#and then gets out and everyone is like 'WHERE WERE YOU?!' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dilf-docs · 2 days ago

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My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal

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pinkiemachine · 1 day ago

Text

I am still waiting, Hishe…

Kal: Bruce, there you are — what in the world?

Bruce: Hey Kal.

Kal: Who are all these kids?!

Bruce: My Bat Family. I’m a dad now.

Kal: Since when?!

Bruce: Since 1940. Try to keep up.

Kal: I thought it was just the one! Hi, Nightwing.

Dick: Hi Superman! Yeah, I have siblings now.

Kal: And how’s that working out?

Dick: Most of us have died at least once.

Kal: …What?

Bruce: Hey Kal, check it out. This one’s super smart, and we have matching coffee mugs.

Tim: :)

Bruce: This one…

Cass: …

Bruce: Actually, this one scares me. And this one glows in the dark! Heheh!

Duke: :D

Kal: I can see that…

Damian: Father, I’m hungry. When are we having dinner?

Bruce: How many criminals have you caught today?

Damian: *holds up three villains* Is this sufficient?

Bruce: Eh, it’s good enough. Here. *tosses him a tofu hotdog, like just the dog part* Keep working on it. Three more and you get the bun.

Kal: *horrified silence*

Dick: Hmph! When I was Robin, I could catch at least five criminals before dinner.

Tim: Oh my gosh, Dick, no one cares!

Jason: No one cares about anything in this stinkin’ family. Where were you all when I died, huh?!

Everyone: *groan*

Damian: Quit being such a drama queen, Todd! It’s not like losing your life is the end of the world!

Tim: Yeah!

Damian: You shut up. The only thing you’ve ever lost is your spleen.

Duke: And his parents.

Everyone except Damian: *parental trauma* AH!

Bruce: I told you never to mention that!

Kal: I can’t believe what I’m watching… Does Alfred know about this?!

Bruce: Yeah, totally, he’s cool with it.

Kal: *narrowing his eyes* I have a very hard time believing that.

Bruce: Well, he works for me, so shut up.

Kal: What about Catwoman?! Does Catwoman know about this?!

Bruce: *nervous* Um… well…

Damian: *suspicious* Who’s Catwoman?

Bruce: *very nervous* No one.

Dick: Oh, he is so dating Catwoman!

Tim: Why didn’t you tell us?!

Jason: What if we don’t want a step-mom, huh?!

Bruce: Woah, hold on now —

Duke: Look, you’re upsetting Batgirl!

Cass: …

Bruce: Alright, that’s enough! We’re not gonna talk about this anymore! Because —

Everyone: *annoyed* — you’re Batman!

Bruce: No! Because I said so! …And also, yes, because I’m Batman! Cause Batman says so!

Kal: *smirking* More like because you’re Bat-Dad.

Bruce: >:(

Kal: And hey, where’s Barbara? I thought she was Batgirl?

Bruce: *nervous* She was…

Kal: …Bruce, what did you do?

Dick: Oh, don’t worry, Superman, Barbara’s fine.

Kal: Oh, thank goodness.

Jason: She’s just paralysed from the waste down.

Kal: Bruce!

Bruce: It wasn’t my fault! She’s not even technicially my kid!

Kal: Bruce…

Bruce: Oh, don’t you “Bruce” me. I’ll “Bruce” you… “Bruce” you in the face.

Kal: Okay, that’s it, you are not allowed to find any more sidekicks starting right now!

Bruce: *holding up Harper* What about this one?

Kal: No!

Bruce: *holding up Spoiler* This one still has a parent — I can just be a mentor.

Kal: No!

Bruce: Well, gee, Kal, what am I supposed to do with all the orphans in Gotham, then, huh?!

Kal: Do you hear yourself right now?

Bruce: I have a system, Kal!

Kal: That’s it! There’s only way to solve this!

*Superman grabs Batman, and they fly off*

*Batman then appears on the couch in Therapist Spider-Man’s office from Across the Spider-Verse*

Therapist Spider-Man: Would you say you carry any trauma from your childhood?

Batman: *leans over* Do I have a story for you.

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 day ago

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Injured (Alexia's Version): Future V

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You bring home your girlfriend

It’s not often that Alexia finds herself pacing.

She used to do it a lot when she was still playing. She used to pace before big games, up and down the length of the locker room until finally being allowed out to warm up.

This isn’t like that in the slightest.

This is her meeting your girlfriend.

Your Real Madrid girlfriend.

Alexia had thought you were dating that English girl that plays for Chelsea but apparently that was ‘just a fling’ and ‘sleeping with a friend’ which is something Alexia wasn’t quite sure was allowed but apparently it was.

She knew she had never let you go off to Madrid for a girl’s trip with some of the girls you dance with.

Look what had happened.

You’re bringing home one of Alexia’s worst enemies.

It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth as she peaks out of the front windows to see a fancy car pull up. It’s certainly not yours but you’re the one sliding out of the passenger seat.

Alexia breathes out along sigh as she pulls herself away, desperate to not let you see her lurking.

“Jaume!” She yells up the stairs,” You sister and her girlfriend is here!”

No answer.

“Jaume!” Alexia yells again,” Stop hiding in your room!”

She waits for a second and then Jaume’s desk chair scrapes against his floor and Alexia can move away from the stairs.

“Olg-“

“I’m already here,” Olga says, breezing into the room with a smile on her face,” Ale, you look like you’re about to pop a vessel.” Her finger smooths down the wrinkle in Alexia’s brow. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Our daughter is bringing home an enemy. I’m allowed to be angry.”

“You’re not angry,” Olga says, a soft smile on her face as Alexia glances back at the door,” You’re nervous. You just want y/n to be happy and you’ve not met this girl yet.”

“I just don’t get why she didn’t just stick with the English girl!”

“I thought you didn’t approve of Aggie?”

“I didn’t! I don’t! I don’t know.” Alexia huffs, glancing away. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And I’m sure she’s very happy with Olaya. Now, put a smile on your face and pretend you aren’t nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!”

The doorknocker goes and Alexia jolts in shock.

“Aren’t you going to get it?” Jaume asks from the top of the stairs and Alexia scoffs.

“I don’t want them to know that I’ve been waiting on them.”

“You’re so weird.”

Alexia ignores her son, waiting a few more seconds before opening the door, plastering an incredibly fake smile on her face when she looks at your girlfriend.

To her credit, Olaya Rodrigeuz doesn’t cower much outside of the usual ‘oh my god, Alexia Putellas is looking at me!’.

“Mami,” You say warmly and Alexia’s fake smile morphs into a real one.

“My bambi,” She coos, hands coming up to hold your face,” I missed you.”

“You saw me last weak.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss-“

Alexia freezes as something cold and wet brushes up against her hand and she shrieks.

“Oh, sorry,” You laugh,” This is Flower.”

“That’s a bear.”

“He’s a puppy.”

“Shit, y/n,” Jaume says, forcing his way through the door,” Where did you get a bear?!”

“A puppy.”

“Puppy, bear, same thing,” Jaume says dismissively,” Where’d you get him?”

“I bought him,” Olaya replies as the three of you squeeze into the entrance hall,” Y/n was talking about getting a dog and I saw an ad so I just bought him without thinking.”

It’s probably overreacting on Alexia’s part but she can’t help but notice all the little things as Olaya talks about buying you your dog (who apparently you’ve named Flower). Alexia’s eyes narrow as Olaya’s hand splays out against your hip, the way that she pulls you a little closer and they way you automatically tilt your neck towards her as she presses a soft kiss to just under your jaw.

Your girlfriend is a lot older than you. It’s obvious to everyone but causes the most worry in Alexia.

It was never a secret that you preferred older women. For whatever reason, girls your age never really interested you.

But it always made Alexia wary, especially when said older woman spent money on things like a puppy and held you so close like you were some piece of arm candy.

But that might have just been Alexia’s own interpretation of it.

“Food?” Olga offers up from behind and you stand, clicking your tongue.

“I’ll help. Come on, Flower.”

Your puppy pads obediently over to you and Jaume trails behind, trying to be as close as possible to the bear-like puppy with the flowers on his collar.

Alexia holds her hand out.

Olaya takes it.

Alexia squeezes, her face a mask of indifference.

“So,” Alexia says,” You’re dating my daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And you bought her a puppy.”

“She wouldn’t have done it for herself. She really wanted one but she was nervous to take the last step.”

“So you just bought her a puppy.”

“Yes.”

Alexia stares, long and hard until Olaya visibly slumps, shoulders closing in on herself.

“And the puppy is hers, right? Like if you break up, she gets to keep him?”

Olaya nods. “Yes.”

“Good because she really looks like she loves that dog and I don’t want him taken from her.”

“I only want the best for her,” Olaya says, seemingly uncowed now.

Alexia allows the silence to grow stale for a moment before she finally drops Olaya’s hand.

It isn’t approval. Not yet. But it’s a truce. It’s a ‘I’m not going to throw you out of my house just yet’.

“Now,” Alexia says, leading your girlfriend into the kitchen,” Why don’t you introduce me to my new grandson?”

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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pitchsidestories · 2 days ago

Text

look at us now II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2689

summary: former lovers reunite at Arsenal.

author's note: hi, our first Renée Slegers fanfic, let us know your thoughts on it. As always this is purely fiction, enjoy. 🤍❤️

image sources

“So, you hired another assistant coach without telling me?”, Renée asked incredulously, well aware that except for her, the room was full of very important looking men.

One of them nodded sternly: “You needed another one. We made the decision for you.”

Renée closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to protest. She was Arsenals new head coach after all.

With forced calmness, she asked: “Who is it?”

“You know her already.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She opened her mouth in order to ask what that was about to mean when you finally made your appearance. You had waited all morning in anticipation to surprise your former teammate with your presence.

“Hello Renée.”, you greeted her as you walked into the room.

Recognition flashed across her face, followed by genuine excitement. She got up from her chair, beaming: “You!”

Before you knew what was happening, she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a way too tight hug.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t strangle me, please! That would be sad first last workday at the Arsenal.”, you laughed.

“You’re so stupid! I missed you so much.”, Renée giggled but finally let go of you.

For a second, you stood there and took each other in and it almost felt like nothing had changed since you played together in Sweden.

“I missed you too but now every player and staff member are staring at us which is kind of awkward.”, you admitted, nodding towards the door where the first pairs of eyes tried to figure out who the newest addition to the team was.

“They’re just curious about you. Let me introduce you.”, Renée suggested, leading you out of the conference room.

You followed patiently.

“Renée, who’s that girl you almost couldn’t let go of?”, Beth asked, blinking innocently at you.

“That’s y/n. She’s the new assistant coach and we used to play together for Linköpings.”, Renée explained. You didn’t miss the slight hint of pride in her voice.

Your eyes found another Swede between the players.

“Actually, I played with Stina too.”, you added.

The striker smiled at you: “Good to see you again.”

“You too. And I can’t wait to get to know each of you.”, you said towards the crowd.

Renée turned to you: “You will love them.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Suddenly, your hand was in Renées as she dragged with her towards the football pitches. You could still feel the eyes of your new players on you as you followed Renée.

The eyes of Stina's teammates were expectantly drawn to her once the two of you had left the room.

An edgy laugh escaped the blonde’s lips: “What? Why are you all looking at me now?”

“Tell us!”, Beth commanded grinning.

The Swedish striker began to play nervously with her blonde hair: “Well what do you want to know?”

“About our new staff member and Renée of course!”, Leah replied thrilled.

Using the same excited tone as her, Beth added: “Obviously.”

“Not if she was a good baller or had a good sense and understanding of the game.”, Stinas eyes flashed in amusement.

“Actually.”, threw Kim in who was unlike the rest of the players indeed interested in that side of you.

The England captain clicked her tongue disapprovingly: “No, Kim.”

“We want the tea, Stina.”, Alessia told her.

She paused dramatically, during which everyone held their breath tensely, before admitting:” Yeah, they used to date.”

“When they were players or did, they continue to date once she became the head coach?”, Leah asked the forward curiously.

Stina cleared her throat and answered in a serious voice: “They ended it once Renée retired and took the coaching job in Rosengård.”

After this revelation the room fell silent for a second before Beth concluded with a heavy sigh:” Oh, that’s sad.”

“They seemed okay with it.”, the Swedish striker remarked.

Meanwhile Renée and you were walking along the training pitches, it was a cold day, but the golden afternoon sun warmed your faces. It was where you heard yourself say: “I’m glad that you don’t seem to mind that I took the job, Renée. Considering how things have ended between us in Malmö.”

“We mutually agreed to end this relationship.”, the Arsenal head coach remembered, while the smile disappeared from her face.

“True, it was the best solution at that time.”, you nodded.

Slowly, as the sunlight disappeared, the warmth returned to Renee's dark eyes, confessing:” I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Same. Nothing more.”, you agreed.

“That’s good.”, she observed.

At the end of your tour, you wished her goodbye:” So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”, Renée waved at you, her gaze following you until you were gone.

With a heavy heart the Dutch woman reminisced about all the wins and losses you had shared together in Sweden until her career ending injury put an end to it. Like a disco ball, Renée had put the shards that had caused the separation into each other to turn the pain into something bright.

She was content with her work, so love life wasn't a big issue until you came back into her life and made her wonder if maybe she should expect more from life.

The next day, you entered the training ground in a cheerful mood. “Good morning, Stina!”, you greeted your former teammate warmly.

“Morning.”, Stina beamed brightly back at you.

There was no time for small talk as Kelly Smith approached you: “Y/n?”

“Yes?”, you asked surprised. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe that you were working with her. Not only was she a legendary player for England but also for the whole of womens football.

She still smiled politely at you: “I think Renée is looking for you.”

You nodded once: “I’m coming.”

Renée was already on the pitch, one foot on a ball and her arms folded over her chest as she waited for the players to arrive.

You caught her eye from the other side of the field and smiled at her.

For a split second, Renée lost her balance on the ball, stumbling forward but catching herself quickly.

It all went by so fast, you had no time to worry about her.

“You’re good?”, you called out to her, teasing.

You had the feeling that somewhere behind you, Kelly was holding back laughter.

Renées cheeks had turned a slightly darker colour: “Yeah, of course.”

“Kelly said you wanted to see me?”, you said as you finally crossed the pitch.

“I do.”

You leaned forward, whispering: “I saw the dinner invitation in the locker room.”

The corners of Renées mouth quirked up: “Good. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Will Kelly and the boys join us too?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Somehow your brain stopped working in that exact moment. You weren’t prepared for you and her. You had been thinking of nice little staff dinner where you had the opportunity to get to know everyone better. Being alone with Renée made your heart race a little.

Hesitantly, you accepted the invitation: “Alright… I guess I’ll go back to work.”

“Okay.”, Renée nodded.

Luckily, the players entered the pitch at that moment.

Beth who had caught the end of your conversation, stared at Renée with hopeful eyes: “Is that a date?”

“No.”, the head coach replied matter-of-factly.

Victoria elbowed Beth in the side: “Stop seeing things, Beffy.”

“I don’t”, the winger protested.

Kim rolled her eyes: “Yes, you do. You’re delusional.”

“You will see.”, Beth said full of confidence before Renée sent them to warm up.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself in a tiny but charming restaurant that night.

“The dinner is so delicious, Renée.”, you said, taking a sip of your wine.

She smiled at you almost shyly: “Glad you like it.”

“Next time we should bring the whole team and staff here.”

Her face turned a bit more serious: “Yes, we should. But first I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“About something specific?”

“No, just to catch up.”, Renée explained whose cheeks were slightly reddish in colour, you weren’t sure whether it was the wine or her nervousness.

Instead of looking into her curious dark chocolate brown eyes, you stared at the wine glass in front of you as you confessing: ”I left Sweden because I needed a change.”

“A change?”, she repeated your words in a sincerely interested tone.

For a moment, you paused while the waitress lit the candle in the centre of the table, the flickering light made the conversation even more intimate: “To heal from heartbreak. What about you? What did I miss?”

“Not much. I tried to focus on football after leaving Rosengård.“, the football coach admitted casually. Whilst Renée undid her low hair bun so that her dark brown hair fell in waves over her shoulders.

With an amused smile on your lips, you remarked in disbelief:” That doesn’t sound like the fun Renée I knew from Linköping.”

Memories of her with a big cigar in her mouth and a ridiculous hat after winning the Swedish league came to your mind.

“Hey, I’m still fun.”, protested the Dutch woman, pointing her fork at you.

You cleared your throat and replied more seriously:” Yes, the players seem to think that too.”

“I take that as a compliment.”, she responded happily.

“You should, they’re really great to work with so far.”, you acknowledged.

Her radiant grin was infectious:” I think they like you too.”

“Only Beth is a bit annoying with..”, you began, thinking about the huge interest the English striker had in your private lives.

Renée waved your worries off:” Yes, I know. But that’s just how she’s, she only has good intentions.”

“I guess that’s true. I mean would be crazy if you still would have -.. , right?”, you started to ramble.

She lifted an eyebrow at you: “Would have what?”

“Feelings after a mutual breakup.”, you finished your previous sentence flustered.

The brunette spoke your name gently.

“Yes?”, you glanced at her expectantly.

Fiercely and passionately, Renée continued: “Of course I do. I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t have feelings for you anymore, I broke up with you because I suddenly was your coach, and it was wrong to date a player.”

Afterwards, there was a dramatic silence at the table. “Well, I’m not a player anymore.”, you said matter-of-factly.

“I’m aware of that.”, she answered with a wistful smile.

Slightly sheepishly, you asked her:” Was that why you wanted a dinner with me alone first?”

“To see if we could get back together? No. I wanted to know how you’re, what you’ve been up to?”, the football coach tried to be professional again.

“Now you know.”

“I do.”, Renée confirmed, playing with the idea to order some dessert for both of you as it was a speciality of this restaurant.

Much to her disappointment though, you stood up:” Thank you for the dinner, it was a nice catching up.”

“Yes, I agree.”, the brunette waved at the waitress, signalling that she was ready to pay for the two of you.

The first game of the year and also the first game in your new job was against Crystal Palace a few days later. To your delight, the girls played great, winning the game 5:0 and building their confidence in this first game.

“Great win, girls.”, you clapped your hands as the referee blew the final whistle.

Renée appeared on your side.

“That’s exactly what we wanted to see.”, she agreed.

“Oh yes, well done everyone.”, you smiled and handed out water bottles to the players. They high-fived you, done but happy while Renée said a few words to the players.

Happily you watched as the players rightfully celebrated their win until an elbow to your side made you look up.

Renée was grinning at you: “Good job from you too.”

“From me? I didn’t do much yet.”, you said, feeling heat rise into your cheeks.

“You did everything I expect from my assistant coach. Arsenal made the right decision, we’re a good team.”, Renée said softly.

You nodded, smiling gently at her: “Yes, we are.”

“Come on, let the girls celebrate.”, Renée said, nodding in the direction of the sidelines so your players could have the pitch to themselves.

You didn’t follow immediately. Instead, you pointed to a few reporters that stood on the side, waiting for their first interviews. “The media already calls for you.”

“On my way.”, Renée winked and disappeared into the direction of the cameras.

Just when you were wondering when exactly she became so comfortable giving interviews, Leah stepped into your field of vision.

“Leah? Shouldn’t you celebrate with your teammates?”, you asked jokingly.

She shrugged with a smile: “I was about to. It’s not everyday that you score a goal as a defender.”

“I know. That’s why you need to enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”, you laughed.

Leah pushed you gently towards the rest of the team: “Celebrate with us!”

There was no way you could decline now, so you agreed and followed along: “Alright.”

A few minutes of jumping and hugging several players later, Renée found you on the pitch again.

Her eyes glowed with amusement: “Did they manage to get you to celebrate with them?”

“I couldn’t say no to that.”, you admitted

“Of course not.”, Renée laughed.

“See?”

She winked at you: “Enjoy your first win.”

You toasted to her with a random water bottle that somehow had ended up in your hand: “To many more wins.”

“Yes, please.”, she laughed.

“Y/n! Come with us!”, Beth interrupted your conversation and waved you over.

“Where are we going?”, you asked.

“It’s a surprise.”, Mariona replied instead of Beth, smiling excitedly.

It was already night when you got home and when you saw Renée's number light up on your mobile phone, you held your breath for a moment, although you didn't know exactly why.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”, she apologized quietly as you answered her call.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips: “No, I was still awake, the Arsenal players can stay in pubs forever let me tell you that.

“Oh, I know, they did that to me too once.”, the Dutch woman remembered fondly.

“Kim and I left at the same time.” Teasingly you added:” So did you call me because you have come up with a masterplan against Chelsea or is it something else?”

“It’s something else. There’s something I need to talk about with you”, Renée admitted.

Your heart began to race: “Sure.”

“I kind of miss what we had back when.”, the head coach confessed.

The moment she said that you caught yourself reminiscing about memories of the past “Me too. We had some good parties with the team back then too.”

“Y/n.. I meant us. You and me.”, Renée clarified.

You felt the hope rise in you: “Do you think we could start again?”

“I don’t know, would you even like that? Or would you rather want to keep it professional.”, she began to nervously ramble.

You had heard yourself thinking out loud: “Pretty sure both can work this time.”

“Yes, but I want to know what you want.”

“I want to be with you. Renée, you’re an idiot, why are you standing outside in the cold?!”, you whispered into the phone, your eyes wandering off to the window where you noticed her in flesh and blood under the golden glow of the streetlamp light.

“In case that you say yes. What did you expect me to do? Go back to bed?”, Renée questioned with a warm laugh.

Soon you got up to go to the front door: “Wait, I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks.”, she replied relived.

“You look like you’re freezing, come inside.”, you observed while you let her inside.

The brunette thanked you once more, kissing you, her icy lips melting on yours as the door closed behind the two of you.

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mv1simp · 3 days ago

Text

The Take ♥️

Trainer! Max Verstappen x Midsize!Reader

I wanna put you in seven positions for seventy minutes, you'll get it babe (take you down, I really wanna take you down)

Everyone knows Max Verstappen hates having to workout out constantly. If it wasn't for his physically demanding career as a F1 driver, his choice of a workout would involve a weekly padel game with his mates and FIFA on his PS5. His trainer tries something different and gets Max to be the instructor for once - to you, a sweet and naive girl whose jerk boyfriend told her to lose weight. Max couldn't resist using a hands on method to help you get your confidence back.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark max girlies rejoice we’re back in action, naive! Chubby! reader, dubcon, explicit cheating but reader’s boyfriend is an absolute jerk hehe, size kink, WC 2.7k

Rupert, Redbull's physical trainer that had been delegated to none other than the legendary champion driver Max Verstappen, was at his wit’s end with his client. With his 4 world championships, Max was very familiar with the intense workout routine an F1 driver needed to maintain. It was just, well, he was just sick of the same repetitive timetable over and over again. And his physical trainer could see the results reflecting in Max’s pre season testing, seeing how Max’s numbers were admittedly very good, they were not as high as they’d been in the past.

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Too bad you ended up doing a lot more cardio than cooling down behind the steamed glass. Max grins devilishly as you both watch his cock go in and out of your creamy pussy together, every thrust making you scream his name and hold onto him desperately. After all, fucking up against the bathroom wall was a much more effective workout, right?

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you

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embbarnes · 3 days ago

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Just As You Are. | B.B

summary: He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

a/n: I'm not big into Valentine's Day just because it feels very commercialized to me, but I like imagining it with Bucky. This plot changed so many times lmao but I think I am satisfied with how this turned out. If you're allergic to strawberries, just imagine a different fruit. Not beta read. ;; wc: 4.2k

Bucky stood motionless in the bustling store, his steely eyes fixed with a deep frown upon the endless aisle dedicated to Valentine's Day merchandise.

He didn't remember it being so...big back in the day. The sheer volume of products and options left him feeling completely overwhelmed, his mind drifting back to simpler times when a thoughtful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate were considered more than acceptable tokens of affection for your sweetheart.

Now, he watched as frantic shoppers rushed past him, their arms laden with elaborate bouquets, towers of candy boxes, and enormous stuffed bears that seemed to grow more ridiculously sized with each passing year.

There were some shoppers who took a different approach, selecting items for personalized gift baskets filled with practical things like cozy socks or fragrant bath bombs. That seemed more personalized with his old-fashioned sensibilities, but you weren't particularly fond of long soaks in the tub, making that option feel somehow inadequate.

A wave of insecurity washed over him unexpectedly. Despite knowing that you had never once demonstrated materialistic tendencies or pressured him for presents, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should be showering you with gifts. Traditional values ingrained in him insisted that as the man in the relationship, this was his role to fulfill. His heart warmed slightly at the mental image of you beaming with delight over an armful of fresh flowers or savoring each piece from a velvet-lined, heart-shaped box of premium, ridiculously expensive chocolates.

Truthfully, he felt completely lost about what would be the perfect gift for you. The confident, charming young man he used to be - the one who could effortlessly capture a lady's attention with just a well-timed smile or clever word - seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. These days, the gazes that would drift to him were filled with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Defeated and increasingly anxious, Bucky turned away from the crowded store aisle, his mind spinning with uncertainty as he struggled to think of what to get you for this special occasion. As he made his way through the bustling shop, he passed by an enthusiastic florist who was eagerly displaying enormous bouquets of perfectly arranged, vibrant red roses.

The vendor was encouraging every passing customer to purchase one, his sales pitch well-rehearsed and persistent. The sight made Bucky recall a conversation from several months ago, where you had expressed your views on traditional romantic gestures. You explained that while roses were undeniably a sweet and romantic gesture, they felt somewhat predictable and conventional to you. Too ordinary, you had said, preferring instead gifts that showed genuine thought and consideration.

"Sure, roses are beautiful. I think they're a wonderful gift for birthdays or valentine's, whatever. But...I don't know. Everyone gets roses. I would be happy but it would also sort of feel like you didn't really try, since they're so abundant and common. It makes them feel less special. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound snobbish. I'd rather get a more personalized bouquet or...one with my favorite flowers instead." You glanced up at Bucky who was nodding and listening, remembering, for later.

Though the roses were beautiful, their pristine petals catching the store's fluorescent lighting to aid in their deep crimson coloration, Bucky could practically envision the polite but slightly underwhelmed expression that would cross your face if he chose such a common option.

Plus...why were flowers so expensive these days? A dozen roses for almost a hundred dollars? The modern pricing was ridiculous - back in his day, that kind of money could have bought several weeks' worth of groceries. Besides, a lot of the bouquets contained wilted flowers. If he got you a bouquet, each and every flower would be alive and well.

He didn't want to leave without getting you something special, something that would bring a genuine smile to your face. He stood there for several long moments, running his flesh hand through his hair as he considered what kind of gift would truly resonate with you, something that would perfectly balance thoughtfulness with appropriateness while still managing to surprise you.

After spending what felt like hours wandering through the store's aisles and watching other men pick the big red hearts off the shelves without a second thought, he began to carefully examine each heart-shaped box of chocolates, reading every label and ingredient list to ensure he found the exact type of varieties you had mentioned loving. Finally satisfied with a winner, he put it in the basket he grabbed.

Moving through the store, he made his way to the stuffed animal section, where he spent considerable time comparing different plush versions of your favorite animal, wanting to select the one with the perfect expression and the softest fur. That one looked too grumpy, that one looked lopsided, that one wasn’t proportioned right - but he found the perfect one.

Then rather than settling for a pre-arranged bouquet, he thoughtfully handpicked each individual flower, remembering all the times you had pointed out different blooms during your walks together, creating a personalized arrangement that represented all your favorites. Even with the care and attention he put into each gift selection, a nagging feeling of inadequacy crept in - everything he chose, while thoughtful, still felt too ordinary.

Bucky shook his head and paid for the items, ignoring the feeling.

Back at home, he arranged everything perfectly. He individually wrapped each item, positioning them precisely in the basket alongside the plush animal and chocolates. Taking his time with the flowers, he trimmed each stem at exactly the right angle and arranged them in the vase until the composition was just right. When Bucky finally stepped back to assess his work, his heart sank slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The entire arrangement somehow still didn't feel special or unique enough.

Alpine gracefully leapt onto the counter, her blue eyes focusing intently on the array of gifts laid out. She lowered her head, her pink nose twitching as she investigated each item curiously. "What do you think, girl...good enough?" Bucky asked softly, his fingers running through the ragdoll's silky fur as he gently stroked from her head down along her back.

After her inspection, Alpine cast one final, contemplative glance at the presents. Then, with typical cat-like indifference, she turned away from them, her fluffy tail held high like a banner as she delicately padded across the counter to the edge, and descended to the floor with one smooth leap.

"Bad, huh?" Bucky released a heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the carefully chosen gifts as waves of uncertainty began to wash over him, his anxiety gradually creeping in and eating away at him.

He didn't have more time to wrestle with his uncertainties as the sound of keys jingling at the front door caught his attention. You made your entrance quicker than he had anticipated, your exhausted form slowly making its way through the doorway after what was clearly an demanding day at work. You kicked off your shoes in a haphazard manner, letting them land wherever they might. The weariness etched across your features told him everything he needed to know about the challenging nature of your workday.

"Hey," Bucky offered in greeting as he made his way over to you in the entryway, his mind racing as he tried to keep you from noticing the carefully prepared gifts just yet. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little more time, he might figure out something better to give you than the basic gifts.

A soft, tired grumble was all you could muster in response, though the gentle warmth in his eyes worked its magic in lifting your spirits considerably. "Hey..." you murmured an actual response, crossing the space between you to wrap your arms around his sturdy frame. He gladly hugged you back, letting you bury yourself against him.

The thought of spending the entire day at home with him had been your secret wish throughout your shift, but responsibilities couldn't be ignored. He had promised to make the evening special, and that thought alone helped you persevere through the long hours of your workday.

Bucky thought fast, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with those intense steel-blue eyes. "How about a hot bath? I can get one ready for you, make it nice and warm - it'll be perfect for those sore muscles of yours...plus, I know you’ve been on your feet all day." He offered gently, his flesh hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. A playful smirk slowly spread across his lips as he added, "I could even feed you some fresh strawberries while you relax..."

"Ugh, that sounds so heavenly right now..." You agreed with a soft, appreciative moan, already imagining the soothing warmth of the water and the sweet taste of cool fruit.

Bucky made his way to the bathroom, wanting to create the perfect relaxing atmosphere for you after your long day. He tested the water temperature with his flesh hand until it reached that ideal warmth you always preferred, then clogged the drain.

While the tub filled, he selected your favorite aromatherapy soap, watching as it created billowing clouds of soft, luxurious bubbles that released that soothing scent you loved so much. He also scattered rose petals across the surface - special ones he had purchased with your other gifts. They would slowly dissolve into the water, but for now they created a nice, romantic display as they rested atop the peaks of foam.

In the bedroom, you gradually shed your work uniform, letting each piece fall away with relief before walking into the bathroom to meet him. He remained unaware of your presence for a moment until he turned, and when he did, he took the chance to admire you. Bucky rose up to his full height and approached you, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. "You're so beautiful, doll..." he murmured, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, before adding, "Bath's all ready..."

"It looks perfect," you replied in an equally soft and tired tone, carefully stepping into the steaming bath water and sinking down with a contented moan.

God, it felt absolutely amazing - after countless exhausting days of non-stop work, your muscles were crying out for relief. Your back and neck were especially sore from hunching over your desk for hours on end. The perfectly heated water enveloped your body like a warm hug, melting away the tension and aches that had built up over time. The chosen aromatherapy oils filled the air with a soothing blend of lavender and eucalyptus that relaxed you even further.

"Thank you, Bucky... this is... exactly what I needed," you mumbled appreciatively, slowly sinking lower into the luxurious bath until the fragrant bubble clouds rose around your shoulders like a soft blanket.

Bucky's lip quirked up with a gentle, knowing smile as he reached for a plump strawberry from the delicate pink crystal bowl beside the tub. His eyes sparkled with affection as he held the fruit up teasingly, "Of course doll... now open wide~"

"Tease," you said playfully, leaning for the strawberry he held between his fingers. You gladly accepted the offering, letting your lips brush against the plump, red fruit before taking a delicate bite. The sweetness burst across your tongue as you savored each moment, watching his expression intently. Unable to resist the temptation, you gently caught his finger between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the lingering juice - a deliberately cheeky move to provoke a reaction.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you, a knowing smile spreading slowly across his face. His fingers twitched slightly at the sensation of your tongue, and he leaned in closer. "Don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he warned in a low, honeyed voice that made you shiver, even in the steaming water. "You know exactly what'll happen. Besides, it's Valentine's Day..." He reached out to trace your jawline with his thumb, his touch feather-light and promising. "...I'll make it all about you..."

You couldn't resist the temptation that coursed through you, causing you to slowly emerge from the water just enough to delicately capture his hand between your teeth and deliver a playful nip. Your lips ghosted across his wrist and laid a kiss, "I think I wanna see what you mean..."

That's how you ended up on the bed with his face between your legs.

Your swollen, sensitive pussy being devoured by the soldier keeping your legs spread open. His tongue flatly lapped at you before he would encase your delicate clit in his lips and desperately suckle. The alternating movements kept you close enough to the brink of orgasm, but he wouldn't let you finish all the way yet.

"Bucky! Pl-please," you cried out desperately as he suctioned to your throbbing clit once more, his skilled tongue working magic against your sensitive bud. Your trembling hands clung tightly to the twisted sheets below your hips, your knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grip. Your cheeks were deeply flushed as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

It felt so fucking good - Bucky always dove into you like a starved man who hadn't tasted such sweetness in decades, you were a fruit from Eden and he wouldn’t stop until he has had all of you.

Which was kind of true, until you two had started dating and everything changed. Over time, he gradually gained the confidence he needed, becoming more and more comfortable with engaging in intimate acts. The hesitation that had once held him back melted away completely, and once that newfound bravado took over, he became a passionate and attentive lover who knew exactly how to make you come undone.

Bucky growled against you, tugging you even closer as he kept his face against your folds and lapped at you repeatedly. His eyes would peek at your expression from time to time, but he mostly kept them closed, purely focusing on your taste. So sweet and delectable, you were his favorite thing to lap up and devour. He never wanted to stop. This was his favorite thing ever. Being the source of your pleasure and hearing how you whined and squirmed underneath him.

"Come for me, baby...come on. Give it to me." He muffled against you as his tongue continued to move up and down with his repetitive licks, getting your juices and making sure to run over that swollen bud.

Fuck, you were. You were going to.

You moaned loudly as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the tense burning sensation gradually building deep in your belly while your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky kept a firm hold on your legs, keeping himself buried in your pussy as he continued his feast. Heat radiated outward as you began to feel your nerves come alive, electric sensations traveling from your core and flowing down through your limbs to the tips of your fingers and toes. The pressure continued mounting until finally, everything began slowly blossoming and unwinding into an overwhelming, desperate climax.

When he pulled away from your folds, his face and dark scruff were thoroughly soaked with your juices. The smug, satisfied bastard slowly licked his lips and began climbing over your shaking body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your sensitive belly all the way up to the crook of your neck. "Y'r so soft...god, I love every inch of you," he whispered in that husky, desire-laden voice as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Bucky..." You whined needily, the desperate tone in your voice betraying just how affected you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care - you were absolutely burning with desire for him. The delicious scratching sensation of his rough scruff against your skin felt absolutely divine, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your cheek against his strong jaw, seeking more of that friction. Your responsive action drew a knowing smile from Bucky as he pressed his body more firmly against yours, allowing his head to respond to your pressure and reaching his hand down to carefully position himself against you.

"Easy, my beautiful girl...I promise I'll give you everything you want and need. My perfect doll...just lay still for me, just like that...looking so gorgeous spread out underneath me..." He praised in that gentle, soothing voice that you normally adored, but in your current state of desperate arousal, his sweet words only served to turn you on even more. Something about it drove you insane.

When he finally breached you, your body arched off the bed and your hands immediately grabbed onto him, mindful not to claw at his heavily scarred shoulder.

The moan that escaped from between your parted lips was abruptly silenced as he captured your mouth with his own. The lingering taste of your pleasure danced on his tongue as it skillfully glided past your own, delving deeper to thoroughly explore every corner of your mouth. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction rumbled in the soldier's chest and vibrated against your lips as he pressed into the kiss with mounting intensity, perfectly matching the quickening rhythm of the increasingly passionate snaps his hips made against you.

The gentle slapping that filled the room was drowned out by your cries of unison - the two of you spewing groans and moans of all kinds as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your cervix and coated it with his precum. The gummy walls of your tight cunt continued to squeeze and massage his cock with each little movement you made squirming beneath him and listening to his lower pitched sounds of pleasure.

"Bucky...ah, feels so good...feel so full," you whined and fell back onto the sheets, ignoring the gentle bulge that appeared beneath your skin each time he hilted himself inside you.

"So perfect for me, doll...made for me, made for my cock," he whispered with reverence, his voice thick and heavy. He leaned down, pressing hard, passionate kisses against your neck, which you willingly allowed. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your sensitive skin to him as he skillfully left a trail of bites and gentle purple bruises blooming across your flesh.

Prettier than any of those damned flowers he saw today.

"R'member when I bit all over you... 'round Christmas? I was so lost and confused back then and..nngh...all I knew was you. All I could think about was you. All I ever wanted was you...completely all to myself..." His voice came out rough and broken between desperate grunts as his hips pistoned at an increasingly frantic pace, his movements becoming more urgent with each thrust.

"Ah, yes...I remember it...you were so needy," You gasped breathlessly, a small knowing chuckle escaping your lips as you eagerly took him harder.

"Now look who's being needy...f-feel you squeezing around me so tight..." Bucky hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed even deeper inside you, his thick cock swelling noticeably with his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Come for me, Buck Buck...I want it inside. Want you to fill me up," You reached up to him, yearning for more, pulling him down closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His silken hair cascaded down like a brilliant curtain, framing his face while he let out pants from slightly parted lips. The cool metal of his hand gripped firmly at the meat of your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive, chilling the skin beneath it.

Bucky ducked his face down and pressed closer to you, a deep groan tore through his throat as his rapid thrusts finally stilled - you felt his thick member twitching inside you as he coated your pretty velvet walls in his cum. As his orgasm washed over him and made him thrust a few more times for good measure, the overwhelming sensation brought you to yours again.

You both panted, breathing heavily in unison as you relished in the feeling of him still tucked inside you, thick cum oozing out as you let out soft laughs together.

"That was absolutely incredible..." You breathed out in a contented sigh, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much..." Your lips tenderly found his in a series of gentle, loving pecks, while your fingers delicately traced patterns across his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, babydoll. And actually, I have something special waiting for you in the kitchen..." He began, his eyes flickering towards the doorway. With a knowing smile, you gently guided his face back to yours, your fingers lingering on his jaw.

"Would that happen to be that beautiful arrangement of flowers and those decadent chocolates I spotted sat next to an adorable plushie?"

"Wait, what? How did you -"

"I saw the setup when you were preparing my bath earlier...sweetheart, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I feel terrible now." You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, guilt evident in your voice. "Work has been so hectic lately, I didn't even manage to find time to get you anything..."

He drew you even closer into his warm embrace and gently rolled both of you onto your sides. As his softened length slipped free, you nearly whimpered at the loss of connection, you held the pout back for now. "Doll, you should know by now that I don't need fancy gifts or presents. What matters most to me is having you here, sharing these moments together.” He winked playfully before returning to a more serious tone, “You coming home to me is the greatest gift I could ask for. And you know what? The night's still young - we could curl up together and watch a movie, if you'd like..."

You smiled and nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. "That sounds wonderful, but I really think we should freshen up first...things got pretty messy and you made me feel all sticky." You whispered with a playful lilt in your voice, carefully lifting yourself from the tangled sheets. As you made your way towards the bathroom, your hips swayed flirtatiously, each step a teasing invitation. Pausing at the doorway, you glanced over your shoulder with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "C'mon baby...if you're good, I’ll do that thing you always like..."

His reaction was instantaneous.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, Bucky leapt from the bed with the same sharp reflexes from his military days - every muscle alert and ready. His blue eyes darkened with desire as a roguish grin spread across his face. "Yes ma'am," he responded, voice husky with anticipation. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and swept you up into his strong arms, making you squeal and laugh with surprise, cradling you against his chest as he carried you eagerly toward the shower.

When your feet touched the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Bucky was already eagerly anticipating another passionate moment together, but you gently placed your hands against his firm chest, causing him to pause. Your eyes met his as you spoke softly but earnestly, "And just so you know, everything you got me was absolutely perfect. I love it all so much. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble - just spending the evening together would have been more than enough for me, but...everything you did get makes me feel so special. The arranged bouquet with all those beautiful flowers, the adorable plushie of my favorite animal, and those delicious chocolates...it's all too much. You are perfect."

Bucky felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him at your heartfelt words, the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying suddenly melting away. His voice was tender, slightly hesitant as he responded, "O-oh... yeah, of course. I...I really wanted to make tonight special for you in every way possible. I picked all your favorite colors and included those specific flowers you always stop to admire during our walks together...and I made absolutely certain the chocolates only contained ingredients and flavors I know you enjoy...and found you a soft, cuddle buddy to keep you company when I have to be away." He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he added with endearing awkwardness, "Besides Alpine, of course."

"Yeah, whenever she's in one of her affectionate moods and decides it's snuggle time," you added with a gentle, warm chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He swore his heart beat faster each time he saw those delicate lines. "You are enough, Bucky." You gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed through them, before offering him a tender, reassuring smile.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek as you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body as he relaxed against you. Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze again, you whispered to him with absolute conviction so he could feel the words as much as possible.

"You are always enough, and don't you ever doubt that for a second..."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

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andhumanslovedstories · 2 days ago

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The critical care unit is where the sickest people in the hospital go. Those patients need a nurse completely dedicated to them, and the unit needs to keep "code beds" open in case a patient in a different part of the hospital urgently needs a higher level of care. That means critical care is always under pressure to decompress (i.e. to turf their less sick patients somewhere else so they can take even sicker patients.)

In the last weeks before we went on strike, I was floated repeatedly to the critical care unit to take care of boarders. That's what we call medsurg patients who have graduated from critical care but don't yet have a bed on a medsurg floor. Personally, I hate floating to critical care. On the floor, you would (ideally) never get a patient assignment of three patients who were critical care status an hour ago. That's going to be a very heavy assignment. But that's how many I can take when I'm helping out in critical care. And it's dangerous. It's SO dangerous. The scariest shifts I've had have been with patients who should be in critical care but aren't. People with massive strokes, or GI bleeds, or respiratory failure, that are technically able to be downgraded because if you say they're less acute, you can give more of them to the same nurse.

Last June, Oregon passed a law mandating certain nurse to patient ratios on units. While critical care is ideally a one to one ratio, medsurg (where I work, which is the general hospital population that isn't maternity, emergency, maternity, or behavioral health--so, almost everyone) has more patients per nurse. This is good and makes sense! Most people in the hospital do not need dedicated one-on-one care with someone outside their door. As a night-time medsurg nurse, I expect to take four patients a night.

And by the way? There are a lot of medsurg nurses in America who would KILL for four patients a night. I know some nurses reading this are like "four??? are you kidding me?????" Night shift nurses in states with less protections can average seven or eight patients a night. I've seen some go as high as twelve. When I have five patients, I feel like I'm running like crazy. I truly cannot understand how I could possibly give good care to more people than that.

What this means in an understaffed hospital is that patients who should be critical care get classified as medsurg instead, so instead of needing another nurse to treat another ICU patient, you can give that patient to a medsurg nurse instead. This is so common. I'm in float pool which means I work in almost twenty different units in the hospital. I have seen this happen on every single unit. Critical care patients become medsurg patients. Medsurg patients become observation class. Whatever it takes to maintain the legally mandated ratios without actually increasing staffing.

One of the major things ONA (the Oregon Nursing Association) is striking for protection against decisions like this that put patients and their caregivers at increased risk so that the hospital can save money. Even when laws are put in place protecting workers and patients, companies will work as hard as they can to circumvent those requirements. It's not enough to get legislation passed. We need the power to enforce that legislation. And baby, there is power in a union.

#nursing tag #nurseblr #labor rights

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aikoiya · 8 hours ago

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Always love to see these 2 interacting.

Though, my guess is that it's partly because of how much of a pacifist that Phoenix is. Otherwise, Layton might actually have to put some effort in.

I mean, I'm not sure how much everyone else remembers, but from what I recall, that cute little curlie-doo he gets in Dual Destiny ain't just for show. Dude's practically Kryptonian.

Like, let's make a list here:

The double doors to the Channeling Chamber were specifically noted to be sturdy, heavy, & seemed to be at least a couple inches thick. They were also secured with a big, metal lock. Probably some sort of iron or steel. Even if the door itself was made of wood, it was most likely reinforced. Similarly, the Shōji folding screen, which would average around an inch to an inch & a half, seems to be about 3/5 the thickness of the Chamber doors.

- Yet, somehow, our favorite True Blue Defender kicked them in.

Also, remember Dusky Bridge above Eagle River in Bridge to the Turnabout? 40 feet high, though the chasm itself is about a 60 foot drop with the river being 18 feet deep.

- Guess what? A fatal drop for most humans is around 20-25 feet with an ever increasing likelihood of death due to injury the higher the fall. Not to mention that the river was fast moving & the water ice cold due to the season. And yet, Phoenix fell off of it & survived, needing only 2 effing days to recover. Like, if you fall from 40 feet, half of people will effing die. Even if you land perfectly on your feet, then roll to distribute the force of the impact, you could still end up fatally injured! By all rights, he should've at least had internal injuries, fractured spine, severe head trauma, broken or even shattered bones, ect. Plus, I'm fairly sure that 40 feet isn't that far from where it no longer matters what you land on because at some point, you may as well have just fallen into asphalt for all the good it does ya. Yet all SuperLawyer needed was 2 days of flipping bedrest?! Then, add onto that the cold shock he should've experienced from the icy water he fell into, & it gets a bit flippin' silly.

Also, he later was hit by a car, flew 30 feet into the air to hit his head against a lamp post...

- Literally, walks away with a broken ankle... As in, the very next day, he walked the eff out!

Also, tiger attacks! You'd think they'd be a big deal!

- Evidently not, because Phoenix lived through one!

Like, you may as well just write, "Nokia" across his brow!

“Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright,” coloured due to popular demand!

#aa #ace attorney #pl #professor layton #pl x aa #phoenix wright #phoenix the nokia human

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melanchoire · 2 days ago

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Hey! Could I request a nsfw college AU with Karina?

Where you’re the shy, honor roll, top of the class, goody two shoes type and Karina is the outgoing, popular, everyone wants to be with her or her friend type.

You guys are in a relationship and she decides to sneak you guys into the deans office because she loves adrenaline and gets a thrill out of knowing the two of you could potentially get caught as she eating her lunch(you) on top of the deans desk.

Thank you!

BAD GIRLS R US ──── yu jimin

── ( 🚬 ) you thought acing exams was stressful? try dating karina, the campus rebel whose every impulsive decision threatens to unravel your perfectly structured world; now, she’s got her sights set on corrupting your good–girl image, and you must decide if you’re willing to risk it all for a taste of the forbidden fruit she's so tempting you with.

pairing. teasing dom!rebel girlfriend!karina x sub!good student!fem reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, cum eating, degradation, fingering, making out, semi exhibitionism, spanking, squirting.

word count. 3,8k

being in a relationship with karina was, as cliché as it sounded, like riding a roller coaster with a fear of heights. you, the exemplary student, the beacon of discipline in academic pursuits, found yourself perpetually dangling from the precipice of her chaotic brilliance. honor roll was your middle name. you were a picture of academic discipline, dean’s list regular, a name synonymous with responsibility.

karina… well, karina was a supernova. bright, chaotic, and drawing everyone into her orbit. she was the cool girl from the movies, eternally confident, radiating a charisma that could light up a room.

but god, she has a big charm.

you remember the initial shock of it all. how she had noticed you. you, huddled in the library with your nose buried in textbooks, while she breezed through life, a whirlwind of social gatherings and spontaneous adventures. yet, here you were, undeniably, irrevocably entwined.

walking with karina was a public affair… it was impossible to go unnoticed. walking with her through the college halls was a sensory overload. your hand swallowed in hers, or her arm draped tentatively around your waist, became a magnet for attention. every few steps, a chorus of greetings would erupt; “good morning, karina!” “hey, karina!” “morning, karina, you look great!” the greetings were relentless, a chorus of admiration echoing her every footstep. her replies were always effortless, sprinkled with wit and genuine warmth. her confidence was a force field, deflecting anxieties that would usually cripple you. her attitude was the reason you loved her.

you, on the other hand, would shrink a little, offering shy smiles and quiet nods. even with your closest friends, karina’s presence amplified your timidity. you were perfectly content in her reflected glory, a quiet moon orbiting a vibrant sun.

now, standing in the bustling college hallway, the aroma of lukewarm coffee swirling around you, you checked your phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the brick facade in shifting patterns.

you’re waiting for karina, having escaped your literature class early after demolishing the midterm. elation had bloomed in your chest — an unexpected free morning! you’d texted karina, hoping she’d be free to celebrate with… something. anything. her reply was brief: “teacher MIA. free as a bird. meet you at the vending machines?”

first, you wonder why your girlfriend suddenly has free time when she’s supposed to be studying right now. surprisingly, karina didn’t have class because her professor supposedly bailed. you’re skeptical, but not enough to outright accuse her of ditching. you take a sip of your coffee, the lukewarm caffeine doing little to soothe the nervous flutter in your stomach.

that nagging little voice in your head, the one honed by years of academic integrity, whispered suspicions. karina skipping class? it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, but something felt off. you took a sip of coffee to try and relax and let the warmth soothe you from within; its bitterness doing little to soothe your rising unease. instead, it was as the taste of hazelnuts and caffeine had doubled your discomfort and worry.

as you scroll through instagram, a pair of hands snaked around your waist, startling you. the unexpected pressure sends a jolt of electricity through you. before you can react, someone’s blowing on your neck, a warm breath tickles your neck and sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a quick, playful kiss just behind your ear.

you nearly choke on your coffee, sputtering and flailing, before whirling around to find karina holding back a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. “hi baby.”

“karina!” you punch her lightly on the shoulder, a scolding simmering under your voice. “you idiot! you scared me half to death!”

“but you looked so cute, all serious and focused.” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “like you were solving the mysteries of the universe with just a cup of coffee and your phone. all focused and serious. it was adorable.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “very funny.”

you glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. it’s impossible to stay mad at her. you give her the look and she apologizes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as a peace offering.

she leaned in, her expression softening. “okay, okay, i’m sorry.” she murmured, planting a soft kiss on your lips. the world seemed to fade away for a moment, the noise of the hallway blurring into a distant hum. “i’ll say it again, i’m sorry sorry.” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin. “couldn’t resist.”

she looped an arm around your waist, pulling you against her side and steering you down the hall. you let her lead, the familiar weight of her presence grounding you. “c’mon, let’s go for a walk.” she said, her voice regaining its usual playful tone. “tell me all about your brilliant conquering of calculus.”

“it was a literature exam.” you retort, giving her a slight sideways glance, noticing how she smirked at you getting moody when she manages to get out of you the attitude she loves the most

“so…” she says, her voice light and conversational. “how was the midterm from hell?”

“easy.” you retort, trying to sound nonchalant. “finished it in twenty minutes.”

“show off.” she nudges you playfully.

“and you, ms. art aficionado? what masterpieces are you creating today?” even though you two were joking around a bit and treating each other in a certain way, your question had a genuine interest.

“just finished a sculpture”. she replies. “i’m pretty proud of it. it’s… well, you’ll see.”

“i look forward to it. and if you need some help, i can help if you want.” you offer, ever the dutiful girlfriend.

“thanks, babe.” she rests her head on your shoulder for a moment. “i think i’m good for now. i just have to finish this painting project for arts. it’s kind of hard, you know?”

“yeah, i see. and what class was it that you so conveniently didn’t have because of a teacher’s absence?” you ask, your voice laced with gentle suspicion.

karina laughed, a melodious sound that always made your heart skip a beat. she tried to hide her smile, but a tell–tale glint in her eyes betrayed her. it only took one pointed look from you for her to confess. “okay, okay, you caught me.” she admits, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“me and yeji and giselle decided a sunny morning was better spent… elsewhere.”

you felt a familiar surge of exasperation. “karina!” you started, ready to launch into a lecture about responsibility and wasted potential.

you open your mouth to scold her, to lecture her about responsibility and wasted potential, but she clamps a hand over your mouth, her eyes wide with mock horror. “shhh! don’t say it so loud!” she hisses. “someone might hear me, and then i’ll be in actual trouble.”

before you could formulate a retort, she grabs your wrist and tugs you in the opposite direction, away from the main thoroughfare and towards a more secluded part of campus. “c’mon, let’s go somewhere more… private to discuss this.”

you stumbled after her, your mind reeling. where was she taking you now?

“karina, where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice tinged with concern. she’s never skipped like this before. “we should probably get you back to class—”

she cuts you off, spinning you around and leading you towards the hallway with all the administration offices. now, you two are standing outside the… dean’s office. the polished brass plaque gleams in the filtered sunlight.

you stared at the imposing wooden door, your heart pounding in your chest. “karina, what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch. the anxiety that had been simmering beneath the surface now threatens to boil over. “why are we here? you’re not in trouble, are you?”

she leans closer, her eyes sparkling with a reckless abandon that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

she grinned, a wild, mischievous glint in her eyes. “well, if i’m going to get a report for skipping class anyway.” she said, her voice dripping with mock drama. “i prefer to give a good reason for having one.”

“are you serious? karina, you’re going to get into serious trouble! actually... you’re going to get us into serious trouble! do you have any idea how a report would look next to my grades? that would ruin my student image! and—” before you could continue with your monologue, she interrupts you.

“relax.” she says, her voice a low murmur. “i’m going to get a report whatever happens, so, i prefer to give a good reason for having one. and don’t worry, if we get caught, i promise you that i’ll be the one to take full responsibility and face the consequences alone, so stop being a pussy.”

you don’t have time to process her baffling statement before she’s pushing you through the door, her hand firmly planted on your lower back. the office is thankfully empty, the dean presumably away at a meeting. the air smells of old paper and authority. this is so wrong.

she pressed you against the cool, smooth surface of the door, her body a warm, insistent pressure against yours. your breath caught in your throat. her hands moved to cup your face, her thumbs gently tracing the lines of your cheekbones. her gaze, intense and playful, locked with yours.

“karina.” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

she didn’t answer. instead, she lowered her head, her lips brushing against yours in a feather–light kiss that sent shivers dancing down your spine. the kiss deepened, her lips parting yours, inviting you in. you surrendered, your worries and anxieties melting away in the heat of her touch.

her hands moved from your face to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, molding your bodies together. the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something indescribably floral, filled your senses.

her hands roam freely, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding under your shirt to explore the sensitive skin of your back. you gasp against her mouth, your body responding instinctively to her touch. her fingers dance along your spine, sending shivers down your back.

the world shrinks to the space between you, a bubble of heat and desire in the sterile environment of the dean’s office. you can feel the rapid beat of her heart against yours, the frantic pace of her breath mingling with your own.

you instinctively arched closer, your own hands finding their way to her hair, the soft strands sliding between your fingers. the kissing grew more insistent, more demanding, a silent conversation of desire and unspoken needs.

she nibbled at your lower lip, her tongue tracing its outline, and you moaned softly, the sound lost in the deepening kiss. your hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her back, the smooth fabric of her blouse a tantalizing barrier.

the kissing broke, and she trailed kisses down your jawline, her breath warm against your skin. you tilted your head back, giving her better access, a silent invitation. her lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, a thrill shooting through you.

“karina.” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “we… we shouldn’t be doing this here. the lunch bell will ring any minute.” the absurdity of the situation finally registered, the dean’s office feeling suddenly small and claustrophobic.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and knowing. “then…” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “we should hurry up.”

karina’s hands slid up your sides, her fingers splaying across your back as she pulled your body flush against hers. you could feel every curve and contour of her lithe, toned figure pressed against you, separated only by the thin fabric of your uniforms.

she captured your mouth in a searing kiss, her lips moving hungrily against yours. her tongue pushed past your teeth, exploring and claiming, dominating your mouth with a fierce intensity. one hand tangled in your silky hair, gripping it tightly as she angled your head to deepen the kiss.

karina’s other hand slid down to grab your ass, squeezing the firm flesh hard enough to leave imprints of her fingers. she ground her hips against yours, letting you feel the heat building between her legs. the kiss turned sloppy, wet, obscene in its intensity as she devoured your mouth.

karina’s hands slid down to your ass, squeezing the soft yet firm cheeks, followed by a tap on your side, giving you the signal to wrap your legs around her waist. without breaking the weight, she effortlessly carries you up to the dean’s large, polished mahogany desk

after a long, breathless moment, she broke the kiss, leaving you both panting. a string of saliva connected your lips before she licked them clean with a wicked grin.

karina’s eyes flashed with unbridled lust and a hint of madness as she gazed at you, chest heaving with each ragged breath. without warning, she spun you around and bent you over the dean’s large, imposing desk, scattering papers and office supplies to the floor. her fingers found the hem of your skirt, pushing it up and bunched around your waist.

“fuck, you look so hot like this, love.” she growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. the sound echoed through the office, followed by the muffled yelp that escaped your lips. karina rubbed the reddened flesh, soothing the sting before continuing with her purpose.

slowly, teasingly, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down, yanking them off your legs and tossing them carelessly to the floor. cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver with anticipation.

wrapping her long hands around your waist, she spins you around, making you lie on your back. karina grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide and pushing your legs against your chest, making you hook your hands on the back of your knees and hold them against your chest — this exposed your most intimate place to her hungry gaze.

“mmmh, and look at this pretty little pussy... all pretty and perfect, just for me.” karina licked her lips as she took in the sight of your exposed sex, glistening and ready. she leaned in close, her warm breath ghosting over your most intimate place. her fingers slid through your slick folds, teasing and stroking. she could feel the heat radiating from your core, the slick evidence of your arousal coating her fingertip.

without further preamble, karina leaned in and sealed her mouth over your sex, her tongue delving deep between your folds. she groaned at the taste of you, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she focused intently on pleasuring you. her tongue circled and flicked over your clit, then pushed inside your tight heat, fucking you with deep, deliberate strokes.

karina’s hands gripped your thighs hard enough to leave marks as she held your legs open, keeping you spread wide for her hungry mouth. she devoured you like a woman starved, determined to taste every drop of your arousal.

she lapped at you greedily, savoring your unique taste, before focusing on your sensitive clit. she suckled and flicked the hardened nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

karina attacked your pussy with wild abandon, her tongue delving deep and stroking every sensitive nerve ending. sloppy, wet sounds filled the dean's office as she ate you out with gusto, not caring about the mess she was making or who might hear.

every so often, she would pull back and spank your ass hard, leaving a red handprint on your cheek. the sharp sting only served to heighten your arousal, making you writhe and buck against her mouth.

“fuck, you taste so good.” karina growled against your cunt, giving your clit a hard suck. she released it with a pop, only to dive back in and press the flat of her tongue against it, rubbing firm circles.

“such a naughty girl… letting me do this in the dean’s office.” she purred, punctuating her words with a sharp smack to your ass. “i bet you love being a dirty slut, don’t you baby? being eaten out where anyone could catch us?”

tears burn in your eyes, escaping from the corners of your eyes and turning into fat drops as they begin their journey down your blushing cheeks. a sob escapes from your swollen and almost sore lips from biting them so much in attempts to contain your moans and noises so as not to be caught in this position by some teacher or student. “you’re the one who suggested it.”

karina laughed, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against your sensitive flesh. she delivered another hard spank to your ass, leaving a matching red handprint on the other cheek.

karina smirked up at you, her chin glistening with your juices. she gave your clit a quick flick with her tongue before responding. “mmmh, you’re right, baby. i’m the one who suggested it. guilty as charged, baby. but i’m not sorry. i saw what i wanted and i went for it, just like this… and look at you, being such an obedient girlfriend for me.” she purred, rubbing your reddened skin soothingly before gripping it hard enough to leave bruises.

she dove back in, sucking your clit into her mouth and flicking it rapidly with her tongue. at the same time, she pushed a finger, then two, into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace.

“mmmh, and now look at you, spread out on the dean’s desk like a feast for me to devour. i can’t help myself around a cute little thing like you.” she purred, curling her fingers to rub your g–spot as her thumb circled your clit.

karina leaned in and buried her face between your thighs again, attacking your pussy with single–minded focus. she licked and sucked and fucked you with her tongue and fingers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

she could feel your walls starting to flutter around her invading fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. karina doubled her efforts, determined to make you come undone on her tongue.

“that’s it, baby, come for me.” she growled against your cunt, the vibrations pushing you over the precipice. “i want to taste your cum dripping down my chin as i make you scream my name.”

karina punctuated her words with a particularly hard spank to your ass, leaving a vivid red handprint on your skin. at the same time, she pressed her thumb hard against your clit and bit down gently on your clit, sending you hurtling into ecstasy.

she could feel your breathing growing more ragged, your hips bucking erratically against her face. with a final, hard suck to your clit, she pushed a third finger into your tight channel, stretching you deliciously.

karina fucked you hard and fast, the wet squelch of her fingers plunging in and out of your dripping cunt filling the room. she could feel your walls fluttering, your body tensing, and she knew you were right on the cusp.

with a final, brutal thrust and a hard suck to your clit, karina sent you hurtling over the edge. your pussy clenched vice–tight around her fingers as your orgasm crashed through you, waves of ecstasy radiating out from your core.

your pussy clamped down around her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating out from your core. karina moaned as she felt your release flooding her mouth, lapping up every drop of your essence like a woman starved.

karina groaned against your spasming sex, lapping up your release and pushing her fingers deeper to feel every pulse and flutter. she worked you through your climax with skilled fingers and a wicked tongue, wringing out every last tremor and aftershock until you collapsed back onto the dean’s desk, boneless and sated. only then did she pull back, a smug grin on her face as she licked her lips.

pathetic. that's what you looked like right now; pathetic. but of course your girlfriend was enjoying every damn second of this moment, seeing you so vulnerable given the context of the situation… maybe this will just feed her twisted brain and get her mind working on thinking of more places she can get a nice piece of pussy if she’s in the mood

maybe this will just feed her twisted brain and get her mind working on thinking of more places she can get a nice piece of pussy if she’s in the mood, and of course, you’d never deny it to your girlfriend, right?

“not bad for a quick fuck in the dean’s office, huh baby?” she purred, standing up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. her eyes raked over your disheveled form, sprawled out on the dean’s desk with your skirt bunched up around your waist.

karina leaned over you, bracing her hands on either side of your head. she licked her lips, still glistening with your juices. “and i’m not nearly done with you yet, baby. we’ve still got so much more to explore together… just wait until i get you all to myself.”

pulling away from you, she takes your wrist, giving you a gentle tug to lift your body off the desk and onto your feet.

she picks up your discarded panties on the carpeted floor, kneeling in front of you. wrapping one of her hands around your ankle, she helps you lift each of your legs and put your underwear back on. she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, pulling the panties up your weak, shaking legs — the fabric stained as it made contact with your slippery folds and puffy clit, but hey, you had to endure the sensation until you could find a moment to sneak off to your dorm and find a clean pair of panties.

smoothing your skirt and setting it into place, karina watches through her lashes as you put your sweater back in place and comb your hair, running your fingers through your messy locks. “we’ll go get something from the cafeteria, okay? let me buy you something for lunch. you need to regain your energy to continue the day, you can’t be in class with that lack of energy on your body. i promise that after class, i’ll take you home and take proper care of you.”

you smiled victoriously. finishing the literature exam in record time and passing it, being able to spend quality time with your girlfriend, getting fucked by her and then her promising you a nice breakfast and a date afterwards? today was your lucky day.

“oh, and wipe that satisfied smirk off your face before someone sees. wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea about the dean’s pretty little assistant.”

#yu jimin #yu jimin x fem reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin smut #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x fem reader #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin smut #karina #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #karina smut #aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa smut

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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 3!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, decomposing body, violence, kidnapping, drowning, physical injuries 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.7

𝐚/𝐧: part 3 FINALLY!! thank u to everyone who has been here since the first part of this story. thank u andy @reidingandallthat for agreeing to appear here in the role you play. erika, darling, i apologize in advance 🫶🏼

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

Driving in a car next to your ex, after practically throwing yourself at him and pressing a sudden, still somewhat incomprehensible kiss to his lips, was a little, let's say, awkward

You were heading to the apartment pinpointed by one of Spencer's team members, which allegedly belonged to Clinton Richardson, the man you suspected to be the previously elusive accomplice of The Waterside Butcher. Given how easily Garcia had tracked him down, you hadn’t expected to actually find him there. However, you had to search the place, find out anything more about him than the scant information Rosas had provided. Get inside his mind. Figure out where he might be hiding, where they were holding Rebekah.

In the silence that settled between the two of you, you tried to maintain a straight, dignified posture. To play it completely cool about what had happened. One simple thought helped you with that—maybe it had been your impulsive initiative, but it was fully picked up by Spencer.

The way he cupped your face as soon as he realized what was happening. The pressure of his lips on yours, hungry, insatiable, and unrelenting with time. A sigh when he pulled away, the confusion creeping into his soft eyes.

A gentle shake of his head, as if he was already starting to regret it.

You regretted it too. It only thickened the atmosphere, which was already sharp enough to cut with a knife. In your apartment, you had made a bet—the first person to find Richardson would get one of what you considered the most beautiful and genuine photos from your time together. After what had happened, however, you couldn’t imagine just handing it to him without a word, so you simply kept it in your jacket pocket.

There was still some way to go ahead of you, the heavy midday traffic causing terrible jams, and you could no longer bear the silence nor the unreadable, fixed expression on his face as he stared at the road.

"Well," you started, clearing your throat. It felt like he flinched at the sound of your voice. God, when did you both turn into such idiots? "Just to be clear, it wasn’t...personal. You know what I mean. Kind of like checking if your favorite dessert from an old favorite restaurant still tastes the same."

If it weren’t for the fact that he glanced at you for a moment, you would’ve slammed your forehead into the dashboard. It was one of the worst things you could have said, but well, you couldn’t take your words back now.

“Favorite dessert. Checking,” he repeated in a disbelieving tone. His eyebrows shot up high, and he looked back at the road. Only then did they fall, and he shook his head from side to side. There was a trace of amusement in that gesture. Well, at least he wasn’t angry about the choice of words. “Okay.”

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you pretended to examine your nails.

“And does it still taste good?” Spencer asked after a long pause.

“What?” You shifted, distracted in your seat.

“I’m asking if it still tastes good.”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, and then a laugh gathered in your chest, a burst of it you didn’t let out loud. Instead, you held back, offering only a brief smile, a flash of teeth. Spencer glanced at you from the corner of his eye, seeming less tense than before. Some things were probably easier for you to talk about in metaphors, even if they were simple ones.

“Well, it was favorite for a reason," you said after a moment, gently, though you tried to sound casual.

The photo in your pocket.

Spencer smiled in that subtle way, where only the corners of his lips moved, his eyes remaining unchanged, thoughtful. And with that, the stage of pretending it never happened began.

The apartment that was supposedly owned by your suspect was located in a fairly decent neighborhood—at least nicer than the one Rebekah lived in—which filled you with a bitter sense of injustice. After you dealt with the lock, you both stepped inside cautiously, scanning for any potential occupant, but the place was empty.

"Not exactly how I pictured the place of someone they call The Butcher in the media," you muttered, stepping lightly on the birchwood floor beneath the bright walls.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, that familiar analytical look crossing his face. You stopped a few steps from him, hands stiff on your hips, unable to stop watching him instead of the surroundings. The slight crease between his brows as he crossed the kitchen, probably already knowing what your unsub had for breakfast every Thursday, just from one greasy, barely noticeable stain on the wall. His lips pressed together, and you realized you couldn’t ignore that part of his face anymore. You sighed, annoyed with yourself. Seriously, now?

“Did you expect a torture chamber instead of a bedroom?” he asked as you both crossed the threshold into the room. It was less tidy than the rest of the place, a sign that he spent more time here. Some things were out of place, and there was a pile of loose papers building up on the desk.

While Spencer was analyzing the papers, you walked over to the window, squinting as the midday light hit your eyes. You gently traced your finger along the leaf of the plant on the windowsill before dipping your finger into the soil.

“It’s dry,” you noted briefly, suddenly focused. He must not have been here for a few days. “Damn, maybe my imagination is just really poor, but I can’t picture a guy who does that kind of thing to women calmly watering his plants every morning. It’s just...grotesque.”

He shrugged in response, Reid’s eyes never leaving the things on the desk.

“Lots of violent, serial offenders lead lives that we’d consider normal,” he began. A lecturer's expression, you thought to yourself immediately. You’d always liked it when he explained things to you—he was the only one who could do it in a way that didn’t make you feel dumb for not understanding a concept. And, well, you liked listening to him. “Well, we once had a case with a cannibal who had a bunch of teddy bears in his house,” he added.

You couldn’t help but snort.

“Stuffed with human guts instead of fluff?”

Spencer finally looked up at you, slowly.

“No,” he replied shortly, raising an eyebrow. “They were perfectly normal teddy bears. And, you know, I’m starting to be glad that your criminal activities haven’t gone beyond robberies and theft.”

“And stolen goods trafficking.”

“Oh, right. Sorry for leaving out one of your...key specializations.”

“It’s fine. Got anything?”

You joined him in searching through the desk, standing so close that your shoulders brushed briefly. You told yourself it was only because you didn’t want to miss any clues.

“There are a few sketches here,” Spencer informed you, his chest rising slightly, which you noticed because he turned to face you sideways. There was barely a step between you. “They look a little...chaotic.”

You flipped open a random notebook, spotting the mentioned sketches—simple drawings and doodles. You kept flipping, not giving them much attention.

“Probably drew them when he didn’t know what to do with his hands during phone calls,” you said. You shrugged at his look. “I know, because I do the same.”

“I don’t recall ever seeing you do that,” he remarked.

When we lived together...the unfinished sentence hung in the air, settling lightly on your shoulders.

You took a deep breath.

“Well, back then, I was more into sending messages than having actual conversations,” you admitted, and it was true. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him slightly parting his lips, about to say something, when suddenly your gaze landed on something on the last page of the notebook you were flipping through. “Look, a phone number,”

Spencer leaned in to take a closer look, tilting his head a bit, which brought his slightly too-long hair into your reach again. The familiar scent slowly drifted to your nose. Spencer probably didn’t even realize how close he’d gotten, too absorbed in his thoughts. Still, you couldn’t help but find it amusing. After all, just a few days ago, he had pointed a gun at you and kept the greatest distance possible.

He straightened up, and you noticed the change in his expression. You stayed perfectly still, not moving, not backing away. It might sound strange, but you wanted to see how you affected him. Would he have done what you did on the staircase if it hadn’t been for you? Did he genuinely want to do it too, or was it simply the conversation over the pictures that had lured you both into the trap of sentimentality, the nostalgic need to revisit an old dessert?

“You know this number?” you asked, surprised.

You hadn’t expected such a thing to happen, yet here it was. Spencer nodded.

“I remember it,” he admitted. At the same time, his voice carried a note of readiness, excitement about moving the investigation forward with this newly found clue... and an unexpected hint of awkwardness, as he briefly scratched his forehead before placing the notebook back on the desk. “It’s a brothel’s number.”

Your eyebrows shot up mockingly.

“You remember the number of a…”

“You have no idea how often the FBI uses their services,” he blurted defensively.

A beat of silence followed, then his eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant, for God’s sake. I mean, prostitutes often have a lot of information about different people and can be useful…”

“Tsss…” you silenced him with a playful swirl of your finger near his lips, amused by his rushed, nervous reaction.

Spencer glanced down at your finger, his lower lip jutting out slightly as if he wanted to add something, but his brilliant mind failed to produce anything coherent. Even if it had, you wouldn’t have cared.

You couldn’t let go of the topic anyway—you always enjoyed teasing him too much, loved seeing that faint blush color his stubbled cheeks.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, seriously.”

You had the strange feeling his gaze lingered a little too intently as you slowly swallowed, forcing you to cross your arms over your chest, creating a small barrier to keep your focus. You blinked slowly, mischievously.

“I’m not interested in where you sought comfort after our breakup.”

He literally gasped.

“This is…” he began with a deep sigh, taking half a step back from you. “This is…I swear, this is the most narcissistic thing that has ever come out of your mouth. And there have been plenty.”

You gave a mock salute.

“See, I like breaking my own records,” you muttered.

Spencer’s gaze suddenly shifted from you back to the desk. He sighed, like he was grounding himself after drifting somewhere else.

“We should…we should call that number. Maybe set up a meeting. See if we can learn something more about him than the fact he doodles in the margins when he’s on the phone.”

You nodded in agreement, sliding your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Didn’t think I’d ever say this, but you’re right. Let’s meet your hooker.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Want me to dictate the number, or do you remember it?”

“I get the feeling you’re not letting this go anytime soon.”

“And you’re absolutely right, Spencer,” you agreed. “Absolutely right.”

“He made you do… what?!”

Your raised voice filled the car.

Quick recap—you’d managed to set up a meeting with a prostitute, whose services, after a few hours of digging, you’d confirmed Clinton Richardson had used. By now, it had gotten dark, and you were seriously starting to wonder if this wasn’t just a complete waste of time. You knew the rest of the BAU was busy searching for Rebekah using other methods, but the nagging feeling that you could be doing more refused to let go.

On top of that, the fact that Robert Miller had completely vanished since his escape from prison weighed heavily on you. No one had seen him filling up the stolen car at a gas station, wearing a baseball cap. No one had heard him break into a nearby house seeking shelter through the cold night. They must have had a plan—one that played out well beyond your reach.

Though you tried to push it away, a rising sense of dread filled you.

The escort slid into the backseat of the car, introducing herself briefly as Andy. Distracted by your own worries, you couldn't stop the words that escaped your mouth.

“Andy’s not exactly a very hooker-ish name”

The woman shrugged indifferently. She seemed only slightly tense about speaking with the cops (or, well, with one cop). She wore a light white fur coat draped over her shoulders, and, to put it plainly, she was stunningly beautiful.

"Well, I didn't pick it," she shrugged.

"How old are you?" Spencer suddenly asked, turning slightly in his seat.

You exchanged a look. She did seem alarmingly young despite the heavy makeup on her face.

"Are you doing some kind of interview or what?" she scoffed. "Last I checked, you were supposed to ask me questions about one of my clients. So, I'm waiting. And for the record, I'm twenty-three."

You’d asked her the first few questions to confirm if the man she’d met was indeed Clinton Richardson. Garcia had even sent over his photo, and after a quick glance, Andy nodded, confirming it was him.

And now, back to where we left off.

“He made you do what?!”

Andy grimaced. You would’ve done the same if you weren’t absolutely stunned. You glanced sideways at Spencer, who had straightened up in his seat, his brows furrowed deeply as if he thought he’d misheard. Honestly, you’d thought the same at first.

You drew in a deeper breath, trying to steady yourself. Spencer shot you a glance, his expression tense. There was no doubt anymore—this was the man you were looking for.

“Chop off chicken heads,” the woman repeated reluctantly, pulling her fur coat tighter around herself. A flicker of discomfort crossed her face—one that hadn’t been there the first time she’d mentioned it. Apparently, saying it again brought the memory into sharper focus, and you felt a pang of guilt for making her relive it. She sighed. “While he was mastrubating”

Andy had nothing more to offer, no leads to help you track down his current location, and that realization sent a wave of frustration crashing over you. Not at her, of course, but at the fact that this case was moving forward at a painfully slow pace. Sure, you knew it was Richardson now. But what next? How were you supposed to find him before he and Robert hurt Rebekah?

You scrubbed a hand over your face, then clenched it into a fist to stop the trembling. Spencer's gaze dropped to your hand, and he tried to catch your eye, but you didn’t want that—not right now.

“Andy,” you called out just as she pushed the car door open, stopping her in her tracks. Your voice came out rough, an edge of desperation bleeding through. An impulsive decision bloomed in your mind, taking root before you could second-guess it. “We...took up some of your time. Would you have had a client during it?”

The woman looked at you with a skeptical hesitation, unsure of what you meant.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Instead of saying anything else, you reached into your pocket for the cash you’d taken from your apartment and shoved it into her hand, her perfectly manicured nails catching the light. At first, her face remained neutral, but when she saw how many bills were stacked together, her eyes widened.

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. It’s for you. Payment for your help.”

“But this…” she started, meeting your gaze. You nodded seriously, confirming she could keep the money. Andy blinked, hesitated for a moment, then slipped it into her pocket before clearing her throat. “I…thank you. Seriously. It’s way more than I’d have made in that time. So... good luck finding that freak.”

“It’ll come in handy,” you muttered under your breath.

Andy closed the door behind her, and you followed her figure, wrapped in white fur, as it stood out against the night’s dark expanse. The interior of the car was filled with silence, the orange light from the overhead lamp casting shadows on both your faces. When you saw the grimace on the woman's face as she talked about Richardson, you immediately thought of Rebekah. About how her fate rested in the hands of the same man who had made Andy do things like that. You were also filled with sympathy for her, knowing she must have gone through it. She most likely didn’t have the option to refuse.

“It was a lot of money,” Spencer said after a long pause.

There was this heavy feeling of helplessness hanging in the air. What now? Where the hell were you supposed to go? Who else did you need to talk to? It hurt in your chest, and you sighed.

“Well, who knows,” you said, bitterly, not looking at him, your eyes on the windshield. “Who knows what’s gonna happen. That girl could really use the money. If something happens to me...it’d go to waste...”

You stopped, freezing when you felt a touch on your knee. A gentle pressure, filled with some kind of concern. You lowered your gaze, almost in a trance, watching his fingers spread out over the fabric of your pants, holding onto it.

“Don’t think like that,” he said, swallowing hard, his voice pleading.

You forced yourself to pull your gaze away from his hand and look straight into his eyes. He held your gaze, and there was something warm in it, something you almost wanted to sink into. You could have just nodded, let him take care of everything, let him protect you. But from the very beginning, you knew that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You didn’t want to be just a passive part of the story, waiting meekly for the tragedy that was about to unfold. You wanted to stop it.

“Spencer, we’ve practically got nothing,” you said quietly, but there was a frustrated silence in your voice.

“That’s not true. We have...we have a profile.”

“We have Miller’s profile from two years ago, practically nothing new, and fragmentary info about Richardson. You can’t build a profile just from the fact that he had a prostitute decapitate chickens…”

“I can,” he interrupted with sudden confidence. His hand on your knee tightened, and he probably didn’t even realize it. You didn’t ask him to move it, even though the whole scene—the car, the night, his hand placed like that—was taking you back two years, to when all of this felt natural, a part of your everyday life together. You started to stop thinking about it with simple sentimentality. Since your kiss, there had been this indescribable longing you wanted to get rid of, but every interaction seemed to just intensify it.

Spencer took a breath before speaking slowly.

“Well, maybe not just based on the chickens... but we know so much about his childhood. He grew up across from the Millers, him, the poor kid. Dysfunctional parents, Joseph Miller was like a father figure to him. He had to respect him, idealize him, which is why he visited him recently when his condition worsened. His relationship with the rest of the Miller family… it had to be complicated with Robert. He was probably jealous of him, but because he was able to easily manipulate him, he never saw him as a threat. Robert, on the other hand, treated him like an older brother he never had, trusted him completely. So Richardson had his perfect picture after his parents died. A father, a younger brother, their shared sailing trips, the time spent together. The only thing that bothered him, the only thing he saw as a problem was...

“Robert Miller’s mother,” you finished, already seeing exactly what he was picturing in his mind. The pieces were falling into place, like the image on a puzzle box showing what it should look like when it’s put together. “Unlike her husband, she didn’t treat him like her son. She was part of all their trips, their cruises…during one of them, he pushed her off the boat. But why…”

“Robert took the fall for it,” Spencer answered the question you hadn’t asked, but one he could see had formed in your mind. “He did it to protect someone he saw as an older brother. They...they’re a classic example of a duo working together. One is clearly dominant, here, Richardson, and the other follows his lead, lets himself be manipulated. That’s Miller. And I think... I think...okay, these are just my assumptions...Richardson is responsible for all thirteen murders.”

For a moment, you went silent, furrowing your brow deeply.

“But...but you said you interrogated Miller. And you were sure he committed the murders.”

“Or he believed he committed them,” he added.

You shook your head in confusion, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t think this was a typical murder duo. They didn’t kill together. Richardson kept the women in Miller’s vacation house. When Miller was arrested, he wouldn’t turn over someone he thought of as a brother, so he took the blame. And over time, through manipulation, he started believing he’d actually committed the murders himself. Just like he believed he killed his own mother. That’s why the polygraph always showed he was telling the truth, why we thought he was the killer. All this time, he truly believed he was The Waterside Butcher—he was stuck in a deep delusion. Meanwhile, our real unsub was still out there.”

You sighed in admiration at how he connected all the dots. You knew he was a brilliant profiler, you knew it well, but you were still shocked at how one person could dive so deeply into the psychology of crime.

“I wanna kiss your brain,” you blurted out.

Spencer’s breathing came out in irregular bursts as he rattled off sentence after sentence without pause. After your words, he paused for a moment—a small, tired smile tugged at his lips.

“You're welcome,” he replied, then slowly easing his grip on your knee before pulling his hand back. He looked at you uncertainly, as if wondering what you made of his gesture. “Although, that would require a surgeon.”

The dry joke broke the tension, adding a strangely sweet awkwardness to the moment. You snorted.

“I’d manage,” you said, mentally giving yourself a little nudge on the forehead. “But you need to update your team about all this. You have to pass on the profile.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. You could feel the air between you cool slightly—as if a splash of cold water had just run under your shirts on an unbearably hot day. With the same hand that had been on your knee, he reached for his phone, though he didn’t dial a number immediately.

“It’s pretty late,” he began, nodding toward the cars outside the window—as if you hadn’t noticed it was night. Well, you had, for a moment, forgotten. “No offense, but you look exhausted. You should probably get some sleep. I’m just wondering…do you have somewhere to stay? You shouldn’t be sleeping there alone.”

He put an emphasis on the word sleeping. It’s one thing to stay there fully awake, weapon in hand, but quite another to let yourself fall into that vulnerable state of unconsciousness.

You slowly shrugged your shoulders.

“I’d probably rather go back there,” you admitted, even though the idea didn’t really appeal to you. You sighed, and his face twisted in confusion. “You know, I have a lot of neighbors. And a lot of women, too. I’m afraid one of them might run into him…if he came for me.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to talk you out of it—he even opened his mouth, only to close it almost immediately. It was hard to argue with that.

“Alright,” he said slowly, turning his phone in his hand. “But in that case, let me stay with you.”

A surprised sound escaped your mouth.

"Seriously? You want that?"

"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink in your own apartment, yet you still felt a hint of hesitation. Things had already taken a wild turn that day—everything was changing. The verbal barbs between you weren’t laced with resentment anymore; they’d turned into a playful game that often ended in genuine bursts of laughter and smiles. You’d literally kissed. He’d touched your leg, shown care. And now, on top of it all, you were going to spend the night in the same apartment. Quite an odd situation for two exes.

The direction all this was heading remained somewhat unclear. You were so preoccupied with the case—the murderer hot on your heels—that you barely considered what would happen when it all came to an end. How would you say goodbye once more before both of you returned to your separate, opposing lives?

Spencer noticed your hesitation. His jaw clenched ever so slightly as his mind worked on a way to convince you—but he didn't really need to. As a criminal, you often thought about the consequences of your actions. You saw them clearly, analyzed every detail. Yet even the clearest vision of those consequences rarely stopped you from carrying out your plans. After all, if it did, you wouldn’t last long in this line of work.

You nodded in agreement, allowing him to stay with you.

You knew how it would play out.

First, you'd both slowly cross the threshold of your apartment, arguing about who should sleep in the bedroom and who on the couch, but in the end, you'd both end up side by side on the couch, trying to keep the conversation light and casual, along with your body language, and a second later, you'd start kissing, letting go of everything that had been hanging between you all day.

It was really predictable. Which didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.

“You know…” Spencer started when your lips gave him a chance to open his own. “I think there’s a certain question…” he was silenced. “...that we should both ask ourselves.”

“If it’s what are we? I’m leaving.”

"It's your apartment. Just saying."

"We’d be having a lot more fun if you shut up. Just saying."

With a soft sigh, you pulled away from him, moving your face just enough to be able to talk freely. But not enough to make him stop feeling threatened by the prospect of you shutting him up at any moment. Just saying.

"You wanted to ask about that, right?" you asked quietly.

He shrugged slightly, and because you were leaning against his chest, you felt that little shiver.

"Maybe in different words. But with the same general meaning."

With a thoughtful look, you ran your hand over the buttons of his burgundy shirt. Spencer followed the smooth motion of your hand with his eyes, gently tightening his grip around your waist. The position, the way your bodies were arranged, the closeness—it felt so natural. It was how it should be.

"Did you miss me?" you asked suddenly. "All those nearly two years."

"And you?" he shot the question back at you. You tilted your head, staring at him. You weren’t going to answer, not until he did first, though your answer wasn’t really dependent on his. You were honest with your feelings, even with yourself. Even if he said he hadn’t thought about you once or never missed you on the other side of the bed, it wouldn’t change the fact that you missed him. You’d had no trouble admitting before that, in some way, you'd always love him. "I missed you. How could I not?"

The soft question thrown into the space between you made you pout your bottom lip slightly. His gaze drifted to it briefly, but didn’t stay there—it landed somewhere else. A tiny spot just below your collarbone, a mark in the shape of the number pi. He leaned in to brush it with his lips, first briefly, then more deliberately, and you placed your hand in his slightly too long hair.

“I want to know what’s gonna happen with us when all this finally ends,” he muttered, his breath tickling your skin. You lifted your eyelids, which had fluttered shut in drowsiness and pleasure. “I missed you, that’s true, you missed me…I’d dare to bet that you did too. Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t know…I just don’t know if that’s enough. For us…for it to work, something would have to change…”

Of course, he meant the different life paths you had chosen, your involvement in crime, your long-standing ties to the criminal underworld.

"Spencer," you said his name slowly, cupping his face in your hands so you could look into it. Okay, bad move. His brown eyes made it harder to focus. "It’s...it’s not that simple, you know that. It’s practically my whole life." You paused, swallowing. "I can’t think about it right now. Not with everything going on. My mind...I just can’t tell you anything right now. Except that I want you."

For a moment, he hesitated to answer, a sigh escaping from his chest. It sounded disappointed.

“I want you too,” he admitted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a statement that applies to every possible case with no exceptions. “Exactly like I did back then. And you know it wasn’t enough.”

You pressed your lips together.

“I know.”

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, neither of you moving in any way. The silence was overwhelming, making your breaths perfectly audible. You felt tired of everything that had been happening—not just around you in the last few days, but also inside your head. You needed... you probably just needed to rest your head on his chest, inhale his scent, think seriously about the two of you, then step outside for fresh air and reconsider it, sober. Then compare both conclusions. The corners of your mouth trembled. You wanted to suggest you both just lie down and sleep when his phone rang.

“They need me,” he explained when the call ended, rising from the couch, detaching himself from your body. You nodded in understanding. But he didn’t head for the door. Instead, he paused, staring at you. “You shouldn’t stay here…”

“I’ll find a hotel,” you cut him off. He raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced by the idea.

“I won’t get a wink of sleep here, and I’m exhausted. I’ll make sure no one’s following me. Trust me, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s that,” you snorted softly.

Of course, you were a little worried about your neighbors' safety, but you couldn’t figure out a way to protect both them and yourself. Part of you wanted to stay inside, fueled by caffeine with a loaded gun in hand, waiting for the moment someone tried to mess with the lock. But you didn’t even mention that to Spencer—you knew exactly how he’d react. Not a chance.

He pulled you into one last, lingering embrace before leaving. It seemed like an unspoken agreement to temporarily abandon the topic of what would happen between you two later.

Reluctantly, you made your way to the bedroom. The last time you’d been there, you’d taken almost all the cash hidden in the photo album, which you later gave to Andy. A few bills still remained between the pages—just enough for a night in some hotel and a cup of coffee. You snapped the album shut, but one of the photos slipped out, drifting down like a leaf on the wind, sliding under the dresser.

You sighed. You felt too exhausted to even bend down for it, but after an internal struggle, you finally gave in. First, you dropped to your knees, then sprawled flat on your stomach to reach under the furniture and retrieve it. But as soon as your face got close to the floor…you noticed a strange smell.

Faint, yet distinct. You thought it might be a figment of your imagination, but after inhaling a few more times, you were certain. Sickly sweet in a way, unfamiliar, but it reminded you of an odd mix of rotting meat, damp earth…maybe even mold?

Ignoring the photo, you got to your feet. The smell was coming from your elderly neighbor Erika’s apartment. You realized you hadn’t seen her in a while—not even heard her poodle barking, which was usually relentless with its evening performances. Dark thoughts raced through your mind. She had a bad hip—maybe she’d fallen…

Before you even realized it, you were pulling on your jacket.

The door wasn’t even locked, which only heightened your sense of foreboding.

“Mrs. Hemingway?” you called out, stepping cautiously into the apartment. The hallway was dark, but a yellow light glowed from an old-fashioned chandelier in the living room. You quickly corrected yourself. “I mean, Erika? Are you here?”

The smell had become unbearable. A wave of nausea hit you, doubling you over, but your head remained upright—you couldn’t tear your eyes away from what you saw.

Right next to a long beige leather couch lay a rolled-up light-colored rug. There were dark, bloodstained patches scattered across it, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the head, not wrapped in the rug. Your neighbor’s eyes were wide open and empty. Black earrings still dangled from her ears—you didn’t know why you fixated on them. Maybe your brain was starting to short-circuit, latching onto odd details instead of focusing on what it should.

Like the sound of footsteps right behind you.

You heard them too late.

There was no time to turn around before something struck the back of your head with brutal force.

It wasn’t like in the movies—it didn’t knock you out. The blow was too weak, too unskilled. It only sent you crashing to your knees, from which you desperately tried to push yourself back up, feeling your heart pounding furiously in your chest. But you were too dazed, your skull filled with a deafening roar, just before it absorbed another hit—this time stronger, harder.

As you collapsed unconscious to the ground, a shadow of a male figure hung above you.

The buzz.

A slowly forming image before you. Its small fragments connecting in incorrect combinations, as if someone were trying to piece together two mismatched puzzles.

The pain in your head.

Oh, it was terrible.

It intensified when you tried to open your eyes, so you spent a long moment in darkness, even though your body was slowly beginning to wake. You tried to press your hand to your temple, to massage it, perhaps to ease that furious pounding...when you realized you couldn't.

You opened your eyes despite the head-splitting pain, as if someone had driven a spike into it.

You were in a dimly lit room that reeked of wood and blood. It made you nauseous, and it wasn’t just because of the injury you’d sustained. At least, not entirely.

Fighting the bitter taste of vomit gathering in your throat, you began to look around the interior. Made of light-colored boards, small, with only one window covered. It resembled more of a cabin than a house, the furniture inside arranged in a way that could give an interior designer a heart attack. A rust-covered fridge stood right in the middle of the room. The floor was covered with a blue tarp that rustled with every movement of your body. The place looked as if someone had built it by hand.

Eventually, your gaze landed on your hands, chained tightly to the wall, causing pain in your wrists. You were half sitting, half lying on the floor, unable to move much. At first, you were too confused to feel fear.

Terror only hit you when you glanced to the side.

"Rebekah," you barely managed to say.

She was sitting next to you, tied to the wall in the same way you had found her in Miller's basement two years ago. Her head was lowered, eyes closed, and you prayed she'd look at you. That would mean she was alive…

She did, but very slowly, and you felt no relief at all. Her hair hung in greasy tangles on her face, her lip looked swollen, and her cheek was covered with blood trickling from a wound on her temple.

Rebekah opened her parched lips, but said nothing. She simply let her head drop again.

"Rebekah, listen to me," you begged in a hoarse tone, instinctively trying to get closer to her, but of course, you couldn't. You started to frantically look around once more. You were searching for your captors, searching for a way out. There had to be one. "Listen to me... you have to focus, I'm here, together we can figure something out..."

"You're here," a weak grunt came from the woman. "Finally. At least now it will end."

You didn't quite understand the meaning of her words, but you sensed some hidden depth to them that you decided to ignore. Instead, you nodded affirmatively. Bad idea. The pain intensified.

“Yes. That's right. Now it will end, we'll escape. You have to tell me everything you know. Where are they? When will they return..."

She grunted again.

"No," she simply said. You could barely hear her rough, quiet voice. "It will end because you're here. He was waiting for you, and now, finally, he will kill us." There was a strange, suffering longing in her voice. The prospect of impending relief lightened her face. Suddenly, though, a brief sob overtook her frail body. "Just like those other women..."

"You're wrong," a male voice cut in suddenly, making you flinch. Rebekah didn't even move. Focused on the conversation, you didn't notice the tall man dressed in a black hoodie and cap approaching.

Instinctively, you pressed yourself back into the wall. You hated your own body for showing fear, even though it was completely understandable in that situation. Before you stood Clinton Richardson. You recognized his face with the unevenly trimmed beard. Before you stood real The Waterside Butcher.

“This way, I'll only kill you,” he said in a neutral tone, staring at Rebekah with an odd look, as though she were the least interesting thing in the world to him. He didn’t blink. Not once. Slowly, his gaze shifted to you, and only then did his expression change ever so slightly, seeming more present in his own body. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve got something else prepared for you.”

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. Sometimes you’d talk to Spencer about his work, sometimes you simply listened to his long monologues with your chin resting on your hand. Did he ever tell you what to do in a situation like this? How to talk to a full-fledged psychopath?

His voice began to echo in your head, gently calming you. You took a deep breath.

“Clinton...” you began, in as soft a tone as you could manage, though your body screamed to rip those chains off the wall, lunge at him, and wrap them around his neck. That desire only grew when you remembered poor, innocent, murdered Erika. You had to close your eyes to get rid of that image.

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off.

A man entered the cabin through the narrow door. You had already met him personally, though the two years he’d spent in prison had significantly changed his face. His features had become sharper, his head shaved clean. When the door opened for a brief moment, you noticed… water. Since it must have been the middle of the night, the moonlight gently shimmered on its surface. The cabin had been placed right on the edge of some kind of water source.

“Take her to the boat,” Clinton ordered, not specifying exactly who he meant.

Your body knew, though. It tensed uneasily, then frantically, as Robert Miller moved toward you. At first, you tried to fight back, kicking, but he immobilized your legs. He reached into the pocket of his fleece jacket and pulled out cable ties. After freeing you from the chains, he used them to try to restrain your hands again. Surprisingly…ineptly.

“Stop playing with her,” the second man growled, crouching next to Rebekah, lifting her chin to examine her battered face. “Hit her, she’ll stop struggling.”

Robert followed the order.

Holding your restrained hands tightly, he dragged you like a slaughtered animal. Your jacket and the clothes beneath it pulled up, and your bare skin unpleasantly scraped against the tarp material, causing abrasions. You hissed as your cheek brushed against the wooden platform outside. Before the cabin door closed, you threw one last terrified glance toward Rebekah, huddled against the wall.

Robert decided it would be easier to do it this way. He threw your body over his shoulder, despite your protests and last desperate jerks, and in just a few steps, he tossed you into the small motorboat by the lake’s edge. You collapsed onto it heavily, wincing from the pain and the ringing in your head. You exhaled through clenched teeth. You didn't know what force kept you from simply going numb, waiting for whatever was coming. What force made you keep fighting.

“Robert, you don’t have to do this,” you tried weakly, trying to make it sound like anything but a sob. You felt powerless, but you knew that this was the weak point of the duo. This was where you had to strike. “Robert...I know it wasn’t you who committed those murders.”

“It was me.”

“No, it wasn’t you. It was Clinton, you just took the blame. You believed you did it. You still believe it. He manipulated you, you have to see that...”

You stopped when he aimed the gun at you.

“Robert,” you said again, though you knew how risky that had become. You could barely force your mouth to open, but you knew it was your only chance. “I know you didn’t kill your mother.”

The hand holding the gun trembled. So, his mother was the weak spot.

“You’re lying. I...I pushed her out of the boat…”

“Why the hell are you even talking to her?” Clinton joined you in the boat, rolling his eyes. He looked at your hunched form with some contempt, and you tried to straighten up, holding onto whatever dignity you had left in these final moments.

As the engine of the boat roared to life and it began drifting farther out, toward the center of the lake, you started to doubt you would ever get out of this.

You sat still, staring at the two men. Clinton had his arms crossed over his chest, seeming to relax, his eyes taking in the surface of the lake. He even closed his eyelids, as if meditating. You noticed he wasn't carrying a gun.

You caught Robert's gaze, tilting your head to the side.

Please.

He blinked, as if trying to focus. To keep his thoughts from drifting away. He looked into your eyes once more, for a long moment. Suddenly, it seemed like he was looking through you. His eyes registered your battered body, but his mind saw another woman, one who had also drowned in the lake. The woman he had loved. The woman who had been his mother.

“Here,” Clinton muttered under his breath.

Robert quickly stopped looking at you.

“Do it,” Richardson said to him. “Come on. Get rid of her, get rid of the problem.”

But Robert didn’t move. Your breath caught in your chest, a flicker of hope.

“She’s the reason you ended up in prison,” Clinton reminded him, emphasizing she. “Get rid of the problem, brother.”

When he still didn't move, Clinton grabbed you by your clothes and lifted you to a standing position, holding you so tightly by the shoulders that he must have left marks. In that moment, you could no longer feel fear.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Clinton sighed, pushing you closer to the edge of the boat.

You twisted your neck to glance at Robert one last time. In the hand that hung at his side, he still held the gun, his grip uncertain and nervous.

“If he were your brother, he wouldn't have killed your mother,” you said loudly, no longer caring about the consequences. “Was she a problem to you too?”

The body of the man holding you tensed even more, this time in... unease.

“Robert…” he began, dragging out the syllables of his name. Hearing the fear in his voice gave you a sense of fulfillment. You felt like you needed to experience it before you died. You lifted your gaze to the night sky above, to the stars and the moon. These were the things you wanted to see before your body sank into the abyss. “Robert, no—”

Several gunshots rang out, all aimed at the boat’s deck. He wanted to drown them all. Clinton released you and lunged at his partner. A struggle over the weapon broke out between the men, everything rocking dangerously, sparking as water began filling the boat.

You looked at them one last time. Clinton yanked the gun from Robert's hand and shoved him aside. He didn’t manage to aim it at you, though he tried. You saw his eyes searching for your face. Though you were in the middle of the lake, your hands were bound, and you couldn’t swim... you leaned over the side of the boat.

The bullet pierced the water’s surface just next to where your body fell.

When it hit the water, for a moment, you felt free. No one could reach you there; the cold of the lake protected you, surrounding you like a shield. A rush of adrenaline urged you to move your arms, to push yourself to the surface, to swim toward the shore. It wasn’t far, you could swim. But you couldn’t do it. Your hands were tied.

You began to sink.

Water burst from your lungs.

The first thing you felt was that your hands were free. Then the piercing cold, sending your whole body into a tremor. Then the stabbing pain in your chest, but you slowly stopped caring about what you felt. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what you saw.

Around you, blue and red lights of police cars flickered, reflecting off the surface of the lake where you lay. A man with dark skin, performing CPR, pulled away when you finally took a breath, his sharp gaze scanning your condition. He had just quickly checked your pulse when someone almost shoved between you.

“Derek, I need a thermal blanket,” Spencer said, kneeling in front of you. His gaze was frantic, only locking on yours when you made eye contact. You wanted to say something, but all you could do was cough. “Quick. She's shaking.”

You pressed your hands to your chest, waiting for the coughing fit to pass. You didn’t help yourself, still trying to say something, not tearing your gaze away from Spencer. You couldn’t. It was all too unreal. A harsh sound escaped your lips.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, as gently as he could. His voice was soft and weak, and you heard him swallow with relief as he carefully placed his hands on your shoulders, just resting them there. Trying to understand that you were even there. Alive. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You found me,” you finally managed to say.

Spencer nodded eagerly.

“I did,” he admitted. Suddenly, he furrowed his brow, as if in disbelief. Without caring about your soaked clothes, you pressed yourself against him, burying your injured cheek in his chest. You felt his heavy sigh. “I-I did,” he mumbled.

You probably shouldn’t have heard those words, but he pulled you so close that they grazed the shell of your ear.

Around you, people were moving, busy with the aftermath. The investigation didn't end with your rescue; the night wouldn't quiet down. They had to follow procedures, secure the scene, get inside the cabin where you'd been held...

Like being jolted by electricity, you pulled away from Spencer. The fear on your face mirrored in his eyes.

"Rebekah..."

"She's alive," he reassured you immediately. Your shoulders dropped, and an unidentified sound of relief escaped your lips. "They didn’t have time to do anything to her. They planned to after they…" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "She's alive. They drowned."

For the first time, your gaze shifted towards the dark waters, hiding its secrets.

"Both of them?" you asked, needing to be sure.

Your breath began to quicken again, unease taking hold. Spencer gently reached for your cheek, guiding your attention back to him, away from the lake.

"Both," he confirmed. He stood still for a moment, watching you with those dark eyes, his concern echoing with every shiver that ran through your freezing body. Once again, he didn’t care about your soaked clothes, pulling you tightly into his arms.

You closed your eyes as his chin rested on top of your head.

"You’re safe now."

In the ambulance, they attended to your injuries.

Everything that was happening reached you through a haze. They told you to lie down, but you didn’t want to. It was only someone’s soft, familiar voice that convinced you. You felt a bit pitiful, lying on your back. You wanted to get back up, to return to normalcy after everything that had happened. But when you tried to move, Spencer turned his head slightly, silently instructing you to lie back down. There was an undeniable firmness in his gesture.

Both of his hands held one of yours, enclosing it tightly, like a shell around a pearl.

They told you it was okay to sleep, but you were a bit afraid. You feared that when you closed your eyes, all the warmth would fade, and you'd find yourself back in the icy depths of the lake. Every time you felt yourself drifting away, you squeezed Spencer’s hand tighter. You turned your head slightly to look at him, and he gave you a small smile.

“Spencer,” you murmured suddenly, a hint of worry in your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, something came to your mind. You reached into the pocket of your jacket, where you had the photo you promised to give him. The water had ruined it completely; all you had now was a white, torn piece of paper instead of the image of his hand gently holding your cheek as he placed a kiss on it.

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted it…”

Spencer took the remains of the photo from you, glanced at it without much interest, then crumpled it up. Surprised, you furrowed your brows.

“We’ll take more,” he assured you lightly.

For a moment, you just stared at him in silence. Did that mean…?

“Really?”

“We’ll take hundreds of them.”

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