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sagesolsticewrites · 1 year ago

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oh my GOD I don’t have words for how incredible this was oh my goodness

‘The Three of Us: Brat Behavior’

Fully co-authored with: my love @precious-little-scoundrel

Notes: The response to the first fic has been so unexpected and overwhelmingly amazing - thank you, thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, liked, screamed and gushed over it! It has made our little hearts so very full, we can’t even express properly just how happy it’s made us! We hope you enjoy this installment - we love hearing from you so please feel free to scream at us!

Warnings: Threesome, all the sex that entails, 18+ only

Word count: 6.3k

The Three of Us - part 1

When the paparazzi pictures of you and Callum outside a pre-Emmy’s bash were splashed across the internet, the confusion was palpable. The photo evidence of Austin Butler’s girlfriend looking especially loved up with his best friend sparked more than a bit of outrage. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if they had snapped the two of you just a few seconds before. But the way his strong arms engulfed your entire body, your sequined dress glittering in the night as your back was pressed to his broad chest while you waited on the curb for your ride. The way he nuzzled your neck and made you giggle - the evidence was undeniable. Tumblr was once again set ablaze with rumors and speculation:

“I thought she was dating his close friend? Wtf?”

“He didn’t seem like this kinda dude but ok, another disappointment. Damn.”

“Bro code is dead it seems.”

But then, a day after those pictures captured headlines, a new set of photos made the rounds. Austin Butler himself could be seen, standing just off to the side, laughing and chatting with you and Callum. Upon further inspection he had been there all along - crouched in front of you and Cal, talking to the Uber driver, head ducked into the window. A leather jacket-clad arm, just barely inside the photo, ringed hand entwined with yours as Callum held you in his arms. A collective huh could be heard throughout the fandom.

The three of you had had exactly two months together, before going your separate ways for work. Two months of clandestine, late night get togethers at Austin’s house or your apartment. Two months of breakfasts in bed, hikes at Fryman Canyon and coffee dates at Aroma. Two months of hard work while each of you prepared for your next projects, the tedious research and memorizing lines made a little bit easier, more interesting, just by being in each other’s company. A thousand kisses, smiles, secret looks, soft touches and more than double that in sighs, whimpers and blushes. Until one day, when the party finally seemed to be over, for now, and all that was left were deflated balloons and half-hung streamers.

The night before you left for Europe for five months you spent with Austin, just the two of you, cuddled up in his big bed, eating takeout and watching old movies. You, Callum and Austin had already said your goodbyes to one another earlier in the day, a bittersweet encounter that left you happy, satisfied and more than a bit sore, and you wondered how, exactly, you’d fair spending ten hours sitting on a plane the next day. The boys were due to ship out in the next couple of days as well - Austin to New Mexico for a new film, followed by press for The Bikeriders after that. And Callum was off to Vancouver for his next film, Eternity. The way things were looking, you three wouldn’t be together in the same room again until September, just in time for the Emmy’s, which seemed like an awfully long time to miss someone. Two someones.

What followed over the spring and summer were five long months of mutual pining and longing and horniess that was only partially satiated by group video chats as often as schedules allowed. These catch-ups inevitably turned into what amounted to three-way phone sex with everyone getting off in their separate hotel rooms and going to bed alone, wishing it was any other way than the way it was. You bought a ridiculous amount of cute lingerie just for these hangouts, not to mention various toys and gadgets sure to turn on more than just you.

Then there was the group text chat that Callum had set up and named, appropriately, The Lads. Sometimes it was silent except for a thumbs up from Austin on yesterday’s “Miss you, chums,” from Callum. He had taken to calling you and Austin his lads, his chaps, etc. And you, in turn, deemed him Old Bean, never using the affectionate nickname without also employing a stuffy British accent, purely to see his face light up and crack with a smile. Sometimes you sent suggestive food photos from your apartment in Budapest, “food porn” as you cheekily referred to them. Your little hand wrapped around a squash you were cutting up for soup or two avocados you saucily bounced in your palm, mimicking a favorite move of the boys’ - you could almost hear them groan in ecstasy a thousand miles away. It tickled them pink when you did this and almost always led to a filthy string of threats from Callum and a soft expletive from Austin.

Sometimes this group chat got you all in trouble, or at the very least, terribly embarrassed. There was the time you were in a production meeting with other department heads on the film and Callum sent a picture of himself in tight boxer briefs, lounging in bed, veiny hand gripping his very hard dick through thin fabric. Or the time you sent a, mostly covered, nude pic and Austin’s manager happened to be holding his unlocked phone at that moment. You could picture exactly the furious blush that must have spread over his entire face.

But it wasn’t all lighthearted chatting and sexy photos. Sometimes you’d come across a paparazzi photo of Callum out to dinner with friends or a co-star. You didn’t love how white hot jealousy burned through you like a smoldering ember, blinding you to the truth. The truth that he has girls who are friends. That he’s an affectionate, touchy-feely kind of guy and sometimes he just can’t help himself. You had to tamp down your needy tendencies and remind yourself that you didn’t own him and besides, it was always you and Austin for him at the end of the day anyway. And sometimes you’d be scrolling Instagram, when out of the blue, you were stopped dead in your tracks by a picture of Austin on someone’s feed. The sense of desire and longing that kept you tethered to him would tighten and threaten to spill over in tears.

The thing about Callum Turner is that his constant teasing and joking, that wheedling mouth of his, gets him into all sorts of unforeseen trouble. And the trouble coming his way tonight ain’t his usual choice of dynamic but hey, he’s here now and whatever comes his way, he might as well try new things, eh?

“So what, you’re a big boy, big shot, producer fella now, huh? Off doing big shot important shite, too busy for us?” Cal says through a wide grin, though the playfulness of his words doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s some other emotion stirring in those blue depths - neediness, maybe. Or impatience. The only response from Austin is a quiet breath, huffed out through flared nostrils as he sips from his cocktail and looks around the room, choosing to ignore the teasing.

Austin is Mr. Stately Reserved at the party - not really, it just seems that way from the outside. Or the inside, as it were. He’s hugging and laughing and chatting but to Callum, who’s missed him more than he cares to admit, even to himself, it’s maddeningly poised. Callum would like to smooch him and pick him up and twirl him around but Austin is barely even looking him in the eye. He wants to grab that perfect, model face that Austin has on for the cameras, the crowd, and wreck it. Make sure he still feels something behind that cool and indifferent facade.

Austin glances at you as his hand goes round your waist, tugging you closer to his side in the crowded room. You sneak a glance at Callum through your eyelashes and are amused to find a rather put out expression on his face. Every little thing Cal thinks bolts across his features like a flashing neon sign. You bite your lip and turn the snicker escaping your lips into a cough behind your hand. Cal’s eyes flicker to you and you raise an eyebrow, imperceptibly shaking your head, staring him down and silently pleading with him to be patient, just cool it. You can tell by the way his mouth sets into a determined little smile that your telepathic message was not well received.

“You could just ask to be dommed, you know?” Austin says suddenly, voice monotone, eyes unreadable and his haughty, camera-ready face still scanning the room.

“How the hell does that correlate to being dommed, Aus? Huh? How?” There’s an outraged disbelief in Cal’s tone that almost outweighs the high pitched -although mild -panic seeping through. Never unsure, ever, at least that you’ve seen him, until Austin Butler interprets him some such way and then this big tough man is a flailing and defensive windmill of arms and definitions.

“You’re literally so happy to see me, everyone here can see your tail wagging, that’s how,” Austin says smoothly out of the side of his mouth, an almost bored tone permeating his inflammatory words.

“Ah see, now, I’m offended mate, here I am, missing my friend, showing it -and I get called a furry. You into that now?” Callum ribs goodnaturedly.

“Wouldn’t say no to you on Halloween just ‘cause you were wearing a pair of ears,” Austin admits with a suppressed grin. Already in full contestant mode, it takes Callum a brief minute to close his mouth and realize he’s just won a victory for himself here.

“Now that’s the kinda way to make a fella feel special, Austin. That and loaning me your cable to watch the game later. That would do it.”

“Oh I’ll make you feel special, Cal, just not in front of Steven Spielberg,” Austin murmurs, as the man himself starts to make his way across the room to shake their hands. Austin finally turns his eyes on Callum and holds his gaze so intensely that Cal’s stomach drops and he feels a twitch in his pants, like he shoulda braced or something before those eyes flicked over and met his: fuckin’ finally.

And he just knows, in that moment, that he’s in for it. He’s gonna get what he’s been asking for all night, and from that moment on, his stomach is in pleasurable knots and he can’t concentrate on anything anyone is saying to him. And if there’s a wink in there somewhere, when Austin is sure no one can see, well, it makes Cal just about stagger, both from assurance and the weirdly hot feeling of being a naughty little secret.

—

The coast is clear. Or that’s Cal’s best guess when Austin’s golden little head stops covertly craning around the corner of the elevator to inspect the hallway and turns instead to lock eyes with him.

Oh that smile, soft but not tender, slow but not lazy, constrained but nothing short of mischief in a bottle. A lean, ringed hand darts out and Cal is suddenly tripping over his big feet, pulled into the dim hall by a fist in the gap of his double breasted blazer, Austin’s knuckles firm against his sternum when he lurches forward too fast. A dog on a leash. And the hypnotic swirl of the carpet’s pattern blurs with the interspersed lamps on the dark walls until it’s nothing but a streak of swirls and Austin’s shoulders ahead of him. He’s got them fuckin’ joggin’ to the room. Cal’s loud laugh surprises himself but he’s too happy to shove it down.

“So ya did miss me -badly looks like- ya’poncy bastard.”

Austin does nothing more than throw an amused look over his shoulder, not a hitch in his fast stride. The look glances off Cal’s grinning face and back behind him to where you’re lagging behind, not out of shyness or hesitancy, instead you’re unabashedly admiring the view from back here, watching them tug and run and fall into each other on patterned carpet leading to the suite.

“Keep up, angel!” Austin insists before turning his face back towards his break-neck trajectory.

The tone and the attitude reminds you of that afternoon when you’d all first settled into some sort of lasting mojo, one that had begun in bed but wouldn’t last without some care outside in the carless, callous, scrutinizing world. You’d gone rock climbing, sweaty tank tops and dusty hands a-pair, the competitive spirit spilled onto you too as they grappled up the wall.

You’d been one of the boys then. And it felt just right. Especially when the boys were as loving and devoted as these to each other.

They’ve a head start on you down the hall, the heels Austin had helped you out of in the elevator did their damage to your poor toes but you try anyway, sequins rough and crushed in your sweaty palm as you hike up your dress skirt and sprint after them, the hallway suddenly burning hot in your exertions, Cal’s sweaty face cackling maniacally back at you as you try, and fail, to grab at his coat tails, seems to share the sentiment.

“We gotta get out of these layers.”

Dexterous, and a dozen other potent synonyms that Cal has indulged in coming up with late at night on his brainy apps, is how he’d describe Austin on a good day. It’s a goddamn magic trick tonight, the way the room key is suddenly in his hand from up his shirt sleeve, like pulling a white rabbit out of a hat, and it’s tapping and opening the latch.

The room is cool, dim and smells of your hairspray and Austin’s cologne. Cal salivates and would contemplate that being a new low to go with being called a furry tonight, but then his back is being slammed harshly against the small wall space by the door, Austin’s fist still tight against his chest, suit coat clenched between white knuckles. He’s really letting Butler just toss him around tonight, and dimly he knows he could do something about that but after hours of trying to blow straw wrapper balls at him to get the least response, it’s nice to be manhandled instead.

Oh, right, ok, of course— Austin’s keeping him here, the door propped open with a Louis Vuitton outfitted foot so you can come in too.

This wasn’t all about bruising Cal’s back. He finds himself mildly disappointed by that. Odd. Tonight’s been odd. But it just got nicer with you coming in all pink cheeked and panting from the race.

“Third place.” Cal has enough assholish gusto left in him to taunt over Austin’s shoulder, sticking three large and disrespectful fingers in your eye-line as you pass, shoving the score quite literally in your face.

You were headed to pull the drapes, being a nice little girlfriend and respecting how tough it might be for either of these guys to find themselves on TMZ tomorrow doing...whatever it is that Austin’s doing pinning Cal up to the wall like he’s a suspect. But with this competitive provocation regarding having lost a foot race to two very large, very competitive and highly motivated young men, you pause in your errand of mercy and chomp at the offending fingers instead, drawing a howl from Callum. To his credit he no longer looks remotely surprised when you do that anymore.

“Only loser here is you,” Austin jabs but the door has just banged closed, let go by his foot, and Callum has the decency to swallow very hard at whatever the hell that look on his face means.

“Your hair’s grown back out,” Austin adds, not conversationally, more like someone pleased their Amazon order came as advertised. His eyes rake over Callum’s features, following the swirls of soft curls falling across his forehead.

You trip backwards to the curtains, not wanting to miss a thing and hardly registering banging your heel on the very modern and very sharp ottoman corner that’s in between you and the window.

“Ya like it?” Cal’s face lights up and his cheeks go a little pink under Austin’s intense scrutiny, making the light freckles that dot his nose spring to life. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly aware it’s getting to the length it was when they first met. “I didn’t think you’d noticed, Mr. Big Shot, with all that schmoozing you were doing.”

Austin’s eyes deepen as his pupils dilate, almost swallowing the blues of his irises completely. The fist gripping Cal’s shirt loosens, only to be quickly replaced by a firm arm barred across his throat, threatening to cut off his air supply, both a warning and an invitation. Austin smiles darkly and a look flashes across his face, needy and possessive. Callum’s adrenaline kicks in, his cock throbbing painfully in sync with his pounding heart. He is reminded of the only other time he’s seen Austin Butler look this way.

Three Years Ago

The slow build from friends into something more had happened gradually, in tiny increments. How had they gone from walking Callum’s dog and dinners at the local pub to lying beside each other in the balmy dark, ragged breaths and quiet groans filling the air as they tugged each other’s cocks, their spend eventually spilling out, hot and sticky, onto their hands. But looking back now, Callum could see it had all blurred together, like an impressionist painting, and he was unable to tell where things began and ended. It felt like everything had happened all at once, their worlds colliding and meshing into one another, and that was the way it had always been, before they had ripped apart, separate once more.

The closer they came to wrapping Masters of the Air, the more inevitable the end became. One evening, towards the end, Austin had a mind to show his mate how much this meant to him, whatever this was. They’d never gone farther than some heavy petting, an urgent kiss here and there, and getting each other off. But that night, something simmered just under the surface and Austin, with slightly shaky hands, unbuttoned Callum’s jeans and pulled them down his solid thighs as he sank to his knees. He felt Callum’s hands rest lightly in his hair, thumbs brushing his temples as Austin slowly leaned forward. He hesitated a split second before taking Callum’s bulging tip into his mouth, his tongue running circles around it. The feeling was foreign but intriguing and he noted with distant observation the things Callum responded to. It was messy and awkward and thrilling, in an illicit sort of way. Cal’s muscles flexed beneath Austin’s gentle hands as they mapped and explored every dip and crease.

Weirdly it got him so hot and bothered, doing it, listening to Cal’s constant praise, that Austin noticed, with dissociated interest, his own cock growing hard and rubbing against the inseam of his pants with delicious agony. Cal sounded like he was being exorcized the braver he got, which spurred Austin on to redouble his fumbling but enthusiastic efforts. Callum surged forward and Austin gagged, barely recovering before gagging again. That's apparently what it took to get the job done and with less than a second’s warning, Austin pulled his mouth off Cal just as he started to come, using his fist to jerk the rest out of him with rough precision.

Once he caught his breath, Cal was ready to return the damn favor, and excited about it too. He led Austin to the edge of the bed as the blonde struggled to rid himself of the offending inseam and pants, tripping slightly in his haste. Cal chuckled and steadied him with a strong arm around his waist, licking a stripe up Austin’s neck as he did. Austin’s stomach flip-flopped at the promise of that mouth as he finally shucked his pants. Once out of its confines, his perfect, pink cock sprang up toward his belly, already slick and oozing. Callum pushed Austin onto the bed with a gentle shove, dropping to his knees between those long, lean legs. Austin fell back on his elbows, blue eyes ever watchful, his face red and gleaming with sweat. Cal grasped Austin’s hip firmly with a large hand, the fingertips of the other barely touching the angry cock bobbing at him at eye level. He hadn’t even had a chance to wrap his lips around it before Austin was shooting off without warning all over Callum - into his eye, up his nose, onto his open lower lip. Cal sputtered in shock, falling back on his ass in his haste to try and get the sticky stuff off.

“What the fuck, Butler! What the fuck?! It’s in my hair! Jesus Christ!” he moaned, the shock beginning to wear off. Callum looked so cute, with his freckles glazed and being dramatic as all hell and Austin was no help whatsoever. He laid there, feeling fabulous and sated with his spent cock still spurting now and again. Completely relaxed, zero sympathy, because truly he wasn’t even remotely sorry for cum up the nose when his throat was raw from sucking Cal’s massive dick.

In the present time Cal’s tentative: “You like them?” has Austin reaching up to drag through Callum’s curls after his pleading goad.

“They’re gonna make the prettiest handle here in a second.” Austin smirks and yanks his large puppy away from the wall, hauling him to the bed, gravity working in Austin’s favor as Cal trips over his feet and lands in a face-first splat onto fine weave cotton with a muffled “oomph.”

Without warning, Austin levels a hard smack to Callum’s bottom, the loud crack of it reverberating throughout the room. You gasp and freeze where you stand near the curtains, not wanting to disturb whatever this is that’s playing out. You see Austin wind up for another spank, delivering it just as Cal recovers from the shock of the first one. He roars, unused to being treated this way. A stream of curses leaves his mouth as he struggles to roll over, to fight back in some way. But Austin’s already kneeling on the bed, looming over him with one knee planted firmly on Callum’s back, pinning him down.

“The hell was that for?! Let me up!” Callum practically shouts, the panic of not being able to move setting in, all that alcohol he tossed back with abandon at the party making him slow and uncoordinated. “Fucking let me up, bro!”

“You’ve been a pain in my ass all night…couldn’t wait til we were alone, could you? Had to have allllll my attention right then. Had to act like a brat in front of our friends and colleagues.” He delivers another brutal smack that has Callum jolting forward, fists gripping the white duvet he’s face-planted in. Callum lets out a strangled moan, half frustration, half arousal. “Practically begged me to dom you…” smack. “Does my attention feel good now, hmm?”

You can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, your panties are already soaked and your legs feel shaky with need. Without a word you walk over and tug Cal’s pants off unceremoniously, his boxer-briefs sliding down with them. His usually pale, round bottom is already red, and by the look on Austin's face, it’s about to get much worse. Compulsively you kneel over Callum and kiss it better, your lips trailing little smooches over the angry skin before smoothing your cool palm across the expanse of his backside and rubbing his back soothingly. He lets out a sigh of misplaced relief, his hands relaxing their grip on the covers only to be startled out of his temporary reverie by another slap to his now bare ass. That one definitely left a mark and you stare in awe at the large handprint left behind. From there it’s just a tenderly brutal back and forth as you soothe what Austin stings.

Callum is so dazed by his own feelings and having allowed himself to be treated this way that when Austin stands and finally rolls him over he’s about as docile as a lamb. He didn’t even know he’d come until the cool air hits him and he realizes his belly and shirt are a hot, sticky mess. As Cal is hazily coming to grips with what just happened, you turn your gaze to Austin standing at the foot of the bed. In soothing one you hadn’t been paying attention to the other.

Your boyfriend is breathing hard and his face is flushed, like he’s just run a marathon. You bite your lip as your eyes travel the length of him, eyefucking him blatantly, there’s something so magnetic and even a little daunting about him when he’s in this mood. Your gaze stops at the outline of his hard cock pressed against his pants. You didn’t realize he was so turned on by what he’s taken out on Callum’s skin but it makes your belly jump as you slowly slide off the bed, the need to ravish him overwhelming.

In an instant your hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging his own curls. Your mouth is desperate for his, nipping and sucking and kissing every inch of him you can reach. You grab at his t-shirt, ripping it off in one fell swoop and tossing it aside before you resume your aggressive making out. You can’t decide what to focus on first - his plump, pink lips or his open neck. You decide to bite his collarbone, drawing a yelp from him. Your little hand, with perfectly painted red nails, palms his hard-on through his slacks, doing your damndest to give him a handjob through all that fabric. Austin pants into your mouth and unzips your dress, pushing it off your shoulders and to the floor. You step out of it as you push him against the wall, unbuttoning the fly of his pants and reaching a hand in to grip him fully. He’s so soft and warm and hard as you swipe your thumb across his tip, swirling your tongue over his, wishing you could feel him in your mouth. He lets out a choked moan as he unfastens your bra, his long fingers finding your peaked nipples and giving them a pinch. You’ve knocked his mojo off course for the moment and he shudders under your sensuous attack. And all the while Cal watches you two from the bed, one hand around his straining length, about to spurt again.

Austin suddenly breaks the kiss, grabbing your wrists and holding your body away from his. “That’s enough now, baby. I-I need you to get on Cal’s cock.” The command is so sudden and so sure it nearly winds you, but then Austin is mummering, “Can you do that for me, angel?” blue eyes suddenly serious as he stares you down, his lips kiss-swollen and neck already starting to bruise. You nod your head silently as he turns you around and shoves you toward the bed, smacking your ass hard as you willingly obey. Cal starts to sit up and move towards the headboard, like last time, ready to have you and some relief as well.

“No, no, no. On your back, Callum Turner. You stay on your back,” Austin commands quietly, pointing a finger. “You feeling special yet, baby boy, or will it take my cock down your throat, too?”

You’re straddling Cal now and after momentarily bracing for that extra burn only he can give, you deliciously sink down onto him as he fills and probes you just that little bit deeper beyond comfort. His hands encircle your waist without thinking as you slide him in to the hilt, both of you groaning. He can unfortunately no longer think straight, let alone answer, right this moment. And daddy definitely wanted an answer.

Austin tsks quietly in feigned disappointment, “Cock it is then.”

And that’s how Callum Turner found himself flat on his back with you balancing on his balls and Austin Butler’s heavy cock in his mouth, choking him from time to time, not unpleasantly he’s surprised to find.

“You were so sad when I didn’t make it down your throat last time,” Austin coos over his shoulder as he slowly rides Cal’s face while his perfect, pert ass is manhandled by Chelsea’s finest lad, muffled sounds of god knows what coming from him. Austin has a love/hate relationship with watching you enjoy another dick that much, the least he can do is make you scream his name while you’re at it. Which is why he’s facing you as both of you ride Callum, overwhelming him like ants, the man has no chance of getting back up once he’s been felled. You lean back a little, hands on Cal’s thighs as he pounds you, teasing Austin with a little peek at your swollen clit. It has the intended effect and Austin keeps his slow and steady pace as he bends over to lick you while you ride Cal’s fat cock.

Meanwhile, gurgling noises are emanating from somewhere behind Austin’s shoulder as Callum is literally choking on cock, the bend of it molding perfectly to his throat at this angle, like someone poured playdough down it, heavy balls resting on his nose. Austin shifts again, one hand on your breast and one reaching behind to Cal's throat, massaging, squeezing. And the only thing floating through Callum’s mind as he struggles to draw breath is, “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Do you feel special now, huh? Now that you can’t breathe?” Austin grunts out, relishing the feeling, the noises, the heady rush of being in control.

Something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus Christ, Austin” flies out of Callum’s mouth but you can’t quite tell because it’s all garbled, almost unintelligible. He’s arguing with a cock down his throat, muffled protests and encouragements. All of the sudden his belly starts to heave in panic, his airflow finally sealed off as Austin presses lower, trying to get Cal to deepthroat him.

“Shhh it’s ok…breathe baby, breathe through your mouth, Cal, not your nose. That will only make it worse.” You pet his belly soothingly as he still gags for a moment. Austin jolts forward, the feeling of Cal gagging on his cock incredible. He grabs your hips, nails digging into your flesh, taking some calming breaths himself, trying to last and not to spurt hot cum down Callum’s throat right now. Cal bucks up into you, swift and firm, but Austin’s got a death grip on your hips, holding you down and that’s just the first orgasm of the night for you.

But Callum Turner is nothing if not resilient, and a multitasker at that. He relaxes his throat, starting to get the hang of things, figuring out how to breathe around a pole stuffed down his windpipe. Good thing he has such a wide mouth, finally came in handy for something. He can both learn how to deepthroat for the first time and knead Austin’s ass and thighs like he’s making sourdough. He’s really getting into the groove now - kneading and slapping, rocking Austin in encouragement to pick up the pace. Which quickly turns Austin’s dominance into a very whiny sort of thing. He can’t quite keep up after a few minutes of Callum’s sweet torture, the balls on his nose no longer a hindrance. Callum is pulling him apart and acting like he’s enjoying himself so much that Austin’s mind goes blankety-blank. When Cal starts smacking at his little ass to encourage him to rut, he loses it.

You watch this change overtake Austin gradually, like sand eroding from a beach, little by little. You can see when he goes from being in charge of “Operation Overwhelm Cal” to being a pretty baby in dire need of cumming. He slowly tips forward, partly to get his cock further into Callum’s throat and partly to face-plant in your ample titties because he’s feeling a lot of feelings at the moment. He’s practically on all fours now, drool dripping down onto Cal’s lower belly and mixing with your wetness already there. His forehead rests between the valley of your breasts as his hips work like an auger down Cal’s throat. You’ve got one hand in his hair and the other on one of your tits as he grabs your hips, urging you to pick up the pace. He can’t take his eyes off of where Callum disappears inside you, again and again, his thick, pale lower belly, everything a blur.

Austin explodes without warning, a strangled cry wrenched from his lips. Cal’s whole body jerks up as he chokes, dislodging Austin onto the bed beside you. He has the forethought to grab a discarded t-shirt lying next to him and spit into it, gasping for breath. You’re still riding him hard, and you’re close again, so close. In the blink of an eye you’re on your back, delicate wrists held together in one of his expansive palms. You hook a leg around his waist and a floodgate opens up. At this new angle he’s hitting the spot that has you shaking apart and coming, little quakes every few seconds. He presses on despite your gasping protests, whispered words of praise and teasing and you can’t tell which is making you come harder - his taunts or his cock. You feel Austin slip a hand between your bodies, one long finger toying with your nipple, sending you over the edge again just as you were recovering. Callum roars, wrecked and rasping, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he finishes, his solid weight crushing you as he collapses onto your chest.

“Roll over, ya big oaf…my hand is…trapped,” Austin says between tugs, trying to extricate himself. Callum turns one, jewel-blue eye on Austin and grins, leaning over to bite his shoulder. Despite Austin’s growled protests and more useless tugging of his trapped hand, there’s a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a certain kind of floaty lightness. It looks good on him.

Quiet noises filter through Cal’s brain, like sunlight through a window, slowly and then all at once. The actual sun stays hidden behind blackout curtains, thanks to your thoughtful gesture the night before. Sprawled out on his belly like an overgrown spider, he registers the sound of someone getting ready for the day. Running water, an electric toothbrush, the soft thump of a towel being dropped, the rustle of clothes. He blinks his eyes open slowly, swallowing gingerly. God, his throat feels like it’s on fire! Is it always this way? He groans as he swallows again, trying to get some moisture down to soothe it. He makes a mental note to go a little easier on you next time you have his cock shoved down your windpipe. A movement catches his eye through the cracked bathroom door and he can make out Austin, dressed to the nines and fussing with his hair til he gets it just so. His heart plummets - Austin’s already back on his professional bullshit. Cal opens his mouth to make some comment about the outfit he’s wearing only to have it all squeak out in a cracked voice, the hoarse dig barely audible. That gets a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Austin, he knows where this is coming from.

“Need a cough drop for that throat, bud?” as he buttons his shirt at the wrists, looking at him in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t be salty,” he snickers, trying not to laugh at the gathering storm cloud on Cal’s face.

“That’s a shit pun, Butler,” Callum manages to croak, starting to raise himself up. To do what, he isn’t sure, he only knows he can’t take this lying down. But then you’re giggling somewhere at his back, apparently still in bed with him, going, “Salty, get it?” Your cool hand travels up his freckled skin, soothing his ruffled feathers and urging him to lie back. He flops down again, arms spread wide and rolls over to see you’re still very much entrenched in the bed, fluffy covers held to your chest and hair floating in a halo on the pillow. He’s not going to be alone…or not right away, at least. Austin walks to the foot of the bed, all suave and put together, the woody scent of his cologne hitting your noses and making you both swoon a little, if you’re honest.

“You sleepy heads enjoy your breakfast. And don’t watch without me...or there will be repercussions.” One side of his mouth quirks up, long finger pointed at the two of you as he slips on his sunglasses, looking for all the world like some hottie mob boss. Heat curls in your belly and you have to stop yourself from reaching up and pulling him down to the bed by his open shirt collar.

“And just what are we, your harem?” you say with a pout, stretching your arms above your head, pert nipples peeking out above the covers. His eyes are hidden behind dark lenses but you note with satisfaction the way he swallows hard, leg jiggling slightly, before turning abruptly away and heading for the door.

“Don’t wanna be it, don’t act like it,” he tosses over his shoulder just before the door slams shut.

In the ringing quietness after his exit, you can hear Cal’s raspy breathing and a mildly oppressive feeling of sore melancholy. You roll on your side to fully face him, the crinkle of the sheets loud in the stillness and he turns to you, boyish and expectant. A smirk lights up your face, “How about a bath, Turner? Baby’s first time and all,” you tease, fingers trailing up his collarbone as he pulls you into the crook of his arm.

“Oh fuck off,” he grins, blue eyes shutting, snuggling you closer. He cracks one eye open again, fixing you with a sheepish look. “Could use some pancakes though.”

Tags - let us know if you’d like to be added or removed: @oskea93, @softboo, @winniemaywebber, @spiderstyles04, @abswifey, @thegettingbyp2, @blikebarbie92, @missmaywemeetagain, @icedb1ackcoffee, @wildfll0wer, @dilfelvis, @slowsweetlove, @thefallofthedamned, @cherieaustin, @liv-n, @steph-speaks @jelliedonut @elvisabutler, @crazymadpassionatelove @stylespresleyhearted @easy-peezy-squeeze-a-lemon

#I’m obsessed #sage recommends #everyone go read this now pls

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hey-heigo · 1 year ago

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Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

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celestial-toys · 1 year ago

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*closes 13 tabs on astrology and greek mythology*

ES Ch.5… is now complete.

#Everything Stays #writing stuff #Seven’s Celestial Commentary #there were 30 tabs in total by the time i was done doing all my research for this chapter but the other 17 weren’t astrology related #they’re full of name definitions and foods and children’s books and FNaF wiki pages #but yes! more time than i’d like and 13k+ words later… the chapter feels ready to go #gotta give it one final editing sweep and draft it up on Ao3 but it’ll be ready in time for the fic’s anniversary!!! which was my goal #exciting news for the few of you who out there that maybe hopefully haven’t given up on this story in spite of yet another long hiatus #(full transparency: this post and the following tags were drafted a few days ago and then i. never posted it.)#***the Preceding tags not the following tags #(so! take this as your official announcement that ES Ch.5 is now live on Ao3! i did it!! i posted it on the anniversary!!!)#(with one entire hour to spare CST! wow look at me go)#(no honestly i’m very disappointed in myself that my time management failed me once again. bc i wanted the chapter to go up at 7pm not 11pm #and i wanted to have the Edit Log and Appearance Reference Sheet posted here already so i could link them.#but it’s okay we live and we learn and one day i’ll learn to start working on things further in advance to give myself more time #and honestly extra stuff aside the chapter would’ve at least gone up at an earlier hour #had the curse of being an Ao3 author not befallen me at 5pm by thrusting a fucking family emergency into my day #like everyone’s okay it’s all fine now but jesus christ what kinda timing. the ONE DAY THAT THE FIC’S ANNIVERSARY FALLS ON #and somehow it ends up involving four police cars :)#but that was not gonna fucking stop me from posting this chapter today. nothing could! i may be unreliable and inconsistent #but i wouldn’t be able to rest knowing that i missed this fucking anniversary #anyways. tempted as i am i Will Not overshare but i’ll reiterate that everything’s fine now! and Ch.5 is up so i’m going to sleep #will re-review the chapter and make any little edits tomorrow that my tired brain didn’t catch tonight. there’s always a few that slip by #okay that’s all from Present Day Seven goodnight i am very tired pls go read Everything Stays i will love you forever and even kiss you #if you want. or we’ll actually maybe don’t read it yet maybe gimme a few days to review it and catch any more edits that need making #***well not we’ll. i hate mobile tags

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hexados-on-a-string · 2 years ago

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just found out 2 of my favourite bakugan fan fics have apparently been deleted this is the worst thing to ever happen to me which is impressive cuz a lot of bad things happen to me

#they were both by the same author but i cant remember the name of the author or of the fics #one was a 5+1 dan/shun which was everyone figuring out shun's feelings for dan #and the other was spectragus marriage #IF ANYONE RECOGNISES THESE AND HAS THE LINK PLS SEND I NEED TO WAYBACK THIS #i have other fics to read but this is actually devastating #they also had another fic which was a mechtanium surge rewrite but thats disappeared too #i get it like bc i want to delete the one whole fic ive written. but the difference is these fics are good and mine are not.#praying to the weird girl in the sky rn #i never saved the link bc it was so easy to find. theres a new bakugan fic like every 3 months.#the most popular ship only has 3 pages of fics #i was gonna read them and then go to sleep :(#cant sleep now :(

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lilyliveredlittlerichboy · 2 years ago

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harrow brainrot

#i need a tag for my own rambles #u dont understand.#ive only had harrow for a few days but if anything ahppens to her iw ill kill everyone and then myself #gideon the ninth #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb #sorry this is a tlt blog now i guess. sorry #no harrow theninth or nona theninth spoilers pls i am . taking a deep breath and doing irl stuff before i go in to read those #what a strange blorbo for my brain to attach itself to. she is not my type for fictional characters usually #but i just love her smmmm

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neonwizardheehee · 4 months ago

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Little work rant:

I asked my coworker today if they could fill in tmr evening bc we had to switch things up bc some delivery didn't came and now we have to switch up the whole event (like we need to do smth at our place but the og thing is not possible) and they (we're friends actually) had the audacity to come to me with a "oh but couldn't you have planned that back in november when u knew smth was happening at yours?" .... girliepop the whole thing changed last week, my boss who usually does this is on sick leave and i have had a christmas market to run in between - girl what do u mean I could've done better, i am fucvking trying and crying over here to have our place even running next year

#i stg why is it SO common to think everyone just doens't work??#hello i go here 5 days or 7 a week #pls i've just had 10 days in a row and i'm just a silly little wizard #i didn't sign up for this #also i'm fighting with HR since last week to keep us running next year and girlie comes with this???#girl i'm sorry but i have so much more things to worry about rn since the boss is gone and i stg i am trying my best but also i have no ide #pls just gimme a break???????#only one week left #4 more days and then they can all suck it #we're all so on the edge and SO exhausted #why is working like this so common like wWHAT #how is anyone supposed to have a life ??????#pls i have tears to cry stuff to read and insane thoughts to think #ahhhhhhh #9 to 5 #sorry pls i just wanna cry rn #i never asked for this responsibility #but alas bad bitch mode is okay and i can do it #yes imma maybe cry at home now but tmr she can get it and i will smile politely and say #oh it's okay it was on short notice I KNOW - i will do this shift instead <3 #overtime and 10h work shift here i come B)#they are lucky i don't have anyone to care for at home rn otherwise OOF #i mean another colleague is also helping me which is AMAZING I LOVE HER but she's also on the brink of breakdown and it's so bad and UGH #i wish i could make it better for everyone but for that I'd have to be the mayor in town and BOI NO XD #sry if anyone read this ily sorry i'm jsut a crybaby rn kskskks

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ddejavvu · 5 months ago

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omg pls pls pls hotch x nerdy reader like everyone would think you’d be the perfect match with spencer, having the biggest love of reading and all things art, literature, sci-fi and all things nerdy but NOPE it’s hotch who catches your clumsy eyes and he wouldn’t have it any other way!

You're right in the middle of reading about the USS Enterprise's next big adventure when your novel is rudely whisked from your hands, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you back into a firm chest.

"You were going to fall down the stairs," A deep timbre comes from behind you, and you glance around bewilderedly to find yourself, in fact, at the entrance to the stairwell instead of the elevator. Evidently you'd been too engrossed in your reading to realize you'd gone past the elevator bay and into the stairwell, and you'd have fallen right down the concrete steps if it weren't for Aaron's help.

"Thanks." You stammer, struggling to free yourself from his tight grip, "Aaron- Hotch, lemme go. I'll pay attention from now on, just- don't let anyone see us."

"I don't care if anyone sees us right now. I care that you were so distracted that you almost fell blind down at least one set of stairs, if not seven." His eyes are stern as they regard you, but loving as the reason.

"I know! I know, I get too into it." You try prying your book from his hands but he flips your bookmark into place and tucks the pocket sized novel into his suit jacket lining, "Hey!"

"I'm confiscating this until you're back from the deli. You can have it back when you're sitting down at your desk."

"Agent Hotchner, that's hardly your right to take away a subordinate's property."

"It's my boyfriendly duty to make sure that my girlfriend doesn't plummet to her death with her nose in a book."

You're definitely stable on your feet now, and you try one more time to shimmy out of his hold to no avail, "Aaron! Someone's really going to see, come on."

"Promise me." He glares at you, a slight squinting of his eyes that makes you understand every single squirming unsub for their fear of him.

"Okay, okay! I promise." You nod vehemently, and he lets your waist go. You straighten your blazer, smoothing a hand down your trousers, "Now, can I please have my book back? I promise I won't read while walking anymore."

"You can have it back when you get back from the deli." He repeats, "You can pick it up from my office when you bring me a pastrami sandwich on rye."

"Pickles?"

"Extra. Here." Aaron fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing you his card, "Get something we can split for dessert. And you'd better not have a backup novel hidden in your purse for the walk there."

For the record, you do, but Aaron's firm glare is enough to dissuade you from using it.

"I don't! I'll be back in twenty minutes." You promise Aaron, tucking his card into your pocket and entering the stairwell on purpose this time, "Be careful with my book!"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut

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iliketheusual · 1 year ago

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i might have to vent on here a little bit in the tags, feel free to ignore

or read if you're interested in any gossip, i don't judge

#sooo i have a big fat crush on this guy from work who's like super nice and friendly to everyone #problems: he's a bit older (12 years so not scandalous) and more importantly he has a girlfriend #like full on living together-part-of-the-family-girlfriend #and i'd just ignore my feelings and go with my way if he wouldn't be interacting with me #like not flirty just friendly very open and chatting like with everyone else #and last week he jokingly made fun of me and i took it like friends do and he literally apologized with a hand-written note and chocolate #the next day and i was so stunned i sent him a handwritten note and chocolate back but he hasn't read that yet because we all have a day off #but now he texted me and i'm scared to open it like i'm sooo bad at texting pls what the fuck do i do #I LITERALLY ALREADY CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT LIKE WHAT DO I DO

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pomefioredove · 6 months ago

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the overblots (+ rook + lillia? if thats okay) reactions to you calling them your husband…………..

saw the words lilia and husband in the same ask and got so excited I blacked out

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ calling them your husband

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, rook, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

Riddle "we're not married" Rosehearts, everyone. and he says it so matter-of-factly too! like, of course, you know that. you were just trying to be sweet and romantic. he figures it out eventually, though (the realization hits him like a truck two hours later, and he apologizes with roses and a slice of tart. Ace makes fun of him for weeks)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is so smug about it actually. unlike Riddle, he's socially aware enough to know that you don't mean it literally. he's like, "damn right I am" and will defo make you say it again. especially in front of the other housewardens. and his family, and random people on the street (he likes it)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I think Azul would try to actually marry you after that. he is reading way too much into it. I mean, you basically just said you love him and belong to each other in the most intimate and loving way and want to be together forever!!!! (he's already thinking about your wedding rings)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"your boyfriend 😑" THANKS JAMIL. it's not that he doesn't understand what you mean, it's just that he's having NONE of that. thinking about the future scares him he's just a realist!!! and then he fucks up and calls you his spouse without thinking one time... you never let him forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil likes it. he's just sitting there all smug like "😌 yes that's me" definitely also calls you his spouse when you're alone. to him, it's just a symbol of your commitment and a promise of a loving future together. very cute very sweet 10/10

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook lights up like a kid on Christmas morning the first time you say it. it's just so!!!! he thinks about it for the rest of the week, and absolutely starts referring to you as his spouse. will sign all of his love notes with "your husband" from then on

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia is going THROUGH it. tells you you're being cringe while his face and hair are cherry red (which means he likes it!) definitely going to think about it while in bed staring at the ceiling for months. Ortho overhears and starts calling you his sibling-in-law :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus. MALLEUS. someone save this poor man. he's unwell. pacing around his room all night, trying to figure out what you meant by that. are you trying to tell him you want him to propose?? you want to marry him?? right now right this second-

you'll have to tell him you meant it as a term of endearment, which both relaxes and disappoints him (say it again, please please pl-)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia doesn't really have a reaction. not on the surface, anyway. he just goes on with the conversation (he is fighting demons in his head rn). he decides he likes it, though, and he'll introduce you to everyone as his spouse from then on

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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mr-thundercloud · 9 months ago

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OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM... Mmmmm GOOD SOUP! (Check the other re-blogs their real tasty)

Prompt fill from the Discord server. This one is courtesy of @tourettesdog

Prompt where Danny keeps showing up like a stray cat at various hero's houses. He just comes and goes and they never know when he'll show up next. He's just this like pseudo-adopted child who will come over for dinner, crash on the couch, and he's gone by morning. No amount of research will tell them who he is past the limited information he's given them

The various heroes are unaware that his stray cat range wanders so far until someone mentions him at a JL meeting and all hell breaks loose.

There's eventually an intervention

Stray Cat Danny

Clark had just got home when he noticed the heartbeat on the fire escape two floors above him. As far as he knew, that apartment was empty, so it couldn't be the residents going out for a smoke. It was weird, very strange, and not his business.

He tried to leave it alone, but the heartbeat stayed on the fire escape for a few hours. Every now and again Clark would hear whoever it was shift, but other than that they stayed quiet. Again, weird, but not his business.

Until it started to snow right when Clark was about to start dinner.

He was just going to make sure whoever it was had somewhere warm to stay. Maybe direct them to a shelter. Clark opened the window and looked up, there was a dark bundle, worryingly still, on the fire escape.

"Excuse me?" Clark called. The bundle shifted but whoever it is didn't respond. Clark grumbled and made his way up to them, squatting down a few feet away.

"Are you alright?"

The bundle shifted, revealing one blue eye and a tuft of back hair.

"''m fine" a young male voice answered. The blue eye closed.

"You know it's going to snow tonight. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a shelter than on a fire escape."

"They're full." The boy answered. "All both of them."

Only two shelters for all of Metropolis? That can't be right. Clark looked up to the sky, the snow was starting to come down and he could swear it had gotten colder since he'd been out here. He couldn't leave the kid out here to freeze.

"How about you stay the night at my place? My couch is pretty comfortable, and I'm making beef stew for dinner, Ma's recipe." He let a bit of his Kansas accent show through. Hoping the country accent would put the boy more at ease. He was watching him now with both eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did your Ma ever teach you about stranger danger?" The kid asked.

"Not exactly. She taught me to help people out if they need it. Did your Ma teach you stranger danger?"

"No," the boy said, "my mom taught me to put a full-grown man on the ground if I needed to."

That surprised Clark into laughing. "Well, you won't need to with me. What do you say you come inside?"

The boy watched him for another second before shivering violently and glaring at the sky.

"Yeah, alright. Just one night."

"I'm Clark, by the way," Clark said as he closed the window behind the kid.

"Danny." The kid said. He was rooted to the spot just a few steps into the apartment, eyes scanning the room.

"It's nice to meet you, Danny." Clark held out his hand to shake, but Danny didn't take it. After an awkward second Clark cleared his throat. "Uh. The stew is going to be a little while. You're welcome to the laundry and shower if you need it." Danny was pretty clean, but there was visible dirt on his face and clothes. "I might have some clothes my nephew forgot that you're welcome to." Dick was bigger than Danny for sure, but he was closer to Danny's size than Clark was.

Danny gave him a long look, before shrugging off his backpack. "Sure. Might as well."

Clark left to go get the clothes while Danny loaded some of his clothes and blankets in the washer. Once he presented the tee shirt and sweatpants Danny disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared he was scrubbed clean, his cheeks rosy either from the hot water or scrubbing.

Danny was even smaller than Clark was expecting. He was downright scrawny. Dick's shirt hung off Danny's shoulders, and Clark could clearly see his collarbones. This kid was not getting nearly enough to eat. Well, he was going to tonight if Clark had anything to say about it.

"The stew should be ready in about half an hour. Feel free to make yourself at home." Clark said. He expected Danny to sit on the couch and watch TV, but instead, Danny found his home office. it wasn't more than a desk with his work laptop on it and some of Clark's better pieces and awards framed and tacked to the wall above it.

"You're Clark Kent, the reporter?" Danny asked, eyes switching between the wall and Clark.

"That's me," Clark said. "You know my work?"

"I read your piece on metahuman and alien rights last year. It was good."

"Thanks. I really liked working on that piece."

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"uh. No. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." Clark said, stirring the stew. Danny snorted. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Danny said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. "I wanted to be an astronaut, too."

"Yeah? You still could." Clark said.

"Nah. It's hard to be an astronaut without a high school diploma. What made you change to writing?"

"I went through a few different career paths before I landed on journalism."

"Do you like it?"

"I do. I like uncovering the truths people try to hide." Clark said. "You'd make a decent journalist, I'd think. Half of it is just asking the right questions."

Clark served up the stew into two bowls and brought them over to the table with some rolls and butter. "I don't have much in the way of drinks, is water okay?"

"Water would be great, thanks."

They ate in relative silence, Danny was too focused on his food to ask more questions. After they ate Danny nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he sat down. Clark couldn't bring himself to wake him up, so he just covered him with a blanket from the linen closet and headed to his own room.

Maybe in the morning he could make Danny pancakes or waffles and get him some new gloves and a jacket. The question was what to do after that? He didn't want to drop Danny off at a shelter, and taking him to the police would only destroy whatever trust he had gained with the boy. At the same time, he only had a one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't keep Danny here. Clark sighed. He'd have to talk to Danny in the morning and see what he wanted to do.

When Clark woke up he was greeted by the silence of the apartment and it took him a few minutes to figure out why that was wrong. There should be another heartbeat. Fearing the worst, Clark rushed into the living room to find it empty.

The blanket and clothes Danny had used had been neatly folded and placed on the back of the couch, along with a handwritten thank you note.

How did Danny leave without him hearing? Moreover, how'd he leave with the doors and windows still locked?

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny gets adopted by most (all?) JL members #shenanigans have ensued #this is the good shit #the Bats are waiting (read: searching) for him #they're the whole reason this prompt exist #probably #i mean just look at them #Batman is frothing at the mouth with adoption papers waiting (read: scrounging around for the kid's identity)#Nightwing is well... Nightwing #Red Hood doesn't know any of this he's just chilling with this kid that's Wayne adoption Bait and feeding him some food #Red Robin is lurking (read: Stalking) about keeping an eye out for said child #Black bat is away on a mission #Spoiler is with her too #Oracle is checking the CCTV around Gotham #Signal is busy (read: Homework) but hey he meet this cool friend that's good at math and their helping him with it so that's nice #Robin has found some animals (read: Blob ghosts) and has taken to trying to find more #i think that's everyone #WAIT NO I FORGOT ALFRED SH*T!#I'm so sorry that I forgot you Alfred #Agent A has readied a room for the soon to be new grandchild of his #ok now I'm going to bed #I need sleep #seriously I've been awake for the past two and a half weeks doing summer school cr@p #plus beta reading my three friends stories like GOOD SIR'S AND MISS I NEED SLEEP AND HOW THE H$LL DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE OVER SIX CHAPTERS EACH #FOR ME TO PROOFREAD AND ADD CRECTIONS PLUS PUNCTUATIONS LIKE JESUS CHRIST MY GOD #LET ME SLEEEEEEEEP PLS

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dilf-docs · 2 months 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: prev | masterlist | next

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

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora / *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 #call it what you want series

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