#Joel Paul
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joel warmup because i love american psycho and his intro today had me dying
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Did someone say BROAD???
(I did not create these gifs, credits to the amazing owners)
#joel miller#marcus acacius#gladiator 2#the last of us#pedro pascal#paul mescal#dbf!joel#the mandalorian#marcus pike#dieter bravo#javi gutierrez#javier peña#pedrohub#pascalispunk#new to tags lol
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oh marcus acacius, i need to wash you up in a nice warm bath with rose petals and feed you grapes
#joel miller#marcus acacius#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#joel miller angst#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#gladiator 2#gladiator movie#gladiator ii#pedro pascal gladiator#general marcus acacius#paul mescal
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Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever
Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.
Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”
I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon
Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities
Word Count: 5.7k
A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T
Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.
Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler
gif by @a7estrellas
→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY
The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.
You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.
“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.
“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.
He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.
“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”
The day unfolded in bursts of joy.
Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.
Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.
Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.
You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”
Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”
“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.
Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.
“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.
“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET
The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.
Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.
“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.
Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.
You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.
“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”
Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”
Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”
“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.
Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”
“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”
“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”
Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”
“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.
Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”
You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”
Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.
“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”
“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.
“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.
You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.
“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”
“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”
Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”
“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.
Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.
Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”
Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”
“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.
“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”
“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”
Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.
The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.
You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.
THE NEXT DAY
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.
Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.
His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”
“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.
“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.
It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.
The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.
“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.
Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”
Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.
Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”
Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”
You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”
Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”
“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.
Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”
Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”
“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.
“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”
He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”
The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”
You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”
“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”
Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”
“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”
Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”
Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”
Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”
You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING
The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.
Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.
“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.
Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.
You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”
Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.
He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”
“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.
“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.
“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.
Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.
“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.
Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”
“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.
The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.
“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.
“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.
“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.
As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.
“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.
“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”
“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.
Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”
“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”
Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.
“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.
The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.
As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.
When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.
You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.
Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him.
L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING
The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions.
“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”
You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”
“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”
And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more.
“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.
“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.
“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”
Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.
“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”
“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”
Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.
“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home.
Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”
You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”
He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”
There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close.
This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up.
“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”
You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”
“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”
His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”
Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”
You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.
Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave.
Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.
“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.
You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.
“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.
Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”
You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.
He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”
His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.
“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.
When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.
“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.
“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.
The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.
The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.
A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.
“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.
Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.
“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.
Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.
Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.
“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”
Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.
He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”
You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”
Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”
You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”
Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.
You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”
“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”
You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”
“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”
Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”
Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”
The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.
Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”
Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”
You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.
The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.
Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.
In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal art#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#joel miller x reader#gladiator#gladiator 2#paul mescal#real people fiction#marcus acacius#general marcus acacius#gladiator ii#pedrohub#pedro pascal x reader masterlist#pedro pascal masterlist#marcus acacius x reader
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#shut up ali#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#wips#wip stuff#pedro pascal#paul mescal#joel miller x reader#marcus acacias x reader#emperor geta x reader#joseph quinn
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THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR @yanderereblogs THE FACULTY HAVE BEEN FOYND AND RETURNED TO US! PRAISE BE TO REBLOGGERS, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARCHIVISTS!
Yandere Boarding School Part 2, (Faculty)
18+ Minors DNI
Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, smoking, horny posting.
(AN: Part Two has been reuploaded after a takedown, godspeed @yanderereblogs for saving it! Mmmmmm, old men. Everyone pictured as a student is OF LEGAL AGE TUMBLR MODS HOP OFF MY DICK.
Background: Thinking about a Headmasters Son or Daughter!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Ridgemoore Academy being an all male school, this makes it easier to imagine a world where reader is allowed in the school. Now, let's focus on the faculty...
◇ Mr. Joel Murphy, who teaches the majority of the 'life skills' classes at the school. The school being all-boys is very traditional, and teaches things like game hunting and orienteering, which is why they hired a manly-man like Joel. If only they knew what a bitter grump he is. An ex-sheriff of the nearby town, he decided to leave the force after realizing there was no real crime in the small, privileged town, and decided to take up an easy job at the school. Unfortunately, he realized his love for camping and hunting is warped into what he considers 'frilly shit for rich little boys'. He's gruff, barking out orders and easily been exasperated at the sheer incompetence of the boys.
"Shoot one quail, and these boys act like they killed a bear..."
He thought about retiring from yet another job, as living on the ritzy campus just doesn't feel like home to him, and lord knows he's not fond of his job. However, things change when you arrive. Whether you're a delinquent or a little more sweet and obedient, he likes you. If you're a delinquent, he likes seeing a little hell-raiser kick up some shit at the fancy school. If you're sweet or shy, he gets protective. Nice youngins' like you shouldn't be thrown in amongst these spoiled weasels.
He's sure to help you if you need it, a gentle hand on your back as his burly chest presses against your shoulder blades, adjusting your position against the butt of a rifle. Standing by while you're on hands and knees trying to light a fire, making sure none of the boys are trying to get a look at your assessts. Not that he isn't going to, but he justifies it to himself as just making sure your school shorts/skirt is regulation. He's protecting your modesty. After class hours, come to him with any issues, or shit, even his room. He'll put on some coffee and ask you to help him create a curriculum that 'reaches the kids', as your father instructed him to. It's cozy, the fancy school adnorments thrown away for medals and plaques, national parks posters and a few old family photos. He'll keep you tucked in on his warm couch while he strays from curriculum talk to stories of his time in the scouts and on the force. Tells you about how much he loves just... laying out under the stars with somebody special, to sit around a campfire with friends, then slyly ask is you've ever had somebody to do that with. He knows you're younger than him, and he struggles with the idea that you won't want him cause of it, so for now, he'll bask in the feeling of seeing you curled up in his room, keeping the idea of picking you up and having you accept his cock to himself. If you can get pregnant, his fists his cock to the thought of that too. He's not some horned up boy, he wants you in the long term.
He looooooves the yearly orienteering final, in which the students in the class are made to go on an actual camping trip. It's possible a tent will 'accidentally' go missing, leaving you to bunk with him. Don't worry, nothing bads gonna happen while you've got this burly bear of a man practically spooning you, warm gut from his dad-bod pressed against you as he tries his best to make sure he doesn't scare you.
"Sorry those damn boys left your tent back at the school, kiddo. I... wouldn't be suprised of one of them did it on purpose, little bastards." He grumbles, hoping you'll take the hint to separate yourself from those immature preps and stick to being with a man who can treat you right. "Remember that lesson from a couple weeks ago, on body heat? I know it's awkward, but we've only got one sleeping bag. You feel like you can trust this old man to keep you warm?" Unfortunately for his ego and trying to keep down his urges, the trees aren't going to be the only wood in the morning.
◇ Mr. Paul Burton, head of the arts department. He's so over this, a once decent artist who dabbled in pop art and theatre only to stop getting gigs and be black-listed after offending several more famous artists, calling their work 'sell-out chic', he's now a burn-out who smokes and ignores his students all class. He's passionate about art, but frankly he doesn't want tow aste his time teaching when he knows these rats are taking his class for easy credit. He's only teaching here to utilize the facilities and studios so he's not living in a van in the Walmart parking lot. A mix of hippie culture, live and let live and cynical burnout, he's so. Fucking. Done. But... maybe you change that for him.
You're interesting, a headmasters child who doesn't fit in to your fathers perfect mold? Maybe a rebellious student who goes against the grain of this perfect school. Or a blooming ray of sunshine in this dark den of privilege and conformist curriculum for the future lawyers of the world. Either way, he's found a new muse. See him after class.
He'll be thrilled if you're into art, let him guide you. Tell him your favorite artists and he'll tell you when he threw up on there shoes by accident in his hey-day. Gossip about a student you don't like, he'll listen while he smokes and tell you about how that guys mom hit on him. He loves to gossip, but he loves to watch you create more. The way your hands shape a vase or brush across a canvas light a fire in him he hasn't felt in a while. He's more willing to forgo the age gap between you, while it's never something he considered before, he knows he's not gonna let go of the one thing that makes him feel like he lives again. Besides, he's always been unconventional.
He'll have you stay after class, maybe he'll have you pose nude for a painting, assuring you it's fins, it's platonic, it's just for the love of art. He chooses and extra large canvas, it lets him paint while he relieves himself as you explain you're getting cold. He'll put on some artsy, silent, black and white film from the 30s, and while you watch and slowly realize it's pornographic, He'll grin to himself while he watches you flush. He'll ask you all sorts of questions about your thoughts on the film, the actors, what they're doing. He really wants to figure out how experienced you are. "What do you think of the composition? It's really carnal, you know?" He puts out his cigarette. "I'm glad I can show this to you, you'll actually appreciate it. You're not giggling like an idiot when some guys penis is out on the screen." He groans, thinking of his other students.
He does actually like one student, though they make an odd pair. Joseph's easily spooked and shy personality clashes with the brash older man's, but he's glad to have someone he can think of as a protege. Someone who loves art as much as him, but get isolated for it. He was doing a portfolio look over when Joseph accidentally turned in the wrong folder. Joseph feels like he might die as Mr. Burton, a man he admires, flips through nude pictures of the object of his affection, and at a distance no less. A part of him wants to rip it away, but he needs this scholarship.
"Please, please, sir! I-I'll never do it again, it was just a phase, I didn't mean for you to see-"
"They're good." Mr. Burton flips through the folder. "Real good. You could really get somewhere with these, maybe not in the fine art scene, but... tell you what." He adjusts his glasses and leans forward on his desk. "We'll do a special session, you and me, yeah? I'll get your friend here, and I'll vouch for your integrity so you can take some less-" he purses his lips. "Stalker-ish pics- Jesus, kid, is that taken from a tree?"
☆ Anatoli Sidorov, probably the best paid staff given how they got him here. He's a Russian coach for a former Olympic Russian swim team, and he joined the prestigious American school to escape shame after he 'resigned' post a doping scandal which he swears he wasn't involved in. (Whether he was or not is your choice.) Still, he's led the boys swim team and track team to nationals several times, and he's a legend among the wealthy benefactors of the school. He's outwardly very serious, hard on his team but respectful of them. He doesn't put up with any unruly or unsportsmanlike behavior from his boys, at least not what he can see. He's very nice deep down, intellectual and funny, though he still struggles with American humor and English.
He adores you when he meets you, milking about with the other students before class. You seem genuinely social, and wanting to fit in. The idea someone could be so welcoming warms his heart. Deep down, he misses his home, and he misses the friends he once had. You're warm, and he likes that. Not to mention, you're a looker. He's embarrassed, especially if you're male, seeing as he never considered swinging the other way, and much less with someone younger. But he can't help but stare when your pretty tits bounce as you run, or the way those jogging shorts hardly conceal your bulge. He even pulled you to the side one to scold you for not wearing regulation gym clothes, before realizing they were and awkwardly sending you back into class. That was a moment of self-reflection for him.
He's not necessarily outwardly softer to you, you might even think he doesn't like you, given that he has you stay late to run or jump rope, or constantly pulls you into time out mid-game. It's all for your own good, trust him. He doesn't like the way some of the boys were looking at you, and he could tell Evan was a only a play away from trying to practically hump you while trying to 'get the ball'. He's made Harrison, who he loves as a player, run laps for talking to you for only a few minutes. He hates feeling like a jealous boy, but he can't help it. You make him feel young.
He establishes a private locker room area for you, since you're the headmasters kid and not an official student. Besides, you're clearly being harassed by the others! So, he's got a nice little closet for you, with a not suspicious air freshener that's not a hidden camera, and a private key only you have access to. (Technically that's true, he just has a bypass key for himself.) He'll snatch a pair of boxers or some panties, slipping them into his track coat for later. Eventually, he'll tell you he's worried you aren't able to catch up to the others, given that you arrived later and started the gym curriculum later than the others. He'll start having extra 'make-up' workouts with you, starting with stretching. One leg uo on the bar, you'll have to excuses his cold hand running along your thigh, or stroking over your chest as him just admiring how your strength and flexibility is evolving. He relishes the feeling of your body on his, groping you under the guise of training and resisting the urge to just slip aside your gym shorts and veg you to take him.
"Little star, part 'dem a little, there ve go." He keeps your legs parted as he works you into a position on your back, against the rubber mats the tumbling team had laid out. He lays just over you, pushing your legs back a little further with his arms, just far away enough to keep you from noticing his hard on, but enough to lightly press it against the plush swell of your ass. Good, let's just- fuck- hold. Let's hold."
☆ Kory Koffman, English teacher and part time librarian! The school outs so much effort into sports, both admin and students seem to forget about him. Hell, the library is used so little they fired the librarian, and he took it upon himself to try and care for the building himself. He's a sweet, shy man, who just wants to share his passion for literature with others. However, unlike Mr. Burton, he was never popular or famous, so he's content to keep to himself, but the loneliness does get to him.
When you wandered into his library one day, maybe looking for a book or seeking refuge from a hoarde ofadmirers, he was happy to welcome you into his little safe haven. He'll give you some warm tea from the little coffee machine he has set up, and sit you down. Let him help you find a book, or tell you about his creative writing class? He'd let you join, even late in the semester! It's not a very full class.
For the first time in his life, he finds himself craving the attention of another, of someone else's company, other than his books. He hasn't felt that need for connection since he was a boy, after his momma passed. He'll do anything to keep you there, and if reading isn't your thing, much to his chagrin, he'll add a DVD section to the library, but only good films and classic for you! No Adam Sandler, those movies are to overstimulating for poor Mr. Koffman.
As his feelings turn romantic, he's ashamed. You're a student, and he's a lonely old man, you deserve someone better, someone your age. However, the thought of you being with any of the many students who mock him in the halls or disrupt his class, the thought of hand you over to those-those imbeciles, hurts him. He wants you, and he's ashamed at the way his trousers go tight when you bend over to get a fallen book, or when you hand him his glasses after he misplaced them (again), the fact he just stares at your finger prints for awhile and refuses to clean the lens. He's not had sex in a long, long time, but he finds himself masturbating more than he ever did when he was younger. He'll watch library security footage openly, moaning and whimpering at his desk with no fear anybody will stop in, no one ever does but you. He wants you as his spouse, you already make his library, his home away from home seem brighter, imagine what you could do for his actual apartment.
"Oh, hello! It's good to see you, it's been a bit." He's a little bitter at that last statement, but adjusts his glasses and continues. "Just remember to stop by often, okay? I'd really, really hate to impose the late policy on you..."
☆ Atticus Critch, the schools latin instructor and head sponsor of student body, (not to mention the man in charge of detention), is a strict disciplinarian. He takes no nonsense from anyone, and despises the behavioral pardons given to boys like Evan or Harrison simply because they are athletes. Peter is obviously his favorite, and when he catches wind of the ways the boys around campus are speaking about you, he decides to take it upon himself to remove the distraction, by having Carter trail you and give you detention for minor inconveniences. Carter isn't particularly thrilled at always having to send you to detention instead of extorting you to get his rocks off, but he's hoping maybe he'll get to 'monitor' detention one of these days.
Initially, Mr. Critch has you doing small tasks, writing lines or organizing things, but soon he starts to see the appeal. If you're a good student for the most part, he's determined to keep you good, and away from all the vermin in this school. If you're bad, he's had plenty of experience in taming brats. He's open with his sexual desires, it his growing affection for you that makes him struggle.
If you've stayed out too late and broke curfew, you can spend detention on your knees, suckling his cock into the late hours. Maybe you've been running around with Tyler. He'll make you lay down on his desk and deny you your climax over and over again, asking 'if not making you cum' is what that boy does to you, never fully satisfying you. He'll make you beg to finish, and to promise you'll be good from now on.
"Come on, repeat it. Tell me you'll be good now, that you won't bother with BOYS-" He annuciates with a thrust, "When you have a man right here, whose willing to take time out of his day to discipline you!" One the amorous session is over though, he definitely softens, trying to prove he's more than a boy in many ways, including good aftercare. He'll dress your limp form back up in your uniform and walk you get you a cup of water from the fountain. "Only ten minutes till your detention is over, dear. Just sit there, take some time to reflect on how you got here." His tone is demeaning, but as he pets your scalp, his touch is so feather-light. Don't expect is to last into the next day though.
#yandere#yandere oc#tw.yandere#yandere fanfiction#tw.dark content#x reader#yandere boy#yandere x reader#yandere teacher#yandere boarding school#yandere bully#tw.age gap#tw.bullying#tw.dubcon#tw.breeding#tw.noncon#smut#yandere x reader smut#oc critch#oc joel murphy#oc paul burton#oc anatoli#oc Kory Koffman
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My sweet boy ♥️
By Paul Mescal lens
#pedro pascal#pedrostories#pascalispunk#pedrito#gladiator 2#marcus acacius#joel miller#ppascaledit#paul mescal
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okay hear me out
#pedro pascal x reader#paul mescal x reader#joel miller x reader#gladiator ii#marcus acacius x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#general marcus acacius#pedrohub
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I need to grind on a hot older man so bad rn
#probs delete later#literally any pedro pascal character#arthur morgan x reader#raylan givens x reader#spencer reid x reader#pather paul hill x reader#rick sanchez x reader#joel miller x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#cooper howard x reader#rick grimes x reader#negan x reader#just girly things#girlblogging
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This is what my mind picture when I read those fanfics with the boyfriend’s dad! trope 🙂↕️
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Marlene found and separated two bonded, feral cats and what? Expected peace?
#paul speaks#tlou series#tlou#the last of us#the last of us spoilers#pedro pascal#joel miller#bella ramsey#ellie williams#Paul of fame!
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these are my distant relatives and are here for the holidays, should I flirt with them or not?
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller x reader#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn#fred hechinger#paul mescal x reader#paul mescal#gladiator x reader#gladiator ii#gladiator 2
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"Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright"
this took so long to restore oh my god.. finally,,, total time was 8 hours and 46 mins
#the beatles#paul mccartney#beatles#ringo starr#the beatles art#the beatles fanart#john lennon#paul mccartney art#john lennon art#george harrison#piano man#billy joel#mclennon#my art
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he is the cutest ever
#joel miller#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#general marcus acacius#marcus acacius#javier pena x reader#javier peña#gladiator 2#paul mescal
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IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - SERIES MASTERLIST
Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction,
Main Song: If There's Nothing Left by NIKI
CONTENTS:
Chapter 1: Be The Light, When All The Lights Go Out Chapter 2: Hold On For Dear Love Chapter 3: Where Passion Meets Insane, Where Pleasure Kisses Pain Chapter 4: No Man Is An Island, There's Shipwrecks And Sirens Chapter 5: When They Erase Our Names, God Knows That One Thing Remains Epilogue: Coming Soon!
#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#general marcus acacius#marcus acacius x f!reader#marcus acacius x y/n#marcus acacius smut#marcus acacius#marcus acacias x reader#gladiator 2#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#marcus acacius reader insert#marcus acacius fanfiction#marcus acacius/reader#marcus acacius rewrite#gladiator 2 rewrite#general marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius masterlist#marcus acacius series masterlist#pedro pascal#paul mescal#joseph quinn#marcus acacius x female reader#marcus acacius series#gladiator ii fanfiction
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me when I fucking GET you
#billy joel#paul mccartney#What'd I Say - Billy Joel and the Rock and Roll Hall Jam Band#<-vid sauce#lightning bolts shoot from my fingertips
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