#alternatively he could play every role!

[darrys-laundry]

hope cole’s solo 7 am paul performance went well this morning

[butrememberthesong]

i have so many thoughts on the squid entity and i cannot share them with either of my Thoughts People so. skip the tags if you are avoiding endgame spoilers.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.2

Chapter Two: God, I’m Actually Invested

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: This chapter has hella fluff and super funny/awkward moments. See you in the next one!

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!

Song: Risk by Gracie Abrams

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY  

The shuttle hummed along the narrow roads, and you found yourself squished between Archie and Rebecca, who were already up to no good.  

"So," Archie began, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned closer. "How was breakfast with your roomie?"  

Rebecca chimed in before you could answer, her tone dripping with faux innocence. "Yeah, did Pedro enjoy the toast you so lovingly made for him? Or was it the Nutella that won his heart?"  

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as your cheeks burned. "Guys, please."  

But they weren’t letting you off that easily. Archie grinned, elbowing you lightly. "Oh, come on. You’ve been living a rom-com dream, and we’re just trying to get the highlights."  

Rebecca nudged you with her shoulder, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Did he do the smolder? You know the one. The gaze that makes people forget how to breathe?"  

You laughed despite yourself, though it came out as more of a nervous squeak. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about."  

Archie gasped dramatically. "Oh, she knows! She definitely knows."  

By the time the shuttle pulled into the lot, your friends had teased you so mercilessly that you wanted to sink into the ground and never resurface. As everyone filed out, you clutched your bag tightly, muttering under your breath, "I’m never speaking to either of you again."  

Rebecca shot you a playful wink as she headed toward her department. "Sure you won’t. See you at lunch, Nutella Queen!"  

The chill of the morning air hit you as you walked toward the security checkpoint, clutching your ID badge. The sprawling Pinewood Studios stretched out before you like a labyrinth, its towering sound stages and bustling crew already alive with activity.  

"Badge, please," the guard said, snapping you out of your thoughts.  

You handed it over, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement flutter in your chest. Once cleared, you stepped inside, the sheer scale of the operation hitting you all at once.  

The first thing you noticed was the controlled chaos—carts loaded with equipment whizzing by, crew members calling out instructions, the smell of fresh paint from recently constructed sets. It was overwhelming in the best way.  

"Alright, team! Let’s get started," Jess Hall, the First AD, called out as she clapped her hands to gather everyone. She had a warm but commanding presence, her headset slung casually around her neck.  

You fell into step with the other production assistants, taking in every detail as Jess led the group on a whirlwind tour of the set.  

"This is the main soundstage," she said, gesturing to a cavernous building where scaffolding and green screens loomed high above the floor. "Props go over there. Catering is outside, past the trailers. And wardrobe is down that corridor—try not to get lost."  

Daniel, the head of props, gave you a quick nod as he walked by, holding a clipboard. "New PA?"  

"Yes," you managed, straightening up.  

"Good. Hope you’re ready to hustle," he said, his tone brisk but not unkind.  

You spent the morning darting from one task to the next—hauling equipment, labeling props, delivering coffee orders. It wasn’t glamorous, but there was something thrilling about being part of the organized chaos.  

At one point, you found yourself standing off to the side, flipping through the day’s call sheet. The sheer number of moving parts was dizzying. But when you glanced up and saw Pedro casually chatting with a director by the monitors, a soft smile on his face, the whirlwind slowed for just a moment.  

Your heart did a little flip.  

"Alright, focus," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head as you quickly returned to your tasks.  

The rest of the day passed in a blur of movement—helping manage background extras, untangling a web of cables, even holding up a light reflector when the gaffer was short-handed.  

By the time lunch rolled around, you were exhausted but strangely energized, a sense of accomplishment settling in as you sat with your friends in the cafeteria.  

Archie plopped down beside you with a tray full of food, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "So, how’s your first day as Pedro Pascal’s shadow?"  

You shot him a glare but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "I’m not his shadow. I’m just… a very busy PA trying to survive her first day."  

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Sure, sure. But he noticed you, didn’t he?"  

You felt your cheeks warm, and your silence only made them laugh harder.  

"God, I hate you both," you muttered, though there was no real malice behind it.  

As you took another bite of your sandwich, you couldn’t help but glance across the room, where Pedro sat with the director and a few cast members. He caught your eye briefly, offering a small, almost imperceptible wave.  

Your stomach flipped again.  

And just like that, you were back to square one—completely flustered and wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.  

After lunch, you found yourself tucked into a quiet corner near the soundstage, the faint hum of set activity surrounding you. Propping the script against your knees, you scanned the pages intently, trying to map out how the scenes being shot here in London would flow before the production moved to Spain. The script’s intricate details and stage directions blurred slightly as you tried to piece it all together, scribbling quick notes in the margins.  

“Hey.”  

The voice startled you, and the script slipped from your hands, fluttering dramatically to the ground. You turned quickly, clutching your chest like it might stop your racing heart.  

“Jesus, Pedro!” you exclaimed, your voice a little too breathless for your liking.  

He grinned, that easy, boyish grin that made your stomach do flips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”  

“Oh, hi,” you mumbled, stepping out of the way instinctively, thinking he was just passing by. Your gaze darted down to the script at your feet, but before you could bend to retrieve it, Pedro was already leaning down to pick it up.  

“You okay?” he asked as he straightened, handing the slightly crumpled pages back to you. He was already dressed for the scene, hair and makeup done to perfection, though you knew the team would fuss over touch-ups throughout the day.  

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing your fingers over the script as though smoothing it out would erase your flustered reaction. “Just, uh, reviewing the scenes for today.”  

Pedro tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his warm brown eyes. “Doing your homework, huh?”  

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to keep up. It’s my first day, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”  

He studied you for a beat, and the weight of his gaze made your cheeks flush. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re doing great. Everyone can see it.”  

You let out a soft laugh, though your throat felt tight. “You’ve barely seen me all day. How would you know?”  

Pedro’s smile softened, and he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Because you’ve got that look. The one that says you care about getting it right.”  

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were painfully aware of how close he was. The faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy—lingered in the air between you.  

“I... uh...” You trailed off, your brain scrambling for a coherent response.  

Pedro straightened, easing the tension with a light chuckle. “Don’t overthink it, okay? Just take it one task at a time. And if you need anything, you know where to find me.”  

“Right. Thanks,” you managed, clutching the script a little tighter.  

“See you out there,” he said with a wink before turning to head toward the set, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your thoughts in a complete jumble. 

As he disappeared around the corner, you exhaled sharply, trying to pull yourself together. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath. But even as you said it, a small, traitorous smile tugged at your lips.

Matt’s voice cut through the buzz of the set as he called for quiet. The shift was immediate—crew members hushing their conversations and finding their marks. You moved to the side, watching as Pedro, Vanessa Kirby, Joseph Quinn, and Ebon Moss-Bachrach stepped into position. The air seemed to hum with anticipation as the cameras rolled, capturing the scene that unfolded before you.  

It was surreal, seeing them all perform together, their chemistry so natural it blurred the lines between fiction and reality. Pedro, in particular, commanded the screen with ease. His movements were deliberate, his voice carrying an emotional weight that made it impossible to look away.  

But then there was Vanessa.  

You hated how your eyes lingered on her, how that knot of jealousy twisted low in your stomach. She was magnetic, the way she played her role as Pedro’s onscreen wife. The way they exchanged glances, their body language speaking volumes—it was all part of the script, you knew that. Still, it didn’t stop the bitter sting of envy that crawled its way into your chest.  

Get a grip, you thought, forcing yourself to look away. This was her job. This was his job. And you? You were here to do yours, not to indulge in ridiculous fantasies. Pedro wasn’t your boyfriend, or your close friend. He wasn’t yours.  

You plastered on a neutral expression, the kind you’d perfected over the years, and focused on your work. Daisy, Lucy, and Omar were scattered across the set, handling their own assignments, while you found yourself helping out with props. It was tedious but grounding, giving you something to pour your restless energy into.  

“Cut!” Matt’s voice echoed across the soundstage.  

The tension broke, and the cast relaxed, the scene’s intensity giving way to casual chatter. You busied yourself with resetting the props, carefully arranging them for the next take.  

That’s when you noticed Coco Ullrich, Pedro’s hairstylist, stepping in to adjust his salt-and-pepper hair. She worked with practiced ease, her hands quick and efficient. Pedro leaned forward slightly to make her job easier, a soft laugh escaping him as they exchanged a few words you couldn’t quite hear.  

You smiled faintly, almost to yourself. Coco was excellent at her job—there was no denying that. And damn, did she make Pedro look good. Too good. You tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on the task in front of you, but the image of him sitting there, that effortless charm radiating off him, lingered in your mind.  

As you finished resetting a prop, you felt a presence beside you. Turning your head, you saw Daisy, her eyebrows raised and a knowing grin tugging at her lips. “Caught you staring,” she teased under her breath.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I wasn’t staring.”  

“Sure,” she said with a soft laugh. “Totally believable.”  

“Shouldn’t you be working?” you shot back, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.  

Daisy only shrugged, her grin widening. “I am. Observing human behavior is part of the job.”  

You huffed, but there was no real malice in it. “Get out of here, Daisy.”  

She winked before walking off, leaving you standing there, your thoughts once again circling back to Pedro.  

Professional, you reminded yourself. Keep it professional. But the traitorous smile pulling at your lips made you wonder how long you could keep up the facade.  

By the end of the day, exhaustion weighed heavily on you and the rest of the crew. The once-bustling set now buzzed with the quieter sounds of people packing up equipment, stifled yawns, and the occasional joke shared among friends.  

Daisy and Omar were tugging at a heavy camera dolly, grunting dramatically like it weighed a ton, though it clearly didn’t. “Are we sure this thing isn’t secretly an ancient artifact?” Omar huffed.  

“Definitely cursed,” Daisy deadpanned, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.  

You laughed, stepping in to help steady the dolly as they maneuvered it into place. “If it starts glowing, I’m out of here.”  

“Deal,” Daisy said, winking. “But you’re buying snacks if we survive.”  

With everything finally put away, Lucy tossed an arm around your shoulder. “We’re heading to the shuttle now. Don’t take too long, or we’re leaving you behind.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, giving her a tired smile.  

As they made their way toward the bus, you stayed behind to gather your things, your movements slower now that the adrenaline of the day had worn off. You double-checked your clipboard, tucked your pen into your bag, and clocked out, ready to head to the shuttle when you heard it—your name, carried over the cool night air.  

You froze, frowning slightly as you turned toward the source. The voice was unmistakable, even from a distance. Pedro.  

He was standing near the trailers, surrounded by his castmates and friends. Vanessa was there, laughing at something Joseph said. Ebon stood casually with a coffee cup in hand, and Coco was still fussing with Pedro’s hair, though it seemed like more of a friendly habit than a professional necessity at this point.  

Pedro’s eyes were on you, a warm smile stretching across his face as he called out again, “Hey! Come here! I’ve got some people I want you to meet!”  

Your eyes widened in shock, your mind immediately racing with possibilities. He means someone else, right? You turned your head slightly, glancing behind you, half-expecting someone else to step forward. But there was no one.  

You pointed at yourself, mouthing, Me?  

Pedro nodded, his grin growing wider. “Yes, you! Come on!”  

Your stomach flipped. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You stood there, gaping for a moment before realizing you couldn’t exactly ignore him. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and started walking toward the group, your palms inexplicably sweaty despite the crisp evening air.  

As you got closer, the chatter among the group quieted slightly, their attention shifting toward you. Pedro’s gaze didn’t waver, and it was both reassuring and unnerving.  

“Hey, everyone,” Pedro said as you arrived, his tone casual but full of warmth. “This is the PA I was telling you about. She’s been a lifesaver on set today.”  

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down at your bag, gripping it tighter. “Oh, uh, I’m just doing my job,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Vanessa smiled at you, her expression kind. “Pedro’s been singing your praises all day. It’s nice to finally meet you.”  

Your heart stuttered. Singing my praises? You glanced at Pedro, who shrugged nonchalantly, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him.  

“You’re really making me look good here,” you said quietly, trying to keep your tone light, though your nerves were anything but.  

Pedro chuckled, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “You don’t need my help with that.” 

And just like that, your stomach flipped again, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“So, um, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice steadier than you expected, though your nerves still lingered just beneath the surface.  

Pedro tilted his head toward you, his grin softening into something more casual. “Well, we were just talking, and I had an idea. Since we’re heading back to the same place and you’re my roommate, why not ride with us? It’d save you time, and you wouldn’t have to deal with being the last one dropped off on the other shuttle.”  

You blinked at him, your mind racing to catch up. “Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said quickly, shaking your head.  

Before Pedro could respond, Vanessa waved her hand dismissively. “Impose? Please, it’s not imposing. You’re coming with us. No arguments.”  

Joseph chimed in, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Yeah, you’ll make our little carpool a lot more fun. Pedro can’t keep us entertained on his own, you know.”  

“Hey!” Pedro protested with mock indignation, his hand resting dramatically over his heart.  

Ebon smirked. “He’s right, though. You’d be doing us all a favor.”  

Your cheeks warmed under their collective encouragement, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t know…”  

Coco stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. We’ve got room, and it makes sense. Plus, Pedro already vouched for you.”  

You glanced at Pedro, whose expression was a mix of amusement and something else—something softer. His eyes met yours, and the look he gave you was so earnest it nearly knocked the breath out of you.  

“See? Everyone’s on board,” Pedro said, his tone coaxing but playful. “It’s settled.”  

Still hesitant, you glanced at the group again, their smiles and easy camaraderie somehow making you feel like you belonged. Finally, you exhaled and nodded. “Okay, fine. If you’re sure I’m not a burden…”  

“You? A burden?” Vanessa said, laughing. “Girl, please.”  

Pedro grinned, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Great. Let’s get going, then.”  

As the group began moving toward the car, you found yourself walking next to Pedro. Your nerves hadn’t completely settled, but there was something about the way he glanced at you, the corners of his mouth twitching in a barely contained smile, that made you feel a little lighter.  

“You okay?” he asked quietly, just for you to hear.  

You nodded, the corners of your own lips curving upward despite yourself. “Yeah, I think so.”  

“Good,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Because you’re gonna have a great time with us. Promise.”  

And for a moment, you let yourself believe him.

The large black van hummed softly as you climbed in, sliding into the seat by the window. Pedro followed closely behind and settled beside you, his arm brushing yours in the close quarters. You murmured a polite greeting to the driver, Luis, who nodded warmly in return, his easy smile a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions currently swirling inside you.  

As the rest of the cast filled the van with their chatter and laughter, you sat rigidly, your back pressed against the seat. The reality of sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Pedro—and a group of celebrities you’d only ever admired from afar—was almost too much. You gripped your phone tightly, the faint glow illuminating your slightly shaky fingers as you sent a quick text to your friends:  

You: "Don’t wait for me. Got a ride with Pedro and the cast." 

The group chat exploded almost instantly, messages popping up one after the other:  

"WHAT?! 😳" 

"OOOOOHHHHHH" 

"Pics or it didn’t happen!"

You barely had time to cringe at their excitement before Pedro shifted beside you, leaning just enough to catch a glimpse of your screen.  

“Group chat drama?” he teased, his voice low and amused.  

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly locked your phone, clutching it tightly in your lap. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, staring determinedly out the window.  

Pedro chuckled softly, clearly unconvinced but kind enough not to press. “Sure, nothing.”  

You said nothing in return, choosing instead to focus on the passing streetlights outside. They blurred together, golden streaks in the night, as the van glided smoothly through the London streets. The gentle hum of the engine and the occasional burst of laughter from the group provided a soundtrack to your inner turmoil.  

Every nerve in your body was acutely aware of Pedro’s presence beside you—the way his shoulder occasionally bumped yours when the van turned, the warmth radiating from him despite the evening chill. You wanted to relax, to laugh along with everyone else, but the overwhelming awareness of where you were and who you were with kept your pulse racing.  

“You okay over there?” Pedro asked softly, his tone laced with concern now, his earlier teasing gone.  

You glanced at him, startled by the question, and saw his brow furrowed slightly, his gaze steady and sincere.  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, offering a small, tight smile.  

Pedro didn’t look convinced, but he let it slide. “You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt out of here any second.”  

That earned a genuine laugh from you, albeit a quiet one. “I’m just... not used to this, I guess.”  

“This?”  

You gestured vaguely to the van, the people around you, and finally, to him. “All of this.”  

Pedro smiled, a slow, disarming smile that softened his whole face. “You’ll get used to it. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure to keep you grounded.”  

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease, if only slightly. The streetlights outside continued to blur, but now, your focus lingered on the quiet presence beside you—the warmth, the humor, and the unspoken reassurance he offered without even trying.  

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The hotel restaurant buzzed softly with the hum of conversations and the faint clinking of cutlery against plates. The warm, golden light illuminated the room, casting everything in an inviting glow. You had planned to make a quiet escape after dropping your bag off in your room, hoping to have a solitary dinner away from the star-studded company you had spent the day with. But Pedro had other plans.  

You’d barely made it three steps toward the elevators when you felt a familiar warmth against the small of your back. “Not so fast,” Pedro murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned just slightly into your ear.  

“Pedro, I—” you began, only to be met with his wide, unapologetic grin.  

“Come on, you can’t bail on us now. We’re starving, and it wouldn’t be the same without you,” he said, his hand gently guiding you toward the restaurant where the others were already gathering.  

You hesitated, but the sincerity in his voice, paired with the warmth of his touch, left you little room to argue. “Fine,” you sighed, though the butterflies in your stomach betrayed how little resistance you’d actually put up.  

The long wooden table in the center of the restaurant was filled with chatter and laughter by the time you arrived. Joseph and Ebon were in the middle of some animated story, Vanessa leaned in with a knowing smirk, and Coco was shaking her head with an exasperated smile. When Pedro led you to an empty seat beside him, all eyes turned toward you.  

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Vanessa said, her tone teasing but not unkind.  

“Had to drag her here,” Pedro chimed in, his grin making the table erupt in laughter.  

You sank into the seat, cheeks burning. “I wasn’t trying to escape,” you lied unconvincingly.  

“Sure, sure,” Joseph teased, winking at you from across the table. “Pedro’s got a sixth sense for these things, doesn’t he?”  

“Like a bloodhound,” Ebon added, making everyone laugh again.  

Despite your initial nerves, the warmth of the group quickly put you at ease. The conversation flowed effortlessly, ranging from behind-the-scenes mishaps to favorite restaurants in London. At one point, Vanessa and Coco started playfully debating whether Pedro’s hair looked better tousled or slicked back for the shoot, dragging you into the conversation.  

“Well?” Vanessa asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What do you think?”  

You nearly choked on your water. “Oh, I, um...” You glanced at Pedro, who was leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your discomfort.  

“Go on,” he prompted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can take it.”  

Finally, you sighed, trying to suppress your smile. “Tousled,” you admitted, earning a triumphant cheer from Vanessa and Coco.  

Pedro mock-gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Betrayed! By my own roommate, no less.”  

“Hey, she’s got taste,” Joseph said, raising his glass in a toast to you.  

The playful banter continued, and by the time the entrees arrived, you were fully immersed in the group’s easy camaraderie. Pedro made sure to refill your glass whenever it was low and nudged the breadbasket toward you without a word when he noticed you eyeing it.  

At one point, you caught him watching you as you laughed at something Joseph said. His expression was soft, fond, like he was memorizing the way you looked in that moment. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped, focusing instead on the warmth of the room and the laughter surrounding you.  

When the desserts arrived—indulgent, towering plates of tiramisu and molten chocolate cake—you couldn’t help but sigh contentedly. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “This was better than eating alone.”  

Pedro’s grin was slow and knowing. “Told you so.”  

The night stretched on, and by the time the group began to disperse, your cheeks ached from smiling so much. As you stood to leave, Pedro fell into step beside you, his hand once again finding the small of your back.  

“See? Not so bad being part of the group, is it?” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.  

You glanced up at him, your heart fluttering at the closeness. “No,” you admitted with a shy smile. “Not bad at all.”  

After dinner, the group, full from good food and endless laughter, made their way to the elevator. One by one, everyone headed off to their respective floors, each exit marked with cheerful goodnights and playful teasing.

“You two behave!” Vanessa teased as she stepped off on her floor, her smirk lingering even as the doors slid shut behind her.

The elevator continued its ascent, and soon enough, it was just you and Pedro left. The quiet settled between you, comfortable but charged, the kind that made you hyperaware of every breath, every shift.

“Guess it’s just us,” Pedro said, his voice warm, his eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint.

“Guess so,” you replied softly, clutching the strap of your bag tighter.

When the elevator dinged on your floor, Pedro followed you out. It wasn’t unusual at this point—you were, after all, sharing a room—but somehow, tonight, the knowledge made your chest tighten. You fumbled for your keycard as you both walked down the hallway, your steps in sync.

“Still weird sharing a room with me?” Pedro asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

You shot him a look, trying to hide your flustered state. “Not weird,” you said, unlocking the door. “Just... different.”

He grinned as you pushed the door open, stepping aside to let him in first. “Different how?”

“Different as in, I don’t usually share my personal space with someone famous,” you quipped, hoping to steer the conversation away from the real answer—how utterly nerve-wracking it was to be so close to him.

Pedro chuckled, tossing his jacket onto the back of the chair in the common area. “Relax, I’m not that famous,” he teased, kicking off his shoes as he settled onto the couch with the ease of someone used to this.

You scoffed, setting your bag down on the small dining table near the kitchenette. “Says the guy whose face is plastered all over my TikTok For You page.”

He paused mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Oh, really? Your For You page?”

You groaned, regretting saying anything. “Don’t get a big head about it,” you muttered, trying to sound casual as you rifled through your bag for your phone charger.

“Oh, this is rich,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “What kind of edits are we talking about? Romantic montages? Thirst traps? Tell me everything.”

You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not feeding your ego, Pedro.”

But he was already grinning like a kid at Christmas. “You definitely watch them,” he teased. “Don’t lie—I can see it all over your face.”

You tried to glare, but the warmth in his tone made it impossible. “I’m not talking about this,” you said firmly, grabbing your charger and heading toward your room in the suite.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he called after you. “But I know.”

Shaking your head, you plugged in your phone on the nightstand. The suite was nice—two separate bedrooms connected by the shared living space. But even with the privacy of your room, the knowledge that Pedro was just a few steps away left you feeling... unsettled in the best way.

When you reentered the common area, Pedro was stretched out on the couch, flipping idly through TV channels. He glanced up when you walked in, his grin softening into something warmer.

“Just Pedro,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s that?”

You hesitated, sitting down on the armchair across from him. “It’s just... you say it like it’s supposed to make things easier. Like, ‘I’m just Pedro.’ But it doesn’t. It makes things harder.”

Pedro sat up then, his attention fully on you. “Harder how?”

Your hands twisted in your lap, nervous but too deep in it now to stop. “Because it makes it harder to pretend this isn’t a big deal. Sharing a space like this with you.”

The room fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater. Pedro’s expression softened, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Good,” he said simply, his voice warm and steady. “Because I don’t want you to pretend.”

You blinked, your heart racing at his words. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I like this,” he replied, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I like having you here. Even if it’s... different.”

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out. The way he looked at you—steady, unguarded—made your chest ache.

“Me too,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

Pedro leaned back with a satisfied grin, the tension easing as he grabbed the remote again. “Well, since we’re both stuck here, how about a movie before bed?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Fine. But nothing loud or action-packed. I need calm.”

“Deal,” he said, smirking as he flipped through the channels. “But if I fall asleep halfway through, it’s your fault.”

And just like that, the weight in the room lifted, replaced by something quieter, something softer. The shared space between you felt a little less daunting, a little more like something you could both hold onto—whatever this was, whatever it could be.

End Notes:

Ya'll apparently like this fic! Thank you so much for the support huhu T^T

I’d like to give a shout out to google and reddit for aiding me in my research for this fic LMAO

I know little to nothing when it comes to production. I know the basic stuff cause of my course. (We had a class on how to plan events and stuff. I figured it’s somewhat similar.)

I’m having a blast coming up with possible scenarios with these two, the possibilities rn seem endless.

Based on research and testimonies from people who have worked with Pedro, they all mention how down-to-earth he is and how he cares for everyone on set and tries his best to know the crew. What a sweetheart 🥹🤍

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03

[muntitled]

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝-𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐬 | 𝐌.𝐑.

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x afab!Reader

Summary: Pansy voices her concern for your relationship. Mattheo couldn't care less.

Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Trust Issues, Jealousy, Toxicity, Ravenclaw!Reader, Male Manipulation, Gaslighting, Manhandling, Marking, Smut +18 (mdni), Hard Dom!Matt, Sub!Reader, Fingering, PiV, Degradation Kink, Impact Play, Forced Breeding, Spit Play, DUB/CON, Grinding, Forced Orgasm, Rough Sex, Humiliation Kink, Slight CNC, Extreme Humiliation,

3.5k words

Pansy hadnt even set foot in your dorm room for less than 60 seconds before she's already sighing up a tempest.

"How utterly unbecoming." Pansy mutters and you roll your eyes.

It's not her fault. She's always like this. It's inscribed in her genetic make up to complain.

Everything in the entire universe could be perfectly placed and Pansy would simply have to find something wrong. From the moment you invited her into your dorm room, you knew she'd find something amiss. No amount of cleaning spells could hide under her scrutiny.

"Since when does your room smell like cigarettes and firewhiskey?" You curse under your breath, squinting your eyes shut as you push the soor shut and shrug off your cloak.

"Was he in your room again?" She asks, lowering herself onto your bed with a certain amount of caution that should have offended you. It's not that you hated Pansy - you just didn't fancy her, nor her opinions about your relationship at the best of times. To Pansy, the possibility of you even being in a relationship, with an actual boy who displayed interest in you, had been remarkably out of left field.

"You mean Mattheo?" You ask, dropping your textbook on the bed as you unconvered your wand, "He's my boyfriend, Pan, it comes with the territory," You flick your wand, casting Multicorfors while Pansy readied her study equipment.

As Pansy's complaints expand and morph, so do your clothes. The tight, constricting uniform you donned for the majority of the school day whizzes into your lounge wear. A sweater- Ravenclaw blue and black shorts. The summer sun is very oppressive and incredibly unforgiving. 

Nothing but warm, uncomfortable air drifts over your legs.

"He's changed you, you know?" Pansy says very solenmenly, staring at you with those raven eyes as you lower yourself onto the bed.

"Can we study, please? They don't call these the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test for no reason."

"You used to be quieter," Pansy continues.

Not quieter, just less confident, but you don't bother to tell her this. She had been comfortable with you playing your role as the shy little Ravenclaw she adopted out of pity. You went unnoticed for the longest time. Burying your feelings of anonymity under the guise of academic drive.

He saw you.

He liberated you.

"Can we study?" You've resorted to pleading, letting your fingers rake into your scalp, pushing your braids back as you hoped to do with the oncoming migraine.

She can barely keep her dark eyes stationed to one spot, turning her disapproval to her surroundings. Prefects were reserved single rooms and for that, you were grateful.

You and Pansy had chosen to alternate locations for every study session. For DADA, you were forced to recount spells on the cold floor of of the Slytherin dungeon. That was tough- having to pretend to focus on your work while you could hear his voice amongst his friends, loud and boisterous.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) you were both studying in your dorm room today- a dire mistake because nearly everything in your room reminded you of Mattheo. 

Your biggest reminder of his presence, however, being the marks riddled along your sternum, neck and chest. All the little gifts he left you, hidden away under the thickness of a Ravenclaw sweater.

Pansy feigned hyperbolic horror as she scans your room- probably imagining all the atrocities that might've happened on this bed. No matter how much you informed her, everything was clean, you know it was no use.

"We should've just studied in my room,"

"And have me at risk of catching whatever diseases lay in the Malfoy bloodline?" You snorted at your own reply, gloriously pleased as you began to idly stroking the bit of raw skin concealed under your knitted turtleneck.

"I hope you know, I'm not on board with your relationship-"

"Can we refrain from talking about Riddle?"

"This isn't even dating anymore. Mattheo is fucking consuming you," There is a blaze of vexation in her tone that has you fighting the urge to look up from your notes, "He's fucking everywhere, [☆], I can barely breathe-" The marks left along your neck scratch into the hellish, knitted fabric, and Pansy's whining seems to make it worse. "Not to mention, your questionable taste in men. I mean, Mattheo? Really? He's a certified delinquent and you're far too nice for him-"

The air is hotter.

The sweater is warmer.

There'sa reasom you're wearing it but you're soon starting to forget.

Failing to keep up with Pansy, and her incessant nagging as well as the knitted nightmare around you're throat.

Without much thought- not any thought at all- your fingers hook into the collar of your sweater, before you began to pull it up. Slowly the fabric inches away, making your warm skin accessible to the dorm room's constant shade of cool, and relief immediately floods through your system.

You didn't show much. Only a sliver of the skin around your chest but that was enough.

This relief is promptly disturbed by Pansy's rough and torrid gasp, which has you comically pulling your sweater back into place at the speed of life.

"What in the bloody hell is all that?!" Her cries fight to reach the ceiling in your room. You wince, disappointed but not regretting being momentarily freed from the sweater,

"Nothing,"

"Don't you dare lie to me," she says, pushing her books away, and leaning towards you with wide eyes. You frown at the worry you see swimming in her irisies - thinking that this is precisely what you were trying to avoid. Her worry and her knack for jumping to conclusions.

Your nose is buried in your notes as you lay back and say, "Don't look so worried,"

"Don't tell me not to look worried, I'll bloody hell look how I want to look- as worried as I want to look, thank you very much!"

"Shh!"

"Merlin's beard! What the actual fuck is Mattheo attempting to accomplish there?" She attempts to pull at the sweater, attempting to get another glimpse at the bruises but you pull away until your back rests directly agaisnt your headboard. "Is he a fucking vampire because he sure as shit leeches like one!?"

"They're just lovebites," you attempt to say with a small shrug, but Pansy is even more disturbed.

"Those aren't just love bites, they're fucking bruises,"

You hated her tone. You despised it. It made you feel ostracized, and bad, and pitiful.

There is no reality in which you could possibly tell Pansy that these marks were a product of your desires, not the villainous being she painted Mattheo out to be. As if you were suffering by his hands.

Was it so difficult to imagine that, perhaps you asked him to handle you a little rougher?

That, Mattheo had initially been nothing but meticulous when it came to preserving what he thought was your unmistakable innocence and fragility.

You rememebr the softness of his hands when he took your virginity. How he hovered above you, nestled between your legs. He was clenching his jaw as he eased himself inside you at snail pace.

"I don’t have anywhere to be, take your time," you had jested with a lazy smile while, Riddle's jaw had ticked.

"Carry on with your little jokes and I might not be so forgiving," There was only a sliver of truth in his voice Mattheo thought he might force himself deeper just because his patience was waning. He needed to go quicker, he needed to be rougher. This gentleness was going against everything in his very nature. His body burned for him to make a mess inside you, clamp his hand over your mouth and fuck you into the mattress until you begged him to stop... until you would have the marks to prove it.

But he liked you.

And he had never felt this way before.

And he would never let his recklessness steal this away from him

You felt him twicth inside you, and you peered up at his brown eyes now squeezed shut.

"What were you thinking about just now?" you asked softly, as Mattheo begun a slowly rhythm with his hips- barely grazing that pool of need inside you.

"Don't worry about what I'm thinking about," He blew out a hot and heavy breath, "what the fuck are you think about? You're cunt is gripping my cock like a vice- you fucking slut," He did not mean to say that.

Or maybe he did.

The words rush out through clenched teeth, your thighs framing him only locked tighter around his hips as you stared up at the shadow over his darkened eyes.

This is what you wanted. This is what made you fall in love with him in the first place.

His warning glare alone kicked your arousal up by alot and soon, your soft hips were lifting in tandem with his strokes, "you like that?" He asked hoarsely.

For the first time that evening, you were utterly speechless. Mattheo watched with shallow breath as your pupils dilated and his cock twitched with the knowledge that you were slipping into subspace right in front of him. He experimentally brought a calloused hand around the base of your throat, testing, "you like it when I call you my little slut?"

"Mattheo,"

"That's not an answer,"

"Yes- FUCK!" That evening, Mattheo had the sole mission of discovering what else it is you enjoyed, marveling at how much your sexual preferences ran parallel to each other: you, ever the obedient sub with an affinity for being degraded and praised at tje same time and him, ever the sadist, with his prolonged orgasms ans his slapping and his spitting and his name calling.

Just thinking about it was sending you into servitude complete frenzy, right here on the bed in your dorm room.

Bloody hell, you were getting turned on by the very memory of him.

Your ripped back into the present when your door flies open. "Don't tell me if can't be here, alright, it's your fault for giving me the passw-" Mattheo stills at the sight of Pansy. Your eyes widen.

Horrified.

"There the fuck you are!" Pansy exclaims, "You fucking insolent piece of-"

"Pansy," Mattheo says. That crooked smirk of his cracking his face as he pushes the door shut by leaning back, "Never a pleasure seeing you." Leaving the bristling girl, he turns to you, brown curls dripping with sweat he says, "Princess, always a pleasure,"

Mattheo sends you a lecherous little wink, but your gaze is on the parchment on your lap.

You had messed up.

You'd let a stranger in on the most intimate parts of your relationship and you're not sure how Mattheo might handle it. His brows furrow in confusion.

"What the bloody hell have you put in her head now?" He asks Pansy with a slight frown.

"Why does she have marks on herself?" She grumbles like a dark cloud.

His brows are furrowed for the most part. Arms crossed over his Slytherin sweater as he tilts his head.

"Oh!" He strides across the floor and you shiver when stands beside you, pulling down the collar of your sweater before asking, "These marks?"

You pull away from him, but he pulls you right back. As he leans agasint the wood of your four poster bed, he drapes his arm around you like a scarf.

Watching Pansy as he says, "Don't hide it, baby show it off,"

"Mattheo," you warn.

"I think Pansy should see herself out," you hear him say. And she huffs and puffs.

The summer heat is eating you alive, biting at chunks of your sanity, rendering you completely unable to engage in an argument. Your tired eyes have been stagnant on the quilt draped on your bed since the two started arguing.

You're spent.

"This isn't even studying." You hear yourself say, "We'll continue tomorrow," you stand abruptly as you scramble to get all of Pansy's things. This has gone on for far too long.

Far too long.

She watches you assemble her belongings with wide eyes and an open mouth while an incredulous smirk plays along Riddle's lips.

"No way-"

You're already pushing her towards the door.

"I'll see you in DADA tomorrow"

"No fucking way-"

"Pansy, for fuck's sake, everything we've done has been consensual. I love you. So so much, but please get the fuck out so I can think straight!" 

She is stunned into silence as you wordlessly open your front door.

She nods woodenly, and behind you, Mattheo chortles.

You turn your head, "You're on thin fucking ice, Riddle." you snap at him and his mouth snaps shut as he rights his posture.

Pansy sighs after reassuring you that she'll see you tomorrow and you sigh in turn.

"I liked that tone." Riddle says, already shedding his sweater as he throws himself on your bed. "You should use it more often-" You push the door shut as he lays supine on your bed, taking up too much space.

Pansy was right.

He is everywhere.

And his attitude is far too lax.

You're seething.

"Shut the fuck up," you mumble before walking across the wooden floor with purpose. He props himself up by his elbows.

"I'm not the one to be mad at here-"

"Shut. Up." You repeat before crawling onto his lap until your legs were straddling his hips.

"Who're you talking to like tha-" before Mattheo could even get a word in, your lips are crashing onto his. It's not a sweet or polite a kiss like he usually expects from you. 

This kiss is loud, it's hungry and violent.

His nails dig into your braids. His bottom lips are pulled in between your teeth and your body is trembling on top of his. You couldn't tell him that you found his behaviour today both hot and completely inappropriate. 

You're trying to push your tongue into his mouth. His teeth clamp shut but you nip at his bottom lip, causing him to let out a low groan. Your tongue slithers into his mouth.

You're trying to overpower him and Mattheo puts a stop to that real quick.

He's breathing against your lips.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" He asks in that tone that was equally beautiful and so scary to you, "you think just 'cus you shouted at your little friend, you thought you could do the same to me?"

The tables are turning, and just as quickly,  Mattheo's hand cups the base of your neck. He squeezes right before pulling your neck closer, until your ear is pressed against his lips. "I'm not Pansy, yeah?" He says. And you're not even able to get a word out before he's forcing his forefingers into your mouth until you're gagging all over them. "You get to pull that shit out there. Not in here," 

When he pulls his fingers out, they're absolutely coated in your saliva. He wastes no time in pushing that same hand down your shorts and into your lace panties.

"Who'd you wear these for? D'you wear them for Pansy, you fucking slut-"

"Oh my god, Matt-" your knees cramp as your hips snap against Mattheo's hand rubbing fast circles on your clit. He stares up at you like a God, your knees digging into the bed underneath you both.

He knew he had you and Mattheo cackled as you writhed on his lap like a wild animal. He keeps you tame with a firm hold around your throat.

"Matt, p-please-"

You're not sure what you're asking for. Maybe a slower speed so you could enjoy yourself properly? Anything but those menacing eyes of his looking up at you with dark hunger.

"Who's whore are you, you haven't answered-"

"F-Fuck I'm gonna cum-" 

"Without asking?" He tsks the very moment stars explode in your vision and you're humping his hand like a dog in heat. There was no way you could've ever put off this orgasm and Mattheo knew that. He's rubbing so furiously as if he was fighting to get a point across.

"Fuck-" Mattheo curses under his breath before pulling his hand out of your shorts. 

You're a trembling mess. He kisses you far harder than you had kissed him. Like he wants to make a point. 

"Take these off- I need'a see those beautiful marks baby," despite his words, it's Mattheo who helps you out of your woollen sweater. The string of cultural beads hanging from your waist come into view. At the sight of all his bruises, far too many to count, covering your entire collar bone, Mattheo's hand flies to his dick. 

He pulls you in by the neck for another messy kiss before lifting you off his lap. His lips trail from your cheeks and down to your collarbone where his teeth extend. He bites hungrily into the marks, savoring your loud whining as pushes down your shorts. 

"I'm gonna cum inside you." A gasp leaves your throat and your eyes widen. You look down at Mattheo, his eyes showing just how far gone he is.

"But I didnt- we never-"

"Shh," he whispers before guiding the palm of his hand to your warm cheeks. He caresses the skin, making your eyes go hazy and your limbs jello. He lifts his hips, pushing down his sweatpants. Your chest tightens as he pulls his cock out. As if on autopilot you move to take your own shorts and underwear off before straddling him once more.

"You wanna be good for me, yeah? You wanna be my whore, don't you?"

"Matt-"

It's all you're able to say but from the desperation in your eyes, he knows.

"I knew you'd be a good girl for me," he says before bringing your soaking cunt down on cock. It was very similar to the last time. You could tell this was Matt's favourite position. To have you naked on top of him. Curves and all.

"You're so hot- fuck-" you hear him mumble below. He stutters his hips upwards, prompting you to grind down against him.

"The humping is hot as shit-" he groans, "But I'm gonna cum inside you Princess-" He pats down at your hair, his fingers dragging through your braids as you mewl into the warm air.

His other hand slides down your chest, fingers gliding down your waist beads until he is rubbing his palm against your ass.

"You're trembling," he says.

"M'sorry" you apologise without even knowing why. It's then that Mattheo knows he has you in subspace. That mental space where you were particularly pliant. So incredibly malleable. His cock twitches.

"I'm already leaking precum, fuck-" you shudder against him, cunt clenching around nothing as you grind against him, loving the way he got particularly reckless with his mouth whenever he was far too horny. You could feel the arousal leak out of you.

"Pl-Please fuck me," Your hand searches the bedsheets for his, "I need it- need you, please,"

"Fuck," he mumbles before lining his cock up at your slit. He lifts your torso enough to cup his hand around your breasts. Time stands still when he eases it in. He doesn't know where to look. Your face, contoreted in pleasue and pain. Or his cock disappearing into your soaked cunt.

"Fuck, I'll never tire of that." He groans. "I'll never tire of you." furiously. His hips snaps upwards, sinking his cock in.

He sets a jittery and stilted pace. As if he was doing it all for the sole purpose of fucking his cum into you. "My pretty girl," he mumbles as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper into your soaked slit, "My pretty princess," he says, "All fucking mine-"

"I'm cumming-" it sneaks up on you.

You're only aware of it when your hands scrape against his bare chest. Your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your back arches.

The words barely leave your mouth before your brain goes absolutely dumb.

"You that sensitive?" He teases in between sound winded and breathless. "Are you that much of a slut? Cumming the second there's a cock inside you-"

"M-Matt, fuck," you try to ride him, but your body's euphoric spasms are too violent, too viscious.

"Oh my God," He'd never had sex like this. He'd never felt anyone like this. He lifts himself until you're both sitting chest to chest. Matt curses as he wraps your legs around his waist, grinding you further against his cock.

"I'm gonna fucking breed you." He promises. Watching you dead in the eyes.

You've both lost all rhythm.

By now it's staggeringly apparent that he's using your body to search for his own orgasm.

He grinds his hips against yours. "Gonna breed you-" He says, splaying wet kisses along your chest. "Gonna let everyone know who you belong to- fuck-"

His resolve snaps and his movements become sloppy. "These tits-" His muscles tense as he spurts all his cum inside you. Seconds feel like hours in the haziness of this rough and raw sex. His hands are everywhere, praising every inch of your skin as his cock stays buried inside you. His teeth sink into he skin at your neck and you moan as your cunt constricts his cock. Mattheo has you wrapped in his trembling arms. Mouth agape and eyes hazy.

He pulls apart a little to look down, between your conjoined bodies as he eases his cock out with clenched teeth.

You shiver when his fingers replace his cock. With his middle and index, he forces the cum back inside.

"I-I really need to learn a contraception spell," he whistles lowly.

"And I really need to study." You sigh.

[littlebatgames]

The voices of Vampire Therapist

Hi Tumblr! I'm Cyrus Nemati, creative director at Little Bat Games, where we're making Vampire Therapist. You might know me as a voice actor. I voiced Theseus, Dionysus, and Ares in Hades, so as you might imagine, voices are my thing.

When I started designing Vampire Therapist, I wanted to create characters not only had deep narrative depth, but that would be challenging and rewarding to voice. I voice protagonist Sam Walls and his mentor, Andromachos. Writing a game about therapy is really tricky, so being able to jump in revoice lines was a huge benefit for the game!

I also voice two of the therapy clients in the game, Dr. Drayne and Edmund Kean. Dr. Drayne is the kind of challenge any actor delights in, having three very distinct characterizations that have to seem natural, whereas Edmund Kean is the Shakespearean actor of his time.

As much as I'd like to save money, I couldn't voice all characters in the game, but I'm very picky about voices and needed a cast of the absolute best I could find. So I got them.

If you've played Hades 2, you've heard Sarah Grayson or Selene. Or maybe you know her from Gone Home or Tacoma? But I needed her ability to alternate between the very light and the very dark for murderous vampire content creator Meddy.

To play Isabella d'Este, a real historical figure and esteemed patron of the arts during the Renaissance, I needed someone with a sense of the theatrical and some excellent comic timing. For that, I turned to a very old friend, Kylie Clark, who comes much more from the theatre tradition that video games... which she doesn't play at all. Until Vampire Therapist!

For our fabulous goth bartender, Crimson, I needed the epitome of cool, sexy, and tantalizingly mysterious. You might know Francesca Meaux as Eurydice from Hades, but she went to some unexpected places to play Crimson!

I did say I wanted the best of the best, right? Vampire Therapist is a super low-budget indie, but if I'm going to fill a club with quirky, sexy goths, I need range, and for that, I got Matthew Mercer. Yeah, that Matthew Mercer. The Critical Role one. The one from Baldur's Gate 3. The one from all your favorite video games. How could I do less? He's playing Reinhard the sexy goth and Ciaran the goth priest in Vampire Therapist.

You can see the work we've put into every aspect of Vampire Therapist. I think you're going to find that it's unlike any game you've ever played.

It'll be out on July 18th, and you can wishlist it on Steam now!

And on GOG!

[boofeine]

kinky things that make seventeen members more aroused during sex

WARNINGS: mdni, smut headcanons, afab reader, cum play, breeding kink, bondage, restraining, overstimulation, role play, edging, pain kink, orgasm dinal, spanking, choking

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @kooqitas @unlikelysublimekryptonite

seungcheol – cum play and breeding; it has to be raw sex... there's nothing seungcheol loves more than feel your walls pulsating around his cock. the way he can see his hot cum spurr on your ass cheek or on your breast, belly, neck, anywhere really. sometimes, when he feels a little risky, he can't help but ask to cum inside you, the way your cums mixed comes out of your clenching hole when he finally pulls out, he's done but he's ready to get hard again.

jeonghan – having to keep quiet; it's all about the teasing, he loves seeing you suffer to keep it down when it feels so good. your lips caged in your teeth as small whines treats to come out, "is it too much, babe?", he would tease with a devilish smirk, testing all your limits by restraining your high until you can't take it anymore. when you're finally coming undone, he loves to press his palm over your mouth or demand you to bite him to not moan too loud.

joshua – multiple orgasm; like... HEAR ME OUT!! he likes to take his time with you, he's so gentle, with no rush at all. sometimes, it's not even on purpose, but he's edging you so much, that when it finally comes, you cum and cum and cum again. his stamina is crazy and he won't stop until he's satisfied. you squirm and sweat under his workship, "are you tired? i haven't even started with you yet, lay down again for me".

junhui – role play; see, he just gives me those vibes. he'd feel embarrassed at first, but once you fully clock him in, he'd be obsessed. specially, scenarios where you're doming him, he fucking lose his mind... use him, step on him, anything, he's rock hard under your actions. as he grows used to it, he even asks you to get costumized for it, getting really in character, he loves sexy costumes and lacy fantasies.

soonyoung – pain kink; is it new for anyone? hoshi, himself, said he works better under pressure. he loves the spanking and the degradation, he squirms and growls because of you, but it also makes him want to do a better job... if not to make you fully satisfied, he's not doing anything. i see hoshi enjoying face slapping, rough gripping like grabbing his cheeks and jaw while he's on his knees for you, thumb slowly making its way inside his mouth as you laugh at how pathetic he looks for you.

wonwoo – edging; sometimes he's in his mean mode, he normally is sweet and passionate during sex but breaking a sweat to make you beg him to let you cum is one of his favorites. the way you wrap your legs around his hips, rolling yours as you bumble breathy words in between "please", he never cums harder, pinning you down on the mattress to stop you from running, his core pressing over your clit as wonwoo alternates in rough thrusts and slow ones. it makes you almost cry for his mercy.

jihoon – being loud; different from jeonghan, he loves to hear you loud and clear, it bust his ego that he's doing such a good job at delivering pleasure. it could get him off guard at first, too afraid someone would hear, his cheeks flushing, as you scream your moans. but he grows attached to it, it turned into his breaking point every sex, he always pounds harder just to hear you. "is it that good, huh? fuck! let me hear you"

seokmin – overstimulation; especially during oral, he loves the way your legs close on his head when it's too much, how you whine, whimper, and cry out his name. how the grip you have on him always tighten when you say it's too much and that you can't cum anymore. he snugs to your arms, sweetly saying you're a good girl and that he knows you can take it. your pussy swollen and hurt as he whispers "just one more, give it to me" but it's never the last. he loves to treat you well before he gets anything, he gets hard just by pleasing and hearing you.

mingyu – getting tied up; just give this man some handcuffs, put him tied on the bed headboard, i swear he'd cum by just you using him while he's not able to do anything. he likes the frustration, the way he always tries to break free just to touch you as you look at him, tutting and disapproving his not so well behavior. he always cum faster than anything when you use his cock as your fuck toy on your cunt.

minghao – blindfold; he enjoys doing it on you, you always get more out of breath and sensitive when he gets you blindfold. the thrill of it making goosebumps form easily, anticipating every move he might do next. he's obsessed at seeing you so vulnerable, you look nothing but innocent those times. your low moans and whines, he swears you're heaven sent, bumping his length as he touches your body, watching you react shakily, watching you gets him wetter.

seungkwan – rage sex and spanking; not a surprise either... he almost never fights with you, but if there's a good outcome to those fights, it is how frustrated you both get and pull out during the makeup deed. it goes both ways, he likes both, you doming him or him doming you, either way is intense. the choking, the slapping, the way the words turn just a bit bratty and aggressive. he manhandles you like you're born to be his little light doll, changing positions and throwing you around on the bed sheets.

vernon – bringing more people to the game; yes, he's into it. he's up for the threesome always, more than three people, he'd ponder, though. he likes every different aspect of it, just sitting back and watching, or being watched, or mixing positions. it adds to the sex and he's up to it. he's not a jealous guy but normally sets to making the things to you and just receiving for the third person, maybe that's what also arouses him so much, he doesn't gotta do much to cum.

chan – orgasm denial; more precise, being the one receiving it. he enjoys the feeling of his red sensative cockhead burning and dripping pre cum every time you stop him from cumming. the way it hurts just a bit and enough to make him roll his eyes when he finally cums. he won't cum until you say he can and that alone, that hold of power you have on him, makes him tight on his ball. but he's good, he's so well-behaved, you must treat him well.

[vacz]

I present to you my idea of a alternative bad ending for Wirt...

THE HUNTER

Instead of Beast!Wirt is Woodsman!wirt

After accepting the deal with the Beast, Wirt became the new lantern barer in hopes to keep Greg alive. He took the job to cut down the ellewoods and make them oil to feed the lantern so Greg's soul would never turn off, exactly what the woodsman used to do with his daughter. But as different from the woodsman, Wirt does know where the ellewoods truly came from, so the Beast has decided to take advantage of it and included him a little bit more into his chase for new victims. Now having Wirt helping the Beast to guide lost souls to the wrong path, it has become so much easier for the Beast to trap new souls

Wirt's role was this for a time: Becoming the new woodsman and finding lost kids to give them wrong directions or ideas. Despise how much he refused in the beginning, soon the Beast made him understand that this was the price for his mistakes, unless he wanted to Greg pay the price instead...

Until one night, Wirt had to confront a travel soul. A boy like him, wanting to save his little brother from the cruel breaches of the tree growing on his helpless body, and finally leave the woods with him, like Wirt himself once did. However, the Beast pressured and demanded him to take action himself, but unlike the old woodsman, Wirt did cut the boy down.

And since that incident, Wirt now has a new task to commit every time a new soul enters into the unknown.

He could barely sleep at night before, now he can't sleep at all. Wirt has stopped taking care of himself, at least he washes his hair and clothes once in a time but time itself seems so uselessly long for him until the point that things don't seem to matter anymore, nothing matters for Wirt, not even himself and his feelings... except keeping the lantern lit

The Beast knows better than anyone that Wirt's mind has become so weak until the point that he can't even survive by himself. He had succeeded in destroying this boy whole identity, only leaving a white paper to work on, so now he tries mold Wirt according his own twisted needs. Ironically, thanks to the Beast's influence, Wirt remembers the reason why he has to keep going with this but also he slowly starts to see people in a similar way that the beast's twisted perception does; trees to feed the lantern, not ready to burn yet but they must be prepared.

It's not surprising how much he has given up to the Beast. But unlike him, Wirt doesn't like to "play" or manipulate their victims, because he doesn't want to know them at all. Wirt already knows how these people will end, and he doesn't want to feel worse than he feels now, so he mostly tries to make his interactions shorter or cut them down directly, the quicker the easier it is for him to adopt this 'human dissociation' mentally

Of course, when he chooses violence, people tend to run rather than do what he plead, so he has to chase after them. Running after someone is exhausting for Wirt because he isn't that athletic in that aspect, and it's frustrating when he can't reach them. There are times when they manage to escape and some others that they don't

Wirt hates running after them, because it makes the situation more torturous and he gets exhausted. But if they don't start running, he is the one who tells them to do so. He doesn't understand very well why he does this but he likes to think that is a way to give them a chance to escape so he doesn't have to be the one to end with them, after all Wirt wants to believe that he is not evil

And yet, at the same time Wirt finds some kind of satisfaction on it... He is scared of what he is becoming.

Of course, he has this little duality inside his brain. The Beast has done a good job to keep Wirt in his role but still that doesn't make Wirt's guilt disappear at all

At least, his guilt has been manifested into a voice, represented by the rock fact. Even if the rock fact was meant for Greg to make silly but un-true facts, Wirt's interpretation of his own rock facts are the cruelest truths he refuses to believe. The rock fact represents that honest and logical part of him that is still there, under the tone of the self hate Wirt has grown on himself.

Of course, when he is around people for a longer period than he feels he should, Wirt stops trying to act normal and let himself to act a little... dramatic, in hopes to scare them or "prepare" himself mentally to go and chase them down with the axe

For this, he likes to use the rock fact. He always keeps it in his hair and uses it to try to re-create a rock fact like the ones Greg used to make, but instead of charming or adorable he looks insane, and he already knows that. Of course, he tries to re-create them seriously when he is alone but still fails miserably

Wirt does this in a poor intent to feel in touch with Greg, even tho they usually talk a lot with each other

Jason Funderberker has been gone for a long time by now, so the Beast is the only company Wirt has left, but most of the time he is alone.

He doesn't devout that his brother is there anymore, after all, Now Wirt can hear Greg's voice coming out of the lantern so what would be a better proof than that?. Greg is the only person left who seems to not hate him or is scared of him, the little ray of sunshine in his poor cruel life. If you tell him otherwise, Wirt won't want to believe you, even if deep down somehow, someway no matter how delusional he may be... He knows is true

Of course, I wouldn't recommend saying this because after having a nervous breakdown he will absolutely go after you with all pure rage.

Now here are some questions and its explanations:

Where does this idea come from?

Where does the name "The Hunter' come from?

What's Wirt and The Beast's relationship?

Wirt, The Woodsman, The Hunter and The Beast

Where does this idea come from?

It's no surprise that it comes from the idea of a bad ending for Wirt, one that is more fitting with the logic of the series. Because let's be real;

If he accepted the deal he wouldn't turn into the new beast because The Beast's motivation was to survive, he doesn't seem to want a replacement or transpass the role to anyone. In that case he would have already done it with The Woodsman.

The unknown was completely fine with the Beast gone so is not that he is THAT important for the forest to need a replacement.

Also, remember this little scene? it's from chapter 1: The Old Grist Mill. When Wirt and Greg just entered the unknown and suddenly heard the Woodsman cutting wood, before talking to him, Wirt said:

"Do you think it's some kind of deranged lunatic with an axe waiting out there in the darkness for innocent victims?"

So I thought; What if in the bad ending... He became that deranged lunatic?

Where does the name "The Hunter" come from"?

In the concept:

Since there are times when Wirt's victims escape, those who survived spread the word of a maniac who is wandering around the woods, looking for new victims, and once he finds them he will chase them until he can cut them down to the bone with his axe

They named him "The Hunter"

Wirt knows about his new reputation, since the travelers call him that once he reveals his real intentions, but he isn't really aware of all the rumors and stories people of the unknown had made about him, he knows that he will not like them but at the same time he is very curious about it. Some of them are true and others are just exaggerating. But at this point, Wirt Hunter had accepted that now he is one of the particular characters of the unknown.

In technical explanation:

In Over The Garden Wall we saw that most of the characters are named by "the what" for example: The Beast and The woodsman, they had no name by their own outside of their archetype. So I thought that in Wirt's case he would have a name like that, losing his own as a representation of how he has lost his own original identity. Wirt is no longer "the worthy one" anymore because he is more lost than the woodsman ever was, and there is no chance to bring him back, so he became "The Hunter" for the unique faction that makes himself distinguish from The Woodsman: The killing

The woodsman is just a man who lives in the woods and cuts trees, it just happens that the Beast used one to keep the lantern on. However.... The Hunter is someone that hunts, the whole point of a hunter is that he chases living beings and strap them, mostly for need. That is something The Beast himself does in his own way, which makes Wirt and The Beast more similar and unionite than the previous dynamic with The Woodsman, or even I dare say they are just alike; The Creature and The Man who hunts for surviving

Also, more into Bad End Friend's territory; Every evil alternate version has their own unique name, for example the icon trio, Bipper and Ice Finn (Also officially named "The Snowman") but then we have just "Beast Wirt" and until now NOBODY has come up with an actual name that fits him. I remember that someone already suggested the name "The Hunter" for Beast Wirt but it didn't make much sense (At least to me). However, in a woodsman context I think it could work better.

What's Wirt and Beast's relationship?

In Wirt's perspective

Basically a case of Stockholm Syndrome: At first he felt more like a prisoner, The Beast was a figure who he should follow if he wants to keep Greg alive, he is more than Wirt and his power overcomes his young self. However as the time passed, Wirt realized that the Beast can also be very merciful and at the same time rightfully ruthless as his monstrous nature allows him, as he has 'shown' him acts of trust. For Wirt, The Beast is a dark but fair being, not as evil as everyone told. The Beast acts similarly like a father would do towards Wirt, but without that human openly caring love. He is strict and cold, but is for Wirt and Greg's own good

In Beast's perspective:

Wirt is nothing but an interesting experiment. The Beast has been manipulating every little detail of Wirt's surroundings, so he decides to obey him by own choice, which worked out way better than expected. He has seen Wirt changing to fit into his needs, becoming more useful and useful than last time. Anytime the Beast has thought he reached the limit, Wirt proves him wrong and finds a way to pass it and go on anyway. His determination is so fascinating to the Beast that he continues to see how far he could go

Their dynamic:

Naive teen being manipulated by his father figure to be useful for his plans or desires (but even more mess up)

Examples of this kind of dynamic are Rapunzel and Mother Gothel from Tangled (2010) or Hunter and Belos from The Owl House (2020)

Wirt has been alone for so long to the point that he holds tightly to anything that could give him a minimum sign of love, and The Beast knows that more than anyone

He has taken advantage of this, so by convincing Wirt to isolate himself and showing barely love, Hunter would listen and obey him without any doubt. It doesn't matter if The Beast is the main responsible for his situation, things have been twisted so much to that point that Wirt fully believes that this is all his fault. He must do the right thing at any cost, after all, he would do anything for the ones he loves right Gregory?

Wirt, The Woodsman, The Hunter and The Beast

These are the four identities Wirt adopts in the time on the unknown, like states of his sanity slowly decaying

Wirt

The anxious teen we all know and love, the guy he has been during his journey until the point where he faced the Beast face to face

The Woodsman

Wirt post-deal

At first:

He doubts that Greg may be in the lantern, and now he regrets his decision. However he doesn't know what to do now because the guilt for Greg will not leave him in peace, and so Wirt feels like he doesn't deserve to go home, he can't go back, no without Greg. So he still lives in the forest, feeding the lantern and hearing the Beast's words, however The Beast insists that Greg is indeed in the lantern, but Wirt isn't sure whether to believe him or not

Even if Wirt knows he needs the ellewood, like the woodsman, he tries to help and warns about the Beast to those who came into the unknown

The Beast warned him about helping people, but he didn't listen to him until one night. There was an incident where he almost lost Greg's light forever for the lack of ellewood. Since then, Wirt finally cooperates with the Beast

At last:

Wirt knows what he must do. He misguides those who pass through the way in forms to get enough ellewood for Greg, always making sure to keep himself distance and not get too close with them. However there are times where he can't NOT sympathize with the travelers and so he offers his genuine help

The Beast wasn't comfortable knowing that Wirt still kept helping people.

The Hunter

Wirt post-murder

At first:

After his first kill, Wirt felt so guilty that he stopped taking care of his health (He stopped eating, bathing, and stuff) and encaged himself inside the house with all the bottles of oil, fearing that he would hurt someone again

At this time Wirt started to hear the voices of Greg, the rock and the crying of the lost souls, and talk to them until he ran out of oil

When he finally went outside, his body was too weak to even walk and he fell on the grass unconsciously. At that moment the Beast thought Wirt died and so he was about to take off the lantern, but the boy's hands wouldn't stop grabbing it with all the fury. The Beast kept trying until suddenly Wirt woke up and said to him that as long as his brother needs him he would be still here. For his stupid unbreakable determination, the beast didn't see any other option but to take care of the kid

As he recovered, The Beast started to convince him of the idea of taking people as nothing but ellewoods he needs. Wirt didn't like it at first, but the Beast's kind act and the poor health state he put himself into finally made him accept the new task.

At last (actual state):

Most of the time he is alone, searching around the forest for more ellewood to feed Greg with, day and night. He doesn't fully sleep, he takes naps in the afternoon so he can be wake up all night as he wants. To eat he hunts animals, fish, rabbits and some other birds or frogs, whatever living being he finds. To entertain himself he recites poetry and sings songs that the Beast has taught him, all loud like someone would listen to him. At home he writes his poems and composes his own music, mostly for clarinet.

At times the voices are louder and other times they are quiet. If it's Greg then it would be a nice time, if it's the rock fact it's a guarantee he would be at least pissed off, and if it is the distant crying of the lost souls then paranoid it is.

When someone crosses his way, it depends on how things are going to see how things will end. When he just indicates the direction you'll better leave as soon as you can, because the longer you stay and talk to him Wirt will act weirder in hopes for you to leave him alone, otherwise, if you cross the line with your words, he probably will run out of patience and starts to prepare the axe

But it also depends on how likeable he finds you. He could not care and warned you before he attacks you as usual, he could hate you so much to the point that he attacks you with no warning, he could like you and give you five seconds of advantage, and if he likes you a little bit more he would become obsessed with you and will maintain you inside his house so the Beast will not know about your existence as long you don't go outside

The Beast

The Beast (According to the Woodsman's words) is the death of all hope. How low would you have to go so you lost your whole humanity to become the living embodiment of one of the darkness concepts in human kind?

If Wirt ever became the Beast, he should have been falling in grace until the lowest point a person could go. So in my idea of The Hunter, I like to imagine that the differences between The Beast and Wirt would slowly fade away until they are one in the same

Inside The Hunter, Wirt has not only become lost in life but he has also lost his identity, his spirit, his desires and his home. The one thing left to lose is his humanity... His soul

The only thing that separates him from The Beast, is him holding on to the last piece of humanity he has left; Greg

Day after day his sanity is drifting away, but it's because of Greg's existence that he is connected with his humanity, because his actions are meant for Greg's surviving, not his

If Wirt descends to absolute madness and forgets completely about Greg but also openly enjoys his cruelest actions, to the Unknown's eyes, he would no longer be worthy of humanity, and as a punishment he would be cursed to be the successor of the Beast

And becoming worse.

Like I have been having this idea in my mind for a while now and I wanted to share it. I hope you liked my idea and the drawings I made because it really took me a lot of time trying to finish this post because you know... Christmas and happy new year (ah yes, what a happy post to show in these lovely times, yeah!)

SO WHAT YOU THINK?

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite 10

Masterlist -Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, reader is a CRYBABY, fluff, angst, virgin!reader,  cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!) 

Chapter warnings: Cursing, kissing, groping, suggestive, tears, anxiety, fluff, angst, Seungmin is a menace WC: 3.5K

Every person in the pack knew exactly what you and Hyunjin had been doing. Even if they hadn’t been able to hear it (they did) they would be able to smell it. You left a very distinct aroma when you were having sex, it permeated the entire house and left them each feeling ravenous. 

You and Hyunjin had been going at it for over an hour by now and it was leaving them all antsy- and jealous. All except Chan, who took this as a mission accomplished. He had been hoping you would come around to your assigned role and you had done so beautifully. He was proud of his sweet omega. 

It took you a little while after you had finished with Hyunjin to come out of his room, he didn’t want to let you go but had relented when you had to pee. With a whine and a long kiss he let you go. On shaky legs you left his room, closing the door behind you quietly. 

You didn’t anticipate Chan to be coming down the hallway at the same time as you. The blush covered your whole face when he made eye contact with you. “Did you enjoy yourself, omega?” He had a teasing tone to his voice, it was light and had no trace of displeasure. 

“Uh huh.” You nodded. “Jinnie… is very sweet.” 

The alpha hummed, leaning down and giving you a tender kiss and a smile, “Good baby. You’ve certainly made the other boys a little jealous.” He laughed at the end of his statement. “They will get over it.” With one more peck he continued on his way to his office. 

You took your time in the bathroom straightening up your appearance and checking for any marks Hyunjin may have left. Yep, there were a few small ones on your neck and one larger one on your chest right above your breast. You had never had a hickey before, the closest you got was your mating bite from Chan. It made you feel dirty. It was exciting. 

With another deep breath you calmed your nerves and left the bathroom and went down the stairs. A few of the boys were downstairs playing video games together. From the sounds of it, it was Felix, Jisung, Changbin and Jeongin. Must be some kind of fighting game, you could hear the grunts from the tv and then one of them yelling about it being unfair. 

When you stepped into the room they all seemed to freeze, eyes shooting to you then back to the screen. Felix had a deep blush on his face- they all did really- when he addressed you. 

“Hey baby,” he cleared his throat nervously. 

“Hi guys, what are you playing?” You remained standing in the living room entrance. Jeongin was the only one who wouldn’t meet your eyes, too afraid you would be able to tell how blown out his pupils still were from smelling your arousal in the air earlier.

“Mortal kombat.” Jisung answered, peeping over to you. “Wanna play?” He offered his controller to you. 

You shook your head with a smile. “No thank you. I haven't played in a long time, I wouldn’t be very good.”

“I could teach you, baby!” Changbin offered enthusiastically. 

“No!” Jisung protested. “You’re a cheater! You would turn her into a cheater too!” 

“I do not! You’re just a sore loser Ji!” 

“I am not, you cheater!” 

You were laughing loudly at their antics when you felt a presence come up behind you. Before you could register who it was, the figure lightly spun you around and pressed your back into the closest wall. Your breath caught in your throat at the motion. 

Seungmin. 

“Hi omega.” He pressed one of his hands to the wall next to your head, almost caging you in. His eyes seemed borderline predatory. Unexpected from a beta, but from what you could tell he was no normal beta. He exudes alpha energy, maybe he was one in a past life. 

“Hi minnie.” You uttered out shyly, not missing the way he smirked at your nerves. What you did miss was how the boys in the living room were latching onto your every move, waiting to see what Seungmin was going to do. 

They knew the beta was mildly sadistic, that he enjoyed toying with his prey. Enjoyed the chase. Not that he would ever do anything to harm you in any way, just play with you a little. 

The hand that wasn’t resting on the wall lifted to your cheek, cupping the soft skin there while he looked deeply into your eyes. His eyes flickered to your lips then back up to your eyes. The beta leaned in slowly and when you made no move to stop him he crashed his thick lips into yours. Compared to the one he gave you this morning this one was sorta harsh. Like he was making a point. Fuck, maybe he was since you had just been with Hyunjin and now you had an audience. 

Seungmin ran his tongue over your bottom lip before he shoved it in your mouth, causing you to let out a surprised squeak into him. He tasted just like he smelled; like petrichor. Fitting given his personality. What really shocked you was when he let the hand cupping your face drop down to your breast, giving it a quick squeeze. Your eyes shot open at the contact, but you didn’t stop him. Just as you had begun to reciprocate his kiss he had pulled away, ending the exchange just as quickly as it began. The beta gave you a wink, then continued on his way to the back doors as if he hadn’t just flipped your world upside down momentarily. So casually. 

You were left in a daze, bringing your fingertips to your lips that still tasted of Seungmin. 

“What the fuck?” It wasn’t any of the guys in the living room who had spoken, it was Minho who had wandered in during the exchange with Seungmin. 

His words brought you back down to earth and you spun to meet his gaze, your face inflamed. Minho came closer to you and gripped your shoulders as he leaned down to examine you, looking for any distress. “Are you ok, Y/n?” 

“Y-yeah ‘m fine.” You stuttered, giving a delicate smile. “It's just been a helluva day, is all.” He didn’t look convinced so you added, “Really, I’m good. Promise.” 

Minho looked at the other guys still in the room, all with eyes still wide. “Ok. Our pretty omega would never lie to us. Anyways, dinner is in an hour. Hope you like fried chicken.” 

True to his word, dinner was done an hour later. Now all of you sat around the table sharing another family meal. As soon as Hyunjin came down the steps there was a lot of whooping and hollering at him, teasing the poor boy. Thankfully they didn’t do that to you, you were a lady after all. Though that didn’t stop the sly smirks and lingering gazes from around the table. 

This whole dynamic is still so bizarre to you. Not just the sex but the packs relationship as a whole. They all actually want to be around each other. Your own family hadn’t sat down for a meal together in years. You got so stuck in your mind you almost missed your alpha speaking to you from across the table.��

“Everything alright over there my love?” All eyes on you again. 

“Umm yeah, just thinkin.” You took a bite of your chicken. It was delicious. 

“Thinkin about what?” 

“Just..” You hesitated trying to think of a good way to word it. “Just about how different this pack is to my old one.” 

“Different how? In a bad way?” Jeongin sounded worried with his question. 

“No, not in a bad way! I’m just not used to it, ya know, you all being so close.” You gave him a smile to show you meant no harm.

Minho spoke next “Were you not close with your pack?” 

You had told them about you and who you were as a person but you didn’t really say much about your family or pack, it left them all curious. 

“Not really. I didn’t spend a ton of time with the whole pack. We didn’t live together, I only lived in the same house as my immediate family and even then we didn’t spend a lot of time together.” You took another bite. 

“Did you live in a commune? That's what it was in my pack we all shared land.” Jisung asked with full cheeks. “Hyunjin and I are even from the same pack.” 

“Yeah Ji, we grew up with hippies though. Not everyone is into the whole free love thing.” Hyunjin patted the back of Jisungs head fondly. 

“That sounds like it would have been nice.” You answered, “My pack took up an entire neighborhood, about 30 homes. We did have a bi monthly pack barbeque where everyone gathered and my father would bring up any concerns, but I was almost never allowed to go unless I helped the other women serve the event. When I presented as an omega that went to zero so I really don’t know how many people are in it these days.” You shrugged not seeing it as a big deal. 

Apparently it was, as everyone had shocked faces. 

“30?!” Changbin yelled, “That is so many people baby!” 

“And what do you mean you weren't allowed to go?” Seungmin demanded. “My pack was similar to that, definitely a smaller scale but still. We always had get-togethers and everyone went.”

“I don't know, that was my fathers rules. He called it his three outs. Out of sight, out of scent, out of mind.” Their expressions were making you anxious, you started to regret saying anything at all. 

Chan could sense it immediately. He began pumping out calming pheromones to quell your anxiety. “No one is mad at you omega, we’re all a little shocked is all.” You nodded, feeling a little calmer.  

“I had heard of packs like that, where it’s so large they didn’t even know each other.” Jeongin added. 

Seungmin nodded, “Suburban packs are like that. I am from a suburban pack but instead of 30 it was more like 10 houses, still over 50 people and only a few of them were related to me. My father definitely wasn’t the head alpha though, I can’t imagine the toll it takes on someone to have to look after that many people.” 

Felix was sitting next to you and grabbed your hand to comfort you. The beta gave you a kind toothy grin and brought the back of your hand up and placed a kiss there. You gave him a smile in return. Felix always brought you comfort, in a weird way he felt like home.

“My father definitely had his hands full. I know he loves me- or loved me- but he just didn’t show it often or spent a lot of time with me. Or my sister, really. The only one he ever spent time with was my older brother who was an alpha. My father expected him to follow in his footsteps and take over the pack. I think my sister and I were more side characters for him.” 

Felix shared another kiss to the back of your hand, “You’re not a side character to us, baby. In fact I think you’re more like the main character now.” There were nods of agreement all around. “Was your sister an omega also?” Felix's words warmed your heart. He was too sweet for his own good. 

You shook your head, “No, only me. I am the only omega I have ever met.” All this attention on you was making you skittish. It took everything you had to stave off that fight or flight instinct you had as a part of the prey genus, in a room full of predators. “Umm I’m sorry, this is getting difficult for me. Do you think we could talk about something else for now please?” You were practically begging, eyes screwing shut and gripping Felix extra tight. 

The boys could see how this conversation was affecting you and it broke their heart. They couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up not wanted.

Chan cooed at you from across the table, “Of course baby.”  He looked around for any suggestions. 

Changbin piped up, “It’s supposed to be hot on friday! It’s the first day of summer, so why don’t we have a lake day? All of us.” He seemed excited at the prospect. To be fair he was an excitable guy. He reminded you of a retriever in that way. 

You opened your eyes at his excitement. “I’ve never been to the lake before!” Now you were feeling the energy. 

“Then I think that's a great idea, Binnie.” Chan agreed, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make his omega happy. Both you and Changbin squealed in excitement, locking eyes. Then something dawned on you, 

“I don’t have a swim suit.” You had a pout at the realization. 

“Dibs on taking you to get one!” Jisung sprung from his seat with his hand raised, looking so serious. 

Minho scoffed “Are you sure about that? Remember what happened last time you took her shopping Ji?” 

Though it wasn’t on purpose, Minhos comment made you ashamed of yourself. Your head dropped at his words. 

Chan saw you get discouraged and narrowed his eyes slightly at the beta. “That won’t happen again, things are different now.” He was containing his irritation as to not start shit at the dinner table. The alpha wanted you to feel better, not worse. 

Jisung deflated back into his seat after Minhos words but looked hopeful once again at Chans words. He locked eyes with you, “I would love to take you shopping again, Baby.” Jisung was so earnest it made your cheeks flush. 

Seungmin teased the other beta “You only want to see her try on swimsuits, you perv.” 

The table broke into laughter at the jeering. Jisung defended himself passionately, “I am not a perv! You’re the perv!! You can't keep your lips or hands to yourself with her!” He pointed at Seungmin accusingly. 

Seungmin shrugged nonchalantly, not denying it. “Can you blame me?” 

Jisungs cheeks had a dark blush, and he answered a quiet “...no.” 

“Awww Sungie.” Hyunjin pinched his cheek, the younger boy slapping the hand away with a scowl. 

“ I would like you to take me, Ji. Thank you.” You gave him a shy smile. “We can go tomorrow if you would like? Since we’ll be at the lake on Friday and it’s Wednesday now.” 

“Perfect. We will go in the morning.” Jisung couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread on his face, in turn making you have one too. 

“Do you think I might join you guys tomorrow?” Felix asked from beside you. “There’s something I would like to pick up also.”

“I don’t see why not.” Jisung shrugged, looking at you. You nodded, smiling at both boys. 

“I am so excited! I’ve only ever been to the pool in my neighbors backyard! And even then that old bitch only ever let me swim if I did her yard work.” You grumbled that last bit, remembering that ornery old woman. More laughter filled the room with your words. 

“It will be a great time, baby. We’ll all make a day out of it. Bring out the grill and everything.” Chan said, planning it out in his head. 

“Should we make it a camping trip?” Jeongin suggested. 

“Oooooo yes! We haven't been camping in forever! Can we please, Hyung?” Jisung begged, jutting his lip out in a puppy pout. You thought it was a great idea and joined in the pout, batting your eyes at your alpha. 

Chan sighed, wiping his hand down his face. “If everyone else agrees, then yes we can make it a camping trip.” 

You both looked around at the rest of the pack with hopeful eyes. When they all seemed to nod in agreement (really it was they couldn’t possibly say no to you both) you and Jisung both cheered a loud “YAY” and sprung from your seats, leaning over the table to meet for a high five.

When everyone was done eating you helped clean up the mess, and packed away leftovers. While you were wiping down the table, Chan came up behind you, and nuzzled his face into your hair. “Do you wanna come watch a movie with me in bed, my love?” 

You leaned into him and responded with a “mmhmm. That sounds nice.” 

“Mmm perfect. I’ll go pick something out while you finish up here.” He gave your butt a pat then headed up to his room. 

It only took you another few minutes to complete your task, before you went to wish the remaining pack members goodnight. 

“Goodnight!” “Night baby!” “Sweet dreams.” they responded. Hyunjin got up and gave you a sweet peck before he whispered his goodnight. 

“I’ll go with you, baby, I’m going to go lay down myself.” Felix said as he came out of the kitchen after doing the dishes. He grabbed your hand gently and you both went up together. 

Felix led you to Chans door, and he seemed nervous all of a sudden. It made you worried. “What's wrong Lixie?” 

He looked down anxiously. You rubbed the skin on the back of his hand that was still held in yours. “Umm, would it be ok if I maybe..” he mumbled. “Dammit..” Instead of finishing his sentence he opted for actions, leaning in slowly to give you a chance to deny his advances. When you remained still for him he let his lips find yours, giving you a quick but tender kiss. Felix let the touch linger for only a moment and when he pulled away you found yourself chasing his lips, his overall warmth being intoxicating. 

The beta was blushing bright red all over his face when he pulled back from you, you were sure yours had a matching shade. Felix let his hands fall from yours, one of them coming to rub the back of his neck. “Ummm anyways, goodnight baby.” Just like that he turned on his heels and speed walked to his own door, shutting himself inside. 

Felix was reeling. He could not believe he had done that. Something he had wanted to do since the moment he first saw you. After shutting himself in his room he leaned against the back of his door, his head resting against the wood. He just knew he would be thinking about the taste of your lips all night. 

There was an essence of him left on your skin. Cinnamon. Surprisingly spicey, given how sweet he always smells. 

Chan was already laid on the bed, wearing only his pj pants and sporting his signature smirk. “I laid out some pjs for you, my love.” He gestured to the clothes by the foot of the bed. They consisted of a pair of panties and one of his t-shirts. 

“Thank you, Alpha.” you changed into the laid out items and then crawled into bed next to your alpha. You curled yourself into his open arms, letting yourself relax against him completely. The scent of him-woodsy and earthy- was a welcoming comfort, especially after the long day you had. 

“Did you have a good day, baby?” Chan asked in a low tone as he stroked your hair. You simply hummed and nodded against him. “You were kept quite busy  today huh?” You opted to bury yourself further into his chest, avoiding the question so he couldn’t see how you flushed. He laughed at your actions, making a show at giving your head a big smooch. “You are too precious, baby. Too cute for your own good. No wonder you have all those boys wrapped around your tiny little finger.” 

“Channiiiie” You whined, embarrassed. 

He pulled you closer still chuckling at you, “Ok ok I won’t tease anymore. Are you ready to watch a movie?” 

“Mhm what did you pick?” 

“I chose ‘Bridesmaids’, I hope that’s ok? It’s one of my favorites.” 

You beamed, “thats perfect.” 

Chan clicked play on the remote next to him, the opening scene starting on the tv in front of you. A few minutes in you felt yourself start to drift off. “Hey channie?” He hummed in response. “I love you. You are a really good alpha.” 

Luckily you were facing away from him, or you wouldn’t have missed the tear that threatened to fall from his eye. The alpha had not cried in years, but suddenly some sweet - and much needed- words from you almost opened the floodgates “I love you too, my girl.” He pressed another kiss to your hair as he felt you fall into slumber. His life really was perfect now. Chan hadn’t been this happy in so, so long. With that on his mind, it didn’t take him long to follow your lead, falling asleep with you in his arms. 

A/N: Yes I know this was kind of a filler, I felt like it was time to give a little more backstory on our pack and omega :)

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Also if any one wants to chat about the story or share predictions please send me an ask!!

Beta read by my wonderful bumble bee @ayejaii

©doitforbangchan

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Sorry if your tag isn't working!! Im trying my best :(

[rivalswrites]

Could you do headcannons for poly w Reed Richards X Reader X Susan Storm? I love them both sm <3

Throuple with Reed and Susan

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

A single suggestive comment is made, but it's not serious or goes into detail. Susan is called Sue

Oml I love them both so much, let me be their third 😭🙌 wrote a little more than I thought I would.

Masterlist

Two words. Power. Throuple.

Not only do you three dominate the bedroom, but also the battle field and laboratory. Three big geniuses and strong fighters.

The three of you make the greatest support system, not only for each other but for others around you as well. When either of you are down, the other two know just how to brighten the day, your optimism in any situation spreading to those around and bringing their mood up- intentional or not.

Reed is an airhead at times, but that doesn't stop you and Sue from loving him as he loved you. He's been getting overwhelmed as of lately, the weight of saving the entire multiverse was heavy on his mind more than anyone else. Working day and night while also fighting to keep things at bay, it was a lot for him. You and Sue could see that. So it's more often than not that during free time the two of you would sit in the laboratory and watch over him. Both of you would take turns making sure he ate something and giving him affection to keep him sane.

Sue is strong minded, she believes in what she knows is right and won't back down to anyone who dares say otherwise. The multiversal problem is stressful for her too, but she knows when to ask for help when she feels it's all too much for her. Her favorite activity to relax is a cuddle pile, believe it or not. She'll lay on the bed, and enjoy the pressure of both you and Reed laying directly on top of her; Reed’s arms wrapped tightly around the both of you.

That's often how you guys sleep, on top of Sue and in the arms of Reed. Though the person being dog piled on would alternate on occasion, it was usually Sue.

When Reed can't make it to bed (even with you and Sue taking the time to try and convince him to get some sleep) the both of you find it hard to sleep without his arms around you two. The solution? Burrito blanket. You take the biggest blanket you can and roll around until it's tight and the both of you are giggling face to face in each other's arms.

When Sue can't make it to bed, for whatever reason, you and Reed make it work. He still wraps his arms around you like usual, but he lays on top of you now. He isn't used to not having someone underneath him, so if it isn't Sue it's probably you. Sue’s pillow rests in between you two, it somehow brings comfort to you.

When you can't make it to bed, Sue and Reed suffer, but make due. They lay facing together on your usual spot on the bed, wrapped up in all the blankets and only using your pillows. When you come in later to finally rest, they slightly wake up (like they have some sort of 6th sense) and happily welcome you in between them. No sleeping on anyone needed, just a squished sandwich because the both of them refuse to move off of your side of the bed.

Meals are special, a time uninterrupted by anything. Usually meals are held at the table, plates set and food displayed for anyone to grab as much as they wanted. Conversation flowed easily about every topic, be it work or a hobby, anything brought up is welcomed by the others. But sometimes meals are less formal, usually dinner. It'd be held in your room, sitting on the bed with takeout containers sat on everyone's laps while totally binging some dumb reality show. You all laugh and call the people in the show dumb, and it's just a time where the three of you can fully relax and enjoy time in your spouse's presence.

Reed is more affectionate than Sue, his stretchy body playing a great role in it. He'll wrap his arms around you, Sue, or both (much like during the night), and nuzzle his dumb face into your shoulder. He likes to muzzle, and he does it very often; in bed, as a greeting, as a goodbye, while hugging, any time he has the chance he'll take the opportunity to do it. His beard scratches against your skin or hair, but it doesn't feel as uncomfortable as you'd think.

Sue has taken up Reed's nuzzling habit, having been around him for so long. She doesn't do it as often, and only in private. Usually in solitude when she's down or comforting you/Reed. Sometimes in bed, when it's just her and either of you, she gets embarrassed if it's both of you and doesn't do it. Her hugs are strong and extremely comforting.

Never is one person in the relationship left to do all the work, even when they ask for it. Cooking is never a one person job, nor are chores. It's all split as evenly as possible, and if someone is behind on anything the others are there to help. If you can't find the time or effort to do something, Sue and Reed will do it for you if possible- saying you'll just have to return the favor later (the favor being extra affection or a one on one date).

Speaking of, one on one dates do happen. Both you, Sue, and Reed understand that sometimes there are times where three is a bit much, or that there needs to be separate bonding time. You and Sue will have shopping dates, you and Reed will have walks outside together, Reed and Sue will catch up on a hobby they both share, you've all got something special for the separate dates.

Celebrations are taken very seriously. Anniversaries, birthdays, big milestones, you name it they'll celebrate it. Reed has taken it up on himself to perfect each and every cake flavor to exist, so every celebration has a homemade cake that the three of you have to give to Johnny and Ben the next day to help finish it. Sue on the other hand takes the time with you to plan dinner, be it take out or making a warm meal together.

[skyizhou]

╰ 3,020 words · ˚ ༘ ꒱ Beg? She thinks to herself through the haze of pleasure, sniffling so pathetically that she can even feel the smallest tendril of shame creeping in. Damn him, she has been begging for months. No one in their right mind would be playing the role of a housewife in all but name, wearing the shortest dresses known to man, and not have something they want to get. She wants him, always has and always will.

part two of dearest, darling, my universe ╱ alternate universe — no powers. female reader. third person. age gap ( sylus is in his late thirties, and reader is in her early twenties ). friends to lovers ( real, this time ). light angst. freak for freak dynamics. unnamed shitty ex for reader. sugar daddy dynamics, heavy power imbalance. masturbation. mentions of somnophilia, drugging. creampie. fingering. cockslapping. ( !! ) dubious consent + consensual non–consent, reader protests and sylus ignores / mocks her for it. domesticity as a kink. hints of predator and prey dynamics. sylus has a wife kink that reader is too willing to use against him. allusions to size difference where reader is smaller than sylus.

There is an ache, somewhere deep in his chest. A gnawing kind, enough that it makes his breath catch like something unyielding is stuck in his throat; it worsens to the point of making his ever-confident steps to falter. She is avoiding him, he would be far too stupid to not notice that. 

She is not even trying to hide it, and Sylus does not know if that is worse.

A pair, that is what they have always been. One plus one everywhere they go, someone jokes once, and they did not let go of that notion — never let it go since it had been first spoken within reach. The only time that it ever changed was when that stupid boy came into the picture, but he left, and for a year, all was well in Sylus’ world once more.

He had her in his vicinity once more, dancing around him, but closer. She lived in his home, wore clothes he bought for her, and swiped his black card with hesitation then with ease.

It was bliss, even more when he had her in his bed.

Drugged out of her wits, unconscious, but still greedy when it comes to sucking his cock deep inside of her pulsing wetness. Sylus did not just cum once or twice, thick ropes of his seed flooded her womb several times over, enough that when he pulled out, he was aching and sore. 

Something should have changed afterwards, even if she did not know of his violation. Something should have changed for the better, not for the worse — not this, never this.

He is confident that she does not know, chalks the ache of her cunt to a drunken rub that her little fingers did when she thought of him asleep. Many nights have passed like that after all, her breathy little whines and moans echoing through the microphone hidden behind her headboard. He had spent those times with a hand around his girth, pumping with every obscene squelch that her cunt makes. She does not know a thing, none the wiser of how much he already memorised every dip in her curves, the softness of her skin, and the scent that blooms when he bends her to his whim.

But she still pulls away, slowly, as if he is not looking at all times.

Sylus does not see red.

He sees black.

The tablet — that his money bought, the primal part of his soul whispers in delight — is snatched away from her fingers. It is with a sense of detachment that he watches how she startles, not having realised that he already arrived home from whatever his work is, and that bothers Sylus greatly. She is his good girl, his best and only girl, who was so attuned to his presence that he could never surprise her with his arrival before.

Before, but it seems, not anymore.

And oh, does that not just sting?

“You have been avoiding me,” a statement and not a question; the way he speaks betrays the severity of the situation, Sylus is never formal with her — always slurring words in an accent that exists only to him and contractions of his own that would never make sense to anyone else. “Did you think of me to be so stupid as to not notice?”

That right there, that is the question. Albeit, a rhetorical one. Even in his deepest hurt, he still tries to ensnare her in a trap, box her in a corner with nothing else to do but speak. It feels like if he does not, then he will lose her. He will lose her and never get her back, not like in the past where all it took was paying a pretty dumb thing to go crazy on her drunk boyfriend. If he loses her this time, he fears that he will never get her back. It feels like it will be permanent this time.

She looks at him, wide-eyed and surprised. Sylus does not miss the tremble in her gaze, how it flickers to the side in an attempt to not meet his eyes. He cannot lose her. It is desperation that makes him reach out, ever gentle when his hand cradles her cheek.

“Why?” A question that is more of a plea for understanding, for clarity.

Silence takes hold, and it feels like a noose tightening around his neck with every second that passes and she does not speak. 

A shuddering breath from lips that tasted sweet as ambrosia, more succulent than the ripest of fruits. “I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness,” she whispers in a voice that sounds near tears, pearl-like droplets trickling down her cheeks to land on his hand like boiling water. “It’s not r-right, you take care of me so well, and I don’t even do anything to contribute to this house.”

He wants to laugh, to cry, and call her a silly girl for worrying over it. Not once has she ever taken advantage of him, when all that he gave her were things that he gave freely. But her tears make him stop, the ache in his chest swelling to monstrous proportions that it nearly threatens to swallow him whole. “I-I don’t want to depend on you so much,” but I want you to, “let me do something— anything, please. I don’t want to be a-a burden to you.”

You could never be one, Sylus wants to bare his teeth in a snarl and insist. You can spend the rest of your days attempting to empty my bank accounts, lay on my couch— my bed, and I would be happier for it. 

This is a fight that he will not win, he knows that much.

Sylus has always been weak to those eyes of hers, that glassy shine that makes him feel so utterly human.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers, tilting her face to press a kiss to her forehead — feeling so fucking grateful that she lets him and does not pull away. “Anything that you want, my darling. Anything at all.”

They do not return to the comfort of the before, but the tension that hung in their home begins to dissipate. Baby steps, Sylus whispers to himself when she gives him a shy smile when her eyes catch his, standing before the stove as she has been doing for a few weeks now.

He does not intrude, only returning her smile with one of his own.

She begins to run around the house like a little wife, his little wife, and he feels utterly pleased by that thought; even if a part of him remains seething at how she keeps her distance.

On the bright side, the one that he chooses to look at, they establish a routine of their own in this change. His return home is always welcomed with a chirp from the kitchen and the scent of something delicious permeating the air. She goes to him within minutes, warmth in her eyes and a skip in her step. Her hand takes his briefcase and sets it aside, reaching for his tie to loosen the knot before making him sit on the couch — a glass of scotch already awaiting by the coffee table.

The pitter-patter of her delicate heels echo, her perfume filling his lungs when she walks away, and something in Sylus begins to ease.

Right here, this is where home is.

All relationships have their ups and downs, and while they remain in the vague territory of friendship, they are no different. It does not escape his notice how the further their routine becomes solidified in the foundation of their lives, the more domestic it becomes.

He does not speak of it, and neither does she, even as the weeks turn to months and her dresses become shorter and shorter under the frilly white apron that she seems so fond of. On the downside, Sylus has to keep making excuses for the amount of times he retreats to the privacy of his bedroom throughout the day.

The moment the door closes, his hand will always be wrapped around the steadily hardening girth of his cock. He rarely bothers to push his pants down, opting to just pull himself out and give it punishing strokes to bring the edge off.

It never works, even as his cum spurts so soon with his brain reeling from the images of her.

Pure torture, that is what it is.

Until it is suddenly not, his control fucking snaps one day when she bends in front of the oven — clad in nothing but her short fucking black dress and that fucking frilly apron. His mouth turns dry, and everything becomes a blur from how fast he prowls to her like a predator would to prey.

She is barely upright before Sylus has an arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand on her face, covering her mouth and nose, as he all but drags her struggling and screaming form to force her to bend over the dining table. It is so cute how she tries to resist, to flail and fight against him like her weak limbs can do anything. It is nothing short of adorable how she tries to scream her protests, her curses, and her pleas that come out muffled beneath his palm.

He should have done this earlier, Sylus thinks to himself. He should not have used the drug and just fucked her to the mattress, held her down when she woke, because her resistance is so delicious.

“No?” A breathless laugh to the back of her ear, tongue flicking out to lick the lobe at the same time the hand around her waist dips underneath the skirt to pinch her thigh. When she jumps and a squeak escapes her lips in surprise at the flash of pain, he becomes lightheaded from how quickly his blood travelled south. “If you really didn’t want this, then you should be wearing your pretty panties.”

Even his words do nothing to stave off his arousal, when the mere utterance of her undergarments make his spine tingle with pleasure at the memory of personally buying each piece of clothing that touches her skin.

Only the best for his perfect girl, after all.

“But you’re not,” Sylus continues, letting his hand travel higher at the same time he releases her mouth to press her head down the table. He keeps her pinned down as he dips thick digits between the seam of her cunt, smearing her arousal all over her mound before bringing it to his lips.

An obscene suck, the taste of her perfect pussy blooms in his tongue.

His schemes, his plans, all of them fly out the window alongside his self-control.

Still holding her down, he flips her skirt up and pushes down his pants. It has barely dropped to his knees before the head is already pressing to her clit in a mimicry of a peck. He slaps the nub with the tip of his cock a few times, delighting at the panicked way that she squirms and babbles pleas that he does not bother hearing.

It feels like he is underwater, all of his focus trained on her sopping wet cunt and his cock mere centimetres away. Is it even a surprise when Sylus begins to push in?

Her cries increase in volume, but he does not care, not when she gets wetter and wetter at the same time. “Dirty girl,” he laughs underneath all her begging, watching in fascination as her arousal coats his thickness so thoroughly and then drips some strings of it down the floor of their kitchen. “You like this, don’t you?” Another push, her walls clenching in response. “Dirty girls like you like to be forced to take cock. Oh, baby.”

Pressed to the hilt, he stays there just to bask in the warmth that he missed.

For her, this will be their first time together. But for Sylus? This will be their second, and it will not be the last, not when it feels infinitely better to have her cunt while she is awake. It feels so fucking good to feel her struggle at first, then for all her protests to slowly melt away with each press deeper.

“You’re so fucking perfect for me.”

Her pussy positively throbs around Sylus, breaths coming out pitched while crying her little heart out.

This position is so reminiscent of the time he took her savagely, thinking that she had been drugged to her wits, in her bed too. Their first time together is memorable, she can admit that much. But not having to hide all the sounds that creep from her throat and her body’s reaction to him is infinitely so much better.

She feels so exposed like this, bent over the table they have been taking their meals together for over a year now. A small sniffle comes pitifully bubbling out of her lips, tasting the salt of her crocodile tears, and clenches even tighter around him. “M-Mercy,” she begs sweetly, pretending like her hips are not rocking back and forth on his cock, moving all on her own without even a bit of his help. She can feel his amusement at her continued protests, how he twitches inside of her, and has to warble her voice in the following cry to hide how she wants to moan at finally having him where she wants him.

His hand moves from the back of her skull to press between the blades of her shoulder, an unrelenting pressure that makes her gasp and spasm around his girth. “Mercy? Hm,” his voice trails off at the same time he pulls out, until only the tip is left and she weeps at the loss — unable to hide her need for him any longer.

“Maybe if you beg nicely for me, darling.”

Beg? She thinks to herself through the haze of pleasure, sniffling so pathetically that she can even feel the smallest tendril of shame creeping in. Damn him, she has been begging for months. No one in their right mind would be playing the role of a housewife in all but name, wearing the shortest dresses known to man, and not have something they want to get.

She wants him, always has and always will.

The masks have fallen, all of her is bared to all of him — primal and rotten to the very core. Soulmates, she thinks hysterically to herself. What a perfect match they make. She has always been greedy, always wanting more, always needing more. Yet, for all of her faults, he indulges her again and again, how can she not fall for him? Sylus is the only one who can ever have her, she has vowed this to her heart all those months ago, when his door opened and she immediately found herself swept in his arms like nothing ever changed between them. Sylus is the only one that she will ever have, the only one she will allow to have her.

It is Sylus or nothing.

“Please,” she breathes out, desperate to have him back and clenching around the sensitive head. “P-Please make me your wife.” There it is, her heart’s wish laid bare. She whines, tries to weakly raise her hips and push him back inside to the emptiness in her cunt.

For a moment, all is still, like even the very air is watching with bated breath. She tries not to panic, he is still pressed to her, even if he remains unmoving. Her tears are renewed, no longer playing a role, but feeling wounded at the thought of being rejected after all this time. Her heart skips a beat, not in the way that romance novels talk about, but one of tragedy. She hitches a breath, whimpering to herself and tries to squirm away, put some distance between them—

Only to scream when Sylus shoves his cock back inside the velvety depths in an almost violent press of his hips to her behind.

It feels so intense, too much and too fast that her head nearly spins from the sudden onslaught of pleasure assaulting all of her senses. Earlier wish for mercy is granted when he does not wait for her to adjust, settling into a pace that nudges that tender spot deep inside every time that he presses back inside. The edge of the table digs into her skin, making her teeth chatter with every little “ah, ah, ah” that escapes. Mercy is when he folds his body on top of her, his chest to her spine, like he cannot bear the thought of having space between their bodies now that he finally knows the truth.

Mercy is when he reaches down, pinching her clit and tapping it insistently like his cock is not stirring her very guts to the point that she can feel him in her throat.

She hears nothing but the sound of his grunts, his praise, and the slap of skin-on-skin.

At some point, she must have reached her high before blacking out, because the next thing that she knows is that she is on her back, the mattress soft but already drenched in fluids, with Sylus still inside her cunt — her very tender cunt that is practically oozing cum from how much he filled her.

“It’s okay,” the man coos sweetly, reaching a heavy palm to press against the bulge in her belly that is in the shape of his cock. “My little wife should go back to sleep and let her husband fill her up, hm?” It feels like a threat, a promise that only he is privy to its true meaning. 

She wants to protest, but she feels so warm all over, from his presence and the warmth of his cum inside of her. Everything feels so muddled, like she is wading deep in a pool of thick syrup from all of his love pouring into her; exhausted eyes close once more, and she feels him press a kiss to her sternum.

“That's my perfect girl.”

© skyizhou ( 2024 ): do not claim, modify, copy or repost my works without permission. minors do not interact.

[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame (9) - Best is yet to Come

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

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Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

Word Count: 6.2k

-And I know you are the reason I still believe the best is yet to come-

Aliyah was absolutely right.

You went to bed a lot earlier than you expected, granted, you were dead tired from all the walking you did with Jenna, and the pain from the bruises was definitely causing some issues right now. Sure, it was passing, it was almost gone by now, but it was still annoying. You had another issue, though. It was way too hot for you. The house had heating in every room, and it was much hotter here than you were used to, and you were very tempted to sleep without a blanket.

It was worth it, though. Jenna was more than happy when you chose to stay but now you were snickering as you thought back to the look on her face when she realized you would be spending the night in her ‘messy’ room, and she damn near bolted upstairs to put the clothes back in the closet.

Luckily for you, Markus actually came to your rescue and took you to a local grocery store to buy basically nothing. He went and said juice, but it was really just to save Jenna from having to bring you to her room and feel embarrassed and you from the alternative, meaning Jenna’s dad probably having a mental breakdown because of what Aliyah said.

You owed the kid a favor.

That was for some other time though, the room was now clean and Jenna let you get ready for bed before her, meaning right now you were in her bed, utterly unable to fall asleep. How could you? You were very conscious of the fact that this was Jenna’s bed, not some hotel room bed she currently used, it was her actual bed, and you could smell the scent of her perfume on it. And you did your damn best to ignore it. Then the doors opened and even in the dim light you found yourself unable to stop staring at her.

It must have been the heating that got to you because you suddenly felt very hot under the collar. It definitely wasn’t because Jenna was wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts. Definitely wasn’t that, and you definitely weren’t affected by that small, almost shy smile on Jenna’s face as she closed the doors behind her and approached the bed with laptop in hand. “Hope you’re up for some fun,” she said as she pulled your blanket aside and sat on the bed right next to you. And then, all of a sudden, that smile on her face just vanished for a moment. “This is fine, right?” she asked, still sitting there and not moving to lay down, and you saw that if you said one single word she would sleep in Aliyah’s bed. You had no issues whatsoever, though. You’ve spent many nights sleeping with her on set, this would be no different, despite all the things that happened between the two of you.

You sat up and wrapped your arm around her waist, and Jenna immediately leaned on you, smiling slightly at the silent reply. “Of course,” you whispered, kissing the side of the head and her smile spread at that.

“Let’s see this movie everyone is praising,” she said and you were reminded that she did want to watch Logan with you ever since she found out you were in it. “Get comfortable,” she pretty much ordered and who were you to disobey direct orders. You lay back on her bed, pressing your back against the wall and getting comfortable while still leaving Jenna enough space as she set her laptop on the nightstand and turned it toward you. You watched as she found the movie and all she needed to do was click play.

She got comfortable, laying down a bit lower on the bed so you could see, all the while letting you spoon her. She hummed for a moment and then rose up a bit and pointed at your hand. “Could you just, you know?” you raised an eyebrow at that, but Jenna was pointing at the place where her head just was.

“This?” you asked as you stretched your right hand out and Jenna nodded, laying her head on your biceps. You smiled at that and wrapped your other arm around her waist, and she actually closed what little distance was between your bodies and placed her hand over your own. You were both fairly aware of how intimate this was, and sure, you shared bed before, and you ended up cuddling most of those nights, but this was the first time you did it while knowing you would stay awake for at least the next two hours. Not to mention neither of you had a clear emotional need for closeness this time.

It was different, yet still more than welcome. You felt happy and you figured Jenna was happy too.

“Thanks,” she whispered and let the movie play. “Can you see?” she asked just to make sure.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Have you seen the other movies?” you asked, a bit curious to know just how much lore Jenna was aware of.

“No, but Markus did, and he told me everything I need to know to watch this,” well, you supposed someone could watch Logan without knowing the rest of the movies in the franchise. It would definitely be more meaningful after watching and knowing the entire journey of Wolverine, but it could work as a standalone. The movie began and you both stopped talking, and the first thing you saw was Hugh and all of a sudden you got really nostalgic. You weren’t an actress back then, had no idea what you were getting into, so they kept you on set whenever possible, even if you weren’t in the scenes so you’d pick up on things faster. It was Hugh’s idea actually, and he even made sure you got paid for that time, even if you weren’t actually working. He paid for those weeks himself, matching what the studio was paying you.

To this day you’ve only seen Logan once before, on the opening night, and then never again up until tonight. Even if it did come out back in 2017. Barbara was with you on the opening night, and she wanted to watch it with you again, but you just never felt like it, even if the X-Men movies were kind of your comfort movies. It was just a bit embarrassing to watch yourself, especially with the amount of screaming Laura did.

Even tonight you knew you’d be focusing more on Jenna’s reactions than anything else. Jenna seemed to be really enjoying herself as she watched the opening of the movie. “I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't this,” she pointed out as you watched Logan take bullets out. “He looks broken,” she commented.

“Hugh was incredible. It’s his demeanor and body language, more than the physical appearance, because the moment cameras weren’t rolling he looked hell of a lot healthier,” you remembered and you truly admired that. One moment he’d look like he was on the verge of death, the next he’d be fine, tired, but fine, and always ready to crack a joke. He looked physically the same but the way he carried himself made all the difference, here he truly looked fragile, broken by all the events that happened to him. In your eyes Hugh was amazing, both as an actor and a person.

“You really admire him,” Jenna whispered and then it seemed to finally hit her as she paused the movie and turned to you. “You mentioned he was there for you, that was when your parents-“ she paused and you saw she was mentally kicking herself for bringing it up again. “Sorry,” she covered her eyes, angry at herself, and you just reached up and pulled her hand down so she would look at you.

“It's been years now, don’t worry about it,” you weren’t going to get emotional every time someone mentioned them.

“How many?” she asked slowly, cautiously watching you and looking for any sign of discomfort.

“Exactly four years next week,” you said and she did the math in her head.

“Wait that’s… 2016 and Logan-” she paused and looked at the laptop screen, her eyes widening and you just pulled her back down, wrapping your arm around her and holding her close.

“Jen,” you whispered her name in her ear. “Don’t worry about it, focus on the present,” you didn’t want her to be stuck thinking about your past. “Please, let me enjoy a movie with someone I love,” you hoped that would be enough and her breath hitched at that.

“You promise you’ll talk to me when you feel the need to?” she asked, reaching over to the laptop, ready to resume the movie, or end it right then and there.

“I promise,” and you would honestly do your best to keep that promise.

She nodded slightly and let the movie play once more. “Hold me closer, please,” you weren’t sure how you could possibly hold her closer, but you somehow figured it wasn’t just the physical distance she was talking about. As it was you could only hope she would feel just how happy you were to just have her in your arms, that the way you held her would convey that to her.

Twenty minutes into the movie you reached your first appearance and Jenna immediately perked up. “You looked adorable! So grumpy and silent!” she actually squealed and you laughed at that not quite expecting this reaction from her. Jenna turned her head only to realize she couldn't see you like that, so she rose up a bit and turned to you. “Just look at you, playing with that ball. You look so angry, it's like the complete opposite of you,” she sounded genuinely impressed, and yeah, you imagined she couldn't really think of you as someone as angry as Laura.

“I really can't explain how I was that angry,” you shrugged as she once more got comfortable. “I was actually extremely happy and excited every single day on the set,” and you really couldn't figure out how you tapped into all of that rage and destructive emotions not at that age anyway, because back then you were just a regular, happy child.

As the movie continued you could tell Jenna was carefully watching your every scene, as if she was analyzing everything you did, focusing not quite on the story, but rather you, whether you were focused on or not. “You really sold that silent, serious, and angry kid look. God, you're amazing,” she commented, you really just did what felt logical. Laura was cautious, closed-off, emotionally stunted by what she went through, you just tried your best to capture that. And Hugh and Patrick definitely helped you to get there. Jenna remained silent for the most part, gasping when Logan came back to the hotel only to find dead Gabriela, but other than that she didn’t really react. That is until you showed up again, throwing a pipe both at Donald and Logan.

“My aim sucks,” you laughed, remembering just how many times you had to repeat that scene.

“No way! Really?” Jenna laughed with you as Lara was taken inside by Charles. “Wait, he’s speaking Spanish?” she noticed.

“Mhm, Laura is from Mexico,” you told her as you both watched you eat the cereal.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you eating cereal that many times,” Jenna remembered and while you didn’t see her face you were absolutely certain she was smiling.

“I’m not the biggest fan, to be honest,” you chuckled, but the ones they gave you on Logan were tasty.

Jenna snorted. “A choo choo,” you actually forgot about that line, and you both shared a quick laugh over it, and then you once more watched the movie in silence, Jenna watched as Logan tried to flee with Charles, only to be stopped. You felt her tensing slightly as Donald sent his men inside to get Laura.

“What are you doing?” Jenna grabbed her head for a moment when she realized Laura was still eating, losing herself in the movie and squeezing your hand with her free hand. “Why are you just sitting there eating cereal? It's not even that good!” she was yelling at the laptop and you were just laughing behind her. Back when you would watch movies with others she would stay quiet, and even when it was just the two of you her comments were limited. Looking at her now you guessed she was holding back for whatever reason. And now here she was yelling at the screen. “You're just a kid, they're adults! They have guns!” she huffed as the scene shifted back to Logan and you could see her getting really frustrated.

Then the screams came, and she just got silent for a moment. “If they hurt her,” she turned to you and you just pointed back at the screen making her spin back around so she wouldn't miss anything. And there you were holding a head in your arms. “How the fuck did that happen?” Jenna whispered and you caught yourself thinking that her reactions were definitely worth the pain of watching yourself on the screen. “Oh, oh, damn, she’s brutal,” Jenna said as Laura threw the severed head and slowly walked forward, not even flinching when guns got pointed at her. “What can she do?” Jenna asked and then the claws came out. “Shit, he’s terrified!” Jenna sounded really happy about that, and then the action started and you physically had to restrain her from jumping and cheering as Laura slaughtered a bunch of soldiers.

“I’m guessing you're liking this,” you snickered as she once more relaxed against you.

“Liking? I'm loving this! Why didn't you show this to me earlier?” she actually sounded angry when she asked that.

You chuckled a bit uncomfortably as the movie kept playing, Laura’s foot claw just came out. Damn, you were so excited over the claws. “Well, you know, just never crossed my mind,” you tried to defend yourself.

“Oh, bullshit,” she huffed, smacking the hand you had wrapped around her waist lightly. The two of you just watched the movie, and Jenna remained mostly silent for the next part, only once saying ‘aww’ when Laura protected Charles in the car. She got even more quiet as Laura’s backstory was revealed and you could tell she was affected by it.

“You know, I laughed when that guy said ‘she heals’ but this… I’m really seeing why everyone praises this movie,” she said softly, causing you to hum at that. Logan definitely found a way to reach even those that weren’t superhero movie fans. And you believed one of the best things about it was the way it combined the more somber, sorrowful moments with lighter moments, letting those watching relax and take a moment to breathe instead of constantly keeping the mood low.

One such scene was the scene at the gas station and Jenna just laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that, right?” she asked as she watched Laura repeatedly get angry.

“Sure, sure,” you rolled your eyes at the compliment, but you had to admit you felt surprisingly shy and embarrassed that she thought that.

“Don’t argue,” Jenna scolded you softly. “I can feel your thoughts,” she laughed.

“Scary,” you said dryly as Laura put sunglasses on and the two of you watched as she nearly killed the poor gas station worker. If Logan didn’t stop her she would have done it. “And then he goes and basically takes the charger,” well, Laura did already scare the shit out of the guy, might as well use that to his advantage.

“She is not my child, but I love her. You may not love her, but she is your child,” Gabriela’s words hit you hard, even more now after all these years and you focused on the warmth of Jenna’s presence to keep you steady and grounded.

The next part of the movie the two of you mostly stayed silent, with Jenna only breaking the silence when she saw you with the horses, and then laughing when you went into Nate’s room, all silent. “Not one word,” you warned her, knowing by now she was about to comment on it and Jenna just leaned her head back, gently nudging your chin with the back of her head.

And then, as if bursting the bubble the movie created just for a brief moment, X-24 came in. Jenna watched, and you could feel her getting more comfortable as Charles opened up to who he believed was Logan, and then X-24 stabbed him through the chest. “No!” Jenna gasped as Laura attacked X-24, screaming bloody murder as he threw her across the room and then proceeded to slaughter the entire family. “Fuck! Why?!” Jenna sat up and just stared, with her jaw dropped, as X-24 carried Laura out and Logan ran upstairs. “Go after her!” she lay back down, pressing back against you and pulling your arm around her. “Is he going to take her? And then Logan has to go and save her?” she asked, and you could tell from the sound of her voice that she was pouting.

“Don’t remember,” you replied.

“Liar,” she grumbled, watching as the story continued and Logan fought X-24, clearly at a disadvantage. X-24 was his clone, after all, and in his prime, unlike Logan.

“Oh, thank God,” Jenna sighed in relief as Logan rescued Laura and drove away, and she watched as Laura screamed when she realized Charles was dead. The funeral scene felt heavy to you, and just for a moment you weren’t watching a movie where you were taking Hugh’s hand to try and console his character. You remembered Hugh putting his arm around your shoulders at the funeral and you just breaking down. And Jenna must have sensed it because she took your hand with both of her hands and just held it.

You snapped out of it, knowing what scene was coming up and wanting to see Jenna’s genuine reaction to it. It was the scene you did for audition and you were extremely proud of it, and you felt you had a good reason to be proud. The two of you watched as Laura led Logan to the car she stole to get him to the hospital. And then it happened.

Laura spoke. And she spoke Spanish, and it was, in your opinion, the funniest scene in the movie, as you and Jenna watched Laura and Logan arguing, with Laura screaming in Spanish and Logan yelling at her to shut the fuck up.

Jenna was stuck between laughing and watching in utter shock as the scene continued, and when it ended and Logan agreed to take Laura to North Dakota she went and paused the movie. She sat up and just silently looked at you for a couple of seconds. “You can speak Spanish?” and you burst out laughing, because her tone sounded almost exactly the same as Logan’s did in the scene.

“It’s probably a bit rusty now, I haven’t spoken it in a while, but yeah,” you shrugged and Jenna just blinked a few times, still processing what she just found out. “Laura is from Mexico, it felt logical to have her speak Spanish,” you pointed out, though it was a bit of a struggle to make it sound like Spanish was your first language and English was a still fairly basic second.

“And the accent, holy shit,” Jenna lay back, and resumed the movie. “I really needed a scene like that after all the angst,” she said.

“Yeah, it really was necessary,” you agreed with her wholeheartedly.

For the most part Jenna’s reactions to the rest of the movie were what you expected, she remained silent when Laura and Logan talked, when Laura said she’d be fine, she cheered when Logan took the medicine and the two of them took on the mercenaries. And she jumped to her knees, pumping her fist as Laura attacked X-24. “Get him! Yes!” she exclaimed, getting really pumped as the fight continued, and by that point you were just watching her, since she sat up you could see her face, you could see her gasping when Logan got impaled on a tree. You could see the realization hitting her when Laura put the adamantium bullet in the gun, and then her tears as Logan died and Laura and the kids buried him.

And that was it, over two hours after you started watching the movie the credits began rolling and Jenna just sat back, looking at you. “That was, I have no words,” she whispered and leaned in as you reached out to wipe her tears. “You were brilliant,” she praised you and took just enough time to shut her laptop down before she hugged you. “I’m still annoyed you didn’t show this to me earlier,” she complained softly, yet at the same time nuzzled into your neck.

“Slipped my mind,” you shrugged, bursting out laughing as Jenna jokingly smacked your shoulder.

“Don’t laugh, I’m mad at you,” she said and moved away, laying down next to you and folding her arms with a pout on her face.

“Really?” you asked and she just turned her head away. “Jen,” you called her, grinning widely as she kept up the act. “That’s it,” you sighed and you honestly couldn’t explain what drove you to do it, but one moment you were laying down next to Jenna, the next you were throwing the blanket off you and then you just got above her, pressing your hands down on the sides of her head. Ou both froze for a moment, and then she smiled, sliding her hands up your arms until she hugged you and pulled you down on top of her. “Am I forgiven?” you asked, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“Mhm,” she hummed content like this. “You’re warm,” she whispered in your ear and you pulled back a bit, looking in her eyes, seeing the way she was looking at you, keeping you close as her eyes focused on your slightly parted lips. “Y/N,” she whispered your name, and you nearly leaned down, you would have, if you didn’t suddenly hear footsteps in the hall.

“We should probably go to sleep,” you cleared your throat and pulled away from her, remembering exactly where you were right now.

“Right,” Jenna agreed, blushing slightly. She got comfortable again. “Could we stay like this tonight?” she asked and you nodded, holding her close as the two of you fell asleep.

~X~

The winter sunlight peeked through Jenna’s window as you slowly woke up to the sound of soft breathing and a familiar weight on top of you. You smiled, not yet ready to open your eyes, instead you just relaxed, enjoying the peace and quiet. You really missed waking up like this in the past couple of weeks since you wrapped Scream. Reluctantly, fearing it would end this moment you were in, you opened your eyes and saw Jenna curled up against you, her head was resting on your shoulder and she was holding only your other shoulder.

She looked at peace, actually happy, and you found yourself being mesmerized by the sight in front of you and you were ready to admit to yourself that, if allowed, you wished you could wake up like this every single day. All of a sudden Jenna hummed in her sleep as she nuzzled into your neck. “Y/N,” she mumbled your name, and your heart hammered against your chest so hard you were worried it would wake Jenna up. What was she dreaming about if she was saying your name?

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your gaze softening as you brushed a strand of hair from Jenna’s face. Was this what you’ve been missing all these years? What you’ve experienced these past twenty-four hours. A loving family, actually having more than two people in your life that cared for you. Your heart ached and you just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep once more, trying to hold onto this feeling for just a bit longer.

Three days ago, you desperately went into a fight, seeking the feeling that came with it, seeking that release, and now here you were. You caught the glimpse of what life could be once more, you got a taste of what it was like to be a part of something like this. While you were filming Scream you deemed it all temporary, related to the project, a desire that couldn’t be fulfilled, yet here you were, waking up with Jenna sleeping in your arms.

And, fuck, you wanted this. You needed this, and you needed to stop fighting to have a chance at fighting for this. Jenna deserved better than a mess of a person, seeking release in fights. She cared so damn much, and it was unfair to put her through it. At the same time you were terrified. You were terrified of the truth coming out, terrified of Jenna’s reaction, terrified of her family’s reaction, terrified that the moment they all found out you were fighting you would lose all of this.

There you were, understanding better than ever the potential ramifications of your decisions. And it hurt. Would a decision made in desperation, continued due to the inability to cope, cost you the future? You couldn’t think about it right now, you just fell asleep once more.

~X~

By the time she woke up and glanced at the clock in her and Aliyah’s room it was already ten in the morning, which was actually the strangest experience she had lately. Well, she knew the reason, but it was still strange to do it. “I can’t remember the last time I slept this well,” she stretched a bit, satisfied as she nuzzled against you and blinked a few times.

Sure, she slept well every night she spent with you, but you always had to get up early, either to go to the set, or to avoid being caught. So, this was by far the best sleep she had in a long time. Jenna smiled and looked at you, slowly waking up as well.

“Right back at you,” you stretched as well, spreading your arms on her bed and clenching your right fist a few times. Yeah, that was her fault. “I think we actually overslept,” you noticed as she rolled off you. Did you really oversleep?

“How so?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, she didn’t need to look in the mirror to know she looked like a mess, her hair was a mess, her eyelids puffy, and perhaps the best thing about it, you didn’t mind it one bit, you just smiled at her, watching her with that same adoration she was used to.

“I have a flight to catch,” you said as you sat up and hopped over her to get up.

Right, you needed to leave. There was no way to prolong this anymore. “Won’t even stay for breakfast?” she asked, knowing it was a futile effort. Your flight was in a few hours, and you still needed to get ready and go to the airport. You couldn’t even get a quick breakfast.

“Sorry,” you crouched down next to her and put your hand on top of her own. “Next time,” you promised, and Jenna nodded, sitting up and kissing your cheek.

“I’ll go and make you something to eat on the way,” she told you and got up. “Don’t even try to argue, let me just quickly go to the bathroom,” she said, leaving no place for arguments. Besides, she could get fully ready for the day later.

After she came back from the kitchen with a sandwich for you to take with you, because that was the quickest thing to make and she wanted to be with you for a bit longer, she found you packing the few things you brought and already dressed.

You were getting ready to leave, and Jenna found herself looking at your back. She glanced at her drawer, where she kept her jewelry, she's been thinking about it for a while. You would both sooner rather than later be busy. Wouldn't be able to see each other as often, would probably more often than not be on different sides of the world. She made the decision and cleared her throat, immediately getting your attention.

"Jen?" you watched her, noticing the look on her face. She walked over to the drawer and picked up a box before approaching you.

"I've been thinking," she began and you looked down at the box, confused, especially when she opened it and you saw a ring. "I want you to have this," your eyes widened at that and she took your hand, placing the box with the ring in it.

You were rendered speechless and she took that opportunity. "I was wearing it when I got my first award, for Stuck in the Middle," it meant a lot to her, she picked it out herself, bought it for herself, and it was a part of the night that made her truly believe she made the right choice. That everything would be worth it in the end.

"I can't take it then," you told her softly, already trying to give her the box back, but she closed your fingers around it and held your hand like that.

"Our job comes with a lot of distance, so much loneliness. I want you to have this, so you know I'm always with you. No matter how far we physically are," she let go of your hand and smiled when you didn't try to give her the ring back again. In fact, you were holding on to it tightly now. Jenna got up on her toes, leaning up as her fingers trailed up to the back of your neck and placed a light kiss on your cheek. "Might be a bit too small for you," she smiled apologetically but you smiled back, leaning your forehead against her own.

"I can just keep it around my neck, it's more practical," you hugged her, and she honestly didn't want the hug to end. "Keep it closer to my heart," yeah, that would be perfect.

Her heart skipped a beat at that, and she hid her face in the crook of your neck to hide the blush that spread all over her face.

The doors suddenly opened and Jenna honestly wanted to strangle whoever interrupted the two of you this time. "Y/N, I hate to interrupt, but you really need to catch that plane," Aliyah. Of course. "Oh my, you sure you don't want to take Jenna with you?" the nerve of her sister.

"Tempting," you rolled your eyes and reluctantly let go of her. You turned to her and pointed at the T-shirt you were wearing. "You do need to bring this back," you grinned.

"As long as she takes it off you herself," Aliyah said and ran out of the room before Jenna could throw a pillow at her. Aliyah peeked back into the room. "And takes other things off as well," she threw the pillow but missed as Aliyah hid behind the wall once more. Jenna covered her face, embarrassed as Aliyah laughed, at least she didn't take it too far. "Just don't be too rough with her!" Jenna wanted to die, to kill her sister and die of embarrassment.

"I wouldn't be rough," that's what you were worried about?! Really? After all the teasing you both took this was what you had to react to? Jenna looked at you, baffled. You were embarrassed, even uncomfortable, and you denied that you'd be rough in more of a whisper.

Jenna's eyes widened when another realization hit her. You were strong, really fucking strong, she saw it first-hand, both on the set and every now and then when she got to see you working out. Were you self-conscious about it? In that way? Considering your reaction and refusal to meet her eyes she figured you were. "I know," she whispered, pushing her own embarrassment aside as long as you would feel better.

You gave her a shy smile and cleared your throat. "Thanks," there was no more time to spare, you both knew it, but Jenna wanted to prolong it in any way she could. Would it really be so bad if you missed your plane? "I really do have to go," you leaned in and kissed her cheek, and that was it, she went outside with you. Glad that the uber coming to pick you up was still a minute away, and she hugged you as tightly as she could.

Why didn't she drive you to the airport? Her dad insisted. She couldn't understand why, but she figured there was some truth in what Aliyah was saying. Maybe she would have made a spontaneous decision and went with you.

~X~

A few days after you came back from Coachella you found yourself lazing around, hanging out with Hugh. He was in the kitchen, making a coffee for himself as you held and looked at Jenna’s ring, hanging from the necklace around your neck. It wasn’t just because of the size. This was truly the most practical way to keep it on you. Between martial arts and cooking, which you’ve been doing more often lately, keeping a ring on your finger wasn’t the most practical solution.

“You doing the Wolverine meme?” he asked as he walked back into the room from the kitchen.

You burst out laughing, only now realizing you were, in fact, lying on the sofa just like Wolverine did in that meme, and you were holding Jenna’s ring much like Wolverine held that photo. “I’m still stunned you know what a meme is,” you jabbed and tucked Jenna’s ring under your shirt.

“Patrick taught me,” Hugh replied and pushed your feet off the sofa so he could sit down.

You rolled your eyes and sat up, not without jokingly swatting him on the arm. “There’s a bunch of other furniture, I know what you’re doing,” you half-heartedly complained, but you appreciated it. He noticed a difference in your demeanor when he came over two days ago, and since then he did things a bit differently. Like now, when he purposely chose to sit on the sofa with you. It was the little things like that, sitting next to you while eating instead of on the other side of the table, or helping you out with the chores. Usually when he stayed over for over a day he would help with chores, as in while you were cleaning the dust, he’d wash the dishes, now he did the same thing you did.

You weren’t sure exactly what happened, but you certainly felt less alone like this.

Though you had a suspicion that he and Barbara talked.

“It nearly slipped my mind, you don’t have any projects this month, right?” he asked, almost out of blue.

“Nope, free until the middle of the January,” you replied, not really sure where he was going with that question. Sure, you had plenty of time off, but it wasn’t enough to fit a whole project in.

“Good,” he patted you on the knee. “You and I are doing theatre in three and a half weeks,” he just dropped it on you like it was already decided.

“Wait what? You mean going, right?” you’ve never done live performance before.

Hugh shook his head. “I meant doing. Performing. Two of us as a duo, ten minutes,” he must have lost his mind.

And you looked at him like he lost his mind, or suddenly grew another head or two. “Wait just a damn second. I’m not that free, theatre usually means more than one performance,” and that was the least of your worries.

“Just one this time,” Hugh said, and that satisfied grin on his face was actually kind of annoying.

“Come on, Hugh, theatre is your passion, not mine,” especially if it was a one-time thing. You got up, intending to go and start making lunch. For once your fridge wasn’t a barren wasteland with occasional chances of finding something that wasn’t prepared in up to fifteen minutes. You were committed to giving up the fighting, and for starters you figured you could begin by putting your energy into something else. Cooking was a good start. Familiar, had a purpose, perfect for a distraction and something to do.

“You need something to keep you occupied,” he said as he followed you and went to peel potatoes to help you out, you already decided you’d be making chicken schnitzel and fries this morning.

You paused at that. He was right, a job would help you focus, make it easier to avoid the urge to fight.

“And it’s for charity, come on, Y/N, you’ll have fun,” he said and you just looked at him in disbelief.

“It didn’t cross your mind that you could have just opened with that?” you asked, baffled that it took him this long to just say that one detail. Hugh just laughed, joking nudging you as you shook your head.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018 @godamnityess

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

A/N: I kind of removed some scenes, they felt a bit redundant, so the chapter ended up shorter than I anticipated. Oh well, hope you enjoyed the fluff, next chapter, though not right from the start, begins the angst.

[odo-apologist]

Every ENT character is the most character ever. Archer is a bitch he plays a fundamental role in the creation of the Federation he brings his dog on away missions which once causes a diplomatic incident he likes water polo he commits war crimes he saw a gazelle giving birth and implements it into his rousing speeches he had a wet dream about his first officer that included his dog's funeral he had to carry the soul of the creator of the main tenets of Vulcan philosophy in his head he gives a lecture on Tycho Brahe while getting his ass beaten during an interrogation scene. T'Pol is strict in her Vulcan beliefs she doesn't believe in time travel even as she's presented with irrefutable evidence and remains somewhat skeptical after experiencing it firsthand she is the funniest person on Enterprise she is more emotional than average Vulcans to the point that she had to have memories erased for causing her too much distress she could canonically pick up any of her crewmates and carry them bridal style she has Vulcan HIV she has it cured by the woman that later watches Spock and Kirk roll around in the sand in Amok Time she is technically canonically trans she is a recovering drug addict. Trip is a perfect gentleman he undergoes incredible emotional losses his favorite movies are Frankenstein Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein he gets pregnant five episodes in he dies in the worst episode of the entire series (and the entire franchise) only to have that death retconned in the following tie-in novels he ran around the ship in his underwear he leaves the ship for a couple weeks only to come back after one person had been kidnapped another thrown in jail and the engines are on the verge of destruction and reacts like :/. Malcolm is gay he has 50 ex-girlfriends he has only had one friend in his life his own sister barely knows anything about him he dies alone he likes pineapple even though he's allergic to it he gets spacesick he worked as an agent for a top secret organization he's afraid of drowning he whined about getting a cold he had a spike driven through his leg and didn't complain at all he has a psychosexual obsession with a man he thinks is after his job and grows to respect once they had a homoerotic fight scene before witnessing him die. Hoshi is a linguistic prodigy she's the greatest contributor to the universal translator she has a panic attack on one of her first missions she ran a gambling ring she has a black belt in aikido and broke her superior's arm she has never been to the principal's office in her life she is afraid to use the transporter she became an empress in an alternate universe she is the only one who gets laid on Risa making her the first human to do so she reacted to the threat of getting worms injected into her brain to make her reveal secret information by spitting in her interrogator's face. Travis is the sweetest man ever he loves rock climbing he gets injured whenever he tries to use those skills he's a fan of ghost stories he grew up on a small freighter he gets neglected by the narrative his counterpart helps Hoshi become empress he works out when he's horny he dies in a alternate future where Earth is destroyed he's a movie buff who would probably love the Criterion Collection he likes to chill in a part of the ship with zero gravity which he calls "the sweet spot." Phlox grins like the Cheshire Cat he breaks doctor patient confidentiality to help figure out Malcolm's favorite food he goes crazy when the rest of the crew have to sleep through part of space because of how social his species is he has three wives who in turn have three husbands he responds to the news of one of his wives propositioning a crew member by being like "cool! have fun :]" he once nearly vivisects Travis because he's being affected by radiation and gets obsessed with knowing why the guy has a simple headache he has a menagerie in the middle of his sickbay. And they're all my best friends.

[writingduhh]

Would love to see a Fake Dating trope with Schlatt if you want 👀

This trope has been rotting my brain 😮‍💨

YES I LOVE ITTTT! Sorry for the mega mega delay

Jschlatt || The Perfect Scam

Summary: When you need a date to your cousin's wedding, your best friend Schlatt suggests the perfect plan: fake dating. But what starts as a convenient arrangement soon spirals into something more. (fem reader)

You had never been more desperate for a date in your life. Your cousin’s wedding was this weekend, and the idea of showing up alone while your ex flaunted their new relationship made you want to hurl. Unfortunately, every attempt to find a plus-one had failed miserably, leaving you with only one option: suffer through it or... well, you didn’t know what else.

Schlatt, your best friend, wasn’t much help either. He was leaning back in his chair, sipping a beer with a lazy grin as you ranted about your predicament. “You could always just tell everyone you’re happily single,” he suggested with a shrug.

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “They’ll never believe that. My family is obsessed with relationships! It’s bad enough they’re already convinced I’ll die alone.

Schlatt chuckled, the sound rich and amused. “What you need is a fake boyfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief. “Someone who can make your ex jealous and shut up your nosy relatives all in one go.”

You looked at him skeptically. “And where exactly am I supposed to find someone willing to do that on such short notice?”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re looking at him, sweetheart.”

The idea hit you like a ton of bricks. Schlatt... as your fake boyfriend? You couldn’t deny it made sense—he was charming, confident, and definitely knew how to play the part. But you also knew Schlatt, and the guy lived for chaos. Agreeing to this would be like handing him a golden ticket to mess with you for an entire weekend.

Yet, as you considered the alternative, Schlatt’s offer didn’t seem so bad. You sighed, the weight of the situation pressing on you. “Alright, Schlatt. You’re on. But no funny business, okay?”

He put a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind. Schlatt threw himself into the role with an enthusiasm that both amused and unsettled you. He insisted on practicing hand-holding, linking your arms whenever you were out in public, and even coming up with pet names that made your skin crawl—and secretly your heart flutter.

“Come on, babe, we’ve got to make this convincing,” Schlatt would tease, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. You’d roll your eyes but couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The wedding day arrived too soon, and you found yourself standing outside the venue, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. Schlatt was beside you, looking more handsome than ever in his suit, his signature smirk in place.

“Ready to pull off the scam of the century?” he asked, offering you his arm.

You took it, your heart racing. “Let’s do this.”

Inside the venue, Schlatt played the perfect boyfriend. He was attentive, affectionate, and never missed a beat in making sure everyone saw just how ‘in love’ you two were. His hand rested on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, and his fingers would brush against yours in fleeting, yet charged, touches.

You approached your parents, and your mom’s eyes lit up when she saw you with Schlatt. “Oh my goodness, you brought someone!” she exclaimed, giving you both a warm smile. “And such a handsome young man too.”

“Mom,” you warned, already sensing her wheels turning.

Schlatt grinned, taking your mom’s hand and giving it a charming squeeze. “Mrs. [Your Last Name], the pleasure is all mine. I’ve been dying to meet the woman who raised such an incredible person.”

Your mom practically melted on the spot, while your dad gave Schlatt a once-over, trying to size him up. “So, how long have you two been together?” your dad asked, his tone casual but curious.

“Oh, it feels like forever,” Schlatt said smoothly, slipping his arm around your waist. “I knew [Your Name] was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

You shot Schlatt a look, trying to gauge if he was joking, but his expression was unreadable. Your dad raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “And what do you do for a living, Schlatt?”

Schlatt flashed a confident smile. “I run a few businesses here and there, nothing too fancy. Just enough to keep things interesting.” He winked at you, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your dad seemed satisfied enough, nodding slowly.

“Well, as long as you treat [Your Name] right,” your dad said, his tone firm.

“Like royalty,” Schlatt replied with a smirk. “You have my word.”

You were just starting to relax when you spotted your ex across the room, walking hand in hand with their new partner. They noticed you too, their eyes narrowing slightly as they took in Schlatt’s arm around you. Your heart sped up, the old insecurities bubbling to the surface.

Schlatt leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Showtime, babe.”

Before you could respond, Schlatt was guiding you toward your ex, his posture relaxed, but his grip on your waist firm. “Well, well, look who it is,” Schlatt drawled as you approached, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fancy running into you here.”

Your ex looked from you to Schlatt, their expression carefully neutral. “It’s been a while,” they said, their tone polite but with an edge.

“Yeah, it has,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “This is Schlatt, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Schlatt said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your ex hesitated before shaking his hand, his grip just a tad too firm. “Likewise.”

Schlatt didn’t miss a beat, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You know, [Your Name] and I were just talking about how lucky we are to have found each other,” he said, his voice dripping with affection. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Your ex’s smile tightened, but they managed to keep their cool. “I’m glad you’re happy,” they said, though it sounded forced.

“Never been happier,” you replied, leaning into Schlatt, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or something else, but being in his arms felt... right.

Schlatt’s fingers traced patterns on your back as he spoke, his voice low and intimate. “We should be get back to the party, babe. Don’t want to miss our song.

You nodded, letting Schlatt lead you away. Once you were out of earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You really laid it on thick back there,” you muttered, but there was no real bite in your words.

Schlatt just shrugged, his smile playful. “What can I say? I’m a man of my word. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “it’s not hard pretending to be crazy about you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you hoped the dim lighting hid the blush creeping up your neck. Schlatt was always flirty, always joking, but something about the way he said that made your heart flutter.

The reception was in full swing by this point, the dance floor packed with couples swaying to the music. Schlatt kept you close, his hands resting on your hips as you danced together. The night had a dreamy quality to it, like you were floating on a cloud with Schlatt as your anchor.

“You’re a better dancer than I thought,” you teased, grinning up at him.

He chuckled, spinning you around before pulling you back into his chest. “I have my moments,” he replied, his tone light. “But you make it easy, you know.”

“Make what easy?”

“Being with you,” he said, his voice sincere. “I know this is just pretend, but... it feels real sometimes.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his words. “It does, doesn’t it?” you admitted quietly.

The song slowed, and Schlatt’s gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. The playful banter, the stolen glances, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he touched you—it all started to add up to something more.

“Schlatt,” you began, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say or how to say it, and the intensity of his gaze made it even harder to think straight.

Before you could figure it out, the moment was interrupted by your mom, who appeared out of nowhere, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You two are just the cutest!” she gushed, clasping her hands together. “I knew you’d find someone special, [Your Name]. And Schlatt, you’re such a gentleman. We’re so happy to have you in the family.”

You smiled awkwardly, trying to process her words. Family? This was fake, wasn’t it? But the way Schlatt’s hand tightened on your waist as your mom spoke made your heart do a funny little flip.

“Thank you, Mrs. [Your Last Name],” Schlatt replied smoothly. “I’m the lucky one, really. Your daughter is... she’s amazing.”

Your mom beamed, clearly charmed by him. “Well, I hope you both know you’re always welcome here.”

“Mom,” you started, but Schlatt cut you off with a gentle squeeze.

“We appreciate that,” Schlatt said, smiling down at you. “Right, babe?”

You could only nod, your thoughts a tangled mess. The line between what was real and what was fake had blurred beyond recognition, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending.

As the night wore on, the reception began to wind down, and the guests slowly trickled out. You and Schlatt stepped outside for some fresh air, the cool breeze a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

“You were amazing tonight,” you said, turning to face Schlatt. “I can’t believe you pulled that off so well.”

He shrugged, his expression softer than usual. “Anything for you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you found yourself searching his eyes for any hint of a joke. But all you saw was... him. The Schlatt you’d always known, but also someone you hadn’t fully understood until now.

“Schlatt, I...” you began, but your voice trailed off, the words dying on your lips. You didn’t know how to say what you were feeling, how to admit that maybe—just maybe—this hadn’t been as fake as you’d thought.

Schlatt stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a tender caress. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and...”

“And?” you prompted, your heart racing in anticipation.

“And I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “This weekend just made me realize it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. “Schlatt, I... I think I’ve been falling for you too,” you confessed, your voice shaky but sincere.

The tension between you was electric, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Schlatt leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but then the floodgates opened, and the kiss deepened, full of all the emotions you’d been holding back.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“That didn’t feel very fake,” you whispered , a small smile tugging at your lips.

Schlatt chuckled softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your cheek. “That’s because it wasn’t,” he replied, his voice full of warmth. “I don’t want this to be fake anymore. I want us to be real.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and joy. “Me too.”

And just like that, what started as a pretend relationship had blossomed into something real, something that neither of you had expected but both of you wanted more than anything.

As you stood there in Schlatt’s arms, the night sky above you, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this weekend hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but in the end, it had turned out better than you could have ever imagined.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

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!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING  

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.  

You didn’t notice him watching you.  

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.  

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.  

He felt something tighten in his chest.  

God, you made him feel strange.  

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.  

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.  

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.  

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.  

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.  

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?  

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.  

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.  

His response came almost immediately.  

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.  

You: Are you sure? 

Pedro: Obviously.  

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.  

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.  

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.  

Pedro noticed.  

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.  

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.  

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.  

And then, of course, there was the teasing.  

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.  

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."  

He smirked. "Clearly."  

"Don’t judge me."  

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

Your heart stuttered.  

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.  

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.  

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.  

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.  

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."  

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."  

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.  

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.  

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.  

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.  

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”  

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.  

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.  

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."  

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."  

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."  

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.  

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.  

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.  

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.  

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.  

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."  

You told yourself not to react.  

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.  

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.  

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”  

You had only sighed. “I know.”  

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.  

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.  

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”  

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”  

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.  

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”  

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.  

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.  

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.  

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”  

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.  

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.  

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”  

His brows knit together. “You okay?”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”  

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”  

Pedro didn’t look convinced.  

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.  

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.  

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.  

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.  

Neither of you spoke for a moment.  

Then—  

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.  

You hesitated.  

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.  

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.  

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”  

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”  

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”  

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.  

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.  

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.  

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”  

Cecilia.  

You felt your whole body go rigid.  

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.  

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”  

You swallowed hard.  

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it.  

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.  

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”  

The implication was clear.  

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.  

But then—  

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”  

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”  

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.  

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”  

Cecilia’s smile faltered.  

It was subtle, but you caught it.  

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.  

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”  

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.  

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.  

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.  

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”  

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”  

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.  

Warm. Steady.  

Grounding.  

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.  

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.  

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”  

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”  

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”  

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”  

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”  

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”  

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”  

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.  

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”  

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”  

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.  

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”  

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”  

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”  

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.  

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.  

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.  

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”  

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”  

Pedro stopped walking.  

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.  

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”  

You swallowed.  

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.  

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.  

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.  

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”  

A lump formed in your throat.  

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”  

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.  

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.  

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.  

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.  

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.  

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”  

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”  

You snorted. “So dramatic.”  

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”  

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.  

Your stomach flipped.  

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”  

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”  

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”  

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”  

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.  

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.  

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.  

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”  

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”  

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”  

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”  

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”  

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—  

“Do you want me to talk to her?”  

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”  

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”  

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”  

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”  

Something in you wavered.  

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”  

Your breath hitched.  

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.  

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”  

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.  

“Hey,” he murmured.  

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.  

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”  

Something tightened in your chest.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”  

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.  

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”  

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”  

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”  

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”  

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”  

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”  

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.  

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.�� 

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.  

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.  

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.  

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.  

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.  

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”  

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[talesofadragon]

𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Summary: Despite witnessing the death of his mother and being forced to grow under the watch of his Death Eater father, Theodore Nott is living proof that love and care bloom even in the most barren conditions. Maybe, they flourish even more.

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Pregnant!Reader

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff 

Word count: 4.2K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 he had over his twenty-four years of existence.

His first dream was at the tender age of three after his mother surprised him with a trip to Diagon Alley. When nightfall came, the Sandman put him to sleep, drawing images of the alley's bustling stores and magical people behind his eyelids.

His second dream was at seven years of age. It had been a few years since the loss of his mother, and he had come to terms with the painful reality that her ghost did not linger within the desolate corridors of Nott Manor. But her soul and her memories seemed to still echo in his head.

The third dream was the catalyst that set off a chain reaction, unleashing a plethora of heavenly promises and alternate realities. It marked the beginning of one of the best stories he had ever read and one in which he had serendipitously played a role in curating. It happened when he was fourteen.

Hogwarts was abuzz with excitement as it hosted the renowned Triwizard Tournament. Though he wasn't particularly enthralled by his school and its whimsical attractions, let alone the two other visiting schools participating in the tournament, he had no idea how profoundly this event would impact his life. Everything changed when the girls from Beauxbatons Academy gracefully entered the scene, and amidst them was a certain witch with the most mesmerizing, iridescent eyes that instantly captured his attention.

Y/N Y/L/N—that had been the name of the witch who occupied his dreams for years on end. Though today she was known as Y/N Nott, his remarkably beautiful and majestic wife.

Tonight, just like every other night, Theodore sat on his bed. He would lovingly observe the gentle rise and fall of Y/N's chest as she peacefully slept beside him. In recent times, she often kept one hand tenderly clasping his while the other lovingly cradled her pregnant belly, an undeniable symbol of the beautiful life they were bringing into the world.

And like a magnet calling for the metal, Theodore’s hands would always wander to the life they had created, astounded by the little flutters he felt both against his palms and in his heart.

Y/N truly was his dream. And she was entirely his.

“Why are you not sleeping?” she murmured without prior notice, prompting Theodore to look at her. Her eyes were barely open, tiredness dominating her every feature.

Theodore was cautious not to engage in conversation with her, not wanting to risk waking her from her peaceful slumber. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to gently play with her hair. He lovingly brushed away the stray locks that caressed her face and used his index finger to twirl some of the strands. A playful smirk adorned his lips, knowing that the action almost always lulled Y/N into an undisturbed sleep—and he could already see her eyes fluttering shut.

But then, she abruptly shook her head, forcing her eyes to open.

“Y/N,” Theodore chastised, giving her a pointed look.

“Theo,” she replied, drawing out the last vowel.

Theodore snorted at her antics, and for some reason, he recalled the lazy days he spent with her in his bed at Hogwarts in the years following her transfer to the school.

She shifted closer to Theodore’s side—maybe she thought that moving around might sober her up. She cupped his face, angling it closer to hers. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m just thinking, butterfly.” He shook his head with a subtle laugh, his hands caressing her lips and pulling her bottom lip down. He only released it when he was sure her pout would mold into a relaxed smile.

“About?”

“Us three.”

Theodore observed the puzzled expression taking over his wife's features. She blinked owlishly while languidly processing his words. As his thumb gently brushed against her pregnant belly, her gaze shifted downward, and a melodious giggle escaped her lips.

“What about us three?”

“Nothing in specific,” he replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He already swooned whenever Y/N used the word “us.” But to hear it accompanied by a number that reflected a product of their ardent devotion? It filled his heart with love.

“I’m sleepy, Theo. Be specific, please.”

Merlin, Theo smiled. If this is a dream, I hope it lasts forever.

“I’m just really happy, Y/N,” Theodore elaborated.

Y/N mirrored the winsome smile that he radiated. She leaned in closer, positioning herself between his legs with her knees firmly planted on the mattress. Tilting her head to the right, Theodore's attention wandered between the still-visible hickeys on her neck, which had yet to fade away since two nights prior, and her lovely little belly.

“I want to straddle you,” she said after putting both her hands on his broad shoulders. “But I’m too big, and I can’t figure out a comfortable position that doesn’t involve me squishing you.”

Theodore’s uproarious laughter flooded the entire room. He found it both amusing and ludicrous that Y/N would think that. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her toward him until his chest cushioned her back, and his hands wrapped nicely and securely around her middle.

“This is my favorite position.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at her husband’s remark. “Huh. Since when did Cowgirl stop being your favorite?”

“Y/N.” Theodore rolled his eyes. He buried his head in her neck, teasingly biting her. She giggled, trying to push him away. “No straddling, riding, or exerting yourself while pregnant.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Theodore deadpanned. “Go back to sleep, butterfly. Not getting enough sleep is bad for the baby.”

“But how can I sleep when my baby is awake?”

“Is he now?” One of Theodore’s hands combed through Y/N’s hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on her belly.

The placid movements made her eyes flutter, but she blinked away the exhaustion at once. “Not my little prince,” she whispered. Her eyes landed on Theodore. “My little king.”

Pink dusted Theodore's cheeks in response to the comment. He had never realized how much he yearned for even the tiniest and most tender displays of affection until Y/N entered his life.

He basked in her warm words, bumping his nose gently with hers. “I love you. But I will love you even more if you get some rest.”

Y/N pouted. And Merlin, it was physically impossible for Theodore to do anything but smile at her reaction. “Not before you do.” She glared at him, and he held her gaze. A moment passed, then two, and then three. An errant yawn escaped Y/N's mouth, and she unintentionally blinked. She inwardly reprimanded herself at the realization. “Let me read you a story then.”

“A story?” Theodore asked amusedly.

“Hmm. It’s good practice for when the baby comes.”

“No, Y/N.” Theodore shook his head. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Y/N shrugged innocently.

“Lying little witch.”

“Overprotective big oaf.”

“Oaf, you say?” Theodore raised an eyebrow while Y/N laughed. “Alright, you’ve done it.”

Instantly, Theodore flipped her over, making her back softly land on the mattress. He tickled her ever so gently, planting kisses all over her neck, cheeks, and body, eliciting delightful giggles from her until she let out that long, familiar sigh of contentment. Within minutes, she had drifted into a peaceful slumber, leaving him to gaze affectionately at her and the beautiful life they had created together.

As soon as Y/N’s eyes opened, Theodore's absence from the bed struck her, followed by the unnaturally quiet atmosphere around her room. She planted her elbow on the mattress, and with great effort, though she would never admit it, propped herself up and gazed at her surroundings.

The magical clock on the wall marked eight-thirty in the morning, and Y/N found it odd that Theodore was nowhere in sight. He rarely left her alone, especially since she became pregnant, hardly giving her a minute by herself.

Deciding not to think much of it, she slipped her slippers on and, unceremoniously, made her way out of bed. She was about to call for her husband when the smell of eggs and grilled cheese permeated the air. Her hurried steps echoed through the house as she dashed toward the kitchen.

“You’re making breakfast?”

“Y/N!” Theodore whipped his head in surprise, flying pans and floating juice surrounding him. “I told you to call me if you need anything. Especially if you want to walk down the stairs!”

Y/N completely brushed off his comment, eyes lighting up as one of the spatulas scrambled the eggs. “I’ll set the table.”

“Woah, woah, woah. You’re not doing that.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” she replied, looking down at the arm that blocked her way.

“Y/N—”

"Setting up the table will not break my back, Theo! I can do things even though I’m pregnant."

"I know, Y/N. I know." At this point, it was evident that Y/N's mounting frustration was reaching a tipping point. Theodore had to tread carefully with his words to avoid making her cry or, worse, giving her a reason to ignore him. "It's just that I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed. And, you kind of ruined it."

Y/N's big doe eyes locked onto her husband, a hint of calculation shimmering in her irises, revealed by the tilt of her head. As she placed both hands on her belly, Theodore's composed demeanor couldn't hide his concern and attentiveness.

He never enjoyed seeing Y/N upset, especially when she was pregnant. The mere thought of an upset Y/N during her pregnancy made him uncomfortable.

However, her giggle dispelled all his doubts, and a wave of relief washed over him. Still, his heart felt like it was dunked in the frozen waters of the Black Lake when he saw her skipping ahead, confidently navigating the stairs.

"I can fix it!"

"Y/N! What did I say about the stairs?"

"That I can't walk down the stairs by myself," she cheekily replied, holding onto the railing tightly. His heart clenched just as tightly as he watched her.

"Stay where you are, I'm coming,” Theodore announced.

“Uh-uh-uh. I’m climbing those steps myself, and if you even think about helping me, you won’t be coming until a year after this baby’s born.”

Theodore scoffed, “Don’t threaten me with sex, Y/N. It’s not going to work.”

“I said you won’t be coming, Theo darling," she pointed out matter-of-factly with a wicked grin. Sometimes, it didn't take much to remember that she was sorted into the House of Snakes. "I never mentioned sex.”

Theodore glared at his wife, his tongue poking his cheek. She won. And she knew it.

“One step at a time.”

With a quick wink, she resumed her way up the staircase, calling over her shoulders, “The baby wants strawberries, and I want grapes. Can you fix something, my love?”

“Get in bed safely first, and then I’ll see if you can get your fruits.”

Y/N waved at him from the threshold of their open bedroom door. Once he was sure she was inside, he cursed under his breath. Though, his smile never wavered and only turned into the biggest grin when he started chopping grapes and strawberries.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

Theodore stood proudly, attempting to hide his uncertainty behind a facade of confidence. He wore an expression that asserted, “I am perfectly capable of baking a cake for my wife.”

The chaotic ambiance in the kitchen begged to differ.

The room seemed to be the battlefield from the Third Wizarding War with flour scattered everywhere, eggshells haphazardly discarded on a plate, and cake batter splattered on once-pristine beige walls.

Perched on the bar stool, Y/N attempted to mask her chortle behind the book in her hands. It was a good thing that Theodore was too busy opening and closing cabinets to notice her amusement.

“Theo, my love. I know pureblood Slytherins struggle to admit defeat, but maybe it’s time you retire that apron you’re wearing and let me take care of this cake.”

“Absolutely not,” Theodore refuted with a little too much vigor. The spatula in his hand swayed to the right, causing a generous amount of batter to land on the side of Y/N’s face. “Oh, Merlin! Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I swear I didn’t mean it!”

Y/N’s nose scrunched in disgust when Theodore approached her side. He cupped her cheeks, but she briskly swatted his hands away. His heart broke, and he stepped back with dimmed hazel eyes.

“You utter nincompoop, Theodore Nott!” With a horrified expression, Theodore watched Y/N rush to the sink and splash her face with water. A goblet of cold water came flying to her hands after she snapped her fingers, and she gulped it down at once. “That smelled foul! I don’t want to imagine how it tastes. Throw that bowl away. Right now.”

He did so immediately. He looked down at the gooey mixture, stifling a scowl. “Maybe it’s better if I buy a cake.”

“Or, hear me out. I should make one.”

“You’re not exerting yourself.”

“Theodore, darling. Baking a cake is a breeze. It’s you who struggles to even boil water.”

“I don’t struggle to boil water,” Theodore grimaced. One look from Y/N, and he was left evaluating his response. His eyes wandered to the slight mess he had created in the kitchen and then to his pouting wife, who looked absolutely ethereal with her round belly. He was starting to cave. Damn, that witch. “No! Don’t look at me like that. I’m getting you a cake. One you’re not making.”

“But—”

“No buts. In fact, I’m going right now,” Theodore said in a rushed tone. He knew that if he even looked at her for one second longer, he couldn’t remember what letters formed the word “no.” He immediately summoned his keys, placing them in his pockets. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t touch anything, don’t worry about anything. Just… breathe. Yeah, butterfly?”

Y/N blinked, gazing at her husband. “You too?” she replied unsurely.

Theodore gave her a quick, though impassioned, kiss that almost made her forget where she was and what they were talking about. His hand went to rub the curve of her belly, and she cursed those stupid hormones that made her whimper.

Dazed, she watched as Theodore fetched his coat. He sent her a languid smile, and then, he dashed out of the house and apparated promptly. As soon as she heard the apparition crack, it was like the “Nott Enchantment” was lifted off her, and she could see everything around her much more clearly.

She turned on her heels, carefully studying her kitchen. With a devious grin, she rushed to grab her wand and immediately pointed it at the counter. “Wingardium Leviosa.” The utensils simultaneously launched into the air, followed by the eggshells and the other ingredients on the counter.

Y/N cleared the surface quite easily, directing whatever needed washing to the sink, which was already filling with soap and water, and disposing of the trash. Scourgify was at the tip of her tongue, but deciding that she wanted to revel in her rebellion a little more, she tucked away her wand and pulled the cleaning supplies from the storage.

Immediately, she put on the pink rubber gloves, which Theodore never quite fancied, flexing her fingers in the air and picturing the look of sheer terror on her husband’s face. She poured the surface cleaner on a cloth and began disinfecting the kitchen.

Slowly, but surely, the abysmal smell—courtesy of Theodore’s extraterrestrial baking skills—was replaced with the fresh scent of pine and vanilla. Y/N inhaled these scents, labeling them as one of freedom. Even her baby seemed happier, vehemently kicking her belly and bouncing around.

It didn’t take long before everything was clean. Satisfied, Y/N placed the cleaning supplies under the sink and started putting back the clean utensils. Though, her peace was disturbed by a loud pop.

She shrieked, placing one hand atop her mouth and the other on her belly when it dawned on her that there was now a little less light inside her home than there was a second before.

Looking up, she exhaled a sharp breath when she realized that one of the ceiling’s light bulbs was out.

“It’s a good thing your father isn’t here, my little prince,” Y/N whispered, gently caressing her belly. “He probably would’ve apparated us to the moon, thinking it was a Death Eater or something.”

Once more, she felt her stomach fluttering as her baby’s little kick brought a smile to her face. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that her little boy seemed to be inheriting her sense of humor, and she silently thanked the stars that he might just be a lot less uptight than Theodore.

Merlin seemed to be on her side too, egging her on and encouraging her little streak of rebellion. Without giving it much thought, Y/N rushed to the electrical panel by the kitchen’s wall and spotted the room’s switch.

When they had first moved, Theodore was particularly concerned about muggle electricity, swearing that it was an anti-wizard mechanism that would electrocute them if they came near it. Y/N didn’t believe him. But because she loved him too much to see him losing his precious hair over this trivial matter, she did indulge in his absurdity and kept herself away from the panel.

After her curiosity got the best of her, she decided to ask Fleur, a friend from Beauxbatons and Bill Weasley's wife, about electricity. Knowing that Mr. Weasley, Fleur's father-in-law, had a fascination with muggle devices and technologies, she figured Fleur might have some insights. Additionally, Hermione, Fleur's sister-in-law, being a muggleborn, likely knew a thing or two about it as well.

To her relief, Fleur reassured her that electricity wasn't half as bad as Theodore had made it out to be. With the kitchen switch turned off, Y/N could easily change the light bulb without any risks.

She grabbed her wand, pointed it up, and carefully removed the old bulb. Just as she was almost done placing the new one, she felt a hand snatch away her wand and another grab her waist.

Y/N gasped, feeling herself being pushed against the wall. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs, her eyes peering up in horror until they landed on familiar hazel irises that looked anything but warm.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Her annoyed voice mixed with Theodore’s sharp one. She pushed him away from her just as he threw her wand across the room. It clattered on the floor, the noise accompanying Theodore’s labored breath.

“I told you not to do anything!”

“Well, I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You were playing with that muggle death trap, Y/N! All while being pregnant!”

“Oh, get off your rocker, Nott! I turned the electrical switch off before changing the lightbulb,” Y/N argued, gesturing toward the electrical panel.

It was obviously a mistake given how Theodore's face turned as white as snow, and the trembling in his fingers signaled the storm of emotions building within him, about to erupt. “You touched Frank Benjamin’s apparatus of doom?!”

“What?” Y/N made a face after a moment of silence and confusion.

“Did you touch that thing?” Theodore asked, pointing at the panel.

“Yes.”

“Are you mental?”

“I’m starting to think I am after two years of being married to you!”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Who the bloody hell is Frank Benjamin even?”

“I told you not to change the subject!” Theodore warned.

Y/N was this close to slapping her husband’s obnoxiously handsome face. “You are being awfully dramatic, Theo. Just because Draco told you and Blaise that electricity is a torture device developed by muggles doesn’t mean it’s true!”

“Oh, yeah.” Theodore crossed his arms. Surprisingly, now that Y/N could see the pink and purple paper bag from her favorite bakery in his arms, her husband looked a lot more cute than intimidating. “How’d you know that?”

“I asked Fleur,” she deadpanned. “Oh, and would you look at that? I’m still alive! Looks like Frank Benjamin did a lousy job.”

“We do not say his name in this household, Y/N!” Theodore insisted while stepping closer. He seemingly noticed the bag he was yet to discard in his hands. He placed it on the counter and turned to his wife before he froze in his place. “You cleaned the house?!”

Y/N flung her arms in the air at her husband’s callousness. “Yes! And with those pink gloves you hate so much!”

“I told you not to do anything. I left you for ten minutes!”

“I wish you left me for more. Maybe then I would’ve been able to do the one thing I need more than anything.”

“Which is?” Theodore scoffed.

“Breathe!”

Following her outburst, Y/N’s hand came to rest on her hip while the other landed on her heart. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let the oxygen flow inside her lungs.

When her eyes fluttered open, the tension that inundated the air slipped. And meeting her on the other side was her Theodore with warm hazel irises and outstretched hands.

“Come here.” He gestured with arms wide open. Y/N dove into his embrace. She had gotten quite better at accommodating her large belly in Theodore’s bear hugs. “I’m sorry if I've been frustrating lately. I just… I just want you to be safe and happy, Y/N. Both of you.”

“We are, Theo. With you, we always are,” Y/N assured him. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she buried her face deeper into her husband’s clothes. His scent invaded her senses, and she had to admit defeat against her hormones.

“Hey. Look at me, butterfly.”

Y/N lifted her tear-stained face. She wanted to let Theodore know it was just her hormones and that there was nothing to worry about, but any modicum of common sense evaporated as soon as Theodore started kissing away the tears.

She exhaled in delight, relishing in the feel of her husband’s lips against her skin. His touch was delicate and ephemeral, yet it left a trail of anticipation and ardor in its way.

“Theo,” Y/N murmured. She cupped his face, her thumb gliding gently over his stubbled jaw. “I love you.”

“You can never love me more than I love you, Y/N Nott," he admitted, caressing her neck, specifically her pulse point. "And maybe, it’s because my affection knows no bounds that I’ve crossed the line from being protective to becoming overbearing. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection at his heartfelt words, leaving her momentarily speechless. “I forgive you,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on his neck. Theodore's lashes fluttered in response to her touch. “And thank you for admitting this out loud. I know it must’ve been hard.”

“Oh, it’s not the only thing that’s hard right now.”

“Theo!” Y/N guffawed loudly. She playfully slapped his chest, but he quickly caught her wrists and nuzzled his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Stop being promiscuous. I’d like to peacefully eat my cake, please!”

“Why have a cake, Y/N? When I can make you the most fantastic cream pie. It’s going to leave you craving for more,” Theodore whispered huskily in her ear, going as far as licking her earlobe and sucking it gently.

Y/N gnawed at her lower lip, already feeling herself surrendering to Theodore. Curse those stupid hormones and all the times she teased him with sex. Must he retaliate, too? How did they even get to this point?

“After the cake, Theo. Our baby is hungry.”

Theodore stopped then, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. He grasped her hand, beaming when she interlaced their fingers together. He watched her as she giddily reached for the strawberry cheesecake he had gotten her, plating two slices, and taking the biggest one for herself.

“This is really good.”

“Better than my cream pie?” Theodore wiggled his eyebrows. He laughed and ducked out of the way of a flying strawberry, effortlessly catching it before it hit the ground. “You missed, my love.”

“Don’t you ‘love’ me, Theodore Nott!” Y/N pointedly addressed him. It was hard to take her seriously with the crumbs on the side of her mouth. "One more sexual innuendo and I'm naming our child Frank Benjamin."

"Absolutely not!" Theodore scowled. He took a bite from his own cake, looking back thoughtfully at his wife. "Though if you do indulge in my cream pie, I'll let you tell Draco and Blaise that we are considering naming our child Frank Benjamin."

Y/N's eyes lit up like a thousand stars twinkling in the night sky, and Theodore couldn't help but feel a euphoric swarm of butterflies dancing in his soul, bringing an overwhelming sense of happiness and warmth to his heart. Her radiant joy illuminated the room, and at that moment, he knew that her happiness was all he ever needed in this world.

Thank you to the lovely nonny who suggested this prompt💚 I hope I did it justice. I always knew that I will be writing for Theo Nott sooner or later, and I'm glad to have started with this piece.

Thank you to everyone who sent me requests; there are loads of Theo fics I'm working on, and I hope to release them as this year progresses.

[utahimeow]

to bind a god — satoru gojo

summary — satoru gojo lets you tie him up.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. bondage, femdom, sub!gojo, established relationship (reader and gojo are married), degradation, praise, edging, choking, slight dacryphilia, handjob, oral (f receiving), implied subspace, creampie

word count — 6k

author’s note — this was not supposed to be six thousand words long

To most, the idea of restraining Satoru Gojo seems inconceivable.

A being so powerful that he’s as close to omnipotent as a human can get. One who can bend reality to his will. Even to touch him, to come close enough to make contact with him– an impossible task.

So how does one restrain Satoru Gojo?

You ask him nicely.

Play with his powder-white hair as he lays in your lap, scratch at his scalp until powder white eyelashes flutter shut and he’s humming, content. Get him right where you want him to be. And then, dangle his undying love for you over his head. It works every time.

“Baby?” you muse.

“Hmm?”

“You know how you love me so much? In sickness and in health? Till death do us part?” It’s not entirely uncommon for you to remind him of the very words you had repeated to one another the day you became forever bound to one another. And before you had made your vows to one another, it was some other twisted way of getting exactly what you wanted. In truth, however, batting your eyelashes at Satoru was usually enough. 

Your husband’s eyes flicker open and he gazes up at you, one thin white eyebrow raised pointedly. He sighs then, even rolling his eyes a little, ever so dramatic. “Yes, my dear wife, you know I'd do anything for you.”

“So then, you’ll let me tie you up and edge you, right?”

He barks out one of his booming, obnoxious laughs. As if you’ve just said the most impossible, unfathomable, unimaginable thing. 

He sits up, still laughing, searching your face for a sign that you’re joking. He doesn’t find it. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru.” 

His cerulean irises, the very ones that hold an ancient power so immense that it seems like a myth, widen. He audibly gulps and his Adam’s apple bobs. Yet amidst his off-put reaction, something else lingers. Something that tells you he just needs a little extra push.

“Come on, I mean… think of all the things I let you do with me, baby,” you reason. Not that Satoru’s particularly into anything obscure. Rather, the intensity of the way he takes you usually leaves you recovering for days– because you love when he does. Naturally, he’ll use toys, or a blindfold, or handcuffs, but never anything as ‘serious’ as bondage. And sure, he assumes the dominant role, but that’s only because you enjoy having him in charge of your pleasure. It’s never any kind of formal dominance or submission, either. No titles, no punishments– outside of being playful, that is. 

The final blow is, in fact, when you bat your eyelashes and pout at him. 

Of course, he agrees. Because you’re you, and he’s him, a man not immune to a little sweet talk from his wife.

And of course, he does point out the elephant in the room – he’s the strongest human being in existence. What’s to stop him from slipping out of the ropes? He could do so without so much as blinking an eye.

“Just pretend, dummy! No teleporting, no breaking or dissolving the ropes into thin air, no nothing,” you tell him. Without a doubt, you assure him that these come with the exception that if Satoru needs to escape, by all means he may escape – an alternative to a safeword. 

Thus, two weeks later, Satoru kneels in the centre of your shared California king bed. He’s bare as the day he was born, his body sculpted like a divine statue, the manifestation of years of sorcery displayed in the way each muscle has been carved to perfection.

A tiny smirk sits on his face as he observes your concentrated state. Your lip is trapped between your teeth while you weave strands of rope together into neat patterns over Satoru’s chest, torso, arms, thighs. His arms are pulled behind his back, bound together by delicate knots. His steady breathing orchestrates your movements, and when you catch his gaze you pause just to admire him for a moment. Your heart swells with warmth, with debilitating affection for him.

Before long, you’ve weaved the rope into perfection. You take a step back from the bed, away from his kneeling form, to drink in your masterpiece. 

The rope slithers over his body, milk-white skin tainted by sanguine red. It’s not tight enough to squeeze, yet his biceps seem to swell between the gaps. The strand that runs down the middle of his chest and underneath leaves his pectorals bulging and you’re filled with the urge to bite and mark him. To claim him as yours. As if he’s not already wrapped up like a present for you. As if he’s not wearing a ring that pledges his soul to yours.

You’re rather impressed with yourself, too. It’s not bad at all for your first time, although technically you’ve spent weeks practising on anything limb-shaped whilst your husband was out of the house. None of it is particularly intricate, yet somehow you think that, had it been any of the more detailed patterns you’d seen on the web, he would not look so breathtaking. 

“Well? Is it everything you imagined?” Satoru quips, pulling you from your trance.

You narrow your eyes, questioning why you presumed that being tied up would ever stop him from running his mouth when even a ball gag would be useless on him. You nod though, humming in affirmation. It’s the last bit of satisfaction he’ll get from you. 

“You look pretty, Satoru,” you say, and it’s genuine, yet there’s a flutter in his belly at the teasing edge in your voice. “It doesn’t hurt anywhere?”

“No, ma’am,” he grins.

“Good. I’ll be back in a second,” you tell him before you prance off to your walk-in closet where two little pieces of lace await you. 

Satoru can’t be the only one all dressed up, after all. 

When you return, you’re in a bustier top, with lace and frills and tiny ribbons, and a matching thong– red, to match the ropes that decorate your husband’s body like ornaments. Satoru’s grinning like a pervert, devouring you with his eyes, his cock twitching and leaking as it hangs between his thighs. 

“Oh, look at you,” he says with a gaze filled with awe. Heat crawls to every corner of your body, but you swallow the urge to melt from his words and maintain your composure. “You got yourself a little outfit?”

You nod, mischief flashing across your face. “Since you were so kind and generous to let me tie you up, I thought I’d treat you a little.”

“Fuck, I’m lucky, heh?”

Tilting your head, you step closer to Satoru once more, his eyes like rhinestones glimmering with far too much arrogance for your liking. He has no idea what you have in mind. Or maybe he does, and he’s naive enough to think it won’t have any effect on him. 

You kneel on the bed in front of him, leaning in until you’re mere millimetres away from his face and your breath is warm on his lips. 

But you don’t kiss him. And when he sways forward, trying to catch your lips with his, you pull away.

“Aw, come on, baby. I can’t even get a kiss?” He’s pouting. Unfortunately for him, it’s a habit of his that you’ve grown resistant to.

“Say please,” you say.

His smile only grows, devilish and knowing. Then, a “please?”

Your hand lands at the base of his neck when you press into him, your lips meeting his softly, tongue dipping into his mouth just barely, just enough to keep him wanting more. The hand that sits on his clavicles begins inching down, sliding over the rope you so carefully placed. 

Feather-light, you brush a single fingertip against the head of Satoru’s dick which now stands upright between his legs. He shivers instantly, ever so sensitive to any touch, but especially sensitive because it’s you.

He did grow up with no choice than to be self-indulgent, after all. To cling to anything remotely good, even if he has to be a little selfish about it. So he clings to pleasure. He clings to your sighs and moans, to the way you wrap around him, to your hips and thighs, to every part of you. It’s made him far too spoiled. 

Your finger traces down his shaft, over the unforgiving veins, along his flushing skin. Your hand wraps around him then, fingertips hardly touching, and he groans into your mouth. 

“Eager?” you taunt. His eyes dart to your lips as you pull away from his face, watching the way they’ve become slick with honey-like spit. 

“You really can’t blame me,” he replies. 

You chuckle, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip and settling onto your knees in the spot next to him.

Satoru’s gaze drops down to the way your first wraps around his cock. Just as quickly, you lift his head back up, fingers under his chin until his eyes meet yours.

“Eyes on me,” you say. Something behind his irises bubbles, clawing at the surface. Still, he’s grinning.

When your hand starts to move, he sucks in a breath. Even if it’s achingly slow and barely enough to cause any stimulation, the relief that lies in being touched by you is enough. 

“You always take such good care of me,” you tell him, batting your eyelashes so sweetly at him. “Let me do the same for you, won’t you?”

He hums, long and drawn out, and your thumb glides over his tender tip. As you smooth over the slit, you shouldn’t be surprised when your fingers become damp with his arousal. 

“Already wet, huh?” 

“Well, you know what you do to me,” Satoru says, with a slight drawl in his words already, cheeks heating.

Maybe that’s part of it, but you also have no doubt that the ropes that frame his arms and torso are starting to coil around his mind too. Promising to take him to a space he’s never been to before.

So soon.

You drag your fist up and down, inch by inch, having no intention of speeding up. Not for a while anyway. He’s much too used to getting anything he wants from you.

He’ll try to pretend he’s patient. That’s fine. You’ll work him until he’s no longer pretending.

You ghost your lips against his jaw, along the column of his neck, nipping at his marble-white skin until there’s a mark or two left behind. Your teeth graze at his earlobe and he shivers. Something in your brain clicks when he does– the thought of him writhing beneath you makes you dizzy. 

You’ll get him there, you assure yourself. The slower the better.

Ever so slightly though, you pick up your pace, pumping him a little quicker now. 

“How’s that feel, Satoru?” you ask, a mix between taunting and the genuine desire to hear his affirmation.

“Feels real good,” he breathes, still grasping onto steadiness, refusing to let his tone waver.

The next time your hand slides up his cock, you squeeze a little harder, like a reward for his surprising lack of sarcasm. His breath hitches slightly when you do, leaving you grinning.

Every pearl of precum that drools from the slit of Satoru’s cock gets smeared along his length by your palm. It doesn’t take long until he’s covered in a layer of slick, aiding the way your hand glides up and down at a speed that’s finally enough to light a fire deep in his abdomen. 

His jaw clenches and he gulps, yet he remains practically silent– much to your disapproval.

“Wanna hear you, baby. Go on,” you coo, catching his gaze as you tighten your fist around him for a split second. It’s not like him to keep his noises to himself when he feels good, anyway.

His mouth drops, and a breathy little whine falls from his lips, and it becomes clear why he needed your encouragement. The noise makes your own clit throb, painfully unstimulated.

“There you are, such a good boy,” you say, stroking your hand faster. 

From then on, Satoru doesn’t resist letting out his whiny noises, mixed with his panting. It’s a complete contrast to his usual grunts, growls, and groans that are always so low, coming from deep in his chest as he takes you exactly how he likes, how he wants, how he needs. Now he’s all breath and high-pitched, sweat building on his temple, helpless as he sits wrapped up in the palm of your hand.

His cock is near-purple and painfully hard as you jerk him off, twisting your hand at his tip with a slick noise. His hips are starting to buck, the hard ridges of his abdomen starting to ripple. The ropes stretch, like they’re breathing, and then they come to life.

“Tell me when you’re close, Satoru,” you say, stern compared to how sweet you’ve been up until now. When you look at his face, his eyes are half-lidded and clouded over, his eyebrows pulled together. Your hand slows to a near halt and he whines pitifully. “Look at me.”

It takes him a second, but he blinks and then his glazed irises meet yours. 

“You’ll tell me when you’re close, won’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he moans, hips rutting slightly into your fist, begging for friction once more. “Please.”

You smile, satisfied. He’s been so obedient thus far, you have no reason to not resume the cruel jerking of your hand– with even more haste this time.

This time, you pump your hand with determination, lip caught between your teeth as you watch him eagerly, soaking up his reactions. As Satoru starts to near his edge his head falls back, his name on your lips as his veins start to burn with a familiar sensation.

“Close,” he breathes. “I’m close.”

And everything he’s built up comes tumbling down the second you take your hand off of him. 

“No, please,” he cries, voice cracking, him squirming in his restraints. It’s pathetic. It’s adorable. “You can’t do this to me, baby.”

You giggle, watching his eyes brim with tears. “I just did.”

“I’d never do this to you,” he says, more desperate than you’ve ever heard him. 

“Because you can’t control yourself, baby. Maybe now you’ll learn,” you tell him, smiling so sweetly. Your fingertip brushes against his raging, red cock and he flinches, near-shrieking. “Deal?” 

“Fine- please, just touch me again, fuck,” he begs, his voice sending bolts of pleasure to your core and you’re suddenly aware of the slick pooling in your own panties. 

Your hand wraps around his dick again and falls back into a steady rhythm, dragging up and down the hard length in a way that has Satoru whining again instantly. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers over and over.

Within mere minutes, he’s throbbing into your hand once more, hardly muttering the word “close” before you take your hand off him.

“Ple-ease,” he mewls. “Need to cum, please let me cum.”

You have Satoru Gojo under your thumb. There’s no doubt about it.

Your chest aches with sympathy for him, truly. You are doing this for purely selfish reasons, after all, to soothe a sadistic, power-hungry instinct inside you. He’s done nothing wrong. But God, the way your brain buzzes from being able to get him like this in no time at all.

“Just hold out a little longer for me, Satoru, yeah? I promise it’ll feel so good,” you tell him. Your original plan was to see how long you could keep working him up for, but your pussy is starting to become restless. Between your legs, a pulse begs to be relieved. 

He replies with a moan and a twitch of his hips up into your hand that’s tugging at his cock again. You didn’t think it possible for it to be this red, this swollen and hard, veins bulging, his tip leaking so much precum that it almost looks like he already came. You drool a little, shivering at the thought of it stretching you out. 

The next time Satoru warns you of his impending orgasm so you can take your hand off of his cock is much sooner than the last few times. His entire body squirms, his arm muscles tensing against his restraints, and he sobs, tears slipping down his blood flushed cheeks.

From his swollen lips comes a stream of pleas and whimpers, ones that make you want to give him the world. You’re not sure how much of this you can take, let alone him. 

“It hurts,” he whispers. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. 

“It hurts? You can safeword if you need,” you remind him, scanning his eyes for any signs of panic, but you’re only met with a blissed out haze. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head with determination. “I’m the strongest.”

Despite his dazed state, he manages to give a stupid, insufferable smirk like he just told the greatest punchline in history. 

“And here you are, crying like a little bitch because I won’t let you cum.”

You thrive off of the cry he lets out when you squeeze his cock, hard. In the blink of an eye he returns to whining pathetically and begging for release.

“Please… please,” he sniffles, tossing his head back in frustration. 

Frankly, you’re amazed that he hasn’t teleported out of the ropes. You doubt he can truly keep up the act– that the ropes are really binding, that he can’t simply tear them apart without so much as lifting a finger– so why hasn’t he?

For a moment you peer up at him, at the desperate sight of him wriggling and squirming, at the straining of muscles that are packed with immeasurable strength, and a chill runs down your spine. 

He thinks he’s truly restrained.

It shouldn’t surprise you that the second he’s put under a shred of control, he gives in instantly. The moment he can surrender his power he’s forced to carry, he does it without hesitation. There is no one else he would ever be so vulnerable for, but you. No one else whose hands he would feel so safe and secure in. No one else he would ever rip open his chest and show his heart to.

The least you can do is put him out of misery, for now.

“What do you want?” you ask, dripping with honey, dragging your hand up and down, up and down. Every movement gives a shlick, shlick, shlick from the way his cock weeps.

“Wanna cum,” he whines, arms twitching behind his back, desperate for some kind of leverage. “Please, I-I need to cum.”

And so you succumb to his pleas. Finally, you give him exactly what he wants, working your hand over him so fast that his whimpers turn into a stream of incoherent cries. He twitches and throbs in your palm, until at last, with a choked sob, he cums.

Streaks of warm, white seed splatter over Satoru’s chest and abdomen, his entire body wrought with tremors as pleasure sinks into every muscle and every fibre that he’s made up of.

“Good boy, there you go,” you murmur, keeping your slicked up hand stroking him at a gentle pace to get him through his climax. “Did so well.”

His entire body trembles as he breathes through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Your clean hand soothes over his hard thigh, over his shoulder, squeezing softly as you crane your head to slot your mouth against his. He barely has the energy to kiss you back, yet still his tongue moves against yours like a natural instinct, albeit weakly. 

You pull away, hovering a mere inch away from his face and cradling his cheek with your hand. “Doing okay?”

A dopey smile makes his features light up and any blooming anxiousness within you gets put to rest. “Yeah. It felt so good.”

In turn, your own lips curl into a smile of satisfaction. Then the heat pooling between your legs makes itself known once more, and your brain sparks with an idea. “Good. You think you can help me out now?”

Satoru nods, ever eager, drool forming at the corner of his lips. It’s adorable how whipped he is. 

Your fingers hook into the knot in the centre of Satoru’s chest, guiding him to turn so that he faces the headboard. You crawl up a little, splaying yourself out against the pillows, spreading your legs with your bottom lip between your teeth and the confidence of the entire world.

Satoru watches you with galaxies in his eyes as you push your little thong down your legs and toss it to the floor. His tongue nearly lolls out of his mouth when he finds the glimmering slick that dribbles out of your hole. When you bring two of your fingers down and drag your fingertips through your folds, you think he might start panting like a dog. 

You make a show of dipping your fingers into your soaked cunt, rolling your eyes back and arching a little as you moan, sweet and soft.

“Baby, please,” Satoru croaks out, wriggling in his ropes a little. 

“What, Satoru?” you tease, the sound of his begging sending heat straight to the growing bubble of pleasure in your gut.

“Can I have a taste?”

You grin devilishly as you pull your fingers from your dripping hole. Rising to your knees, your arm snakes behind his head, your hand settling on the back of his neck. The other hand, with your fingers covered in your nectar, hovers by his puffy lips. 

“Open for me,” you say, voice low and, without meaning it to be, sultry. 

Satoru’s mouth drops without a shred of hesitation. Your fingers sit on his tongue, your eyes locked with his as you say the word, “close.” 

He does, and then he’s drinking in the flavour, suckling on your fingers as though they’re an oasis and he’s been in the desert for his entire life. 

How you wish you could savour the image of his eyes as you push your fingers further into his mouth. White lashes flutter and tears well up, threatening to spill over his lash line, your grip on the back of his neck tightening as your fingers sink deeper into his mouth. When they reach the back of his throat, he mewls softly, swallowing around your digits.

“Such a good boy,” you say. Saliva webs cling to your fingertips as you withdraw them from Satoru’s lips slowly. “Now why don’t you eat my pussy like the good boy you are?”

“Please, please, let me,” he practically garbles, drooling and slobbering at just the prospect. 

You lay back, opening your legs so invitingly for him once again that he nearly lurches forward this time–that’s his place, after all, his home. Between your thighs. 

As you grasp the centre knot once more, Satoru allows himself to fall forward, diving straight into your cunt. 

He makes no effort to tease, or take his time. He’s hungry, and having his hands bound behind his back makes his face grow hot with pure frustration. He needs to feel your soft, velvety walls clench around his fingers. Craves it, in fact. 

Then his tongue runs up and down your folds, lapping at the sweetness that spills from you, and his mind floods with the single desire to make you cum with his mouth. 

Both of your hands fly to his head, weaving into the roots of his snow-white hair as moans start to fall from your lips. Your thighs tighten around his head when he latches onto your clit, swollen from neglect and aching to be touched. 

It only takes a few seconds before your belly starts to fill with a pulsing warmth that has you keening for more. As Satoru slurps at your cunt, your hips rut against his face in tandem. You’re selfish, shamelessly so, allowing yourself to indulge as Satoru always does with you. Something gleams in his eyes when you catch them with yours– bliss, thrill. His head is swimming, pure liquid, as the thought of you using him purely for your own selfish pleasure sinks in and makes his dick grow hard all over again. 

Over the lewd, wet noises of Satoru’s tongue flicking and suckling at your clit, your sweet, airy moans harmonise with his own grunted ones, muffled slightly by your pussy, but they’re still so loud. His voice vibrates against your core, and it sends pangs of bliss shooting straight to your gut. 

The sight of his huge, hulking body, bound and bent over, is breathtaking. Thick thighs keep his body from collapsing to the bed. If it were you, your abdomen would have long given out. Yet he stays upright, his head between your legs, his mouth never once faltering in the way it ravages your pussy. 

“Satoru- fuck,” you whimper, pressing your hips up into his mouth, your greed fuelled by the way he moans in reply and licks at you without any mercy. 

Spit and arousal pools on the sheets beneath your ass. Satoru comes up for air for half of a second, his cheeks and chin shining with your saccharine essence. The pure mess–the carnage of it all makes your head spin. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and in the blink of an eye he’s flattening his tongue against your clit once more. 

Your head sinks further into the pillow beneath you as you claw at his scalp and press his face closer into you. He’s ravaging you now, drunk on the sight of you being torn away from sanity as you near your climax.

Then, with nothing but your whimpered warning, that pulsing warmth in your belly erupts, washing over your entire body in a violent wave. Your muscles tighten, your mind numb from the overwhelming bliss, and Satoru wishes he could devour you whole. 

He waits until you tap at his shoulder to sit back on his shins with a smirk tugging at his lips and slick dripping down his jaw. Your legs tremble as you rise to your knees and shuffle closer to him, heartbeat still thudding in your ears as you crane your neck up to his face. Your lips are so messy against his, yet your kiss is so tender and full of affection when you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Between your legs, Satoru’s erection grazes against your thighs. You giggle into his mouth, and there’s a smack when you pull your lips from his. 

“So needy, aren’t you, Satoru? You like eating pussy that much?” you tease, reaching between him and you to stroke at his length. He gasps when your hand wraps around him, twitching into your palm.

“You know I do, baby, love your pussy so much,” he says, breathy and rasped. His jaw strains when you scratch at his undercut and bite your lip, your eyes no doubt glinting with mischief. 

“Then get on your back and I’ll let you fuck it,” you tell him. 

He throws himself to the mattress comically fast, inching up the bed, laying there, all wrapped up and patient for you. 

You giggle as you throw one of your legs over his waist and straddle him, bringing your hands down to his chest. Slowly, your palms run over each ridge and knot once more. Satoru revels in the brush of your flesh over his, in between rows of rope where his caged skin blushes. It glitters, too, with a sheen of sweat that matches yours. 

“You look beautiful like this,” you tell him, reaching up to stroke your thumb over his warm cheek, looking straight into the oceans of his irises as you say the words. 

His features turn soft, flashing with so much affection that it makes your heart soar. 

Taking his cock in your hand, you love the way he shivers as you drag the head through your dripping wet folds. Then, unable to hold out even a second longer, you line him up with your entrance and let him plunge inside of you. Both of you hiss in tandem, you sinking down on him, taking every last inch all at once. 

Satoru is already whimpering as you seat yourself on him, your hips flush to his. Your eyes roll back into your head, the delicious stretch of his cock making your brain turn fuzzy. 

The first bounce of your hips has him nearly crying. As though he’s been punched in the gut, Satoru gasps at the way you squeeze around his achingly hard, overstimulated cock. He feels every crevice of your walls, how the soft warmth sucks him in so sweetly that the ceiling above him starts spinning even though barely a minute has passed.

“Satoru,” you giggle, not caring that you fail to hide the breathlessness in your own voice from the sensation of being speared on his fat cock. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a virgin.”

His dick twitches and his eyes grow round, his mouth dropping as you start to move in a steady rhythm. “I-it’s too good, I- fuck.”

“It’s too good?” you tease, dropping down on him a little harder now. Your hands wander along the patterns of rope absentmindedly, toying with him. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already.”

“‘m not, I promise,” he whimpers, sucking in a trembled breath, his gaze fixing on your face. 

“Good boy,” you say. Then, you abandon all mercy. 

Fucking yourself back onto him, you let a chorus of shameless moans spill from your lips, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock rub against your walls. Satoru is even noisier, struggling to contain his high-pitched whines and whimpered moans as he struggles against his restraints. 

Your fingers curl around a knot on Satoru’s abdomen for balance. The way you move your hips is relentless, the skin of your ass smacking against his thighs, wet and sticky with sweat and arousal. Utterly lewd.

Satoru’s cock pounds against your sweet spot effortlessly each time you bounce in his lap. Brushes against your cervix when you lean forward just a little. It makes your eyes roll, the way he’s carved himself out inside you after all these years, the way your cunt moulds itself around him and clings to him so perfectly.

He looks so sweet beneath you. Taking everything you give him. His jaw is slack, his hair a tousled mess. His eyes are blown out, with nothing but dazed bliss behind them. His skin– hot pink and dewy. You’ve never seen him like this. So dishevelled. So ruined. And in the deepest corners of your brain, something has been altered. Something that makes you yearn for more of him just like this. 

It’s almost subconscious the way your hand traces up Satoru’s hard abdomen and sits on his neck. He shivers at the touch, his gaze flickering with something dark, before your fingers start to press softly into the sides of his neck. Ever so slowly, his moans turn to strained breaths. For a fleeting moment, the corners of his lips even quirk upwards.

What a slut.

You bend forward, your flesh warm against his ropes, your clothed tits pressed to his chest. Your lips slot against his, sloppy, your love spilling into him as you kiss him hard. Inside you, he throbs, just as a pulsing heat bubbles inside you from the constant friction of his cock brushing your sensitive spot. 

You pull away from his face, gazing into his irises to watch him slowly unravel. To let him watch the way you’re slowly starting to fall apart, too. You’re growing closer to your edge by the minute, refusing to falter your rocking hips despite how your thighs are trembling and starting to ache. Despite how pinches of pleasure run through your veins and make your head heavy.

When you gently loosen your fingers around Satoru’s throat, his chest blooms up against you as he gulps down the oxygen you’ve deprived him of.

“My little slut,” you whisper into his lips, pressing a quick kiss to them before straightening your back and pushing yourself upright. Suddenly, the urge to make both him and yourself cum is detrimental. 

One of your hands grips your tit over your bustier, squeezing at your own mound until your head falls back and you sigh. Your other hand travels between your legs, and you jump when your fingers find your swollen, sensitive bud. Still, the bliss that shoots straight to your core as you start to rub rapid circles into it has you moaning– loud.

From the sight alone, Satoru’s hips start to buck wildly up into you. His moans become never-ending, his cock jumping, balls tightening like they’re ready to be drained. 

“Fucking- gonna cum, can I? Please?” he huffs, squirming helplessly. You’re just impressed he still remembered to ask for your permission.

“Yes, Satoru, cum for me. Fill me up,” you tell him, breathless as you ride him with determination, clenching around him like you’re going to milk him– and you are milking him.

Satoru’s cumming, his back arching into the air as he sobs out, almost like he’s in pain. Your walls turn white, streaked with seed as his cock pumps you full. 

Still your hand works your clit relentlessly, your other hand flying to Satoru’s abdomen to steady yourself because before long your own orgasm hurtles towards you. Deep in your gut, the bubbling heat finally boils over, sending searing pleasure to your very fingertips. Satoru moans in unison with you as stars dance in your vision and your pussy tightens around him like a grip. 

A moment later, once you’ve come back down from your high, Satoru’s voice comes out in a rasp. “Let me see it.”

You lean backwards, bracing yourself on his thighs so you can lift yourself up off of him, letting his cock slip out and watching his sticky cum follow. It drools out of your hole so obscenely that you almost want to hide your face, until you remember that it’s your husband who’s staring at you. 

When the sheets are stained with every last drop that Satoru had emptied inside you, you collapse forward, heaving as you collect your breath. All at once, your aching thighs, your fatigued muscles, and your fuzzy head hit you like a punch to the face. The side of your face is pressed to Satoru’s plump chest, where his heart pounds against his ribcage so hard that you hear the way it races. 

“Did so good, baby,” you hum. Sleep calls you, wrapping its tendrils around you, but you fight it off in favour of clambering off of his lap. Something in your mind urges you to be gentle with him, like he’s glass– even though he’s anything but. Still– the blissed out, empty look in his eyes almost makes you sob. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, chuckling softly like he knows it’s exactly what you need to hear. 

“Can I undo the rope?” you offer, running a hand through his mussed up hair.

“No need,” is all he says. He sits up, stretches his arms to the sides, and the rope splits, falling off of his body in a crimson heap on the bed sheets.

You shouldn’t be this surprised; still, your mouth hangs from your husband’s display. Somehow it’s easy to forget just how strong he is until he reminds you once more. However, the ropes have also left their own reminder in snake-like imprints in his skin.

“You know, I was gonna offer to rub lotion on you, but apparently you don’t need it,” you huff. It’s not like he can’t just use Reverse Cursed Technique to heal himself, anyway. “Also, what if I wanted to use those ropes again?”

Satoru’s hand glides softly over your thigh, his face genuinely apologetic. “We can always get more, baby. And by the way, you were really good at that, you know.”

“You think so?” you question, leaning into him. “So, you’ll let me do it again, right?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

His words are void of any genuine objection. 

We’ll see about that.

to my wonderful beta reader @tetsutits <3 reblogs and feedback are much appreciated!