#i feel like there's an obvious answer here and i'm just not getting it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

purplereina11 · 14 hours ago

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The Perfect Shot Series Your First Fight

Word Count: 9k

This is long and angsty I'm sorry 🙈

The Spanish national team’s training camp buzzes with the usual energy—players chatting, boots scuffing against the grass, coaches calling out instructions. You adjust the camera strap over your shoulder, taking in the sight of world-class athletes moving in sync.

You got a phone call asking you to be the photographer of this camp as a one off when there usual photographer couldn’t make it.

It should be exciting, an honor even, but there’s a tension in the air. A tension with a name: Alexia Putellas.

She’s been distant, barely acknowledging your presence since you arrived. That in itself doesn’t surprise you, she was the utmost professional after all. What does is the way she reacts whenever the camera in her direction while you’re the one behind it. A stiffening of her shoulders. A flicker of discomfort in her eyes. An avoidance so deliberate it might as well be a statement.

It reaches a breaking point during the evening media session. You’re supposed to get candid shots of the team laughing and bonding, but every time Alexia is in frame, she either turns away or subtly shifts behind someone else. It’s obvious now—not just to you, but to others.

You lower the camera and exhale sharply. Fine. If she has a problem, you’ll face it head-on.

Later, in the hallway outside the dining room, you find her scrolling through her phone, leaning against the wall. She barely glances up when you approach.

“Can we talk?” you ask, arms crossed.

She sighs, tucking her phone away. “What about?”

“You tell me.” Your voice is sharp, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’ve been avoiding me all day. Acting like I don’t exist unless someone forces you to acknowledge me. If there’s an issue, say it.”

Her jaw tightens. “There’s no issue.”

“Really? Because it feels like you’re embarrassed by me.” The words come out before you can stop them, but once they’re in the open, you realise they’re true. “And if that’s the case, just be honest about it.”

Alexia’s eyes darken, her posture straightening defensively. “That’s not—” She stops herself, exhaling through her nose. “I’m not embarrassed by you.”

“Then what?” You step closer, unwilling to let her brush this off. “Because you sure as hell aren’t acting like someone who’s comfortable with me being here.”

She hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “It’s complicated.”

“Make it simple.”

For a moment, she looks like she might. Her lips part, something unreadable flickering in her expression—but then she shakes her head. “I can’t.”

And just like that, she walks away, leaving you standing there with more questions than answers.

You stare after Alexia as she walks away, frustration burning in your chest. She didn’t even try to deny it properly. Just threw out a half-assed excuse and left you standing there like an idiot.

The rest of the evening drags. Even when you’re surrounded by the other players, their laughter echoing in the dining hall, you can’t shake the feeling that you don’t belong. You shouldn’t care—not about whatever her problem is—but the weight of her avoidance sits heavy on your shoulders.

The next straw comes the next morning during training. You’re on the sidelines, camera in hand, capturing moments of focus, intensity, and camaraderie. The lens finds Alexia—because of course it does.

She’s the heartbeat of this team, the one everyone gravitates toward.

And then it happens again.

You’re mid-shot when she turns away, moving behind another player as if she can’t stand being seen in your frame. It’s not subtle this time. Not a coincidence.

You drop the camera from your face, hands curling into fists. Enough.

When the session ends, you catch her before she can disappear into the locker room. “Hey,” you call, voice sharp. She pauses, shoulders stiff, but doesn’t turn. That only pisses you off more. “Look at me.”

She does—slowly, reluctantly. Her expression is guarded, like she’s bracing for something she doesn’t want to deal with.

“I need to know,” you say, voice quieter now but no less intense. “What’s your problem with me?”

Alexia exhales through her nose. “I told you—”

“Yeah, that it’s complicated,” you interrupt. “But you know what’s not complicated? Treating me like a person instead of an inconvenience.” Your voice wavers, and you hate that it does. “If you don’t want me here, just say it. Say whatever it is you actually feel instead of making me second-guess everything.”

Her jaw tightens. For a second, you think she’s going to walk away again. But then, she mutters, “I didn’t ask for you to be here.”

The words hit harder than they should. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Alexia looks away, crossing her arms. “It means this isn’t easy for me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a dream for me either,” you snap. “But I’m here. And the least you could do is respect that. And respect I have a job to do”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares past you, jaw clenched. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

“Forget it,” you mutter, turning on your heel before she can see the hurt in your expression. You don’t see the way she exhales shakily when you leave. You don’t see the guilt in her eyes. But you feel the weight of it anyway.

You don’t speak to Alexia for the rest of the day. You don’t even look at her if you can help it. Not that it makes a difference—she’s still avoiding you, still acting like your presence is some kind of burden. Fine. If that’s how she wants it, so be it. But it’s not that easy to ignore someone when you’re stuck in the same space. Dinner is the worst. The players are in high spirits after a good training session, laughter bouncing off the walls of the dining hall. You sit at the far end of the table, keeping your focus on your food, but you can feel her presence. Like a storm cloud at the edge of your vision.

You don’t want to care. But then you catch a snippet of conversation from the other side of the table.

“You’ve been weird all day, Ale,” Jenni teases. “You hiding something?”

Alexia scoffs, shaking her head. “No.”

“You sure? You’ve been quiet. Even more than usual.”

“Leave it, Jenni.” The warning in her tone makes the table go quiet for a second. You don’t react. Don’t even glance up. But your grip on your fork tightens.

That night, you’re in your room, scrolling mindlessly through your camera roll, when there’s a knock at the door. You frown, setting the camera aside. No one has knocked on your door since you got here—not even the team’s media staff—so whoever it is, you weren’t expecting them.

You open the door, and of course, it’s her. Alexia stands there, arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen her.

For a second, neither of you speak. Then, you sigh. “What do you want?”

She hesitates, glancing past you like she’s reconsidering being here at all. Then, finally, she says, “Can we talk?”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Now you want to talk?”

She flinches, but you don’t care. You step back, leaving the door open, waiting. After a beat, she walks inside.

You close the door behind her, crossing your arms. “Alright. Talk.”

Alexia runs a hand through her hair, exhaling harshly. “I know I’ve been—” She stops, shaking her head. “I know I haven’t been fair to you.”

That much is obvious, but you say nothing.

She looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s something raw in her expression. Something almost vulnerable. “I don’t know how to fix it,” she admits. That’s the thing about Alexia—she’s stubborn, proud, always in control. But right now, she looks lost. And that throws you completely off balance.

You let out a sharp breath, crossing your arms tighter. “You don’t know how to fix it?” you echo, voice laced with disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. “I—”

“No.” You shake your head, cutting her off. “You’ve spent the last two days making me feel like I don’t belong here. You won’t even look at me when I have a camera in my hands. You think I haven’t noticed? That no one else has?”

She exhales sharply, running a hand over her face like she’s trying to keep herself in check. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple, Alexia!” The frustration spills out of you now, too sharp to hold back. “Because I’m sick of guessing, sick of being treated like I don’t exist just because you can’t figure your own shit out.”

Her eyes darken at that. “You think this is just about me?”

“Oh, please.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You won’t even tell me what it is about. I’ve given you every opportunity, and all you do is push me away.”

Alexia takes a step closer, eyes flashing. “Maybe I push you away because I have to.”

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let it show. “You have to?” you scoff. “What, is it some kind of punishment? Because it sure as hell feels like one.”

She shakes her head, exasperated. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” Your voice rises, the anger mixing with something more painful, something you don’t want to name. “Or is this just who you are? You shut people out, make them feel like they don’t matter, and expect them to just accept it?”

Alexia’s expression hardens, her voice dropping to something sharp and low. “You don’t know anything about me.”

The words hit like a slap.

You inhale sharply, your nails digging into your palms. “You’re right,” you say coldly.

For a moment, she just stares at you, breathing hard. Like she wants to say something else, something that might make this worse—or maybe better. But then she turns on her heel. And for the second time in two days, she walks away.

You don’t call after her. But the weight of whatever just happened settles deep in your chest, refusing to leave.

The days that follow are unbearable.

Alexia doesn’t just avoid you now—she outright ignores you. If you walk into a room, she leaves. If you’re forced into the same space, she acts like you’re invisible. It’s not subtle, and the rest of the team notices.

“Did something happen between you two?” Mapi asks one afternoon, watching as Alexia strides past without so much as a glance in your direction.

“You tell me,” you mumble, focusing on your camera.

Mapi doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push. Still, the tension bleeds into everything. During training, you do your job, but it feels hollow. Your best shots are wasted on a team you don’t even feel welcome around anymore. You had no idea what Alexia had told her teammates and friends, you didn’t know what you had done wrong but you did know you hated the way she was making you feel.

At meals, you sit alone, drowning in the sound of conversations you aren’t part of.

At night, you stare at the ceiling, your mind replaying the fight over and over, trying to understand why Alexia is acting like this—why she looked so wrecked before she walked away.

It would be easier if you could hate her for it. But you don’t. You just feel… hurt. By the fourth day, you decide you’re done trying.

If Alexia wants distance, fine. She’ll get it.

You stop looking for her in a crowd, stop glancing her way when you pick up your camera. If she’s in frame, you turn the lens elsewhere. And it works—at least on the surface. But that night, after dinner, as you walk back to your room, you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait.”

You freeze.

It’s her.

You don’t turn around right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch, let her feel the weight of what she’s done. When you do face her, Alexia looks like she hasn’t slept in days. And for the first time, she doesn’t look angry. She just looks… defeated. “We need to talk,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

You cross your arms, your own exhaustion seeping into your tone. “Why? So you can push me away again?”

“No.” She swallows hard. “So I can tell you the truth.”

You stare at her, unmoving. A few days ago, you might have jumped at the chance to finally understand what the hell her problem is. But now? Now, you’re not sure you even want to hear it. She isn’t your girlfriend after all, you hadn’t told each other you loved each other, you’d just had multiple incredible dates met her family her memory etched to your skin of the day you got your tattoos with her. Not to mention the one and only time you’d had sex, thinking back you were moving quickly. Your feelings were deep pretty early on, you met her family three days after you first had sex. Maybe that was her issue? But that was her idea, the meeting of the family, the sex was a mutual understanding.

Alexia shifts on her feet when you don’t respond right away. “Please,” she says, her voice quieter this time.

You exhale sharply and shake your head. “You don’t get to do this.”

Her brows knit together. “Do what?”

“Decide when I’m worth acknowledging,” you snap. “Ignore me for days, act like I don’t exist, and then suddenly decide you want to talk when it suits you.”

She flinches. Good. Let her feel a fraction of what she’s put you through. “That’s not—” She exhales, rubbing her hand over her face. “I know I’ve handled this badly.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Handled what badly, Alexia? You still won’t even say it.”

She clenches her jaw, and for a second, you think she’s going to shut down again. Walk away like she always does. But instead, she looks at you—really looks at you.

And there’s something in her expression, something that almost makes you hesitate.

Almost.

But then she says, “I just need you to listen.” And that sets you off all over again.

“Oh, now you want me to listen?” You step closer, anger bubbling over. “After everything? After making me feel like I don’t belong here, like I’m some kind of problem for you?” Alexia’s breathing is uneven, her fists clenched at her sides. But she doesn’t interrupt. “You don’t get to ask for that,” you continue, voice thick with something you don’t want to name. “Not after spending days pretending I don’t exist. Not after making me feel like shit.”

Her eyes squeeze shut for a moment like she’s bracing herself. Then, she whispers, “I didn’t mean to.”

You huff out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Well, you did.”

Silence stretches between you. Thick. Suffocating. Alexia looks away first, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Then don’t. I’m done with this conversation.”

You turn, stepping past her, but she reaches out, fingers barely brushing your wrist. The contact is brief—so brief you could pretend it didn’t happen.

But you feel it.

And so does she.

Still, you don’t stop. You walk away, leaving her standing there in the dimly lit hallway, alone with whatever it is she refuses to say.

You don’t speak to Alexia after that.

Not the next morning when she sits at the far end of the dining table, eyes downcast.

Not during training, when you focus on every player except her, your lens avoiding her like she’s nothing more than empty space.

Not even when she hesitates in a doorway as you pass each other, like she wants to say something but thinks better of it.

You don’t give her the chance. You don’t give her anything.

And she feels it.

You see it in the way her shoulders tense when you laugh at something Mapi says. In the way she falters mid-drill, missing an easy pass, frustration flashing across her face. In the way she glances at you when she thinks you aren’t looking—quick, fleeting, like a habit she’s trying to break.

But you don’t care.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The silence between you stretches into something heavier, something unspoken but impossible to ignore. The team notices. They don’t ask, but the shift in energy is obvious. The easy camaraderie that filled the camp before is fractured now, disrupted by something none of them can name.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted. You thought distance would make this easier, but it hasn’t. It’s just made the weight of it harder to carry. Then, on the last night of camp, something cracks.

It’s late. Too late to still be awake, but sleep hasn’t come easy since this whole mess started. You step outside, hoping the cool night air will settle something in your chest, but you aren’t alone.

Alexia is sitting on the steps just outside the building, arms resting on her knees. She looks as tired as you feel.

You hesitate for only a second before turning to leave.

“I get it,” she says suddenly, voice quiet but firm. You stop. But you don’t turn around. “I deserve this,” she continues. “The way you’re treating me. Ignoring me.” A pause. “It’s fair.”

You clench your jaw, staring ahead. “Good,” you say, voice flat.

A sigh. Then, “But it doesn’t change anything.”

Something inside you snaps at that. You turn, eyes sharp. “Doesn’t change what, Alexia? That you still refuse to tell me the truth? That you’re still shutting me out?” You shake your head, scoffing. “Then what the hell was the point of all this?”

She exhales slowly, gripping her hands together like she’s trying to hold herself together.

You wait.

But when she finally lifts her gaze to yours, whatever she’s holding back is still locked behind her eyes.

Still unsaid.

Still a weight you don’t understand. And just like that, the distance between you grows wider. You scoff, shaking your head. “Of course.” Alexia watches you, something almost desperate flickering behind her guarded expression. But she still won’t say it. Still won’t let you in. And you’re done waiting. “You know what?” You take a step back, hands clenched at your sides. “I don’t care anymore.” Her lips part slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. Like she wasn’t expecting you to finally be the one to walk away. “I’ve spent hours—days—trying to understand this,” you continue, your voice shaking with barely restrained frustration. “Trying to figure out what the hell I did to deserve this.” Alexia swallows, but she says nothing. “And you just let me.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. “You let me sit in it. Let me wonder if I was the problem. And for what? Because you ‘can’t explain’?” You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s bullshit, Alexia.” She flinches. But you don’t stop. “If you don’t want me around, just say it,” you snap. “At least have the guts to be honest instead of playing this game where you act like I don’t exist until it suits you.” She shakes her head, but you don’t give her the chance to cut in. “I meant it when I said I’m done.” Your chest rises and falls sharply, the weight of it pressing down on you. “You don’t want to talk? Fine. You don’t want to look at me? Great. Because I don’t want to be around you either.”

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

Alexia looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s something raw in her expression. Something fragile. But you don’t care. You won’t care. Not anymore. So you turn without another word, walking away before she can see the way your hands are shaking. And, she doesn’t stop you.

You don’t sleep that night.

Your mind replays the conversation over and over, each word twisting like a knife in your chest. The way Alexia just stood there, silent, letting you walk away—it’s the final confirmation you needed. Whatever you had with her—whatever complicated, unspoken thing had existed between you—it’s over. And in the morning, you decide to make it real.

You find her alone in the gym, stretching after an early workout. She looks up as you approach, something flickering in her eyes. But you don’t give her the chance to speak.

“This isn’t working,” you say, voice steady despite the storm inside you.

Her brows knit together. “What?”

“You and me. Whatever this is. Was.” You exhale, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve. “I’m done.”

Something cracks in her expression, but she masks it quickly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” The finality in your voice seems to hit her harder than the words themselves.

She straightens, arms crossing over her chest like she’s bracing for impact. “You’re just angry—”

“No, Alexia.” You cut her off, your voice sharper now. “I’m tired." She blinks, thrown off by the honesty in your tone. “I’m tired of trying,” you continue. “Tired of chasing after something that clearly doesn’t exist.” You swallow hard, forcing the next words out. “You don’t want me around? Fine. You win. You could of at least had the balls to end it instead of doing it this way” She inhales sharply, but still—still—she doesn’t say anything to stop you. And that’s all the confirmation you need. You nod, stepping back. “Goodbye, Alexia.” Then you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in the empty gym, alone. This time, you don’t look back. And, she doesn’t follow.

The days that follow are quiet.

Too quiet.

You expected things to feel different after ending it with Alexia, and they do—but not in the way you thought. You don’t feel lighter.

You don’t feel relieved.

You just feel empty.

Alexia doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t chase after you, doesn’t pull you aside and tell you she made a mistake. She doesn’t do anything. And that should make this easier. But it doesn’t. The rest of the team senses the shift. They don’t know exactly what happened, but they don’t have to. The tension is obvious. You hear the whispers when they think you aren’t listening. You see the looks exchanged when you and Alexia end up in the same space, pretending the other doesn’t exist. You do your job. You keep your head down, keep the camera steady, keep yourself composed. But at night, when you’re alone, the weight of it presses in. Because no matter how much you tell yourself you made the right choice, no matter how much you try to shove the anger and hurt aside… It still lingers. And somewhere, in the middle of it all, a question haunts you. If Alexia didn’t care, if she really wanted you gone—why did she look so broken when you walked away?

A hesitation when she enters a room and realises you’re there. The way she avoids certain conversations, her usual sharp-witted remarks replaced with silence. The way she lingers after meetings like she wants to say something, but never does. You catch her staring a few times. It’s never for long—just a flicker of something unreadable before she looks away. But it’s enough to make your stomach twist. And then, one night, when she thinks no one is watching, you see her gripping her phone too tightly, screen illuminating her face. Whatever she’s looking at, it makes her exhale sharply, shutting it off like she can’t bear to keep looking. You don’t know why it bothers you. You don’t care anymore. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But then, the storm finally hits. It’s after training, when everyone is tired, sweat still clinging to their skin. The mood is tense, exhaustion pressing down on the group as they leave the pitch.

And then— “Alexia, what’s your problem lately?” You don’t turn right away, but you recognise Mapi’s voice—frustrated, impatient. Silence “You’ve been off for days,” Mapi presses. “Distracted, quiet… miserable. And I know it’s not just because of training.”

You hear Alexia exhale sharply. “Drop it.”

“No.” Mapi’s voice is firm now. “If you don’t talk to me, at least talk to them.”

Your chest tightens. Another silence stretches between them, heavier this time. Then— “There’s nothing to say.” Alexia’s voice is strained, but cold. “It’s done.” It shouldn’t sting. But it does.

Mapi scoffs. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re about to fall apart?” You don’t stay to hear the rest. You turn, walking away before you can hear whatever excuse Alexia gives this time.

But later that night, long after the camp has settled into silence, there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate before opening it. And when you do—Alexia is standing there. And for the first time since this all started, she looks like she’s about to break.

You grip the doorframe, heart hammering in your chest. Alexia looks different. The exhaustion is obvious—dark circles under her eyes, shoulders tense like she’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. But it’s the expression on her face that really gets to you. Like she’s on the edge of something she doesn’t know how to control.

“Can we talk?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s an urgency beneath it.

You exhale sharply, fingers tightening against the wood. “Now?”

She nods. You hesitate. For a second, you almost let her in. Almost let yourself believe that whatever she has to say will make any of this better. But then you remember the days of silence. The way she let you walk away like you were nothing.

Your jaw clenches. “I don’t think we have anything left to say.”

Her face barely shifts, but something flickers in her eyes. “I know I hurt you,” she says, voice steady, but her hands curl into fists like she’s holding something back. “I know I fucked up.”

You scoff. “Yeah? Well, congratulations on figuring that out.” She flinches, but you don’t stop. “Do you even know what it was like?” Your voice sharpens, the weight of everything crashing down. “To have you act like I didn’t exist? To have you push me away without a single explanation?” Alexia’s breathing is uneven now, like she’s trying to keep herself together. “I tried, Alexia,” you continue, voice shaking. “I tried so hard to be patient, to give you time, to understand. But you gave me nothing. And then when I finally had enough, when I walked away, you just let me.” She swallows hard, looking away. “You let me think I wasn’t worth fighting for,” you say, the words finally spilling out. “And now, what? You suddenly want to talk?” You shake your head, stepping back. “It’s too late.”

She exhales sharply, her whole body tense. “It’s not.”

“It is.” Your voice is firm, but your hands are shaking. “You don’t get to decide when I matter. You don’t get to choose when you care.”

Alexia’s jaw clenches, and for a second, it looks like she’s about to argue. About to fight back. But instead, her shoulders drop, and something breaks in her expression.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, finally.

“I do care,” she whispers.

And for the first time since this all started, it sounds like the truth. But you shake your head. “Then why didn’t you show it?”

She inhales sharply, looking down at the floor. Her hands flex at her sides, like she’s fighting some internal war. And for a moment, you think she’s going to shut down again. “I was scared.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but they hit like a thunderclap. Your stomach twists, but you don’t let yourself react. Not yet. “Scared of what?”

Alexia exhales shakily. Then, finally, she lifts her gaze to yours. And this time, she doesn’t look away. Alexia doesn’t answer right away. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her hands flex at her sides, her breathing uneven. You’ve never seen her like this. She’s always been composed, always been in control. But right now, she looks like she’s fighting a battle with herself—one she’s on the verge of losing. And for once, you don’t let her off the hook.

“What were you scared of?” you press, voice sharper now. “Because if you think that’s enough of an excuse for everything you put me through, it’s not.” Her throat bobs as she swallows, gaze flickering away. You step closer, forcing her to look at you. “Say it, Alexia.”

She exhales shakily, but still, the words don’t come. The silence stretches.

And you’ve had enough.

You shake your head, stepping back. “You can’t, can you?” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. “Even now, when it’s already over. When you have nothing left to lose.” Her eyes snap to yours, something breaking beneath the surface. “Why did you push me away?” You push again, desperate now. “Why did you act like you were embarrassed of me? Why did you let me walk away?”

She clenches her jaw, lips parting slightly—like the words are right there, stuck in her throat. She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “I—” She stops, biting her lip, forcing herself to start again. “I—” You hold your breath, waiting. “I was scared.” The words hit you like a gut punch. Alexia exhales, shaking her head. “I was scared ok, that’s it.” Her voice wavers, barely above a whisper. “That I’d lose you.” You just stare at her. She laughs bitterly, shaking her head at herself. “And in trying to stop that from happening, I lost you anyway.”

Her words linger in the space between you, heavy and raw. And for the first time since this all started, Alexia doesn’t look away. She lets you see everything. All of it. And now, it’s your turn to decide what to do with it.

You let out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just disbelief. Just exhaustion. “That’s it?” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade. “That’s your excuse?” Alexia flinches, and for the first time, she looks… scared. Good. Because you’re tired of being the only one who feels this way. “I spent days thinking I did something wrong,” you continue, voice shaking. “Thinking I wasn’t enough. That I embarrassed you. And the whole time, it was just… you?” Alexia opens her mouth, but you don’t let her speak. “No,” you shake your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to stand here and say that now—now that it’s too late.”

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I know I—”

“You don’t,” you snap, cutting her off. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t have let it get this far.” Her eyes are shining now, like she’s barely holding herself together. But you don’t care. You can’t care. Not when it still hurts this much. You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to steady your voice. “I can’t do this right now.”

Alexia tenses. “Please—”

“No.” You step back, putting more distance between you. “You don’t get to ask me for anything else.”

The days that follow are empty. You leave camp without a word, without looking back. No messages, no calls. Just silence. And for the first time, you let yourself sit in the hurt. You don’t try to make sense of it. Don’t try to find closure in her words. Because right now, none of it changes the fact that she let you walk away. So you go home. Back to Barcelona, back to the quiet of your own space. You throw yourself into work, into anything that keeps your mind off her. And it works. Mostly. But late at night, when the city outside your window slows to a hush, the truth creeps in. You miss her. You hate that you do, but it doesn’t stop the ache from settling deep in your chest. But missing her doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t the one who needs to fix it. I was scared isn’t the explanation you needed or deserved. So you don’t reach out. And neither does she.

Until one night, long after you’ve stopped expecting it— There’s a knock at your door.

And when you open it— Alexia is standing there. Looking wrecked. Looking desperate. Looking like she’s finally ready to say what she should have said all along.

You don’t say anything at first. You just stare at her, gripping the doorframe, heart hammering in your chest. She looks awful. Like she hasn’t been sleeping, like the weight of everything has finally caught up to her. But you don’t let that sway you.

Not yet. “What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat, careful.

Alexia exhales sharply, shifting on her feet. “I—” She stops, like she doesn’t know where to start. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate.

“No.”

She flinches, just slightly. “Please.”

Your jaw clenches. “Why now, Alexia?” The question cuts through the space between you. “Why show up now, when you could’ve said something days ago?”

She swallows hard. “Because I was a coward.” The honesty catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Alexia inhales shakily, meeting your gaze properly now. “I hurt you. I know that. And I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Her voice wavers, but she pushes through it. “But I couldn’t let it end like that. Not without a proper explanation, i care about you more than to let that happen”

You stare at her for a long moment, searching for something—proof that this isn’t just another half-hearted apology. That she actually understands what she’s done. And for once, there’s no hesitation in her eyes. Just raw, unfiltered regret. The silence stretches, thick and heavy. You step back. Just slightly. Just enough.

“Say what you came to say.” It’s not an invitation inside. Not yet. But it’s a chance. And for the first time since this all started, Alexia doesn’t waste it.

She exhales shakily, nodding once like she’s bracing herself. Then, finally, she speaks. “I was scared,” she says, voice raw. “Of what you meant to me. Of how much I felt for you.” You don’t react. You’ve heard this part before. But Alexia keeps going. “I’ve always known how to handle pressure. On the pitch, in my career… I know how to be in control.” She swallows hard. “But with you, I wasn’t.” She looks down, shaking her head. “It terrified me.” Your chest tightens, but you stay silent, waiting. Alexia exhales. “I spoke to friends at camp before you arrived, they pointed out the age gap. How maybe i’m further along in my life than you are and how i want a marriage a family and maybe you wouldn’t be there yet. I didn’t want to date you to only in a few years find out you didn’t want the same and my chance had passed. I kept telling myself that if I kept you at a distance, if I didn’t let myself fall too deep, I could stop it from hurting if i decided the risk wasn’t.. worth it.” Her voice wavers, but she forces herself to keep going. “I know i’m using all the wrong words because of course your worth it of course you are, i wanted some distance to think to, i guess selfishly think about what i wanted but all I did was push you away until there was nothing left.” She looks up again, eyes shining with unshed tears. “And I hate myself for it.” The words hit you hard. Because for the first time, it doesn’t feel like she’s holding anything back. No more excuses. No more half-truths. Just everything—laid bare, vulnerable, real. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Alexia continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “But I needed you to know. I needed you to hear it from me. Carlas bound to find out” She exhales sharply, looking down. “And if walking away is what you need to do… I won’t stop you.” Then she falls silent, standing there in the doorway, waiting. For your answer. For your decision. For whatever comes next.

Alexia watches you, waiting for something, for a sign, a word, anything. But you can’t give her that. Not yet. You inhale sharply, gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. “You know what the worst part is?” Your voice is quiet, but steady. Alexia doesn’t answer. She just waits, bracing herself. You exhale, shaking your head. “You pushed me away like I was nothing. Like I was easy to walk away from.” Your throat tightens. “Like they did.” Her expression shatters. You swallow hard. “I can’t just… pretend that didn’t happen. That it doesn’t still hurt.” Alexia nods slowly, eyes filled with something unspoken. You take a step back, the distance between you widening again. “I need time.” She closes her eyes briefly, exhaling sharply—like she expected it but hoped it wouldn’t come to this. When she opens them again, there’s no argument, no pleading. Just quiet understanding.

“Okay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. You nod once, then—before you can second-guess it—you shut the door. The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t know how long she stands outside before she leaves. You don’t check. All you know is that, for now, this is what you need. Because if there’s any chance of fixing this— you owed it to Alexia to figure out where you were in life what you wanted to be able to lay that out to her. You may be upset with her right now but you respected her position in life.

Days pass. Then weeks. Alexia doesn’t push. She doesn’t call, doesn’t show up again, doesn’t try to force her way back into your life. And for the first time since this all started, you don’t know how to feel about it. You told her you needed time. She’s giving it to you. But a small part of you wonders if this is it—if she’s finally letting go. The thought settles uneasily in your chest, and you try to shake it off. This is what you wanted. What you asked for. And yet her absence lingers. You feel it in the quiet moments. When your phone stays silent. When you pass places in the city where you used to meet her. When something happens and you instinctively think about telling her only to remember that she’s not there anymore. You tell yourself it’s for the best. That space is necessary. That you need to be sure before you let her in again. But the question remains— When will you be ready?

And more importantly— Will she still be there when you are?

The day arrives sooner than you expect. You bump into her at Barcelona Vs Badalona.

You throw yourself into your work, keeping your camera steady, your focus sharp. But you feel her. Every time she moves across the pitch, every time she’s near your side of the field, the weight of her presence presses against you. It’s suffocating, but you refuse to let it show. So you do what you’ve done for weeks now—you push it down.

The match plays on, tense and fast-paced, but you barely register the score. All you know is that whenever you shift your camera, Alexia is there. And sometimes—just sometimes—she’s looking at you too. But neither of you acknowledge it. Not at halftime, when the teams walk past each other and her steps falter ever so slightly as she nears you. Not when the final whistle blows, and she lingers on the pitch as you pack up your equipment. And certainly not when you make your way towards the tunnel, feeling the burn of her gaze on your back but refusing to turn around. She could say something. She could stop you. But she doesn’t. And maybe that’s what stings the most. Because even after everything—even after all this time—you’re still caught in this unbearable in-between.

And neither of you knows how to break it. Both as stubborn as the other to make the first move

More days pass. Then a week.

You don’t expect to see her again so soon, but Barcelona is Barcelona—a city too small when you’re trying to avoid someone. It happens at a café in between your places of work, one you’ve been coming to everyday. You’re just picking up your order, turning to leave and there she is. Standing just a few feet away, eyes already on you. For a second, neither of you move. Alexia shifts, like she’s about to say something. But you beat her to it. You step past her without a word. And even though you don’t look back, you hear her exhale sharply, like the air’s just been knocked out of her chest. Like she wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much.

The next time you see her, neither of you has a choice. When a sudden downpour starts. And before you even realise what’s happening, you’re being pushed into a small, sheltered alleyway by her. Just the two of you.

The rain pounds against the roofs, drowning out everything else, but the silence between you is deafening. You exhale sharply, turning away, about to step out into the rain just to get away from her but then, "Stop," Alexia says, voice tight. And for the first time, she doesn’t let you walk away. Your hand clenches into a fist at your side, but you don’t move. Alexia exhales shakily. "I can’t keep doing this."

Your jaw tenses. "Doing what?"

She gestures vaguely between you. "This. Pretending like we don’t exist. Like everything that happened didn’t matter."

You let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face her. "You think I’m pretending?" The anger you’ve been holding in for weeks finally spills over. "You think this is easy for me?"

Alexia flinches but doesn’t back down. "Then talk to me," she says, voice almost desperate now. "Please."

Your throat tightens. Because you want to. You really do. But wanting and trusting are two different things. And you still don’t know if you can trust her again. So you meet her gaze, holding it for just a second longer, “What you’re feeling is probably a fraction of how you made me feel at international camp” Then you step out into the rain, letting it soak through your clothes, washing everything away. Everything except the sound of Alexia’s voice, breaking behind you. The rain doesn’t stop her.

But you do. You don’t answer her texts. You ignore the calls that come in late at night, the ones you know she wouldn’t make unless she was desperate. Every time you push her away, she hesitates like she’s about to stop trying. But she never does. She keeps showing up in ways that make it harder to ignore her. Small things at first just seeing her across the city, at restaurants, at places she knows you might be. She never approaches, but you feel her watching, waiting for an opening that never comes.

Then the messages change. No more apologies. No more explanations. Just—

"Tell me what to do."

You never respond. Because it’s not that simple. Because she should’ve known. Because it shouldn’t have taken losing you for her to realise how much she wanted to keep you. Give you the opportunity to decide what you wanted instead of her taking that from you.

But something shifts. And this time, it’s not her chasing you. It’s her finally stopping. No more messages. No more calls. Just silence. And for the first time since this all started It’s making you wonder have you pushed too far?

The invitation comes expectedly.

Carla’s birthday party—just a casual gathering, nothing too big. You almost don’t go, almost use work as an excuse, but in the end, you convince yourself it’s fine. It’s Carla. It has nothing to do with Alexia. Of course, she’s there. You feel it the second you step inside. The shift in the air, the weight of something unresolved pressing down on the room. You tell yourself to ignore it. You grab a drink, join a conversation, pretend not to notice the way Alexia lingers just out of reach. But you do notice. Because she’s different now. Quieter. Not in the way that means she’s keeping something in, but in the way that means she’s already said everything she could. Not chasing. Not pushing. And somehow, that makes it worse. You’d possibly missed the opportunity of a reconciliation with your stubbornness.

Because for weeks, you convinced yourself that she needed to prove she wanted this. That she needed to fight for it. But now she’s stopped fighting. And suddenly, you realise you’re proving her worries right, if you were that interested in making a life with her, would you have walked away so easily from outside perspectives?

The night stretches on, tension thick and suffocating. You don’t talk. You barely even look at each other. Until Carla, in her tipsy, oblivious state, makes everything worse. “You two still not talking?” she says loudly, eyes darting between you. The room quiets, but you don’t move.

Alexia exhales sharply, setting her drink down. “I should go.” And just like that, she turns to leave.

And now it’s on you. Because if you don’t stop her, this time, she won’t come back. Your voice comes out before you can stop it. “You don’t need to go on my account.”

Alexia stills.

The room is too quiet now, too many eyes flickering between you, but you don’t care. Slowly, she turns back around, meeting your gaze properly for the first time all night. Something flickers in her expression cautious, uncertain. Like she doesn’t know if this is an opening or just another way to keep her at a distance. And truthfully, you don’t know either. Alexia searches your face for something, but when you don’t say anything else, she just exhales and nods once. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave. But she doesn’t come closer either. Just like that, the tension shifts again no longer pushing you apart, but not quite pulling you back together either. Something unspoken lingers between you, heavy and fragile. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure who’s going to make the next move.

It happens naturally, almost too easily—like the universe is done waiting for you to figure it out. You reach the buffet table at the same time, neither of you expecting the other. It’s too late to turn away, too awkward to ignore.

Alexia hesitates first, but then, instead of leaving, she reaches for a plate. Silent. Waiting. You do the same.

The room carries on around you, conversation and laughter blending together, but here, at this small stretch of table, it’s just the two of you. You glance at her. She’s focused on the food in front of her, like picking between croquettes and empanadas is the hardest decision she’s ever had to make. And maybe it’s that, how ridiculous the moment is, how long you’ve been avoiding this—that finally makes you speak.

“This is stupid.”

Alexia looks at you, surprised. “What is?”

You gesture vaguely between you. “This. Whatever this is.”

Alexia exhales through her nose, setting her plate down. Silence stretches for a beat too long. Then, voice quieter now, she says, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The honesty in her words knocks something loose in your chest. For so long, she chased, and you ran. For so long, you wanted her to fight, and now she’s standing here, admitting she doesn’t know how to anymore. When she admitted she wanted you to chase to prove you wanted a life with her

You swallow. “I don’t either.”

Alexia nods, like that’s the answer she expected. Like she understands. For the first time, it feels like neither of you is waiting for the other to fix it. You’re just… here. In this moment. And maybe, finally, that’s a start.

Alexia shifts, leaning slightly against the table. She glances at you, then back at her plate, like she’s trying to find the right words. “I meant it,” she says eventually. “Back at the tunnel. When I said I can’t keep doing this.”

You nod slowly, fingers tightening around your plate. “I know.”

She exhales, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

There it is. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for weeks. You take a breath. “You can’t just fix it, Alexia. That’s not how this works.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. You set your plate down, finally turning to face her fully.

“You hurt me,” you say, voice steady. “And I know you didn’t mean to, but you did. And it’s not something you can just make go away by saying the right thing.”

Alexia swallows hard. “I know.” The honesty in her voice, the way she’s not trying to defend herself—it’s different from before.

She shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “I just” Her voice catches, and she looks away for a second, regaining control. “I handled everything wrong. I let my own fears get in the way, and I pushed you away when I should’ve held on and just had a conversation” Your throat tightens. “I should’ve,” she continues, voice quieter now. “For you.”

The words hit deeper than you expect. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? She always had a choice. And she chose to push you away. And even now, even after everything, that still hurts. You inhale slowly. “It’s not just about what you should’ve done. It’s about what happens now.”

Alexia nods, eyes searching yours. “So… what happens now?” That’s the question, isn’t it? And for once, you don’t have an easy answer. But at least, for the first time, you’re both finally asking it. Alexia watches you, waiting, but you don’t answer right away. Because this isn’t simple. It never was.

You exhale, pressing your fingers against the edge of the table. “I don’t know.”

Alexia nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression—hesitation, uncertainty, maybe even fear. You swallow hard, eyes drifting away for a moment before finally speaking again.

“It wasn’t just about what happened,” you admit, voice quieter now. “It was what it reminded me of.” Alexia’s brows pull together slightly, but she doesn’t say anything—just lets you speak. You take a steadying breath. “My family never fought for me,” you say, the words bitter even now. “They let me go without a second thought. And I told myself I’d never let that happen again—that I’d never let someone make me feel like I wasn’t worth holding on to.” Alexia’s face crumples slightly, but you push forward before she can interrupt. “But then there was you.” You shake your head, jaw clenching. “And I thought—if anyone was going to fight for me, it would be you.” Alexia exhales sharply, looking like she’s about to break apart right in front of you. Your voice doesn’t waver. “But you didn’t.”

Alexia swallows hard. “I know.”

You let out a breath, looking away, blinking against the sting behind your eyes. “And I know I probably overreacted. Because it is a trigger, and I know that wasn’t fair to you, but Alexia—” You finally meet her gaze again, and this time, you don’t hold back. “You embarrassed me. You made me feel small in front of everyone, in front of your teammates, your friends. And it felt like I was nothing to you.”

Alexia flinches, like the words physically hit her. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just breathes through the weight of it all. Then softly, painfully, “I’m so sorry.”

The words aren’t defensive. They aren’t trying to justify anything. They’re just real. Raw. Honest. And maybe that’s why, for the first time since this all started you don’t immediately push her away. Use your defence mechanism. But you don’t let her back in either. Not yet. Not until you know if she’s really what you want, you still owed her that.

Alexia doesn’t let the silence settle for long. She steps closer—not enough to invade your space, but enough to make it clear she’s not letting this go.

“I know I hurt you,” she says, voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “And I know I can’t take that back. But I swear to you, if I could go back, if I could do it all differently, I would. I would have sat you down and had the conversation laid it all out”

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “But you can’t.”

Alexia nods. “I can’t. But I can promise you. That I won’t ever make you feel like that again.”

Your jaw tightens. “And how am I supposed to believe that?”

Alexia’s eyes search yours. “Let me show you.” You hesitate. Because you want to believe her. You want to let her in again.

She seems to realize this, because she doesn’t push further. Instead, she exhales, nodding to herself, like she’s already made up her mind.

“I’ll keep trying,” she says quietly. “Even if it takes as long as you need.” You don’t doubt that she means it.

“Maybe we should have that conversation” You speak her eyes meeting yours a glimpse of that sparkle coming back. “Not here obviously”

Alexia’s lips press together, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she nods.

“Okay,” she says softly. “Not here.”

The tension in your shoulders eases just a fraction. You’re not ready to dive into it all right now, not when the weight of the past weeks still lingers between you, but the fact that she’s willing to have the conversation—that she’s not running from it this time—means something.

Alexia doesn’t push for more. She just lets the moment sit, lets you decide what comes next. “You were wrong” you mused, “In how you handled it at the beginning but i should of handled it better to”

Alexia looked to her, “Never think it was easy for me, walking away. Because it wasn’t, it was hell, I hated every second knowing i’d hurt you”

Your shoulders dropped as your whole being softened, you slipped a hand to her waist testing the waters and when she didn’t recoil you let it carry on its journey until both arms were around her waist your head on her collarbone. Her lips found your forehead a hand on the back of your head the other around your back and you melted into her, you truly had missed the peace you felt with her.

Let me know what else you want to see from these two

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 7 hours ago

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Can I request for frat jaehyun doing this to sweets to fluster her after she was being petty with him over a small little disagreement hehe!

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSM56UL15/

Yessss! You're really getting the vibes!!!

(cw: profanity)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ the booktok door trend ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sometimes your boyfriend made it so obvious that he was an only child. There were just habits and queues he didn't pick up on, that people with siblings or basic manners could have picked up on. He was horrible at compromising, he didn't like to share, and it wasn't always the best attitude to be around, especially when you weren't in the right mood.

He was sitting at his desk, looking more like a stereotypical fratboy than you'd ever seen him look before. He had a t-shirt on with the sleeves cut off and cut open practically down to his waist, a pair of gym shorts, and a backwards baseball cap on his head. You greeted each other with an exchange of pecks on your cheeks before you settled yourself onto his bed.

Time passed by in a comfortable silence while fratboy!Jaehyun studied and you scrolled through your phone. You groaned when you got the 10% of battery left notification and dug through your backpack to look for the charger you usually kept there, except, it wasn't there. It wasn't in the big pocket, not in the small pocket, not under your notebooks, how annoying. "Baby, can I borrow your charger please?" You ask with a tired sigh.

He looks up from his notes, "I'm sorry, Sweets I'm using it right now. I only have the one."

"But you're studying right now, you're not even on your phone. My phone is about to die and Kira is texting me about the guy she likes," you try to reason.

"My battery is pretty low too," Jaehyun replies.

You sigh, standing from the bed to grab his phone to check the battery for yourself, "really, Jae? 58% is low? Just let me use it for like 10 minutes please."

"If it were a grade, it would be an failing grade. You should bring your own charger, that way we don't have to fight over the one?"

You roll your eyes, too grumpy to try to correct his bratty selfishness today, "whatever."

You grab your stuff while grumbling to yourself. Then he has the audacity to ask, "Sweetheart, where are you going?"

You don't even turn around as you answer, "my charger is in my dorm, while I walk home I'd like to know that I can make an emergency call if needed and I can't do that with a phone that's dead. I have to go now since you don't want to share. I'll talk to you later."

You barely get to the door and pull it open when you feel his hand on your wrist turning you around to face him. He presses you against the wall gently, while his hand come up to pull the cap from his head. You watch as the hat spins between his hands and promptly fits back over his head before one of his hands comes to land right beside your head.

He's looking down at you now, leaning into your personal space with just a few inches between the two of your faces. Your breath catches in your throat while your face heats. His eyes shine with a glimmer of smug victory at your reaction. His voice is a low, husky whisper, "you're not going anywhere."

"Jaehyun-," you go to contest, but he presses a single finger against your lips.

"I read some of that book you left here yesterday. You highlighted a scene a lot like this one, do you like it?"

Realization dawns in your eyes, "did you not share your charger because you wanted to try this on me?"

Jaehyun hides his embarrassment with a rumbly chuckle, "and so what if I did?"

You lean up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "well, I'd have preferred you not be an annoying little shit leading up to it, but it was hot."

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk, "is it something I should do more often?"

You open your mouth to answer, but are once again interrupted by someone else. "Get off my goddess on earth, you horny former fuckboy devil. Here, Sweetheart, I borrowed your charger yesterday without asking and I got you some snacks as an apology," Haechan tells you, the difference in his tone when he talks to Jaehyun then you makes you laugh.

"Thank you, I thought I was going crazy just now," you smile sweetly at Haechan.

"You ruin everything," Jaehyun harshly whispers to Haechan so you won't hear him.

"I do it on purpose, you stupid sack of shit," Haechan bites back.

You roll your eyes as you plug your phone in. It's a good thing that Jaehyun is getting the full sibling experience here. It'll humble him.

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joshnekuu · 18 hours ago

Text

I'm sure that many people have already talked about this but one of my favorite things about In Stars and Time is how the game uses its mechanics to encourage you to slowly but surely embody Siffrin's mental state and treat their friends like NPCs.

Like it starts as early as the 'zone out' mechanic is introduced, not so subtly encouraging you to skip through scenes you've already experienced. If you're like me, the first several times, you resisted the urge. You know exactly what the game is trying to do and you don't want to treat the gang like skippable cutscenes. These are Siffrin's friends, even if Siffrin has heard this before it's the first time their friends are sharing these words with them, so surely he wouldn't just zone out.

... but after a while, when it's clear that the loops aren't going to be ending any time soon, when you got so close to finding another piece of the puzzle, another step closer to getting an answer... it's hard not to just... zone through a scene here or there. Sure, you stay tuned for the more emotional moments, you don't want to be a dick, but there's really no obvious consequence for zoning out, so... it's fine, right?

The game gives you the option to take shortcuts, and after enough loops, you take them. They're there for a reason after all, right? With a game that centers so much on replaying the same scenes, it's only natural that you would be given the opportunity to skip around a bit. Don't worry about the implications of Siffrin willingly dying for convenience's sake. It's fine.

By the time the friend quests are introduced there's a dawning sense of dread, that eventually, these too will become something that slowly loses meaning, that you zone through or skip altogether. By the time you reach the final act and Siffrin is treating their friends like actors in a play, hurting their friends one by one, it feels earned. Because even if you tried your best not to skip through everything, even if you tried your best to live all these moments as they went by, that's still fatiguing in its own way. You still were just going through the motions by the end, weren't you? Even trying to be 'good' and not skip through things, they still just became another obstacle for you to overcome to reach the end point, another meaningless scene in a play you've performed a hundred times.

And I think that's also part of what makes the ending hit so hard for me. Because no matter how hard you tried to make a 'perfect' route for Siffrin, no matter how much time you dedicated to doing the Friend Quests and making sure you experienced all those little moments in the castle and did all your little sidequests... in the end, those are not the runs you get to keep.

The world that Siffrin finally breaks out of the timeloop in is the world where they hurt their friends. Where they acted like a jerk and said things they can't take back. But even so, their friends still come and save them. Their family still loves them. Their family knows them well enough to know that something is wrong, that Siffrin wouldn't just act like this for no reason. And even if Siffrin fucked up, even if Siffrin hurt people, he can finally move forward. He can finally have new moments and make new memories. The world you get to keep is the world where you fucked up, but you are still loved. And I just think that's so beautiful.

After dozens of loops where you've done everything in your power to try and 'max out' your points with your friends, treating them like NPCs in a video game that you can 'make' like you by doing or saying just the right thing... it's finally breaking that cycle and revealing just how bad things are for them that Siffrin is able to trigger what needs to be done to finally break the loops. Breaking character and being a person instead of an actor, going off the arbitrary script thy have crafted, is what frees Siffrin. The worst possible outcome for them happened, showing their 'true' self to their friends, showing their ugly side and damaging their trust. But the world doesn't end. Their family doesn't abandon them. Everything works out, somehow, some way, because of the power of friendship and love and honesty. And I love it.

#in stars and time spoilers #isat spoilers

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wyervan · 19 hours ago

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Heyy, I really wanted to say how obsessed I'd been with your DCA Slasher Au! I LOVE the designs, the little things you tell us about them and all of that. It's really really cool. I also like A LOT your art style🫂

Also I wanted to share from here some doodles I'd been doing because I'm really embarrassed to share them in my blog but whateverr. As I say.. loved the designs and obviously I had to draw them with my baby (He has seen the horrors)

Also I'm not really sure if you already answered this (feel free to ignore it if so) but..

- Are you planning to make it a fic? Like in Ao3 or some sort of. Or maybe comics or short chapters?

- Are you telling us/showing us more of The Glamrocks in the story?

- What is the relation between Vanessa and Star/y/n?? Friends, It is casual? I really really like Vanessa and if you are ok with it could you tell us what does she thinks of Sun and Moon?

Anyways thank youu you are so cool yay people cheered🫂🫂👏💚

omg you like my style?? No I like your style dude. It’s feels so down to earth? Genuine? You got some great gesture happening in your lines. And you make me laugh 😝

I am planning on doing a fic! But I don’t have the full plot figured out 🤔. I have this fear that if I start writing and publishing chapters without knowing all the details, later on I’ll find out there’s a big plot hole. And then I sweep the rug out from people by going back and needing to change what I’ve already written.

I know though that my own perfectionism often holds me back so I should probably just slap myself on the ass and get to writing at least the first two chapters. I have a very clear idea of how they’ll go.

Yes it would be going on AO3 (as soon as i figure out the tagging culture over there). I will ofc be continuing to do short comics and illustrations alongside any writing.

I’m actually in the middle of doing some design exploration with the Glamrocks rn! Hopefully I’ll be able to share some sketches with you guys by the end of the weekend~~ They are side characters but I want them to be more than just fluff or cameos, ya kno what I mean?

Ahh~~ and Vanessa, nobody’s asked about her yet :3c. I do in fact see her and y/n Star as becoming aquatinted, perhaps to the surprise of both of them!

Vanessa is a cop! Disappearances around town have put a lot of pressure on her small department and she’s had to pay the arcade a visit more than once to take routine statements on a couple of the missing people.

Her presence around the arcade puts Smoon on edge for obvious reasons, though she has no idea why. For now she chalks it up to the general anxiety people get around police and… they’re just… strange men.

#my spanish is a touch rusty—couldn’t quite decipher the second word? ‘today’ smth ‘in pieces and packed in bags’#i get the idea tho lololol 😂#all i could hear in my head was the twilight scene when i read ‘i know what you are’#‘say it’#‘outloud’#‘gay 🫢’#help but ur guy is so cute #he look so sad 😭#he’s got hamster face in the last one #fnaf #other’s art #dca slasher au y/n #dca slasher au fanart #dca slasher au #i see vanessa as a very tragic character and i am excited to explore her story within the au #even repeat questions are appreciated cause it give me the chance to update you guys on the state of the au

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luxurydumpsterfire · 16 hours ago

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Here's what I want to see in the full Villainous series!

(and trying to keep it somewhat realistic)

•Sunblast and Penumbra being a couple onscreen

I really enjoyed seeing them slowly getting closer on Penumbra's Instagram,even after everything. They're really cute together and I hope we get more of them!! :3

•EPIC FIGHT SCENES, EPIC FIGHT SCENES!

The fight sequences in The Heedeous Heart and BBB were over way too quickly. With Dementia's strength and Flug's inventions,the potential is definitely there. I want to see more teamwork from them!

•THESE WINGS.

Alan drew this in one of the streams and said they would eventually appear in the series. Here's hoping he hasn't forgotten about them.

•A ballroom scene. Idk,I just feel like it would be fitting.

•A full version of Dementia's song.

•Dementia's origins. I seriously doubt it's as simple as "She was kidnapped and experimented on by Flug." While I definitely think that's part of it,there's (hopefully!) more to it than that.

•More Blackhat and Flug interactions. No,this isn't me being biased towards Paperhat,what makes you say that, ahahahahaha. 😀 Okay,but seriously,they're funny,I really enjoy seeing them interact. It'd be nice to have an episode centered around them,but,I'm not getting my hopes up TOO high.

•What's under Blackhat's monocle.

It's been hinted that *something* other than an eye is underneath his monocle. There's a theory that it's his one weakness but that seemed too obvious. Really want the real answer!

•More of Flug being evil.

IT'S HOT,OKAY?? LEAVE ME ALONE.

•Wanna find out what the fuck THIS means.

Blackhat,I can understand, but Demencia?! The chick who's downright obsessed with him doesn't want to talk about it???

The only explanation that comes to mind is that it must have been really,REALLY embarrassing.

•Flug having a panic attack on screen and it actually being taken seriously.

I know we might not all want this,but I just think it'd be neat,you know? Comforting even.

•BH's and Flug's first ever interaction.

#that's all i got for now #villainous #villanos #villainous dr flug #villainous demencia #villainous cn #black hat organization

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thelivingautomaton · 19 hours ago

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y'know if there's one thing i have to critique about season 2 of severance (and idk, this may just be the difference between binge-watching season 1 over about a week versus watching season 2 week by week over three months) it's that like...to me it feels like the writers came up with the Big Impact Moments(TM) first, and then sort of floundered with how to get their characters to the Big Moments (or alternatively, shoo out characters who aren't or can't be involved in said Big Moments) in a way that feels organic and diegetic

this seems most obvious to me with the birthing cabin subplot in the latest episode: you have this (fantastic!) image in your mind of cobel in flames and darkness, standing face-to-face with innie mark. great! but the whole process of getting mark (and devon) to that cabin then feels...idk, very contrived? i can mostly buy devon calling cobel in desperation (especially after finding her brother seizing on the floor after his basement brain surgery), but the deliberate lack of answers cobel gives them in their forest meeting -- and the fact that the three of them, what, wait in the woods together for eight hours until darkness falls? -- felt very much like a out-of-show parameter (i.e. "this scene Has To play out this way so we can get to the Big Moment we really wanna have") forcing itself into the context of the story, rather than something that makes intuitive sense within the world

you can also kind of see this with reghabi flitting in and out this season -- she Shows Up in front of mark's parked car in 2x03 because...she has to, for the plot and for the Big Moment of the episode (mark reintegrating, but not really reintegrating because we have to save that for other Big Moments like him getting flashes of helly/gemma). and when devon decides to call cobel -- which, again, i can MOSTLY buy given her character and what she knows -- reghabi exits stage left because...because! because reghabi doesn't Fit into the Big Moments that the writers have in mind. so she has to leave

idk, maybe if i were to go back and look at season 1 this would stick out to me too but at least there the progression from plot point to plot point and characters going from A to B (in terms of actual location as well as narrative arc) felt much more organic? maybe it was also easier for it to feel that way since the scope of the show (number of characters/subplots, locations, etc) was diminished then.

i also think that if the show had more episodes and more space to flesh out these arcs it would make everything feel less contrived -- again, this most recent episode felt like the worst offender in this regard just because it was so obvious that they were doing everything they could to wrap up almost every hanging plot thread (irving and burt, gretchen and dylan g, miss huang, etc) that doesn't involve mark (and by extension, helly and gemma). but that might also have been forced by out-of-show circumstances (rumors that john turturro may or may not come back for season 3, sarah bock presumably has to go to college LOL)

idk idk IDK WHAT I'M SAYING, like i'm still here for all of it and i am really enjoying the show's sense of those Big Moments, but the overall storytelling feels...clumsy, in places. that's all 🤷

#severance #severance spoilers #severance season 2 #slapped a read more on there both for spoilers and because this unintentionally got long LOL #also i still think the writers shot themselves in the foot by having two standalone/“gimmick” episodes one after another #but that wouldn't be a problem if this show had like. 22 episodes in the season instead of 10. so i blame apple tv

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daddysboydean · 3 months ago

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dean is harping on sam to get laid (normal brother behavior) and confronts him about not wanting to hook up with girls because of jess. sam's like yeah, but that's not the whole story. and then this happens. the loaded silence. the prolonged eye contact. the not elaborating on what the 'main part' is, tho presumably it's something dean knows about judging by the knowing look and him conceding to sam's silence. but if the main part isn't that sam watched his girlfriend burn to a crisp less than a year ago and how that's a major boner killer, then what is it??

is it that you're in love with your brother, sammy??

#am i missing something? are the wincest goggles on too tight?#i guess it could be the psychic visions but then why wouldn't he just say that #and why would dean drop the conversation so easily if it were anything other than The Incest #i feel like there's an obvious answer here and i'm just not getting it #where's the pepe silvia meme #1.19 #provenance #m tag

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watery-melon-baller · 5 months ago

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does anyone know a better way to try and reformat a research question for a survey because I am SUFFERING

#I already have a bunch of answers but this data isn't very helpful-#-and maybe I should not change the question so the data is at least consistent all around #i have multiple questions that are all poorly formatted and have not given me much useful data #but I don't know how I could possibly reformat them in a way that isn't a bu ch of open ended fill in the blank questions #my goal here is I'm trying to see like. Flanderization in fandom. Trying to see the canon vs fanon versions people have of characters #but not everyone might realize the version they consider canon IS fanon. So I can't ask it outright I have to fucking. like #idk trick them into telling me and then I can pop out and be like AHA YOU'RE WRONG #i m not sure the best way to go about this #the way I have it is like. I describe the character in 5-7 traits and ask people to pick 3 of them #and i also have an 'other' option if they want to elaborate #buuuuttttt #This question I feel like hasn't been super helpful #because again I can't just be like “do you think X character is just always lovey dovey 24/7 to character Y”#because again. That's too god damned obvious and people are gonna be like no! Even tho subconsciously they do think that #Also I don't think the traits I picked were very good either. It was just like. Too Broad #I'm planning on sending out my survey again and I wanted to see if I could fix some questions before I do so #there is just the issue of the data being inconsistent #I think I might just have to go in and change the character traits #that's I think the issue. But again I don't know how to ask what I want without being straight up like #“Do you think person Xs entire character revolves around character Y”#even tho the entire fandom acts like they do. They're gonna be like what no X is more then that!#and then they immediately go back to treating X like Ys arm candy #sigh.#sociology #fandom culture #fandom #psychology #idk if someone could assist that would be wonderful lmfao #if there's a better way to get the results I want then #it's all just. subconscious. Is all. Sihhnmg

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street-smarts00 · 6 months ago

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in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you.

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind.

“Do you know how old she is?”

“No, how old is she?”

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi.

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid.

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added.

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview.

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim.

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned.

“Three years,” Penelope answered

“What? Did she join right after college?”

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.”

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work.

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered.

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.”

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.”

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting.

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk.

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.”

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right.

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about.

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius.

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time.

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him.

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted.

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?”

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.”

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious.

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile.

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you.

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help.

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried.

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself.

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself.

Well, until your last case.

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man.

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took.

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go.

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk.

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.”

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked.

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word.

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes.

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.”

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?”

“I promise.”

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call.

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.”

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked.

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call.

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice.

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself.

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety.

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.”

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes.

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down.

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin.

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor.

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked.

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?”

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.”

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone.

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this.

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now.

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored.

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly.

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus.

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care.

He just needed to get to you.

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor.

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up.

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs.

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name.

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd.

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm.

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted.

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.”

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face.

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to.

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place.

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him.

He was wrong.

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for.

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you.

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you.

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled back.

“How are you feeling?”

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor.

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.”

“Fun,” you said sarcastically.

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them?

There is no casual way.

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out.

He wasn’t aware you heard it.

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.”

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response.

“If I crossed the line-“

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice.

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face.

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain.

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him.

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit.

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected.

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble.

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume.

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!”

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you.

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours.

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled.

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.”

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart.

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started.

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles.

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.”

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go.

The silence was deafening, plaguing him.

“Please … say something,” he begged.

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone.

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.”

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious.

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.”

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles.

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room.

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into.

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks.

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly.

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered.

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise.

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand.

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left.

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath.

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?”

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.”

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear.

“You’re an amazing profiler.”

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled.

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone.

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.”

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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ms-demeanor · 2 months ago

Note

I've seen you say a few times that it's a good idea to have a password manager; could you explain why? I always feel like I'm missing something when it's mentioned because it's phrased as if there's an obvious danger that password managers protect you from, but I'm honestly not sure how they help keep passwords secure.

The obvious danger is human nature. Humans are bad at creating passwords; your passwords are almost certainly easy to guess, repeated across different accounts, or both, because that is just how the vast VAST majority of people create passwords, because humans are bad at creating passwords. Everybody knows "the rules" for creating passwords (don't use the same password on multiple websites, don't include personal details in your passwords, don't use very common words or letter or number sequences in your passwords, don't tell other people your password) and people break all of those rules anyway.

A standalone (not in-browser like firefox or chrome password manager, though those are better than nothing) password manager stores your passwords, generates complex passwords for you, and can also be used for things like storing notes on passwords (like "did I put my MFA on my email or my cellphone or an app for this password?" or "here are the made-up answers to the security questions I used for this website because I definitely didn't use real answers or answers I'd used on previous websites" or "these are the bills associated with this credit card").

With the way the current security landscape works, there are two things that are extremely important when you are creating a password:

Uniqueness

Complexity

The overwhelmingly prevalent way that people get "hacked" these days is through credential stuffing.

Let's say that your private data was revealed in the Experian breach a decade ago. It revealed your name, email address, and phone number. Now let's also say that your private data was revealed in one of the many breaches from social media sites; that one revealed your name, email address, phone number, password, and security questions.

If someone wants to try to gain access to one of your accounts - let's say your bank account - if they have your name and phone number (usually extremely easy to find online), they can cross-reference that information with data that has been revealed in previous breaches - now they've got your name and your email address (which you probably used to sign up for your online banking and have ABSOLUTELY used as your login for accounts all over the place) and at least one password that you've used somewhere.

But the thing is, they don't have one password. They have every password associated with that email address that has ever been revealed in a breach. If you go to the site haveibeenpwned.com you can enter your email and see how many times your email address has appeared in a breach. You can compare that with the number of passwords that were revealed in those breaches and you can ask yourself "what did those passwords have in common?"

Because I can tell you, my Tumblr password from 2013, my Kickstarter password from 2014, and my Disqus password from 2017 (all revealed in various breaches) probably had a lot in common.

So, now the hacker has: your name, your email (which is probably your username), and various passwords they can try to use to log in. Did you use the same password for Facebook and Twitter eight years ago? Did you use parts of that password for creating your bank password? If you heard that twitter passwords were exposed in a breach you probably changed that password, but did you change the bank password that you built on the same structure? Probably not.

So what people will do is gather up all of this information and guess. They'll try your 2017 Disqus password to see if it will get access to your bank account. They'll try your 2020 Gravatar password. They'll try your 2024 Internet Archive Password.

And the reason they do this is because it works.

And the reason that it works is because we are all fucking garbage at remembering unique, complex passwords so instead of creating actually unique, complex passwords most people pick one memorable word or phrase, one memorable number, one unusual character, and *MAYBE* one feature of the site they're creating the login for and they use that template forever (1988Tumblrmacabre!, 1988Facebookmacabre!, 1988Ticketmastermacabre!) OR they create one password that they think is complex enough and use it across multiple sites with minor tweaks ($n0h0mi$hRu13z, sn0h0mishRul13z!, $n0h0mi$hWA) as needed for the sites' password requirements.

So most of what password managers do that is a drastic security improvement over people creating and memorizing passwords is that they create passwords that are functionally impossible to guess and functionally impossible to memorize. The problem with memorizing passwords (which is what you're doing if you're creating a bunch of passwords that you type in all the time) is that you can't actually remember all that many passwords so you'll repeat those passwords. The problem with creating passwords on your own is that passwords that humans create are pretty guessable. Even if you're doing a passphrase that's a long string of words you're probably working with common words ("correct horse battery staple" as opposed to "truculent zygote onomatopoeia frangible") and your password is more guessable than you'd really want it to be. Password managers don't do that, they generate gibberish.

Perhaps you are that rare person who gets out a set of dice and a notepad and rolls up every character for your password and memorizes it and never repeats, and if that's you, you could still benefit from a password manager because a password manager makes it easier to change that unique complex password when it is inevitably revealed in a breach.

So, okay, let's check in with where we're at:

Password managers mean that you don't have to memorize your password, which means that you don't need a password that is easy to memorize, which means that they can create passwords that are extremely complex and are therefore very difficult to guess. This protects you from crackers who will try to brute force your password.

Password managers mean that you don't have to remember extremely complex passwords for every account, which means that you are less likely to repeat your password in whole or in part across multiple accounts. This protects you from credential stuffers, who will try to use your password from one account that was revealed in a breach to open other accounts that were not.

Because password managers can generate and store complex passwords essentially instantly, you can replace passwords nearly effortlessly when there is a breach (no need to 'come up with' a new password, no issues with learning or memorizing it).

There are, however, advantages beyond that.

One major, MAJOR advantage of a properly-used standalone password manager is that it makes you safer from various kinds of phishing attempts and link hijacking. When you are setting up a password in your password manager (PWM from here on), you should be on the website that you want to log in to. The PWM will give you the option to save the domain that you're logging in to. That means the PWM will remember the correct URL for your Tumblr login so when you go to the tumblr login screen in the future, it will offer to fill those fields. What it will NOT do is offer to fill those fields if someone sends you an email that spoofs tumblr support and wants you to log in at "tumblr.co" or "tumblr-support.com." Knowing this, and knowing that you should be putting your credentials in through the PWM fill option rather than copy/paste, is a GREAT way to protect against phishing that is often overlooked and definitely under-discussed.

Another advantage is that a standalone PWM will let you store secure notes with your passwords so that you can do things like keep track of recovery codes for the website, or generate gibberish answers to security questions. Security questions and answers are often revealed in breaches, can't be reset by the user as easily as a password, are repeated across websites MUCH more than passwords, and can be used to take over an account and reset the password. You shouldn't be giving real security answers, or even fake-but-repeated security answers; you should treat each of those like a password that needs to be complex and unique, which means that they need to be stored someplace (like a password manager).

I also personally use my password manager to store my car insurance information, my driver's license info, and payment details for easy entry, making it convenient for a lot of thing beyond password storage. (Bitwarden. My password manager is bitwarden. I recommend Bitwarden. go to ms-demeanor.com and search "bitwarden" to learn more.)

As to how they keep your passwords safe, aside from ensuring that you don't enter your credentials into a skimming site, a good password manager is well encrypted. Your password safe should be functionally impossible to crack and what people tend to not realize is that a proper password manager (like bitwarden) doesn't keep all your passwords in one encrypted safe, each one of your passwords is in its own encrypted safe. If someone hacks Bitwarden it's not like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of money, it's like using a huge amount of effort breaking into a bank vault and finding a big pile of bank vaults. Each password within your vault requires decryption that is functionally impossible to crack (at least with a good password manager, like bitwarden, the password manager I recommend and think that people should use).

Additionally, just as, like, a side note: password managers never accidentally leave caps lock on or forget which characters are capital or lower case and don't require the use of two hands and focused attention on the keyboard. You're never going to mistype your password if the password manager is filling it, and you would not believe the number of people we support at work who require password resets because they are typing their password wrong and don't realize it.

TL;DR:

Password managers make better passwords than you can and they make it possible to instantly create, store, and enter complex passwords, which prevents password cracking and makes people less likely to reuse passwords. They are heavily encrypted and should be functionally impossible to access, and each individual password within the manager should also be encrypted if you use a good password manager. Password managers also prevent people from entering their credentials on scam sites by only filling on matched domains. Standalone password managers (not browser password managers) also allow users to create and store unique security questions and account details to prevent bad actors from gaining access with stolen security answers. The password manager I recommend is Bitwarden.

If people used password managers to create, store, and use unique and complex passwords, and if they did regular backups of their system I think that probably about half of the InfoSec field would be out of a job.

Please use a password manager!

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kenmaspuddinghair · 5 days ago

Text

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon part 3

part one part two

this one has a happier ending than the last, but Simon is diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy ( pronunciation) which is a kind of nerve damage. sorry this one took a little long I had to research for this one

exactly 1.0k words :)

Here you are all alone sitting outside a hospital room at almost 3 AM with Simon's “Ghost” mask in your hands while he's in surgery right behind you, Price left a while ago to pick up some food and the other guys in the 141. According to the doctors Simon had peripheral neuropathy from the attack about a month ago, it spiked when he got into the fight with the man back at the butcher shop, for you, he got into a fight that caused this for you. You were trying your hardest not to cry when the doctor walked out “Okay, the surgery was a success, he isn't necessarily cured right now but as long as you take the right precautions and steps, it can get better and may go away over time, it could take months or even years though. He’ll need full-time care and if you're not up for that he’ll need a different nurse. I'll get you a sheet with all the information and potential symptoms” he said, already walking away. As you were going into the room another nurse came out from the room, “Are you his girlfriend, he just woke up and he keeps calling for you, he refuses to let us see his face, but we got what we need done” and before you got a chance to correct her she went off.

“Hey Simon, how are you?” First he removed his hands from over his face then his eyes went over your entire body slowly before he answered “Can’t really feel anythin, can ya put my mask on?” you smiled at him getting closer to pull the mask over his head. “Price will be here with Soap and Gaz, he's bringing some food too” he never answered you, he just kept staring at you with this look in his eyes, you just sat by his side looking over him. You sighed, “Simon listen, I don't know if they told you, but you have peripheral neuropathy, your nerves were damaged during the attack and, when you grabbed that guy it only made things worse” You paused but before you could continue he replied in a voice so soft you didn't know he could make that sound “it’s not your fault y’know, shouldn't attacked him” you smiled but before you could continue Price came in. “I'm assuming she told you about what happened and what's gonna be happening” It was as if something clicked in Simon's mind, he pushed himself up “She can stay right? She'll still be ‘ere to help me? Right? You'll stay to help me won’t ya?” he directed the last part to you, voice breaking and dripping with a mix of worry and horror. You looked him directly in his eyes and replied simply but firmly “Simon, I will stay and take care of you for as long as you let me”

Simon was discharged around 10 AM, the last few hours he spent joking with Soap and Gaz just eating food you knew was not good for them at all, but they had to leave a bit ago so now with the help of Price you got Simon in the car and back home. So far Simon only had a few symptoms, muscle weakness, muscle twitching/shaking, and occasional numbness and/or pain, so far it's stayed confide to Simon’s right under his collarbone, the exact part of his body that was stuck under rubble for hours, according to the doctors this is the best case scenario much worse could have happened to him. The plan was for you to make sure he ate well-rounded meals and didn't over-exert himself and give him a check-up weekly for any worsening symptoms or injuries.

Currently, you were in the kitchen cooking lunch while Simon and Price talked in the living room. “You like her a lot, don't you? And don't try to tell me you don't like her, even the nurse thought she was your girlfriend, you even let her see your face. I didn't even get to see your face for years” Simon just sighed, he couldn't exactly lie it was way too obvious, so he chose the next best thing to do “So what do I do? I don't even know if she's allowed to date me” “Well she's with the military so as long as I, the captain, says it's okay then it's okay, but you know she's not gonna ask you right?” Simon started to panic, was Price confirming his worst fear right now, that you didn't like him at all and wouldn't even give him a chance. “What do ya mean she won't ask me out, like she doesn't like me? Like-” “No no Simon, like she's not going to risk losing her job by asking her patient out, meaning you have to do it. Of course she likes you, are you dense?”

Not only was Price saying that it was okay for you two to date but also encouraging it, but now he had to work up the nerve to actually do it, it would be simply right? He would just ask you out, that's it. “Lunch is ready.” just then Price stood up, grabbing his hat “I'm gonna head out now, make sure he eats” he directed the last part to you before heading to the door “Will do” you called “Oh also Simon, I forgot to mention but I'll need to stay in your room tonight, peripheral neuropathy can be really bad for some people at night so I should be there for you just in case” Price just chucked and smirked and Simon before closing the door behind him. God, who was Simon kidding, this is the hardest thing he's ever had to do, and that's saying a lot, Simon’s done countless terrifying things that would have the average civilian crying and yet Simon was panicking over asking a girl out, gosh, what were you doing to him.

tags- @piconico17 @just-lilita @madsdawson @silversfavfics @enfppuff @solazoro @sirbonesly

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon x reader #ghost x reader #medic!reader

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un-fwuit-un-fwog · 1 month ago

Text

Cards and Casts

Part five of The Rain series

Synopsis: Ace and Deuce's visits to The Prefect in the infirmary after Ramshackle's collapse

TW: Aftermath of Ramshackle collapsing on The Prefect, Ace is out of it, Deuce is (more) all over the place than usual (in a trying to process things kinda way)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (here), Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 (coming soon), . . .

The next person to come and visit you was Ace.

The moment the news had been announced, Ace was already booking it to sign up to see you. At the time, it hadn't yet been announced that the further up on the list you were, the sooner you'd get to see The Prefect; Ace was just desperate to sign his name as soon as he could. It was almost as if he thought doing so would in a way prove that he did care. That it would redeem him for not being there when you needed him. That it would make him feel less guilty.

A knock was heard from the other side of the infirmary door. You had been told that your next visitor would be ace, but Ace never knocked.

You rand the little bell next to your bed to tell whoever it was to come in (you had a bell because you couldn't yet raise your voice much).

An unfamiliar boy walked through the door. His hair was a ruffled mess, his clothes were wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes. It took you a moment to realize it was actually Ace who stood before you. He looked like a mess. He didn't even have his signature red heart painted on his face.

The smile he gave you looked strained, but you didn't comment on it.

You ended up having to beckon the boy closer after he had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes. He dropped his shoulders and basically hobbled to your bedside. He nearly toppled over as he tried to take a seat, but caught himself at the last moment.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"I. . .I brought cards."

And so, that's how you ended up playing a few games of Rummy with him. But he was still off. He was playing like an absolute novice. He was letting you win. He NEVER lets you win.

Eventually, you had had enough, and you set down your cards with a scuffed huff. He didn't even notice!

You carefully reached up a hand and pushed his cards down onto the bed and he just let them tumble.

"Ace." Your voice was gruff, but still somehow airy.

"Oh, uh, yeah?" Ace seemed to snap out of a trance. . .well, more like slowly drift out of.

You tried to meet his eyes, but he refused to look directly at you. You thought about asking if he was okay, but the answer to that question was pretty obvious. You didn't ask him what was wrong for the same reason. Instead, you took a deep breath and held it as you painfully shifted over in the bed. You did your best not to make a noise as not to worry the already clearly upset boy.

Ignoring your screaming body, you mustered your best smile (your bandages kept it from reaching your eyes though) and gently patted the space next to you on the bed.

Ace gave you a hesitant look, but you just patted the space again to tell him it was okay. He wouldn't hurt you simply by sitting next to you.

When he finally did sit next to you, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Neither of you spoke

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When the silence was finally broken it was with a single mumbled word: "sorry."

"Hm?" you coughed.

". . .I-I'm sorry." His voice wasn't much louder, but you could hear it this time.

You slowly picked your head up and looked at him incredulously "What for?"

"I wasn't there."

"You knew Ramshackle would collapse?"

"No, I-"

"If you were there, you would have gotten hurt too."

"No! I could have helped. . .I could have-"

"No. No, you couldn't."

He went silent and his face fell before tightening slightly in the way it does only when someone is on the verge of tears.

"Nobody could have stopped it after it started. Nobody could have made it out in time either." Your voice reduced to a croak, but you continued. "You didn't know the dorm would collapse. It's not your fault-"

"Still!" His voice raised and a waver in his tone became apparent "If I was there, I-"

"Would have gotten hurt too. Then I would be too worried about you to do any healing myself." You could tell your voice wouldn't hold out much longer, so you said one more thing: "It's not your fault. You're doing all you can now by being here and being safe. Thank you."

Tears dripped steadily from the boy's face, but he didn't make a sound.

You lightly took his hand in yours, and you sat like that for hours. Together and safe.

Deuce walked in not long after Ace left.

He walked into the room silently and took a seat next to your bed.

"How are you doing?"

You were about to grab the notebook and pencil next to your bed to write a response as your voice was shot, but she spoke up again before you got the chance.

"Wait, no! That was a dumb question!"

Before he could start further rambling, you shook your head and began to write: 'I'm doing much better. I appreciate you asking.'

Deuce sighed and began fiddling with his hands. "Does. . .does it still hurt?"

You took a moment to think about whether or not you should answer his question truthfully, but ultimately decided not to lie. 'It still hurts, but not as much."

Deuce frowned, but nodded.

'I bet I'll get some cool scars! Like battle scars. We'll match!' You scribbled out sloppily as you weren't exactly able to properly hold a pen with your hands looking like a mummy's. It was meant as an attempt to cheer him up, but he only frowned further.

"You shouldn't have scars. You're a good person."

It was you're turn to frown. 'You're a bad one?'

Before Deuce could reply, you tapped the space next to you: telling him to sit.

Similarly to Ace, he hesitated, but you eventually got him to sit next to you on the bed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again. This time you did so by dragging his arm closest to you onto your lap and grabbing a marker off of the nightstand. You uncapped the marker and rolled up his sleeve.

Deuce was too stunned and confused to say a word as he watched you scribble little pictures on his arm. The pictures were cartoony renditions of various times he'd done kind things for you. When you were done he finally snapped out of his daze.

"Wait! I should be the one cheering you up! First I let you get hurt, and now I can't even comfort you properly! I-I can't do anything right!" Deuce's head falls into his hands and you watch as tears fall onto the sheets.

A marker slips into Deuce's hand and he looks over at you with confused, tear-filled eyes.

You point to the cast on your leg. A blank slate. 'A drawing from you on my cast would make me happy'

"But. . .I can't draw-"

You cut him off by basically shoving the notebook in his face. 'Doesn't matter. Anything you draw will remind me of you, and thinking of my friends will make me happy.'

He ends up doodling a flower and an endearingly poor depiction of him, Ace, Grim, and you together and signing his name.

For the rest of his visit, you take turns doodling different things in your notebook and adding funny little details to each other's drawings.

When Deuce finally leaves, you let out a breath you had been holding. Your face contorts in pain and a soft whimper leaves your throat.

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#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fanfiction #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #angst #angst with comfort #un-fwuit-un-fwog #un-fwuit-un-fwog's The Rain series

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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

Call It What You Want

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret up to the point you sometimes forget there's supposed to be a golden band on your finger. but then you both get cast in your first movie together. the chemistry is off the charts, and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between shipping and reality finally blur?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (ñom), smut, dry humping, oral (m. receiving) while pedro wears the skirt™️ (welcome to another episode of the writer's barely disguised fetish), p. in v., teeny bit of angst because i malfunction if i don't bring sad vibes to the function, the worst ever attempt of comedy witnessed by human kind, they're so down bad it hurts, jealous!reader, possesive!pedro, reader speaks spanish and may or may not have direct/indirect latino blood somewhere, use of spanglish but no translations ☹️ (boo go do your homework, citizens. that's what u get for making my dieter bravo fic flop BYE), i transcripted two real interviews for this so keep those likes, reblogs and comments up in the air where i can see 'em 🪓🪓

word count: 11,706 words

side note: hello! this is me, sliding my cv to become president of the pedro pascal fics. i'm kidding, just on duty to fulfill another request 🫡 believe it or not, i envisioned something like this but for myself IJBOL we have to keep the delusional levels UP!! i hope this meets ur expectations, it was fun to write :)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Please welcome, the internet's newest darling, Y/n L/n!"

You walk into the set, cameras flashing bright and the band playing on the back. You hug Jimmy Fallon, and when he notices your body trembling he tells you everything will be alright. So did your manager before you stepped inside, but you can't help the nerves. You've never been this big before, and now it's all coming down together without letting you breath.

You take your seat and so does Jimmy.

"Hello, Y/n. This is your first time here, right?"

"Am I being too obvious?" you snort. The crowd laughs with you.

"Don't worry. It happens, especially when you're so young"

"Oh, please" you blush. "I can promise you there are kid actors who could handle this better than I am right now"

"Kid stars?" he lets out one of his famous cackles. "No need to be humble. You are great! Let's just talk about the year you've had: big breakout roles, ascend to fame, you're rocking it!" the crowd cheers, and you again turn into a flustered mess.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's hard to dimension when you've started as an extra for popular shows, to now being, you know, the main face of projects. But I could get used to it" you smile, "it's been a dream. I still can't believe it sometimes, look- I'm shaking"

The camera pans closer to the hand you're showing to Jimmy.

"Oh my God, even big stars like you get nervous"

"Big star? I wish I could feel like a constellation. I'm feeling more like a red dwarf star, baby"

The whole place bubbles in laughter. You feel better, your manager even giving you a thumbs up from behind the cameras.

"So, Y/n" Jimmy says once the laughter dies. "You just got casted in the upcoming Gladiator II movie, directed by Ridley Scott. How does it feel to be on your first big movie, alongside names like Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington and Pedro Pascal?"

You try to steady your heartbeat. "First of all, I have to say, it's such an honor to work with Scott. I grew up watching his movies. Like, Thelma and Louis is definitely my go-to movie. So, like, getting paired with such a talented cast is as awesome as terrifying" you answer with a laugh.

"Talking about that, you see" he leans closer, like he'll tell a secret. "I've heard things about you and a certain future co-star of yours"

You shift your position on the couch, your ring(less) finger itching. You have to avoid breathing in relief when Jimmy pulls out a picture.

"Oh. My. God"

He stiffles a laugh. No way. Has the room's temperature suddenly gotten hotter? Why is your face burning?

"Will you tell us the story behind this?" he asks, the camera focusing on the picture in question. The audience laughs, and you pray to God this is a nightmare, because it's too much embarrasment for a human to bear.

"Okay" you clear your throat, coughing awkwardly. "For my 25th birthday, I uploaded a bunch of pictures on Instagram, including ones where I was a teenager" you begin to giggle, "So. Um, there was this one, you see, that's, me, in my childhood home's bedroom, and my fans were quick to notice the poster above my bed"

"You mean, this one?" and Jimmy points it out. You cover your face with your palms. "It's a... Narcos poster" the audience laughs as you get redder. "A Pedro Pascal's Narcos poster"

"I know" you groan. "Picture this: me 18, and while my friends had posters of their favorite bands and artists, I was so different because I had a whole ass poster of a crime drama show about the world's most famous drug dealer on my bedroom" you recall with a laugh. "It was hard to explain to my mom. I believe she thought I wanted to sign for the DEA or something. When I told her I was going to be an actress, she was so relieved! She said: Oh, well. You'll die, but of hunger! Not a bullet in your head, at least"

"Oh. I'm so sorry. You proved her wrong though!"

"I did! Don't worry, Jimmy. She's my biggest fan now" you look at a specific camera before saying, "Te amo mami!"

"I see you speak spanish. I sometimes forget" he comments. "You've got one thing in common with Pedro, it seems. Think that'll make working with him less awkward?"

"I just hope he forgives me or I'm capable of moving out of the country and changing names" you giggle. "Pedro, lo siento!"

"Well, that's Y/n L/n, everyone! Pedro Pascal's number one fan" you burst out laughing in shame. "More on her lastest movie after the break"

mandoshoney: tell me i'm not the only one who started shipping pedro pascal and y/n l/n PLEASE can't wait to get content of them interacting ㅤㅤann-gell: mandoshoney y/n's pedro pascal's controversially young gf era starts now! i wonder how the press tour for #gladiatorII will go 🤔 unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they are dating ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess ptwt can never tweet like normal ppl…wdym you're betting your grandma?!!!?

You were never a fan of secrets.

But then Pedro waltzed into your life with his charming smile and iconic mustache, and before you knew it, you had married him off in some church in California one random sunday morning ("I love you so much, can't wait to marry you, cariño" "If you can't wait any longer, why not now?")

Flash forward, four years later, and you'd think such event would be plastered all over the internet. But there is a reason why only you, family, a selected number of friends and your agents knew: you kept it a secret.

To the world, he was Chile's most elegible bachelor and you were a young rising star. The public loved both of you for the same reasons: charming persona and acting skills. Yet inside the privacy of your home, he was Pedro and you were y/n, wife and husband; he was yours as you were his.

And of course, no marriage is perfect, and your first real challenge is rather funny: you both get casted in your first movie together.

It shouldn't be hard, but it is. Being inside the Gladiator II set during seven months, so far away yet so close at the same time, was torture. You were Rome's empress and he's Marcus Acacius, yet behind the scenes, the actual married couple were you both.

It was hard to pretend you didn't know what he looked like without clothes when he wore his bathing suit, or that you didn't know his favorite food when Paul asked, or acting like you weren't interested in dating when a local in Malta during your trip at the beach asked you out (he didn't know who you were. You were flattered when he called you pretty in such a hot European accent, but then Pedro appeared from seemingly "nowhere" and you remembered what your real favorite accent was. He immediately called you bonita after that)

It was so hard to keep hands to yourself when he walked by you, covered in fake blood. To not think about licking it all over and under his armour. So was to pretend the thought of dry humping him with his Roman skirt on wasn't tempting. Or that the urge to kiss him got harder and harder to fight each passing day, even getting to a point where you would envy Connie for being able to kiss your husband in the open more, a privilege you didn't have.

You were loosing your mental health here. But Pedro was no better.

It was so hard to see you, the Moroccan sun shining over your features like you were an angel. Otherworldly. That he'd see red when you'd finish filming a scene with Joseph, forcing himself to interrupt the small chat you'd engage in after. He too couldn't keep pretending he didn't want to tear off those silk dresses out of your body, and kiss you out in the open like Joseph did.

He almost failed once, cornering you in the hallway of the hotel you were staying. His hot breath lingered on your neck. I miss you, he had said. You felt his hard brush the inner of your thigh. We can't, you whispered in a dragged out voice.

It was hard.

So you gave him your used panties, and you swear you could hear him jacking off in the bathroom of his room, next to yours. He'd screamed your name, and your hand had found it's way to your dripping cunt, doing what he was supposed to do; touching you the way he did. And you came, drowned out moans against your pillow. But it wasn't like when he did it.

But God has heard your prayers.

For the first time in weeks, you're lucky. You find Pedro sitting alone in the cafeteria, his phone in hand. He's still wearing his armour and skirt, not bothering to change for the break. You aren't God's strongest soldier, but you're trying not to go down on him so badly right here and now.

"Hey" he raises his head when he hears your voice, smile adoringly. It only grows wider when he notices you alone. "Thought you'd never get rid of Paul. He's like, stitched to you"

"Same can be said about you and Joseph" you sit across him, and despite most of his tone being playful, there are still hints of jealousy behind. It arouses you deeply, and with this hot summer day above you, your skin isn't the only thing that's getting sticky.

"In case you haven't read the script, I'm his wife" you wink. "Sorry this is how you find out"

He laughs loudly, and God, how have you missed that laugh. Sure, it's been there when you've been out with the cast together, but it doesn't tingle your chest as when you're the cause of it; it feels like it's for you only, and that's what makes it special.

"I miss you so much" he whispers, his hand sliding across the table, finding yours. His thumb carresses your soft palm, and you melt under Pedro's tender touch.

"I do too" you sigh, but it's instantly replaced by what could only be described as a smug face. You lean closer, whispering on his ear, the warm meeting cold. He shivers. "Wanna know something?"

"I'm all ears"

"I just came back from walking. Guess what?No one is 'round here" you lean back against your chair, shit-eating grin on your face as all his body tenses up. "Made sure of it. The trailer zone is empty too"

Pedro gulps, his adam's apple bobbing as his eyes look at you.

"Y/n" calling your name as a warning.

"What? Can't a girl find ways to have her husband all for herself?" you snort. "Please say yes" you let go of his hand, but the free fingers now travel across his broad chest, taunting him. "C'mon, we both deserve a break"

He can't say deny you anything, can he? You know it, he knows it.

Before you register, his big hand engulfs yours as you run across the set. You giggle at his rushed steps, even more when you stand before his trailer and he's fumbling his slippery hands with the doorknob, sloppy movements erratic.

"But you told me to stop" you tease, and he doesn't even let you add more because he's pushing you inside, forcing you with rough calloused hands to a chair and then you to sit over his lap.

"Fuck, babygirl. I've spoiled you way too much" he groans against your lips. "Lo sabes, ¿verdad? Just can't say no to you"

Your eyes darken dangerously, the hunger on them mirroring his own.

"How could you ever say no to this?"

You press your chest against his broad one as your lip bites into his lower one, teasing. Pedro feels his underwear getting tighter when your tongue finds its way inside his mouth, even getting a glimpse of the taste of the strawberries you had earlier before.

He deepens the kiss, and when you pull away to catch your breath, he doesn't waste his lonely mouth and busies himself with the task of kissing your sun-kissed neck, licking and pressing his lips under your jaw. Pedro goes even lower, down until he's reached your collarbone, making you groan a bit under his wet sloppy needy mouth. He's enjoying how putty you are under his intense kissing, fingers in his curls, that have begun to damp under the ablaze of the small space and pleasure that fills the air.

"Kiss me again in my lips" you whine after a while of him teasing you with kisses that get only rougher. "Pretty please, papi"

You cup his face in your hands, and Pedro's back to kissing you in the mouth, tasting all of your insides as he hasn't had in what feels like a lifetime.

"Of course, baby. Missed this pretty mouth" he mumbles in between hot kisses, his now growing boner pressing into you.

"Baby" you giggle. The skirt he's got on may hide it, but your fingers refused to wait, pulling it up. His bulge presses against the shorts he's got under the skirt, and you can feel your pussy and mouth drool. "We have to do something about this big boy" your hands pull down the short, leaving just his underwear on. He's about to remove the skirt, but your demanding hands stops him. "This stays"

His brown concerned eyes make you laugh, but you don't give him time to think about it, rather grinding against his erection. Pedro's breath hitches when he feels your daring movements, bucking his hips against yours.

The friction is addicting, and he captures your lips once again to make you feel what he can't with words: how fucking good this feels.

You keep moving over his aching dick. Your husband throws his head back, groaning in pleasure at the way your hips move against him, knowingly. His hands find their way to your ass under the flowy almost translucent skirt you chose to change in, gripping the rosy skin tightly, hands almost covering all of it.

"You wore this for me, right, cariño? Knew I couldn't say no" he groans, firm hands on your cheeks, the grinding meeting his hips now harsher. "Less with you walking around with this slutty skirt of yours"

You make little sounds he's obssesed with, dripping out of your filthy mouth.

"Fuck" Pedro groans after a while, "I need to have you, mami. Missed you so much" eager fingers make it to your top. He growls, deep within him―guttural, ready to pull it off as he mumbles naughty wife when he realizes you got no bra on, chastising you for a "rushed" plan that seemed planned all along, when a sound cuts through the air.

You both stop.

The sound gets clearer.

It's a knock. A knock at his door.

A knock in Pedro's trailer.

And you are inside. Both.

While you're grinding him.

With his skirt on.

(It's time to build a bomb and kill yourselves off and whoever is stading behind that door)

"Pedro!" a familiar accent calls. Peudrou. It's Paul. "Hey, man. Just wondering if you are here"

He's debating on speaking up when he sees your red face and rising-falling chest before him.

"Answer" you whisper breathlessly. He tries not to groan when he fills you slip out of the spot in his middle while also trying not to think about murdering Paul as soon as he gets out.

Aside from the order, you're unexpectedly quiet, and Pedro quirks an eyebrow at you. He knows you better―you're his wife after all, and if there's something he's aware of, is your inability to loose.

"I'm here" tone clipped and annoyed. But no footsteps backtracking are heard: the Irish man is still there.

You bite your lip, watching the skirt with his legs spread, a sight too tempting. Also, he was still hard, as hard as the task to not go and keep doing your job.

Oh, fuck this shit.

Your devilish hand equals the grin in your face, fingers making their way toward his unattended bulge.

"What are you doing here?" Paul asks, but Pedro's attention has completely deviated, now focused on how they land right over his clothed dick, skirt pulled up by your other hand. "I thought you were at the cafeteria"

"Yeah?" but it comes out strained, yet the younger man doesn't notice or comment.

His hips raise when your fingers press his member, massaging it.

"Yeah" he uses a tone that equals a duh. "You texted me yourself"

Pedro rolls his eyes, wishing desperately he would go away, annoying him just as much as a fly hovering above fresh food. Talking about food, fuck, weren't you hungry? He tried to warn you, holding your wrist, but all resolve was lost the moment you looked in his eyes: he immediately pulled down his briefs, dick sprouting hard.

"Well, changed my mind" his tone falters in between words, member now free from the confines of his tight underwear.

"Are you tired, man? You sound tired" Paul comments on his tone. "Came to rest?"

You spit on your hand, and he gulps.

"Somethin' like that"

You start to jerk him off, leaving little wet kisses and licks just above his dick. Pedro's eyes are hypnotized, glued to every lick of yours across his girth, the spit making your movements smoother. Sexier. Fuck.

"Well, sorry to break it to you but rest time is over. They want us back on set now"

Your tight needy lips are wrapped around his his length and it's so hard to keep the talk normal when he justs wants to yell at Paul to fuck off. Your hand is there too; you are as of help as much as you aren't.

"I'll be there, Paul, just―Fuck!"

But his attempt to cover a moan doesn't go unnoticed.

"Are you alright in there?" he tries to enter, but Pedro locked the door. He's yelling he's fine, but Mescal doesn't sound convinced. "I can't go inside; it's locked. Are you sure you are okay, mate?"

"Didn't want you to take a picture of me drooling on my sleep" he manages to get out in a monotone voice. A real win if you take into account you've gotten to a point where you squeeze under his cock, massaging his balls.

"Smart move!" he chuckles from outside. "I guess I'll see you there"

Pedro covers a moan with his palm as he's throwing his head back in pleasure. He can feel his orgams looming over, minstrations growing sloppier around his pulsating cock, the need to fill your greedy evil mouth with his seed making him sick. He's a simple man: he just wants his pretty wife to fuck his cock silly and come in her mouth in peace. Is that so hard to get this days?

Paul seems to be finally gone as Pedro can't keep containing his grunts anymore, steps moving: until said steps sound closer again.

"Oh, I almost forgot, have you seen Y/n? I can't find her anywhere" it's coming. His orgasm is coming in the absolute worst moment. He can feel you gagging at his hard rock cock, hitting the back of your throat now. Still, your hands don't loose their grip on his cock and skirt, determination filling that sexy little body of yours. It was rather admirable the effort you were putting in this. "Think she went to the beach? She said she loved it. God, that little rebel. Anyway, if you see her, tell her-"

He leans his head back once again, seeing stars. No one knows him like his wife, truly.

The sight of you drooling from your chin, the wet sounds of him fucking himself onto your mouth as your spit-coated fingers pump his girth, you gulping down the precum from his tip, his fingers holding your face roughly by the cheeks...

"Yes, Paul, yes!" Pedro barks, barely hiding the moan that erupts from his ribcage, thick shots of his hot cum hitting your tongue and deep of the throath. "Fuck off and let me get ready"

"Jesus, mate, chill. I'm sorry. See you there"

And Paul Mescal's hovering fly ass is finally gone.

"Poor Paul" you say as soon as you pull off his length, voice raspy as you huff for air. Pedro lovingly cleans rests of your saliva and his cum from your chin as he chuckles at how much audacity, courage and horniness could fit in such a small young body. "You've ruined the friendship"

"You think?" he licks off some as you sit on his lap again, tongue directly on your face. You feel aroused again, but time's up. "It's your fault. That and this"

He points down.

"Just as you used that pretty head of yours to think of the trouble you just made, think of an excuse for Mr. Ridley about the skirt"

at0michips: wait wdym paul is sick??? ㅤㅤl-u-n-a-m: at0michips he's died vnightx: i'm wondering who'll do now the do you even know me interview with pedro now :( i was so excited!!! hope they don't cancel it :( ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: vnightx i bet my grandma it's y/n ㅤㅤat0michips: unhing3dprincess why do u keep betting ur grandma omg 😭😭😭

"You know what I think would be fun?" Pedro comments while you wait for the interview's set to be prepared.

Tour press has finally begun. That meant you could go home for a while after the filming wrapped, just to be back for the promotion of the film. You were excited of course, the experience new and thrilling. After much needed battery recharging and husband/wife time, you were ready to take over the world.

But then Paul got sick.

Today's interview was scheduled to be him and Pedro, but since he was unavailable, they paired him with you, since you both spoke Spanish (which felt slightly racist in your opinion), and because Fred and Joseph were already paired up for the other.

You leave your coffee, knowing he's about to say something stupid or endearing, perhaps both, brown liquid probably spilling out of your mouth. Or worst, nostrils.

"Tell me"

"What if we left little hints that we're together?" his smile is one of mischief. "Like you could wear my cap, or I could wear a chain with your initial around my neck, like Ryan Gosling did at the Barbie premiere"

"Or as Taylor Swift sang" you counter. "But Pedro, dear, you're underestimating our fans. You don't think they'll match it sooner than we think?"

"Maybe" he agrees. That's just what I want. "What's funny is we're about to do a type of interview where we could blow our cover"

"Maybe" you repeat, "or maybe you don't know all about me as much as you think, Mr. Pascal"

He fake gasps, feigning hurt. "Is this a dare, Mrs. Pascal?"

"No" you try to be mature for once, cutting the banter as much as you'd like to go on and kiss him right there. "Also, remember to answer incorrectly sometimes, you know..."

"There's no way I'm letting you win though"

"Pedro, no seas necio!"

The producers arrive just in time to let you know it's ready.

"After M'lady" he's back to being charming as he is, not as husband charming but just Pedro Pascal charming. The nerve of this guy to do it in front of the LADbible crew.

"Whatever" you grumble, the nerves getting the best of you as you realize this interview may or may not give away more than you've been allowed before.

"Hello, I am Y/n L/n" you present yourself. Wow, the camera is really close. This isn't going to end well.

"And I'm Pedro Pascal"

Hearing his voice soothes you. It's okay, y/n, you got this. "And this is Do You Really Know Me- No wait, it's do you even know me. Okay, let's start again: Hello, I'm Y/n and this is-"

"I don't even know anymore" Pedro jokes, making you laugh. "Do you even know me?" he asks while looking forward, now making the crew laugh.

"This is Pedro Pascal, that'll do" you sigh.

"This is gonna be sad, she's not going to know any of these" he says, but in reality, he's mocking you, the mischief in his eyes glowing as he only looks at you tauntingly.

"Same can be said about you" you tease, "we're like a million years away"

"That's not true!" he gasps, "I watch your every move" punctuating each word. God, you try not to make a face. "I have Google alerts on you"

If he was gonna play, so were you.

"Glad to know I have you alerted" with the sweetest voice ever, seeing how his friendly façade falters for a bit at the tone you've used. You laugh, and Pedro takes the chance to laugh it off too.

After the introduction, they ask one of you to keep score, and you offer yourself because, well, you don't trust Pedro.

"I'll go first" you say. "Which was my first ever role in the industry? As an extra during an episode of Stranger Things, as a voice actor in A dog's purpose" you can't help but laugh, "or as a back-up dancer in Hustlers?"

"In Hustlers?" Pedro inquires in disbelief. "You're telling me you were in Hustlers?! I didn't even know you could dance!"

Lies. You and Pedro sometimes put some bachata and dance in the kitchen. God bless Juan Luis Guerra.

"Jennifer Lopez and I are practically besties" you answer nonchalant.

You know the answer. He does too. But he chooses the last one for comedic purposes.

"I'll go with Hustlers. Now that I'm looking at you, you do have a... dancer face"

"It's okay, you can say the forbidden word. I'll take it as a compliment" you laugh, "you're wrong, though. The answer is Stranger Things"

"No way!" and it sounds as if he genuinely didn't know. Good lying son of a bitch; Jim Carrey on Liar, Liar would've been proud.

"Yes. If you look in the background of season two, on this one episode where Nancy and Steve appear to have broken up during a halloween party, you can see me drinking from a cup on a corner"

"That's so crazy"

"Yeah, I was twenty already, yet playing a highschooler" you giggle. "Wow, time flies by. Anyway, we're both at zero. Your turn"

"What film did my dad not let me see at the cinema when I was, uh, ten years old?" Pedro reads from his card. "Rambo: first blood, The Breakfast Club, Day of The Dead"

"I'm going to base this in the year you were born. Okay, so 1975. Let's see" one of the things Pedro loves about you is that you're like a film encyclopedia, but right now, that'll cost him a point. "They all came out the same year, and they were also R rated. Hmmh, I'll choose The Breakfast Club"

Your analysis was just mindless bragging really. You knew the answer the moment he started reading the question, because the anecdote came during a time he heard you listening to the movie's soundtrack ("Did you know that my dad...")

"You complain about Paul all the time, but you're just the same" he comments. "She's a real competitor, people!"

You flush in embarrasment. "Okay, that's one for me. Next question" you read the card in your hands. "What pet do I own? An orange cat named Louis after my favorite singer, a fish, or a Shih Tzu named after my brother"

The orange cat lives with you both. You're curious as to how he'll answer.

"You aren't naming a Shih Tzu frickin' Fernando" he laughs, so loud, it ends up catching up to you and the crew. "I'll go with the cat"

"That's correct" you lament. "How would you know?"

As if the damn cat doesn't love him more than he loves you.

"I follow you on Instagram" he defends himself. Clever. "We are, um, what do you call it-"

"Oomfs"

"I'm not gonna try to pronounce your made up language. Okay, my turn. Which of these characters I've played in Saturday Night Live? Naughty daddy, protective mom, or weird uncle who has a creepy sneeze" he reads out loud in a confused tone.

This is easy. It was all over your timeline.

"Protective mom" you answer on a beat.

"This isn't fair, that was really popular!" he complains.

"It's still two for me and one for you" you mock. "Now, what is the nickname the internet has given me? I won't give you clues because it's an easy one"

"Easy? You said we were million of years apart and now I'm supposed to know?"

"Well, you seem to manage Instagram so I think you'll be just fine" you tease, and Pedro just wants to rip that smirk off of you. So he caves in first.

"It's people's princess"

"What?!" your eyes grow comically large, shimmering with betrayal as you shout with an incredulous tone. "I can't believe you know" more like can't believe you said it.

"You're royalty! How am I supposed to not know that, internet darling? Besides, told you: I keep my eye on you" and he winks.

This motherfucker. Oh, he's totally sleeping on the couch tonight.

"Talk about internet darlings" your snarky tone comes out, and Pedro knows he's pissed his competitive wife off. "I guess we have a tie. Your turn"

"What are the initials of my full name?" his brows furrow. "I forget. JBPP, JPBP, JBPP"

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite. "B, of course"

"But that's too easy, everyone with Google knows it!" but then he's leaning into your ear, whispering in a very low voice to make sure only you hear. "I'll let it pass, though. Love hearing you pronounce my name, mami"

Your face grows obscenely red. "I'm back ahead. Let's see if you can keep up. Okay, here it goes" you read the card, "what is the director I've stated I want to work with? Greta Gerwig, Pedro Almodóvar, or Quentin Tarantino"

"Pedro Almodóvar, no? You said you were jealous I had already worked with him" he playfully nudges you. Too much contact, face hot again. Maybe in group interviews you'll do better, because right now, you're doing a rather poor job at controlling yourself, even as an actor; you can already picture your agent pulling her hair behind the cameras.

"It's Greta Gerwig, actually"

"What?! No way, you told me this!" he grumbles. "This game is rigged"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still jealous. I just think working with Greta Gerwig is peak womanhood, and I gotta live that. So, Greta, if for some reason this silly video gets to you, call me. I promise I'm not that childish"

"She is" Pedro slips in, "don't call her. So unprofessional" in a mocking exaggerated tone.

"Whatever, you sore looser. Me three, you two. Next!"

"Fine. Which of these songs would I have played at my funeral? My Heart Will Go On, Purple Rain, Nothing Compares To You"

He looks at you, silently pleading you to not answer correctly. Your competitive side screams in agony.

"I have no idea. Why do I feel you've already said it somewhere, though? I'll go with Nothing Compares To You, because the first its too corny for you and the second too epic"

He scoffs, amused at the fact that you did obey, but at what cost? Pedro's well aware his princess can get as competitive, if not worse, than Paul.

"You're saying I'm not epic enough for Purple Rain? Too bad, because that's the answer" you grunt, crossing your arms. "That's right, I am cool enough to have it played. I guess we're tied again!"

"No, you don't loose a point. It's still three to two. This just gives you the opportunity to tie"

"W-wait a minute"

"Settle down" you pat his thigh, "you can still try, handsome"

He gulps when your hand meets his skin, despite the layer of clothes. It's still something that gets him on edge, no matter the years you've known each other. And handsome? You came here for blood.

"Okay, here's your chance: what image of me became trending topic on twitter? An image of me eating a typical dish from my country, an image of me watching Deadpool and Wolverine with glasses while Hugh Jackman's shirtless scene reflects on them or C, me meeting Taylor Swift at the backstage of the Eras Tour"

"The typical dish is tempting" he muses out loud, "but I'll go with the Taylor Swift one because that sounds like something that'd trend"

"You're right" you throw your card. "I'm not complaining though. Best day of my life"

"Does this mean I'm winning?" he beams excitedly. "Oh, in your face Paul! I will finally win something!"

"Slow down, cowboy. There's still some left"

He purses his lips. "Let me have this one thing, would you? Guess not. Here it comes" he starts to read his card, "At school I competed in state competitions, in which sport? Soccer, lacrosse, swimming"

"Swimming" you answer hastily, trying not to think on Pedro wearing tight little swimsuits, as you've only seen him wearing swim trunks.

"Okay, that's dissapointing. Please continue"

"I participated in which play while I was in highschool? Hamlet, The Iliad or Much Ado About Nothing"

You doubt he remembers. The only time it ever came up, was when you visited your parent's house and a photography of you during said play was showed to him by your dad.

"The Iliad, right?" you laugh. The answer is wrong: It's Hamlet. "What? I swear it was that one! It's just you have very..." beautiful is at the tip of his tongue but he refrains himself, "...very greek features"

You can't help but laugh.

"Why of course! This is a face people go to war for"

"I agree" your heart skips a beat, "but I don't think I'll make it that far, if we talk about a war"

"You big fat liar!" you slap his arm playfully. "You've played all sort of characters, from soldiers of all nationalities and places, and like, superheroes, f*****g Joel Miller, even a DEA agent. You at least learned something!"

"Wow, slow down, this isn't a filmography recount" he jokes. Liar, you mouth to the cameras. "Okay, last one: I became a viral sensation for eating what type of sandwhich in LADbible's snack wars: BLT, PB&J, grilled cheese"

You remember the video fondly. Even your brother had sent it to you, along a text that said: Isn´t this your husband?

"PB&J, I win!" you cheer, instantly getting off the chair to do a celebratory dance. Pedro doesn't say anything, just throwing the cards away while the fondness of his eyes betrays him.

pyramiidsf: i want someone to look at me the way pedro looks at y/n mybritishstyle: guys they're just friends 😭 he's like that with all his female co-stars ㅤㅤann-gell: mybritishstyle me when i'm delusional af mandoshoney: where's that girl that's always betting her grandma??? SHE WAS RIGHTFLKRGJ

"Hello, I'm Paul Mescal. I'm here with my friends from the cast of Gladiator II" Connie and you both raise your palms to greet the camera, laughing when you realize you'd done it at the same time, "and we are going to play a game about how well we know each other for Vanity Fair" the irish man introduces the interview you're filming today.

"Did they prompt you?" Pedro speaks up, "or did you just make that up on the fly?"

You laugh a bit too loud, hoping they cut it off in the editing process.

Paul goes first, taking up a card with the first question written on it.

"Okay. Question: What's my least favorite day of the week?"

"Tuesday" answers Joseph once Paul is done reading. "Oh, you're writing it down?"

"Yeah" he answers.

"You just wrote Tuesday" Connie points out, Paul's card on his legs. You laugh along the rest.

"Yeah" he repeats laughing. "I actually, when you said Tuesday" Yeah, he said Tuesday Pedro adds on the background of laughter. "I was like...I'm gonna give everybody a point for that"

"I think I deserve a point for being observant" Connie complains.

Everyone gets a point and Paul moves towards the next question.

"What was the name of my character in Normal People?"

"Connell" both you and Joseph answer, looking at each other before squinting your eyes playfully.

"Callum" Pedro answers out loud at the same time, and you laugh. He clearly had slept when you played it for a re-watch last summer.

"No, you're out" Paul pokes Pedro next to him.

"Connel" Joseph repeats, and Fred agrees to the same answer.

Paul then asks Connie what's hers after he confirms you three.

"Connor?" she asks, confused.

"Incorrect. Three points" while pointing you three.

"You got wrong" he tells Pedro, "Callum's a different character"

"See? You just don't pay attention when you watch things" you blurt out, stopping yourself before adding the with me. It would be harder to come back from that, but so is this as everyone looks at you, even your husband, subtle panic in his eyes. Where the cameras this close? How long had you been silent?

"It's just, quick funny story" you improvise. "Pedro didn't know much about Paul's career, and as I am a fan, I took the time to show him and recommend him your stuff" Paul smiles. "Clearly, my fanatism didn't rub on Pedro but a girl can try"

He laughs, before saying "So the answer is Connell" and you try so hard to remain normal like the energy hasn't shifted.

"He only plays characters with the letter C in the name" Pedro jokes, chewing on a toothstick he seemingly pulled out of nowhere. More laughs follow, and you are so grateful for how he's handling your little metida de patada.

"What's number one on my bucket list?" he asks next, "and don't look at my answer"

The marker is the only sound to be heard, and then Pedro jokingly tries to take a peek.

"No peeking" Connie berates as Pedro laughs.

"You're not gonna be able to see that" Paul replies in an anyways tone.

You repeat the same joke, before Fred blocks you. "Not you too!"

Paul finishes after a while, Connie commenting it was long. Joseph raises his hand.

"Yes, Joseph"

"Is it to see the Great Wall of China?" he asks.

"No, but it's in that-"

"It's close, isn't it?" you interrupt.

"...family of thought" he finishes.

"It's to go and see something" Pedro points out.

"Okay. Rajasthan" tries Connie. "Go to Rajasthan, for a tour"

"Travel to South America" Paul interrupts with the correct answer, "I've never been to South America"

"I'm from South America" Pedro comments, never missing a chance to shout out his dear Chile.

Paul jokes about him getting three points while the rest of you laugh.

"I was born in South America. 17 points for Pedro"

"I want points too" you jump on the joke. "I know Spanish, so I can take you there and avoid you getting lost, mi querido amigo"

"But who was born there?" Pedro counters, "you get no points"

"I think Joseph is the only person who gets a point there" Paul adds, "because everybody just jumped on the bandwagon"

"He said to visit the Great Wall of China" Pedro protests, "which is nowhere near South America"

"It really is not" Connie agrees.

"Qué gente tan tramposa" you complain. "That's unfair. I remove my offer"

"Think about bucket list, and he came up with travel to bit" he tries to reason Joseph's point.

"And by the way, where in South America?" Pedro questions.

"Don't fight, don't fight" pleads Joseph, the calm one. Fred just sits there, enjoying the chaos.

"I want, any, I want to do a big tour of everywhere" Mescal defends himself.

Pedro doesn't back down. "'Cause it's very different"

Paul starts to get angry too. Jesus, men. Competitive men of it all.

"I know it's very different" making an annoyed face.

"Well, different is nice" you intervene, a hand placing in Pedro's left shoulder. "If you stop giving points for free, I'll come with you to the big everywhere tour"

"Alright" Paul agrees. "When's my birthday?" is the next question.

"February" all of you say.

Joseph struggles with the date first, saying seventh, then fourth. Fred tries with ninth, Pedro with eight, and then Joseph starts counting from one to two. Fred counts from eleven to twelve.

"Second" Mescal reveals. "Point to Joseph"

"Oh my God, you guys are good" Connie mentions.

"That's all my questions" and it's time to move on the next one: which happens to be your dear husband, Pedro.

"Paul is like" he brings up while the toothpick dances on his teeth, "Paul is motivated to catch up on points. He's coming for you" to pick on his competitive side as Mescal looks deep in thought.

"He's coming. He's coming" Joseph repeats as Fred laughs.

"What is my full name?"

"Oh! Pedro-" Paul tries in a blink. "Something, J? Jose? Juan?"

"Pedro Pascal, something, something" says Joseph.

"Nope"

"No?"

"Pedro Maria, Jose Maria Pascal" Paul struggles.

Pedro is about to answer when your voice cuts through the air.

"It's José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you recite.

"It indeed is!" he says, smiling a bit too much. "She gets a point"

"Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" your husband repeats in a more english-friendly pronunciation, looking at the camera while toying with his toothpick.

"I said Jose, I said Jose" Paul protests.

Pedro shakes his head. "You said Jose, but then you put it-"

Connie takes Paul's side. "You did say Jose"

"But then you put it behind Pedro which eliminate- which disqualified you" he replies.

Paul gets angry. That sore looser.

"That's absolute bullshit"

"Don't worry mate, the game has just begun" you joke, making the man more irritated. "Think you can get ahead of me?"

"Joseph is still ahead, y/n" Paul counters, still irritated. "Besides, wouldn't it be cheating? You can speak Spanish!"

"So? Not like speaking a language allows you to know every person's name Paul" you mock. He just snorts, despite still being half angry. Pedro is allowed to continue, trying not to make a face at yours and Paul's banter.

"The question is, who is my favorite actor?" he reads. As the cast members laugh, he uncaps the marker with his mouth, and now you have to try not to make a face, thinking about those teeth sinking into your flesh.

Quinn raises his hand. "It's me"

"That you're my favorite actor?"

"Yeah. You said that to me once" the bald man sounds sure of it.

Paul tries to think in the background. So do you. How can you not know this? he must've brought it up at least once.

"Do you remember?" Joseph insists.

Pedro finally remembers. "I said you were- I said I thought you were special"

"Oh" he sounds rather dissapointed.

"And special can mean a lot of things" he jokes, laughing by himself. Fred laughs with you as Joseph makes a face, your laughter turning even louder when you notice Paul all moody, trying to get this point.

"Who's your favorite actor?" Paul asks, "I think we just have to shoot from the hip here guys"

"Marlon Brando?" Connie guesses.

"Is it Harrison Ford?" Fred guesses.

"Let's go with Harrison Ford just because he's my favorite actor..."

You can't believe you didn't know this. You've re-watched and watched so many Star Wars content together. He gives you a brief look, knowing you're embarrased at your lack of answer.

"As a kid?"

"He's most influent, yeah" Pedro agrees.

"What job did I have before I became a full-time actor?" is next.

"Dancer. You were a great dancer" Paul aswers. Both Fred and Joseph repeat it, adding he was specifically a go-go dancer.

"Oh, he is" you add. "Videos of you dancing are lovely. Ever thought of getting back in the bussiness?"

He laughs, what appears to be a light blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Sure, darling. When you ask me to dance, I'll be there"

Nobody comments on this, too busy waiting for Pedro to say yes or no to the answer they believe to be right. But he isn't saying it is. Now you remember why.

"Come on, come on, come on" Paul begs.

"Can any of you guys remember?" Pedro pleads.

They insist that he danced in Spain, then New York, then settle with Spain again, even Pedro confirming so. But it still isn't the answer written on the card, no matter how much the boys insist.

"Connie?" he tries. She just looks confused.

"The answer in the card is-"

"Waiter" you answer. "You were a waiter"

Now you have three points under your belt.

"Why do you always say the answer at last?!" Paul grumbles. "You are cheating!"

"I'm not" you laugh the accusation off. "You just can't accept I'm better"

"Si que lo eres" Pedro agrees. "Es divertido hacer que se enoje Paul"

"What did you say about me? It's not fair, you're probably sharing the answers!" he's still adamant on insisting with the supposed cheating issue, making you laugh.

Now it's Connie's turn, who starts with: "How many languages do I speak?"

You put a puzzled look.

"You speak seven, eight maybe" Joseph guesses. Pauls says she speaks french, "but most likely seven"

Pedro points his finger at him. "Once he gets going, he's on a roll"

"Joe's got it" Connie agrees.

"Paul, end this reign" Pedro jokes. He looks rather frustrated.

"And the bonus points" Connie offers. "Okay, bonus, what are they?"

"This is an emperor's reign" your husband adds.

Joseph answers: Italian. Danish. English. Swedish. French. Spanish. Norwegian.

Connie agrees she speaks Spanish, making you jump in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't know that!" you beam. "Wait, does that mean you did get what Pedro and I gossiped about you?"

"What?" Joseph asks.

"Nada" you quickly correct yourself. "Yo no dije nada"

"Not that much. I just speak a bit of Spanish. I mostly dominate my own language, German and English"

"You blew our cover!" Pedro nags, hitting your bare leg, yet its devoid of anger.

"He needs a bonus" comments Connie, surprised at Joseph.

"This is horrifying" Pedro says when Joseph gets another point and a fricking bonus on top of that. "This is a slaughter"

"Oh, for which film did I have a gym built in my garage?"

Both Joseph and Paul answer the question correctly, saying Wonder Woman. The latter is quick to state they both get that point.

"That's one for me" Paul says, then looks at you. "And none for you"

You stick out your tongue at him as Connie reads the next card.

"If I were to take this cast on a vacation where would I take you?"

"Ibiza" answers Joseph. Connie agrees in Spanish, with a cute and excited correcto.

Your husband feels the need to crack a joke at Quinn's expense.

"Somebody was paying attention to Connie Nielsen very closely during the shooting of this movie"

"Okay. What is my favorite curse word in Danish?"

"Fuck" Pedro tries.

"No"

"Nobody is going to get that, Connie" Paul bickers.

"Oh, I don't know any Danish" you lament.

"At least now you know how it feels" Mescal drops, making you snort. You playfully kick him on the ribs with your shoe.

"It's very simple" Connie gives as a clue. "It's the same word in every language"

"Shit" Paul tries.

"Satan" she reveals.

Everybody is laughing in confusion at that, saying there's no way you could use that.

"Vos Satan!" Connie curses.

Now it's Fred's turn.

"What is my weirdest on-set habit?"

"I haven't noticed you do anything weird on set" Paul tells.

"I have" Pedro interrupts.

They all get on a small briefing about what could it possibly be, that it was weird, and wasn't part of his character, as you ponder. It was funny before, but now Paul is behind you by a point. So think fast.

"Yeah. I would say being yourself" Pedro jokes, but surprisingly, it works.

"Me! Five points for Pedro" he celebrates as you all laugh. "Love Fred. Oh, Fred"

"Oh, oh, okay" he moves to the next question. "What is my favorite reality TV show?"

Joseph tries with Survivor and Paul with Alone. Truth is, you don't watch any show of said kind, only vagely hearing about Love Island.

"You and I have talked about reality TV" Pedro reveals, "It's just that we never identified one"

They keep guessing shows that sound like a foreign language to you.

"You know what's offensive? That I'm the second youngest of this cast and I have no idea what are you all talking about"

"She's not to be trusted" Pascal quips, "can't trust someone who doesn't appreciate the art of reality TV"

You huff, annoyed.

"Is it A&E stuff?" Pedro asks.

"Yeah, it's the competitive cheapskates" Fred answers. "It's people that really save money on everything"

Pedro gets the point because he mentioned the A&E bit.

"There's like this amazing guy that made a stew out of fish bones, and I just thought it was incredible" he shares. Then, moves to the next question. "What is my go-to crafty snack?"

Nobody remembers eating snacks on set, and Fred gives the clue that it's a drink. Joseph says it's a smoothie, and he does remember it but it isn't the answser.

"I'm thinking of something specific. That Emerge-C that you put in the water"

"Oh, that's very good" you agree, so does the rest, even discussing the best colors

"Who in the cast would I ask to bail me out of jail?"

Everyone even Pedro agree its him. Everyone gets a point, yet Joseph remains ahead.

It's Joseph's turn. "What is my favorite sport?"

"Skateboarding" Paul is so quick to answer, earning him two points for both being correct and time.

"What celebrity do I get mistaken for?"

"Daisy Edgar-Jones sometimes" says Mescal. Of course he had to bring her up.

"No, she gets mistaken for me" Joseph jokes. "Yeah, poor Daisy. But I'm writing it down"

"That was the two letters?" Pedro notices. Still, no one gets it.

It's fucking Justin Timberlake. You'd never guess that.

"What is my favorite film franchise?"

You've probaly named all the existing franchises to no avail. You think fo your dad, a huge geek, trying to remember if there is one missing.

"Oh- Lord of the Rings!" you both answer with Paul at the same time.

"C'mon!" his celebration is short lived when he realizes you tied to him.

"What is my favorite British slang word?"

Pedro says it can't be said, but Quinn insists they can, even adding it's his favorite one too.

"We can say bad words? We can say-?" but the camera beeps over it.

The answer is Bellend. What even is that? Joseph feigns sadness and Pedro keeps apologizing, even as you sit on the chair.

"Okay. I'm last"you wiggle your eyebrows with interest. "Let's see. Okay, first question: what did I take from the Gladiator II set?"

"You took something?" Joseph asks on disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I take something?"

"Is it like an item or memorabilia?" asks Connie.

"It's an item" you uncap the marker, scribbling down the answer.

"It's a short word" Fred points out, but still can't provide a guess.

"You took the rings home" Pedro answers. You snap your had on his way, probably obvious. "What? You told me" he says.

Of course Paul complains. "Hey, that isn't fair! He knew the answer before!"

"Well, if you payed more attention to me, you'd know it"

Lies. Pedro knows because it's sitting in the jewelry box inside your house.

"See? I do pay attention" Pedro playfully hits Mescal.

"I could pay you more attention" he looks at you.

"Alright, then do. Ready? Next question: what is my go-to movie? Oh, this is a good one. I'm always changing it, but most of the time I end up choosing the same one"

They all give you a puzzled look as you scribble.

"C'mon, guys! I've said it on interviews before too. Paul?" the man shrugs. "Thought you said you'd pay me more attention. Heads up, you're doing a terrible job so far!"

"Hey!" he protests. "It's not fair if the answer's changing. Give us a clue"

"You didn't give any clues to yours!" you giggle. "Besides, I don't want you to win"

"Hey, that's against the rules!"

"I'd say it depends on the season" Pedro speaks up. You quirk an eyebrow. "Like, if it's changing, I don't think your Christmas go-to movie is the same as your summer one"

"Actually" you smile fondly, "that is true. On summer, it's Mamma Mia. So I suppose, if you can't guess the one, that'll do"

"No" he smiles, cheeky. "I know it too"

"Yeah?" you challenge, "what is it, then?"

"It's Thelma and Louise" he answers, and your heart beats fast.

"How do you know?" Paul inquires. "Somebody was paying attention to Y/n L/n very closely during the shooting of this movie"

Ah, his joke from earlier. Joseph giggles behind him. Karma, he supposes.

"She said it on an interview, guys. C'mon, learn your sources!"

"Okay" you clear your throat. "What movie got me into acting?"

"Thelma and Louise" Joseph tries.

"No" you laugh, "you're just recycling the answer"

"Is it an old or modern movie?" Connie asks.

"Hmh, old" you pause, "just not... I don't know if you'll ever guess it"

"Is it a Pedro Almodóvar film?" you shake your head. "What? You're always mentioning him!"

Pedro looks into your eyes amid the others' discussion, and you can tell he remembers the conversation.

"There isn't one"

You smile, chest pounding at his soft tone.

"That's correct"

"A trick question?!" Paul yells. "I quit"

"When there's just one left?" you tease.

"Yes, because you've been hiding it all the time but no more" he counters, pointing both you and Pedro. You feel the space getting smaller, breaths going from even to noticeable. "You are sharing answers"

You try to make your breath of relief pass as a chuckle.

"I'm not even gonna win, relax. And drop the charges, please. Loose like a man"

"You didn't explain it though" Connie speaks. "What did Pedro mean?"

"While I have many movies that are inspiration to me, they aren't the reason I chose this path. I did it because I saw an Oscar's ceremony when I was 11" you explain fondly, feeling warm at the memories. "I still remember when they handed the award to Diablo Cody for best original screenplay. I don't know, man, it moved me. What it meant for young artists who came from nothing. I guess I wanted, one day, to be the one standing there, for other dreamers to see it's possible"

"Wow, that's beautiful" Connie says.

"Thank you" you get flustered. "Suppose it was worth it, you know, to do interviews about not really knowing my cast mates" and laugh.

"How does Pedro know, though?" Joseph asks.

"We talk a lot" you clear your throat. "Last one: what indie horror movie did I make a small appearence in? I'm feeling generous because it's the last so I'll give you a clue. It's a Stephen King adaptation"

Paul is the first to speak. "You where in a-"

"Yeah but it wasn't such a huge role. Don't make yourself any ideas"

"I have no idea" Connie surrenders. "Other clue, as in how many words?"

"It doesn't even have any words" you laugh. "You give up? It's 1922. Was an extra as well. Made me think Netflix had my name highlighted in the extra call sheet, because I did so many minor and background roles during that year. Grateful, though, because now I get to be Rome's empress and not fortune teller or highschool #6"

The interview ends, and the camera may or may have not captured the last seconds, Pedro's gaze fixated with you the entire time.

elysyannemimi: we all saw that right? GET PEDRO AND Y/N IN A ROMCOM ❗THEIR CHEMISTRY IS INSANE❗ at0michips: love paul and y/n so much 😭😭 gimme enemies to lovers RN ㅤㅤbobgirllll: at0michips wait what if paul and y/n are secretly dating 😳 ㅤㅤann-gell: bobgirllll quick question are u dumb unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they're married. it has to be. trust me ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess BESTIE U ARE BACK

You arrived in London today. The premiere will be in a few days, and things have been, well, hectic.

Lux couldn't stop talking all the plane ride, but your mind kept going back at the email your manager had sent you before you had boarded the plane.

It's catching upon you, read the haunting message. Attached below, a TMZ article that claimed a regular church attendee had seen you both getting married. It also used a lot of the noise fans had been making on social media, connecting dots or just hyping up the undeniable chemistry. It ended with a little paragraph saying it was obvios, and they're just hoping you'd confirmed it.

You came to realize you didn't care about it anymore. Sure, the pushing around annoyed you, but the thought of still keeping your marriage under wraps feels pointless now. Why wouldn't you shout to the world how in love with your husband you are?

Yet, when you arrive at the hotel, you keep the same protocol of arriving after Pedro, who has already checked in with two keys, claiming its for him and his sister, while you ask for the key to Lux's actual room. After you swipe cards with her, you head over the room you'd be sharing with your husband.

His face appears in your frame, everything happening quickly.

"Get inside. Now"

Your body is dragged inside the hotel room, not even giving you time to swipe the key for yourself.

"Pedro!" you exclaim, between surprised and confused. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Did you read it?"

"What? The article?" your tone is filled with annoyance. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he snaps, voice raising higher. "Don't play dumb with me. You know fans have fuelled the rumors, and tabloids have started digging every corner in fucking California"

"So, what? You're acting as if people finding out is the worst thing in the world" you roll your eyes.

"It is, yes!" Pedro bursts out, caving in to the stress.

It feels like you've been hit across your face.

"Excuse me?" you seethe, hurt etched all across your features. "Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit you're married to the person you supposedly love the most?"

"I love you, y/n. It's just-"

His voice softens, trying to reach for you, yet you pull back, his hand falling to his side in an akward manner. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" he repeats, sounding much more sure this time.

Your frame seems smaller as your voice comes out hoarse, filled with emotion, appearing to be in the brink of tears:

"Then why do you act like you're embarrassed of me?"

He hates himself for making you feel this way, making you think things that aren't true.

"I don't. Never" he emphasizes. Then, tries to reach once again when you move a little bit closer to him, recognizing that's your way of letting him know you're ready. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, don't ever think the opposite" then he sighs, heavy. "I'm just scared"

You silently ask him to explain, rubbing his thumb soothingly across his tattoo.

"You're so young, and I'm, well- I know we're aware of it, but people are cruel and the press is ruthless. I don't want to see your name dragged across the mud because you decided to marry me. Your career is starting, and I'd never forgive myself is something happened to you because of me. Not trying to make this about me, yeah? But this industry is fucked up. You've work hard to get to where you are, and it'll be unfair if you'd loose it. I'm scared because us..." he wavers, words trailing off. "I want us to be. I wouldn't want to live in a world without you, i-it would kill me not to have you be my wife"

You desperately want to kiss off the worry on his face, but let him finish.

"N-not saying our love is weak, or anything! That a couple of opinions or tabloids will- you know? Just, I-I don't want them to break us apart. Mi vida, you're the light of my life. Please, forgive me, I-"

He feels his throat closing up, words failing to come out. You sense the grip on your hand to be stronger, immediately letting loose of it.

"Hey. C'mere" your voice is tender, allowing him to bury his face in your stomach as you comb his messy curls with your fingers. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere"

He lets himself melt under your touch, his mind loosing itself in the soft of your digits and your perfume up his nostrils. He's again breathing normaly, hands now hugging your waist.

"There you go. Better?" Pedro nods, still not being able to talk. "That's okay, take all the time you need. We have all day"

"Do we?" he raises his view, his eyes soft yet there is something else to the brown shade.

You hum as to nod. "We agreed to join Lux for dinner. It's barely 1pm"

"Tell me you're thinking it too" his voice cuts throughout the air, boucing off the tapestry on the walls.

You laugh, nervously. "I don't think I do"

"Hmmh, I see" he stands up, towering over you. "You sure you don't?"

"You sure you want this?"

Before you know it, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, cutting off all words to be said. What a waste of air, anyway. You are quick to reciprocate, whimpering against his lips.

Pedro picks you up like you're as light as a feather, his arms flexing as he carries you and places you on the bed, frame hovering over yours. He breaks the kiss to breath, but you're pulling him back in, his hold on your hips tighter and the wet spot in your panties wetter.

"Look at you, pretty baby. So needy" he whispers against your face, hot breath lingering above your lips. "And mine. Mía. Only mine"

"I am, yes. Yours only. Need you so bad right now, papi" you answer in a rush. "Now shut up and fuck me"

"Con gusto" he chuckles darkly, "gotta keep the wife happy"

"Happy wife, happy life" you recite, stripping him off of his plain shirt, revealing his toned torso, bulging biceps defined by the movements. You gulp. "Fuck, papi. Gotta thank Marvel for this. I love all of your versions, but I can work with this too" you dreamily stare at him, your hands cupping his face.

He strips the rest of his clothing, but a cute blush adorns his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's Scott's fault too"

Your impatient fingers reach the middle of your panties to rub your clothed pussy, letting out a sound that darkens his hazel orbs.

"Fuck that guy" you mutter. Pedro laughs.

"Thought you said you loved the guy"

"Until I learned what he said about your body" you groan, still rubbing. "Connie told me"

His hands now travel to remove your clothes, almost ripping them off.

"Who cares? I just want to fuck you now" he breathes out, practically drooling at the sight of your damp panties. "Lemme take this off too"

He unhooks your bra, seeing the hard nipples. The urge to lick them is so bad, but his desire to fill you silly to the brim is stronger.

You see his hesitation, which is why you grab him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses back fiercely, labored breaths as he struggles to focus on your lips, his wet mouth darting to your jaw, neck and collarbones. His hands roam all over your body, needy.

"Gotta be inside of you, mami. Can't wait any longer"

"Then stop waiting" you plead, tugging at his boxers with urgency.

Seeing you so cockhungry, lips parted and pupils blown wide makes his hard dick twitch with anticipation.

He mutters a labored fuck, aligning himself to enter your sticky folds. Pedro enters your tight pussy with a low groan, burying himself deep inside of you, used to his length by now. You're basically begging for it, nails digging and eyes supplicating.

He can't deny you anything, can he?

A messy whine leaves your widened mouth as you adjust, pleasure mixed with pain.

"Mhmm" you moan.

"Mhmm what?" he mocks. "You asked for it. Now take it, cariño"

He thrusts deeper into you, watching in awe how his dick enters your pussy; it was always perfectly, your pussy made for him.

"You're drippin' baby" his rough voice caresses your cheek. He kisses the are, giving a lick to the sweat starting to form. "S'fucking tight too"

You move your hips towards him, trying to augment the friction. The overstimulation starts to cloud your sense, reducing you to a whiny mess as you grip his steady arms.

"I can't think of anything but you, baby" he confesses between grunts, "filling up your pussy to the brim, you dripping with my seed for days"

You moan at the filthy words.

"Love how you take my dick, amor" stretching you as Pedro moves in and out. "S'made for me"

"Yes" you moan, skin slapping sounds bouncing off the walls. "Fuck, I love your dick..."

His pace picks up, and it comes to a point where he's just fucking you silly, his grip on your hips surely to leave a bruise as you keep spilling obscene sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Your pussy's mine, yeah? No one else gets to have you like this"

"N-no, just you, Pedro. My h-husband" you manage to squeeze, more moans vocalizing the pleasure you felt with each thrust, his big dick inside of you moving in a a steady rhythm, making your eyes roll back further and orgasm closer.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he finds impossible to resist the urge anymore, licking the sensible skin and hard nipples, your hands moving to his back, scratching him harshly, both chasing your release.

"Please!" you whine out loud, not caring how desperate you sound.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

But your husband knows you, so he indeed starts to fuck you harder, heavy breaths and slippy kiss noises hanging in the spaces between each thrusts. He pants with every motion of his dick, a knot forming on his belly.

"Shit, baby. I think I'm gonna cum. Gonna come so hard"

"Do it. I'm on birth control, remember?" you groan, feeling your high approach as well. "Fill me up, please. Give me all your cum"

Your bodies move as one, precise thrusts hitting exactly that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, chasing your orgasm. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with his and then he's saying:

"I love you, y/n. So much"

Your heart skips a bit, his dick twitching inside as his gaze glimmers with adoration and possesiveness, teeth grazing your skin with marks for him to call you his.

"I love you too, Pedro. More than you know"

A final thrust is delivered. Fuck, feels so good you think you hear him say. Just like promised, he fills you with his release, shots of his thick, warm cum inside your sticky walls. You follow soon, back arching, toes curling, and both head and eyes rolling back. Pedro falls on top of you, his broad body collapsing over yours, as you both pant hard, trying to steady your pulse and breath. He then removes himself and positions you to be the one on top now, lazily throwing the covers over your bare bodies. We need to shower, you said, but he argued you'd do it later before going out.

"I needed that" and you happily hum in agreement at your husband's dragged out words.

Your head falls and rises, with the movement of his chest, silence settling on the previously filled with sex noises room. That until he speaks up:

"One day, I'm gonna fill you up so good until you have my babies, mami" he murmurs, just then realizing what he said. But you snuggle closer, hand and legs drapped over his bare body. You look at him closely, seeing nothing but certainty on his eyes.

I choose you. I'll always choose you.

"Whatever it is with you" your nose brushes his, a small sweet kiss on his lips, "I want"

His eyes shine, probably with tears or the glow of affection.

"Let's do it"

"What?" you look into his eyes for any sign of doubt, bull all you see is love. "Pedro, are you serious?"

He nods. "Wouldn't you want that?"

You feel the corner of your lips pull up.

"Never have I wanted anything more"

poppysplayground: Y/N AND PEDRO RED CARPET DEBUT AT THE LONDON PREMIER OF GLADIATOR II WTF I JUST WOKE UP ptwt is in SHAMBLES mostannoyingbillioner: UM HELLO pedro showing up with two hot women on his arms LUX GIMME A CHANCE pompeiianbollockr: WAIT WDYM THEY ARE MARRIED?!??! ALL THIS TIME?@?#? HOW???! NEED BIGGER CAPS TO SCREAM I'M GOING INSANE at0michips: that article better come out now or i'll burn the TMZ building ann-gell: not me thirsting for a married man 😭😭😭 how they kept this a secret for so long?? we should've noticed ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: ann-gell i did. knew betting my grandma was the way all along ㅤㅤpyramiidsf: i'm gonna start betting my grandma too

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

#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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