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theetherealbloom · 4 months ago

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The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.

The reply came faster than you expected.

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning.

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.

He missed you.

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.

AFTER THE PREMIERE

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”

“What?”

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”

AT THE AIRPORT

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.

The response was almost immediate:

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x ofc #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #wicked #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal masterlist #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut

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romanarose · 6 days ago

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The Pedro girls are eating a banquet between Pedro’s work out pics, bts pictures from everything, snl, new trailers for freaky tails fantastic four and tlou… but the Oscar Isaac girlies are still having to live off of one (1) Frankenstein photo

#Pedro pascal #Oscar Isaac

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chantersboard · 30 days ago

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Perfection

Word Count: 3.1 K. Joel Miller x f!reader. You are a server at an event where Joel is the client and you make a mistake that needs fixing aka Joel fucks your face because you fucked up.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, AU, oral male receiving, deepthroating/face fucking, swallowing, dubcon (power imbalance, reader works for Joel), reader has hair that can be pulled, orgasm denial

a/n: is this even a Joel Miller fic at this point or is it just straight up a Pedro Pascal fic? idk because this fic was 100% inspired by the Fantastic Four trailer and how goddamn neat and pressed he looks in one frame and then a stressed mess in another. That astronaut image is DOING things to me. so here's pedro with a southern accent I guess lmao. this is the meanest I've ever written Joel. I can't do this I need my soft sweet man back.

Enjoy!

#chantersboardwritessometimes for other work (I will make a masterlist one of these days... maybe)

Perfection

The staff had been warned: be on your best behavior; tonight’s host was a perfectionist. The tablecloths were steamed twice and the cutlery was washed and dried by hand. The fresh flowers in the centerpieces were measured and cut to be the exact same length. New curtains were flown in from France and crystal flutes were flown in from Italy. Every handrail and doorknob and bathroom faucet was polished until it shone.

No detail was overlooked for this event and you could tell as you walked through the room. You have been a server for almost a year now yet you’ve never seen a gala as polished as this one. Your white dress shirt and black pencil skirt are stiff with starch—a must from the host—as you balance a tray of champagne, smiling politely at whoever picks up a bubbling glass by the stem. It’s not long until your tray is empty and you make your way to the kitchen.

When you push through the swinging doors you find some of the kitchen crew crowding the entrance.

“Did you see him?” one of them asks.

Another one answers, “Guy with the red and gold pocket square and the salt and pepper beard? Yeah, I saw him.”

“Joel Miller,” someone says with ire. “He’s the reason we’re putting in all these extra hours.”

They continue to complain while someone loads your tray with new glasses. He made the chef redo several dishes. He said the napkins weren’t folded correctly. He sent a server home because their clothes weren’t pressed enough. He told someone in the quartet their instrument was out of tune.

The outlandish complaints continue and a chill creeps up your spine. The host sounds absolutely horrible. You’ve worked events with bridezillas and micromanagers and clients straight from hell but this guy takes the cake. You make a mental note to stay out of his way. Better safe than sorry.

You grab the tray of Italian flutes full of chilled champagne and begin to head back to the floor. Just as you’re turning the corner someone inside the kitchen calls for you. You turn your head, just for a moment, looking to see who needs you, when you slam into someone.

The imported glasses wobble and fall onto the tray and the golden liquid splashes in every direction. You watch a shiny flute tumble to the floor and explode into a million glittering shards.

“Shit,” you mumble. “I’m sorr—”

Your apology is caught in your throat when you finally look up. You recognize the red and gold pocket square first, then the salt and pepper beard. Yes, it would be just your luck to spill champagne all over the host Joel Miller.

His hair is perfectly styled, no strand is out of place. The graying temples are slicked back and you wouldn’t be surprised if each individual hair was cut to line up just so. His facial hair is also trimmed neatly and it shows off his strong jaw. Manicured eyebrows sit above intense brown eyes. He is a handsome man, there’s no doubt about that.

His suit fits him well, despite his stature. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. You can tell he works out in some capacity. His jacket and shirt would have needed to be tailored to fit around his muscles.

The same jacket and shirt currently soaked in champagne. Your eyes widen in fear. What do you do? What do you say?

“S-sir. I am so, so sorry.” You can feel the cold, expensive liquid wet on your chest. It has turned your white blouse sheer and it does little to hide that your nipples are hardening from the sudden change in temperature.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he says and you are surprised to hear a deep southern accent.

“I-I know,” you stammer, trying to balance the tray of toppled glasses so that no more champagne spills over. “Sir, Mr. Miller, again, I really do apologize. There is a staff bathroom right down this hall. Please, let me help you.”

Joel takes in the sight of you. Your hands shake the tray as you look up at him. You wait to be yelled at, wait to feel the wrath of this perfectionist, but instead he licks his lips. His eyes lower, lingering to where your shirt is most sheer, showing every detail of your pebbled nipples. His scrutiny makes your knees wobble.

You chew on your bottom lip and Joel’s attention snaps to your mouth. He watches your lips for what feels like an eternity before he takes the tray from you. He lowers and leaves it on the floor. When he rises again you catch a whiff of his cologne. He even smells handsome.

“You can’t even manage to hold a tray,” he says. His voice is leveled but you can still feel the anger beneath it. “So how can you help me?”

You open your mouth to say something but then promptly close it. You’re not really sure, you realize. It’s not like you have a spare suit tucked away somewhere. With your hands now free you wring them nervously. This is it. He’s going to send you home. He’s going to get you fired and then the kitchen staff will have more gossip to whisper about.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Please, Mr. Miller, I really need to work the rest of this shift. I need this job. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please.”

He looks at you a long time again before something sinister flashes in his eyes. He brings a hand to your chin and swipes his thumb across your lips. The way he watches you as his finger plays with your lips sends a rush of heat between your legs.

“You’ll do anythin’?” He asks and he forces his thumb through your lips and into your mouth.

For a moment you’re surprised at his sudden intrusion. He doesn’t even know your name, yet his finger is currently rubbing against your tongue. You close your lips around him and gently suck his digit. You understand now. He’s not just a perfectionist. He’s a man that knows what he wants and how he wants it and isn’t afraid to take it.

And if it means keeping your job you’ll let him take whatever he wants.

You nod your head and Joel abruptly pulls his finger out of your mouth. He wipes his finger against the collar of your shirt.

“Well, go on then. Lead the way before you do something else stupid.”

—————

The staff bathroom isn’t spectacular. It’s a tiny room that houses a toilet and a sink. An empty mop bucket rests in the corner where someone scribbled F u C k on the wall. The room smells like cheap solid air freshener and almond hand soap.

The door hasn’t even fully closed behind Joel when he starts shrugging out of his jacket. He throws the garment on top of the bucket and you wince when you see just how soaked his clothes are.

“I should have you fired,” he says as he continues to undress, thumbing through the buttons on his shirt. “You’re not very good at your job.”

“I know.” You lean against the sink in the tight space. “I was careless. I’m sorry.”

His shirt hangs open and all that conceals his body is a thin undershirt. You grip the edge of the sink wanting to press your fingers into his chest.

His shirt slips off his shoulders and he chucks it with the jacket. “Look at you.” He touches your hip and drags his hand up your body, over your wet clothes, until he cups one of your breasts. “Your uniform is filthy. It’s not meeting the dress code.”

His fingers find the tip of your nipple and he pinches, eliciting a whimper from you. He grunts. “It’s disgusting. Take it off.”

He steps back so he can watch as you undo the buttons on your blouse. You peel your shirt off and reach behind you to pull down the zipper of your skirt. You allow your clothes to fall to the floor and you notice Joel’s cock hardening in his dress pants.

You nervously stand there in your underwear while Joel palms himself through his pants. “All of it,” he demands.

You nod before unclasping your bra and adding it to the pile on the floor. Joel is watching you intently, the large bulge in his pants pressing dangerously against his clothes. You pull down your panties and let them puddle at your feet.

You cross your arms against yourself. Joel is still mostly clothed and the contrast makes you feel shy and indecent. His eyes rake over your body, enjoying your nudity, enjoying your embarrassment. He likes that you’re uncomfortable and that realization turns you on. He has power over you and you desperately want him to take it.

Joel lowers the zipper on his pants and reaches inside and frees himself. A gasp slips past your lips when you see how incredibly large he is. Joel wraps his fingers around his cock and pumps himself. Even in his large hands his dick looks unbelievable.

“You like what you see?” He continues to pump his dick and you stare at it in awe. He laughs dryly when you don’t answer. “Get on your knees.”

You hesitate. You want to protest, to explain that whatever he has planned with that huge thing, it won’t fit. But then he steps close and his free hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you down, forcing your legs to fold under you. Your knees press into the cold tile.

He pulls on your hair so you’re looking up, past his stiff member, and at him. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. Understand?” He shakes the hand wrapped in your hair and makes you nod. “Perfect.”

Joel brings his cock to your lips. “Kiss it.” He demands, and you do as you’re told.

“Lick it.” You stick your tongue out and lick the head of his cock, tasting the salty precum already beading there. Joel inhales sharply when you lick him again, running your tongue along the length of him.

Joel tightens his grasp on your hair and the pain translates to pleasure between your legs.

“You’re gonna suck my cock now.” For the second time he pushes a part of himself past your lips and into your mouth. Almost immediately your mouth is full of him. You loosen your jaw and allow him to push further into your wet hole. When you think he can’t fit anymore he pushes even further and you choke and sputter around him.

He yanks your hair and slips out of your mouth a little. “If you don’t do this right I’ll be forced to fuck your mouth.” You look up at him with wide eyes. “Do you want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

“Nuh-uh,” you mumble against him.

“Then suck me until I come.”

You take a short breath and hollow your cheeks around his cock. You begin to bob your head, pushing and pulling his dick through your lips. You suck on him, tasting his skin as his cockhead drags across your tongue.

You start to get comfortable with the size of him, taking more of his shaft into your mouth with each stroke. You press your tongue against him as you draw back and slurp him in as you push forward. You've got a momentum going and Joel rewards you with a moan.

The sound travels through his body, into your mouth, and settles at your core. He’s in your mouth but you want him in your pussy. You want him to fuck you against the sink. You want him to tell you how useless you are at your job while he fucks you senseless.

But his hand remains tangled in your hair, binding you to this position, so you continue to suck. He moans again when his dick nudges the back of your throat. Hearing him satisfied turns you on further and you bring your hand between your legs. You swipe your fingers up your slit, gathering your arousal, and rub your clit. You hum in relief as you grind your hips against your fingers.

Joel pulls your hair again, hard, and his dick pops out your mouth. “Did I say you can touch yourself?” His free hand squeezes the sides of your face and makes your lips pucker. “This is all you’re allowed to do.” He digs his fingers into your face for emphasis.

His hand releases your face so he can return his cock back into your mouth. He gently nudges himself through your lips, pushing until he touches the back of your throat. Then, he clasps the back of your neck into a strong hold.

“Since all you seem to do is make dumb decisions I’m gonna fuck your face and teach you a lesson.”

You panic, afraid of the size and girth of him plowing into your mouth. You try to lean back but the hold on your neck and hair keeps his cock firmly in your mouth.

He pulls his hips back and stares at you as he snaps his hips forward. “Don’t fight it.” He steadily picks up his pace. “Keep that mouth wet and open for me, baby.” In. Out. In. Out. “I want you to choke on it.”

His fingers tighten in your hair as he begins to move your head to meet his thrusts. He fucks your mouth hard and fast, pushing his cock into you until it won’t go any further. You do your best to relax and loosen your jaw while he uses you but he’s just too large. Your lips are stretched wide around him as he drills into you.

Your face is a mess. Drool falls down your chin and tears start to well in your eyes. Your throat has started to burn but you don’t want him to stop. You’re enjoying the pull on your scalp and the assault in your mouth. You want him to keep using you. You want someone outside the door to hear his moans. You want to touch yourself, you want to get off with the taste of his cock in your mouth, and knowing you can’t only makes you more aroused.

The wet sound of his hard dick pushing in and out of your mouth fills the room. He’s cursing under his breath watching himself disappear behind your lips. He pumps harder when you don’t expect and you gag around him. Tears freely fall down your face as you try to gain your composure.

“That’s it. Breathe through it. It’s okay to choke on it.” His hips stutter. “Fuck. You take my cock so well. Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby. You like my big cock in your mouth?”

You hum in reply, honestly loving every moment of this. His thrusts are coming faster now and his breathing is heavy. His once perfectly coiffed hair now falls over his face while he looks down at you. His pleasure is apparent in every inch of his face. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come in your mouth. And you’re gonna swallow all of it.”

Joel’s cock continues to piston in and out of your mouth while he chases his orgasm. You can feel him growing more tense as his fingers dig into your neck. He shoves himself past your lips desperately, and then finally, his pleasure reaches the peak, and he comes.

He’s cursing as he pulls you close, shoving himself into your throat until your nose is pressed against him. His cock twitches against your tongue and his cum fills your mouth. You can barely breathe with your mouth so full and your nose closed against his body.

You love every moment of it. You love the power he has over you, the feeling of his cock jumping in your mouth in time to his gasps of air, the thickness of his cum, the sting on your scalp and the ache in your knees.

Once his breathing has slowed and his body has relaxed he loosens his hold on your head. You pull back, slipping his softening cock out of your mouth. You look up at him with your mouth open wide, your tongue cupping his cum. Joel watches you bring your lips together and swallow his release. You bring a finger to the corner of your lips and push any remaining cum into your mouth and lick your tips clean.

Joel smiles, satisfied with your performance, and extends a hand to help you up from the floor. Your knees wobble as you straighten and Joel pulls you in close, wrapping his arms around your waist to balance you. You breathe in the scent of him, his expensive cologne and his cum still coating your lips.

Joel’s hand moves from your waist, trailing across your body and down between your legs. He inhales deeply when his fingers slip into your slit and finds it soaking with your arousal.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” Joel says as he pulls a finger up and begins circling your clit. “That might’a been the best head I’ve ever gotten.”

You spread your legs a bit and allow Joel to continue rubbing your clit. You’ve been so turned on this whole time it won’t take long for you to come.

Joel leans down and whispers into your ear. “You should quit your job and become a professional cocksucker.” His finger continues circling your bud, bringing you close to orgasm. “At least you’re actually good at that.”

You grab a fistful of Joel’s undershirt as the feeling in your core builds. Just as your body begins to tense, just as you finally get to come, Joel removes his hand from between your legs, your release denied.

You whine. You actually whine and watch him as he picks up his shirt and jacket. Joel smiles as he looks at you, arousal and confusion etched into your face.

“Did you forget this was a punishment?” he asks, draping his ruined jacket over his shoulder. “Do not touch yourself. You are not allowed to come. Put your uniform back on and learn how to carry a tray.”

Joel wraps his fingers around the doorknob and begins to head back out. You need to stop him, you need him to know you’ve never felt as sexy as you did in this small bathroom.

“Wait, Mr. Miller,” you say, not even sure what your next words will be.

Joel stops and looks over your naked body once more.

“Go the rest of the night without incident,” Joel says as his eyes linger on your lips, “be perfect and I might shove my cock into your wet pussy as a reward.”

You simply nod to acknowledge what he’s said.

If he wants perfection, you think as you plan how to work the rest of the night at Joel’s standards, I will give him perfection.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller one shot #chantersboardwritessometimes

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ellswritings · 8 days ago

Text

Fight Me Pt. 2

Cody Rhodes x reader

TW: Mentions of insecurity (on both ends), mentions of sex, blood and injury, a little dash of Jey in there, Punk being a protective baddie 💅

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The night in Y/N’s trailer went by in a whirlwind of ripped off clothing and breathy moans. Another thing she could add to the list of things she hated about Cody Rhodes. He’s fantastic in bed. She despised the fact that he seemed to navigate her body with ease. He knew exactly what to do to make her react. Every spot he knew would make her toes curl. She could sit there and complain about how insufferable he is all she wants, but when it really comes down to it, he knows what he’s doing.

What surprised her the most was afterwards, he stayed with her. He could’ve got dressed in silence and just walked out, but he stayed with her. He wrapped his arms around her as they lay next to each other. Both of them were lost in thought and completely confused by what had happened, but neither of them could find the courage to leave or separate until the event was over.

They didn’t speak, but the new uncertainty in the air did most of the conversing for them. The only thing that got Cody to leave was when his phone started to ring with a call from Paul asking where he was since it was time for his interview. Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before she got the same call, so the two of them parted ways without so much as an awkward goodbye.

Things have only gotten progressively more uncomfortable as time has gone on. Both of them have been included in joint interviews for the past couple of days for more promo work and to discuss their most recent fifth, but the tension that now resides between them is completely different than it was before.

They throw glares at one another, cut each other off, say snide things, but it’s not as biting as the world has become accustomed to. It’s turned into a real head scratcher for the higher ups and the people closest to the two superstars. Everyone is trying to figure out what suddenly snuffed out the boiling hatred between the two.

Y/N herself is asking the same question as she completes her fourth set of reverse bicep curls at the hotel gym they are staying at for the next event at SmackDown. It’s currently four in the morning as she stands there, sweating whatever hydration she had out of her body. She hasn’t been able to sleep fully since what happened with Cody. Her mind has been running at an untameable speed as she tries to wrap her head around the complicated feelings that have now infiltrated their relationship.

Things might have been able to go back to normal or at least some semblance of normal if they had talked about it afterward, but they hadn’t. In fact, they haven’t spoken to each other personally since. Of course, they’ve interacted in front of the press and in front of audiences, but not with each other. As soon as they’re away from prying eyes, Cody disappears and pretends she doesn’t exist. Which is hilarious considering that is all she has been wishing for since she met the man.

But now all she wants is for him to spare at least one glance in her direction.

Y/N’s never been the type to place her self worth in the palm of a man’s hand. Even when she was a teenager, she never needed validation from a person she liked. She was naturally confident, sure of herself. So it physically pains her when she catches her mind wandering to Cody when she’s doing pretty much anything. She wants to know what he’s thinking, if he’s dwelling on things as much as she is, or if the reason he’s ignoring her altogether is because maybe he didn’t enjoy it.

She lets out a loud grunt of frustration as she drops her barbell to the floor with a loud thud. She clenches her firsts tightly when she looks at herself in the mirror. Where she would normally see a confident, radiant woman, stands someone she’s having a hard time recognizing. The bags under her eyes are more prominent than ever, the usual spark that emanates from her smile is hidden behind the small frown that’s been more prominent in recent days.

Could she possibly have been that bad that he didn’t even want to fight with her anymore? That all the tension and feuding they worked hard to build amounted to nothing because of that one night? He couldn’t even look at her.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek harshly, trying to prevent herself from getting emotional. I am worthy. I am enough. She mentally reminds herself, but it still doesn’t soothe the small ache in her chest. She had a few more exercises to do before completing her workout, but at this point she doesn’t see a point. She can’t focus.

She goes to gather her things, her movements sluggish as she fights off her self-demeaning thoughts. However, the breath in her lungs is suddenly stolen from her when she looks back up and through the mirror she sees the exact man that has emotionally destroyed her without saying a word.

His platinum blonde hair almost glistens under the harsh light of the gym. He looks shocked for a moment, but it’s quickly covered by the impassive expression he’s been sporting since they had sex. Y/N feels her mouth go dry and all of the things she had rehearsed in her head to say to him dissolved like they never existed. She feels small under his gaze, something she’s not used to either. Most of her career has been spent trying to put herself above the American Nightmare. But the way he’s looking at her right now makes her cross her arms and her posture slouch, almost as if she’s hiding herself from him.

Her throat feels tight, like a boa constrictor is settling nicely on her windpipe. Her feet begin to move before her mind even registers what’s happening. She brushes past him quickly, a mousey “excuse me” being the only thing that leaves her lips.

She can feel the tears stinging behind her eyes, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how torn up she is inside. The only person that is allowed to be privy to her is her. He doesn’t get to know how insecure he’s made her by simply ignoring her.

Just as she’s about to be free of the suddenly awkward environment, a hand wraps around her wrist. A small gasp escapes her as she spins around. His grip on her is tight, but not rough. He’s holding her gently, like he’s unsure if he should really be doing this. Y/N finally meets his blue eyes after not being able to even get him to make eye contact for days and it’s completely overwhelming. She’s sad, angry, hurt. She wants nothing more than to finish her escape and go get ready for her long day before having a match later that night.

She tries to pull herself away, “Let me go,” she demands quietly.

Cody is taken aback by the small crack in her voice. Normally when she speaks to him it’s filled with such animosity. She’s usually so loud, not afraid of voicing her thoughts. But this… this is new. The small quiver in her lip, the tears bordering at her waterline, her inability to make eye contact. This isn’t the Y/N L/N he knew.

She pulls again, but he won’t budge. “Please…” she pleads, hating how vulnerable she feels. “Let me go, Rhodes.” She spats out his name with venom, trying to cover up how hurt she’s been.

The way she says his last name is like a slap to the face, but he doesn’t remove his hand from her wrist. He hadn’t expected to see her, but when he did, it was like his brain stopped working. He watched her gather her stuff after completing her set, seemingly abandoning the rest of her workout. Which he knew was uncharacteristic of her. Y/N never gave up on completing a gym session, even after getting battered and bruised in the ring. And deep down, he knew he was the cause of her loss in motivation.

Even the way she’s been cutting promos recently. Normally, everyone has an easy time believing her cocky demeanor. She’s a phenomenal actress if anything, but lately it doesn’t seem like she even believes what she’s saying.

He finally exhales, “Y/N–”

“I said let go of me,” she reiterates, sounding more angry by the second. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

A lie.

Cody’s grip doesn’t loosen, but it’s not rough. It’s firm, steady—like he’s making sure she doesn’t just disappear before he can figure out what the hell is happening. He knows she wants to talk to him. The same way he’s been wanting to talk to her. Y/N swallows hard, her jaw clenched so tight it might crack. She refuses to look at him, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

“Y/N,” Cody tries again, his voice lower now, more hesitant.

“Don’t,” she snaps, yanking at her wrist again. But he doesn’t let go. “Just let me leave.”

“Why?” He tilts his head, studying her, and it pisses her off how calm he sounds. Like she’s the one being irrational.

She scoffs, finally jerking her head up to glare at him. “Are you serious?”

Cody doesn’t answer right away, his gaze scanning her face like he’s trying to put together a puzzle he didn’t even know existed. She can feel the heat creeping up her neck, her emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

“You’ve been ignoring me for days, and now what?” she challenges, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “You suddenly remember I exist?”

His brows knit together. “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

Y/N laughs, short and humorless. “Oh, really? So the whole ‘pretending I’m invisible unless we’re on camera’ thing was just my imagination?”

Cody sighs through his nose, shaking his head. “I wasn’t—look, I just figured it was easier that way.”

“Easier?” She repeats, her voice rising slightly.

“Yeah.” He exhales, finally letting go of her wrist, but not stepping back. “I thought that’s what you wanted. What we’ve always wanted—keeping our distance.”

Y/N’s stomach twists at that. He’s not wrong. She’s spent years pushing him away, making it clear how much she loathes him. But this is different. This isn’t her usual hatred. This isn’t some petty rivalry anymore. This is something she doesn’t know how to deal with, something that’s been gnawing at her since that night in her trailer.

And he just… walked away from it like it meant nothing.

Her lips press into a thin line. “Right. And that’s why you suddenly feel the need to talk to me at four in the damn morning?”

Cody shrugs, arms crossing over his chest. “Saw you in here. Figured we should talk.”

“Well, we shouldn’t,” she snaps. “We’re done here.”

She turns to leave again, but he steps in front of her, blocking her path. “Y/N, c’mon.”

Her patience is wearing thin, the exhaustion and frustration building inside her like a volcano ready to erupt. “Move.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

She lets out a sharp breath, hands trembling at her sides. “There is nothing going on with me.”

Cody gives her a look, that infuriating mix of skepticism and mild amusement that makes her want to slap it right off his face. “Bullshit.”

She stiffens. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His arms drop back to his sides, and his voice loses that careful edge. “You’ve been acting weird. Everyone’s noticed. The promos, the interviews—you’re not yourself.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention?” she fires back, the anger bubbling higher now. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Cody runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Jesus, Y/N, what do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you!” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly. “That’s the whole point!”

He scoffs. “Right. That’s why you’re acting like I personally offended you by breathing.”

She clenches her jaw, willing herself to stay composed. But it’s useless. The emotions, the exhaustion, the hurt—it’s all too much. And before she can stop it, she feels the sting in her eyes, the burn at the back of her throat.

Cody’s eyes flicker slightly, the shift in her expression not lost on him. “Y/N—”

“No,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I’m not doing this. I– I can’t do this.”

She turns away quickly, but this time he doesn’t stop her. She barely makes it to the door before the first tear rolls down her cheek, and she curses under her breath, swiping at it angrily.

She won’t let him see.

She won’t let him know how much he got to her.

Thankfully, she didn’t see Cody again after that until SmackDown. Even then, she hadn’t actually seen him. She’d successfully managed to stay out of the American Nightmare’s presence which she couldn’t be more grateful for.

Y/N stands by the monitor, arms crossed, trying to focus on the match playing out in the ring. The energy of the arena is buzzing around her, but it all feels distant—like she’s underwater, barely processing anything beyond the static in her own head. Her shoulders are tense, jaw clenched tight. She needs to pull herself together before her match.

“You good?”

The voice snaps her out of her daze, and she turns to see CM Punk standing next to her, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, observant.

“I’m fine,” she answers automatically, too quickly.

Punk doesn’t buy it for a second. “Yeah, see, that was about as convincing as a fake apology on Twitter.”

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. “I’m just tired.”

Punk hums, unconvinced. “Right. ‘Cause you’re always this quiet before a match.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, firmer this time.

Punk studies her, and she knows he’s not letting this go. He’s too good at reading people—especially the ones he cares about. She can feel his eyes scanning her face, searching for whatever she’s trying so hard to bury.

Then, like some cruel twist of fate, Cody walks by.

It’s brief. A second, maybe two. But that’s all it takes. Y/N’s eyes flicker to him, and for just a moment, something flashes across her face—something raw, something unresolved. And then, just as quickly, her expression hardens. She looks away, her posture stiffening like she’s forcing herself not to care.

But Punk sees it.

And suddenly, it all clicks.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Instead, he lets out a breath and steps closer, lowering his voice. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not gonna push you. But whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

She hesitates, and for a second, it looks like she might actually say something. But then she just nods, barely meeting his gaze.

Punk doesn’t push. He just pulls her into a quick hug, squeezing her shoulders before letting go. “Go kill it out there.”

Y/N forces a smirk. “Like you had to tell me.”

As soon as she walks away, Punk’s expression darkens. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles, and turns on his heel.

He’s got something to handle.

Cody is mid-stride down the hallway when Punk steps right into his path, cutting him off with the kind of confidence that says he doesn’t give a damn who Cody Rhodes is. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, burning with something dangerously close to anger.

Cody exhales sharply through his nose, already irritated. “Something you need?”

Punk doesn’t waste a second. “Yeah. You to get your head out of your ass and fix whatever the hell you did to Y/N.”

Cody freezes for half a second—just half a second—but Punk sees it. The slight shift in his expression, the flicker of something in his eyes before his guard slams back into place.

Cody scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Punk’s jaw tightens. “Don’t bullshit me. I saw the way she looked at you.” He tilts his head, voice dropping lower. “Or rather, the way she wouldn’t look at you.”

Cody forces a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “She and I don’t exactly have a friendly history, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, trust me, I didn’t forget.” Punk steps closer, voice sharp like a blade. “But that’s not what this is. This isn’t just bad blood. This is something else. And I don’t care what it is—I don’t wanna know. What I do know is that she’s not herself, and the only thing that changed is you.”

Cody clenches his jaw, looking past Punk like he’s trying to find a way out of this conversation. Because he can’t do this. He won’t do this.

Not with Punk. Not with anyone.

Because if he acknowledges what’s really happening—what’s always been happening—then he’ll have to admit that staying away from Y/N isn’t about hatred anymore.

It’s about survival.

Because if he doesn’t stay away, he knows damn well he won’t be able to stop himself from falling.

And that? That would be a mistake.

Punk’s voice drags him back. “You got something to say, Rhodes? Or are you just gonna stand there looking guilty as hell?”

Cody’s stomach twists, and before he can stop himself, his defenses snap up. “You act like it’s your business.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

Punk laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp, like a warning before a storm. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because she is my business.” He leans in, his voice ice-cold now. “You don’t have to like me. Hell, you don’t even have to like her. But you will respect her. And you will fix whatever you broke.”

Cody exhales slowly through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. “You really think threatening me is gonna change anything?”

Punk smirks, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Oh, I don’t think—I know.” He taps a finger against Cody’s chest, just enough to be antagonizing. “See, I’ve been around long enough to know when a guy’s hiding something, and you? You’ve got ‘guilty conscience’ written all over your dumb, overly dramatic face.”

Cody’s fingers twitch at his sides, but he keeps his voice even. “And if I do?”

Punk raises an eyebrow. “If you do, then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You ever actually look at her, Rhodes? I mean, really look? She’s one of the best things to ever happen to this business, and here you are, playing your little brooding cowboy act, acting like you’re doing her some kind of favor by keeping her at arm’s length.”

Cody bristles, instinct screaming at him to push back, but Punk steamrolls right over him.

“Look, I don’t give a damn about your tragic backstory, your family legacy, or whatever self-sabotaging nonsense you’ve got rattling around in your head,” Punk continues, voice razor-sharp. “What I do care about is the fact that Y/N was fine until you showed up. And now? She’s walking around like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.” He steps even closer, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “And I do not like seeing her like that.”

Cody clenches his jaw so hard it aches. “She’s stronger than you think.”

Punk nods. “Yeah, she is. Stronger than both of us, probably. But that doesn’t mean she should have to be.” He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And if you actually gave a shit, you’d already know that.”

Cody’s throat tightens. He hates how easily Punk is getting under his skin, hates that every single word is cutting deeper than he’d like to admit. But the worst part?

The worst part is that Punk is right.

He should fix this. He should say something, do something.

But if he does—if he actually lets himself get close—he knows there’s no coming back from it.

And that terrifies him.

Punk watches him carefully, waiting for a reaction. When Cody doesn’t speak, he scoffs and takes a step back. “You know what? I don’t even care what your deal is anymore. Just find a way to make it right.” His voice turns sharp again, laced with unspoken warning. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

Cody barely has time to process that before Punk turns on his heel and walks away, leaving him standing there with nothing but his own thoughts—and a gnawing feeling in his gut that he might’ve just lost the one thing that actually mattered.

Watching Y/N fight from backstage was almost torturous for Cody. She plastered on a good smile as she cut her promo, but as soon as the mic was out of her hand, her shoulders dropped. The usual confidence she oozes is gone. Thankfully, that didn’t affect how she did in the ring.

She took down Naomi in a rather grueling match. Some of the hits seemed to do a lot more damage than originally planned. Y/N stumbles backstage, hand covering her temple that’s currently still dripping blood. She may have won, but she definitely got a couple of bumps and bruises to accompany it.

Cody stands further down the hallway as he watches the medics swarm her. She swats most of them away half heartedly, insisting that she’s fine. The first person to rush up to her, to the surprise of no one, was Punk. Cody’s jaw ticked as he watched the older man lift Y/N’s chin with his finger so he could check her wound himself. He knew he was just Y/N’s mentor, the person she relied on more than anything, but seeing how protective he is of her would make anyone suspicious of the true nature of their relationship.

Not long after, Jey and Jimmy are rushing towards her, Roman walking behind them. Solo is out now fighting his match, but if he wasn’t, Cody’s sure he’d be right behind his family in going over to the injured woman. It makes him chuckle when he thinks about the fact that Jimmy’s here with Y/N instead of checking in on his wife who took the brunt of the beat down.

“You doin’ alright Uce?” Jey asks, crouching down in front of her as the paramedics bandage her head. “You got hit pretty hard.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, blinking rather slowly. Her eyes look distant as she stares down at her hands. They’re shaking. “Just tired…” Her eyes begin to droop which immediately puts them all on edge.

“Nuh uh,” Jimmy lifts her head up. “Keep those eyes on us ma,” he stops her.

Roman glances at the medics, starting to get slightly worried, “I thought she only had a couple cuts. This seems a lot more serious.”

“It’s possible she could have a concussion,” one of them answers, pulling a light out to check her pupils. “We didn’t bother to check because she insisted it wasn’t a problem, and she walked back here without any assistance.”

His partner nods, “And we unfortunately can’t administer treatment when a patient refuses.”

“She doesn’t refuse,” Roman cuts in indefinitely, shooting Y/N a stern look as she goes to protest. “Do what you need to do.”

Y/N groaned as the paramedics continued checking her over, their hands prodding at the wound on her temple. She was still swaying slightly, her limbs feeling heavier than they should, but she was stubborn as ever. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Punk scoffed, his hand still on her arm to keep her upright. “Yeah? That’s real convincing coming from someone who's about to fall asleep sitting up.”

“I was blinking,” she argued, but even her voice sounded weak.

One of the medics waved a small light in front of her eyes, nodding to himself before looking at the others. “She’s got a mild concussion.”

A ripple of concern went through the group.

“Shit,” Jey muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Punk didn’t look surprised—just more irritated. “Alright, that’s it. She’s done for the night. Someone get her back to her trailer.”

Y/N frowned, blinking at him. “I don’t need to—”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Jimmy cut in, already grabbing one of her arms. “C’mon, ma, don’t make us carry you.”

She huffed but barely put up a fight. As soon as she tried to stand on her own, her legs wobbled, and she stumbled straight into Punk’s chest. His hands immediately steadied her, and he shot her a knowing look.

“Yeah. Totally fine,” he deadpanned.

She pouted but didn’t argue as they helped her out of the hallway. Cody stood in the background, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched. His gaze flickered between Punk’s arm around her shoulder and Jey hovering closer than necessary. It shouldn't bother him, but the longer he watched, the more irritated he felt.

He didn’t even realize his feet were moving until he found himself following after them, staying far enough back that no one really noticed.

Inside the trailer, they settled her onto the couch. She blinked slowly, still a little dazed, as Punk draped a blanket over her legs.

“You’re gonna rest,” he ordered. “No arguments.”

Y/N groaned. “Bossy.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a few more warnings, Roman and Jimmy left. Punk was the last to exit, pointing a finger at Jey before walking out.

“She rests,” he ordered. “No dumb shit.”

Jey smirked, holding his hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Cody stood outside, still lingering, though he told himself it wasn’t eavesdropping—just listening.

Inside, Jey crouched beside Y/N, voice softer now. “Damn, sweetheart, you really scared us out there.”

Y/N let out a breathy chuckle, her head lolling slightly against the couch. “Didn’t mean to.”

Jey shook his head, smirking. “Yeah, yeah. Always gotta be the toughest one in the room, huh?” He reached out and lightly flicked her forehead, right where the bandage sat.

She scrunched her nose. “Ow.”

“Good,” he grinned. “That’s for making me worry.” Then, to Cody’s absolute horror, he leaned in and pressed a quick, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest, Uce.”

Y/N barely reacted, too tired to process it. But Cody? His blood boiled.

Jey stood, checking to make sure she was comfortable before slipping out quietly. He didn’t even notice Cody standing in the shadows as he walked away.

Cody wasn’t sure what exactly made him do it, but the second Jey was gone, he stepped forward and pushed open the trailer door without knocking.

Y/N, still half out of it, blinked at him in confusion. “Uh—?”

He shut the door behind him, arms crossed. “So, you and Jey, huh?”

She frowned. “What?”

Cody scoffed. “Didn’t take you long.”

Y/N sat up slightly, still processing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He gestured vaguely. “You and him. All close and sweet back there. Then him kissing you on the damn forehead?” He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s real cute.”

She blinked, still struggling to follow his train of thought. “Are you—?” She cut herself off, tilting her head. “Wait. Are you jealous?”

His scoff came too quickly. “I’m not jealous.”

Y/N studied him, her exhaustion making her blunt. “You totally are.”

Cody’s jaw ticked. “I just think it’s interesting how you walked out on me at the gym, but now you’re all cozy with him.”

Her lips parted slightly, realization hitting her. “Oh my God.” She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking so hard right now.”

His scowl deepened. “I am not—”

“It’s not fun, is it?” she interrupted, tilting her head. “Feeling insecure?”

Cody’s glare intensified, but he had no comeback. Because the truth was, she was right. He was feeling this gnawing pressure on his chest anytime he saw someone else with her. He originally thought it was because of her, but he slowly realized he wanted to be the one to be checking in on her, to be helping her, not watching from the sidelines as someone else did.

Cody hesitated for a moment before letting out a sharp breath and stepping further into the trailer. He rubbed the back of his neck before finally lowering himself onto the couch beside her, though he kept a slight distance between them. His knee bounced as he rested his forearms on his thighs, fingers laced together tightly.

Y/N watched him carefully, still trying to wrap her head around what was happening. “So… did you just barge in here to accuse me of being with Jey, or…?”

Cody huffed, running a hand down his face. “I’m not accusing you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No? Because it sure as hell felt like you were.”

Cody clenched his jaw. “I just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I see things, Y/N. And I’m not blind. Jey’s always looking out for you, always right there when you need him. You’re comfortable around him, and he sure as hell doesn’t seem to mind it.”

Y/N blinked before letting out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “And you’re really trying to tell me you’re not jealous.”

His head snapped toward her, glaring. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she countered, smirking slightly. “It’s written all over you.”

Cody scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch, arms crossing over his chest. “You don’t get it.”

Y/N tilted her head, still watching him closely. “Then help me. Make me get it.”

Cody let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor behind it. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before shifting his gaze back to her. “I saw you with him, and I just…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It made me think about us. About what happened between us and how you just left after. And then I see you all close with him, and it—” He cut himself off, shaking his head again.

Y/N studied him, the realization settling in deeper. He was just as insecure about this as she had been.

She let out a breath, glancing down at her hands before speaking. “You know… when you ignored me after that night, I thought maybe I did something wrong.”

Cody’s brow furrowed.

“I thought maybe I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “Like maybe I was just some mistake you regretted.”

Cody’s stomach twisted at her words. “That’s not—” He stopped, exhaling sharply before shifting closer to her. His hand hesitated for a moment before gently covering hers. “That’s not why, Y/N.”

She glanced up at him, eyes searching his.

He sighed, shaking his head. “It wasn’t you,” he repeated. “It was me. I freaked out. I realized how deep a hole I had dig myself, and I panicked. I realized I may have blurred the line between hatred and my actual feelings for you,” he rubs his knuckles, staring at the floor. “Thought if I distanced myself, maybe I could stop the progression of it.” His lips pressed into a tight line. “But that was the dumbest thing I could’ve done.”

Y/N let his words sink in, her expression softening.

She didn’t respond right away—just leaned forward and rested her head against his chest.

Cody stiffened slightly, caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he slowly wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter than he probably should have.

“Don’t be stupid like that again,” she murmured.

His grip tightened around her waist, a small smile forming on his lips. “I won’t.”

#female reader #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes imagine #part 2 #world wrestling entertainment #wwe imagine #the bloodline #roman reigns #cm punk #jey uso #jimmy uso #angst with a happy ending #fluff #idiots in love

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