I Think He Knows
⋆˚࿔ Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.5k One-shot
⋆˚࿔ Summary: You and Pedro have been keeping things secret—but your besties are not as oblivious as you think. And they’re about to prove it. Dramatically.
⋆˚࿔ Warnings: RPF • established (secret) relationship • friends-to-lovers vibes • mutual pining • chaotic meddling besties • hallway makeout • flirty banter • softness • embarrassment • kissing • you and Pedro are SO bad at hiding it
⋆˚࿔ Author’s Note: Hi besties 🥹 this is an RPF (real person fiction), so if that’s not your vibe, feel free to skip! This is a totally fictional story, just using Pedro as inspiration—it’s not meant to reflect the real person in any way. Let’s keep it respectful and not weird in the tags or comments, mmkay? 💗 Hope you enjoy this chaotic little lovefest. Reactions/screams always welcome. (Also I changed my layout a little for this cuz I wanted it to be different then my character fics:)) Hugs, Fae🧚♀️
The nice thing about having amazing friends was that they cared about you. Really cared. Ride-or-die, cry-on-the-floor, hype-you-up-at-every-audition kind of cared. They pulled you out of the dark places and danced you breathless in the bright ones. You loved them, fiercely and unconditionally.
The bad thing?
They absolutely, categorically refused to mind their own business, especially when it came to love.
Sarah and Oscar had been in your life for years now. You’d met Sarah on a Netflix production when you were still baby-faced and wide-eyed, an up-and-coming actress with too many nerves and not enough sleep. She’d scooped you right up and dropped you into her friend group like it was fate, this glamorous, intimidating little club of people whose faces you’d seen on red carpets before you ever dared dream of one. Now they ruffled your hair at parties and called you the baby like it was a job title.
Tonight was one of those nights that made your younger self do a double take. Sarah’s apartment glowed with golden light and big names. You were curled into a corner of the living room with a glass of champagne that tasted expensive and at least three different people complimenting your last project. You nodded, smiled, thanked them graciously, but your eyes kept flicking toward the door.
Not that you were looking for anyone in particular. Obviously.
“Isn’t Pedro coming?” you asked, as nonchalantly as a person who’d been staring at the entrance for fifteen minutes could possibly manage.
Sarah raised a perfectly arched brow and immediately shot a look at Oscar.
“Why?” she asked. “Are we not enough for you? You need your little loverboy here too?”
Oscar snorted into his drink. “God, you two are so obvious.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, heat blooming up your neck. “Will you stop! He’s not my—”
Two hands covered your eyes from behind. Familiar ones. Warm, careful, smelling faintly of clean laundry and a trace of cigarette smoke. The kind of scent that felt like slipping into someone’s hoodie.
You froze. Smiled, despite yourself.
“Guess who?” Pedro whispered, voice too close to your neck for this to be casual. It sent a traitorous shiver down your spine.
“Oh my god,” Oscar muttered, half-laughing, half-disgusted. “Get a fucking room.”
You tapped your chin in mock thought, his hands still gently pressed to your face.
“Hmm… I really hope it’s Jonathan Bailey,” you said sweetly.
The hands dropped immediately.
“Mean,” Pedro mumbled, stepping around to face you, eyes half-lidded but betraying the faintest smile.
“Late,” you shot back.
“Missed me?”
“No,” you lied, too fast.
Sarah and Oscar exchanged another look like smug cartoon villains.
You took a sip of your drink and pretended your heart wasn’t punching your ribcage in Morse code.
Pedro barely had time to say hi before Sarah clutched her chest like she was witnessing a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Ugh. The tension. The longing. I feel like I’m in a slow-burn series finale.”
Oscar fake-wiped a tear. “We beg you to just make out already so we can all move on.”
You rolled your eyes. “You two have too much time.”
Pedro looked around, clearly amused. “What did I just walk into?”
“Your intervention,” Oscar deadpanned. “We’re worried about all the pining.”
Sarah leaned in. “Honestly, I started shipping it months ago. I’ve got moodboards. Pinterest boards. A private playlist.”
You snorted into your champagne. “You guys need hobbies.”
“We have hobbies. Our hobby is you two being in denial,” Oscar said.
Pedro just raised his eyebrows like he was enjoying the show, but when your eyes met his for a second too long, it was like the volume in the room dipped. Just a little. Just enough for your stomach to flip.
You cleared your throat. “I’m going to the kitchen.”
“I’ll grab my coat,” Pedro said casually.
Oscar pointed between you both with wide eyes. “You’re not even pretending anymore!”
Sarah gasped. “At least lie to us a little! Give us something to work with!”
But you were already walking away, hiding your smile in the rim of your glass.
—
The hallway was dim and quiet, just far enough from the party that the music had softened to a low thump behind the door. Pedro caught up to you with that slight bounce in his step, that unreadable half-smile playing on his lips.
He leaned against the wall, shoulder brushing yours.
You didn’t say anything for a second. Just stood there, side by side, the kind of silence that felt like its own kind of dialogue.
“I missed you,” he said, soft and low.
You turned to him, almost laughing. “Pedro. We woke up next to each other ten hours ago.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on your mouth. “Ten hours too many ago.”
Something caved inside your chest. That gentle, aching kind of collapse.
You blinked up at him, torn between kissing him and teasing him again. But your body made the decision for you. You leaned in, slow, shy, a little shaky, and he met you halfway.
The kiss was stupidly tender. Like he was memorizing you. Like you were something he’d almost lost once.
Your hand slid into the collar of his jacket, and his fingers brushed your jaw like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you.
“I missed you too,” you whispered against his lips.
He smiled, and it was that smile, the quiet, reverent one that turned his whole face gentle.
“Hey,” he said, forehead resting against yours now. “We’re not very good at this secret thing.”
“No,” you said, grinning. “We’re really not.”
From somewhere behind the door:
“IF YOU’RE MAKING OUT IN THE HALLWAY I SWEAR TO GOD—”
You both broke into quiet, breathless laughter.
Pedro kissed your temple. “We should go back in.”
You pouted. “Or we could hide in the coat closet for ten more minutes.”
He tilted his head. “Tempting.”
“But then Oscar wins.”
Pedro sighed dramatically. “Fine. Let’s give them a show.”
You didn’t go back in.
Of course you didn’t.
Because the thing about kissing Pedro was, it was addictive. Like your lips had memory. Like your body forgot how to do anything else once you started. The quiet hallway, the low music, the warmth of him in front of you, it all blurred into the kind of moment that refused to be interrupted.
His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in closer like he couldn’t stand the distance of even a breath. Your hands tangled in the collar of his jacket again, and you let out a quiet laugh against his mouth.
“We should go back,” you mumbled, eyes still closed.
“We should,” he agreed, kissing you again anyway.
Another kiss. Then one more.
“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”
You jumped so hard you nearly dropped your glass.
Pedro instinctively pulled you into his chest like a protective human shield, both of you spinning toward the sound.
Oscar stood in the doorway, arms out like he’d just won an Olympic event, his mouth open in full dramatic glee.
Sarah was beside him, hands over her face, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie.
“You guys were eating each other in the hallway?!” she squealed. “I knew it! Didn’t I say?! Oscar, didn’t I say?!”
Oscar pointed at Pedro like he was a criminal. “You liar. You said you were just friends. Friends don’t kiss like that. That was a full rom-com makeout montage. That was season finale energy.”
You buried your face in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is my actual nightmare.”
Pedro just laughed, warm and unbothered, rubbing soothing little circles into your back with one hand.
“I mean, technically, we didn’t lie,” he said. “We were just friends. At one point.”
“At one point?!” Sarah shrieked. “How long has this been going on?!”
Pedro looked down at you, raising his brows like, should we tell them?
You shook your head into his shirt. “Nope. I’m staying in here forever. This is my new home now.”
“Oh, baby,” he teased, voice low and fond, “you can’t live in my sternum.”
“I can try.”
Oscar clapped once. “Wow. So this is what it’s like. I feel like we just discovered a conspiracy. Like we should be wearing tinfoil hats.”
“Oh, we are such good detectives,” Sarah whispered dramatically.
Pedro tilted your chin up, just enough to see your flushed face, eyes still wide with secondhand embarrassment.
“You good?” he asked gently, thumb brushing your cheek.
“I was until I got ambushed by the Greek chorus of chaos.”
He grinned. “They’re not wrong. You were making out with me like I was the last man on Earth.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You kissed me first.”
“You followed me out here.”
He leaned in again, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. “Worth it.”
Sarah made a noise like she was physically imploding.
Oscar covered his ears. “I refuse to be here for this next part.”
Pedro wrapped both arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Should we go?” you whispered, still hidden in his chest.
He shrugged. “Could go home. Could make out in the coat closet. Could stay here and keep traumatizing our friends.”
You grinned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I know,” he said, already leading you toward the door with one last wink at your stunned friends. “Come on, baby. Let’s leave the detectives to their theories.”