lazysoulwriter

[lazysoulwriter]

starved ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: explicit! oral sex, pussy drunk!pedro, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, possessive vibes

You should’ve known the second you caught him staring at you like that across the couch. That Ted Garcia mustache, that slow curl at the corner of his mouth as his dark eyes raked over you—like you were already spread out beneath him.

“Pedro,” you warned softly, though there was nothing warning about the way your thighs pressed together under his gaze.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand like he had all the time in the world, and the gravel of his voice was sinful. “Don’t give me that look, cariño. You know what it does to me.”

The words hadn’t even settled in the air before he was already moving, sliding down the couch to the floor. His big hands pushed your knees apart, rough thumbs stroking the inside of your thighs until goosebumps rose on your skin.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he muttered, nuzzling his mustache into the sensitive flesh near your knee, breathing you in. “Driving me fucking crazy.”

You tried to tease—tried to make a comment about him acting like he hadn’t had you just two nights ago—but the second his mouth brushed over your clothed core, words disintegrated into a shaky whimper.

Pedro groaned, low and needy, like the taste of you even through your panties was enough to unravel him. He tugged the fabric aside with impatience and then—god—then his mouth was on you.

The first drag of his tongue up your slit had your head tipping back against the couch, a gasp tearing out of your chest. He gripped your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he buried his face deeper, mustache scraping in the filthiest way that made your toes curl.

“Pedro—oh my god—”

“Mmm,” he hummed into you, sloppy and obscene. “So sweet, baby. You’re dripping for me already, aren’t you? Fuck, you taste like heaven.”

He was gone. Completely gone. Devoted. His eyes fluttered shut as he licked into you like he’d been starving. Every groan vibrated through your body, making you writhe against him.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging, but he only groaned harder, rutting his face against you like he wanted to drown there.

“Dios mío…” he gasped against your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making your vision white out for a second. “Give it to me, baby girl. Let me have it. I want all of it.”

You couldn’t help it—you moaned his name again and again, your thighs clenching helplessly around his head. But he didn’t budge. Didn’t pause. Not even when you tried to push him back.

“Too much,” you gasped, trembling.

Pedro lifted his head only an inch, lips shiny, mustache damp with you. His pupils were blown wide, voice wrecked. “Shhh, cariño. I know it’s too much. That’s what I want. You’re gonna come for me again and again—until you can’t even say my name anymore.”

And with that he was back, devouring you like a man possessed. His nose bumped your clit, tongue sliding everywhere, messy and perfect, until you shattered with a cry.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going, licking you through it, groaning as you gushed against his mouth. His hands held you down, pinning your hips to the couch when you tried to squirm away.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, lifting his head just enough to meet your dazed eyes. “So pretty when you fall apart for me. My sweet girl. Mine.”

Your chest heaved, thighs shaking uncontrollably as another wave built too soon, too strong. Pedro’s mouth sealed back over your clit, and the sound of him moaning against you was enough to send you spiraling again.

By the time he finally pulled away—lips red, mustache glistening, eyes glazed with hunger—you were a trembling mess, boneless against the cushions.

Pedro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then grinned, leaning up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Pussy drunk?” you teased weakly, breathless.

He chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours. “Completely fucking gone for you, baby.”

And the way his hand slid back down between your thighs told you he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

finally a bit more free from work so i’m starting those requests rn… y’all better be ready

[lazysoulwriter]

gotta admit i have all your pedro pascal period fics saved just so I can read them for comfort when I'm going through mother nature's torture sesh 😭💗🥰

no bc that’s the cutest thing ever 😭 i adore writing them, tysm for saying this <3

[lazysoulwriter]

There’s so much love and fluff in your blog that I could scroll forever🫶🏻

reading this made my whole day, thank u angel <3

[lazysoulwriter]

steady hands ── .✦ - CK.

requested! thank you. content: soft comfort, mentions of crime scene work (non-graphic), bathing together (non-sexual), caretaking boyfriend clark, reader is emotionally drained

It had been one of those days that stuck to your skin.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct still seemed to hum in your ears, and the smell of rain on the pavement mixed with something you couldn’t name clung to your coat. It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen scenes like that before — working homicide meant you were no stranger to the worst of humanity — but some days the weight of it didn’t slide off when you clocked out. Some days it sank deep into your bones.

By the time you pushed open the apartment door, the keys heavy in your hand, you weren’t even sure what you wanted — quiet, a drink, a shower, to cry.

You got Clark.

He was already looking up from the couch before you could say a word, a crease between his brows like he’d felt the shift in your mood before you even stepped in. “Hey,” he said softly, the kind of hey that made something behind your ribs ache.

Your bag slid from your shoulder with a dull thud, and you barely managed to toe off your shoes before he was in front of you, warm hands cupping your face. You didn’t mean to, but your eyes stung instantly at the simple contact.

“Tough day?” he murmured, thumbs brushing at your cheeks like he was checking for cracks.

You gave the smallest nod. Your voice came out scratchy. “Bad scene.”

Clark didn’t ask for details — he never did when your eyes looked like that. Instead, he kissed your forehead, lingering there like he could transfer some of his calm straight into your skin. “Come on,” he said, threading his fingers through yours. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, sweetheart.”

Normally, the phrasing might’ve made you blush. Tonight, it just sounded like safety.

The bathroom was already warm by the time you reached it — you realized he must have turned on the heater earlier when the clouds rolled in. Clark helped you peel away the damp layers of your work clothes, slow and patient, never rushing you. When your fingers fumbled at the buttons, his covered yours, finishing for you.

He tested the water temperature before guiding you in, stepping in behind you fully clothed for a moment just to steady you. When you felt the first rush of heat from the shower against your shoulders, you exhaled like you hadn’t breathed all day.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

Clark worked the water through your hair, careful and unhurried, his big hands so gentle it made your throat tight. “You don’t have to think about anything right now,” he murmured. “Just let me take care of you.”

You let your forehead rest against his chest, the damp cotton of his shirt clinging instantly. He didn’t flinch at being soaked; his arms just wrapped around you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head.

By the time he’d toweled you off and gotten you into one of his softest flannels and a pair of lounge shorts, you felt like your body weighed less — not light, exactly, but bearable. He guided you to the couch, where a plate sat waiting: grilled cheese, cut diagonally the way you liked, and a mug of chamomile tea.

“You made this while I was showering?” you asked, a little incredulous.

“I made it before you got home,” he admitted, a faint smile on his lips. “Had a feeling.”

You ate with him beside you, his thigh pressed warm against yours, his hand resting on your knee. He didn’t fill the air with chatter — just the occasional soft check-in, the quiet hum of a man who could sit in your silence without making it heavy.

Later, when you’d finished, Clark carried you to bed like you were something precious and breakable. He pulled the covers up, tucking you in before sliding in behind you, his chest at your back, his arms locking you in place.

“You did good today,” he said into your hair. “Even if it feels like you didn’t. You’re still here. You still came home to me.”

The knot in your chest loosened, finally. “Thanks for taking care of me, Clark.”

“Always,” he promised, his breath warm against your temple. “That’s the easiest promise I’ll ever keep.”

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

[lazysoulwriter]

pedro pascal & characters masterlist

[ series are marked with this: ☆ ]

pedro pascal

say it again, i dare you

coffee and quiet things

don't stop talking to me and maybe stay here forever

true blue ☆

the lighthouse and the ocean ☆

3 days in sydney (request)

the president of your fan club

mr and mrs pascal

blurred lines

still ☆

obsessed

soft on main

eyes on her

after met one on one time (request)

reunion interview (platonic)

the paul mescal school of yearning

love is complicated ☆

chemistry

it's a code now

and just generally @lazysoulwriter and @unsuperingyournatural for oneshots

din djarin | the mandlorian

beskar doll ☆

your soulmate is a bounty hunter ☆

you're not in the dark but far from the light

night on the town

javier peña | narcos

cereza ☆

old habits die hard ☆

honeymoon suite

it's never too late ☆

small touches and simple gestures

scathed ☆

wicked games and cigarettes

salvatore

joel miller | the last of us

the preacher's daughter ☆

guns and roses ☆

yearling ☆

marcus acacius | gladiator ii.

the farmer's daughter

amor vincit omnia ☆

fit for a goddess

harry castillo | materialists

the art of the deal ☆

heartlines ☆

a beautiful little lie ☆

his type, her font

make him dislike love you ☆

stains & gold

[lazysoulwriter]

Fire 🔥

Javier Peña drawn digitally on procreate

Pedro pascal 😍

[lazysoulwriter]

qué sorpresa ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: pure fluff, established relationship, reader surprises him by learning spanish.

You’d been keeping the secret for months. Little pockets of time stolen from work and sleep, headphones in while you practiced, tongue tripping over new words until they started to feel natural. All so you could land in Chile and meet his family — really talk to them — for the first time.

Pedro had no idea.

The surprise waited until the plane touched down and you were walking through the warm Santiago air, hand in hand. He was already in his element — greeting people in rapid-fire Spanish, his accent thicker, his smile looser.

“You’re quiet,” he teased as you climbed into the car.

“Just saving my energy,” you said, biting back a grin.

When you arrived at his sister’s place, the front door swung open to a wave of warmth — hugs, laughter, and voices all speaking at once. Pedro was about to start translating when you turned to one of his sisters with a shy smile.

“Gracias por invitarme,” you said carefully, your accent deliberate but clear.

Pedro froze mid-step.

His sister’s face lit up instantly, and she replied with something that made you laugh — and answer back, completely in Spanish.

Pedro looked between you and her like he’d just witnessed a magic trick. “Wait… what— how—”

You finally turned to him, still holding his hand. “I’ve been learning. For months. I wanted to be able to talk to them, not just smile like a tourist.”

The pride in his eyes was so sharp it made your chest ache. He cupped your face right there in the hallway, his grin breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “Mi amor… you learned Spanish for me? For them?”

“For us,” you corrected.

He kissed you then, not caring that his sister and nephews were right there teasing in the background. And for the rest of the night, you caught him watching you in every conversation, every shared laugh — like you’d just given him the most unexpected, perfect gift in the world.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

oopsie ── .✦ - JH.

requested! thank you. content: fluff + implied spice, established but new relationship (~3 months), first “I love you.”

It was the kind of late night where the world outside didn’t exist — just the quiet hum of the TV you weren’t really watching and the steady thump of Jack’s thumb brushing over your thigh.

You were stretched across his couch, your legs draped lazily over his lap, your head tilted toward him as you scrolled aimlessly on your phone. Jack was pretending to watch whatever was playing, but you could feel his eyes on you more than once. The smirk tugging at his lips was a dead giveaway.

“What?” you asked without looking up, a small smile betraying your curiosity.

“Nothing,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You finally set your phone down, raising a brow. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw as he kissed you — slow at first, testing, like he had all the time in the world. You kissed him back with that little hum in your throat that always made him lose his rhythm.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, his free hand sliding to your hip, tugging you closer until you were nearly straddling him. You giggled against his mouth when he muttered something about you “starting trouble” for no reason.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, and that’s when it happened. Soft, quiet, like it had been sitting there for weeks just waiting to escape. “I love you,” Jack said.

You froze. He froze.

His eyes widened just enough to tell you he hadn’t meant to say it yet. The tips of his ears went pink. “…oopsie?” he offered, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it back.

You stared at him for a beat, your pulse loud in your ears, trying to decide if you were going to tease him until he squirmed or close the space between you.

You chose the second.

Your mouth found his again, this time with more urgency, your hands sliding into his curls. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound melting into a laugh when you whispered, “Guess I love you too.”

His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you fully into his lap until your knees bracketed his thighs. The TV was long forgotten. His tongue brushed yours, slow and deliberate, and the taste of him made your head spin.

“You can’t just say that,” you murmured between kisses, “and expect me not to—”

“Not to what?” he smirked, interrupting with another kiss, one hand slipping under the hem of your shirt.

You laughed against his mouth, shaking your head. “You’re dangerous.”

Jack’s lips trailed down to your jaw, warm and lingering, before he murmured, “Yeah… but I’m totally yours now.”

The air between you was thick with the kind of promise that made your stomach twist in the best way. His hands roamed, mapping out the shape of your back, the curve of your waist, like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted to touch more.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that — tangled up in him, kissing until your lips were swollen and your breath came short. All you knew was that whatever came next, the night was far from over.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

sunflower tea ── .✦

content: pure fluff, established relationship, period cramps comfort, cuddles and soft love.

The cramps had been unrelenting since morning — the kind that made every muscle in your body feel heavy and slow. By the time the afternoon sun began dipping behind the blinds, you were sprawled on the couch, cocooned in a blanket with no intention of moving.

From the kitchen came the faint clink of a mug and the whistle of the kettle. “Stay put, cariño,” Pedro called over, his voice low and warm. “I’m on tea duty.”

You peeked out from your blanket just in time to see him standing by the counter, still in that soft yellow t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair a little messy from the day. He was focused, brow furrowed slightly as he poured hot water into your sunflower mug — the one you always chose when you weren’t feeling your best. The scent of chamomile drifted through the air, already making your shoulders drop a little.

When he caught you watching, his mouth curved into a smile. “What? You think I can’t take care of my girl?”

A few moments later, he was by your side, lowering the mug into your hands like it was made of glass. “Careful, it’s hot,” he murmured, steadying it for you while you took the first sip. The warmth slid down your throat, soothing in a way that felt bigger than just tea.

“Better?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded. “A little.”

Pedro set the mug down and, without a word, slipped onto the couch behind you. His arms came around your waist instantly, pulling you flush against his chest. One of his hands rested over your stomach, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles as if his touch could ease the ache.

“You just relax, mi amor,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

The TV played quietly in the background, more for the noise than anything you were paying attention to. Pedro’s breathing was steady, his warmth seeping into every part of you he touched. At some point, he reached for the blanket, tucking it more securely around your legs.

“After you finish your tea,” he murmured, “we’ll watch whatever you want. Or we’ll just stay like this until you fall asleep.”

You turned slightly, enough to see the softness in his eyes. “You’re spoiling me.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your temple. “That’s the point.”

The cramps were still there, but the weight of his arm around you, the heat of his body pressed close, and the faint scent of chamomile made it all a little easier to handle. You let your eyes close, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pulling you toward sleep, knowing he’d be there when you woke.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

hey loves ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ

i’ve been thinking about my blog and requests lately, and i decided to set some gentle boundaries to make everything more fun for everyone (and for me too!). here's a little "YESYES" and "NONO" guide if you're planning to send a request or just curious about my writing! ¸.♡.¸

ﾟ･:.｡ YES YES ♡ﾟ･:.｡

♡ fun fics!! ♡ fluffy, cozy, heart-melting moments ♡ spicy and flirty stories ♡ your weird, chaotic ideas (i love them so much)

ﾟ･:.｡NO NO ♡ﾟ･:.｡ 🚫 fics where the reader suffers like hell 🚫 reader receiving hate / heavy hate dynamic 🚫 reader doing something sexual for the first time

AND IT'S TOTALLY OKAY IF YOU SEND ME THOSE BEFORE!!! DONT BE SORRY ABOUT ITTTT

ﾟ･:.｡notes ♡ before requesting, please check if i haven’t written something similar already! 🫶🏼 you can always talk to me about any fic or idea you have — i'm open to chat and brainstorm with you. ♡ if you want something really specific, don't be shy, tell me in detail!! i love when you guys send long requests, it helps me bring your vision to life. 🌷 ♡ please don't send me (or any other writer) the same request you send to someone else. it’s weird and disrespectful. please, be careful and treat our time and effort with kindness.

currently writing for: paul mescal, pedro pascal, drew starkey/rafe cameron, harry styles, and jj maybank/rudy pankow, clark kent/superman/david corenswet, lewis hamilton, joseph quinn (and whoever else inspires me along the way).

[lazysoulwriter]

wind down with you ── .✦ - LH.

content: pure fluff, established relationship, post-long-day comfort, shower together, cuddles until sleep.

The second you stepped inside, the weight of the day seemed to cling to you like a heavy coat you couldn’t take off. You barely managed to kick off your shoes before your bag slid off your shoulder and thudded to the floor.

Lewis appeared from the kitchen, still in joggers and a hoodie, a warm cup of tea in his hands that he set aside the moment he saw your face.

“Hey…” His voice softened, laced with concern as he crossed the room in a few strides. “Long one?”

You gave a tired hum, the kind that wasn’t quite an answer but said everything. The tension in your shoulders, the faint slump in your posture, the way you sighed when his hands found your waist — he knew.

Without another word, he wrapped you up in his arms, holding you tight against him. His hoodie smelled like fresh laundry and the faint trace of his cologne. His chin rested on top of your head as he pressed a slow kiss to your hair.

“Let’s wash the day away,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Come on.”

The bathroom was already warm by the time you got there, steam curling in the air as he turned on the shower. He helped you out of your clothes gently, like you were something fragile tonight, his touch slow and unrushed. When you stepped under the spray, the hot water made you sigh out loud — the first deep breath you’d taken all evening.

Lewis joined you, hands immediately finding your shoulders to massage away the knots. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice barely above the sound of the water. “Let it go, baby.”

He washed your hair for you, fingertips working in slow, soothing circles over your scalp. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, your forehead pressing to his collarbone as the tension bled out of you. He rinsed the suds away, then smoothed conditioner through your hair, humming low in his chest — something that felt like home.

When the water finally shut off, he wrapped you in the fluffiest towel and pressed a kiss to your damp temple. “Bed?”

You nodded, and a few minutes later you were in one of his oversized shirts, the fabric soft and worn from years of use. He pulled back the duvet, sliding in first so he could open his arms to you.

The moment you curled into his chest, everything else faded. His legs tangled with yours under the blankets, one hand resting on your back, the other cradling the back of your head so you could nuzzle into his hoodie-clad shoulder.

“You don’t have to think about anything now,” he whispered, his breath warm against your hairline. “I’ll take care of you.”

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the quiet scent of him, and the slow circles he traced on your spine worked better than any lullaby. Your eyes fluttered closed, your body melting completely into his. Just before you drifted off, you felt him press one last kiss to the crown of your head, holding you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

red carpet rendezvous ── .✦

requested. thank you! content: pure fluff, Pedro Pascal x actress!wife, established relationship, light age gap, mutual support on red carpets, reader plays Lois Lane in the Superman movie.

It had been a whirlwind couple of months — his Fantastic Four release and your Superman debut happening almost back-to-back, premieres and press tours tangled together like your calendars.

Tonight, though, belonged to him. The Fantastic Four carpet glittered under flashing bulbs, and your husband — the world’s newest Mr. Fantastic — slid an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side like you were his anchor in all the noise.

You’d teased him earlier, whispering, “You know I’m here just to see Mr. Fantastic in the flesh.” He’d grinned, mumbled something in Spanish, and kissed you like you’d just confessed a secret.

Now, under the cameras, he looked maddeningly handsome — black suit, curls falling just the way you liked, with that calm red carpet confidence. But when his eyes found yours, they softened instantly, like the rest of the world had blurred.

“Mi amor,” he murmured between flashes, “I still can’t believe you came straight from your press tour for Superman.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “We promised, remember? I went to your premiere, you’ll come to mine. We’re a package deal. Lois Lane and Mr. Fantastic — the ultimate crossover.”

He laughed, that low, warm sound that made photographers yell for more shots. You posed together, turning in sync when your names were called. For a moment, you flashed back to your own carpet just weeks ago — Pedro standing a few steps behind you during interviews, his expression pure pride, the kind only you ever got to see.

“Besides,” you leaned in just enough for only him to hear, “Lois Lane has to support Mr. Fantastic — call it press-pass solidarity.”

He chuckled, kissing your temple before murmuring, “And my wife is the most beautiful woman on any carpet.”

The cameras kept flashing, but in your little bubble, it was just the two of you — not Hollywood’s latest ‘it’ couple, not the headlines, just husband and wife stealing a quiet moment in the middle of the chaos.

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

[lazysoulwriter]

oh to be curled up in his lap rn ( gif; @a7estrellas)

[lazysoulwriter]

New theme w/ the Mandalorian helmet + that fic of Pedro dressing up as Mando for Halloween are everything to me omg 😭😭😭

yesss omg you get it!!!

[lazysoulwriter]

hope you feel better soon sweetheart <3

thank u bb 🩷 i’m feeling way better now, head’s finally at peace and i’ll be back like i used to real soon

[lazysoulwriter]

Wait do you write for Jack Harlow??!

taking a tiny break from writing rn but when i’m back… oh i’m def writing for him. MY HUBBY 🫡