as it makes for a comfortable pillow, I don't mind either.”

That elicited a small smile from Pedro. He watched your expression closely as you shifted, turning a little more serious. “I knew how old you were when we started dating. In fact, I'm pretty sure I knew before that.” You said gently:” I don't mind. I want to be with you. Siempre.” Your thumb had found the small, bald spot in his beard and rested in it for a moment. They fit perfectly. “Okay.” He whispered. And then it was his turn to try and convey an emotion he couldn't quite grasp with a kiss.

You understood.

After a while, you pulled back and studied his face for a moment, the way his eyes seemed a little watery, the shape of his nose, his slightly reddened lips. You smiled.

“If you wear the hat, I'll wear the dress.” It took him only a second to catch on:” The yellow one?” He asked, his face lighting up at the idea. ”The yellow one.” You confirmed.

You'd never seen him wear a hat with more pride.

[josephquinnswhore]

Hi 🌸

What about a fic where reader is walking with Pedro and they are at the airport but they get swarmed with paparazzi. Everyone wants to talk with Pedro so the reader falls and the paparazzi start to push her around and he freaks out trying to find her 😩☺️

Breaking Point

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: pedro looses his shit after you get hurt from paparazzi.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: paparazzi being assholes, reader gets hurt, slight panic attack, Pedro losing his shit.

Note: I FUCKING LOVE YOU ANON. TRULY. Anyway I’m gunna source Pedro’s rage from that video of him at the airport where he’s frustrated but make it 100 times worse lol. I cant believe people are actually requesting my fics, I love you guys.

It’s no secret that Pedro spends a lot of time in LA when he’s not at home in New York, snaps of him plastered on the internet for the world to see; exposing his location within the day of him arriving. Privacy wasn’t a luxury you could afford, especially after his upcoming fame after his role as Joel Miller in the last of us, paparazzi just seemed to be everywhere you went, no matter if you were ordering a coffee, driving to a family members house or even going to the gym. Pedro was often apologetic about the lack of privacy and how intrusive the paparazzi could be, your life has changed drastically since being with Pedro. It was hard to acclimate to, being followed and having hundreds of photos of your face and personal life plastered on the internet and magazines worldwide. You had put your big girl pants on and learnt to deal with it, Pedro admired your resilience, even though the paparazzi were moderately tame up until today.

Today was one of those instances where you and Pedro were on your way to LA, a frequency that had become a fortnightly occurrence, the airport was nearly empty, a few people floating around, you try not to draw to much attention to yourselves regardless as you pull your luggage behind you, the few people that occupied the airport seemingly recognising Pedro despite the cap and sunglasses in an attempt to hide his face. He never minded the fans approaching him, in fact he loved it, as long as they were polite he would entertain them, what he didn’t need however was for someone to post online that he was in the airport, much against your luck that’s what happened when a particular fan approaches the both of you.

“Oh my god Pedro! Could we get a photo please, I’m such a huge fan!” A young girl asks him, his attempt of a disguise obviously failed, Pedro offers a polite smile, “yeah of course, thank you for your support.” You step to the side while she takes a selfie, not wanting to intrude on her moment, “I can totally take a picture for you if you like?” You offer kindly. The girl smiles and is trembling as she hands you her phone, you snap a picture of them together, Pedro wearing a genuine smile, his tired pose captured in the image on the girls iPhone.

You hand the iPhone back to her and she thanks you both, speed walking back to her friend that had been left by the seating area, showing her phone and seemingly posting it to the internet. Within minutes your phone is buzzing from a text notification, Lux sending you a screenshot of the post on Twitter from the girl, in her excited high she exposed your location to the world; worse off the paparazzi. You try to prepare yourself for the shit storm bound to happen.

“This isn’t good.” You mumble to yourself, a loud sigh leaves your lips that catches Pedro’s attention. “What’s wrong honey?” You simply turn your phone to him, he squints through his sunglasses and exhales loudly. “This is going to turn to shit.” He looks around the airport as you walk toward where you’ll be boarding your plane, about to stick your luggage on the belt carousel when you hear shouting and clamouring heading in your direction, that didn’t take long. Pedro turns your body away from the audience as to give you some privacy from the invasive images being snapped of you. He wished just once that the way he touched you would be kept private, he gentle hand on your back, his lips on your temple, nothing seemed sacred between you and Pedro despised it.

“Pedro, Pedro! Look here!”

“Please here look! Just one picture.”

“Someone move the girl out of the way.”

The paparazzi were screaming over each other, pushing and shoving their way closer to you with every second. Their desperation to get a new picture of Pedro outweighed any morals they had, if they had any at all. You struggle to make out their sentences and demands as they rush you, pushing you a few steps back, separating you from Pedro as they surround him in a half circle as they scream at him, each trying to gain his attention for their news report.

You begin to panic once you’re separated, never having death with paparazzi that act like this before, the noise and clamouring becomes too much to handle, it’s easy to become overstimulated when the screaming overlaps each other and the noise becomes havoc, you try to squeeze between the gaps to get back to Pedro, reaching out to him as you try to get his attention, to no avail. Pedro is polite in the way he’s shielding his eyes from the blinding flash as he calls your name, asking them to move out of the way so he can find you, unable to see you past the swarm of strangers. “Pedro!” You call out, voice breathless and strained as you panic, you’d never been around paparazzi like this before. “Please move out of the way so we can get on with our day.” Pedro pleas.

One man shoved past you harshly, seeing the gap you occupied in order to get the perfect picture of Pedro once he had taken his sunglasses off. You trip backwards at the force of his shoulder barging you, stumbling over your luggage that’s pulled tightly behind your legs and as if in slow motion, it takes a few seconds to register the pain in your head as it smacks into the floor as you fall onto the cold tile.

“Baby! Oh my god look at what you people have done! Move out of my way!” Pedro tries to shove his way past in an effort to get to you, seeing you being brutally shoved to the ground, groaning in pain set a fire inside of him.

You grunt in pain as you cradle your head, the area hot to the touch where it met the cold floor, the throbbing spreads to your ears leaving a ringing noise to squeal through them. “Oh fuck,” you mutter which comes out slurred, your own voice sounds unrecognisable, unable to stop the room as it spins around you, the dizziness sets a nausea in you that climbs from your stomach to your throat.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people, have you got no dignity or respect?” Pedro snaps as he rushes towards you, seeing your face paler than normal and the pained look on your face as it scrunches. He kneels above you, your eyes seeing doubles as he comes into view. “Baby, are you okay?” His hand is cradling your head and one is waving in front of your eyes, you blink slowly, trying to gain a clearer view of your surroundings.

Pedro slowly helps you sit up, leaning against your luggage as the clicks of the camera are still shuddering throughout the ordeal, not caring that they’ve physically hurt you. Pedro’s face is red and a large vein in his neck and forehead begin bulging in his rage. “You fucking cockroaches, you did this to her. You can expect to hear from my lawyer for this stunt. Get that camera the fuck away from me.” Some of the men flinched, never seeing this side of Pedro. It was a first for you too; the indescribable rage he’d shown was a direct result of your injury at the hands of these people. The clicking and flashes of the camera finally stopped, your vertigo stops to a standstill and you’re brought back to your senses. “We’re sorry man, we just wanted some new pictures. I got a family to support you know.” The man who pushed you excused himself, the irritated tone didn’t go unnoticed, Pedro scoffs, “go and get a real fucking job. All you do is harass people it’s pathetic. Now get the fuck away from us before I call the police. You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass for this.”

“I’m sorry man, I can’t afford a lawsuit.” The man stutters as he realises Pedro is dead serious in his threat. Pedro helps you stand and you wobble on your feet, his arms hold you upright as he leads you away from the crowd. “I don’t give a fuck if you can afford it or not you spineless prick.”

“Come on baby, you need to get your head checked out.” The paparazzi that lingered snapped a few more shots of Pedro leading you to the front desk as they’re escorted out by security.

You’re sat down on a small chair, an EMT approaches you, kneeling down so you can see him.

“Hey, how’re you feeling? Heard you had a bit of a fall.” He starts, opening his medical pack as he observes you. “A fall? She was shoved by those heathens.”

“Its okay.” You turn to assure Pedro, but it was totally not fine, he just shakes his head at the way you’re still trying to make this out to be no big deal. “I think I’ll live. I still feel a little dizzy though.” The EMT takes out a torch, you blink harshly a few times as it blinds you, you try to adjust to the bright LED light. “Just follow this light for me. That’s it, now look up.” Your eyes follow the light lazily, seeing Pedro with a concerned expression on his face out of the corner of your eye, made you feel guilty for ruining his whole day.

“Your reaction is a bit sluggish. Just going to check your head now okay? Where does it hurt?” You nod and point to the area at the back of your head slightly to the left and wince as his gloved hands part your hair where the giant egg on your head was. Pedro’s hand sits on your knee, rubbing it to reassure and offer some support to you. The man gently prods the sore spot and you tense, holding your breath, a headache coming on at the sudden contact with the sore spot.

“It’s very possible you’ve got a concussion. I’d advise not getting on a flight until you’ve been cleared. It may take a few days.”

You sigh, “thank you for looking over me.”

“It’s no problem at all, look after yourselves,” the man farewells as he walks away. Your hands are aggressively rubbing your hands over your face in annoyance, you’ve just delayed Pedro’s flight and now you would have to stay home while he flies to LA for his interview.

“I’ll call a cab to get home, you should still go to LA. You can call me tonight once you land.” You offer weakly and Pedro frowns deeper, the stress lines on his face making him age a few years by the whole ordeal. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving you here after that, concussion or not. I’m staying with you honey.”

Before you can protest Pedro hushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I can rebook the flight and reschedule the interview for next week. I need to be here to make sure you’re okay. Don’t ask me to leave without you.”

“Okay.” You accept which helps Pedro relax, his face red from where the stress lines had been a semi permanent fixture on his face. “Let’s get you home baby. Gotta make sure my girl is looked after.”

Pedro calls a cab outside the airport and helps you into the car, the taxi driver loads your luggage for you. “They’re going to point the narrative about you being awful. You know that right?” You look up at him through your lashes, Pedro scoffs, “let them, they can get fucked.”

He tucks your hair behind your ears and slips his fingers in between yours to hold your hand, a sincere look in his eyes, “no one fucks with my girl and gets away with it.”

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 4

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Gif by:@sh214

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

*! New warnings will be listed first !*

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: ~2.3K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

Hi there! To those of you who have read and are still with me, THANK YOU! I love you all. I'm sorry that my chapters are taking longer and longer. Work has been a bit more hectic lately and I also just had some serious writer's block with this chapter. That being said, it feels a little rough and I apologize if its awful lol. But either way, thanks for hanging in there with me and please let me know what you think! Your comments make me happy!

__________

You groaned, stepping out of bed and drifting towards the bathroom. Your face was sticky and your eyes stung from crying late into the night. It was silly, naive, and frankly stupid… but sometimes you can't control how hard emotions hit. Seeing that Pedro didn't actually watch your video was a let down - to put it mildly. Obviously he's a popular guy. A star. He has better things to do.

You should be grateful he even responded to your Instagram message before. Even though it hurts, surely he has more interesting things to do than message someone like you. Just because you wrote a song and he said he liked it doesn't mean he owes you anything more.

So after a fitful night's sleep, you were utterly exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally. Luckily, it was still your weekend and you could rest today. 

More like spend the day wallowing in your self pity… you think, disdainfully at yourself.

Looking in the mirror, you notice your puffy eyes. There's some new acne, and a mop of frizzy hair on your head. After using the toilet, you step on your bathroom scale before your shower; a morning routine you started during years of dieting. Another 3 pounds. Up again?!

You look in the mirror, pinching your stomach with a sigh. I guess I shouldn't have had those cookies yesterday…

The food guilt creeps up as you think of the goodies you've eaten recently. Cookies yesterday, fast food the day before. You were bitter that you weren't one of those people that could just magically eat whatever they wanted without gaining an ounce. 

But you aren't, and you should know better. 

Frustrated with your appearance, you begin your usual internal debate about how to fix it.

Maybe I should go back on the diet…

But the diet caused you so many problems. Remember the stomach issues? The hunger? The lack of joy? Binge eating on cheat days until you were sick?

But! I lost so much weight!

Yeah, until you started gaining weight…

Maybe I didn't cut enough. People said I looked so good. I was *almost* skinny.

Maybe people would like me more if I was skinny… Maybe Pedro would like me if I were skinny. There's no way he would be with me looking like this.

These were the debates that plagued you for months… years… a lifetime.

You showered, tears beginning to flow again as you tried to push out the thoughts. He was probably just busy, but either way you knew you didn't have a chance. 

Your friends were right. You were an obsessed fan. It was… concerning, as they said. They pitied you when you felt sad about your feelings. Just find someone you actually have a chance with, they pushed. Someone real.

But... he did message you. Maybe he didn't even know you had an interview yesterday? Maybe he watched it later. You were being utterly ridiculous. It didn't matter anyway.

But what you didn't know was that Pedro felt just as disappointed. He wanted to be the one on your list. The one you loved. He went to bed just as mopey as you did and woke up just the same.

_____

Having washed away your bad feelings as best as you could, you gave Skipper a kiss on his little forehead and made some coffee while scrolling Instagram. You were nervous to see what people had to say about your interview, but you had to face the music eventually.

As you could have predicted, people were running through the potential suspects (or prospects, that is) who have brown curly hair and brown eyes. Some supported you and loved your interview. Others criticized you for being too chicken to show yourself. 

You weren't used to this level of attention, and you really weren't sure you enjoyed it. But you were grateful to have your two lives kept separate, your true persona still shaded in privacy.

What you did not predict, was a notification popping up from Pedro, interrupting your scrolling. Forgetting to breathe, you immediately clicked on it. If the message were food from the oven, you would've burnt your hand the way you grabbed it so fast. 

Perhaps I should've been a little more chill about opening this so quickly... Oh well.

Pedro Pascal messaged you: "Hey! I watched your interview yesterday. You did fantastic. I know fame is new to you and you're nervous, but you're a natural."

Your heart swelled. He did watch it!! He must have just been busy during the live stream.

You replied: "Pedro! You watched it!?! Thank you so much. That really means a lot to me."

Pedro read your message immediately, but instead of sharing in your level of excitement, he was hit with a wave of confusion instead. She must just be trying to not hurt my feelings. She already knows I watched it.. unless she didn't even notice my name. Or she didn't care enough to look for it…?

He decided to play along with it anyway. "Absolutely, I did. I've had it marked on my calendar since the day it was announced a couple days ago and watched it as it was streamed live."

His response took you by surprise, and then made you angry. If he really watched it, he would know that they gave you a list of the people who watched it live. Why was he lying to you about it?

You started to plan out your response, maybe even send an accusatory comeback, but then you thought about it again.

Why would he lie about it? What would he gain by lying? He messaged you.

With this in mind, you instead chose to take a different approach. One better designed for fishing. One you had to be very careful about, so as not to reveal the fact that you looked for his name.

"Wait!? You watched it live? I didn't see you on the list. You're one of the few people I've spoken to who actually seem genuinely friendly and interested in having a conversation with me. I had sort of hoped you were listening."

There. That doesn't sound too revealing, right? Totally friendly…

Pedro opened your message and was met with both confusion, and something else he wasn't expecting. Hope. Did you look for his name??

Still, he wanted to address the confusion. "You didn't see me on the list? That's odd.. but I'm sure there were a lot of names to scan through. Maybe my name was just buried in that list."

You knew it wasn't buried. He was the only name you looked for. The only name you cared about seeing on that list, not that you'd admit that to him right now. But you also didn't want him to feel that insignificant either.

"There were a lot of names, I'll give you that. But I swear you weren't there. Were you logged into your account? Maybe your Internet crashed, or you missed part of it?"

Instantly he remembered the ten or so minutes that Oscar interrupted him. 

Oscar!

"Oh shit! That's it. Oscar barged into my house while I was watching it and I slammed my laptop closed."

"Oscar… Isaac? Wait, why did you slam your laptop closed?"

"Yeah, that's the one. And… I don't know. He just surprised me, I guess. It wasn't a planned visit."

Slamming your laptop closed is an odd reaction to your friend visiting, but okay, you thought.

"So you closed your laptop, and missed a few minutes. And that must have been the moment they pulled the list of viewers."

Pedro replied. "It must have. But I was there, more than happy to listen to what you had to say"

If my name had been on the list, would her answer have been different? When asked whether the man she loved was on the list and she said no, would my name have changed anything? Pedro wanted to ask you these questions. But he couldn't. Not only was he scared, but he also didn't want it to come off as some douchey comment that made you uncomfortable. He wanted to get to know you better, even if just as a friend, and he wouldn't let a silly little crush ruin that.

You sent a response that could be deemed as friendly or neutral, still cautious. "Thank you Pedro. I'm really glad you watched it."

He replied without hesitancy. "Of course. But, I am sorry that your guy wasn't on that list."

He sounds genuine. Not like he's fishing for information like everyone else on the internet. In turn, you decide to be playful with your response. Risky, but still not too revealing. "It's okay. It turns out that list wasn't as accurate as I once thought it was" you typed with a smirk.

"So maybe he was watching after all," Pedro answered.

"Maybe he was."

Pedro soon changed the subject, "I did enjoy hearing about your favorite things, though. You may know this already, but I love movies. Some of the ones you mentioned are a couple of my favorites as well. But as for your favorite books, I haven't read them, but I've been meaning to find a new book to read."

The fact that he was a reader made your heart flutter; the thought of him sitting with a book, his glasses perched on his nose, brow furrowed as he stroked his thumb over his lip in deep concentration. You were overjoyed at the thought of him reading *your* favorite book and potentially having someone to talk to about it. Before you knew it, you had frantically sent multiple excited messages.

You: "Oh! If you read any of my favorite books we HAVE to talk about them!"

Second message: "AGH the first book I mentioned is my favorite, out of all of them. The ending blew my mind. And the characters were just so amazing! Well except for that one guy.. but I won't spoil that…"

Third message: "But my favorite character has the greatest lines!!! Sometimes I like to quote it but nobody else gets it. And the way the author describes the settings is so magical, it makes you want to be there."

Pedro caught himself smiling at his phone, wrapped up in your excitement, as you were finally able to talk to someone about your favorite book. It was adorable how happy you seemed.

He started to type a reply when you sent another message. "Shoot… I'm sorry. I got a little too carried away…"

"Who told you that?"

Huh?

"Who told me what?" You asked.

"Who made you feel like you had to stop talking when you became excited about your interests?"

His question took you aback, but your mind struggled to pinpoint the answer to it. There's been so many people that have told you that over the years. People you assumed were friends. An old crush who didn't like multiple text messages at once. Classmates who would complain or make fun. It was routine.

"Oh. It's not a big deal. It's just something I've heard over the years. But I also know how I get and I don't want to be too much. I'm sorry. I don't want to monopolize the conversation too much either. But hey, you didn't mention, what are your favorite books?" You tried to change the topic.

Pedro felt that protective feeling bubble up in his chest again.

"Over the years!? There have been multiple occasions?" Pedro shook his head, even though you couldn't see through the text. "I'm sorry anyone ever made you feel that way or said anything to imply that your interests weren't worthy of being heard. Fuck them. They should be thankful that you shared your interests."

They should be grateful to hear your beautiful voice get so excited. To get to see your excitement and smile, Pedro thought to himself angrily. He hoped he could someday witness you getting excited over your interests in person too.

"Thank you Pedro. But really, it's okay. I know I get a little… obsessive and crazy, especially with sending multiple texts, so I don't blame them. Haha. :)" you tried to soften the mood.

"I don't want you to ever feel that way with me. I liked hearing you talk about your interests."

You began to type, but Pedro beat you to the punch.

"In fact… if you'd like to talk more," he gave you his phone number. "Feel free to text me, or you can call me too. I like talking on the phone, but I know not everyone does."

Holy shit. Is this real life? Did Pedro Pascal just give me his phone number? And ask me to call him?

Truthfully, your introverted self really didn't like talking on the phone. But the idea of talking to Pedro, hearing his voice on the other end of your phone was too much to handle.

What you didn't realize, was that Pedro wanted it just as bad.

Your fingers danced over your phone keyboard, trying to find the right words for a reply. What do you say when the love of your life (that you didn't think you would ever have a chance with) gives you his phone number?

Pedro watched anxiously as the three dot-dot-dots of typing appeared and disappeared over and over. His heart was racing, and he began to worry he may have overstepped this time. 

Why did you give her your number? She's going to think you like her!!! 

But you do like her, you idiot, Pedro berated himself.

He ran his hand down his face, waiting for your response in agonizing suspense. But instead of hearing the pop of a notification, his phone began to ring instead, an unknown number displayed on the home screen.

Wait… is that her? Is she CALLING me?!

He answered frantically, practically dropping his phone in the process. 

"Hello?"

"Hello? Pedro? It's me.."

You heard him give a breathless laugh before answering with a gentle "Hi."

_____

Thank you for reading!! Let me know your thoughts :) More will be coming soon. I know this is a painfully slow burn lol. Thanks for being patient.

Next chapter! Here

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Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson @cartoon-garbage04 @tyferbebe @maryfanson @gwendibley84 @faithfullyyours2000 @brilliantopposite187 @hc-geralt-23 @jenniferpendragon

[pedge-stuff]

I just had the worst and saddest possible day ever and all I wished was someone here, just to hug me under my cold covers. Can you please make something up with pedro and reader please?

I'm so sorry you are going through this?? I hope things have improved since you submitted this. Sending love your way.

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okay (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked,“ per usual.

a little, plotless shorty for your troubles.

thanks, as always, for everything.

TW: a very brief mention of disordered eating

summary: sometimes, you just need to be held.

—————————————————————————

"I'm okay," you whisper. "It's okay, really. I just need a little bit."

Less than convincing.

There is a dip in the mattress behind you. Even with your eyes closed, covers pulled over your head, turned away from him entirely, you can tell he is settling against the headboard, atop the duvet.

Pedro doesn't speak. Doesn't touch you, either, but you're not really sure if you're grateful for that; sometimes, being touched when you're like this feels so intolerable, it takes your breath away. Other times, a soft touch feels like the only thing that can hold you together. Trial and error, involving a lot of shitty and unfair antagonisms, has taught Pedro to give you space before he gives you love.

This is why you suck, your brain supplies. Nothing more— your mind is too fucking tired to even dissect your insecurities properly. You just feel bad.

Not without reason; at least, not today. Three missed calls from your mother, with whom you are barely speaking to, anyways. (It turns out being engaged to Oberyn Martell is about the only thing that could cure her passive aggressive homophobia. A bit too late to be water under the bridge, at any rate.)

Three missed calls, and some really shit news.

So, you're in bed. Under the covers, hiding, as if 8:30 is a totally normal bedtime.

And things are decidedly not good.

The tears come, silent and steady.

A warm press of lips to the back of your neck startles you; hot puffs of breath where his nose is buries into the hair curled at your nape, just a moment, before pulling back. It does not feel as bad as you'd feared.

"Sorry," you croak, blindly reaching behind you; squeeze what feels like his knee, in what you hope is a marginally reassuring gesture. "I'm fine, baby, you don't have to sit here with me." Pedro is early to bed— neither of you are really night owls— but not this early.

He makes no effort to move. "Can I..." A tentative hand, between your shoulder blades.

You can't help the thin whine that accompanies your shaky exhale. Fucking pathetic. But you turn, slowly, rolling over to face him. You'd assumed he was up against the headboard, but he's shifted down now, head on the pillow beside you.

Smiling, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Wordlessly, he tucks an arm over your waist. He's always been strong, biceps as thick and sturdy as tree limbs, but the Gladiator training has added a layer of muscle just about everywhere. (Including his stomach. Abs are slowly stealing the small belly there, and while you're proud of the work he's putting in, you secretly miss the softness.)

"I don't know what you're thinking," Pedro whispers, mouth brushing against the top of your head. "But I'm so sorry, honey." He rubs the length of your spine, brow furrowing at the feeling of unfamiliar protrusions. Stress and an irregular schedule has sent good eating habits by the wayside; your body is shrinking, while his grows.

It's been the shittiest fucking month. He's been gone, you've been busy, and neither of you have gotten enough of the other. Back in New York three days now, but this is the first night you've been able to stay in together— and, of course, you've ruined it.

"Just happy to be with you," Pedro says, as if reading your mind. "Maybe this strike'll last forever, and I'll never need to go back to Morocco. Sorry, Paul Mescal."

You laugh, despite yourself, thick with tears. "I'm gonna miss the fan selfies, I think. What're they calling you? Pee-paw?"

Pedro groans, punishing you by pulling you tighter against him. Your face is squashed against his chest. Not a hardship. He smells clean, spiced. Familiar. Comfortably, and safe.

"You're engaged to the oldest man on the internet," he laments. "In Twitter years, I'm dead."

The squished hug is short-lived, breaking as he rolls back, gently, to get a better look at you. Cups your face, puffy and wet and gross; brushes twin thumbs over your cheeks, with a fond smile.

"There you are," Pedro whispers.

"I'm okay." Another sniff, but the threat of tears seems to have subsided. Today was shit, but it's over now; you're here, together, with nothing but time and sleep ahead of you.

"It's okay that you're not, sweetheart."

But you are. You're with him.

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Bottom left gif by: @binary--sun , bottom right gif by: @interstellarflare

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Word count: 5.1k+

Chapter summary: Nine years later, unexpectedly, Jack hears from you. 

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: Angst, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, mentions of cheating, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone for the overwhelming support on Chapter One! I didn't have much time to work on the graphic for this chapter, so it took me a while to upload it. I have ADHD, and it's currently unmedicated, so that's also a factor. I find that I work best when the house is quiet, but with children around, getting them to sleep can be quite hard, haha! Again, I wrote this years ago, so I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post. So, thank you for your understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story!

As Jack's footsteps carry him back to his apartment from the Kingsmen agency, his mind is consumed by the weight of his day's work. An hour before he intended to go home, he found himself inexplicably overwhelmed by a sudden urge to rush to his apartment. It wasn't a foreboding feeling, but rather a strong sense that something good was on awaiting him. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of Jack's somewhat clumsy dash out of his office, barely avoiding a slip on the freshly mopped floor- no one commented.

Now, in the lobby, with each step closer to his sanctuary, a glimmer of anticipation flickers within him, a faint hope that there might be a respite from the pain that has plagued his heart for years.

Reaching his mailbox, he pauses, his hand steady as he retrieves the day's mail. Among the advertisements, his eyes catch sight of a familiar return address adorned with the emblem of the firm that handled the painful dissolution of his marriage. The sight sends a jolt through his veins, instantly sharpening his senses. He feels a surge of joy and curiosity that threatens to overpower his cool demeanor. This, this is what I’ve been waiting for, he thinks.

With the letter clutched tightly in his hand, Jack climbs the staircase, his heavy and rushed footsteps echoing through the empty building stairway. As he reaches the sixth floor, he pauses for a moment, catching his breath and steadying his racing heart. Fuckin’ hell, I’m really starting to get old. 

His apartment building's signature aroma, a mix of aged wood and Reed Diffusers, drifts through the air and the illuminated corridor, offering a soothing moment. With renewed determination, he strides towards his apartment, the key ready in his trembling hand, eager to discover the message held within the white envelope.

Taking the letter inside, he fumbles to close the door behind him, his focus solely on the contents of the envelope. It feels like an eternity as he tears it open, the sound of the paper ripping echoing through the room. Throwing away the torn envelope, his hat, his phone, and his keys on the coffee with disregard, his gaze locks onto the words that lay before him, ink etched upon the pristine white surface.

With each sentence, the gravity of the situation becomes clearer, the weight of the words pressing against his chest. His heart beats faster, his breath growing shallow. The letter, written in a professional tone, contains the invitation he had never anticipated but always hoped for. She wants to meet me. The delicacy and urgency of the matter are subtly emphasized, practically begging Jack to meet you.

Jack's eyes scan the lines, his mind working swiftly to decipher the unspoken pleas hidden within the formal language. He can almost hear your voice, strained and vulnerable, begging for a chance to talk. 

The letter extends an offer of legal representation, a reminder that the cold machinery of the law can mediate their meeting. But Jack's resolve is unwavering. He wants this to be personal, as personal as it can get. I can finally clear everything up with her. Tell her what I never said. The opportunity to talk face to face with you without the barrier of attorneys fills him with a mixture of hope and anxiety, like a tightly wound spring ready to unfurl.

A surge of emotions floods his being, the years of longing and unanswered questions vying for attention. He clings to the flickering flame of possibility, for within this letter lies the chance to reclaim what was lost, to confront the lingering ghosts of his past, and maybe, just maybe, you could love him once more. Throughout the past nine years, when Jack basically pushed you out of his life, he lived in constant regret. He promised himself if he ever got a second chance with you, he would take it and do everything in his power to ensure you never felt the same pain as you did during your marriage.

Jack can't help but feel a glimmer of optimism as he sets the letter down. The future is uncertain, but the mere fact that you have chosen to reach out stirs hope deep within him. It's a fragile hope, like a flickering flame in the darkness, but it burns nonetheless.

As the weight of the letter lingers in Jack's hands, his gaze drifts toward his phone. Resting on the table beside the torn envelope lay a familiar device—Jack's unchanged phone, a device that held precious moments. He had never upgraded it because it carried countless memories. It was the very phone into which you had entered your number when you first met. It was the same phone that had kept him up on calls until the sun peeked over the horizon, the same phone that had exchanged texts with you at all hours of the day. It was the very phone where you introduced him to the world of sexting, etching those intimate moments into his memory. Jack found himself continually revisiting these cherished memories, and he never changed his phone number. Perhaps, in the recesses of his hopeful heart, he believed you might someday reach out. Even though the years following the divorce had passed without your contact, he couldn't bring himself to give up hope.

He reaches out for his phone and picks it up, his fingers gliding over the familiar touchscreen. With a deep breath, he dials the number to the firm, his heart pounding in sync with each number pressed. 

The sound of the dial tone echoes in his ear, and before the receptionist has a chance to utter a greeting, Jack's voice resonates with urgency, cutting through the silence, "Good evenin’. This is Jack Daniels. I'm callin' for Mr. Raul Santos."

The receptionist, taken aback by his directness, responds with a polite tone, "Good evening, sir. Please hold while I transfer you." The hold music fills the air, a symphony of anticipation mingled with the echo of distant voices. Jack's mind races; moments feel like hours while he rehearses over and over what he will say.

Finally, the ringing ceases and is replaced by a voice on the other end. It's Raul, the person who holds the power to give Jack his biggest wish. Jack wastes no time, the words escaping his lips before doubt can creep in, "Raul, it's Jack. When can I meet with her?" His voice carries a blend of longing and urgency.

"Jack, can you meet tomorrow at St. Andrew's Hospital at 10 AM?" The words hang in the air, filled with anticipation, as Jack's breath catches in his throat.

Why the hospital? Jack's mind questions. Summoning his resolve, Jack finds his voice and responds, "I'll be there."

"Perfect," Raul replies, his voice a lifeline in the abyss of uncertainty. "We'll be waiting for you on the tenth floor of the East Tower. When you sign in on the first floor, tell them you're meeting Dr. Navarro." Jack nods to himself, memorizing all the instructions as if his life depends on it. 

Jack's emotions simmer beneath the surface as the call comes to an end, a torrent of hope, nervousness, and a glint of renewed longing. The image of St. Andrew's Hospital burns in his mind, a symbol of new beginnings and the coming together of their separate lives.

With apprehension and excitement, Jack sets the phone down, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Tomorrow assures a reunion, a chance for Jack to apologize for all of the suffering he has caused you. It is a moment he has dreamed of, yearned for, an opportunity to correct all his errors.

As he gazes into the distance, the fading daylight casting long shadows across his tired face, Jack finds solace in the glimmer of hope that glows in his heart. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but at this moment, he dares to believe that the fragments of their broken bond may find a way to heal.

Despite his initial doubts, sleep had managed to find its way to Jack, offering him a few hours of rest. When he wakes, a surge of excitement courses through his veins, fueled by the knowledge that he will soon be reunited with you. The morning light filters through the window, casting gentle rays of warmth upon his face; as he rises with a renewed sense of purpose.

Determined to make a good impression, Jack steps into the shower, the hot water cascading over his body, washing away the traces of sleep and leaving him feeling refreshed. He carefully removes the stubble with each stroke of the razor against his skin, his fingertips tracing the sharp contours of his tanned face, ensuring a clean and polished look. The mustache, once untamed, is now meticulously trimmed, framing his pink lips.

Moving to his closet, Jack sifts through his collection of clothes; a rain of fabric and colors fall on his full-sized bed. He changes in and out of various combinations, looking for the perfect outfit. His fingers glide over the texture of his dress shirts, searching for the best one. Jack eventually settles on a deep blue dress shirt, a charcoal gray blazer, tailored pants that hug his frame just right, and a tie with subtle patterns.

Next, Jack turns his attention to his footwear, opting for a pair of polished black leather shoes. Would you examine his shoes with a magnifying glass? No, but that doesn't stop Jack from meticulously brushing off any lingering specks of dust, ensuring they shine in the morning light. As a finishing touch, he retrieves a felt Stetson hat, a prized possession that holds sentimental value because you gifted him with it. He tenderly cleans it, erasing any signs of wear, and proudly sets it atop his head.

Ready to see you- Jack leaves his apartment, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The crisp, chilly morning air greets him as he exits the lobby. I remember I met my sugar on a day like this, Jack thinks. He pretty much runs towards his car and turns the key making the engine roar to life. With each mile that passes throughout his two-hour drive, his mind remains focused on the meeting ahead.

When Jack arrives at the hospital, he hands his keys to the valet while scanning the surroundings for the reception area. He spots a man in a gray uniform and approaches him, his voice full of eagerness, "Good mornin’,” Jack begins, "I have a meeting with Dr. Navarro at 10 AM." 

"May I see your ID, please?" The man asks politely, extending his hand.

Jack hesitates for a moment and reluctantly hands over his ID, watching as the man's eyes scan the name. There's a brief pause, and then the man looks up at Jack, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Jack Daniels." The man says with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the name on the identification. 

Jack, sensing the unspoken question, clenches his teeth and responds with a touch of irritability, "Yes, it's real." The man understands the tone and directs Jack toward the appropriate elevator.

Jack complied eagerly and made his way toward the elevator. With anticipation, he reached out and pressed the button, making it glow orange. A ding echoed behind him in a matter of seconds. He hurriedly stepped inside the elevator and quickly jabbed at the close button, unwilling to wait for another passenger. Jack kept repeating a mantra of hurry, hurry, hurry in his mind. Without wasting a second, he confidently pressed the number 10.

Jack grows impatient inside the elevator, his fingers tapping restlessly against his hips as he paces back and forth. The rising numbers on the display screen get his attention, frows burring with each digit slowly increasing- reminding him of precious time slipping away. "This has to be the slowest fukin' elevator in the world." He growls in the empty elevator. Frustration lingers in Jack's thoughts; You should've taken the stairs instead of the goddamn elevator, his inner voice cursing the choice that delays the meeting with you. And when the tenth floor finally arrives, Jack leaps into action, his boots hitting the clean baby blue floor with a resounding thud.

Startling the receptionist, Jack raises a hand in apology and walks toward the front desk. He provides his name and appointment details, receiving a buzz of approval before being directed to his destination. Jack rushes forward, his heart pounding. Unbeknownst to him, the receptionist shakes their head, silently cautioning him to be careful, a concern in the receptionist's head so he won't stumble and falls on his ass because of his hurried run. 

The instructions echo in his mind, and he checks them off as he goes; walk to the automatic white doors, check, press the buzzard, check, walk to the end of the corridor, check, make a left, check, take one last left, chec-

And there you are, seated on a gray leather bench outside the meeting room, your eyes locked onto the black screen of your phone as if you’re waiting for it to light up, lost in a world of your own. Jack's breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, and his eyes well up with tears. Time seems to stand still as he stares at you, overwhelmed by the flood of memories and emotions that surge within him. Despite the passage of years, you still possess the power to make his heart flutter, your presence stirring a mixture of awe and love. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thinks.

However, Jack's expression falters as he realizes the missed opportunities, the unspoken words, the love not fully cherished. Regret taints his thoughts as he reflects on the path that brought the both of you to this moment. He wants to make amends for the pain he caused you, but Jack knows that this meeting has a different purpose; he doesn't know why the exact reason, but after everything he put you through, there must be a reason you need him. He's not going to let you down, not again.

Summoning his courage, Jack calls out your name. Your head immediately turns towards the voice, one that hasn't graced your ears in years, and for a quick moment, he sees a flicker of reluctance in your eyes. Seeing Jack again, admittingly, stirs up an overwhelming desire to hide from him. All you can see are the haunting memories. A flood of painful flashbacks that would bring you to tears in privacy. The temptation to approach him surges within you, but it's not for a hug or a kiss, no. Instead, you imagine the crimson mark your hand could leave on his cheek. But you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the reason you reached out to him after all these years.

"I didn't think you were going to show." You finally say, your voice tinged with relief and guarded vulnerability. Rising from the bench, you stand before him, your hands tucked inside the comforting embrace of your black hoodie's pouch. 

Jack's heart aches at the sight of you, knowing that the pain he inflicted has left an unforgettable mark on you. Though he craves to erase the memories of hurt, he understands that redemption lies in actions, not words alone. Taking a deep breath, he suppresses his own desire to close the distance, touch you, and maybe taste your lips again. He mentally shakes his head, focusing instead on the reason for your reunion.

"Hi, Sug-" He stumbles for a moment, realizing he no longer has the right to call you by the affectionate nickname. "I mean, hello. I'm here." 

"I'm glad you came."

Jack nods, his throat tight with emotions he struggles to put into words. "I knew I had to be here," he says, "I couldn't let this opportunity slip away." 

"There are things we need to address, wounds that need healing. I want to make things right, to find a way to move forward together."

You want to interrupt, to rip the bandaid off, but Raul's advice rings in your ears, urging you to let the meeting room be the place to lay everything on the table. So you hold back and let Jack do the talking.

Jack takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking. His heart pounds in his chest as he gets closer. "I know I've caused you so much pain," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm here today because... because I want to make things right. I wanna understand, I wanna listen, and try to heal the wounds I've caused. I wanna be there for you, to support you, to love you, and do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. And if you'll let me, I wanna be a part of-" 

Just as Jack was about to request something that has always been on his mind, a door opening from behind you interrupts him. Raul with one foot inside the meeting room and the other in the corridor, calls out for both your names.

"We're ready for you," Raul announces a sense of urgency in his voice. He holds the door open, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

You exchange a quick glance with Jack, seeking reassurance, a silent confirmation that he'll follow through and both of you follow Raul into the conference room. The door shuts softly behind you, filling the room with the only sound. Your gaze sweeps the room, and you take in the white conference room with its black and white marble table in the middle and the soft glow of natural light.

Feeling a wave of emotions crashing over you, you instinctively shut your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. This is a lot harder than I expected... the thought lingers in your mind. Dr. Navarro's words echo in your memory, urging you to relax through the simple act of breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, you repeat silently, allowing the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation to steady your racing heart.

Choosing your chair carefully, you opt to sit with your back facing the window. It provides a sense of security and shields you from external distractions allowing you to solely focus on Jack. Your hand reaches out and lands upon one of the gray roll-on chairs, its smooth leather headrest cool against your fingertips. 

On the opposite side of the table, Jack is reluctantly guided by Raul to his designated seat. Oh, I can sit wherever I damn well please, he scoffs silently, but I suppose I can play by the rules for now. Just think about all the appointments with Dr. Reynolds and what-if scenarios. Don't mess this up. He takes a seat, begrudgingly accepting the arrangement, while his back deliberately faces the door. The positioning serves as a physical reminder of the boundaries and emotional distance that have grown between the two of you throughout the years.

Raul takes a seat at the head of the table. Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence. "Thank you both for coming today. As you may already know, the purpose of this meeting is of utmost importance. Mr. Daniels, the reason my client-"

Jack interrupts, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and vulnerability. "Stop. I don't want this to be an official meeting. I just... I want," he glances at you, his eyes searching for understanding, "I just want you to do the talking, please." He knows he has no right to make demands, but he wants to talk with you directly, to bridge the gap between you, if even it's just for a moment.

Raul looks at you briefly, to see how you're doing. "My role is simply to facilitate the conversation," Raul responds, his voice assuring and tinged with a hint of anger. Maldito inútil malparido (Fuking useless bastard). This asshole hurt her so much. How dare he make demands? Raul is well aware of the pain Jack caused you. He was one of the first people you confided in about the divorce, and he naturally helped you with the process. Raul cashed in many favors to expedite the process which would usually take time. In fact, he stayed up all night to ensure that he could serve Jack the papers the morning after you left him.

Truth be told, Raul initially liked Jack when you first introduced him to your friends. However, as time went on and you grew more serious, Jack's repeated slips of the tongue and thoughtless actions made Raul's opinion of him sour. The final straw for Raul was when Jack couldn't even give you the wedding you deserved. Raul knew how much you loved Jack, so even though he could see through your forced smile when discussing the wedding details, he congratulated you both and sent a gift.

You meet Raul's gaze, conveying your appreciation for his support. "Raul, está bien. (Raul, it's okay.)" You say softly, recognizing his concern and knowing that you need to have this conversation directly with Jack.

With a nod, Raul settles back in his chair, allowing the focus to shift solely to the two of you. The room is filled with a charged silence. As you prepare to speak, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and decide how you want to phrase everything.

"My baby... my baby has Fanconi Anemia and needs a blood donor." You explain, your voice trembling with desperation. "No one in the family has been a close match. Even among friends, no one is a match. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that almost everyone I know has been tested, but a donor hasn't been found."

You pause, the weight of the situation making your heart hurt. "Just a month ago, we were hopeful. A match was finally found through the National Marrow Donor Program. We finally felt like we could breathe, but then she was involved in a severe car accident. She was T-boned by a drunk driver, and her car fell into a ditch, causing a traumatic brain injury. Thank God she's going to be okay, but unfortunately, her condition disqualifies her from being a donor."

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Now, we're back to square one, searching for a compatible donor, but it's going to take a long time again. Jack, I know you didn't love me or care about me, and I understand that you didn't want me to have the baby. But please, I'm begging you to get tested to see if you're a match. If you are, please consider donating."

A rush of emotions floods through you, a mixture of fear, vulnerability, and a glimmer of fragile hope. You gaze into Jack's eyes, desperately searching for a spark of compassion, a willingness to help. "I understand you still resent me for everything. If you do this, I promise it will be the last time I'll contact you. I won't ask for anything more. Please, Jack." 

Jack takes a moment to absorb your words, his eyes flickering with a complex mix of emotions. "What's their name?" He asks, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of longing.

"His name is Ángel." You reply softly, feeling a bittersweet ache in your heart.

Jack's eyes widen, and a myriad of emotions passes over his face. "Ángel." He repeats and although he can't quite replicate your pronunciation thanks to his accent, it's still beautiful to him.  "I have a son." He whispers, his voice barely audible.

A flood of thoughts and emotions washes over Jack, overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes momentarily, attempting to process everything. This newfound knowledge stirs something deep within him, a sense of responsibility and a longing to be a father. I lost a son before he was born, I missed out on Ángel’s life when I said I didn’t want him, but I won’t lose him again. 

With determination in his voice, Jack looks at you. "I'll donate. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Ángel.”

He’s going to do it, you let out a sigh of relief. The alleviation that surges through you, washes away some of the anxieties that had been weighing you down. You're grateful that Jack is willing to take this step, to offer his help for the sake of your son. However, before you can express your gratitude, Jack's questions pour out in a rush.

“But... what is Fanconi Anemia? How bad is it? Is the procedure going to hurt him? Does he need surgery? What if I’m not a matc-" his voice trails off, uncertainty and concern etched on his face.

Realizing his anxieties, you reach out and gently interrupt him, calling his attention. "Jack," you say softly, trying to soothe his worries. "Breathe."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to explain Ángel's condition. His doctor was supposed to join us, but I can explain for now."

You take a deep breath, grateful that Jack is willing to help. "Fanconi Anemia is a rare condition where the bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells." You explain, your voice filled with sadness. "Ángel was diagnosed fairly recently because he didn’t have any physical abnormalities. But then, he started experiencing frequent nosebleeds, which was weird to us. We took him to his Pediatrician, who ordered blood tests. The results showed abnormally low blood counts, and that's when we knew something was wrong."

A twinge of admiration and pride fills your words as you continue. "He underwent a bone marrow needle biopsy to confirm the diagnosis. It wasn't an easy procedure, even though they numbed the area. I could see the discomfort in his eyes, but he never complained. In fact, he saw that my eyes were red and swollen, and he reassured me that he didn't even feel it. I knew it was a lie, but he just wanted to protect me."

Your voice trembles with a blend of love and admiration as you speak of your son's strength. The memories of his bravery since before his official diagnosis fills your heart with both pride and a deep ache. You pause for a moment, to regain your composure.

You are about to explain more about his condition and the procedure when the door behind Jack opens. Jack's gaze is solely focused on you since he assumes his son's doctor is the one coming in. Suddenly, you have a smile on your face when you look over Jack's shoulder, and he's confused until he hears the voice of the man that has given him nightmares ever since he got served with divorce papers.

“Cariño, Danny, and Heidi are staying with Ángel now,” Javier says as he makes his way to you, his presence a comfort for you and unease for Jack. "Sorry I'm late, I wanted to stay to see if he could keep his food down." He hovers over you and kisses the top of your head.

He pulls out a chair next to you, and that's when Jack sees it – a wedding band on Javier's left ring finger.

Fuck.

Unconsciously, you pull your hand from underneath the table and place your left hand on Javier's for comfort.

You had your hand covered the entire time, and that's when Jack notices it- your rings. 

Fuck.

You’re married to him? Jack seethes in his head.

“Jack.” Javier nods but Jack can’t respond. How can he respond when another man is married to the love of his life? 

In a moment of anger and hurt, Jack blurted out, "Did you cheat on me with him? Is that why you wanted a divorce?" Jack asks, the pain and jealousy bubbling to the surface.

Just like that, some of the gratitude for Jack shatters.

The response from you was immediate, “Jesus, no, you asshole,” you spit out, offended. “How dare you ask that?”

“You didn’t love me. That’s why I divorced you." You retort, feeling the anger resurface.

At that moment everything he discussed with Dr. Reynolds, all of the progress was gone. He did just find out so much within the past few minutes, and his usual coping techniques seemed to fail him in this moment of overwhelming emotions.

“Wait, if you cheated on me with him, that means he could have been the one to knock you up. How do I know Ángel is my son?” Of course, you remarrying was killing him, but if that on top of having his son snatched when he just got him back, it would end him.

“I never cheated on you, Jack.” You spit out, offended. “You were the one that was involved in another relationship, even if it was emotional. Not me. Don’t make me the villain.”

"You’re Ángel’s biological father, Jack." You emphasized, hoping to dispel any doubts he had. But he seemed stuck in his head.

Biological, the word echoed in his ears. It was a harsh reminder that he was just the man who contributed to Ángel's DNA. He hasn't been his dad, and if he keeps this up, he will never know his son like he wants to.

"You want a paternity test? Done," you offered, wanting to rid his doubts. "But if you don’t want to take my word for it, Fanconi Anemia is an inherited disease. Ángel has the FANCR gene, which is autosomal dominant. I got screened for it, and I’m not a carrier. Autosomal dominant means that a gene from one parent can cause the genetic condition. If I didn’t pass the gene, that means you’re the carrier. That’s how Ángel got the disease."

The reality hit him like a ton of bricks. I did this to my son. He’s sick because of me.

The room falls silent, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. The pain and guilt wash over him, and Jack is overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Querida, calm down. This isn’t good for you. Te va ser daño. (It’s going to harm you.) This isn’t good for the baby," Javier tries to soothe you, his voice gentle and caring. Javier's dark eyes bore into Jack with rage. Jack can feel the anger emanating from your husband. Javi leans forward, his body language asserting his presence. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck visibly tense, and his hands grip the edge of the table as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

The baby? Jack thinks.

The hospital is always cold, which is why you always have a sweater with you, but right now, you feel like you're burning up. You lean back from the table and unzip your hoodie, instantly feeling cooler with your sweater out of the way.

Jack's eyes are drawn to your swollen and round stomach, and he's speechless.

Extended note: Just as I thought, Jack is more popular than Dave, so in the meantime, I'll be working on the graphics for this series instead of Eres Mía. Dave is one of my top 3 favorite Pedro characters, and I think he's highly underrated, but I get the love for the cowboy! 

I'm slowly adding titles of fics that I plan on sharing, so if you see something without a link on my masterlist, I'll get to it (eventually). After this series is completed, I think I'll post another Whiskey one-shot (he's been to therapy in this one :), but I'm not too sure yet.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them!

Tag list: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy

[audreyscahier]

Off the Record (Pedro Pascal x OFC)

Word count: 4,560 words

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Content warnings: Daddy kink (not ddlg; she just calls him daddy a lot), oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, (slightly) rough sex, sweet sex, Big Dick Pedro, Soft Dom Pedro, alcohol, lingerie, a little bit of slapping, dirty talk, a hint of sugar daddy vibes

Summary: Rae is an entertainment reporter who has developed a playfully flirtatious professional relationship with Pedro over the years. Totally professional. Until he invites her to hang out in his hotel room one night after an event—strictly off the record.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and written just for fun. If RPF makes you uncomfortable, please do not continue with this post.



The convention is so crowded that it feels like an act of fate when Rae steps out for some fresh air and happens upon Pedro, alone behind one of the side buildings. He’s smoking a cigarette and he gives her a playful, guilty grimace when he spots her, gesturing with a flick of ash.

“You caught me,” he says.

“You’re such a bad boy,” she teases.

He laughs.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks. He’s looking her up and down and she sees his eyes linger on her bare legs before drifting their way up the rest of her body. The attention makes her stand a little straighter.

She’s used to California weather. This is a rare travel assignment and she hadn’t packed well for the climate.

“Fucking freezing. But that’s the cost of beauty,” she adds loftily, like she’s done it on purpose.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Well, it’s paying off,” he says. “You look gorgeous.”

She gives him an appreciative smile. “It’s too bad you didn’t put any effort in; we could’ve looked good together.”

It’s a joke. He’s wearing a cozy, well-fitted cashmere sweater and designer trousers, with a one-inch heeled suede boot. His dark hair is styled at the perfect in-between point of messy and coiffed, with well-defined curls that you could still run your fingers through.

Not that she’s fighting back the urge to touch him. That would be unprofessional.

He’s playing along with the joke, narrowing his eyes at her and shaking his head, ruefully. “You’re always fucking showing me up.”

Her phone vibrates and she glances at it. It’s a text from her producer, giving her a 15-minute warning for their next interview.

“Three more hours,” she sighs. “And then I’m going to go back to the Fairmont and climb under all the covers and stuff myself with room service.”

“I’m at the Fairmont, too,” he tells her. “Don’t order the crab cakes—they’re dry.”

“You should invite me over to hang out,” she says. “I can help you raid the minibar on Disney’s dime.”

He takes a drag on his cigarette and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from her, considering it. “What’s your poison?”

“That depends,” she muses. “If you want me to stay good, I like vodka. Tequila? My clothes come right off.”

He barks out a laugh, slowly shaking his head. “Well, I’m in…” He digs in his pocket, pulling out a slim wallet and rifling for his hotel key card to find the room number. “Room 512, if you want to stop by. We can call down for salt and limes.”

It makes her heart beat a little faster, that he’s taken this past harmless flirtation and turned it into… This was an invitation, wasn’t it? Rae schools her expression, trying to remain playfully aloof.

“Maybe I’ll see you later, then,” she says, and gives him a wink as she turns to go back inside.

He opens the door on her second knock. The room is nicer than hers—it’s a king suite with a huge tub that she spots through the open bathroom door as she steps inside—and he hasn’t been in town long enough to make it very messy. The lighting is muted, just a couple of table lamps on in the corners and a golden sheen from the setting sun filtering through his open curtains. He’s kept on the nice sweater, but changed his trousers for a pair of dark, comfy-looking sweatpants, and abandoned the shoes in favor of bare feet.

Rae slips off her flats by the door, making herself at home.

“I thought you might stand me up,” he observes.

“Of course not,” she says. “It’s not like I can afford to break into my own minibar. I needed to get to yours.”

Pedro clicks his tongue, mock-hurt. “You’re using me. You know, Meryl Streep warned me about this. She said the more famous you get, the less you know who you can trust.”

He’s joking around, she knows, playing off of her comment and name-dropping the most absurd famous person he’s acquainted with just to make her laugh. But the sentiment still makes her feel a little sad, and it probably comes out too earnest when she tells him, “You can trust me.”

He looks at her and gives her a quiet smile. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a plate of lime wedges and a shaker of salt already sitting on the counter with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. She raises an eyebrow, delighted he’s chosen her favorite vice.

“I warned you about the tequila,” she reminds him.

He makes a face, dismissive. “You don’t scare me.”

She waggles her eyebrows, like, maybe you should be scared, but he just shakes his head, amused, and pours them each a generous shot.

“Salud,” he says, clinking his glass to hers.

They don’t go overboard. A 7:00 AM wake-up in this time zone will be 4:00 AM as far as her west coast-attuned body is concerned, and she likes her job too much to sabotage it by getting seriously drunk the night before a long work day. But with two or three shots apiece, they make it through a few of the tiny, overpriced bottles, and they each have a pleasant, relaxed buzz going.

Pedro makes for good company. Off the press line and away from any cameras, inhibitions lowered by the tequila, his sense of humor comes out a little dirtier. Every time one of his jokes lands, sending her into a fit of laughter, he grins, looking pleased with himself. Not for the first time, she finds herself thinking that it’s almost maddening how charming and charismatic he is.

“You know,” Rae tells him, “A lot of fangirls out there would pay good money to take a shot with you. I’ll never be able to tell anyone about this because they’d rip me apart out of jealousy.”

“Oh please,” he teases. “Don’t pretend like you’re not right there with them, getting all hot over the Mandalorian every week.”

Her jaw drops, but she swiftly recovers. “Actually, I belong to the camp that believes Din Djarin is a virgin. I don’t think he’s probably even that good in bed.”

He’s offended. He goes from a lazy sprawl to sitting upright, just like that. “Excuse me?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a take on this? It’d be an amazing scoop if I could get a quote from you.”

“Hey,” he says warningly. “This evening is strictly off the record.”

“Of course,” she agrees. He holds up his hand, pinky extended, and she scoots closer on the couch and hooks her pinky around his, promising. “So?”

“Din Djarin is not a virgin,” he says decisively. His tone says he thinks the mere concept is ridiculous.

“Well, who has he had sex with?” she challenges him.

He counts off on his fingers. “He fucked that twi’lek girl with the knives—”

“Xi’an,” she supplies.

“Of course you remember her name,” he laughs, but not unkindly. They both know she’s nerdier about Star Wars lore than he is. He ticks off the next finger. “He fucked Omera. He obviously fucked Cobb Vanth, if you can’t see that you’re blind.”

He has to raise his voice to be heard over her laughter. He’s holding back his amusement, too.

“I can’t believe you’re questioning Mando’s sex life when you’re the one calling him a daddy all the time.”

“Uh uh,” she corrects him. “I think you’re a daddy.”

Over the course of the conversation she’d continued to unconsciously slide closer to him, and now as he watches her in amused contemplation, they suddenly feel very close. The realization of it, in the silence following her overtly flirtatious statement, makes her smile fall and her pulse pick up. She looks down, taking a breath, and when she glances up he’s still looking at her face. His voice has turned husky when he speaks again.

“Can I kiss you?”

She bites her lip, trying to stay cool, and nods. He leans in closer, lightly gripping her chin under his thumb.

“Yes?” he checks.

“Yes,” she says breathlessly.

His lips are soft, and dry, and a little tangy from the salt and lime they’ve both been consuming. He slips his tongue lightly over her bottom lip, adding a little glide to the kiss. She follows his lead, melting into him and feeling flushed. He’s cupping her face, and the firm press of his hand on her cheek is simultaneously grounding and makes her feel like she’s caught up in a dream.

“Can I—” she starts. She curls her fingers, closing around nothing. His eyes are dark, watching her patiently. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. He takes her hand in his and guides it to rest on his upper thigh, close enough the permission is clear—not so close that he’s making her move too fast.

He kisses her again, and she closes her eyes and lets herself follow her instincts. Her fingers inch higher on his lap until she feels his bulge, stiffening under the soft fabric. She runs her fingers along him and his breath hitches. She squeezes, lightly, and he grunts, shifting his hips up into her touch.

“Can I—” she starts again. He cuts her off, answering against her skin as he works his mouth down the length of her neck, telling her, “Yes,” before she can finish the question. “Yes.”

So she makes her way to the edge of the couch and sinks onto her knees on the floor, pushing his legs open to settle between them. He’s looking down at her there, looking turned on, looking like he likes what he sees—but when she reaches for him he stops her, grabbing her wrists in one hand.

“Wait,” he says. His voice is lust-rough. With his other hand, he picks at the fabric of her top. “Take these off first.”

She bites her lip, feeling a rush of arousal pulse through her to pool between her legs. She misses his grip when he lets go of her wrists, but she stands obediently and strips off her clothes, until she’s down to just her underwear. Pedro’s mouth falls open, taking her in. Focusing in on the matching bra and panties.

“You brought this for a work trip?” he asks, sounding awed.

Maybe she hadn’t done such a bad job of packing her suitcase, after all.

“I just… like lingerie. I like to wear it under my regular clothes,” she tells him. “It makes me feel sexy.”

She does a slow turn, letting him see the cheeky cut of her panties.

He looks a little dazed. “It’s very sexy.”

His gaze follows her breasts, perched filling out the lacy, balconette cups of her bra, as she kneels before him again. This time he doesn’t stop her when she reaches forward, brushing her hands over his growing bulge as she grasps his waistband and tugs it down to unveil him to her.

She was certain it would be big, but the sight of his cock still makes her mouth drop open and her eyes widen as she takes it in. Her hands look small, touching him, wrapping around his length. She feels that rush again, pussy going wet and her mouth watering for him. She licks her lips, purses them tight, and leans in to slide her mouth open around the tip of his cock.

He swears.

She sinks her hot mouth onto him, sucking him off and savoring it, her saliva mixing with the mild salt-tang spurts of his pre-come spilling onto her tongue. She slides her hands down to the base of his cock where she can’t reach her mouth, slicking him up and working over his length in firm strokes.

Rae pulls back for a moment, wanting to watch his face while she jerks him off. She has one hand wrapped around his shaft and she reaches the other down to massage over his balls. His eyes are heavy-lidded, watching her, and his breath is unsteady, hips twitching like he wants to thrust hard into her heat. He grabs the back of her head with one large hand, tugging her forward just gently, telling her without words that he wants her mouth back on him. When she doesn’t take him in immediately, he taps his cock lightly against her cheek, nudging at the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flutter closed. “You can be rough with me,” she tells him. “I like it.”

“You like it?” he repeats. There’s a pause, as she meets his hot gaze and silently nods. “Then take it.”

Pedro’s grip is tight on the back of her neck as he forces his cock past the seam of her lips. He fills her mouth, hitting against her throat, and she moans, focusing on avoiding him with her teeth and distracted by the way her clit throbs from the rough treatment. Her body is rocking, legs pressed tight together, head bobbing on his dick, all her senses overwhelmed by the taste and smell and sound of him—by his soft stomach where she’s braced one hand, tucked under his shirt, and the ache in her jaw and her vision blurring with unshed tears from taking him too far and starting to choke.

He pulls her off, to let her get her breath back, and squeezes his fingers around the base of his dick, steadying himself as she runs the back of her hand over her wet mouth, wiping away the drool that’s gone running down her chin.

“Come here,” he says, gentle again. He pulls her into his lap, straddling his legs, and kisses her softly at the corners of her mouth, soothing over her swollen lips.

He runs his thumbs delicately along the tops of her bra cups, feeling the lace bordering her soft skin, then smooths his hands down her sides to her hips. He looks up, watching her face as he slides one hand over the thin fabric of her panties, but his controlled expression changes as much as hers does when he touches her and feels the arousal soaking through.

“You got that wet for me?” he rasps. “From sucking my cock?”

She nods slowly, feeling exposed and shivery under his gaze, turned on even more by hearing those words in his deep voice.

“I told you I liked it,” she whispers.

His jaw clenches. He slips his fingers under the fabric, teasing over her skin, feeling along her folds—watching her gasp when he finds her clit. Then he pinches it, hard enough to make her cry out and buck her hips in his lap, and her breath comes out unsteady when he lets go.

“Rae,” he says. “Go get in my bed.”

The command sends a wave of calm through her system. She takes a deep breath. “Yes, daddy,” she murmurs, and climbs carefully off of his lap.

In the bedroom, she follows his instruction, stripping off her lingerie and tossing it aside before climbing onto the plush bed. She leans back on her elbows, legs demurely crossed at the ankles, and watches him pull his sweater over his head, revealing his softly toned body and broad shoulders. Then he shoves the sweatpants off his hips, stepping out of them where they pool at his feet, and her gaze is drawn back to his cock, bobbing enticingly between his legs. Her eyes glaze over, hypnotized with want.

He kneels onto the bed, reaching to uncross her ankles and make space between her legs. His eyes rake over her, drinking her in, absently biting his bottom lip as he lingers on her pussy. Then he makes his way up, straddling her thigh, one knee by her hip and the other just below her cunt, not quite close enough for her to grind against his leg like she thinks she might like to try. He kneels over her like that, leaning forward to brace one hand next to her shoulder, and caresses her face with the other, running his fingers lightly over her cheekbone. She melts under him, meeting his dark eyes, taking in his handsome face and his lush lips and thinking maybe he’ll kiss her again.

Pedro slaps her face, just hard enough to send a jolt through her, making her gasp. Her eyes snap back to his, pulse racing.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice gone husky.

“I—I want your cock,” she moans.

“Tell me,” he says. “Say it again.”

“Please,” she begs, “I want your big fucking fat cock, daddy.”

He laughs, a low, dirty chuckle. “Where do you want it, baby?”

Her face is flushed; her whole body is on fire, all hot and needy for him. “In my pussy.”

“Yeah?” He rubs his hand over her mound, warm on the smooth-shaven skin, then feels down into her slick folds where she’s soaking wet. “Your pretty little pussy? You think she can take it?”

“Yes,” she whines. He pushes three thick fingers inside her, making her cry out and tilt her hips up, greedy for it. His knees are spread wide to balance himself and hold her legs pushed open with his own. When she writhes under him he sets his weight down harder, pinning her.

With his free hand, he slaps her tit. The sting makes her yelp and her cunt clenches tight around his fingers. He twists and pulls them free, then thrusts inside her again, working in and out until she feels like she can’t form a full thought, head all empty but for the sound of her moans and his hot, heavy breath, and the fast, dirty squelching sound her pussy makes as he fucks her hard.

When he pulls his hand away she can see her slick coating his fingers, shining wet in the dim lamplight. He falls forward so that he’s hovering directly over her and feeds his fingers into her mouth, making her taste her own arousal. Her eyes flutter closed as she sucks them clean.

“Dirty girl,” he murmurs. He pulls his fingers gently out and lowers his face to hers instead, giving her a deep kiss to chase the taste of her with his tongue.

He grinds his hard cock into her hip and eventually pulls out of the kiss, murmuring against her mouth, “I have to grab a condom.” He brushes his thumb over her mouth as he pulls away, tender. “You still good?”

“Mmm,” she breathes. “So good.”

He rifles in his travel bag, unzipping a small pouch and retrieving a condom packet. When he returns to the bed, he runs his hand along her thigh and then slaps her flank. “Get on your knees.”

She rolls over, pushing up onto her knees, and braces her forearms on the bed, arching her back. It feels primal, presenting her cunt like this for him to take, and behind her he growls with want.

She feels the head of his cock press blunt and thick at her entrance, and he starts working his length into her in shallow, prodding thrusts, a little deeper each time. He starts slow—he has to, she’s so fucking tight around him, and it’s only because she’s so turned on that the stretch isn’t too much to take. Gradually, he pushes his cock into her hot, slick center, and it leaves her gasping for air, like he’s fucking all the way up into her lungs.

“Christ,” he groans. His voice has gone impossibly deeper. “You feel so fucking good, baby. How does that feel?”

She tries to speak and it comes out a strangled moan, incomprehensible.

He withdraws a little, fighting against the grip of her pussy trying to keep him inside. His hands are strong on her hips, holding her in place.

“Tell me,” he commands. He thrusts in again as she opens her mouth, and she cries out.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how this cock feels in your sweet—little—pussy—” He emphasizes each word with a deep thrust. She feels lightheaded from it, but it’s like it breaks something inside her and her tongue finally works again, babbling needy words at him.

“It’s so good, fuck, it feels so good, daddy,” she moans. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—” The friction is easier now, with her body opening up to take him, and he’s moving faster. She’s gripping desperately into the bedsheets above her head, moving with the push-pull rhythm of his sex, and she’s starting to feel almost high from it, a little spaced out on the sensation of his dick driving into her.

He leans forward, draping hot over her back, and it shifts the angle of his thrusts, so that he’s suddenly hitting a spot that makes her see stars.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—” He probably can’t make out the words; her voice is muffled in the sheets. Her body is trembling, on that pre-orgasmic high, pure pleasure running through her with every stroke of his huge dick. She wishes she could stay suspended like this forever, in this luxurious bed being fucked by this perfect cock, balancing right on the cusp of ecstasy.

When she comes, she collapses flat onto her belly, shattered, and he follows her down, pinning her to the bed and continuing to fuck her just as hard. She cries out, the sounds of her orgasm tearing out of her throat and ringing in her ears as her pussy pulses and flutters around him. Finally, he slows and pulls out of her, and the sudden emptiness feels too big, like he’s left her hollowed out in the tender space of her cunt. He turns her over, onto her back, and braces over her, eyes focused on her face when he slides his dick back inside and fills her in again. She whimpers, needy and overwhelmed, feeling every long, slow inch of his cock dragging through her.

He kisses her, languid tongue matching his steady thrusts. It’s intimate in a way Rae’s not sure she’s earned the right to be with him. But it doesn’t surprise her, learning he’s sweet like this. He’s always looked at her like he wants the eye contact, like he wants to be close, like he thrives on connection. She’s always seen him act kindly to everyone in the room, and it only follows that when you’re the only one in the room with him, he’d devote himself to you and take his time.

She wants to make him feel good. To see him lose control and let go. She squeezes her cunt around him, experimentally, and he breaks their kiss to exhale a gasping breath, rhythm faltering.

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth on her chin. “Do that again.”

She clenches again, running her hands down his body, teasing at him with her long nails and feeling him tremble. “You feel so good, daddy,” she whispers. “Your cock is so big, I don’t—fuck!” she exclaims, when his pace picks up and he rams into her, harder. “I don’t know how you even fucking fit inside me, your big—fuck—fucking cock—shit—”

He’s panting, making ragged, desperate sounds, pushing up into her like he can bury himself even deeper. Teeth sharp, biting at her jaw. She’s not even thinking about the words spilling out of her, just lets every filthy thought slip free, riling him up. “Fuck me, daddy, fuck—you’re fucking splitting me in half—I want you to come inside me—fill me up���I want it, I want it, I want it—”

He groans, hiding his face in her neck, stiffening and releasing inside of her. She wishes, insanely, that he had fucked her bareback so she could feel it coating her pussy, dripping out after. She would have let him if he wanted to, she thinks, and it’s a terrible thing to realize about herself.

It doesn’t stop her from holding him in place before he can pull out, keeping him deep inside her cunt, and rubbing at her swollen clit until she comes on his dick one last time, savoring the orgasm and the rumbling sound of his groans in her ears.

He doesn’t try to kick her out after—in fact, he orders a slice of caramel cheesecake from the room service menu and asks if Rae wants something, too—but in the end, she reluctantly says that she should go.

“I have to be up early to interview that kid from the new Marvel movie,” she sighs.

Pedro laughs, unsympathetic. “Oh, your life is so hard.”

“Yeah, harder now,” she complains. “I’m gonna be walking funny on the press line tomorrow.”

He bites back a laugh, but then furrows his brow in concern. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

She hums, giving her nude, exhausted body an experimental stretch. “That was the biggest dick I’ve ever taken,” she tells him. “And… it was the best.”

He relaxes again, looking like he’s not trying very hard to hide a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything.”

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head dismissively, “Way too late for that, sweetheart.”

When she sees him again they’re back in LA, at a premiere for his new indie film. He greets her with a familiar, professional smile, but she can see the change in how he looks at her now, the new, interested sparkle in his eyes and how he lingers on her longer. He gives her a tight hug goodbye, murmuring, “Bye, baby,” too quiet for the mic to pick up, and she slips a folded note into his hand as she pulls away.

I had to buy a bigger toy—you’ve ruined me. Asshole.

She hears his dirty, delighted cackle and she fights to school her face, tamping down the light, giddy feeling in her chest as she turns her focus to the next guest on the press line.

She’s not sure how he got her home address. It probably wasn’t that hard, she supposes, to have his agent contact her company and sweet talk it out of them with the promise of exclusive promo material, or something of that kind. It’s probably not worth questioning how one of the biggest rising stars on the planet can get something he wants. In any event, she’s grateful he did, because she might have received this package in the middle of the office, otherwise, and that would have been more than a little embarrassing.

He’s got her size right. She wonders if he’d snuck a peek at the tags before she put her underwear back on—if he was already planning this even then. The thought of it makes her feel—something. She’s not sure what it makes her feel. She’s walking a tightrope between a dangerous mistake and total euphoria and it’s all she can do to keep her balance, because she can’t risk taking a misstep.

The set is from a luxury brand so expensive she would never buy it for herself. It’s an ethereal blend of ribbon and tulle, the thong nothing more than a scrap of beautiful fabric, and she knows it will have cost him several hundred dollars.

There’s a gift note, sitting on top of the tissue paper-wrapped goods.

A ‘sorry for ruining you’ gift. So you can feel sexy at the season 3 premiere. Show me after, if you want.

-P

Her stomach swoops, as she tries not to fall.

[ktwritesstuff]

The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)

Title: The Professor Fandom: RPF: Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Pedro Pascal (professor of Latin American Studies) x Reader (bedraggled PhD candidate) Word Count: ~2000 Summary: As if that SNL skit wasn't going to launch a thousand smut fics... As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional notes below the cut.

Notes: This is my first "real person fic," may God have mercy on my soul. Additionally, my Spanish is virtually non-existent; I've relied heavily on Google Translate and asking my coworkers questions on the sly, my apologies for any errors! As we all know, this is not a story about actual human Pedro Pascal, but the fictionalized version which lives rent free in our heads. And as proper fan girl culture dictates, we keep this shit locked down. But just in case:

This note is for actual human Pedro Pascal and Pedro Pascal only. I don't know why you would click "Read More" on a post clearly labeled "Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU" but if you have, I beg of you LOOK AWAY, SIR. LOOK AWAY. If you choose to proceed, I will not be responsible for any trauma you may suffer as a result. Thank you.

For everyone else, I give you:

The Professor

Professor Pedro Pascal was the head of the Latin American Studies department at your small college.  You had never been in his classes as an undergrad–Latin American Fiction and Poetry, and a special seminar on the Magical Realism of Isabel Allende–but it was well known around campus that his family had fled Pinochet when he was a child, which granted him unsurprising street cred among your communist-leaning circle of friends.  He had been appointed the interim director of the campus’s Literary Center–after his predecessor was ousted for exposing himself in a virtual meeting. 

As the Center’s Graduate Assistant Director, it meant although he wasn’t technically your boss, you were suddenly spending an annoying amount of time working around the throngs of freshman girls who flocked to his office hours.  You couldn’t really blame them.  He was, if not an outright heartthrob, a reasonably good-looking college professor.  A strong face, with a short, rugged beard, a striking Roman nose, and deep brown eyes with the most charming crow's feet.  He had a lean physique, with a hint of softness at the belly, just this side of a “dad bod.”

His modest good looks combined with a cheerful disposition and a penchant for quoting the love poetry of Pablo Neruda were like catnip for liberal arts majors.  And although you were a card-carrying bra-burning feminist, you weren’t entirely immune.

“Professor,” his office door was open, but you knocked on the frame.  

Pedro looked up from the stack of resumes you had been sent to review before the selection panel for a new director.

“Coffee?”

“Mi angelita,” he sighed, rising from his desk to graciously accept the warm cup from your hands.  “What time is the first candidate arriving?”

“Noon,” you said.  “You, me, Dr. Monroe, the Provost, and Assistant Dean are sitting on the interview panel.”

Pedro looked at his watch.  

“Shit,” he sighed.  “I have Intro to Creative Writing at 9:30.”

“I’ll set up the conference room,” you said as he shoved his papers into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, still carrying the open mug as he raced down the stairs.  

“Thank you, Angel.  Thank you!”

It was a six month process to find a new director.  Six months of staring across the conference table, chewing on the end of your pen, pretending not to be affected by the way he leaned in when you spoke and stroked his thumb across his lower lip in concentration.  Or the obscene way he spread his legs in a comfortable chair while speaking with candidates in front of a panel of students.  

And having to do it all over again when your first choice–a student favorite–declined the position, to stay in New Jersey of all things.  You knew Pedro was relieved to have reached a conclusion; he didn’t care for the administrative duties or politics.  He wanted to teach, to be with his students.  You admired that about him, he appreciated your organizational skills (and the fact that when you made coffee it counted as a meal.)  You worked well together, but now that was coming to an end. 

It was past 9pm and you had already closed up the Literary Center for the night, but Pedro was still in his office, reviewing students’ papers.

“I’m done for the night, Professor,” you said.  “Is there anything I can do to help you get out of here?”

“That depends,” he said, with a wry smile that had you convinced he was only half-kidding.  “How’s your Spanish?”

“Hmm,” you said, stepping into the light of the desk lamp.  “¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Como estas?  Bien, gracias.  ¡Qué lluvia!  And that’s all I’ve got.”

Pedro chuckled.  “I’ve heard worse.”

“That and un tequila, por favor.”

“Tequila,” Pedro repeated, intrigued. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Patron.  “That I can help you with.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise.

“Professor,” you deadpanned.  “I don’t know if you knew this, but alcohol is not permitted in academic buildings.”

"Lucky for me," he said, picking up the bottle. "I have tenure."

You laughed and Pedro laughed; you offered to run downstairs to retrieve a pair of glasses and a salt shaker from the kitchen while he finished grading papers in record speed.

“I worry about these kids,” Pedro said, three shots deep.  “I do!  The moment they hear something the least bit troubling, they refuse to engage with the material.  Our world exists in shades of gray.  They want things to be ideologically pure, when what they need is to learn to discern.  To question.  To decide!”

“I understand what you’re saying, Professor,” you said. 

“Pedro, please,” he interrupted you.  “Pedro.”  

“Pedro,” you repeated.  “I agree, but there’s no reason we need to elevate and spotlight the same tired canon of bigots, abusers, and dead white men year after year when there is so much more out there.”

Pedro downed another shot and pointed an accusing finger at you.  

“Look who’s talking,” he said.  “Your PhD is in Shakespeare Studies!”

“I know,” you laughed, pouring yourself another glass.   “I know, I’m a terrible person.”

“You are not,” he said, suddenly serious.  “You have an incredible mind and the most beautiful way of looking at the world.”

You felt languid and relaxed and warm.  You liked the way Pedro looked at you.  There was something undeniably romantic about getting drunk in the richly furnished office, with its leather armchairs and oak bookshelves, debating the merits of Nietzsche and bell hooks.   

“Okay,” you broke the silence.  “Okay, here’s a fun fact you can pass along to your successor.  There are 3 prints signed by Allen Ginsberg in this building, and you can see them all from this desk.”  

“There’s the one on the wall,” Pedro said, pointing to the framed portrait hanging above the bookshelf.  

“Yes,” you said, rising from your chair and moving to the other side of the desk.  “And there in the hallway, on the right, that's an excerpt from "Howl" they set in the printshop downstairs.”

You perched on the arm of his chair to get closer to his eye-level, pointing through the open door.  You slipped, nearly falling into his lap and he placed a hand on your back to steady you.  He smelled amazing, like old leather and warm spices.  

“And there, in the stairwell, you can just make out the top of his head on that linotype,” you explained.  “Do you see it?”

“I do.”

When you turned your head, Pedro was looking at you.  Perhaps it was the tequila, but you were almost certain he was staring at your lips, his eyes heavily lidded, smiling lazily.

“You look tired,” you warned.  You should have gotten up to leave, but you didn’t want to.  You didn’t want this warm, lovely feeling to ever end.  

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?” 

“Kissing you,” he said.  

You were almost surprised; you had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that your semester-long flirtation was a one-sided puppy crush.  You had been so busy with your research and recruiting and planning, you had forgotten somewhere along the way that you were a stone cold fox with tits and ass for days and enough sex appeal to blow the top off Mount St. Helens.

“You can,” you said, turning your body toward him.  “I don’t mind.” 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fine then,” you turned to stand.

Pedro seized you by the waist, pulling you back into his lap and into a long, slow kiss.  His lips were surprisingly soft and his mouth tasted like salt and lime as his tongue brushed into yours with careful, confident strokes.  

“That was nice,” your eyes fluttered open as Pedro finally pulled away.  “You’re a good kisser.”

“You, too,” Pedro said.  “Again?”

You tilted your chin, touching the point on your neck, just below your ear.  As Pedro leaned in, working the beginnings of a hickey into your neck, you guided his hands from your waist to your breasts.  You pressed against him, moving to straddle his thigh.

“More?” Pedro asked.

“Yes,” you panted. You braced yourself on the back of the chair, one hand on either side of his head, grinding against his leg, feeling hot and wet as he kneaded your breasts with reverent appreciation.

“Mi amor,” he breathed.

“Pedro,” you held his face, nipping at his bottom lip.  

“Dime, lo qué quieres.”

“Fuck.”  His accent went straight to your cunt.  You ran one hand up his thigh, groping at the crotch of his chinos. 

Pedro let out an obscene moan and hoisted you up onto his desk.  He slid his hands up your thighs, fingers slipping into your panties.  He ran his fingertips through your folds, tracing circles around the swollen nub of your clit with an absolute shit-eating grin.

“Qué lluvia.”

You howled with laughter.  “I know that one!  I know that one!” 

“A huevo.”   

Pedro rose from his chair, bunching your dress up around your waist.  You pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, running your hands up the warm skin of his back.  

“Want you,” you sighed.  “Want you inside me.”         

“Whatever you want, Angelita.”  

Pedro pulled your underwear down to your ankles, pausing to retrieve a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, like an over-eager undergrad, pulling down his pants to roll it on.  He pressed the head of his cock against your clit.  You grabbed him by the ass, wrapping your legs around him to guide him into you.  

Pedro flicked his hips into you with short, quick strokes, sending jolts of energy through your core.

“More,” you pleaded breathlessly.  “Deeper.”

Pedro lifted your ankles onto his shoulders, pressing into you long and slow until you could feel him bumping against your cervix.  You gasped, reaching behind you, scrambling for leverage, knocking the computer monitor off the desk.

“Oh no!” You turned, trying to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

“It’s okay!” Pedro said, taking your face in his hands to guide your gaze back to his eyes.  “It’s a shitty computer.  It’s fine.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back, grabbing for his chest with one hand as he fucked you.

“So soft,” he moaned against your ear.  “So fucking good for me, Angel.”  

“Give me your hand,” you said, guiding his fingers back to your clit.  “Up and down, right there.  Oh God.”  

You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.  

“I’m close,” he warned.

“Not yet,” you pleaded.  “Just a little more.”  

You could feel your own climax building inside you.  You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.  

“Oh God!”

Pedro came inside you with a gasp as your inner walls clenched around him.  He slowly withdrew, supporting your legs, and easing you onto your back, scattering papers and pens onto the floor.  He kissed your neck and your breasts as his hands explored the curves of your body. 

You woke the next morning on the couch in Pedro’s office.  You were lying on top of him; your head on his chest.  He had his arms around you, your head was pounding as you squinted into the daylight.

“We got fucked up last night?” you said.

“Yup.”  

“It was nice."

"It was," Pedro agreed, kissing the top of your head as you blinked sleep from your eyes. 

"What time is it?”

You grabbed his forearm, turning it so you could look at the face of his watch.  

“Oh shit,” you gasped.  “I have Freshman Seminar in half an hour.”

“I already missed my morning classes,” Pedro moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest. 

“Do you want to explain to Dr. Monroe why I can’t teach her class?” you said, rising from the couch and searching the office floor for your underpants.

“No,” Pedro said.  “She scares me.”  

You pulled your underwear back on, finding your bag, you used the satin scarf tied around the handle to cover the love-bites blooming on your throat and chest.  You dabbed concealer under your eyes and added a fresh coat of red lipstick.  

“Would you like to have lunch together? Not at the Caf. Somewhere nice, like a date.” Pedro asked, sitting up.  He looked endearingly child-like with his bedhead and giant brown eyes.  

You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.  

“Can we do that?” you asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said.  “You were never my student and after this week we won’t even work together any more.”

“Oh,” you nodded.  “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“I’ll pack things up here and meet you after class.”  

You smiled.  “I’ll see you then.”   

[moonxknightx]

𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 --- Pedro Pascal x F!Reader ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 --- Fluff and smut ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 --- RPF ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 --- 18+, Smut, oral (both m&f receiving), piv sex, fingering, orgasm denial, passionate sex, unsafe sex ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 --- After months of waiting for a call back on Pedro’s audition for the tv show The Last Of Us, he finally get’s the call, which means it’s time for a celebration .

“BABE I GOT THE ROLE!” Pedro shouted as he ran through the front door of your shared apartment.

“What?” You smiled as you took your headphones off and closed your laptop. “I got the part baby.” Pedro smiled while opening his arms for you.

“You mean…” You slowly got off from the couch and walked towards Pedro who still had his arms wide open.

“Yes sweetheart i got the role for Joel Miller!” Pedro yelled while pulling you into probably the biggest hug ever.

“No fucking way!” You smiled while looking up Pedro. “I’m dead serious baby. I literally just got the call. They are going to send me the script tonight and then they want to meet up next week to discuss it.” Pedro explained while tightening his grip on your waist.

“I am so proud of you Pedro.” You smiled while Pedro lifted you up in the air and spun you around. “Me too! I am going to play The Joel Miller.” Pedro laughed while gently putting you back down.

“Congratulations baby.” You smiled while pulling Pedro in for a deep passionate kiss. Pedro immediately kissed back of course, while walking you back towards the couch until your ass hit the furniture.

“What are you doing?” You giggled when Pedro started kissing your neck. “Celebrating?” Asked Pedro while moving from your neck to your jawline.

“You want to celebrate it with sex?” You asked with an amused smile. “Well i mean…” Pedro gave you a cheeky smile which caused you to shake your head while you tried to hold back a smile.

“Please?” Begged Pedro while reaching for your shirt, desperately wanting to take it off. “Alright but i want to come first.” You smirked while Pedro started laughing.

“We can do that.” He smiled before taking your shirt off to see you weren’t even wearing a bra underneath.

“You’re not wearing a bra?” Asked Pedro while gently grabbing your breasts in his hands. “Was i supposed to wear one?” You asked while moving one of your hands to Pedro’s hair.

“No no absolutely not.” Pedro murmured before taking one of your nipples in his mouth, making you moan in pleasure.

“Oh shit baby.” You breathed while pulling on Pedro’s hair. “Don’t stop.” You said while throwing your head back.

“I’m not planning to.” Pedro smirked before pushing you backwards so you’re laying down on the couch. Pedro quickly climbed on top of you and continued with kissing your breasts.

“God i love them so fucking much.” Pedro moaned softly while flicking his tongue on your left nipple.

“Pedro i need more.” You managed to breath out while trying to your best to keep still.

“You need more hmm?” Asked Pedro while kissing his way up to your jawline. “Yes i need more.” You repeated while trying to arch your back.

“Tell me what you need cariño.” Pedro whispered while still kneading one of your breasts in his hand.

“I need your dick.” You moaned softly while pulling Pedro into a desperate kiss.

“Oh yeah? You need my dick?” Asked Pedro with a slight smirk. You desperately nodded while reaching for Pedro’s belt, wanting to undo it as fast as possible.

“Oh fuck.” Grunted Pedro while looking down at you, watching how you undid his belt and his pants.

You quickly took off his pants and boxers which revealed Pedro’s very hard dick.

“Can i suck it?” You asked Pedro with puppy eyes while gently wrapping one of your hands around the base of his cock.

“Fuck yes please do.” Pedro groaned and watched how you carefully took his dick in your mouth, making him hiss in pleasure while he threw his head back.

You immediately began sucking on his dick, not forgetting to slide your tongue over the tip, knowing it would drive Pedro crazy, like it always does.

“Mierda…please don’t stop.” Moaned Pedro while latching one of his hands on top of your head, guiding you up and down his cock.

You looked up and gave Pedro a smirk before you moved one of your hands towards his balls which made him moan softly.

“Fuck keep doing that cariño.” Pedro breathed while his hips started to stutter, letting him know that if you were to keep up with this, he would be coming in no time.

Luckily, you noticed it and quickly let go of Pedro’s dick with a small ‘pop’ sound. “Did you like that?” You asked cheekily while cupping one of his balls in your hands.

“Fuck yes, why did you stop?” Pedro panted while watching how you began kissing your way up his body, from his abdomen to his jawline.

“Because we made a deal right? I get to come first.” You smirked while Pedro rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Come here then.” Pedro groaned while grabbing your waist harshly, pulling you into him.

“Do you want me to eat you out hmm?” Pedro asked while kissing your neck. “Yes please.” You moaned softly, gripping onto his shoulders while digging your nails into Pedro’s skin.

Pedro hissed in both pain and pleasure at feeling your nails in his skin. “Fuck!get up.” Pedro groaned while getting up from the couch, pulling you with him.

Pedro lifted you up and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist to secure yourself. “Let’s take this to the bedroom shall we?” Pedro smirked while carrying you into the hallway of your apartment.

The moment you and Pedro entered the bedroom, you were thrown onto bed while Pedro climbed on top of you.

“Let’s take this off first.” Pedro smiled while pulling your sweatpants off, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

Pedro’s lips curled up in a smirk when he saw the wet spot on your panties. “So fucking hot.” He muttered before pushing your panties to the side which gave him a clear view of your glistening wet pussy.

“Please Pedro…” You whimpered while arching your back. “What is it sweetheart? Want me to eat you out?” Pedro smirked. 

“Yes please.” You moaned softly. Pedro grabbed both of your ankles and pulled them over his shoulders before leaning down so he could place a small kiss on your inner thighs.

“Don’t. Tease.” You groaned while bucking your hips. Pedro chuckled slightly before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, making you moan in pleasure while you threw your head back.

“Oh fuck keep doing that.” You moaned while Pedro started focusing on your clit. You moved one of your hands into Pedro’s hair and pushed him closer to your pussy, needing to feel more.

“This feels so good.” You managed to say between moans while Pedro dug his nails into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Pedro more…I need more.” You whimpered while bucking your hips into his face.

Pedro listened to what you were saying and carefully moved one of his fingers towards your entrance, slowly pushing it in which caused your hips to stutter while you clasped your hands over your mouth, trying to silence your moans.

Pedro didn’t like it though. “Hey don’t do that baby. I want to hear you.” Pedro groaned while adding another finger into your pussy.

“Oh fuck Pedro i’m close.” You moaned while you threw your head back in pleasure.

“I know baby.” Pedro smiled, looking up at you while his tongue is still working on your clit.

Just when you were about to come, Pedro completely stopped with everything he was doing to deny your orgasm.

“No! Why did you do that!” You whined while tears started to form in your eyes. “Ssh don’t cry baby.” Pedro chuckled while kissing your cheek.

“I hate you!” You groaned in frustration while glaring at Pedro who was trying to hold back his smile.

“Calm down cariño. I just want you to come on my dick.” Pedro chuckled while placing his hands on your waist, lifting you onto his lap.

“Are you okay?” Asked Pedro while gently pushing some of your hair out of your face. “Yeah i’m fine. I was just so close.” You sighed while placing your head on Pedro’s shoulder.

“I know baby.” Smiled Pedro while stroking your back. “Just fuck me please. I need to come. You promised.” You whined while reaching down for Pedro’s cock, stroking him.

“Here let me.” Pedro said while gently moving your hand away from his dick. You watched how he pumped himself a good few times before he positioned his cock at your entrance.

“Are you ready?” Asked Pedro while pressing his forehead against yours. “Yes i’m ready.” You sighed with a small smile.

Pedro gave you a quick kiss on your nose before slowly pushing into you, making you gasp in pleasure and slight pain.

“Keep going, it’s okay.” You breathed when you saw Pedro’s panicked face. He didn’t want to hurt you.

Pedro did as you told though, and kept pushing into you until he was fully inside.

“Are you okay baby?” Asked Pedro while kissing your jawline. “Yeah i’m okay.” You smiled softly while gently grabbing Pedro’s face so you could kiss him.

While the two of you were kissing, Pedro started thrusting into you, making you both moan and whimper.

“Fuck keep going Pedro, you feel so good.” You moaned while throwing hour arms around Pedro’s neck.

“I love you so fucking much baby, you have no idea.” Groaned Pedro while taking one of your nipples in his mouth, making you whimper.

“Fuck me harder Pedro.” You breathed while latching one of your hands in Pedro’s hair.

Pedro immediately began fucking you harder while you were holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

“You feel so good baby. So damn good.” Pedro grunted while slightly biting your shoulder to muffle his moans.

“I’m so close Pedro.” You moaned while burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Come for me baby. I know you want to.” Pedro whispered while keeping his thrusts deep and slow just how you liked it.

“Fuck i’m gonna come!” You announced while closing your eyes. And before you knew it, you were releasing all over Pedro’s dick.

“Oh shit!” Cursed Pedro at the feeling of you milking his cock. “Ride it out sweetheart.” He whispered while trying to keep your head up.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Praised Pedro, kissing your shoulder while your body went limp in his arms.

“Do you want me to pull out?” Asked Pedro softly while caressing your face. You were about to say yes, but then you remembered that Pedro didn’t get to come.

“What about you?” You asked quietly. Pedro chuckled while kissing your cheek. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows while looking at Pedro. “But-“

“You’re tired cariño.” Pedro interrupted while giving your hips a little squeeze. “Pedro…” You sighed while throwing your head back slightly.

“It’s okay. I promise. Why don’t we just lay down while i’m still inside of you hmm? Is that okay with you?” Pedro asked while looking at you.

You bit your lip for a moment, thinking about his offer. You really wanted Pedro to come as well. But if Pedro really had no problems with it, neither did you. You were really tired after all.

“Alright fine…” You sighed while Pedro pulled you with him so you were laying on top of him in bed.

“It’s no big deal baby.” Pedro smiled before pulling you into a passionate kiss. “Yeah whatever.” You smirked slightly after pulling apart from the kiss to catch your breaths.

“I’m really happy you got the role baby. I really am.” You smiled while kissing his neck.

“Damn i almost forgot about that.” Pedro chuckled while rubbing his forehead. “You’re a dork Pedro Pascal.” You sighed as you started tracing small circles on his chest.

“I’m just kidding baby. How could i forget. You were the one who helped me with getting the role of Joel Miller.” Pedro said while playing with your hair.

“Me?” You questioned while looking up at Pedro. “Yeah you.” Smiled Pedro. “How?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Well because of you i really knew how to portray Joel’s character for the audition.” Pedro explained. “Because i played the games so much and forced you to play it with me?”

“Yeah exactly.” Pedro leaned forward to kiss the top of your head while he pulled you even closer if that was possible.

“Well i’m glad i could help you baby. I know you are going to crush it as Joel Miller. I believe in you.” You smiled before kissing Pedro on the lips.

“Thank you sweetheart.” Smiled Pedro while letting out a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“You do know what you have to do now, right?” You asked with a slight smirk. “And that is?” Asked Pedro with an amused smile.

“You have to take me to set with you. At least once.” You smiled proudly which caused Pedro to laugh.

“Okay nerd.” Smiled Pedro while kissing your nose.

“I am not a nerd Pascal!” You snapped, making Pedro laugh even more.

“Says the one who has played both The Last Of Us games more then at least four times and read all the books.” Pedro smirked while you rolled your eyes.

“I hate you Pedro Pascal.” You sighed before burying your face in his neck.

“I love you too baby. And don’t worry, i’ll take you to set with me, okay?” Pedro said while closing his eyes.

“I love you Pedro Pascal.” You smiled while kissing his cheek. “Oh now you do.” Sighed Pedro while giving your hips a squeeze.

“Yes now i do.”

(A/N): i love Pedro Pascal and i can’t wait to see him as Joel Miller

Fill out the tag-list form on my blog if you like to get tagged in more Pedro content!

[avenging-fandoms]

This is so minuscule and lame but I like to think Pedro would be the type of man that would always make sure he’s holding your hand or has his hand on your waist / back for all scenarios

Like when he has to walk ahead of you, he puts his hand behind his back with a little grabby motion for you to hold onto

Or if you let go of his hand, he frowns

If you need to pass through a crowd, he guides you with his hand on your lower back

He’s such a goofball and sweetheart it’s hard NOT to think of these little things 🫣

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You got out of the limo a little after Pedro who waited for you on the curb. You thank the driver and follow behind Pedro who started walking down the red carpet. You watched his heels and he put his hands behind his back, waving his fingers.

You smile and walk a little faster, grabbing his hand and he brings you next to him. You walk with him and stand in front of the background, his hand holding onto your waist with your hand on top of his.

Pedro bent down to whisper in your ear, hand moving to your lower back, very low. "There's thousands of people here, but you're the only one who took everyone's breath away" He pulls his head up and you smile at him, rolling your eyes.

"You say that every red carpet, Pedro"

"Because it's true" He winks and you shake your head, giving him a quick kiss before you two walked further down the red carpet, and you two were sent to an interviewer.

You held a microphone with your right hand and Pedro's hand in your left, putting your hands behind your back as you two spoke to the interviewer. Midway through, you dropped your hand with Pedro's to move your hair out of your face and Pedro visibly pouted.

Pedro placed his hand on your butt, rubbing up to your back. You two finished the interview and walked away, Pedro's eyes still sad. "Is it because I fixed my hair?" The corner of his mouth curled up. "Pedro it was stuck to my lip gloss!"

"Excuses, excuses. You don't love me" He sighed dramatically and you laugh, stopping when you hit a pile of people. You look up at Pedro and he nods, his hand firmly on your back with his right hand gesturing forward. He kept you close to him as he excused you two through the crowd, making sure you weren't stepped on or bumped.

Once you two made it through the crowd, you moved your fingers in between his, Pedro smiling at you and kissing you before taking you inside. "Do you want a drink?" He whispered in your ear and you smile.

"Wine" You whisper and he hums, knowing what wine did to you. "I think later, you're going to start feeling sick and have to go home, and I'll have to be your nurse"

"I think.. my stomach is hurting now. You better take me to the bathroom and help me feel better" He winked but failed, making you laugh and kiss him all over his cheek. "Is there lipstick all over my face?"

"My kiss marks, yes"

"Perfect" He grabs your chin and kisses you again, heading to the bar to get you both a drink. You took sneaky pictures of him then when he caught you, then pictures of the both of you. "Send me all of those, one of them will be my new wallpaper" He mumbled into your shoulder and you smile, rubbing his thigh.

[f10werfae]

Por Vida

pairing: Sugar Daddy!Pedro Pascal x Female!Reader

summary: Post-Sex aftercare with sugar daddy Pedro, with lots of pillow talk and sweet promises (Dilf Warning 😘🫶)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Full Masterlist/ Disclaimer 18+

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“But it’s not fair!” Y/n whined resting against his bicep, her newly manicured fingers grasped around his arm, his lips focused on peppering kisses all over her face; finally landing on her lips to shut you up. “I know mi vida, daddy knows, i’m here to make it all better yeah?” He whispered cupping her jaw, nodding along with her as she giggled against his lips. One of his hands massaging over her breast.

“you smell so good, so soft, my gorgeous woman” He whispered bringing her nude body closer to his side, both of them mixed with his bedsheets, allowing her to rant about her colleagues who just couldn’t keep to themselves. “Stop it! Stop tryna butter me up and let me vent” Y/n whined slapping his chest then kissing it gently, with him chuckling in return, his hands venturing down to take a sneak of a grab at her ass; earning him another squeak and a giggle.

“Can’t help it amor, you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty finger” Pedro whispered interlacing their fingers, bringing it to his lips and kissing it, both of them still clearly dazed from the post-sex haze. “Hm well you’ve got me wrapped round this” Smirking, Y/n took her other hand, softly pumping the limp cock laying between her thighs. “You really are something else” He laughed kissing her again, he just loved those lips of hers

“Yeah? Well ya better put a ring on my finger before anyone else finds out about me” She whispered tracing his lips with her finger, seeing him widen his eyes and throw a scowl her way, “Fuck you for putting that thought in my head, acting as if you’re not in my sheets, my arms and in my heart” He growled nuzzling in closer to her, grazing the tip of his nose on her cheek as he kissed her face all over again.

“I know, am just playing with you old man, you get so cooked up so easily” Rubbing over the creases on his forehead, she felt his lips travel down to her breasts, taking a tit in each hand as he massaged, sucked and kissed at each hardened nipple. “When it comes to you, yes, cause we need each other baby, por vida” Coming back up to face her, he took her hand and purposefully kissed the space on her ring finger, letting her know it wouldn’t be that long before there’d be a rock on it. A mighty diamond, fit for his sugar babe.

His Spanish making her feel weak at the knees, he always spoke it so softly towards her, even bringing it out during the filthiest and dirtiest love-making sessions. Sure it may have started from a sugar baby website, but that was besides the point. 5 months of pure ruthless fucking and shopping, lead to dates and sleepovers; with Y/n practically living in his house by month 8. Now a year and a half into this relationship, things were definitely heating up with progression, both sets of parents reminding them that time wasn’t on their side; them wanting grandchildren ASAP.

“Por vida” She nodded replying back, the words simply rolling off her tongue from the amount of times she’s said it, his nose nudging hers playfully as he captured her lips once again. Her whines and whimpers increasing in volume once their tongues met out in the open, the wet smacking sounds filling their bedroom, their kiss was as sensual as you could get. Their lips gently massaging each others, with Pedro pulling away every few seconds to peck her repeatedly to tease her, and taking another few seconds to just stare at his woman, “You’re so beautiful, mi corazon, I can’t wait to start our life together”

“M-me too” She stuttered feeling flustered, one of his arms resting under her head, the other now settled back on her hips; kneading her skin greedily. Tracing the ink on her hips, a simple cursive ‘P’ tattooed only a place he would ever be able to see, making it that even more special, with her initial being on the underside of his ring finger. Of course when Y/n found out she went crazy at it, only for him to remind her “This spot is reserved for our ring my love, just reminding people it’s taken” He would say, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to calm her down.

“Imagine our wedding picture right above the fireplace in the front room and the tiny pitter patter of feet, our little ones running in here every morning to wake Mama and Papa” Speaking lowly he trailed wet butterfly kisses all over her collarbone, softly grinding his hardening length on her mound, here we go again…

———

PSA: First time writing for Pedro Pascal and it was quite fun actually, let me know if you would want more from him 🫶🫶🫶

See you all at the next update in a few days :)

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal x Reader - I'll look after you

Summary: Pedro is sick (but of course he doesn't admit it). You look after him. Hurt/Comfort (but the twist is that you're the one doing the comforting).

Relationships: Pedro Pascal / Reader

WC: ~2000

Tags/Warnings: RPF, Pedro Pascal, No use of Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Pedro, Established Relationship, Mostly Gender-Neutral, Fluff and Angst, pedro pascal needs a hug, this is so soft and emotional and gentle-, author uses fanfic as therapy

AO3 LINK

Notes: hello loves! just a quick heads up: this is no medical advice because someone decided to got to film school rather than medical school. anyways: enjoy <3

songs recommended to go with this fic: look after you - the fray moon song - phoebe bridgers - lea

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“You're not going.”

Pedro let out an exasperated sigh:” It's just a small interview. I'll be fine.” “If it's just a small interview, surely it's no big deal for them to reschedule.” You retorted instantly.

You were standing in the hallway of the small apartment the two of you shared. It was a familiar scene. Pedro quickly slipping into his worn-out trainers, already halfway towards the door, balancing his phone, keys and a coffee in his left hand, a kiss on the cheek the last thing you got before he hauled off to whatever photoshoot or interview he had scheduled that day.

Today however, something was different. He had slept in later than usual, hence the hurry he was in now.

“I can see you're not doing well.”-”I said Im fine.” You could hear his voice straining a little more. Pedro was very patient- especially with you. But he hated being late and you knew he likely was already on edge with whatever he was going through:” I'll see you tonight.”

He gave another nod in the rough direction of you and turned towards the door. Your voice became a tad more gentle as you spoke.

”Pedrito.”

For a second, you thought he was going to ignore you, brush it off and hurry to his car, leaving you behind. But then he stopped his movements, his hand remaining on the handle of the open door as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. You waited another beat before speaking again:

“Please let me give them a call and ask them to reschedule. I'll take the blame if you want.” 

The door closed as he took a step back and leaned against it. You barely caught his voice as he spoke:” Alright.”

You closed the distance between you and your gaze automatically wandered over him, taking in the beads of sweat on his forehead and the glazed-over look in his eyes that had made you skeptical in the first place. What you had failed to notice was the small tremor in his hands. “Give me those,” you said softly, and you were glad to see that he allowed you to take the keys and coffee out of his hands and place them on the small hallway table next to you.

“You wanna go lie down? I'll give them a call and then I'll make you some tea, alright?”

He noticed how gentle your tone was, how careful you seemed- all because he was running a small fever. Still, he couldn't help the tiny part of him that felt relieved at the idea of not having to go to the interview, not having to answer questions he had heard several times before, not having to sit under the scorching lights.

“As you command,” he teased. You knew he was doing this to take some of your worry away, to make you feel better. Pedro did this a lot. Whenever he felt like he had dug too deep or like he was putting too much weight on you, he'd simply play it off. After months together, you could see right through it. For now, however, you decided to let it slide, giving him a small smile, meant to lift his spirits.

The call didn't take long. There was a notion of annoyance on the other side of the line and you were reminded to cancel as early as possible in cases like these. You didn't give any explanation, simply reassured them that you'd find a new date and hung up.

You were just standing on your tiptoes to check the scarce collection of tea in the cabinet, when you heard the small commotion from the hallway. For a second, you assigned it to something falling over in the breeze coming from the sea or a sound drifting in from the outside. And then you remembered the exhaustion in Pedros face.

You were in the hallway in an instant, finding him leaning onto the small end table. The cup of coffee had fallen to the floor, a rug below catching most of its contents. For a split second, you got annoyed, knowing you'd have to throw it into the laundry. You opened your mouth to complain- and closed it again. The slight anger in you turned into genuine concern as you saw Pedros white knuckles holding on to the table, his face pale.

“Babe?” You asked softly as you stepped forward, ignoring the way the coffee was also soaking into your socks:” You okay?”

“Jus' a little dizzy,” He mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to steady himself:” Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You said firmly as you half crouched between him and the table and then raised yourself to full height again, allowing him to use you as a crutch:” Let's get you to the couch, big guy.”

It took quite some combined effort, and more than once you worried about him actually passing out- but eventually, he fell down onto the couch with a soft sigh. He leaned back, covering his face with his hands:” Fuck, I'm sorry.” He mumbled, again. Apologizing. Again. Always apologizing.

“Do you want me to call a doctor or something?” You asked, still unsure about how bad his state actually was.

“No, no, just need a minute.” You watched with concern as he took a few deep breaths, clearly trying to convince his body to stay conscious. The thing about unconsciousness though is that it doesn't have shit to do with willpower. If you fall, you fall. No matter how hard you're trying to tell your brain to keep pumping the blood towards where it's needed.

The water heater beeping dragged you back to reality.

“I'll get you that tea either way.” You mumbled and headed towards the kitchen again, muttering a ' you stay ' with another glance in his direction.

He did as told.

You quickly threw the tea bag into the mug, poured the hot water on it, grabbed a small chocolate bar for good measure and returned to the living room.

“Here you go.” You mumbled as you sat the steaming mug down and offered the chocolate to Pedro:” Will this help?” He gave you a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. They still looked glazed over and you hummed as you took in his face, gently bringing your hand up to feel his forehead.

“Pedge, you're burning up.” He looked up at you with his round, brown puppy eyes and he just looked so goddamn miserable that it truly broke your heart, instantly making you wish you could take all his pain away.

“Okay, let me get a thermometer-” Pedro frowned slightly:”Do we have one of those?”-”I bought one, remember? I said-”

”You said we'd need one eventually.” He offered.

Despite his pitiful state, you couldn't help but grin a bit:” That's right.” You hummed as you grabbed a small box from the hallway closet, filled with different medications and- ”Here it is.”

As you approached him, Pedro squirmed slightly:” You're not gonna try to put that up my butt, are you?” You rolled your eyes:” Your mouth is fine.” 

With a small wink, you added:” I'm saving your pretty little bum for another time.”

He blushed slightly at that but you barely noticed, already busy taking the thermometer out of its packaging:” You want me to do it?”

Pedro gave a small nod but you could tell he was conflicted about it. For a moment, he seemed to consider his words:” Baby, maybe you should leave. I don't want you getting sick too and-”

”No.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off by pressing a small kiss to his lips:” There. Already infected. Now open up.” 

He was stunned enough to not protest. You were as gentle as possible as you rested one hand on his cheek, the other leading the thermometer into his mouth:” No talking.” He grumbled a bit but did as told, his gaze lingering on you as you both waited for the beep that would signal that the temperature was ready. 

At this point, he knew you well enough to realize that you wouldn't leave him- no matter how many times he asked. On the other hand, you knew him well enough to realize he would still ask, always afraid of being a burden. 

Your brows furrowed a bit as you took the thermometer out and glanced at the small screen:” It isn't too bad but some paracetamol wouldn't hurt.” You deduced, already grabbing the pills from the box and quickly glancing over the leaflet.

The look Pedro was giving you didn't fully reach your brain until you realized how quiet he was. Immediately, you turned your attention towards him:” Are you okay? Are you feeling dizzy?”

To your surprise, he gave a small chuckle. He was glancing at you in wonder:” How do you know all this?” You raised a brow:'' Thermometers and Paracetamol aren't exactly rocket science.” He shook his head:” Still, you're- you're kind of good at that.”

You gave a small shrug as you poured him a glass of water:” I spent a few summers helping out at camp when I was younger. They didn't have a proper nurse so I filled in.”

Again, he stared up at you in amazement:” I didn't know that.” He said quietly.

“Well, we never- it never came up.” You replied, a little self-conscious:” I didn't think it was very interesting.”

“Everything about you is interesting. To me, I mean.” He blurted out. You stared at him for a moment and then sighed, shaking your head.

“Pedro, you have a fever.”-”So?”-”So, declarations of your deep love for me don't count because you're not in the right state of mind.” Both of you stayed quiet as you settled down on the couch.

“Are you sure you dont wanna leave?” You smiled at him gently as you drew a blanket over his legs:” Go to sleep, baby.”

Again, you fell into silence as you watched him close his eyes. You were beginning to think he'd already fallen asleep, when he suddenly spoke again.

“Querida?” He asked in a low voice. Your head perked up slightly:” Hm?”

“Remind me again tomorrow.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your brain already zoning out:” Remind you of what?”

“To tell you how much I love you.”

You were too choked up to answer. You simply stared at him, his broad form nestled into the couch, two pillows below his back because it always, always hurt, his hair messy and sticking up into all directions and his eyes closed, seemingly already drifting off to sleep. He looked so soft and vulnerable and you couldn't help the strong urge to protect him, to shield him from all evil in the world. Including the evil of a sick day.

It didn't take more than a few minutes until his breathing became deeper and eventually he began snoring softly.

You watched his chest rise and fall from your spot on the couch and you thought your heart might leap out of your own chest and join in his, because you simply loved him that much.

With a small sigh, you got up again. You turned off the doorbell, threw both your socks and the coffee-stained rug into the washer, drew a few curtains and hid the script Pedro had been working on below some magazines. As far as you were concerned, he was on bedrest for the remainder of the day.

When you were satisfied, you returned to your spot on the couch, shifting slightly so that you were lying next to him but still giving him enough space to turn in his sleep.

“I'll remind you every day.” You mumbled, more to yourself than him.

I'll remind you every day as long as your answer stays the same, I'll have you as long as you'll have me . 

You thought distantly as you too closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, your hand finding his in a gesture that conveyed more than either of you could say. 

But you knew. Both of you knew .

You knew now and you'd know the day after. And the day after that. And you had a feeling he did too.

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ty for reading!! i am afraid i am in fact a hopeless romantic. anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed it, please leave a comment if you did <3