requested! thank you.
content: pregnancy, public affection, protective!pedro
the press tour is loud. cameras flash nonstop, people shouting his name from every direction, microphones being pushed closer and closer like they might miss something if they blink. it’s overwhelming — not for him, never for him — but pedro still feels his hand tighten around yours instinctively.
you’re glowing. visibly pregnant, dress hugging your belly in a way the internet has already dissected frame by frame. there’s something sacred about it, about you standing there so calm, so sure, one hand resting protectively over your stomach as if the world isn’t screaming around you.
pedro doesn’t let go of you for a second.
his hand never leaves the small of your back. sometimes it slides lower, palm splayed over your belly, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles like he’s reminding both of you that everything is okay. that you are okay. that the baby is okay.
and the internet? the internet is feral.
someone posts a clip — barely ten seconds long — of him stepping slightly in front of you when a photographer gets too close. his body shields yours without thinking. his arm curves around you, firm and sure, chin dipping just enough so he can murmur something only you can hear.
you smile immediately. that’s what sends everyone over the edge.
because you don’t look scared. you don’t look fragile. you look adored.
during the interview, the host asks a question about the project — some joke about long shoots and exhausting schedules — and pedro answers politely, smoothly, like always. but then he glances at you.
“we adjusted things,” he says easily. “made sure she was comfortable. that was the priority.”
no hesitation. no overexplaining. the priority.
your hand squeezes his, and he looks down at you like you’re the only person in the room. like the cameras aren’t there. like the world hasn’t been watching every move you’ve made together since the pregnancy became public.
later, when you’re seated, he pulls your chair closer without even asking. his knee stays pressed against yours the entire time. when you shift, he notices. when you breathe differently, he notices. when you absentmindedly rub your belly, he’s already there, covering your hand with his.
photos circulate within minutes.
pedro pascal cannot stop touching his pregnant wife.
the way he looks at her???
that man is DOWN BAD.
and they’re right. because when the carpet ends and the noise fades just a little, pedro leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple. not for the cameras — they just happen to catch it.
“you okay, baby?” he asks quietly.
you nod. “yeah. you?”
he smiles, wide and warm and so full it almost hurts.
“never better.”
that night, the internet keeps spiraling.
zoomed-in screenshots of his hand on your belly. slow-motion gifs of him guiding you through the crowd. compilations titled pedro pascal: protective husband era.
and somewhere in a quiet hotel room, away from the flashes and the noise, he helps you out of your heels, kisses your stomach goodnight, and holds you like the world can wait.
✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.
Pedro meets a pretty young woman at a bar who seems to have no idea who he is. Intrigued by this, he ends up hooking up with you. Months into your relationship, you have something to confess.
Contains: smut, p in v, consensual protected sex, condoms, age gap (50&29), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, feral!Pedro, lying, angst, crying, bad conscience about age gap, bodily fluids, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamic, reassurance, aftercare, fluff, love confessions, nervousness, mild pain during sex, comfort
Wordcount: 12,656
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Pedro laughed and put his glass back on the counter with a low thud.
"Oh shut up…" he grinned, feeling heat spread in his cheeks from being the center of attention. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system.
"No, no, no…" his friends disagreed in unison, raising their glasses to celebrate him.
Despite the faint flattery, Pedro felt the good mood in his bones. He had just finished a movie that had taken many months of hard work, so of course his head would have been swimming even without the whiskey in his glass.
He was in a bar with his best friends, he could use his next few weeks to rest, and he was satisfied with the outcome of the movie. Indeed, there was reason to have a good time tonight.
"Next round is on me!" Pedro laughed, even though half of his friends couldn't hear him over the loud noise around them. The other half shook their heads in protest, but he was faster than them. As swiftly as the wind, Pedro stood up from the table, grabbed his wallet and swayed his index finger in front of them.
"I insist!" he shouted, giving them a wry smirk before heading for the counter where people were lined up in front of the bartender like children watching animals behind the fence at a zoo.
"Can I get another round for my friends?" Pedro asked the bartender, a young man with a dark beard and piercing grey eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. He just hoped the man wouldn't look too closely and make a scene in the middle of the bar. Most of the time, Pedro didn't mind taking one or two pictures with fans, but the place was pretty crowded, and since he wanted to celebrate with his friends, he wasn't keen to draw everyone's attention to him and wait for such a long time while everyone was having their share of him.
"Of course!" the young man said and gave him a friendly nod. If he had recognized him, he didn't hint at it, which Pedro was relieved by.
"Excuse me…"
He briefly flinched at the voice of a woman, a heaviness settling in his stomach. Shit. Well, now he would have to get through it and just hope that the woman wouldn't inform anyone else in the bar of his presence.
"You dropped something."
Pedro finally turned around, glaring at you through narrow eyes.
"What?"
"You dropped something. Here you go."
You quickly lowered yourself to the floor and picked up a small item, throwing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up. With a shy smile, you handed him his wallet, which must have fallen out of his back pocket.
"Thank you – so much," Pedro stammered, taken aback by the unexpected encounter. He had been certain that you approached him to ask for a picture, but there was nothing shimmering in your eyes that resembled recognition or excitement. Just… kindness.
You were young, significantly younger than him. Maybe around thirty or in your late thirties, tops. But gosh, you were pretty, and he was positive that it wasn't just the dim light shining onto your face in such an intimate way. There was something about you causing his nerves to prickle and his mouth to dry up.
"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I always keep my wallet in my pocket, but it has fallen out a million times before. Thank you, honestly. Can I – Can I thank you by buying you a drink?"
Your grin broadened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, though you seemed a little unsettled.
"Really? I mean, I – you don't have to. Seriously."
"I want to," Pedro simply said over the noise and took a step toward the counter.
His friends could wait. This was more important.
Pedro couldn't remember when the last time was that he had met someone your age who didn't know his name or any other personal details about his life. Usually, at this point in a conversation, the other person would have shoved their phone in his face, told him about their favorite projects of his and asked him for a hug. Not that he minded his fame, he really didn't. Yet it was refreshing to stand in front of a woman who had absolutely no intentions or expectations. Someone who was getting to know him like human beings usually did when one of them wasn't a famous actor. Pedro hadn't experienced it in so long that he felt almost eager to find out what it was like. Of course, he would buy you that drink if it meant talking to you just a little longer.
"Thank you. Okay…" you whispered and took your seat on a stool while Pedro ordered two Mojitos.
"Is that okay? Do you like Mojitos?" he asked, which made your eyes light up.
"Yes. Of course, yeah," you answered and crossed your legs, drumming your fingers on the counter.
"Good. I'm sorry, I just ordered without asking you, which is kind of stupid because I wanted to invite you…"
"It's fine. Seriously."
Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, Pedro exhaled softly. "Are you here with friends?"
"Yes. But they kind of ditched me."
His eyebrows lifted, curiosity sparking on his face. "Ditched you how?"
"Well, the plan was to come here with three friends. One of them asked to bring her girlfriend last minute. We agreed, but I should've known that the two of them would leave after an hour, which is exactly what happened. The second one met a guy while waiting in the bathroom line, and the third one just got a phone call and left to pick up her friend because she got arrested."
Pedro's features drew with disbelief, his eyes wide but a feeble grin tugging at his lips.
"Arrested?"
"It's nothing bad," you uttered, making a dismissive hand gesture. "She drove too fast, that's it."
"So they just left you here alone?" Pedro wanted to know and rested his right elbow on the counter, slightly leaning in.
"Yeah. Which is why I planned to leave. That was right before I saw your wallet fall out of your pocket." You smiled, allusively glancing at the brown leather, glinting in the bright light. Pedro now held it in his hand, just in case he would drop it again and there wouldn't be someone to help him as you had.
"I'm really sorry. That doesn't sound like a good night."
"Oh, I don't mind. Besides… I'm not so alone now, right?"
Pedro bared his teeth as he gave you another smile. You were definitely interesting, that much was for sure. A young woman alone in the bar after her friends had ditched her… And a woman who was seemingly unaware of his identity. Pedro wondered whether you just didn't recognize him like that, the room a little dark and his hair messier than usual, or if you just hadn't seen his face before. At least, he could rule out the possibility of you being drunk. You were able to stand steadily on your own, and he couldn't smell any alcohol on you after all.
"No, you're not."
"Oh, but I don't wanna occupy you if you're – are you here with people? Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you away from them. I mean, if you're not on your own."
Your eyes were wide as though you had just realized something that made you deeply regret your previous phrasing. It made Pedro grin, though he tried to hide it in order to spare you the embarrassment. He didn't want you thinking that he was laughing about you.
"I was the one who bought you that drink, wasn't I? You think I would've done that if I didn't wanna be… occupied?"
If Pedro wasn't mistaken, you were blushing, your pupils scurrying over the counter as though searching for something.
"Right…"
"But to answer your question: Yes, I'm here with friends."
"Oh, great!" you said and took a swig from your Mojito, which the bartender had placed in front of you, as well as one cocktail in front of Pedro.
"Is it your birthday?"
"What makes you think that?" Pedro chuckled before remembering the homemade crown one of his friends had put on his head a little earlier. On the back, the name of the movie that had just wrapped filming could be read, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted the lettering so far.
"Oh, right… No, it's not my birthday. It's just… work stuff."
"Work stuff? What do you mean?" you laughed and tilted your head to the side.
"Well, we had a major success today. So my friends and I decided to go for a drink." It wasn't even a blunt lie. Wrapping a film in time definitely counted as a major success.
"Oh great! I'm so happy for you. What do you do?"
Pedro realized that he had reached a dead end if he didn't want to keep the lie up. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, since you were a stranger that he probably would never see again, but the idea of coming up with a completely dishonest story made his stomach twist. He didn't know why, but Pedro didn't want to tell you a false tale. But neither did he want this quite appealing dynamic to shift by telling you who he was. Even if you had never heard of him, one click on your phone would be enough to find out that he wasn't just a normal guy grabbing a drink at the bar with his friends.
And what would happen then? There was a good chance you would ask for a selfie, but what was even more likely was that you would start acting differently around him. That was what people did most of the time when they discerned his face behind his large sunglasses or underneath the cap he had pulled deeply into his face. Pedro rarely complained about it since he had enough people in his life who kept him grounded and viewed him as their friend or a family member instead of a celebrity, but it hadn't gone unnoticed by him either. How their voices became higher, their behavior a little tense as they made an extra amount of effort around him.
In the end, Pedro decided to find a balance. He wouldn't lie to you but just not go as much into detail as he would have had to in order to give you the whole picture.
"Oh, I'm working on film sets. Just a bunch of boring stuff."
"Film sets? Oh wow," you whispered, giving him a look of sheer admiration. No, this was exactly what he didn't want.
"It's not that exciting. I swear to you. It sounds so glamorous, but it's mostly just waiting around, following orders and going home tired."
Fortunately, your expression softened at that, and he felt like he had the version he had just met in front of him again. Good.
"But I hope you're not tired today," you smirked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. "I mean, you have to celebrate whatever that success is you're celebrating."
Pedro didn't know whether you were consciously sending him signals by toying with your hair like that, but he liked to believe that you did. Because it fit exactly with the fluttering of his heart. God, you were cute. And somehow, although he had met you not more than five minutes ago, it felt so easy and effortless talking to you. Or it was the mere fact that it had been years since he had met a person like that. In a crowded bar, his wrist still hurting from the many autographs he had given on set earlier, and a person in front of him who saw him for what he was instead of his name and profession. Pedro didn't like to get all self-pitiful and complain about things that others were working hard for their whole lives, but in that moment, he simply appreciated the circumstances and the fact that out of all people, it had been you who had picked up his wallet.
"No," he grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "I'm not that tired today."
Ten minutes later, Pedro had bought a second drink for you, gin this time.
His friends were long forgotten, and so was the fact that he had promised himself not to stay too long but rather have a good night's rest after those weeks of long shooting days.
This was much better.
You were just throwing your head back, laughing about something Pedro had said, which he had already forgotten. It wasn't hard to get distracted by your beautiful laugh, how your lips parted and how confidently you showed your teeth while your whole body trembled. He liked when people laughed with their whole body, and he especially loved it when people weren't afraid to show their joy.
"I had the worst haircut at around 14," you told him, shaking your head at the seemingly horrible memory. Right, the two of you were talking about hairstyles, and Pedro had just told you about some of his worst decisions regarding his appearance throughout the years.
"You got any photos?"
"Definitely not," you giggled and raised your index finger. "A few years later, when I realized how awful it was, I literally went around and deleted all the evidence. I think my grandmother might have a picture in her drawer, but she had to promise me that she's never gonna take it out of there."
"Well, I guess we're gonna have to visit your grandmother then," Pedro whispered, his mouth curled and his eyes sparkling. "What was it? You're gonna let me guess?"
"Sure." You challengingly folded your arms and twisted your lips.
"Mhm… A bowl cut that went wrong?" Pedro asked and tried to picture how it might have looked on you. He couldn't imagine that any haircut would make you look bad, though.
"No. Though the part about it going wrong is correct."
"Did you cut it yourself?" Pedro wanted to know, working his brain to come up with more ideas for the most horrible hairstyles that might have been fashionable fifteen years ago.
"No, a friend of mine did. She's actually one of the friends I came here with today."
"It can't be that bad then. If you're still friends."
You laughed at that, then finally cleared your throat to reveal the truth about your haircut.
"You know, I wanted bangs. Because everyone had bangs. And so my friend started cutting, and she cut it too short. And then she tried to make it look less radical by cutting the hair around my face, and in the end, I had a mullet. And even a very bad one."
His eyebrows shot upward, Pedro pursed his lips, trying to figure out what you might have looked like.
"But people wear mullets again, don't they?"
"Not mine. Definitely not mine."
Pedro burst into laughter, really craving to see a picture that captured that moment in your life, but before he could ask for it again, you emptied your glass and shyly wiped over your mouth with the back of your hand.
"I really don't want you to stay away from your friends because of me…" you admitted, peering at him through your lashes, which frankly, drove him insane.
He couldn't let you go yet. And if he had to, he at least needed something from you: your phone number or your name on Instagram. But at that point, you finding out about his true job would be inevitable. Unless… you didn't just not know his face but also his name. It would be worth it, wouldn't it? The alternative was to part ways with you and never see your pretty face again. Never see again how you nibbled at your thumbnail, only to quickly drop it once you realized what you were doing.
"I told you, I don't mind. I… I'm rather fond of such lovely company."
Heat shot to your face at his compliments, painting your cheeks a light red and making his stomach bubble with excitement and a delightful warmth.
"And what about them?"
"Oh, they surely haven't even noticed my absence," Pedro lied, hoping none of them were searching the room too extensively for him. Perhaps the alcohol had done its job, and they were all too busy singing along to the music or gossiping about anyone they had ever met instead of bothering about his whereabouts.
"Are you sure?"
"A hundred percent sure."
With that, Pedro swallowed hard, moistening his throat. "Besides… I just don't feel like leaving you here alone."
You looked slightly to the side, finger nervously tapping on your thigh.
"You don't need to worry about me," you whispered, chewing on your lower lip.
"But I do. And to be honest, I'm also just a very selfish man who doesn't feel like letting you go just yet."
"You're selfish?" you repeated, a mischievous glimmer in your pupils.
"I can be very selfish. If I want something very badly."
"Then I better not get in your way, right?"
He drew a deep breath, relishing your little cat-and-mouse game, which was precisely to his liking.
"Oh, but I want you right there. In my way." Pedro shifted a little closer, his knee touching yours.
"Well, what do you want?" you whispered, darting your eyes up at him, a thin, glossy layer hanging over them. There were multiple possible explanations for your agitation, but Pedro prayed it had to do with him and not the empty glass in front of you. Shit, he felt the alcohol as well, but at least he was certain he would have been just as smitten with you if he had stayed sober. You were too enchanting and adorable not to feel drawn to, no matter his alcohol level.
"Do you really wanna know?" Pedro whispered in your ear, your heads so close now that his friends at the table probably wouldn't have made out his face among the many people. If only there hadn't been that stupid crown on top of his head…
"Yes," you panted, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as his breath fanned your earlobe.
"Are you sure? Because it's… bad. It's not what I should say to such a lovely girl like you, who I've just met."
"I wanna know," you insisted, almost begging him with your quiet voice. Pedro saw stars, his head spinning and his body feeling so limp he craved something to hold onto. What had he done to deserve someone so sweet and perfect? He wanted you so badly, and he didn't even know in what way.
On one hand, he couldn't stop thinking about getting you into his bed, undressing you, and fucking you while you continued to make those beautiful sounds for him, but on the other hand, he didn't want this evening to end with a one-night stand after which Pedro and you would never see each other again.
"Please," you muttered, which caused the last thread holding his composure together to snap. His hand found your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as his lips touched your ear.
"I wanna have you naked underneath me," he said bluntly, hoping that it wasn't too much and that you wouldn't be appalled by his directness. You had asked for it, though, hadn't you? With wide eyes, you glared up at him, even though it hadn't diminished your arousal in any way. There was something innocent about you, but maybe it was just the fact that you were so much younger than him. He shouldn't want you like this, but his critical thinking was overcast by the alcohol, by the stuffy air in here, the beauty you emitted, and his desire to touch you without your stupid jeans in the way –
"Please take me with you," you suddenly whispered, interrupting Pedro's quite chaotic train of thought.
"You want me to take you with me? Where?"
For a brief second, something like nervousness flickered across your face, your teeth grazing your bottom lip.
The bathroom.
Yes, that would be an option. But then again, it wasn't really how Pedro imagined things. You deserved better than to be fucked over some dirty sink. Especially because he hoped things wouldn't be a one-time thing. Christ, what was he even doing here… He was supposed to enjoy a casual night out with his friends after finishing a movie, and now he was about to abandon them for a young woman he couldn't get out of his head.
"I want you," you whispered, putting your hand on top of his, beckoning him to trace it higher up your leg.
"You wanna come home with me?" Pedro really prayed that you would agree to see him again. Should he ask now, or would that come across as strange?
"Yes… Please." It seemed as though you had forgotten all about not wanting to rip him away from his friends, just like Pedro had. Because you didn't protest—or in fact, say anything—as he guided you out of the crowded bar a few minutes later, hoping that no one would recognize him now. It would have been quite possibly the worst development.
But Pedro was lucky. His hand firm on the small of your back, he held the door open for you and then drew a heavy breath through his mouth once the two of you were outside. It was so quiet all of a sudden that his ear rang, and when he cleared his throat, his own voice sounded unfamiliar to him.
"You still wanna do this?" Pedro chuckled, even though he found it an odd thing to say just a few seconds later. Your lips curved, your hand reaching for his wrist to pull him toward you.
"Yes. I do. If you promise me you won't tell anyone."
His mouth crashed into yours before he could think about it properly and come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to kiss a stranger in the middle of Manhattan.
Fuck it.
No one would recognize him anyway in the dark, his face covered by your head. Still, Pedro gently shoved you toward the black van waiting for him a few feet down the street, which would take the two of you to his apartment in the West Village.
"Why?" he spoke against your lips, bringing his hands to your waist.
"Because I've never done something like that before…"
Your words, or rather, the content of them, ignited a little fire within his heart. God, he shouldn't feel so turned on by the fact that you were throwing all your habits overboard in order to go home with him. And, of course, there was your unawareness of his stardom and the thought that you had no special interest in him beyond your sexual desire. You didn't want to fuck him because his name was Pedro Pascal, but because you wanted him. You had met a stranger in the bar, someone you felt so attracted to that you were trusting him to take you to his apartment.
"I won't tell anyone…" he murmured and hummed gently, seeing that your back was about to touch his car.
"Careful…" he whispered and knocked on the window of the passenger seat. His driver nodded in understanding, and a second later, the rear doors were unlocked.
"You… why do you have a driver?" you asked quietly, but allowed Pedro to help you inside without hesitation.
"I told you, I work in film."
That was all the answer you got for now, even though he was positive you would have more questions once the two of you were at his apartment, located on one of New York's most expensive streets.
The car started moving, and Pedro's hands were immediately all over your body again, this time taking hold of your face and neck.
"I'm y/n, by the way," you panted, your index and middle fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt.
"Pedro."
His heart skipped a beat, waiting for a suspicious noise of realization from you, but it didn't come. Thank god.
"Do you think we should…" you began, clearly reluctant to make out in the car with the driver just a few feet away, but Pedro just pushed his face against yours and stroked up your thigh. Of course, you were right, and he should just wait the five-minute drive to his apartment, but he had a hunch that sitting next to you without touching you would be impossible. Your scent, your silky hair, your warm skin were all too tempting to just sit there, actionless. Besides, his driver was much too professional to comment on his feral behavior.
"It's okay. Just relax… Let me help you relax."
Faces squeezed together, Pedro's hand quickly dropped to the opening of your jeans, where he hastily undid the button and zipper. He didn't have much time, but he wanted to give you at least something before their arrival. Most of all, it was his selfish, egoistical yearning to hear your pretty voice beg him for more while he was taking you up to his apartment… Yes, that was the kind of outcome he was hoping for. Leading you up the staircase while your glossy eyes glanced up at him in awe of the things he had just made you feel in the car. Your lips parted, eager and hungry for more.
"Huh. Fuck, I - " you stammered, sucking uneven breaths through your teeth while Pedro nimbly slid his right hand past your waistband like it was exactly where it belonged.
"I know… Open your legs a bit wider for me, baby."
You did, though it was a struggle in the tight space in the back of the car. His driver probably couldn't even see anything except their rapid, greedy kissing and maybe your arms slung around his neck. Definitely not his hand disappearing in your pants.
"That's it…" Pedro exhaled, pressing his palm against your clothed pussy, desperately searching for any wetness.
There it was… Through the lace of your underwear – why were you even wearing lace for a casual night out with your friends? – he felt a certain dampness, which made him wish he could just shove your jeans down right here and right now and smell and taste you. Well, perhaps he could do that in a few minutes. There was something immensely ardent about doing it in the back seat of a vehicle, though.
"Do you like that?" he purred, moving his hand in circles to create friction against your clit.
"Y-Yes," you whimpered, thrusting your hips and shifting closer against Pedro's palm as he rolled his hand into your cunt.
"You're so wet… All that for me?"
"Mhm," you cried out, your hands grasping his bicep to pull him closer.
"How naughty… I thought you were just at the bar for a night out with your friends. And here you are, dripping all over my hand."
Slowly, Pedro pushed the fabric of your panties aside and inserted his middle finger inside your clenched hole without any warning. Your body wriggled, the muscles in your legs tensing while Pedro mercilessly entered you to the hilt. You were properly soaked with your natural body fluids, which made him soothe you in satisfaction.
"Taking it so well, sweetheart… So beautiful. And so goddamn wet… You think you can take another finger?"
The fabric bothered him, but as of now, he couldn't just take them off so effortlessly, and ripping them wasn't an option either.
"Yes," you whined, arching your chest toward him when Pedro pressed his thumb into your pulsing clit. Somehow, every part of your body was prickling with heat, whether it was your face, your lips, your pussy, or the side of your neck, which Pedro was still gripping tightly while scissoring you open. Just when he was about to comply and add his ring finger, the car came to a stop, and you squealed, both your heads brutally torn back to the present by the sudden intrusion. Pedro pulled his hand back fast, feeling his heart thunder in his chest.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but we're at your apartment," the driver spoke. Pedro was too caught in the moment to figure out whether Mike's voice was laced with amusement like he had expected it, or if he was at least trying to act unsuspecting like he wished.
"Thank you," Pedro answered with his raspy, hoarse voice and opened the door with his left hand. His right… well, he didn't want to ruin the expensive interior of the van.
With a quiet thud, your back met the wall next to the door to his apartment.
He protected the back of your head with his hand to ensure he wasn't hurting you when he pressed you into the wall with his whole weight and passion. Now that they were in a completely private place with no one observing them, Pedro wanted nothing more than to fulfill his wishes and opened your jeans for a second time that night. With skilled fingers, he shoved the fabric down your hips, waiting for it to drop onto the ground and then slowly sank to his knees in front of you.
"Pedro – " you began, nervousness resonating in your low tone, but as his lips kissed your bare knee, the rest of your words caught in your throat.
"It's okay. I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart."
Sure, his aged knees hurt a little on the hard floor, but he simply couldn't wait long enough to guide you to his bedroom or couch. Besides, there was a desk nearby, which he could make you sit on top of in case this position became too impractical.
"I – I just want…" you whimpered and buried your fingers in his locks, your nails grazing his scalp in a way that was most delicious to him.
"Yeah? What do you want?" Pedro's mouth was pressed against your mound, which allowed him to finally take in your scent. And gosh… you smelled amazing. Clean, yet surrounded by a strong musky note.
Blood rushed to his cock, which had been hard the moment he first kissed you in the car. He briefly considered taking himself out and pumping his cock while making out with your sweet pussy, but for now, he didn't have the patience that such actions would demand. He had to dive straight in and lick through your folds that smelled so perfect, so seductive…
"Please. Please touch me, I – I need it so bad." You sounded close to tears, which elicited a hint of pity in him.
He wasn't consciously edging you; he was just savoring the sight in front of him, worshipping every inch of skin that he gradually unwrapped like a present.
"I know, baby. I'm gonna make it better. Gonna kiss the pain away."
His lips enclosed your bundle of nerves, and he hollowed his cheeks to apply pressure on the bud as the lacy fabric stung his skin. Your brow furrowed, which Pedro couldn't see from that angle, but your noises were more than enough to confirm that he was doing more than ordinarily well.
"Ah. Ow, fuck… Yes. Yes, please." Pedro smiled contently, then stuck out his tongue to tease your clit through the thin layer.
"Pedro," you cried out, rolling your hips as though to plead with him to proceed faster.
"Take it off. Please," you additionally begged, but Pedro had too much fun teasing you with your pretty underwear, which he felt you had put on just for him, though this was obviously not the case since neither of you had expected to hook up with a stranger tonight.
"Relax. I got you. Just gonna let your panties stay on your body a little longer… You can't see it, but you look so pretty with them. Just let me play with them a little, okay?"
Your hand lying flat on the wall behind you, Pedro ran a hand up your stomach and slipped it underneath your shirt.
"Y-Yes," you choked, knees turning to jelly as his hand cupped your left breast through your bra and gently cradled your flesh.
"Jesus Christ, sweetheart… What have I done to deserve all that, mhm? You smell so good, you felt so good around my finger, and I know you're gonna taste divine."
It was Pedro's cue to slowly shove the fabric out of his way and press an open-mouthed kiss to your opening. His tongue quickly swirled around your hole, feeling your wetness prickle on his skin, and then a few seconds after that, he entered you with his fat muscle.
All of it had happened too quickly for you to catch up in time, but now, you gasped for air so loudly that Pedro briefly glanced up your body to check if you were okay. Of course, you were. Your cheeks were just a little ruddy, and you looked out of the loop, overwhelmed by how good he was capable of making you feel. His hand clasped around your breast tightened a little, squeezing and kneading your warm flesh. He grinned when he felt you grab his wrist, encouraging him to do more and explore more of your body, but for now, he was utterly smitten with the taste of your pussy, which is why he focused on that part of you.
"You're gonna drive me fucking insane, sweetheart," Pedro grunted, but then was quick to stick his tongue back inside. He couldn't reach as deeply as he could with his fingers, but he could taste you and feel your juices trickle down his chin, a sensation grand enough that he wished he would never have to separate from your core. You also received all the necessary stimulation on your clit through his nose, scrunched up against the upper part of your pussy.
God, if only time would stop right now. If only he could do this every single day, every hour, for the rest of his life. It was all of you that kept him under this spell, not just your pussy. You were so responsive and reacted to him so sweetly that Pedro craved to explore more of you. He wanted to know all your most sensitive spots, tease you until he had discovered every side of you, and find out how much he could coax out of you before the two of you were too exhausted to even connect your lips. He wanted to know you in every way possible and not stop until these feelings were quenched. It was one thing to have you pressed up against the wall, but another to listen to you sharing your most hidden desires with him. That was what he wanted... yes.
"Please, Pedro…" you breathed, knees dangerously close to giving in, which would cause you to collapse on top of him. He could definitely imagine worse things than that. Maybe he should just ask you to sit on his face and hope you forgot all about time and place… Maybe you would roll your hips into him all night and – His eyes pinched shut as he felt you pull harshly at his strands.
Right. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed how he had stopped with the twirls of his tongue. Pedro seized the opportunity to switch things up a little and replaced his tongue with his finger. He was still owing you a second finger, after all.
"Rock against my mouth, y/n. Take what you need," Pedro requested and pressed his flat tongue against your clit. That way, he couldn't exactly trace your most sensitive spot with his pointed tongue as well as he would have liked, but you could create all the necessary friction on your own while he fucked you with his finger. You clenched heavenly around him, and Pedro loved to watch all those little reactions, such as your pussy flattening whenever he circled your nipple or your hips uncontrollably twitching when he curled his finger inside you. You were enjoying yourself, and for some reason, there was nothing that could possibly have brought Pedro more pleasure than that idea.
"Ready for a second finger, little one?" he grinned and finally pushed down your underwear at that very moment. He couldn't help it. He needed to feel all of you, feel the pulse in your clit in his entire body until the thrumming of his heart was in perfect sync with you.
"Yes. Yes, please," you pleaded, more than thrilled by the course of action.
"Take a deep breath for me."
You must have rewired something in his brain; there was no other explanation. He pressed his thick ring finger inside you, humming gently as he realized that he hadn't taken off the piece of jewelry yet. You must have felt it too, given the way you were bending your neck to make out his face between your legs.
"You're not married, are you?"
Pedro chuckled softly and reassuringly brushed over your naked thigh. "No, I'm not… I can still take it off though. If it's too cold."
"No," you quickly murmured, relaxing your shoulders and letting your head fall back against the wall. "I wanna cum, Pedro."
He laughed tenderly, sucking your little nub in his mouth and curling his fingers inside you in the meantime.
"You wanna cum or you're gonna cum?"
"I don't know," you whimpered, sounding as though you were deeply frustrated about something you couldn't quite pinpoint.
"It's okay… Take your time. Do you want me to go faster?"
"I don't know," you whined again, knees shaking and your body squirming unrestrainedly.
"Shh… it's okay. It's okay, baby. Just relax and let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything. I know what you need."
With that, Pedro stood up in front of you, not because he wanted to leave that spot between your legs, but because he figured it was time for a little change in your position. You seemed more than ready and in need of him to finish what he had started, but for one, he didn't trust that you could stand on your own, and also, he wanted you calm. And he wasn't sure whether he would achieve that with you standing and your hands desperately dragging at his hair like you were seeking something. Laying you down and having your body sprawled out in front of him would make things easier for both of you.
You didn't seem to perceive Pedro rising to his feet until he placed one hand on the back of your neck and draped the other around your waist.
"Let me get you to bed, okay, sweetheart?"
You nodded before your eyes became round. "But you – you're gonna touch me again, right?"
"Of course, darling," Pedro laughed, then effortlessly hauled you up in his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I'm gonna do a lot more than that… if you want me to."
"Yes. I want everything."
Pedro suppressed another amused giggle, since your words had sounded more serious than one would suspect from the phrasing alone. Your face buried in his neck, he carried you through the hallway and into his bedroom, where he cautiously laid you down on the bed.
"Pedro?" you asked, or rather whispered, scrutinizing the room with blown pupils.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are you rich?"
"Am I rich?" Pedro repeated, his chest vibrating with laughter. "I work in film."
"Well, what exactly do you do… in film?"
While taking off his shirt, Pedro thought about a reply that did reality justice without ruining the intimate moment between the two of you. There was no way around it now. You didn't deserve to be lied to, and he couldn't give you some trite explanation again.
"I'm an actor," he therefore whispered, threw his shirt in a corner of the room, and approached the bed.
"An actor? What movies have you made?"
"That doesn't really matter now…" Pedro mumbled, parting your knees with his hand and letting some of his weight press you deeper into the mattress.
"Do I know them?"
As a response, he yanked your shirt up, bundled the fabric right underneath your shoulders, and moved the cups of your bra aside.
"You haven't answered me," you giggled, which earned you a disapproving huff.
"I know. 'Cause I got more important things to attend to… more important than my stupid movies…"
"I'm sure they're not stupid," you babbled, body straining as you suddenly felt his hand cup your sex once more.
"Pedro," you hissed, writhing with your hips, but he remained unwavering and just twisted his wrist the slightest.
"I want you to cum for me. And you know what I would like to do then?"
You shook your head, even though there was a feverish glow upon your skin, making your eyes look glassy, almost like a doll.
"I would like to fuck you. Would you like me to do that too?"
His fingers were back inside you, reaching so deep that you threw your head to the side, searching for something only Pedro could give you.
"Y-Yes," you cried, rolling your hips forward, but this time he wanted to remain in charge of your actions, which was why he moved his thumb on his own and teased your clit the way he saw fit.
"I'm gonna make you all wet and pretty for me and then fuck you deep…"
"Yes," you yelped again, closing your eyes and biting down so hard on your bottom lip that it turned scarlet red.
"I wanna make you feel it all the way up in your belly… I want that pretty little head of yours only to think about my cock all the way inside you."
He twisted his finger as though to give you a little taste of what it would feel like to have his length inside you, but you were certain it would be an even more exceptional experience to be stuffed full by his manhood.
His dirty talk continued, and so did the swipes and pumps of his skilled fingers between your legs. Your head was swimming, your vision blurred, which made it impossible to determine exactly where he was touching you or how he was moving the pads of his fingers, but what you knew was that it was good. That it was stealing your breath away and guiding you right to the verge of an orgasm.
"I'm gonna cum," you informed him. Meanwhile, Pedro crawled down your body swiftly and replaced his thumb on your clit with his lips, sucking and kissing the nub until, with one final, sharp thrust into your core, you were pushed over the edge and came with a soft yell.
"Oww…" you mewled, trapping Pedro's head with your legs, which you clamped tightly.
"Good girl… That's it, just let it go… Don't forget to breathe… That's right, breathe for me…"
Your body moved as though you were floating above the rippling surface of the ocean, the tides softly cradling you while Pedro tenderly touched you through your high.
"Pedro…" you whispered, grabbing the silk sheets beneath you with both hands.
"Just feel it… It's good, isn't it?"
You reached for his head to pull at his strands and transmit the inexplicable feelings inside your body, but Pedro just snatched your wrists and planted them on top of your stomach.
"Shh… Just breathe…"
"Pedro," you uttered, wriggling your hands beneath his grasp, making him raise his eyebrows.
"What is it?"
"I want you. Please. Please, fuck me."
His features shifted, and with a chuckle, he slowly climbed on top of you again.
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, mhm? Feeling a little greedy?" Twisting a strand around his index finger, Pedro kissed you right next to your ear.
"Please," you repeated, wrapping your legs around his hips.
"Y/n?"
"Yes."
Your face gleamed with anticipation, which was so endearing that his heart stumbled in his chest. Yet there was something he had to inquire about before he could listen to his throbbing cock with his whole heart and claim what he wanted so badly.
"How old are you?"
Your chin jutted forward, a faint crease forming on your forehead. "Twenty-nine, why?"
"Jesus…" He had almost expected, rather feared, a number obscenely young, but twenty-nine was far worse than what he had hoped when he had seen you for the first time.
"You're young," Pedro sighed, cupping your face, his aged hand stroking your soft skin.
"And?"
"Too young."
Urgency flared in your eyes, your heels digging into his lower back. "No. I want it, Pedro, please. It can't be that bad, I – "
"I'm 21 years older than you."
Pedro wasn't seriously considering backing away now, if he was being honest with himself. He might be irresponsible and horrible for it, but his own selfish desires to be buried inside you overshadowed his nagging conscience. Hell, perhaps he hadn't demanded to know your age earlier for that very reason. Maybe he simply hadn't wanted to know the ugly truth. And even now, he couldn't walk away and leave someone as pretty and appealing as you in his bed. Yet it would feel good to hear you beg just a little longer, so that this critical voice inside his head was at least a little less noisy, believing that he wasn't corrupting you but rather doing you a favor by giving in to your wants and needs. After doing the math, you stubbornly tautened your face muscles and arched off the bed, putting your chest on perfect display. Jesus… As if he could have ever walked away.
"I don't care. I still want it. Please. I'm twenty-nine, I can make those choices. And I want you to fuck me. Please, Pedro. Please."
You were begging so lovely that Pedro was this close to denying you your wishes one last time. His dick was painfully hard against the restraints of his pants, though, and the idea of finally taking himself out, and not only that but also feeding you his cock, was simply too bewitching. So, Pedro adjusted you on your back, parting your legs a little wider and placing your hands on the bed on either side of your head.
"Alright. I'm gonna fuck you. Probably gonna go to hell for it, but whatever…"
You giggled softly at that, which Pedro rewarded with a teasing bite on your chin. Then he reached for the bedside table, opened the top drawer, and grabbed one of the plastic packages he stored there along with his reading glasses and some tissues.
"I'm on the pill," it suddenly burst out of you, making Pedro's hand slow down in the air. "I promise. We can go raw."
His forehead wrinkled, and he put the condom down on the mattress right next to you.
"Sweetheart, I –… No. No, we're not gonna go raw."
"Why?" you asked, sounding almost offended. "You don't trust me?"
"I trust you. I just – it would be wrong."
"Why?" you hissed, lips compressed, which caused Pedro to gently trace along your cheekbone. He felt somewhere between amused and annoyed by your mulishness and eagerness to feel him without any separation, but most importantly, he had to calm you and convince you that it would be foolish to go without protection.
"I don't wanna risk anything. You're so young – "
"So that's what this is about?" you whispered.
"No. I don't know. I just wanna make sure nothing bad is gonna happen. You're on the pill, that's great, but we're not gonna go raw. We're only doing this 100 percent safely."
"But – "
"I said no," Pedro said, his voice a little louder, laced with authority now. "I only want what's best for you."
You growled something incomprehensible but didn't speak up again while Pedro's eyes wandered to the condom.
"We don't have to do anything at all if that's what you want. Your choice."
"No!" you quickly protested, hands flying to his broad shoulders. "No, I want it. I want it either way."
"Okay," Pedro murmured and finally picked up the package again.
He undid his trousers, shoved them down his legs along with his boxers, and inaudibly chuckled at the way you licked over your lips. Then he opened the condom with deft fingers, throwing the plastic on the nightstand before sliding the rubber over his manhood. You barely saw anything of him except for the rough outline, but as Pedro settled between your legs, his length slapped against your tummy, giving you an idea of his thickness.
"Pedro…" you muttered under your breath, your index finger tracing the veins on his forearm.
"It's okay… We're gonna make it fit, I promise."
He wasn't seriously concerned about working himself inside you. You were more than well prepared for him, had been drenching his hand with your juices, and he was positive that a little bit of sweet whispering in your ear would put you at ease quickly. Still, he needed you to trust him with your whole heart while you showed yourself from your most vulnerable side, opening up to him and allowing him to see and feel every last inch of you.
"Can I – can I touch it?"
The corners of Pedro's mouth lifted. He carefully took your hand and brought it to his thick cock, helping you form a fist and glide it up and down his shaft.
"It's so big," you panted, looking down between your bodies, but you couldn't see much in the darkness.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it. It's gonna fit. I'm gonna go slowly and make sure it won't hurt."
You nodded slowly, still unable to take your eyes off his center until Pedro raised your chin with his finger.
"Are you ready, babygirl?"
"Yes," you replied, determinedly staring back at him while Pedro replaced your hand around his cock with his and trailed the tip along your folds, giving your clit some extra attention, which made you jolt.
"Sensitive, aren't you?" Pedro chuckled and notched his tip against your entrance. Shit, he really was big, and right now, you were all cramped and tense, your pussy barely letting in his tip.
"Relax for me, sweetheart," he demanded, carefully circling your clit to make your muscles loosen.
"I don't want it to hurt," you whispered, squeezing his arm while Pedro soothingly kissed your hairline.
"Shh… I know. I know, baby. You tell me to stop and I stop. I mean it. If it hurts, if it feels uncomfortable, or if you change your mind, you tell me so. But I can't say that it's not gonna hurt a little bit. Do you still want me to go on?"
"Y-Yes," you claimed with no reluctance, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. After spending another minute rubbing your clit, Pedro whispered some sweet nonsense in your ear while thrusting his hips forward. This time, it worked a lot better, and within a few seconds, he was halfway inside you. You drew a sharp breath through your teeth, clutching his bicep firmly, but you didn't stop him.
"Is that okay?" Pedro asked, just to make sure.
"Yes. Just – hurts a little. But it's okay."
"When did you last sleep with someone?" he wanted to know, not just because he was genuinely interested, but also because it was a good distraction from the faint sting in your core while he fed you more of his cock.
"Like… half a year ago, maybe?" you breathed, sweat gathering on your focused brow.
"That's okay… you just need a little more time to warm up."
Not long after, Pedro was finally sheathed fully inside you, the hair curling at his base touching your pussy. His head was spinning, little flashes sparkling in his view at how tight and warm you felt. He could have come on the spot, he was certain, though he couldn't fully let the pleasure consume him, as he first needed to check on you.
"Talk to me, sweetheart… Are you okay? Look at me."
Your eyes set on him, though there was a dense haze over your vision, like you weren't fully there.
"Yes, Pedro…" you muttered nonetheless, clenching around him so hard that Pedro pinched his eyes shut.
"Please move," you then added, shuddering as a reaction to his brushes over your bundle of nerves.
"Are you sure? How do you feel, mhm? Does it still hurt?"
"Not much. I just… I wanna feel it."
Although he was still hesitant to completely let go, Pedro pulled away a little and then thrust his cock back inside, attentively watching you for your reactions. You moaned lowly, lids shutting, but he couldn't track any pain or discomfort in your features, which was why he settled into a slow but steady rhythm of sliding in and out of you.
"You're so – big, Pedro," you hummed after a while, your brow glistening with a thick layer of sweat, but your eyes a bit clearer now.
"Can you feel it right here? Am I all the way up here, baby?" Pedro connected his flat palm with your lower belly, applying some force to find out whether he was actually kissing and stimulating your insides like he had intended.
"Y-Yes… I think so," you howled, hauling up your hips, broken gasps leaving your throat. It provoked Pedro to reach for one of the pillows next to your head and slip it underneath your pelvis, which would change the angle and perhaps make it even more pleasurable for you.
"Is that good like that?" he questioned, but merely got a euphoric whine as an answer.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not gonna last long…" Pedro mumbled after a while, pacing the movements of his finger around your clit. "You feel so fucking good, I can't – can't help it, baby, I'm sorry."
Pedro's eyes were squeezed shut, excitement tangible in every line and crease across his face. His muscles were coiled and constricted, ready to loosen and limber up, his nerves already prickling like they knew exactly what was coming. You didn't reply, too focused on rolling your hips in accordance with his thrusts, which caused Pedro to address you again.
"You're gonna cum again, baby, I promise. I'm gonna make you cum again, but I – shit, I gotta – "
You took him in so wonderfully, it robbed him of the words bubbling in the back of his throat as well as his ability to speak in general. His hips snapped forward faster now, crashing into yours with a quiet smacking sound, which made your eyes roll back in your head.
"I'm close," you cried out, grabbing the wrist of his right hand, which was drawing messy patterns over your bundle of nerves.
Pedro's body was rippling with joy, the anticipation of reaching his apex at the same time as you sounding intoxicating in his head. Right now, he even regretted using that damn condom since he couldn't get over the idea of filling you up to the brim, but his conscience surely wouldn't have allowed it, and besides, he would have felt guilty afterward.
Pedro lowered his head, kissing up your neck and inhaling your scent while his thrusts became even faster, though also a lot more unrhythmical and irregular. But his finger remained focused, rubbing your clit in tight, firm circles. He interpreted each shallow gasp of yours as a sign that he was on the right track, and when your head fell back into the cushions at last, Pedro let go as well.
"Fuck…" he groaned, feeling his cock spill cum into the condom while you spasmed and throbbed around him. Your perfect, warm walls that had already hugged him so beautifully for the past minutes felt even more exhilarating around him, and Pedro just wished he could make this moment last forever.
"Ohh. Yes, fuck – " you whimpered, lashes fluttering and your mouth agape.
When he felt that his balls were empty, he glared at your face, his own lips curling as he took in your patchy, flushed cheeks that looked blazing hot.
"Do you even know how perfect you feel, babygirl? I don't wanna pull out, shit."
"Then don't. Pull out," you laughed softly, grabbing the side of his face as Pedro kissed you slowly.
"Jesus Christ… The prettiest, most gorgeous…"
He didn't specify what exactly he was referring to, but it didn't matter. Whatever words followed in your mind, they certainly wouldn't be wrong as he relished just about any part of your body. His dick twitched again, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him and your throat to produce a quiet wheeze.
Although he much regretted doing so, Pedro cautiously withdrew, pulled back, peeled off the used condom, and threw it into the trash can beside his bed. Something within him stirred in the best way possible at the view before him as he shifted his gaze back to you, your sprawled-out hair, the look of sheer adoration and satisfaction on your face, and your intertwined fingers resting on your stomach. Pedro wanted to scoop you up in his arms more than anything, hold you, and shower you with kisses. He wasn't supposed to feel that way about a woman twenty years younger than him, especially one he had just met for the very first time. But one couldn't shut up their feelings, right? And adoration was probably the word that best summed up the turmoil raging inside his chest right now.
"How about I get a washcloth now and get you cleaned up?"
Pedro laid down next to you, absent-mindedly caressing your skin while you cleared your throat.
"Okay, Pedro…"
He was gone just for a minute, wetting a towel with warm water, and then returned to the bedroom. You had turned onto your side, but at his sight, you rolled onto your back again, expectantly spreading your thighs for him.
"I'm gonna be careful… Gonna be kind to your sweet, sore pussy."
He was right, you instinctively flinched at the first contact with the rough material, but Pedro ended your protest with an arm snaked around your waist, effectively holding you down while he wiped your cunt clean with the most sensitive care in the world. He only briefly cleaned the skin around your clit and avoided directly touching your nub.
When he was done, the towel wasn't so warm anymore, and Pedro softly squeezed your hip as he crawled back to the end of the bed.
"I'm gonna be right back. Don't move an inch." Though he doubted that you even could if you had wanted to, Pedro waited for your slight nod, then rushed to the bathroom to put the washcloth in the basket for his dirty laundry.
Walking back into the bedroom, he whistled a familiar tune that had been stuck in his head since his visit to the bar, but he stopped at once when he heard a sniffle coming from the bed.
"Y/n?"
He hurried to the edge of the bed and sat down, his eyes flying open at the sight of your tears. Shit, what had happened? Were you in pain? Had he hurt you? Had he crossed a line he wasn’t aware of? Had he been careless with you?
"Hey, what's wrong? Y/n, look at me, c'mon… What's going on?" Pedro suppressed the urge to grab your face, not wanting to make anything worse, so he just took your hand instead and squeezed it reassuringly.
"Please talk to me, sweetheart. Is there anything I did wrong? Are you in pain?"
You rapidly shook your head, which made Pedro's heart feel a little lighter. Still, you wouldn't stop crying, even hiccupping occasionally while trying to blink away the tears flooding your eyes.
"N-No… I – I just…" Your voice broke midsentence, your lower lip quivering as Pedro tried to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him. Something had upset you, but what could it possibly be? Had he said something?
"What is it, baby?" Pedro repeated, lifting your frail hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
"You – Are you doing this all the time?"
He needed a moment to understand what you were referring to, let alone what you were implying. Once he did, the area around his eyes softened, and he slowly lowered your hand.
"You mean going home with women?" he asked, just to be certain.
You nodded and weakly wiped the wetness from your cheeks.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Pedro whispered and couldn’t help himself but lean in and kiss your hairline.
"You – You're an actor. You're in films, and you – you have this apartment, so you – you bring lots of women here, right? And you're – you're gonna throw me out and – and find the next woman to take home tomorrow."
Pedro's heart melted a little at your rapid rambling, and he wished for nothing more than to silence you with a kiss to stop your nonsense. You couldn't have been further from the truth.
"Baby…" Pedro cut you off and cupped your cheek in his large palm. "No. Stop saying such things."
"But it's true, isn't it? I didn't – I didn't… think."
"I'm not gonna throw you out. And I don't want you to go," Pedro uttered while climbing onto the bed beside you, hauling up the blanket so that the two of you could slip underneath. "I thought I made that clear."
You still observed him with wide, glossy eyes, although the tears had stopped streaming down your face.
"No, I'm not bringing women here every weekend. I've had one-night stands before, but that was a long time ago, and it's definitely not what I've had in mind for you."
He gently poked you in the side, then pulled you against his chest, cradling your head while feeling your hair give way to his fingers.
"Really?" you mumbled. "What did you have in mind for me?"
"Oh, little one…" Pedro sighed, almost feeling apologetic about how wrong you had been about all of this. How badly you had misjudged his intentions with you. You poor thing had probably raked your brain, contemplating at what point during the night he was going to kick you out and whether he would at least call you an Uber.
No, you were going to stay here. Until the morning, and then hopefully a bit longer. And then he would ask for your number and call you a little later. Screw the three-day rule. Maybe the two of you could grab a coffee in the afternoon and walk around Central Park, given that it would be a warm spring day tomorrow.
"I have a lot of things in mind for you," he whispered and dragged your hand to his lips once more. "And they definitely don't involve kicking you out, baby."
"Really?" you muttered, your eyes sparkling in the dark and somehow lighting up the whole room.
"Yes. If it were up to me, I would wait a really long time for the getting-out-of-here part…"
You giggled quietly, wiping your cheeks with the remnants of your tears, which fortunately weren't followed by new ones.
And Pedro smiled. The turmoil in his stomach eased.
You hadn't contradicted him, which meant that you didn't desire to flee from him either.
Sure, he would have to talk to you about the whole being-a-famous-actor thing. But everything in its own time…
Five months later
Pedro had felt your uneasiness all day.
It had started at breakfast, when you hadn't stopped playing with the handle of your cup even long after it had been empty. You were a nervous thing at times, but never like this, especially when there was no reason.
Your restlessness had spread through the whole day, Pedro patiently waiting for you to give him a hint or even explicitly address the elephant in the room, but you hadn't made a single allusion.
To be honest, he wouldn't have expected you to speak up on your own, since it was mostly Pedro in your relationship who took care of problems or initiated clarifying talks, but he had hoped for at least something to work with.
When Pedro and you sat on the couch in the evening, you nervously sipping on a cup of tea while he went through some lines, he just had to open his mouth. Otherwise, his brain might explode and those weren't good conditions to get those damn scripts into his head. Besides, he seriously worried that something was nagging at you, or that he had done something to hurt you, which he obviously wanted to avoid at all costs.
"Sweetheart," Pedro whispered, his voice low as he wanted you to be as calm as possible in your stressed state of mind.
"Yes?" you murmured equally quietly, raising your lips from the edge of the mug.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
Pedro sighed and put down the paper sheets, feeling positive that this might take a bit longer. "You're nervous today. You can't sit still."
"I – " you began, but he shut you up by raising his hand.
"No. Don't lie to me. And don't try to fool me. I know you, and I know there's something on your mind. And I want you to tell me."
You tilted your head in torment, your bottom lip shivering dangerously.
"N-No… you… you don't," you whimpered, which made Pedro's whole demeanor shift.
Swiftly, he reached for the side of your head and rubbed your temple with his thumb.
"Hey… it's okay, it's alright, sweetie. Of course, I want you to tell me. I got you, you know that."
"But you – " you stammered, gaze dropped to your feet. "If you – if you knew, you wouldn't want to know."
"What do you mean?" His brow creased in confusion, but instead of giving him a reply, you just shook your head repeatedly.
"Talk to me, y/n. Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."
Determinedly, you wiped over your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat.
"I… I meant to tell you for a while. I promise. I'm so – I know I should've told you sooner. Or just – I shouldn't have done it at all."
Now, he really was curious, since he couldn't imagine what you, his perfect, innocent, sweet girl, could have possibly done wrong. He was sure that nothing you might tell him now could upset him, not when you were looking up at him with those puppy eyes anyway.
"Okay. Go on."
"I'm sorry. For doing it and for – for waiting so long to tell you."
Pedro nodded, exhaling deeply. "It's okay. Just tell me what it is."
"I… The night that we met."
You stopped, waiting for him to react. As if he would ever forget that night. It had been one of the best evenings in his life, the very reason he was sitting here with you so happily.
"Yes. What about it?"
"I didn't tell you the truth exactly. I lied to you."
Although Pedro was happy about you finally articulating yourself and giving him the much-needed information, he stumbled over the word lied. He hated when you lied to him, and he just couldn't imagine what the hell you were speaking of.
"Lied about what?"
You nervously sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes still fixed in front of you rather than on his face.
"I'm sorry. I… I know it's bad. I acted like I didn't know you. But I did."
The two of you were surrounded by a heavy silence while the words sank in. His mind automatically replayed the whole interaction: your conversation by the counter, the drive to his apartment, the intimate moments you had shared beneath the covers… Now, he was watching everything from a different angle. Of course, Pedro couldn't remember every word the two of you had exchanged, but some phrases had stood out to him as they had been the seeds of where you were now in your relationship. Knowing that you had in fact been fully aware of who you were talking to changed some of those memories. Just a little.
"Okay…" Pedro uttered, squeezing your hand tightly. "You knew who I was. From the beginning?"
You nodded, still avoiding his gaze, which felt like a punch in his stomach.
"Tell me what happened. When did you decide to lie?"
After clearing your throat and blinking a few tears away, you began speaking slowly at first.
"When… When I picked up your wallet, I didn't know who you were. I swear. But then you – you turned around and I recognized you. I was about to say something, but then – I don't know, I – you looked so calm and – and happy. And natural. And kind. And I thought that if I said something about knowing you, you might switch into that professional mode, and I just didn't want that. I wanted you to be you."
"Baby…" Pedro sighed, but before he could express his disbelief, you continued, the words tumbling out like they had been stuck in your throat for a long time.
"I'm so sorry. I know that it was bad, but you know, I didn't expect – that any of this would happen. I thought we would just talk and then – then you bought me that drink and suddenly we were in your car. I knew I should've told you, but… but the right moment just didn't come. It happened so fast, and when we laid in bed that night, I knew that I made a mistake, but I was too scared to tell you. I thought you would hate me if I said it."
At last, your eyes found his, and the pain glimmering in your dark pupils was almost too much for Pedro to bear. How was he supposed to be angry with you? It was more than obvious how badly you had been feeling and still felt, and that you regretted lying with your whole heart.
"You've been carrying all that with you? You thought I wouldn't wanna be with you if you told me?"
"Yes," you murmured, nodding slightly.
"And why did you decide to tell me now?"
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for more confessions.
"I don't know. I've wanted to tell you for so long. After things got serious, I promised myself I would talk to you when we went to that Italian place for my birthday. But… But everything was so beautiful and I had the best birthday of my life, so I didn't want to ruin it. It just – It became too much, and I just – I thought about it every day, and I knew I finally had to say it. Before this stupid secret would kill me…"
For a moment, neither of you said anything, though Pedro was still holding your hand, his gaze lingering on your lips.
"Do you hate me now?" you asked shyly, as though you feared his answer.
"You really think I could ever hate you?"
Shrugging your shoulders, you longingly gripped his fingers, too afraid for him to let go.
"I love you. And that's not gonna change."
"But I – I lied to you. Our relationship is based on a lie," you whimpered, close to tears again. Therefore, he pulled you in for a hug, sliding his hands down your spine as he pressed your face against his collarbone.
"No, it's not… Maybe I was a bit more fond of you in the beginning just because you made me feel so normal and I could just be myself with you. You had no expectations. But then, I fell for you because of who you are. I didn't fall in love with you because I thought you didn't know who I was. I specifically fell in love with you because of how you saw me. How you treated me, how you gave your heart into our relationship, how you let me see you."
You sniffled softly, and Pedro combed his fingers through your hair.
"Baby, I've spent the past five months with you, and they were the best five months of my life. You think I care about something that you didn't tell me during the first twenty-four hours since we met? You think the happiness of my past five months just doesn't count because of one lie? You think it's just gonna make me forget those weeks with you?"
"I'm sorry," you repeated, pressing a kiss through his shirt against his chest.
"I know. I believe you. But I love you no matter what. I fell in love with you, baby, for who you are. Maybe – yes, maybe it made the start easier because I was just extraordinarily interested in you since you treated me so normal, so… maybe I should even feel grateful. That you acted that way and made me want to get to know you. 'Cause look where it got us."
You laughed quietly, tilting your head up at him while Pedro draped both arms around you, holding you firmly against his chest.
"I'm still sorry. And I swear, I'm not gonna lie to you again. Never."
"I know. But I want you to stop feeling bad about it. I forgive you. Besides, I told you all about my job within the first day of knowing you. So don't say our relationship is built on a lie, sweetheart. Don't be silly."
He tapped his fingers tenderly on your bicep, inhaling the scent of your hair, while you finally, feeling a heavy weight lift from your heart, relaxed completely in his grasp.
"Thank you, Pedro. I love you so much. And I – I don't wanna lose you."
"You're not gonna lose me. Never. I'm not gonna let that happen."
Although the problem that had been gnawing at you for weeks was finally resolved, you remained flush against Pedro's body for the next hour. Not because you needed more comfort or solace, but simply because it felt too good to let go.
You believed him when he said he forgave you and that this wouldn't end the relationship like you had feared in your worst nightmares. But having his hands glide up and down your back, occasionally sliding your shirt to the side to caress your bare skin while whispering his love in your ear over and over, was so beautiful that you didn’t intend to move a single muscle. At least, not until you absolutely had to.
--- A quiet moment turns heated as Joel reminds you why some things are better kept just between the two of you.
Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader (4kwc)
tw: 18+ MDNI; explicit sexual content, heavy sexual tension, age gap, possessiveness, jealousy, hiding a relationship, emotional vulnerability, mild anxiety, groping (over/under clothes), neck kissing, hair pulling, power imbalance (protective/possessive), soft dominance, slow-burn to heat, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection, private/domestic intimacy, mild language.
a/n: BC IM GONNA ACT LIKE NOTHING BAD HAS EVER HAPPENED EVER; have just for some reason been thinking a lot abt pedro lately it’s absolutely insane, also now that lent is over i’ve taken up gardening again and i’m just yearning so inspired again.
--
The wooden screen door swung open effortlessly, to your surprise, to a clean and empty kitchen save for the half drunk mug of coffee on the kitchen island. The jagged edges of the chipped paint on the door caused your skin to rise as you cushioned the door on your bare shoulder to not let the door slam shut.
You let in a breath about to call out, but the faint sound of music could be heard playing in the other room. Stepping lightly around the corner, and peeking behind the wall you saw your current beau— well, the back of his head but him nonetheless. He was sitting on the sofa, gazing down at something on his lap as the late afternoon sun showered him in rays of light. You watched as small dust particles floated around his frame, and it was then you realized you were holding your breath.
Letting out a small huff of air you hoped the floor wouldn’t creak beneath your shoes as you took slow steps towards the open room. You were in a quiet awe watching a moment of rare vulnerability, the man you figured was just permanently stiff now had his back hunched, causing his shoulders to slouch. Despite his slacked frame he was still broad, taking up a large amount of quiet space. Eyeing the outline of his body, you watched how the muscles of his traps dipped below the neckline of his shirt, only a sliver of sun kissed skin visible between the curls at the base of his head, and the fabric of his ratty t shirt and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of the exposed skin, you found yourself reactively sticking your hand out to grasp that warmth—and grab you did.
You let your fingers graze the side of his neck, finally giving away that you were here. The flesh beneath your fingers went rigid, and a small chuckle hid behind a puff of air left your body. Leaning your body over the back of the sofa your hands again finding the base of his neck fingers entangling in the strands of his outgrown curls tugging ever so slightly.
“Hi.” You whispered, pressing your lips to his temple.
“Almos’ scared me half to death,” He said, trying to play it off by flipping a page of the town newspaper. Your fingers left his hair and slid down his neck, and chest to clasp your fingers together, arms hung around the man.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist,” you snickered lightly, resting your chin in the crook of his neck staring at his fingers. “It’s not every day you see Joel Miller relaxing.” Your fingers started roaming his chest again, coming to toy lightly with the stubble on his jawline. His skin was warm from the summer sun, and the Wyoming heat. Joel cleared his throat, rustling the papers in his fingers shifting beneath your weight.
“I wasn’t relaxing, I was jus’ readin’ up.” He shook his shoulders lightly to try and shoo you off, and you did just briefly enough to realize he was wearing his reading glasses, yet another rare sight.
“Right, because Jackson Hole is so big.” You teased, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
He cleared his throat again, beginning to fold the pamphlet between his hands eyeing you from the side.
“Ellie?” He asks tossing the papers to the side, he then moves his fingers to take his glasses off, but you stop him, enveloping his fingers with yours.
“Out with Dina,” you say, a hand finding its way back to his salt and pepper curls tucking loose strands behind his ear.
“Are you—”
“Saw them with my own two eyes at that food hall.” You reassured him, already knowing if he was going to ask for reassurance.
“Next to your very much in love Brother and his wife.” You mumbled, and you felt a deep sigh leave his body and only the sound of music played softly in the background as a pause of silence passed between the two of you. Joel held your fingers, resting his prickled cheek against your forearm as you rested on his shoulders.
“Joel,” you whispered, you took his silence as a sign to continue. “Why don’t you want anyone to know about us?” you said softly, hoping your question didn’t just break this glass bubble you were both floating in.
But it was eating away at you, especially when you saw what seemed like everyone and their brothers' mothers in a tooth-rotting, core cringing relationship.
Joel cleared his throat and shifted in his cushiony seat.
“W-well, uh…” He cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. You kept running your fingers through his hair, gentle and steady, trying to ease him. You knew he didn’t mean any harm with how he was fumbling—he was just like an old car that needed a few tries to get going.
“What’s got you thinking like this?” He quickly rushes out, grabbing your hand, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You debated on telling him the drawn out version of word jumble, and anxious rambling or tell him outright like you’ve been rehearsing.
“I would just—” You grabbed his hands again, thumbs caressing his calloused fingers noticing the faint tan forming beneath his wrist watch. Suddenly struck with shyness you shrug, toying with his hands. “Sometimes, I’d just… love to hold hands with you.” you said said, voice getting softer with each syllable.
“Sweetheart,” He whispers, pulling your hands, and bringing you around the arm of the sofa. Your hand trails the length of his right arm, muscles taut beneath the pads of your fingers. You watch the hairs on his arm stand, as your nails lightly scratch the surface of his skin. He makes you stand before him.
“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, placing you in the space between his legs, your knees pressing gently against the edge of the sofa. You feel yourself pouting, lips tugging downward despite your best effort to stay composed. Joel’s large hands wrap around yours, rough palms hot against your skin as he brings them to his lips. The soft brush of his mouth on the back of your hand sends a flush to your cheeks, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.
“As much as I would love to show everyone what’s mine…” he says, voice low, as he leans forward, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. He kisses the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate, before his hands slide up the length of your forearms, settling at your hips, fingers curling into the small of your back.
“Right now…” he presses a small kiss just above your waistband, his lips lingering against your skin before he looks up at you, gaze steady, almost searching. “I just wanna keep this ours, for a little longer,” he murmurs, arms tightening around you. One hand dips lower, fingers brushing over the sliver of bare skin where your shirt lifts, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it.
"It’s good like this. Just you and me."
You feel him breathe you in, feel the way his fingers linger at your waist, grounding himself in the warmth of your body like he needs the contact to stay present.
"I think about it too," he says quietly. "What it’d be like, not keeping it quiet." His hand rests firm, steady against you, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. "But... I ain’t had something like this in a long time."
His voice trails off, thick with something unspoken, thumb still moving like he can’t bring himself to stop, can’t let go.
"I just... I wanna hold onto it a little longer, like this."
You cradle his head in your hands, fingers threading through his hair before dragging down the length of his back, nails scratching softly against the fabric of his shirt as you let out a deep, aching sigh. Joel’s thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch firmer now as he pulls back just enough to see you.
You meet his eyes, face to face, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at how good he looks—his glasses slipping low on his nose, jaw tense, eyes soft. It only makes your chest tighten more.
You huff, frustration bubbling up.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” you say, quiet, yet certain.
Joel’s eyes stay on you, hands steady at your waist.
“I know you don’t.”
He swallows hard, more of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, onto your skin.
“But this—what we’ve got right now—it’s the only thing in a long time that’s felt…” His eyes search yours, waiting for that unspoken understanding, and when he finds it, he leans in, voice low.
“I’m not ready to give that up. Not yet.”
Your forehead rests against his, as if the closeness alone could quiet the anxiety crawling its way up your throat.
“Can… we really keep going like this?”
Your fingers find their solace in the curls at the nape of his neck, playing with them in slow, nervous motions, your nails lightly tapping against the arms of his glasses with every other pass. You can’t help but watch your hands move, almost detached, like they don’t belong to you anymore.
It’s some quiet reminder—how much you already lean on him, how even now, you’re using the feel of him to steady yourself, to keep your worry at bay.
Joel lets out a soft chuckle to the side as he straightens up, leaning into the back of the sofa with a sigh, his eyebrows scrunched with disappointment but you knew it wasn’t directed at you.
His hands pull you easily, guiding you into his lap, like a missing puzzle piece. Straddling him now, your knees press into the cushion, chest light against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath meeting yours.
His hands move down your sides, and around the curve of your ass to rest against the sides of your thighs, his palm’s warm against the fabric on your legs.
“You’re here. I’m here. Is there somethin’ else we need that I’m missin’?”
Your eyes search his, drawn to the fine lines at the corners, the way they crease softly when he looks at you like this. The sun has left its mark on him, scattering faint freckles and warm tones across his skin, like time didn’t just pass—it stayed, settling gently. As if in a trance, your eyes find a way to his lips, holding his face delicately in your hands, you shake your head slowly.
“Baby girl,” his fingers burn against your skin, his voice low, and rough, “I’m tryin’ to keep you to myself, just a little longer.”
His thumb drags slowly over your skin.
“Ain’t ready to let everyone see what’s mine.” And with one more look, you feel yourself caving. You subconsciously lean in closer, absolutely weak to whatever hold he seems to have on you.
“Damn you, Miller,” you whisper, and he lets out a small snort, breath fanning across your lips.
His hands slide up from their place on your thighs, slowly, fingers pressing into the soft give of your skin before settling at your hips, pulling you closer.
You watch his hands, almost dazed, as your jean-covered knees shift, dragging his shirt up ever so slightly along his sides. The fabric rises, revealing the warm skin beneath—soft, familiar, the faint line of his waist exposed in the now dimming light.
You don’t look up. Not yet.
Your hands slide what feels incredibly slow from his jaw down his neck and chest, fingertips tracing the edge where his shirt had risen, drawn to the heat of him. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady, waiting.
And then you look at him, really look, taking him in for all he’s worth, and you lean in, tapping your forehead to his, the plastic of his glasses cool against the bridge of your nose. You dip your fingers beneath the neckline of his shirt and pull him closer. Your lips tentatively brush against his, light as breath, your eyes half-lidded, hoping—waiting—for him to meet you there.
When his lips finally touch yours, he kisses you, really kisses you, it’s slow, and deliberate at first, like he’s aware of how delicate this moment is. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it in the way his hands dig into your exposed skin, dragging you flush against him, no space, no air, just him.
His kiss stays soft, for a moment. The kind of soft that makes your chest ache, makes you lean in harder, chasing the heat of his mouth, the way his lips part just enough to taste you, to take more. Your hands trail up his neck and down his chest, in slack patterns stopping at times to caress his ears, or toy with his tousled hair.
His tongue brushes yours, just a flick, just enough to make your stomach twist. and you feel his hands slide, lower now, gripping at the curve of your ass, squeezing like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.
You let out something between a sigh and a whimper, and that’s all Joel Miller needs.
The already searing kiss somehow deepens, rougher now, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothes it with his tongue, pulling you impossibly close, taking and giving all at once.
You sigh into him, your breath warm between you, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, tugging at it as you shift in his lap. The cotton stretches under your hands, bunching in your fists as you press closer, the solid weight of him beneath your palms impossible to ignore.
Your hands roam, slow, dragging over his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric, your fingers curling, groping softly here and there—testing, squeezing, not quite gentle, not rough, just needing, just taking your time as you explore the shape of him. The way he breathes beneath you, steady but tight, makes you linger, pressing your palms flat before curling them again, feeling the give of muscle, the warmth that seems to rise with every touch.
Your hands drift lower, fingers dragging across the stretched fabric, and it’s only when you shift again that you feel it—your knuckles brushing against the sliver of skin exposed just above his waistband. You pause there, just for a moment, fingers tentatively skimming the heat of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, where the faintest line of hair disappears beneath the waist of his jeans.
He tenses, breath catching against your lips, and you can’t help the small smile that ghosts across yours.
One hand finds its way back to the curve of his neck, slipping beneath the neckline of his shirt, holding him there, grounding him, grounding yourself. You lean in to kiss him again, your hips pressed firm to his, and your other hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing the bare skin of his stomach, light at first, like a question, before smoothing higher, feeling the heat, the tension, the way he shifts beneath you like he’s trying to stay still, but he can’t.
His hand slides up your back, slow, firm, until his fingers are tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough for him to pull you away.
When you let him pull you back, it’s only enough to breathe, to see him with his lips swollen, eyes heavy, chest rising hard beneath your hands. You stay close, your breath still tangled with his, the warmth between you humming, thick.
A slow smile pulls at your lips, fingers brushing the warm skin on his back, light, deliberate.
“My, my, Mr. Miller...” your voice is low, soft, but there’s no mistaking the edge of it, “I’m seeing all kinds of sides to you today.”
You feel the way he tenses under you, the pause in his breath.
Your thumb drags along the curve of his necklline, slow, tracing.
“Didn’t think you got jealous.” The words are almost a whisper, your eyes focusing on his skin exposed fingers ghosting, not quite touching.
“Didn’t know you could be so...” you pause, fingers slipping beneath the waistline of his shirt into the curls at the base of his belly button, your palm warm against the heat of his skin. He gazes down, and watches your hand move beneath the fabric of his shirt. “...soft.”
The heat of the room caused his glasses to slide further down his nose, as we quickly glanced up at you. Smirking slightly at his disheveled state you take your hand that’s on his shoulder and swiftly push his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose before a smirk found its way to your lips.
The weight of his gaze was heavy on you as he doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leans in, his breath hot against your cheek, and then lower, until his lips find the spot just below your jaw, kissing you slow, open-mouthed, like he has all the time in the world, like he’s content to feel you melt into him.
His hand moves from your body, sliding down your arm, fingers tracing lightly until they curl around your wrist, rough and sure. He doesn’t speak, just guides you, pulling your hand from his shoulder, slow and steady, down the curve of his chest, lower, until your knuckles meet the hem of his shirt.
And then he pulls you under.
Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, joining the other hand already resting there, against the warmth of his stomach, where the muscles are tight beneath your touch, where the faint trail of hair leads down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
He doesn’t let go.
Instead, he holds your wrist there, pressing your hand lower, like he wants you to feel just how much he’s burning, how much of him is wound up right beneath your palm. His breath stutters against your neck, lips still moving over your skin, kissing, nipping, but slower now—like he’s caught in it, too.
You feel the heat of him, the way he shifts beneath you, hips pressing up ever so slightly, chasing your touch as your hands move together, exploring the firm planes of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, groping, lingering, hoping to god you’d take more—but instead, your breath catches, something low in your belly pulling tight, and though you don’t stop, not really, your hands stay, palms still pressed to the bare skin of his stomach, fingers splayed, feeling the way he stays warm beneath you, the tension thick, still humming between your bodies, heavy and close.
You lean back—not far, not fully, just enough to draw in a breath, to see him, to take in the way he looks, the way he’s fallen back into the sofa, not letting go but giving in, his chest rising sharp beneath your touch, his shirt pushed up, bunched high enough that you can still feel him, still press into him, skin flushed deep across his chest, creeping high along his neck, blooming in his cheeks, the color settling there, soft and red and beautiful in a way you weren’t prepared for.
And you don’t move your hands—you can’t—because there’s something about feeling him like this, about having him beneath you, so undone, so real, that makes it impossible to pull away, impossible to even think about letting go.
His hair’s a mess, still tangled from your fingers, the curls at the nape damp with heat, and those glasses—slipping low, crooked, barely holding on—make him look ruined in the best way, like no one’s ever touched him like this, like no one else should ever get the chance.
Your thumb drags slowly over his waist, your other hand rising slightly, feeling the way his stomach still trembles under your touch, and your breath hitches—not from what he’s doing, but from what he is, from what you see, what you feel, what you know.
“Yeah...” the word leaves you soft, low, more breath than sound, your eyes locked on him, watching the way he stays with you, caught in it, flushed and open and completely yours. “No one else should see you like this.”
You feel him shift beneath you, his breath deepening, like he knows, like he’s heard exactly what he needed, and you press your hands to him, firmer now, like you’re holding him there—not just to feel, but to claim, to remind yourself that this, him, all of it, belongs to you.
And you’re definitely not letting anyone else have it.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
---
a/n: WAAAHHHHH I WANT TO KEEP HIM SAFE IN MY ARMS FOREVER (also not really edited so soz for the typos)
summary: After a reckless hookup leaves you buying a pregnancy test in a pharmacy, the last person you expect to run into is your father’s wealthy but quietly tortured friend, Joel Miller—sparking a forbidden, dangerously irresistible affair where passion, power, and vulnerability collide.
series summary: After being left at the altar, you decide to take your would-be honeymoon alone—an escape to Scotland for Christmas and a much-needed reset. But when a snowstorm and a booking error leave you sharing a suite with Harry Castillo—a wealthy, handsome businessman also seeking solitude after a recent break-up—your quiet getaway turns into something unexpected. Between crackling fires, shared meals, the Christmas spirit, and soft laughter, two strangers learn that sometimes love finds you when everything else falls apart.
series warning(s): strangers to lovers, accidental roommates, found love, Christmas romance, fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), SMUT 18+ MDNI (each chapter will have their own warnings), reader was recently left at the alter, Harry and Lucy just broke up, eventual happy ending, protective Harry, 'Christmas hallmark movie' energy, angst, switched POV, more warnings with each chapter.
A/N: Y/N is an artist in NYC; she works for a fashion and lifestyle magazine, designing their covers. She has a great apartment and a solid friend group. Y/N has always maintained that it's all she needs or wants. One sunny day, she bumps into Pedro in a coffee shop and knows he's going to ruin her plans.
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yourusername: Nothing beats an NYC summer
tagged: @Jinny_09 @Mer_23
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lilyan: I have a feeling this one is going to be even better
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Lilyan_333: I actually attended the Met Gala. Thanks, Y/N, for being a successful designer and letting me live out my dreams.
