#Is it your boyfriend?? Is he the love of your life?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-144444 · 2 days ago

Text

cruel- c.sainz

꩜summary: an argument means he says some things he doesn't mean. he's never gotten that cruel before though.

꩜pairing: carlos sainz x fem! fiancé reader

꩜a/n: kinda toxic relationship but like not really but like also so be aware :D

You two didn’t fight. It just… wasn’t like that. You argued. Calmly. Softly. Gently. He didn’t shout. You didn’t scream. Neither of you ever walked off without having the issue resolved.

It had never been like this. Just one slip of the tongue about him not being there for the important things, like your promotion, or Laura’s graduation, or those nights when you just needed your boyfriend a bit more than the other nights. That, and the mention of your new friend, Jamie, you knew him from work. He off-handedly got you a bunch of flowers for your promotion, just doing something nice. Carlos didn’t like it. You fought him on it, telling him he shouldn’t care since he’s never here. It wasn’t meant to be as snarky as it came out, you were just frustrated, you just wanted Carlos back for yourself, not constantly working or thinking about how he himself could improve the car. Carlos was tough, sure. Tough on himself, tough on Williams, tough on James. He was the kind of tough that didn’t really disappear, even in his gentlest moments. But he wasn’t tough on you. He was softer around the edges, reining it in so you wouldn’t run away. His voice was less gruff. His eyes were less hardened. He didn’t want to give you a reason to leave him, well, more than the ones you already had.

Tonight he was angry. The kind of anger that silences a room and makes everywhere his own. The kind of anger that puts you on edge for a few days, even if it’s passed. The apartment didn’t feel big enough, didn’t feel like a shared space, it felt suffocating as you sat on the couch, Carlos shouting his head off at you, screaming that you were inconsiderate, that you were trying to make him angry, that you weren’t thinking. “So what do you want me to do, huh?” he barked, his voice loud. You were sure the neighbours were confused. “Do you think I am just going to relax this whole season?! Williams is a place for learning- for growth. I cannot grow if I’m not putting in the work!” His voice was cutting through the tension in the air. He stared at you with pleading eyes, begging for an answer.

“I’m not asking you to stop racing Carlos, I’m asking you to spend some more of your free time with me-” you held your ground. You weren't being unreasonable. You wanted your boyfriend to be your boyfriend for more than 5 minutes a day. He sighed and spun on his heels, facing the other direction, head in his hands. “I’m sorry I said what I said about the Jamie thigh-”

He spun around again, wide eyes meeting yours. “So it’s a thing now? It’s a ��Jamie thing’ now?” he demanded. “Dios mío, Y/n he’s a co-worker, he’s not in love with you,” he scoffed and you felt yourself recoil. What did that mean? ‘He’s not in love with you’ is he insinuating he’d have no reason to be in love with me? That I’m unlovable? That there’s no way anyone else would date me? You thought to yourself, emotion building in your chest. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “He shouldn’t be giving my girlfriend flowers-”

“It was a nice thing to do!” you argued, your voice rising to meet his, as you stood from the couch. You couldn’t take this bullshit anymore, this ridiculous disrespect when both of you knew he was in the wrong. “I got promoted! 8 people sent me flowers and none of them were my boyfriend! How do you think that makes me feel, Carlos? Do you think it makes me feel cared for? Appreciated? Like you’re proud of me? Well, it doesn’t. It makes me feel like you don’t even care that I have a life outside of being your perfect little WAG.”

He rolled his eyes, his fists clenching. “You know I wanted to do something with you in person-”

“When was that going to happen?” you spat. “Winter break? Come on Carlos, just admit you knew nothing about it until I brought the flowers home, and you only started caring then. This isn’t about Jamie, or what my promotion is, it’s about you feeling like putting our relationship on the backburner isn’t a problem. I’m not asking for flowers or dates every week. I’m asking you to take an interest in my life again, and if you feel like you can;’t do that, then I don’t really know what we’re doing here,” you shrugged, the first of a few tears falling. “I can handle myself most of the time, I just need help sometimes. I need you-”

He scoffed. “Can you handle yourself? You’re crying to me about a fucking promotion and wanting to be congratulated on it.”

He realised he crossed a line. He saw the way your face hardened. He saw how you stiffened. You crossed your arms, willing yourself not to cry. Your voice was soft and fleeting. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

Then the silence. The suffocating, intoxicating, charged silence that made you want to run out of your own home and never come back. You couldn’t believe him. You knew he was stressed, but this was beyond stress. This was him being cruel. He had no right to speak to you like that. You could tell he wasn’t even listening to your side of the story and of course you hadn’t told him about the flowers because you knew how he’d react. You just didn’t think it’d be this bad. You didn’t think he’d belittle and dominish you so much. You didn’t think he’d cared so little. You turned your back on him, walking into your shared bedroom, needing time to think. You didn’t see it, but he reached out for you, but he stopped before he grabbed you, not knowing what to say.

The lock clicked into place and you finally let yourself break down, your hand flying over your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing. You tried to suck in a steadying breath, but all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and the weight of his words still pushed against your chest. You stared at the blue walls, your arms wrapped around yourself like it might somehow hold you together from falling apart. Your throat burned from the tears falling down your face, but you made no effort to grab the bottle of water on your bedside table, not when you knew Carlos had made it for you that morning. Fuck, how could so much change in one stupid fucking morning?

This was uncharted territory. He could be sharp, frustrating, downright rude sometimes, but he wasn’t cruel, not to you. He could fight people on track like it didn’t matter if they lived or died, but he’d always hop out of that car with a soft kiss for you. Even in the beginning of your relationship, when it consisted of heavy and wanting glances where you cautiously tiptoed around each other, to something tangible, something steady, something real- Carlos had always been there for you. Maybe not physically, but he was there. He’d always text at the right times, call just when you needed him, say the right thing, always. He was passionate, sure. Sometimes he got it wrong, but he was never cruel. He never wanted you to feel like you needed to hide from him.

You pressed your back up against the door, trying desperately to will the tears away, will that sinking feeling in your chest away, make everything alright again, forget today and all the horrible things he said. You couldn’t. You knew it wasn’t totally fair to pin all the blame on him. This fight wasn’t just about Jamie. It wasn’t just about him not giving you enough attention. It was both of you realising that if you didn’t work on it, your relationship was bound to break apart.

And that scared the shit out of you.

Carlos was protective, he always had been. But he was never possessive. He didn’t ask you to change. He didn’t ask you to not have guy friends. He didn’t feel intimidated by your male co-workers. Then Jamie rolled up with his bouquet of your favourite flowers, and he felt threatened. Then he panicked that he felt threatened, and he took it out on you. At first it was sweet, quiet mumbled in Spanish about how he shouldn’t be doing that knowing you have a boyfriend at home. Somewhere between then and now, it turned into a screaming match where Carlos insulted your very being.

You let out a shaky breath, your mind rushing at a thousand miles an hour. The diamond ring on your finger weighed down your hand. You felt it more than you ever had before. Every negative thought your brain could muster brought itself to the surface as you looked over it. He gave it to you just to shut you up. He hates you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care that you’re pulling away. He doesn’t care about you. You groaned, pouting as you looked at it. It was so beautiful. A proposal down by the harbour. Private. Small. Gentle. Carlos in front of you, tears in his eyes, asking you to choose him, because he already chose you. You sighed.

Ding!

Your calendar app sent you a notification.

Carlos and Y/n’s Engagement Celebration Dinner!

You scoffed at your phone, wiping your eyes. Worst timing ever.

Meanwhile, Carlos stood in the living room, going over every horrible thing he’d said. He ran his hands through his hair repeatedly, something he did when he needed to think- or when he was pissed off. He knew you were upset, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice the way your eyes welled up with tears when he said what he did. He also knew his reaction was totally out of line, he was pushing you too hard without having a real reason, and the guilt of that settled in his stomach like an ulcer he couldn’t get rid of. This was the first time he’d directed everything at you. He was wrong, he knew that. But that anger persisted, burning in his chest like a fire that just wouldn't go out. He wasn’t angry with you, he was mad at the situation. Hell, he wasn’t even mad at the situation- he was fucking terrified he was on the brink of losing you. He was more terrified that that argument might’ve been the last nail in the coffin.

He ran a hand through his hair again, scoffing out a heavy sigh as he walked out to the balcony, dropping down onto the chair he’d sat not 8 hours ago, having breakfast with you. He kept replaying it, over and over again, like a corner he couldn’t get quiet right, or a chicane he’d fucked up one too many times. His words were sharp. Cutting. Cruel.

He contemplated trying to talk to you again. Trying to apologise, admit he was scared of losing you. But even he knew you needed space. His jaw and fists clenched as he stayed put on the balcony, watching over the roads he knew so well, wishing he’d done so many things differently.

Ding!

He opened his phone as fast as he could, hoping it was a message from you. It wasn’t.

Carlos and Y/n’s Engagement Celebration Dinner!

Fuck’s sake. He swiped a hand over his face and groaned. Of course he picked a fight on the one day you two needed to be a happy couple.

You stepped out of the bedroom wearing a long white dress, something simple and plain. Just silk. Your hair up. A bag in hand.

You were breathtaking. He stared. He’d gone with a white linen shirt and some white trousers, not really knowing what to wear since he had assumed you would’ve guided him. You didn’t. You also didn’t look up at him. The various keys stayed on the counter, untouched. If you left it any later, you’d be late to your own reservation.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you, promise you he didn’t mean anything he said, and apologise. You sat on the bench beside the door, lacing up your heels like they’d offended you in some way. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t want to. Your movements were sharp, jerky, and your mouth was set in a flat line. You looked up at him, your mouth opening like you had something to say. It closed again. You weren't sure if it was frustration or guilt, or anger written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in twists. “Which car do you want to take?” he asked, clearing his throat. He wanted this to be about you, about the way you two loved each other, about how good the good times were, even in the midst of a bad time.

“Whatever you want, Carlos,” your voice was airy, lacking of its usual conviction. He gulped. You walked out the front door without so much as a glance over your shoulder. He cringed.

The Monaco air seemed much too cold for May. Sharp, like it was taking after your argument,the universe working to remind you of just how shit you already felt. Carlos locked the door behind the two of you, and you didn’t wait up for him so that you could take his hand. He didn’t open your car door. He just sat into his own seat, hands gripping the wheel so hard they turned white. He placed the keys into the ignition without so much as a look your way. The radio switched on, filling the strained silence between the two of you.

The drive loomed over your head like a cruel punishment. You couldn’t cancel on everyone now. You couldn’t drive separately. You couldn't blow up. You just had to stay calm. That became increasingly difficult as you felt the emotions of the day overcome you, no matter how hard you tried to regulate yourself, the tears just kept burning your throat, that anxiety never left the place in your chest where it had settled over an hour ago. You focused your gaze out the window, watching as the streets of Monaco whipped by. You weren’t really paying attention to it, just trying to count and calm yourself down and your mind whizzed, focused on everything he did, and didn’t say.

He’d been louder than usual. Harsher. Crueler. His mouth worked before his brain could realise the hurt he was causing. Like he couldn’t stop it. But you knew he could’ve, if he really tried. You knew him. He had to control everything at 300 miles an hour, so he could definitely stop himself from saying the shittiest things he could think of to you.

But he didn’t. Knowing that hurt more.

The silence was deafening, growing unbearable. You just kept telling yourself you weren’t going to break, then thought about those times you promised yourself you’d never make yourself smaller for a man, all those times Carlos promised you that you’d never have to. You spared him a glance. Gone was that sweet boy who was too shy to speak to you the first time. His jaw was clenched. His eyes stayed on the road. His shoulders were hunched like he was trying to hide himself. But you saw past that. You saw the way his expression didn’t reach his eyes. The way his shoulder sagged. The way he was tired in a way he’d never admit. Drained. Emotionally drained.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the tear slipped down your face. Thank god you’d decided to pack your makeup bag just in case this very scenario occurred. You brushed it away quickly, knowing he hadn’t seen it. He couldn’t look your way. That just made your cry harder. More tears falling down, that sick feeling in your stomach, that weight on your chest, that burn in your throat.

You sniffled as you watched the countryside whip past you, hues of pinks and purples painting the sky. You pretended that small ache in your heart wasn’t a call for comfort, for reassurance, for him, but you knew it was. You wanted him to turn to you and apologise. Promise you he loved you. Promise he’d do anything to not lose you. But you didn’t want to have to be the one to reach out. You wanted him to. You wanted him to care.

Your hands were trembling in your lap. You hadn’t noticed. He did.

He pulled over the car on the side of the road, not caring that his Ferrari 812 Competizione was in the dirt on a countryside road. You barely noticed you’d stopped. “Cariño,” his voice was soft, gentle. He reached over. He held your hands like they were the most fragile thing on the planet.

You broke, tears falling. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, loud in the silence of the car. “I just miss you.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he squeezed your hands before he let them go, opening his door and rounding the front of the car. He was at your side before you could ever ask what he was doing.

“Come here,” He opened your door, the cool air rushing in as he offered a hand out to you. His tone was soft. So soft. So much softer than before. You took his hand without thinking much about it.

He pulled you into his arms. His chest was warm and solid. Grounding. He squeezed you like you’d run away if he didn’t, and maybe you would. It made you feel safer. Cared for. Like someone was there for you.

“I’m sorry Cariño,” he huffed out against your ear, you pretended not to notice the way his voice broke. “I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry too-” you tried, but he shushed you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he shook his head as you let out yet another shaky breath. “I was a dick, and I was just scared of losing you. You’re just too nice to me, aren’t you?” he cooed, his thumb brushed against the side of your face as he looked down at your face. Your mascara was smudged. Tear lines down your face. He felt the splotchy heat on your chest and it pulled at his heart strings. “We’re going to be okay?”

You sighed, closing your eyes as your emotions took over again. You leaned your forehead against his chest. “What did you mean?” you whispered.

“What do you mean, my love?” he asked, a hand smoothing down your back.

“He’s just your co-worker, he’s not in love with you,” you repeated. “As if no one would ever love me?” you let out a sad chuckle. “I just want to know what you mean.”

He let out a shaky breath, internally kicking himself for saying such ridiculous things. He wanted to smack himself. “No my love,” he shook his head, your small sniffles twisting his heart strings as he tried to not let his emotion overtake his senses. “No. You’re wonderful and I was being stupid. Please don’t believe anything I said. You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you. You’re a genius. YOu deserve to be celebrated, and I’m sorry I couldn’t see that.”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah, you are stupid,” you agreed, a sad smile on your lips. He chuckled against your hair. “We’re going to be okay?” you asked.

“I’m going to fight for you everyday,” he said it like it was a promise. An inevitable. A truth. You both felt that release of anxiety, though guilt lingered. You’d be alright. You’d fight for each other. You’d do what it takes to make it work. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment. Instead of pulling back completely, his lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek. His hands circled your waist, his breath on your cheek. You sniffled again, realising how much of a mess you must look. He didn’t care. He leaned in closer and your hands tightened on his shirt as he stopped, hesitating. He was dangerously close as an unspoken ache settled between you two. He held himself back as best he could, but all he wanted was to kiss you. “Carlos,” your voice was just above a whimper, and he only leaned in closer, cradling your face with a hand as his lips found yours. He kissed you like he needed to, passionate but slow. Careful and cautious, like your first. Like he couldn’t get close enough. Like it’d never be enough, no matter how many times he kissed you. You pulled back, breathing out with a small smile on your lips. He could’ve sworn he’d gone to heaven and died when you looked up at him. “We’re going to be okay,” you spoke the words like you meant it, and he felt his stomach twist in the best way.

He smiled. “You’re something else,” he shook his head, his voice low, a depth behind his words you couldn’t name. You chuckled, your cheeks heating. You pressed one last lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth and sent him a small smile.

“We’ll be late,’ you reminded him, stepping back into the car and getting your makeup bag out to start fixing your makeup. He shook his head, chuckling as he slid into the driver’s seat. His hand found your thigh, holding tightly.

It felt like he would never let go. You didn’t want him to.

williams & merc masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

726 notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 3 days ago

Text

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #cannes #cannes film festival #cannes 2025 #festival de cannes #cannes red carpet #eddington #emma stone

509 notes · View notes

kenpachissluut · 2 days ago

Text

BoyfriendNanami who spoils you totally rotten & treats you like the princess you are. Bringing your favorite flowers home on daily basis or treating you to a delicious dinner in a luxury restaurant or made by himself. Also getting you ton of gifts.

‎ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

BoyfriendNanami who let’s you sit on his lap while he is doing some paperwork on the computer. He gently strokes your thigh and squeezes your ass while he plants soft kisses on your neck hoping to not get too much distracted by you.