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notthatcooldude · 4 days ago

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Lay me in the palm of your hand

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader, dom!natasha x sub!reader

words: 3.8K

summary: It was supposed to be a simple bar gig, but the night turned out to be a lot longer than you had anticipated.

warnings: swearing, suggestive language, (legal) age gap (Nat is 38, reader is 22), dom/sub undertones, dirty talk but no actions (yet), slightly possessive Nat…? mommy kink…?

men & minors DNI

notes: please correct any spelling mistakes! English is not my first language.

____

You were a young, upcoming musician, and you had just finished a gig at a small local bar. You were honestly surprised to see a plethora of people watching your gig, as you weren’t that famous after all. Despite the crowd being extensive, there was one face you couldn’t get out of your head. Those sharp, green eyes, red hair cascading down over her shoulders, a hand on her chin, her elbow resting against the table. Her gaze had been analyzing, almost calculating, but you could see through that. The way she had been staring at you, the way she couldn’t take her eyes off of you even for a second. You knew what it meant, or at least you truly hoped you were right. Cause god, she was too gorgeous for her own good. Or for your sanity…

To be fair, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of her either. She was absolutely stunning, definitely older than you, and she had such confident aura surrounding her. You knew you wanted her, so bad. Hell, you needed her.

After your gig, you had packed up your acoustic guitar, and sat down in a booth in the corner of the bar. You didn’t want to leave yet, when that gorgeous woman was still out there. You knew you wanted to talk to her, but you couldn’t gather up enough confidence to be bold and go up to her. Thus, you just sat there in your booth, a juicy cocktail in your hand, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

You ran your fingers through your hair, and tugged down your short black top a bit. You were wearing a quite bold outfit; a pair of grey, baggy, low waisted jeans, and those combined with the top left a few inches of your waist and stomach showing. You weren’t necessarily regretting that outfit, but it wasn’t one you felt the most confident in. You twirled locks of your hair between your fingers - a habit you found yourself doing often - and occasionally glanced towards the direction of where the woman was sitting. But as you directed your gaze to her, you found out that she wasn’t sitting there anymore. No, she was walking straight towards you.

“I really enjoyed your gig there,” she spoke with a voice slightly lower than you would have guessed. “You’re really talented, you know.”

You had to swallow once, as you tried to gather yourself. This wasn’t the right time for panicking, you couldn’t afford to mess this up. Not today, not with her.

“Oh, thank you so much.. I’m glad you liked it,” you said, managing to sound somewhat normal. You took a sip of your cocktail, almost forgetting its existence. She looked at you with those green eyes, with a small, subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s your name?” she asked, that smile never leaving her face.

“Y/n,” you answered simply, setting your drink back down. “And what is yours?”

Her smile got slightly wider. “That’s a pretty name… Suits you well. I’m Natasha,” she answered back to you. You could see her eyes subtly trailing all over you, but you still weren’t convinced if it was real, or just your imagination. She sat down in the booth next to you, keeping a respectful distance. Her eyes searched yours for signs of discomfort, but found none.

“Can I ask how old you are?” she questioned, and you could almost see her smile turning into a subtle smirk. Now this could be the moment that ruins everything…

“I’m twenty two,” you answered, scratching the back of your neck almost awkwardly. However, her tiny smirk didn’t seem to fade one bit.

“Twenty two, huh?” Natasha stated. She moved an inch closer to you, still keeping a respectful distance, but making her attraction clearer. “That makes you younger than me by quite a bit then…”

You resisted the urge to swallow again. She didn’t seem to mind your age too much… But you still didn’t know just how much older she was than you. Not that you wouldn’t mind her being older, you had always had a thing for older women after all.

“How old are you then?” you asked, wrapping your fingers around your cocktail glass again, but never bringing it up to your lips, as you were too focused on her.

“I’m thirty eight honey,” she answered with that small smirk still on her lips. Your heart almost skipped a beat at the nickname, and you didn’t know if it was an accident, or a totally purposeful move.

“So um… You were what, sixteen when I was born?” you blurted out before you could think of something better to say. Natasha let out a small laugh before nodding. She turned her gaze back to you.

“Yes, yes I was. I was near graduating high school as you were born,” she responded. That smirk on her pretty lips never faded.

You turned your gaze down, a small blush creeping up on your cheeks. “Oh my god, now that you say it like that it sounds…”

“A little weird? A bit inappropriate?” she finished your sentence with a small chuckle. You could notice her setting her hand down on the bench you were both sitting on, right beside your thigh, but not close enough to touch.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, and managed to gather yourself enough to turn your eyes back up to meet hers.

Natasha’s smile turned somewhat softer as her green eyes met yours. She leaned slightly closer. “Maybe, but you don’t seem to mind all that much.”

Finally growing bold enough, your lips turned into a small smirk. “Should I mind?”

Natasha leaned even closer, and you could almost feel her breath on your face. “Of course you shouldn’t…” she brought her hand up, placing her fingers under your chin and turning your head to the side. Her movements were sensual, but still mindful, and you could see that she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Her lips touched your ear briefly, and you almost jolted, moving your hand to rest on the seat, but accidentally laying it right on top of her hand that was still placed there. You decided to be bold and disguise your awkward unintentional move into something planned, and didn’t pull your hand away.

“You know, you were staring at me the whole time I was watching you perform..,” she whispered into your ear. You turned your head to meet her gaze, suddenly aware of how close your face was to hers.

“I could say the same thing about you too… I saw how you couldn’t take your eyes off of me,” you stated. She moved her hand from under yours, and for a moment you thought she was going to pull away, until she placed her hand back, but this time it landed right on your thigh. You swallowed once, and resisted the urge to bite your lip.

“Couldn’t resist it. You looked so damn good up there,” she spoke. You refused to seem too flustered even though you could feel the famous butterflies in your stomach. You had managed to achieve boldness for once, so you were not going to let it go so fast.

“That good huh?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side just a little. You kept your eyes glued to hers.

Natasha nodded slowly. “Mhm, really good, actually…” her hand moved up and down on your thigh, just an inch, but enough for you to end up biting your lip. “And you look even better now, up close,” she continued.

“Do I now? What do you like about me the most?” you asked boldly. Your eyes held almost a mischievous glint to them, and you could feel yourself growing more confident as the conversation went on.

“Hmm, that’s a tough question, love…” Natasha answered, the nickname slipping past her lips easily. She seemed to think for a moment, before she continued. “I think I’m going with your eyes.”

“My eyes? Really?” you questioned, even though you weren’t really that surprised she had said that.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to get tired of staring into them for a while…” Natasha said with a not-so-subtle smirk. “In fact, I think I want to see them a bit better, up close.”

Before you could say anything, her hand moved to the back of your neck, gathering up some of your hair into her hand. Her other hand remained on your thigh, her fingers stroking your thigh in a slow motion. She gave your hair a small tug, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to make you part your lips and let out a little sigh as she tilted your head up. Her smirk widened as she heard the tiny sound you had let out. She gave your hair another small tug, making you bite your lip in order to prevent another sigh from escaping.

“That got you nice and worked up, didn’t it?” Natasha asked smugly, and you couldn’t stop the heat from creeping up on your cheeks.

“I don’t think I’m gonna admit that,” you answered, still feeling the slight tingling on your scalp, as her hand was still clutching the strands of your hair.

“Oh come on, you can tell me… I can see how responsive you are. I want to hear how bad you want me,” she purred, tugging your hair again.

“Fuck, you’re too good at this,” you let out a small breath, trying to gather yourself, trying to remind yourself of the boldness you had managed to achieve before.

“What can I say, I’ve had a lot of experience honey,” Natasha stated with a smug smirk. You moved your hands up to her shoulders, extending them out a little and wrapping them around the back of her neck. Her hands moved to your sides, her fingers caressing the bare skin on your waist. “You know, I really like this top of yours. Makes me want to see more of you.”

You were not going to submit too easily, and with your newfound courage, you opened your mouth again to respond to her with a surprising boldness. “Guess you’d love it even more if you saw what I was wearing under it…” you smirked, and leaned closer to her, bringing your lips very close to her ear. “Nothing…”

You could see Natasha’s breath hitching just slightly, as she probably wasn’t expecting such boldness from you. She turned to look at you, clearly trying to hide the surprised look on her face. “Fuck,” she breathed out, before continuing very straightforwardly. “I want you so badly.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, feeling extremely accomplished with your actions. “I know you do, I can see it pretty clearly. I can play this game too, you know,” you spoke with a hushed tone, as you didn’t want the whole bar to hear.

Natasha smirked too, clearly not wanting to give you the satisfaction of making her too flustered. You knew she wasn’t that type of a person who would give up control, but that made you only want to try even more. Her fingers caressed your bare waist again, almost slipping under the hem of your shirt, as she spoke again. “Oh really now? I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I have to. I think you’re already quite addicted,” you responded with a small chuckle. Natasha looked straight into your eyes, her face still very close to yours. You could see it in her eyes, how she knew you were right. You could read her reactions like an open book, and you were going to use that.

“And what might give you that idea?” she challenged, but you had already planned a perfect response to that. Your smirk only widened, powered by your boldness that had reached its peak, and you leaned closer to her.

“I don’t think you could leave here without me… Or if you did, you’d probably end up touching yourself in your bed, only hoping it was my lips that were down on you… You know, my face, right there between your pretty thighs,” you whispered into her ear, knowing damn well how those words were going to affect her. You also knew just how bold you were being, and if this went further, you knew your ass would pay for those words.

You could almost feel Natasha shivering a little, as you whispered that little fantasy to her. You could see how she was trying to get a grip of herself.

“I told you I could play this game too,” you whispered, purposefully brushing her ear with your lips.

“Yeah… You definitely can,” she let out a small breath. “Wanna get out of here?”

You knew you wanted to, but you also wanted to make it more fun. “Why don’t you beg me a bit?” you asked, knowing that those words might have been a little too bold. You knew she wasn’t going to beg, and that she’d definitely put you into your place because of that comment, but you just couldn’t help it.

Her gaze hardened, and you could see the dominance growing in her eyes. “You want me to beg? I think you know damn well I’m not the one to beg, sweetheart. I could go and find someone else if you want to play this game.”

You probably would have felt a little offended by that, if you had thought she actually meant that. But you knew you were right, she was addicted to you, and she most definitely was not going to leave and find someone else.

“You could… But I know you’d only imagine my face instead of theirs,” you stated with a growing smirk.

“You’re really good at this, aren’t you? I wouldn't have expected that from you honey… You seemed more innocent at first… But I guess you just know what to say to rile me up,” Natasha chuckled. You knew it was only a matter of time when she’d take the dominant role back.

“Mhm, I do,” you responded with a nod and a smug smirk, enjoying yourself a bit too much.

“Well then… Why don’t you test it out a bit more? Why don’t you say something else? See if you can rile me up even more?” she asked, moving her hand to your chin again. “But I’m warning you about the consequences baby…”

“Should I tell you how good I could make you feel? How good I could be?” you asked, tilting your head to the side again, never breaking eye contact.

“Go ahead, love, tell me. Tell me how good you think you can make me feel,” she urged, with her thumb stroking your cheek slowly. Your smirk only widened, as you knew this was your time to shine.

“Oh I think I could make you feel so damn good,” you started, and tilted your head more, getting free from her grasp. You leaned closer, with your lips hovering close to her ear, before you continued. “You’d take me home, maybe slam me right against the door of your apartment once we’re inside. You know I’d like that, especially if you combined that with a small tug on my hair and your knee between my legs… Imagine how good you’d feel with all that power you’d have over me. Hearing the small gasps I’d let out… You know you could just pick me up and throw me over your shoulder, right? You could do that, you could make me feel vulnerable… And I know you would enjoy having that power…”

Natasha let out a slightly shaky breath. “Damn, you really know how to play this game honey… You like being dominated, don’t you? You love feeling vulnerable… And you know I find that really fucking hot.”

You chuckled, letting your breath fan against her ear. “Don’t think I’m done yet,” you whispered, taking a small pause before continuing. “You could throw me on the bed, I bet you know I like it rough. And at that point, I’d probably be as wet as you are right now,” you teased her. The last part was just a guess, but from the way her breath hitched slightly, you could tell that you were correct.

Natasha let out a low moan, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Damn you’re really good,” she breathed out. “You better keep going.”

You smirked, and slid your hand on her inner thigh. Her hand was still on your waist, slowly inching further up under your shirt. You stroked her thigh in a slow motion, before continuing. “I know you’d want to strip me out of these clothes right away… You probably wouldn’t undress yourself yet, I bet you like having that power, with me naked below you while you’re still fully clothed, looking so damn good with that suit of yours…”

You could feel her squirming in her seat just a little. “Yeah I would.. I would love to see you naked below me, looking up at me with those pretty eyes… God you’d look so fucking good under me,” she breathed out.

“I know you crave that power… Just imagine how good it would feel. You know you could make me absolutely lose it, make me your little toy,” you purred against her ear. “I also bet you must have a pretty and large strap-on in your collection, am I right?”

Natasha let out a low sound, almost like a small growl. “You are indeed right… And you’d want me to fuck you with that? You’d let me be rough with you, just how you like it, just how you crave it? You’d let me use you, just because you need it?” she questioned. You could tell she was getting her grip back, but you weren’t ready to go down yet.

“Yes I would… And you know what happens after that?” you asked her, letting your lips brush against her ear again. You were glad that no one was near enough to hear, even though the thought of someone finding out what was happening excited you a little.

“What happens after that, sweetie? Tell me, what would happen after that?” she questioned again, urging you to continue.

“Then you’d have me right there, with a hazy look in my eyes… So submissive, just for you. You could have me right between your legs, eating you out so well…” you said, right to her ear.

Natasha’s eyes closed for a moment, and you just knew that little scenario was playing in her mind. “You think you could be better than anyone else, love?” she challenged.

You leaned even closer, so that there was no way anyone else could hear. “Mhm… I know you’re already wet from me just talking like this. Imagine how aroused you’d be with my mouth down there, right against you… And oh, imagine my pretty face after that… Covered in your slick… I could make you lose it too, you know. I could make your thighs tremble, make them press around my head when you’d feel so close…”

You knew she was only getting more aroused, the way her fingers stroked your side slightly rougher. “Fuck baby, you really know how to get me going… But can you live up to the expectations you’ve set for yourself now?” she questioned, clearly trying to get a grip of the situation.

“I know I can babe. And guess what? I could make you lose it with one single word right now…” you teased with a sly smirk.

“Oh yeah, you can? Why don’t you tell me then baby, go ahead…,” she urged. Your smirk grew even more, and you had to bite your lip to prevent you from grinning too much. This was perfect.

You moved closer, placing your lips right against her ear. You made sure that your breasts brushed against her bicep, as you leaned close to her. “Mommy..,” you purred softly right into her ear, causing her shiver visibly.

Natasha bit her lip, and slowly turned her gaze towards yours. “God damn baby… You’re way too naughty for your own good, and I’m guessing you know that. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love to call me mommy…” she spoke with a low voice. “Say it again.”

You smirked, moving closer again and wrapping your hands around the back of her neck. Her hand moved further up on your side under your shirt, almost brushing the side of your boob. God, the thought of her being able to grab you so easily as you weren’t wearing a bra, left you feeling incredibly hot. You forced yourself to focus on the mission, and as you leaned closer to her ear, you gave her ear a gentle lick. “Mommy,” you purred again, feeling her tense up.

Natasha’s hand moved from your side to your thigh, squeezing it firmly. “That’s it baby. We’re getting out of here, right fucking now,” she breathed out and squeezed your thigh again. “You’re coming home with me. And I’m gonna fuck you so good that ‘mommy’ is the only word leaving that pretty mouth of yours…”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from your seat. You barely had any time to grab your guitar case, before she was already pulling you out of the bar with her. She dragged you with her all the way to her car and opened the backdoor, letting you throw your guitar case back there. Before you could open the passenger’s door, Natasha spinned you around and pinned you against the side of the car, leaning her face down close to yours. She was slightly taller than you, so her presence felt even more dominating as she was towering over you..

“I’ve let you run that mouth long enough little girl… When we get to my place, I’m gonna make sure you strip out of those clothes and kneel in front of the bed. You’re gonna have to meet up those expectations you’ve been setting up for yourself now, and I’m not going to let you off the hook too easily,” she said with a harsh tone. “You’re mine for the night now, do you understand? You’re gonna obey me, and do as I say, or you won’t like the consequences. Isn’t that right, little one?”

You bit your lip and rubbed your thighs together slowly, trying to ease the growing neediness. “Yeah,” you breathed out, but that wasn’t enough for her. Natasha moved her hand down on your thigh, and gave it a harsh smack.

“Try that again baby, yes what?” she demanded you to correct yourself.

Before you could even acknowledge it, you found yourself submitting to her. “Yes mommy…”

Her lips curled into a smirk, and she raised her hand up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Good girl,” she purred into your ear. “Now get in the car and behave yourself.”

more notes... :

So yeah hi... Anyone want a part 2?

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neos127 · 8 months ago

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Could you please write a story about a foreign exchange student, featuring any member of ENHYPEN, who stays at your house and gradually falls in love with you? Personally, I can see this happening with Ni-ki, but feel free to choose whichever member you like! thank you! love <33

international love

nishimura riki x gn!reader; genre. fluff, strangers to lovers and slight slight angst wc. 1.6k cw. a lot of time skips! i didn’t want to make this too long

riki was sure this was the most awkward meal of his life. his host parents were sweet, trying to make conversation and make the boy feel comfortable. their daughter was nice as well, but riki wasn’t sure why you seemed so weird around him. he knew that his awkwardness when it came to you was because he thought you were pretty. riki had only met your parents online before he came to your country, simply knowing that they had a daughter but not knowing what she looked like. imagine riki’s surprise when he saw your face for the first time.

he had a few crushes back in japan, but he was positive that you were the most beautiful girl he has ever seen in his life.

later that night, riki was getting ready for bed in the guest bedroom. he felt a bit home sick and sighed as he looked out the window, taking a mental note of the differences in the view. riki sat down on his temporary bed with a slight pout, missing his room already.

“can i come in?” you asked, knocking on riki’s door. the boy jumped up from his bed, his heart racing at the sound of your soft voice. as soon as he opened the door, you stepped back in surprise, nearly forgetting how tall riki was.

“hi. i-i just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay. or if you needed something that my parents might’ve forgotten to give to you.” you spoke up, nervously playing with your hands. riki bit back a smile, finding you to be very adorable.

“no…don’t worry im okay.” riki replied, giving you the most awkward thumbs up. you let out a chuckle before nodding your head. the two of you mumble ‘goodnight’ and you race back to your room. you heart pounded against your chest as you closed your bedroom door, face heating up as you replayed the conversation.

when you had found out who was coming to stay with your family for your school’s exchange student program, you instantly tried to find the boy on social media. when you did you were stunned, noticing how cute he was but also how talented. he posted many dance videos with his friends and older sister and he was really good.

so meeting him in person completely caught you off guard. had he seemed as tall as he was in the pictures? why was he even more gorgeous in real life? you felt silly about your feelings, trying to bury them down and simply be friendly towards the exchange student. he was new to your country and you didn’t want to scare him.

little did you know, riki felt the same way you did.

. . .

halfway through the school year, you and riki became close friends. he had met many people during his stay, a lot of girls and boys desperately wanting to befriend the boy because of how cool and handsome he was. but riki only really cared about hanging around you. you became his best friend— and the girl he secretly had a crush on.

you learned a lot about him and his life in japan as he warmed up to you. he would spend many nights with you under the stars, telling you how much he loves being in japan and how the city life is really fun. he would teach you different words and phrases in japanese and even made you promise to come visit him when he inevitably goes back.

and unfortunately when that dreaded day came, no feelings had been shared. riki had cried all night, similar to the night he first came to your country when he thought that he had made a huge mistake.

his eyes were red as the two of you embraced at the airport and you simply cried against his chest. your parents had already said their goodbyes to the boy and went to find food to give you two privacy.

riki had been a better friend to you than anyone you had ever met in your city, he understood you and never took your friendship for granted. the boy was understanding about your feelings and kept your life filled with laughter and fun—but unfortunately he lived in a completely different country and he wouldn’t be by your side as you went off to college.

“i’ll come visit you…i swear.” you cried, squeezing the boy harder. riki nodded, his hand still on your held as he held the back of it.

“i lo-i’ll um, i’ll miss you. i’ll be waiting for you.” riki mumbled, his words having more meaning than you understood at the time.

“we’ll talk, okay?” you asked, trying to wipe all your tears away once you pulled back. riki smiled, gently wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks before softly poking your nose.

“of course. i’ll see you soon.” he replied, giving your hand one last squeeze before backing away. with a sigh he grabbed his suitcase and gave you one last look before turning around. you began to cry again, attempting to hide your sobs as much as possible. you watched him until he rounded a corner of the airport— and then he was completely out of your sight.

. . .

riki hadn’t left your mind. you stalked his socials at night before bed, updated him on your day and even looked through the many pictures you two took together. a part of you felt upset that you hadn’t made a move on him. there was definitely a spark between you two, you were just too scared.

but as a couple years passed and you finally saved up to take your big trip to japan, you realized that you were tired of being scared. if riki had waited for you like he said he would, you were positive that you weren’t going to let him go this time.

“what are you doing right now?” you asked on the phone once you arrived. you were sitting on your hotel bed and staring out at the tokyo skyline, your stomach knotting with nerves. riki simply thought that you were calling him before you went to class like always, not knowing that you were in japan. you wanted to surprise him, hoping that he’d be happy to see you after so long.

“sitting at my favorite park- the one i told you about a couple years ago. it’s such a pretty night, i wanted to appreciate it and take some pictures. i’ll send them to you.” riki explained and you could practically see the smile on his face.

“enjoy yourself, riki.” you smiled, already typing the address into your phone’s gps. you had remembered the name of the park, wanting to visit ever since riki told you how beautiful it was. finally getting to see it with the boy you were in love with definitely had to be some sort of dream.

you kept pinching yourself on the way there, wondering how you happened to get so lucky with riki. he was the best person to ever walk into you life and it was painful not being able to see him or touch him for so long— you were practically jogging to the park as your desire to see him grew.

once you walked past the entrance, you wandered the place, searching for a tall boy with dark brown hair— different from the blonde style he had when you first met him.

“y/n, what the hell?” a deep voice spoke, causing you to gasp and turn around in surprise. you were met with the boy you were looking for, who seemed to have grown even more since you two last saw each other.

“what are you doing here?” he chuckled when he saw your surprised expression, his wide smile hard to contain. he never expected you to visit him so soon, but when he saw you wandering around his favorite place to get away, his heart began to beat out of his chest and all the feelings he harbored for you came rushing back even stronger.

“i wanted to surprise you.” you whined, your next words getting caught in your throat when riki pulled you into a tight hug.

“i’m still very surprised. and so so happy. i missed you so much, my y/n.” riki mumbled, taking in your scent and realizing that you still used the same perfume. the smell was nostalgic and comforting, it made him feel complete again.

“please don’t ever leave me.” he begged, still hanging onto your body while the two of you rocked back and forth in each others arms.

“i’m going to have to go back to [your country] eventually.” you sighed, burying your head into his hoodie.

“no, please stay with me. i mean it. i love you too much to let you go again. you could move in with me, we could be roommates. we can figure out the details since i know you’re not in school right now.” riki rambled, causing you to abruptly pull away and look at his face. he didn’t want to meet you eyes until you forcibly grabbed his face.

“you’re in love with me?” you asked timidly, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears.

“definitely. i’m so in love with you that it hurts.” riki replied, dramatically clutching his chest and stumbling backwards. you giggled, feeling like the same lovesick eighteen year old that first met riki.

“i love you too, riki.” you spoke up, a big smile on your face. riki smiled as well before quickly scooping you up into his arms and kissing you. it didn’t last very long considering that the two of you were practically smiling into each others mouths.

“so you’ll consider staying?” riki asked, moving to place a few kisses along your neck and face. you giggled, running your hands through his fluffy hair.

“well when you ask like that…”

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drabblesandsnippets · 2 months ago

Text

Imagine... ('I didn't know this eggnog was spiked)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 16 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (470w) CEO Bucky. Drunk sex - questionable consent (reader is intoxicated, Bucky is sober).

Imagine working for CEO!Bucky. Despite the instant chemistry, he maintained a professional relationship, the power imbalance holding him back from pursuing anything with you, no matter how obvious your attraction to him was. He still found excuses to stop by your desk, or keep an eye on you during meetings, but he did his best to stick to strictly PG-13 thoughts. And then you decided to attend the unsanctioned employee holiday party. Bucky didn’t even know you changed your mind about going until an hour into the festivities when you drunkingly make the journey two floors up and saunter into his office, demanding attention. He hardly registers the hint of annoyance he feels at being interrupted when his gaze lands on you, wearing a dress he’s never seen you in before, the material accentuating your curves. Whatever instinct he has to take care of you, to find out why no one told you the eggnog was spiked, is quickly erased when you join him at his desk, your flushed cheeks begging for his touch. Everything moves at blurring pace after that. Bucky’s hand on the back of your head, pulling you into a desperate kiss, leaving you breathless and aching for more. Swift movements to clear his desk, setting you on top, your gorgeous dress bunched around your waist, your panties stuffed in his pocket. He demands more of you than you feel capable of, his rough voice encouraging you to keep looking at him every time he gets you close with his talented tongue. You’re too overwhelmed, your eyes fluttering closed, barely able to focus on anything except the way his fingers are spreading you so obscenely, giving him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. Bucky refuses to let you come until you finally give him what he wants, your gaze eventually remaining locked on his face nestled between your thighs, forcing you to acknowledge that this is really happening. You’re actually coming on your boss’s tongue. Then he’s kissing you again, his hands fumbling with his zipper, his only focus on being inside of you, ignoring the part of his brain that’s telling him this is wrong. You’re more than a willing participant though, your heels pressed against his ass, pulling him in, soon meeting his tentative thrusts, your breathy noises of pleasure spurring him on. Bucky keeps one hand on the back of your neck, reminding you to keep your eyes on him, mesmerized by the way you take his cock so well. It’s laughable that he thought he could fuck you once to get you out of his system, because as he watches you fall apart as soon as his palm presses against your clit, he knows he’s doomed. He’s destined to spend the rest of his life addicted to you, doing whatever’s necessary to keep you by his side and in his bed - and everywhere else you'll undoubtedly let him fuck you.

Day 15 | Imagine... Masterlist | Day 17

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

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chelseaknoo · 2 months ago

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Can you please write that the reader is a singer and has insane vocals and is drop dead gorgeous. So Eminem has a major crush on her (in the 2000's). In one of his interviews he openly talks about her and her music (can you take Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish for example. Like pretend she wrote and sung it the same way). He as usual makes suggestive jokes and stuff. But later finds out that the reader reacted to it and shows admiration in a polite but not rejecting way...... pleaseeeee pleaseeee pleaseeeeeee. I love you ❤️

Eminem x reader

In the 2000s, you were a rising star in the music world, known for your powerful voice that seemed to hit notes only a few could ever dream of reaching. The song "Birds of a Feather" had catapulted you to the top of the charts, its haunting melody and intricate vocal runs taking over the airwaves. It wasn’t just the song itself that caught the attention of listeners—it was your vocal range, your ability to hit those almost impossible notes with such clarity and emotion. Critics raved about your vocal technique, praising your strength, precision, and the way you effortlessly weaved through the high notes that left audiences in awe.

The music video for "Birds of a Feather" became an instant classic. The haunting visuals, paired with your soaring voice, created a perfect storm of artistry that had people talking for weeks. You quickly became a household name, a pop sensation, and your songs dominated the charts, always keeping fans on the edge of their seats, eagerly waiting for your next release.

But it wasn’t just your music that drew attention. Your appearance made headlines just as often. You were known for being strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just your looks that made you stand out—it was the confidence you exuded, the way you carried yourself. There was something magnetic about you, a combination of charm and charisma that captivated anyone who came into your orbit. People couldn’t help but stop and stare when you walked into a room, and soon enough, the paparazzi knew your name as well as your fans did.

Eminem, already a prominent name in the Detroit rap scene, found himself drawn to you in a way he hadn’t expected. Your song "Birds of a Feather" was everywhere—on the radio, at parties, and even in the background of late-night TV shows. It seemed like your voice was the soundtrack to the city, and the more he heard your name, the more his curiosity grew. The people around him—friends, colleagues, and fans alike—couldn’t stop talking about you, praising your incredible vocal range and the way you had taken the music scene by storm.

At first, it was just idle curiosity. He had heard your music before, sure, but the more people around him mentioned your name, the more intrigued he became. What really caught his attention wasn’t just the sound of your voice or your success; it was the way people spoke about you. There was this undeniable aura around you, a magnetic presence that captivated everyone, even from a distance.

As your song continued to dominate the airwaves, his admiration for you began to grow into something deeper. At first, it was just an appreciation for your talent, but the more he thought about it, the more he found himself imagining what it might be like to actually meet you. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a crush, the kind of crush that, for someone like him, was rare—he’d been focused on his own career, his own struggles, for so long that the idea of being interested in someone else had never seemed realistic. But with every new mention of your name, with every new hit that seemed to climb higher on the charts, his thoughts shifted.

Eminem wasn’t one to openly gush about anyone, especially not someone in your position, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about the way you carried yourself, the way your voice soared above the rest, that spoke to him in a way few things did. He admired your raw talent, your ability to command a room, and the way you stayed true to yourself in an industry that often demanded conformity. It wasn’t just about the music; it was the person behind it, and in that moment, he couldn’t deny the growing fascination he felt.

As the weeks went by, Eminem found himself getting caught up in thoughts of you, his initial intrigue turning into a full-blown crush. It wasn’t just the fact that you were an incredible artist—though that certainly played a big part—but there was something about the way your name kept popping up in every conversation, in every corner of his world. He’d hear your song on the radio, and without thinking, he’d start to hum along to the melody, a subtle smile creeping onto his face as the lyrics played out.

It was clear that you were becoming something of an obsession, a constant presence in his mind. The more he heard, the more he wanted to know. He wondered if you were anything like the image people had painted of you, or if there was more to you than the public persona everyone seemed so captivated by. Either way, one thing was certain—he was hooked, and he couldn’t ignore the pull you had on him.

Today was like any other for Eminem—another press day, another round of interviews—but there was something different about this one. The moment he stepped into the studio, his mind kept drifting to you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed inside him, something he couldn’t quite explain. His crush on you had taken over his thoughts in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now, during this interview, he found himself talking about you openly for the first time.

The interviewer, a young woman named Tara, was sitting across from him, ready to dig into his latest album, his personal life, and everything in between. She had done her homework and knew all the right questions to ask, but today, she had a specific topic on her mind.

"So, Marshall," she began, her voice smooth and professional, "we've been hearing a lot about a rising pop star lately. Her name's been all over the radio—'Birds of a Feather,' it's everywhere. I have to ask: Have you heard it?"

Eminem leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he shifted his focus to Tara. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, but his eyes remained intense, thoughtful.

"Yeah, I’ve heard it," he said, the words coming out slowly, as if he was weighing each one carefully. "Can’t help but hear it, really. It’s all over the place. People won’t stop talking about her, so I figured I might as well listen."

Tara raised an eyebrow, noticing the subtle shift in his tone. "So what do you think? You know, of her music?"

Eminem paused, his mind momentarily spinning as he tried to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to talk about you like this. Normally, he kept his personal feelings under wraps, but something about this felt... different. He decided to be honest, but in his own way.

"She's talented, that’s for sure," he said, his voice low but earnest. "Her voice... it’s insane. She’s got these crazy high notes, like nothing I’ve heard in pop music in a long time. She’s not just another singer, you know? She’s got something unique. And I respect that."

Tara smiled, leaning in slightly. "You seem to be more than just impressed. You've been hearing about her for a while, huh?"

Eminem chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I don’t really talk about stuff like this, but honestly, I’ve heard her name so much now, it’s kinda hard not to get curious. And when you hear people saying your name over and over again, you gotta see what the hype’s about, right?"

Tara laughed, sensing an opening. "So, you’re saying you’re a little... intrigued?"

Eminem rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Intrigued? Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it," he admitted, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Look, I’m not used to talking about other artists like this, but there’s something about her. It’s not just the voice, though that’s a big part of it. There’s this presence she has. Like, I don’t know—there’s a thing about her that catches your attention, you know? It’s not just about the music. It’s like... she’s got this whole vibe that makes you wanna know more."

Tara leaned back, eyes glinting with curiosity. "You sound like you’ve been paying attention. Could this be the start of a new... Eminem crush?"

Eminem let out a short laugh, his expression a mix of amusement and a hint of something deeper, more genuine. "I don’t know about all that. But yeah, I’ve definitely been paying attention. It’s hard not to when she’s everywhere, and people keep bringing her up. It’s like... I’m hearing about her more than I hear about anything else right now. And I respect what she’s doing—she’s got a style, she’s got a sound, and she’s owning it."

Tara pressed further, sensing an opportunity to get more out of him. "You seem pretty passionate about her music. What do you think it is about her that’s different from other pop stars?"

Eminem sat back, his fingers resting on the edge of the table as he looked off for a moment, thinking. "She doesn’t sound like anyone else, that’s for sure," he said, his voice steady. "A lot of pop singers nowadays, they all kind of sound the same. But her? She’s not following any trends. She’s carving her own path, and I respect that. A lot of these pop stars are just out here trying to sell albums, but she’s actually got something real to offer. That’s rare."

Tara nodded, impressed. "Sounds like you’re not just a fan of her music, but you really respect her as an artist."

"Yeah," Eminem agreed, his voice softening. "There’s something about her whole approach that stands out. And I think people are starting to notice. It’s hard not to, with the way she’s taking over."

A brief silence hung in the air before Tara asked, almost hesitantly, "Do you think you’ll ever work with her? I mean, you two are both huge in your own right. A collaboration could be... interesting."

Eminem’s lips curved into a sly smile as he leaned forward. "Maybe," he said, his voice low but playful. "You never know. I’m not one to rule out anything, but... who knows? If the right time comes, and the right opportunity presents itself, maybe we’ll make it happen."

Tara grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "Sounds like you’re keeping the door open. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for that one."

Eminem let out a small chuckle, but the glint in his eyes remained. "Yeah, maybe one day. But for now, I’ll just keep listening. She’s doing her thing, and I’m doing mine. Who knows what’ll happen down the road?"

The interview was running smoothly, but Tara knew she’d struck gold when Eminem started opening up about you. He wasn’t the type to gush or openly talk about other artists, so his sudden candor was surprising—and entertaining. She decided to keep pushing, curious to see how far he’d go.

"So, you’ve talked about her voice and her vibe," Tara said, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. "But let’s be real, Marshall. A lot of people talk about how she looks. Do you agree with what they’re saying?"

Eminem grinned, a little embarrassed but clearly amused. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Man, you’re really trying to get me in trouble today, huh?"

Tara laughed. "I mean, you brought her up! I’m just asking the questions everyone else is thinking."

He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to collect himself, but the grin stayed firmly in place. "Alright, fine. Yeah, I’ve seen her. And, uh… let’s just say people aren’t exaggerating. She’s—" He paused, searching for the right words. "She’s got that whole package, you know? Like, she’s beautiful, obviously, but it’s more than that. She’s got this presence. You see her, and you can’t look away."

Tara raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "A whole package, huh? Care to elaborate?"

Eminem chuckled, pointing a finger at her. "You’re slick, trying to get me to spill everything. But, yeah, she’s... I mean, come on. Anyone who’s seen her knows what I’m talking about. She’s got this… uh…" He gestured vaguely with his hands, his smirk widening as he tried to find a way to phrase it without giving too much away.

"Are we talking about her curves?" Tara teased, leaning into the moment.

Eminem laughed loudly, shaking his head but not denying it. "Man, I wasn’t gonna say it, but yeah, she’s definitely got, uh, some… assets. I mean, you can’t not notice. It’s like—damn, alright? She’s got it going on. And she knows it, too, the way she carries herself. It’s confidence. That’s what makes it even better."

"Wow," Tara said, grinning ear to ear. "You’re really laying it on thick, huh?"

"I’m just being honest!" he defended, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "What do you want me to say? She’s gorgeous, she’s got this crazy voice, and she’s killing it right now. I can’t help it if I’m a fan."

Tara laughed, clearly entertained. "A fan? Marshall, you sound like you’re one step away from starting a fan club."

"Man, if I wasn’t who I am, I probably would," he joked, shaking his head. "I’d be out here with posters and T-shirts and everything. But nah, seriously, she’s got that whole ‘dream girl’ thing going on. Like, I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Why does she have to be so perfect?’ It’s not fair."

Tara couldn’t stop laughing. "You’re really fangirling over her right now, aren’t you?"

Eminem leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his hands together with an exaggerated look of defeat. "I’m trying not to, but it’s hard, alright? Like, every time I see her on TV or hear her song, I’m just like, ‘Man, she’s unreal.’ And then I have to remind myself to chill because I’m out here looking like a teenager with a crush."

Tara grinned, sensing there was still more to uncover. "Okay, so if she walked in here right now, what would you say to her?"

Eminem froze for a moment, pretending to look panicked before breaking into a laugh. "What would I say? Oh, man. I’d probably embarrass myself. I’d be like, ‘Hey, uh… so… you’re, like, amazing.’ And then I’d just stand there awkwardly, hoping she doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot."

"Come on, you’re Eminem!" Tara said, laughing. "You don’t get nervous around anyone."

"Yeah, well, she might be the exception," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, what do you even say to someone like that? ‘Hey, I think you’re insanely talented and also ridiculously beautiful?’ That’s not smooth at all."

Tara laughed harder, clearly enjoying his rare moment of vulnerability. "I don’t know, Marshall, that might actually work. You never know."

He smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, or she’d just laugh in my face and walk away. Either way, at least I’d shoot my shot, right?"

The conversation kept circling back to you, with Eminem dropping more compliments, both subtle and bold. "She’s got this energy," he said at one point, leaning forward again. "It’s like, even if she wasn’t singing, you’d notice her. She’s just got that presence, you know? And when you add the voice and the... other stuff, it’s game over. She’s unstoppable."

"Other stuff?" Tara teased, raising an eyebrow.

Eminem grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out. Let’s just say she’s got all the right... proportions."

Tara burst out laughing again, and Eminem shook his head, laughing along with her. "Man, you’re gonna get me in so much trouble for this interview."

"Hey, you’re the one who keeps talking about her," Tara pointed out.

"Yeah, well, can you blame me?" he replied, throwing up his hands. "She’s out here looking like a whole goddess and singing like one too. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking."

By the end of the interview, it was clear Eminem wasn’t holding back his admiration for you. His mix of humor, flirty compliments, and genuine respect for your talent painted a picture of a man completely taken by someone he’d never even met. And as he walked out of the studio that day, still smiling to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, you might hear what he’d said and realize just how much he admired you.

A few days after the interview aired, the buzz around Eminem’s comments about you was everywhere. The media ran with it, headlines speculating about his apparent fascination. Gossip columns played up his flirty statements, and rumors began swirling that the two of you might be secretly seeing each other. Whether it was a playful misinterpretation or intentional exaggeration, the whispers grew louder with each passing day.

Eminem, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the chatter. He wasn’t one to shy away from attention, especially if it wasn’t outright negative. If anything, the rumors amused him.

One afternoon, he was in the studio with Dr. Dre, who had clearly caught wind of the gossip. Dre leaned back in his chair, casually tossing a sly grin his way.

"So, you and the pop princess, huh?" Dre said, the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to miss.

Eminem glanced up from the notebook he’d been scribbling in, his expression neutral but his lips twitching at the corners. "What’re you talking about?"

Dre chuckled, leaning forward. "Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. That interview? You couldn’t stop talking about her."

"Man, you’re tripping," Eminem shot back, shaking his head but unable to hide the small smirk creeping onto his face.

"Am I?" Dre pressed, raising an eyebrow. "Because half the country thinks you two are sneaking around now. You got people out here thinking you’ve got a whole relationship going on."

Eminem laughed, setting down his pen. "Yeah, well, that’s on them. I said what I said, and they ran with it. It’s not my fault people can’t tell the difference between a compliment and a confession."

"Compliment, huh?" Dre said, his grin widening. "Bro, you were practically drooling over her."

Eminem scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I wasn’t drooling. I just said she’s talented. And, you know... nice to look at. That’s it."

"Uh-huh," Dre replied, clearly not convinced. "Look, I get it. She’s fine, man. Like, stupid fine. But you didn’t just say she’s talented—you made it sound like she’s the second coming or something. I’m just saying, you’re not exactly subtle."

Before Eminem could respond, Proof walked into the room, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Oh, we talking about the pop star now?" he said, grinning as he plopped down on the couch.

Eminem groaned, shaking his head. "Man, don’t you start too."

"Nah, I’m just saying," Proof said, throwing up his hands innocently. "You’re all over the news right now. People out here shipping you two like it’s their job. You might as well lean into it."

"Shipping?" Eminem repeated, furrowing his brow. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means they want y’all to be together," Proof explained, laughing. "And honestly, I can’t blame them. You were laying it on thick in that interview, man. I was watching like, ‘Damn, Em’s really out here catching feelings on national TV.’"

"I wasn’t catching feelings," Eminem shot back, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his grin. "I was just being real. She’s dope, alright? End of story."

"Uh-huh," Proof said, smirking. "You keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just waiting for the wedding invitations to roll in."

Eminem threw a balled-up piece of paper at him, laughing. "You’re all idiots, you know that?"

Despite the teasing, Eminem didn’t seem bothered by the rumors. If anything, he found the whole situation amusing. He couldn’t deny that he’d been a little extra in the interview, but that was just how he felt. You were undeniably talented and beautiful, and he wasn’t going to downplay that just to avoid some gossip.

As the days went on, the teasing from his friends continued, but Eminem took it in stride. Whenever someone brought it up, he’d either brush it off with a joke or lean into it just to mess with them.

"So, when are you introducing us?" Dre asked one day, clearly enjoying himself.

"Yeah, let us know so we can start practicing our best-man speeches," Proof chimed in, grinning.

Eminem shook his head, smirking. "Y’all are clowns. She probably doesn’t even know I exist."

"Oh, she knows," Dre said confidently. "After that interview? She definitely knows."

Eminem didn’t respond, but the thought lingered in his mind. The idea that you might have heard his interview—or even just heard about it—made his heart race a little, though he’d never admit it. For now, he let the rumors swirl and the teasing roll off his back, secretly enjoying the idea that people thought there might be something between you two.

You were rushing into a bustling studio for your latest photoshoot, clutching your bag and sipping a quick coffee when a familiar voice called out.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), a quick word?"

You turned to see a young interviewer approaching with a mic in hand, their cameraman not far behind. While you were used to being stopped by press, something in the interviewer’s tone suggested they weren’t just here for small talk. Glancing at your team, who gestured that you had a few minutes to spare, you gave a friendly smile.

"Of course," you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What’s up?"

The interviewer grinned, clearly eager to dive in. "So, the internet—and every entertainment column—is buzzing right now about Eminem’s recent interview."

Your brow furrowed slightly, though you kept your expression polite. "Oh? What about it?"

"Well," the interviewer began, holding up a notepad for reference. "He had *a lot* to say about you. I’m sure you’ve at least heard a little bit about it. He called you incredibly talented, praised your voice, and let’s just say he didn’t hold back on how stunning he thinks you are."

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before a genuine laugh bubbled out of you. "Wait—he said all that? Really?"

"Oh, absolutely," the interviewer confirmed, their grin widening. "And let’s not forget the part where he complimented your... uh, presence. Some are calling it the most flirty Marshall Mathers has ever been in an interview."

You tried to contain your laughter but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. "Well, that’s... unexpected. But also really sweet of him."

"So," they pressed, leaning in slightly. "The world wants to know—what’s your reaction to all of this? Have you heard the interview yourself?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your response. You didn’t want to feed into the media frenzy too much, but you also couldn’t ignore how flattering it was. "Okay, I’ll admit it—I did hear about it. A couple of friends sent me clips, and I couldn’t not watch it after all the buzz."

"And?" the interviewer prompted, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"And," you said, tilting your head thoughtfully, "I thought it was... really sweet. I mean, to hear someone as big as Eminem say those things about me? That’s a huge compliment. I admire his work so much, so it means a lot."

The interviewer wasn’t satisfied yet—they wanted more. "And what about the more personal comments? You know, about your looks and all?"

You felt your cheeks warm slightly but kept your composure. "Well, he’s not wrong about the confidence thing," you teased, laughing lightly. "But seriously, I think it’s flattering. He was being honest, and that’s refreshing."

"Honest, huh?" The interviewer leaned closer. "So, are you saying you wouldn’t mind hearing more compliments from him?"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "You’re really trying to stir the pot here, aren’t you?"

"Just doing my job!" they replied with a cheeky grin. "But, since we’re on the subject—what do you think of *him*? I mean, everyone’s dying to know if this admiration goes both ways."

You paused, the smile lingering on your lips as you thought carefully about your words. Finally, you decided to give them just enough to keep things interesting. "I think he’s incredibly talented," you said sincerely. "His music has had such a huge impact, and his storytelling is unmatched. You can tell he’s passionate about what he does, and that’s inspiring."

"And what about on a personal level?" the interviewer pressed, clearly fishing for more.

You gave a small shrug, playing coy but letting a hint of playfulness show. "Well... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think he was kinda cute. But I’ll leave it at that."

The interviewer’s jaw dropped in mock surprise, and they laughed. "Wow! You just made headlines with that one, (Y/N)."

You laughed along, waving it off. "Oh, come on. It’s not that serious. I’m just giving credit where it’s due."

"Fair enough," they said, nodding. "But seriously, you two are all anyone can talk about right now. Any chance we might see a collaboration in the future? Or maybe... something more?"

You raised your hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Hey, who knows? I’m just focused on my music and projects right now. But, you know, never say never."

"Cryptic, I like it," the interviewer replied with a wink. "Well, thanks for stopping to chat, (Y/N). I’m sure Eminem is going to love hearing your response."

You smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a photoshoot to get to. But this was fun!"

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about the whole situation. Eminem’s words had genuinely caught you off guard, and now, with the media spinning stories left and right, you wondered what he might think of your reaction. For now, though, you pushed the thought aside and focused on your shoot, leaving the rumors—and the excitement they brought—swirling in the air behind you.

Marshall was lounging on the couch at home, the TV playing softly in the background. Hailie, still young and full of energy, sat beside him, doodling on a notepad with a crayon. It was a rare, quiet moment for him, one he cherished.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the TV until your face appeared on the screen. It was a clip from an interview, and the headline below caught his eye: *Pop Star (Y/N) Responds to Eminem’s Comments.*

Intrigued, he turned up the volume, leaning forward slightly. Hailie looked up curiously.

“Daddy, who’s that?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“That’s... someone,” he muttered distractedly, eyes fixed on the TV.

He watched as you laughed at the interviewer’s question, your voice light and warm. Then, you said it—the part that made his stomach flip.

*"I think he’s kinda cute."*

Marshall blinked, sitting back on the couch, a grin spreading across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“Cute?” he said to himself, chuckling. “She thinks I’m cute?”

Hailie tugged on his sleeve. “Why are you smiling like that, Daddy?”

“No reason, baby,” he replied, though he couldn’t stop grinning.

He reached for his phone, his mind racing. He had to talk to you. Now. But how? He didn’t exactly have your number, and showing up out of nowhere wasn’t his style.

“I gotta figure this out,” he muttered, pulling up Dre’s contact on his phone. If anyone could help, it was him.

“Uncle Dre again?” Hailie asked, giggling.

Marshall smirked, pressing the call button. “Yeah, Uncle Dre again. He’s about to help your dad with something important.”

As the phone rang, Marshall leaned back, tapping his fingers anxiously on the armrest. Whatever it took, he was going to find a way to reach you.<3

#eminem x reader #eminem #marshall mathers x reader #eminem imagine #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers #slim shady #famous!reader #singer reader

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jarofstyles · 9 months ago

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Can you write something about love bites pretty pleaseeeeee like Harry’s obsessed with giving them

Yes 🤭🤭🤭🤭 here is a tiny one!

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- kinda dirty hehe

——

“So pretty.” Fingers brushed over her sensitive skin as she looked in the mirror, trying her best to ignore how the sensation wanted to make her shiver. The large form behind her wasn’t helping her achieve that at all. “You look so gorgeous tonight but… my favorite are these.” The marks on the curve of her neck that he’d sucked into pretty bruises, blooming purple.

It was no secret between them that Harry quite liked the marks on her, but he liked putting them there the most. “Thank you.” She laughed through her nose, blending the makeup on her cheeks before setting the little sponge down. “But you’re very distracting, you know that? How am I supposed to cover them if you’re petting all over them?”

“Don’t!” The whine was nearly comical as she caught his scowl in the mirror. “Don’t cover up the art, precious. Leave ‘em there.” It was a travesty, in his opinion, any time they were covered with makeup. Even if she was quite talented at the magic of making them disappear, he didn’t appreciate his little marks of love being covered up. “S’not like we’re going to the Louvre- which, they’d probably appreciate the art anyways. We’re goin’ for drinks at a dingy club to buy overpriced martinis while we chat shit while I wait for you t’get tired enough for me to bring home and love on you.”

Harry was many things. Blunt was one of them.

“Tell me how you really feel, H.” She snorted, putting powder under her eyes. Her hand stuttered though, when she felt him tuck his face into her neck and a wet, hot swipe licked over the marks. It was a bit pathetic how quickly she felt lax, like a dog rolling over for belly rubs, but she gave a shaky exhale as his teeth found a new patch of skin to nibble on.

“I feel like… you should leave those marks so people know t’fuck off, that you get fucked well, that you’re mine. Let their imaginations run wild about how I gave ‘em to you balls deep, or if I did them just like this. As long as they know that you’re a loved and taken woman, m’a happy man.” The grumbles against her skin were finished with another bite, eliciting a noise blooming from her throat.

It was hard to say no to the man in most capacities, with his soft green eyes and his strawberry pout, but when he ran his hands over the front of her dress and his tongue over her throat as he found a new patch to work on, sucking harshly enough to make her knees weaken and her clit throb between her legs? It was impossible. “Harry…” the sigh of his name was accompanied by the lull of her head back against his shoulders, letting him slip his hands under the front of her dress and the makeup brush fall into the sink.

“Lucky we’re even goin’ out when all I want to do is worship that sweet cunt all night. But I’ll be good, I’ll let you get finished with your makeup and all that if you leave ‘em be. Show ‘em off for me. Please?” The plead was melted into her bones, breathing picking up as his fingers cupped over her lace covered cunt, holding it firmly. The man knew how to get his way and this was a solid example. The sweet and silly vibe of the room transforming into the hot and sensual teasing one that he had mastered the art of. “I’ll let you choose whatever you want me t’do to you tonight. Whatever my girl wants. Jus’ let me give you another one and leave my art alone. Everyone should be able to see it.”

How could she say no to that?

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry smut #harry fluff #harry angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles au

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seventeenreasonswhy · 6 months ago

Text

Same Team! A YJH Office Romance Pt. 3

Idol!Jeonghan x ProductionStaff!Reader

You’re serious about your job, but not as serious as Yoon Jeonghan is about flirting.

~1.4k words

Read Part 1 and Part 2

Series Content: slooowwwwww burn, fluff!, cute flirting!, will-they-won’t-they vibes!, tension!!, office crushes, office romance, appearances by all of the members, reader is shy and gets flustered easily!, jeonghan is jeonghan-ing!

My Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thank you all for reading! I’m having so much fun writing this. MC is so shy, and Jeonghan is so direct! My favorite dynamic!! Also, Jiyeon and Daein are completely fictional/not based on any idols! Jiyeon is kind of a stock mean-girl character, sorry! I’m looking forward to writing steamier interactions between Jeonghan and MC soon! <3

Taglist: @yeoberryx (lmk if you want to be added to my taglist!)

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

“Y/N-shi.” One of the producers in the room said your name, bringing you out of your daydreaming.

You were in a scheduling meeting to arrange staff for several of the members’ upcoming overseas commitments. You were hopeful that you’d get to travel, though you doubted it. You weren’t exactly experienced, but you did have the fluent-in-English thing going for you. You’d mentioned that you could get by with pretty decent French and Italian, too. So, of course, you were imagining a... business trip with Jeonghan...

“Yes!” you said quickly.

“How do you feel about traveling?”

“Traveling where?”

“Paris.”

“I feel good about it!” You answered politely—and super eagerly, eliciting some chuckles from the room.

“She’s so cute,” Daein said. You and Daein had gotten to know each other better, and when she wasn’t around Jiyeon she was much nicer to you. Still, you felt embarrassed for being overly eager.

“We wanted someone who could speak English and French well,” the producer added, “It’s Fashion Week.”

“Who’s attending this year?” someone asked.

“Mingyu-shi, Jun-shi, Joshua-shi,” another producer at the other end of the room looked through her list, “and Jeonghan-shi.”

You felt your face start to flush immediately.

“Mingyu-shi, Joshua-shi, and Jeonghan-shi will be booked on the same flight,” someone said, your heart pounding harder each time his name was mentioned, “Jun-shi will fly separately, directly from China.”

As the staff continued to fill you in on details... where you’d meet, what time you needed to be there, what to expect from CARATs gathered at the airport...

“The talent will have their own security,” another staff member assured you, “There’ll be a separate security check for us—to get to the gate faster. Most of the fans are perfectly respectful, but don’t hesitate to alert security if anything rings alarms or makes you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely. “I’ll do my best.”

It had only taken a couple of months working with SEVENTEEN to really hit home that being famous was actually quite difficult. Everywhere they went, their fans seemed to be waiting. Even shoot locations that you knew weren’t made public—a few of them would show up no matter what. The members seemed to handle it graciously. At least, more graciously than you would have been in their position. Some of the fans were pretty intense, and didn’t seem to respect the members’ privacy. But it was a very small number. You’d only seen or heard any of the members get slightly annoyed at most, and only a handful of times.

But if Mingyu was on your flight, you knew the airport was going to be chaotic. He was very popular. And you understood why. He was extremely tall, gorgeous, not to mention very personable. He was easy to talk to, even though you were slightly intimidated at first. He enjoyed speaking English with you, which was nice.

“Y/N-shi,” the head coordinator was assigning details to each member, “you’ll be with Jeonghan-shi.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll be on his team of staff—each member will have their manager with them, two other staff for extra footage or vlog shooting, and their own security. You’ll be with Jeonghan-ah’s crew. Understood?”

“Yes!”

...What the hell? Was this really happening? Had you performed some saintly act in a past life? Why were you being bestowed with this kind of luck!?

“Great, we’ll send a car to pick you up at 4:00 AM that Thursday,” the coordinator in charge continued, “be sure you have your passport and at least two cocktail dresses—you’ll be attending the Yves Saint Laurent opening event on Friday, plus the runway show and afterparty on Saturday, so you’ll need appropriate attire. We can offer you a stipend to rent something when you get there if you don’t have anything.”

“Thank you!” and you bowed deeply. The other staff in the room chuckled.

“We’re counting on you,” the coordinator smiled at you.

The weeks seemed to drag on. You were so anxious and excited about the trip to Paris that you could hardly concentrate on anything else. You carried out your tasks with your usual efficiency, but your colleagues could tell you were just excited about getting to go to Fashion Week.

“I can’t understand why someone with such poor taste is going on this trip,” Jiyeon sneered as you were packing up equipment in the practice room. The members were gathering their things, sweaty from filming a dance practice video. Some of them were off in various corners doing other TikTok challenges. You were amazed at how quickly they could pick up choreography. You’d worked in entertainment for a long time, but it never stopped amazing you how fast good dancers were at that kind of thing. You hardly took notice of Jiyeon’s tone; you were so busy fantasizing about getting to spend so much time with Jeonghan.

“Hey!” she raised her voice just enough to get your attention, but not so much that it registered with the other staff or the members. You turned to her, trying to focus on whatever it is she needed to say, but still unable to contain your giddiness.

“Ugh,” she said, giving you a disgusted look, “don’t let Jeonghan-shi see you being so weird about this.”

“I don’t think she’s being weird.”

There he was, standing right behind Jiyeon. How had he gotten over here? Were you seriously so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even seen him walk over to where you and Jiyeon were packing up?

Jiyeon looked like she was about to pass out, and you froze on the spot. Jeonghan was looking right at you, as always. His gaze never wavered when he was looking at you. You always loved it, even though it flustered you, but right now you were so ecstatic that he’d overheard her that it felt like you were floating above the ground.

“Ah! Jeonghan-shi!” Jiyeon put on her best smile, laughing off his remark. “Y/N-shi is always a little weird, we were just joking! Right, Y/N-shi?” You noted that it was the first time she’d bothered using honorifics with you. You didn’t really care, since honorifics weren’t really a thing at the companies you’d worked for in the past, and just not a huge deal in the U.S. at all. But you knew that her dropping them was technically a slight toward you.

“Right,” you said, putting on your best polite smile. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Jiyeon was rude, but she wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. Also, maybe you were being too weird about this trip. It was purely business... you were probably getting a little carried away. You couldn’t help but look down, worried now that you would creep him out.

“I’d never want to work with someone who wasn’t at least as weird as nuna,” Jeonghan said straightforwardly.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

“Ah, that’s Jeonghan-shi for you!” Jiyeon let out a strained laugh and went back to helping move the equipment, being sure to send you a pointed glare on her way toward the door.

You were left standing there with Jeonghan. You paused, and then bowed toward him.

“Thank you for saying that,” you said in the most formal voice possible. You were so flustered; you didn’t know what to say.

“What are you doing after this?” he asked. His voice was low and direct.

“What?”

“Are you free right now?”

“...What?”

“I thought your Korean was supposed to be good, nuna.”

You stared at him. He was smiling softly. His gaze was gentle, but there was something mischievous in it. You felt as if your brain had force quit on you.

“Sorry, I... I don’t...” you were lost for words.

“Well, if you’re free after this, Joshua, Dino, and I are going to get some dinner,” he said, running a hand through his long hair. You imagined what it would feel like to run your own hand through it. While peeking up to look at his hair up close—a thing you rarely did, even though you’d had plenty of opportunities by now—your eyes met for a second, and for some reason you steeled yourself and held his gaze.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes.” You said it without thinking, but the smile on his face nearly knocked you out.

“Good.”

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coffeeshades · 4 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART X

—lay all your love on me

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). lots of smut, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

February 25, 2023

London, England

London felt different this time. The city hummed with its usual, muted energy—the overcast sky casting everything in a soft, diffuse light—but for you and Pedro, it was like being in your own world, hidden in plain sight. The press tour for The Mandalorian had begun, but this time things had shifted. You were together now, and the stolen glances, soft touches, and subtle smiles painted your days in colors no one else could see.

Five days of interviews and cameras, but you didn’t waste a minute when you were alone. London became your playground, with dinners tucked away in quiet corners and late-night walks along the Thames. Photos of the two of you surfaced online, of course—your laughter caught mid-frame as you leaned into him outside a restaurant, Pedro’s arm draped casually over your shoulders—but to the world, you were still just friends.

There was an unspoken ease, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before. It was in the way Pedro’s hand would brush against yours when no one was looking and how you’d catch him staring at you with that quiet, knowing smile that made your heart do somersaults.

One interviewer joked about Pedro’s tendency to play father figures on screen. "It’s funny," they said, "you keep playing these fatherly roles. What’s the draw?"

Pedro chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glancing at you before answering. He wasn’t just answering the question—he was letting everyone into his head, just for a moment. "I like the idea of it," he said, his voice mellow and thoughtful. "Being able to imagine that responsibility, that kind of love. It’s... comforting."

You nudged him playfully, lighting up the moment with a grin. "Comforting, huh?" you teased, leaning in. "You’re really gunning for that ‘World’s Coolest Dad’ mug, aren’t ya?"

He chuckled again, the sound low and amused. "Oh, absolutely," he replied, mock serious. "But, let’s be real—I’m already cool dad material. Look at me." He spread his arms like he was showing off some award-worthy masterpiece.

You shifted on your seat, eyebrow raised, and whispered, “Honey, they want you to be the daddy, not the dad.”

Pedro froze for a split second before bursting into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, still laughing. "I’m multi-talented, I can be both."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you the mug.”

The room erupted in laughter, and the easy banter between you two was back, but there was a difference now. Every joke, every shared smile held a layer of intimacy that no one else could decipher.

March 14, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

The night was electric, as it always was, a celebration of film and glamour.

Pedro looked gorgeous in his black Zegna suit, the sharp lines contrasting with the softness of his hair, longer than usual, curling slightly at his collar. His face lit up in that way you loved, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled. You, too, had dressed for the occasion in a stunning black Oscar de la Renta gown, the fabric hugging your body like a second skin. But it wasn’t the dress or the cameras that made you feel beautiful—it was the way Pedro looked at you from across the room. He looks at you, not at anyone else. It feels very nice when he looks at you. It's grounding.

You arrived separately. The decision had been mutual—to keep your relationship private for just a little longer. Inside the Dolby Theatre, you texted each other relentlessly, your phone lighting up every few minutes.

Pedro: You look unreal.

You glanced across the room and spotted him, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room worth watching.

You: Have you seen yourself? Ridiculous.

You watched him bite back a smile. You knew what he was thinking, that playful look he got when he was trying to be serious but couldn't quite manage it around you.

Pedro: Wanna trade seats?

You glanced over at your seating arrangements, aware that the cameras were everywhere. It was almost torturous not to be able to sit next to him, to lean into his side and steal private moments.

You: Don’t tempt me.

He raised an eyebrow from across the room, his smile lazy but full of warmth. You could practically hear him saying, "Try me," without even needing the words.

At one point, your phone buzzed again.

Pedro: I think the guy next to me just tried to flirt with me.

You: Well, tell him he’s got competition.

Pedro: Should I let him down easy?

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head and glancing toward the stage.

You: Maybe let him sweat it out first.

The night wore on, and he presented an award with Lizzie Olsen, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him—his smile, the way he owned the stage with that effortless charm. Every now and then, you’d steal moments—walking to each other’s seats under the guise of casual conversation—but there was thrill in the secrecy. It was fun, this private world you shared, just for the two of you.

Later, during one of the commercial breaks, the both of you managed to slip away backstage, away from the sea of people. The hustle and bustle of the theater seemed to fade as you both found a semi-dark corner. The dim light cast shadows on the walls, but all you could see was him—the soft smile on his lips, the playful glint in his eyes.

Pedro wasted no time. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until there was barely any space between you. His scent, familiar and warm, wrapped around you as he leaned down, stealing a kiss from your lips. It was quick but full of tenderness, his lips brushing against yours as if he couldn’t help himself.

You laughed softly, half-heartedly trying to push him away, knowing you had only a few minutes before you’d be called on stage to present the next award. “Pedro, stop,” you whispered, your hands gently resting on his chest. “We only have a few minutes, and I have to go soon. They’ll call me any second.”

But he wasn’t deterred. His lips found yours again, a bit more insistent this time, kissing you deeply before pulling back just enough to breathe. “A few minutes of you,” he said in a low, almost reverent voice, “would be enough to keep me going for years.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, the world outside your little bubble disappearing as his thumb grazed your cheek. You tilted your head up, your lips brushing his once more, a tender kiss that lingered just long enough to make you want more. His hand rested on the small of your back, the heat of his touch soothing you in the moment.

“You’re making this really hard, you know?” you teased softly, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as his forehead rested against yours. “Good,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips. “Let them call you. I’m not letting you go until the last second.”

You smiled, leaning into him, allowing yourself just a few more stolen seconds. His lips found your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, as if trying to memorize the feel of you before the moment passed. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of him, the safety of his arms around you.

Then, reluctantly, you heard the distant call of your name from the stage manager. Pedro sighed, his hand slowly sliding away from your waist. “My time's up.”

You looked up at him, a dangerous grin spreading across your face. “Don’t worry,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll get to have me for the rest of the night.”

March 31, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

By the time the PaleyFest rolled around, Pedro was already feeling the weight of keeping everything hidden. He wasn’t a man who liked to keep secrets—especially not something as big as you. You sat so close to him, so near yet so far, and it took everything in him not to reach out and show the world how much he loved you. Instead, he found himself compensating, channeling his feelings into every casual touch, every stolen glance that was meant for only you.

He showed up that night in a brown and beige cardigan, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, paired with green pants and black Chelsea boots. You had told him once how much you liked them. His scruff had grown fuller, darker, and he knew you liked it like that. It drove him crazy when your fingers brushed against it, soft touches that sent flames all the way to his chest.

The night had gone by swiftly enough. Interviews, panels, the usual public-facing routine. Yet, every moment felt charged with the knowledge that you were there, just inches away. You were sitting beside him during the Q&A session, your knees touching. His hand would occasionally ghost over yours, brushing against your fingers, almost accidentally—except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was an accident. You were deliberate in everything you did, in the way you turned toward him, your laughter soft and quiet as if sharing a secret only he could understand.

It was maddening. Pedro was a good actor, but this was real life, and it was becoming harder to play the part of just colleagues, just friends. Every time you touched him, even in the smallest ways, he was reminded of how badly he wanted to kiss you right then and there. He had to keep his cool, though—keep things professional. But it was becoming impossible. You made it impossible.

The way you spoke during the panel, your voice warm and confident, filled with that easy charm that came so naturally to you—he was falling apart inside. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Every word out of your mouth felt like a temptation. Every soft glance in his direction was a tug on the string that bound his heart to yours.

God, you’re too much to be denied, he thought, his mind drifting as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He wanted to kiss you. Right there, in front of everyone. To hell with the secrecy. The privacy you two had was a blessing and a curse. It made loving you easier in some ways—no eyes watching, no prying questions. But it also made it sad, frustrating. All these private moments that he clung to—your stolen touches, your quiet words of affection—were everything to him. But there was a part of him that wanted more.

He sometimes forgot that you were supposed to be keeping things quiet. It just felt so natural to be near you, to let his hand graze yours, or to press his knee against yours while answering a question. Nobody saw a thing—or if they did, nobody said anything. It was amazing how invisible these touches of heaven were to everyone else, how easily they slipped under the radar.

As the panel went on, Pedro found himself drifting. His mind wasn’t in the questions or the answers—it was in the curve of your lips, the sound of your laughter, the way your leg brushed against his every time you shifted in your seat. You made it so easy to fall in love with you. Too easy.

When you turned to him, your eyes meeting his for just a split second longer than necessary, his mouth went dry. That quiet connection was enough to make him feel like he was losing his grip. He shifted in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to focus on the discussion at hand but finding it increasingly difficult with his pants growing tighter by the second.

He needed to have you.

Later, when the two of you made it back to the hotel, Pedro could barely keep himself together. The second the door clicked shut behind you, something in him snapped. He’d been holding back all night.

As soon as the door closed, his hands were on you—rough, needy, pulling you close like he’d been starving for you. Like a dog let off his leash. His fingers pressed into your hips, firm and demanding, and his mouth was on yours before you had time to take a breath. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw, desperate. Slow, deep kisses like he’d been holding his breath the entire night, waiting for this moment when he could finally let it all out.

You barely made it to the couch before things escalated. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, his fingers slipping beneath your clothes, touching every inch of your skin like he needed it. Like he’d been deprived of you for days, even though it had only been hours since his hand had last grazed yours. His thumb brushed over your nipple through your shirt, and you gasped into his mouth, pushing your hips forward to meet his.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raspy, full of heat. It wasn’t a question. It was a realization that had his cock straining painfully against his pants, desperate to feel you.

His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against you through the fabric, and you moaned softly, your head falling back against the couch as he worked you open. Slick and warm, your body responded to him like it always did—eagerly, hungrily. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed a line up your throat, whispering things only you were meant to hear.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he groaned, grinding his hips into the cushions beneath you. His cock was rock hard, desperate for any kind of friction, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Not until he had you moaning his name like no one else could. “I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you like this…desperate for me.”

His fingers moved inside you with a kind of expertise that left you breathless, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to have you arching your back, gripping his arms for stability. He hopes you feel his frustration—his need to release everything he couldn’t show in public, the need to pour every unsaid word into this moment. He kissed you harder, devouring you, his body pressing you deeper into the couch as he gave in to the desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You clung to him, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your fingers curling in his hair as he fucked you with his hand, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth was close to your ear, his words a hot, breathy confession. “I can’t stand it sometimes… being near you and not being able to touch you the way I want.”

You moaned. The sound—so deliciously wanton—spurred him on, his movements becoming more urgent and intense.

Pedro groaned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and his beard scratching your skin as he thrust his fingers deeper. “I’m always desperate to make you feel good,” he murmured, his breath hitching with the intensity of it. He was grinding his cock into the couch, trying to find some kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Please, more,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body tightening with the anticipation of release. Pedro could feel it, could hear it in the way your breath hitched, the way your hips moved against his hand.

Just when you were about to fall apart, his mouth was on yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, swallowing your moans as you came undone beneath him. Your body trembled in his arms, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

You were still coming down when he finally lifted you into his lap, pressing you against him, his cock straining beneath you. He knew you could feel it. He knew you wanted it just as badly as he did.

But then came the frustration, the gnawing ache. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it as he kissed you softer this time, a contrast to the earlier desperation. “I think about kissing you so much,” he admitted, his voice low and husky as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Good thing you get to do it whenever you want now.”

Pedro’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Well, not whenever I want,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hoarse, before he found your mouth again. His lips trailed along your jaw, slowly, torturously, until they grazed the corner of your mouth.

You laughed softly, the tension in the room shifting with your teasing tone. “Blessed be this tired conversation,” you murmured, your words brushing against his lips. “We agreed we’d wait, baby. It’s better this way.”

His forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as his fingers trailed down the side of your face. His eyes, heavy with love and frustration, bore into yours. “But I don’t want to anymore,” he confessed, his voice raw with need. His fingertips trailed down the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone, committing each detail of your skin to memory like it might be the last time he’d get to touch you like this.

You grinned, teasing him with that wicked smile of yours that made him feel both alive and tormented. “You could fuck me on the seven o’clock news, and they’d just say I was desperate for attention,” you said, laughing at your own joke. But Pedro couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his hand cupped your face with a tenderness that made him ache. “We’ll face it together,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice a promise. "Whatever they throw at us."

He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but he knew that he was ready to take on whatever came next—so long as it meant he didn’t have to keep hiding you. Hiding us.

Before the moment could spiral into something heavier, before his thoughts took him down that path, Pedro kissed you again. Slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was trying to communicate with his lips what he couldn’t with words.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Your breath was hot against his mouth as you spoke between kisses. “I know it’s frustrating, but we have this, Pedro. We have us.”

The words cut through the noise in his head, grounding him. He groaned softly, his hands slipping lower, his grip tightening as if you might disappear. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said again, the need in his voice raw, his body already pressing closer to yours. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

He saw something flash in your eyes—desire, affection, understanding. “Then don’t,” you said, voice firm with want. A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “Now shut up and fuck me, lover boy.”

He smiled, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands moved quickly, fingers pulling at your clothes in a frenzy, his breath coming faster as he discarded his own. The second your bare skin pressed against his, Pedro felt like he was drowning in the sensation of you. He’d wanted this—needed this—all day, maybe longer.

You sank down onto him slowly, and Pedro groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he felt you take him in. The heat of you, the slickness, made him curse under his breath. The stretch of you around him, the way you clenched at every inch, drove him wild.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with arousal. He could barely keep his thoughts straight; the sensation of being inside you was enough to make him lose his mind. The way you gasped, the way your body tightened around him, made him dizzy with want.

His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he slurred a curse, his body moving in sync with yours. You didn’t start slow. Neither of you had the patience for it. Your hips rolled against his with a roughness that made his cock throb inside you, and Pedro couldn’t hold back the way he groaned into your neck, his hands digging into your waist, guiding you harder, faster.

Each thrust felt like a confession, like he was pouring all the things he hadn't been able to say for months into the movement of your bodies.

Your mouth found his ear, and through the gasps and the heat, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words broke something inside him. Pedro’s hips stuttered, his body jerking as he pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck. His lips hovered near your ear, and he whispered back, voice trembling, “I know, baby.”

You moved faster, grinding down on him, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the room, and Pedro thought he might lose it. The way you felt—the way you looked—was too much, too perfect. He was on the verge, teetering at the edge, and he didn’t want it to end.

Not yet.

But your body tightened around him, and he felt you shudder as you came, the sound of your breathless cry sending him over the edge. Pedro groaned, his hips jerking hard as he came inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as his release hit him like a wave, leaving him breathless and shaking.

You pressed a soft kiss to his freckled shoulder, your voice light. “So… still frustrated?”

Pedro chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Not right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but give me ten minutes, and I’ll probably be ready to go again.”

Your laughter filled the room, and for the first time all night, everything felt right.

Everything felt perfect.

•••

Several weeks had passed, and with them, the world had changed in quiet, insidious ways. Paparazzi photos had surfaced, capturing stolen moments and raising questions. The speculation had simmered, threatening to boil over. But this morning, when you woke up to the persistent buzz of your phone, the weight of those weeks hadn’t fully sunk in.

Your hand lazily reaches for his side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Still half asleep, you reached out for your phone, the screen blinding in the dim light of your room. As your eyes adjusted, you saw the thousands of messages, and a particular notification popped up—an Instagram post from Pedro. You blinked, and then opened it.

There they were, pictures of you, ones you hadn’t even realized he’d taken.

The first image was from one of your walks in London. You were bundled up in a thick scarf and coat, the fog of your breath visible in the cool air. Your hair was slightly tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, and though you weren’t looking at the camera, you were looking at him, your smile soft, eyes alight with an easy, unguarded happiness. There was something about the way you looked at him in that picture—it was a look only he ever got to see.

Another photo showed you in a fit of laughter, your head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut, one hand covering your face as if trying to stifle the sound. It was blurry, like he’d caught you mid-movement, mid-moment. Completely unposed, completely you.

The next was a close-up, your hand stretched out toward him, your face only partially visible in the background, eyes shining, lips curved in a grin. You’d been reaching for his phone that day, playfully trying to snatch it from him, teasing him about taking too many pictures.

And then, a quieter one—an intimate photo of you curled up beside him on a couch, a book in hand, legs tucked beneath you. Your hair was untidy, and you weren’t paying attention to the world around you, just lost in your thoughts. The soft golden light of late afternoon bathed the room, and the moment felt like a secret—yours and his alone.

But what caught you wasn’t just the photos. It was the caption, simple yet profound in its clarity:

"Happy birthday to my best friend, the love of my life, my adventure partner, and my girl."

The internet exploded, notifications from friends, fans, your team, all lighting up your phone. Messages poured in—questions, congratulations, shock. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the truth in Pedro’s words, as clear as the morning light filtering through your window. No more hiding, no more stolen glances or shadows in the background. Just this—a love that had been quietly building, finally stepping into the open.

May 6, 2023

New York, NY

The night of the Met Gala buzzed with energy, a heady mix of anticipation swirling in the air. You both got ready in separate hotel rooms, allowing your respective teams the space to work their magic. The atmosphere was electric, the evening monumental—not just for the fashion, but for what it symbolized: your first public event as a couple. You had spent hours getting ready, your heart racing for reasons beyond the red carpet.

When you finally laid eyes on Pedro in his Valentino ensemble, time seemed to slow. He stood in the doorway, resplendent in a long crimson coat that swirled dramatically as he moved, paired with tailored shorts and sleek black boots. The boldness of the look, the way it fit him so perfectly, stole your breath.

"Oh my God," you whispered, unable to stop your jaw from dropping. There was something about seeing him like this—bold, confident, unapologetically himself—that sent a rush of heat through you.

Pedro, amused by your reaction, raised an eyebrow. “I know,” he said, smirking slightly, clearly aware of the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t help yourself, a cheeky grin curling on your lips. “May I say, as the kids say, that you are serving cunt?”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the hallway and bouncing off the walls, a deep, genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat. As he stepped closer, his eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of your body wrapped in the immaculate white Versace gown. The gown hugged your body perfectly, each intricate detail catching the light as you moved.

"Well," he said, still chuckling, his voice dipping as his gaze softened, "you're making it very hard to concentrate on anything else."

The cameras flashed endlessly as you stepped onto the carpet together, arms intertwined, your bodies pressed close as if the entire world didn’t matter. For the first time, there was no hiding, no second-guessing. Your love was out there, on display for everyone to see, the vulnerability of it both thrilling and terrifying. Every step you took together felt like a declaration.

Inside the venue, the evening flowed. The opulent setting melted into the background as you moved through the crowd, hand in hand. There were moments where Pedro would pull you in close, whispering jokes or sweet nothings in your ear, and you'd catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. You danced together several times, his hands resting on your waist, the weight of his touch grounding you in a night that felt like a dream.

The chaos of the night faded away as soon as you were alone, the two of you slipping out of your clothes. The city outside was alive, its lights casting a soft, romantic glow over the bed as you lay together, skin on skin. Pedro moved above you, his hands tracing gentle paths down your body, every touch filled with reverence.

His lips followed the same trail, soft and deliberate, until he kissed you, slow and tender, his body sinking into yours with a quiet intensity. The urgency of earlier was gone, replaced with something deeper, something that spoke of love and forever. His movements were languid, like you had all the time in the world, and maybe you did.

•••

Pedro had been cast in Gladiator 2 and left for Morocco in June to start filming. The distance was both expected and dreaded, the time apart a necessary evil in your world. But then he was gone, and you missed him every day. You flew out to see him twice, visiting the set with a thrill in your chest, knowing that you were entering his world, one where he wore armor and swords and commanded a screen.

The second time you visited, you stayed in a quaint residence near the edge of the city. The night air in Morocco was warm and fragrant. Lying on the bed, a soft breeze ruffling the curtains, you watched Pedro kick off his boots, shedding the intensity of the day's filming as his grin softened in your direction.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still rough from the day's work.

You rose, crossing the room to slip into his arms, pressing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, pulling you into him. You sighed into the space between his collarbones, feeling utterly content in his embrace.

“You know, it never gets old—seeing you in costume,” you teased, peering up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. “If I knew you had a thing for gladiators, I would’ve done this sooner.”

You slapped his chest lightly, earning another laugh. “I don’t. Just you.”

•••

When July came, the vast ocean between you dissolved, replaced by the steady beat of his heart as Pedro flew from Morocco. The journey had been long, the hours heavy, but the moment he stepped onto the red carpet in Los Angeles and saw you, standing tall in your black dress, framed against the shimmer of camera flashes, his weariness evaporated. The world could have spun around you, but all that existed for him was you—radiant, poised, and undeniably powerful.

His eyes never left you, and as the evening wore on, he finally drew close, his presence a gentle comfort in the midst of the chaotic premiere. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, each word carrying a tenderness that only you could feel.

Without hesitation, you leaned back into him, your body instinctively finding its place against his. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter, grounding you amidst the sparkle of the night. “Thank you for being here,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, meant only for him. It was a moment suspended in time, the noise fading as his warmth enveloped you.

In his arms, you weren’t the glamorous you, the center of attention. You were just you, and he was simply Pedro—the man who had flown across continents just to be by your side for the night. His pride in you radiated through every gentle touch, every lingering glance, and in those precious moments, you felt it deeply.

There was no performance here, no expectations. You didn’t have to try; you didn’t have to prove anything. With him, you were never too much or not enough. You were loved—completely and without condition.

•••

The SAG-AFTRA strike gave you both a break you hadn’t anticipated, but it was exactly what you needed. For the first time in ages, there were no press tours, no filming schedules, no red carpets to think about—just you and Pedro in the brownstone you'd bought together in New York.

The place was still in disarray, a maze of half-unpacked boxes, paint swatches taped to walls, and mismatched furniture that had yet to find its place. But it was yours. It was home.

Most days were spent amidst the chaos, trying to bring some sense of order to the space. You’d argue, though never seriously, about where to hang a certain painting, or which color should blanket the living room walls. Pedro had been adamant about a soft olive green, his voice confident as he gestured to the swatch. You’d rolled your eyes, but eventually relented, knowing full well he’d win you over. The walls gradually filled with memories—framed photos of your shared adventures, artwork picked up during travels, and books, some stacked haphazardly, others lovingly arranged by Pedro himself.

One rainy Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing Pedro’s emotional support Lakers shirt, the yellow one, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin. Pedro lay with his head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his dark curls. His eyes softened as he looked up at you, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, those crinkling lines at the corners that always made your heart flutter.

"Keep it until I come back," he had said, handing you the shirt the night before he left for Morocco. You’d kept it, of course, holding onto that part of him while he was gone, as if the shirt itself carried a trace of his warmth, his presence. Somehow, Pedro’s t-shirts always felt softer than yours, even though they were washed in the same generic detergent.

When he finally returned, seeing him at the door was enough to make your pulse quicken. You stood there, in his Lakers shirt, grinning at him in the way that only he could inspire. His eyes darkened when he noticed, a low sound escaping his throat. He didn’t even bother to hide the desire that bloomed so quickly between you, his fingers already tugging at the hem of the shirt before you even had the chance to say anything.

That night, he made love to you with the shirt still on, pushing the fabric higher as his hands skimmed the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers knew exactly how to touch you, how to unlock the deepest parts of you before you even knew what was happening. Pedro always wanted your company in such a frank, straightforward way, his need so clear and open that you found yourself giving in to him completely, surrendering to his hands and his mouth before you even realized what you were doing.

As his lips pressed against the curve of your throat, trailing kisses down your neck, he murmured softly, “Missed you so much, mi amor,” his words brushing against your skin as his hand curled tenderly against your ear, thumb tracing the delicate curve. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the tiny bullseye doodle inked on the back of his left hand, just between his thumb and index finger.

The days unfolded like that—long stretches of time where the outside world felt far away. You’d lounge in the living room, watching movies. Or dancing to Prince songs in the kitchen while cooking together.

•••

The strike went on longer than expected, giving him something he hadn’t had in ages—time. Time to breathe, to be with you without the constant pull of deadlines, flights, or set schedules.

When the idea of escaping to Europe surfaced, it felt like fate. He craved your company in ways he hadn’t realized until the possibility of uninterrupted days became real. And so, flights were booked, suitcases stuffed, and you ran away together.

Paris was the first stop. Cobblestone streets and the smell of fresh bread lingered in the air as you wandered hand-in-hand along the Seine. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You were his favorite sight in the city.

One evening, the sky was tinted rosy, as if it, too, was in love, bathing the city in a soft, ethereal glow. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, as you stood by the water, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background.

“We needed this,” you murmured, voice as soft as the setting sun.

“Yeah, we did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The simplicity of the moment made his heart swell. Here, in Paris, everything slowed down, and they had time—time to love without distraction.

•••

Mallorca had a way of making everything slow down. It was the kind of place that made Pedro feel young again. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sky stretched out, impossibly blue, matching the water that shimmered below.

When you arrived at the hotel, the exhaustion from travel and the constant rush of life evaporated as soon as his hands found you.

He couldn't wait any longer, his hands reaching for you the moment you crossed the threshold into your room. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressing urgently against yours as he murmured, "Take this off, quick," between heated kisses. You giggled, that soft, breathy sound that always made his heart skip, but the look in your eyes was anything but playful.

The two of you had tumbled into bed, a mess of limbs and laughter, desire taking over. You were on top of him, moving slow and deliberate, the way he liked it. Your skin glistened with sweat, the heat of the room wrapping around your bodies, and he couldn’t think of anything except how much he needed you in that moment. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was branding him, marking him as yours. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves he knew so well, and still, every time felt like the first.

When it was over, you both lay tangled together, the scent of your exertion heavy in the air. He could feel your breath on his neck, the warmth of your skin against his. For a long while, neither of you moved, content to just exist in that perfect silence, the summer heat pressing against the windows as the world outside slowed to a standstill. You didn’t know how easily you had marked him, how deeply you had sunk your teeth into his flesh.

Hours later, he woke to find you still draped over him, your head resting on his chest, your fingers splayed over his stomach. His heart ached in the best way—this was what it meant to be yours. Every part of him, from the way he loved you to the way his mind quieted when you were near, belonged to you.

The next morning, you were sitting by the water, perched on the smooth rocks that lined the shore. The water was clear as day, a sparkling, crystal blue that seemed to go on endlessly. You were wearing that purple swimsuit he loved so much. It made his pulse quicken every time he saw you in it.

You were eating fruit—mangos and berries, the sweetness lingering on his lips as you both played cards; the deck spread out between you. Pedro loved these simple moments. The sunlight reflected off the water, casting a coppery glow over everything, and he couldn’t help but stare at you as you talked, your wet hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes bright and happy.

“You’re cheating,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you set your cards down, suspicious.

He grinned, pretending to be offended.

“Cheating? Me? I would never.”

“You totally are,” you insisted, reaching across to poke his chest. “I know that look. You’ve got something.”

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over you. “I’m not cheating, cariño. I’m just better at this game than you.”

“Liar.”

It was easy between you, the banter flowing naturally as you both basked in the warmth of the sun. There was a lightness to being here, a sense of freedom that neither of you could ignore.

Everything felt right—perfect, even.

A few minutes later, you stretched lazily, setting your cards aside as you glanced toward the water. “Wanna take a swim, old man?” you teased, your eyes sparkling. “I’m hot.”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart racing just a little faster at the sight of you.

God, you were beautiful.

"Yes."

You stood, offering him your hand, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet with a grin. “Come on then,” you said, leading him toward the water, your bare feet dancing across the hot rocks.

The water was cool against his skin as you both waded in, the heat of the day melting away as you swam lazily, floating in the crystal-clear sea. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way the water glistened on your skin, the way you smiled at him, carefree and full of life.

•••

Prague felt like stepping into another time, a place woven with cobblestone streets and Gothic spires. Pedro loved it here. It suited the two of you—a city where you could get lost, but it never felt like a mistake, only an adventure. As you walked hand in hand through the narrow alleyways, your laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls.

He hadn’t been able to stop staring at you all night, captivated by the way your red lipstick caught the dim light of streetlamps, the way it stained the wine glass at dinner. It was as if the color made everything else disappear, and his attention had been stuck on your mouth, tracing the lines of your lips as you smiled, teased, and bantered with him. The playful glint in your eyes was dangerous, addictive.

“You keep calling me ‘old man’ like it’s supposed to offend me,” he teased, his voice low as you strolled down the empty streets, slightly drunk, arm looped through his.

“Well,” you said, pausing dramatically to look up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You are older. Wiser, though. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “Careful, baby, or I’ll stop giving you the benefit of my hard-earned wisdom.”

“Hard-earned wisdom, huh? Sure,” you teased, your fingers tugging gently at the fabric of his black dress shirt, your steps a little unsteady but your voice steady with danger. “Was it hard-earned the same way you’ve earned all those aches and pains?”

He groaned exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his back, pretending to wince. “See? There it is again. More ageism. You’re really hurting my feelings here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the sound light and free. “You don’t have feelings.”

“I do,” he replied, pulling you closer with a smirk. “But only for you.”

As you walked, your voice drifted into song, soft and playful, filling the quiet streets with warmth. He didn’t know if you realized how much those little moments, like hearing you sing absentmindedly, grounded him, made him feel like everything in the world was where it should be.

“Do you ever stop singing?” he asked, though not wanting you to stop.

“Not when I’m happy,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

His chest tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as the city’s chill air wrapped around you both. “I like hearing it.”

When you reached Waldstein Gardens earlier that afternoon, the place had been nearly empty. The serenity of the garden, the way your footsteps echoed in the quiet, felt magical. The trees arched over the pathways, casting dappled shadows that danced as you moved through them, your laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

At one point, you had gotten lost, but neither of you cared. It was part of the charm, part of what made being with you feel so effortless—there was never a rush, never an urgency. You wandered the gardens as though you had all the time in the world.

“Getting lost with you isn’t so bad,” he had said at one point, his hand brushing against yours.

“You’re just saying that because I have no idea where we are.”

“Maybe.” He stopped walking then, turning to face you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth, smudging that perfect red lipstick ever so slightly.

“But it’s true.”

You kissed him then, in the middle of the empty path. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it felt like Prague, the gardens, the world itself, existed solely to frame this moment.

Later, back in your hotel room, you laughed about how lost you had gotten, and he couldn’t stop looking at your lips, still stained that perfect red.

•••

Budapest was a dream of thermal baths and long, lazy afternoons. One day, you both spent hours soaking in the warm water, your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder as you floated aimlessly. He had never felt so relaxed, so completely at ease with anyone else. You were his anchor, keeping him from drifting away into his worries.

“You sing when you wash yourself,” he told you one night as you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel wrapped around your body.

“Do I?” you asked, smiling as you pulled him close.

He nodded, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “It’s one of the best sounds in the world.”

"Any requests for my next shower?"

"Hm, maybe some Fleetwood Mac?"

"Excellent choice, señor."

•••

Amsterdam was breathtakingly beautiful, and Pedro started to feel the weight of traveling in his bones. Though he didn't care. He was too busy loving you.

You two were in a bookstore, and you were a few aisles over, browsing through a stack of Russian literature, and he could hear you muttering under your breath, something about Dostoevsky. He turned the corner and found you flipping through a copy of White Nights.

“I swear, I’m like that annoying guy who’s always like, ‘Oh, I love Dostoevsky, I’m so cool, blah blah,’” you said, half-joking but self-aware, and Pedro couldn’t help but laugh at your expression.

He leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, his smile soft and warm. “I actually read Crime and Punishment,” he said. “Surprisingly, it was a pageturner.”

“So, that makes us both annoying, huh?”

“Guess so.” He chuckled, watching as you turned your attention back to the books, eyes scanning the shelves like you were searching for a treasure hidden somewhere in the pages.

Pedro had always been drawn to sad books—melancholic stories, poems filled with longing. He didn’t know why, but they spoke to a part of him that craved depth. Maybe it was his way of dealing with his own emotions, or maybe it was just the kind of person he was.

A few minutes passed, and he found you again, holding a book in his hand. “Have you read The Master and Margarita?” he asked, handing it to you with a curious look.

You shook your head, glancing at the cover. “No, but if it’s one of your favorites, it’s going in the basket.”

You slipped it into the growing pile of books in your arms, and he smiled to himself, a little satisfied. He always felt a thrill when he introduced you to something he loved, like he was sharing a part of himself with you in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

Later that day, you found yourselves biking along the narrow streets, the cool breeze ruffling your hair. Pedro had long since gotten used to the feeling of the city under his tires, but he could still feel the fatigue of the trip settling into his bones.

You, on the other hand, were full of energy, pedaling with ease and laughing as you wove in and out of the winding paths.

“Stop, stop!” you called out, laughing as you veered toward a small ice cream stand by the water. Pedro pulled up beside you, catching his breath as you hopped off your bike, grinning like a kid.

“You want some?” you asked, eyeing the menu as if you hadn’t already decided what you were getting.

He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that look he always gave when you were being particularly cute. “You’re the one who’s always saying I’m the one with the sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot,” you replied, throwing him a playful glance. “Old man, you should try to keep up.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be offended as he got off his bike. “You know, the more you call me ‘old man,’ the less inclined I am to buy you ice cream.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you ordered two scoops of stroopwafel-flavored ice cream. The vendor handed it over, and you took a bite, closing your eyes in bliss. It was one of the things he loved about you—how you seemed to savor every little thing, even the simple joy of ice cream on a sunny afternoon.

After you had both finished, you found a bench by the canal, sitting side by side as people biked past and boats drifted lazily by. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and Pedro wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your hair mixed with the cool air of the city.

“You know, this has been one of my favorite days,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He smiled, his heart full. “Mine too.”

A few days later, Pedro stretched his legs out on the couch, wrapping them around yours, as the familiar opening scenes of The Princess Bride rolled across the screen. The rain outside was steady, a soft backdrop to the cozy warmth of the hotel room. He was in his element, leaning into the cushions with a contented grin, quoting the movie with ease.

"Farm boy, fetch me that pitcher..." he said in perfect sync with the screen, his voice low and exaggerated. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the slight roll of your eyes.

“Oh my god, P, you do know every line,” you said, your voice tinged with affection as you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're such a nerd."

He turned to you, a mock look of indignation on his face. “Uh, do I need to remind you of all the times you’ve made me watch Mamma Mia?” His eyebrow raised dramatically, but his tone was playful. “And each time, you quote it in its entirety—and sing all the songs. Should I get started on Dancing Queen?”

You laughed, the sound soft and light. He loved that sound. Loved that it was his ridiculous comments that brought it out of you.

"Oh, don’t even tell me you don’t love it," you fired back, grinning up at him, your finger poking his side as if daring him to deny it.

He grinned wider, shrugging a little too innocently. “Well... I may or may not have had Super Trouper stuck in my head for weeks after the last time. So thanks for that.” He shifted, planting a kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair for a moment.

You nudged him, laughing. “I knew it. You love it. Admit it—you secretly love ABBA.”

He groaned dramatically. “Okay, fine. But only because you sing the songs better than the actual cast,” he teased, grinning as he leaned in closer, his forehead brushing yours. "Also, because Pierce Brosnan’s singing makes me feel better about my own.”

“Oh, please,” you said, laughing, “I’ve heard you sing. He's good. You? you...try.”

Pedro’s grin turned soft as he looked at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, his hand absentmindedly running through your hair.

The movie continued playing in the background, but it was quickly becoming an afterthought as you tangled yourself further into him. Your feet brushed against his, and he shifted slightly to wrap his arms around you tighter.

"Honestly," he started again, "I don't know how you do it. Mamma Mia, what, three times a month?"

“Hey, ABBA is universal,” you shot back, poking him again.

Pedro chuckled, leaning back into the cushions.

“Alright, alright.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, and you scrunched it.

“Do you think we’re ever gonna get through a movie without this much banter?” you asked, grinning as you broke the tender moment.

Pedro laughed.“Absolutely not. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes again, settling deeper into his chest as the rain continued to patter against the window, and for a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the movie continuing on without needing your attention.

But then, just as the movie’s most iconic scene approached, Pedro couldn’t resist.

“As you wish,” he said, quoting Westley once more, his voice low and affectionate, his lips brushing the top of your head again.

You groaned, half-laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Pedro murmured, his grin softening into something more tender. “But I know you wouldn't have it any other way.”

"You're right for once."

•••

Lisbon was hot. The kind of heat that makes everything slow down—the air, the conversations, the drinks. Pedro loved it. The golden sunlight bouncing off the tiled walls, the lazy sound of street musicians playing as you wandered through the city together. His friends had joined you both here for a bit, filling the days with laughter and easy company.

Tonight, you were all crammed into a small bar. He was on his third cold beer, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he took a slow sip, savoring the moment. Every now and then, he’d feel your gaze on him, and when he looked back, there you were—teasing him about yet another ridiculous shirt he’d thrown on.

“Is this one an improvement over yesterday’s?” he asked, voice full of mock innocence. He gestured to the vibrant, swirling orange and pink pattern across his chest.

You squinted, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned closer. “It’s loud. I’ll give you that. If we get lost, I can just look for a neon sign with arms.”

He snorted, setting his beer down, and casually placed his hand on your knee. The conversation around the table swirled—friends joking, sharing stories, laughing—but his focus kept drifting back to you. The way your skin glowed under the low light, the way your shoulders were bare, save for that thin scarf you’d tied as a top. Every time you leaned forward to laugh, the knot on your back shifted slightly, and he found himself tracing the lines of it with his eyes, admiring the curve of your spine.

You said his name a lot lately. In that soft, familiar way you did when you were teasing him, or when you wanted his attention, or when you were just... comfortable. Every time you said it, it sent a small jolt of tenderness through him.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger for just a second longer than necessary. The skin was warm from the Lisbon sun, and the smell of your perfume mixed with the salty sea breeze.

One afternoon, the group had convinced you both to take a pottery class. He hadn’t been sure about it at first—clay and his hands weren’t usually a good match—but seeing the excited look on your face when you found the studio made it worth it.

You’d both sat at a long table with his friends, laughing as you tried to shape bowls and cups out of the spinning clay. Your first attempt looked more like a lumpy rock than anything functional.

“Is that supposed to be a mug, or are you sculpting an alien egg?” he teased, leaning over to inspect your disaster of a creation.

He saw you glance at his perfectly shaped little vase and pretended to look offended.

“I’m going for abstract, thank you very much. It’s called art.”

He chuckled, reaching over to smooth out one of the many dents in your clay. “Uh-huh. Very avant-garde of you, Picasso.”

But as much as he teased you, he caught your sneaking glances, a small smile playing on your lips as you focused on your own project. He loved that look, the one you got when you were completely in the moment. It was one of the intangible things about you that had him wrapped up in this feeling—this deep, undeniable love for you that grew stronger with each passing day.

Then, there was that morning with the guitar.

You knew he could play a little—enough to get by—but since he’d be playing in the second season of The Last of Us, he wanted to get better.

Naturally, you’d offered to teach him. The two of you had sat on the balcony of your Lisbon apartment, overlooking the orange-tiled rooftops, the sunlight leaving soft shadows over the city. You had your guitar across your lap, showing him some basic chords.

He was fumbling through a chord progression when you placed your hands over his, your body pressing up behind him to guide his fingers. He could feel your breath on his neck, the closeness making it hard to focus on the strings.

“C’mon, you’ve got this,” you said, your voice encouraging but playful. “It’s not that hard.”

He let out a frustrated laugh, leaning back into you slightly. “Says the musical genius over here.”

You laughed, your lips brushing against his ear. “You’re just distracted,” you teased, your hands still over his, guiding his fingers through the chord.

“Maybe I am,” he muttered, grinning as he strummed again, this time hitting the right notes. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

You leaned closer, your chin resting on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at your face. “See? I’m a great teacher.”

He shifted slightly, turning his head so your faces were almost touching. “Or maybe I’m just a great student.”

“Don’t get cocky, Pascal.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, feeling that same warmth spread through him again. These moments—when it was just the two of you, tangled up in something as simple as learning a song—they felt infinite. He knew he’d carry them with him long after this trip was over.

Back in the bar, as the night stretched on, Pedro sat back and took it all in. His friends, his drink, you. It was the small, intangible things that made him love you more each day. Every once in a while, he’d lean in to place another kiss on your bare shoulder, just because he could. Just because he was happy.

•••

Pedro leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, as the sun dipped behind the whitewashed buildings of Santorini. The sky was a vivid pink, painted like a postcard, and the sea below shimmered in a way that made it look almost unreal. You sat beside him on the balcony, sharing a bottle of white wine, your feet propped on the railing. The light caught your face, and Pedro couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by how the golden hue played off your skin, tracing the curves of your cheekbones, catching in your eyes.

You turned to him, smiling as you took a sip from your glass. “What?” you asked softly, your voice teasing.

He shook his head, smiling back. “Nothing. Just... I’m watching the sunset.”

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic, filling the space between you. “Pedro, the sunset’s over there.” You motioned toward the horizon, but he didn’t budge.

“I know,” he said, his eyes still fixed on you. “I’m watching this sunset.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your cheeks flushed, and Pedro swore he could spend every night like this.

"You're so cheesy."

Later that night, as you lay together in bed, Pedro traced the tan lines on your back, his fingers lightly brushing the places where the sun had kissed your skin. You had fallen asleep draped over him, your breath soft and even, and for a moment, he just watched you, trying to memorize the way you looked right then—beautiful, peaceful, perfect. He wondered if you knew what a cure you were, how you’d managed to stitch up the parts of him he didn’t even know were broken.

A few days later, you dragged him to a small, lively bar tucked away in the maze of Santorini’s winding streets. “Someone told me about this place at breakfast,” you said, pulling him by the hand. “They have fun cocktails, I heard.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, but let you lead him. “Are you sure that's all?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Yes, yes,” you flashed him a grin, that wicked little smile that always made his chest tighten.

The bar was relaxed but bustling, filled with the soft murmur of people talking over drinks. Pedro wore a loose white linen shirt, feeling a bit too warm but too comfortable to care. You, on the other hand, looked like you belonged in a dream—a short, flowy white dress that clung to your body just right, showing off your legs in a way that drove him wild. All his thoughts kept coming back to you in that dress. He couldn’t stop looking. Every time you shifted, crossed your legs, or leaned in to talk, his mind wandered to how good you looked in it.

As the two of you sat at a table in the center, sipping cocktails and bantering over something stupid, Pedro noticed the energy in the room shift. The lights dimmed, and a woman—likely in her 60s, with long white hair and a colorful dress—stepped to the front of the room.

“Good evening, everyone!” she said, her thick accent cutting through the crowd. “If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. And if you haven’t, welcome to the karaoke section of the night!”

Pedro’s eyes went wide. He turned to you immediately.

“Oh no,” you muttered, pulling your chair back. “I had no idea—do you want to leave?”

For a moment, he thought you were about to escape, but instead, the woman with the mic suddenly appeared at your side, handing it to you. You grinned at Pedro, your eyes twinkling with mischief, shrugging as if to say, what can you do?

Pedro let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve ambushed me,” he said, grinning as you stood up and made your way toward the front.

The crowd cheered as you started to sing Honey, Honey, and Pedro leaned back in his chair, watching you in awe. You were working the room like it was your own personal stage, your white dress flowing as you danced in your sandals and smiled, effortlessly captivating everyone.

As the music swelled, you pointed at him during the line, “You look like a movie star,” your eyes locking with his. Pedro played along, pointing at himself with an exaggerated look of confusion, mouthing, “Me?”

God, you were driving him crazy.

The whole room was watching you, and they had their phones out, and he loved it. Loved that this moment would live forever, likely plastered across social media by morning. But more than anything, he loved that you were his, that you could light up any room and still make him feel like the only person there.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and you took a few pictures with some of the guests before sauntering back to the table, sitting down across from him like nothing had happened. Pedro was still grinning, his heart beating fast from watching you, completely enamored.

“Not bad,” you teased, sipping your drink, pretending like you hadn’t just stolen the show.

Pedro leaned across the table, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for you. “You’re killing me here, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Killing you, how?”

“You... in that dress,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to your legs before flicking back to your face. “Dancing, in that dress. Singing. It’s unfair, really. I’m trying to keep it together over here.”

You laughed, your foot brushing against his under the table. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Should I have picked a more modest song or…dress?”

Pedro smirked, leaning in even closer, his hand reaching across the table to rest on yours. “You know what’s comfortable?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “The fact that you’re going home with me tonight.”

Your eyes sparkled, and Pedro knew that look all too well. “Well, sir,” you said with a grin, “then I guess I’ll have to make it worth your while.”

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “You already do,” he whispered.

•••

Amalfi Coast was like a postcard come to life. The sea carried out before him, sparkling blue. Both of you spent hours on the beach, the sun hot on your skin. You wore a red bikini that left little to the imagination, and every time he glanced at you, he felt something stir in his chest. There were parts of your body, those sun-kissed curves, that felt too sacred to stare at for too long, yet he couldn’t look away.

You could not be held responsible for his reaction to you, for the cry of your sunburnt skin against the bright red bikini.

When you both returned to the hotel room after a long day, you ordered a bucket of ice. Pedro didn’t question it, watching you from the bed as you moved about the room with that effortless grace you had. When the door clicked shut, you emptied the ice into a small towel and handed it to him.

“Will you do my back, baby?” you asked, voice soft but certain. Of course, he would. How could he deny you anything?

He pressed the cold towel to your sunburnt skin, your body arching slightly under his touch. “You should have stayed in the shade,” he teased, though his voice was filled with tenderness.

"You know how stubborn I am."

He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so content, so completely grounded in a moment. You were his fix, keeping him tethered to this world, to the present, to himself.

Later that night, with the cool breeze from the sea drifting in through the open window, Pedro pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to the places he had soothed with ice earlier. You moaned softly, and he felt that familiar warmth spread through him.

In those moments, he wants to give you everything—his time, his love, his energy. He hopes you take it. He wants to be yours completely, to listen to all of your musings, that you write him a thousand songs and letters, to be your safe space, just as you were his.

•••

He was nominated for an Emmy while you were in Rome, and he could tell you had never been more proud of him. You tackled him in the hotel room when the news broke, showering him with kisses, his laughter echoing through the space.

“Mi amor, you're going to kill me,” he laughed, though his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly.

“I don’t care,” you beamed, your hands cupping his face. “You deserve this so much.”

October 28, 2023

Los Angeles, California

This week was etched into your memory as the final crescendo to a whirlwind of Halloween festivities. LA had been alive with spooky energy the entire month, and tonight was no different.

You had spent the past week with Pedro, hopping from one Halloween event to another, attending parties, and trying to outdo each other with costumes. A few nights ago, you went to Halloween Horror Nights with his sister, Lux, and it had been a blast. You kept things simple with jeans and a t-shirt, but the thrill of the night was anything but.

The three of you had navigated the maze of haunted houses, clinging to each other whenever something jumped out at you. Lux had led the way, fearless, while Pedro and you exchanged shrieks and laughter.

"Okay, next haunted house, I'm going first," Pedro had said, puffing out his chest.

"You said that last time, and yet..." you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lux laughed, shaking her head. "Don't let him fool you, he's jumped every time."

Pedro gasped dramatically. "Betrayed by my own sister. I thought we had a pact."

The whole night had been filled with that kind of lighthearted banter, and by the end, the three of you were breathless from laughing, your sides aching as you relived the best scares over churros and hot chocolate.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the final party of the season, the one you and Pedro were hosting at your LA home. The living room had been transformed with cobwebs and orange fairy lights, pumpkins scattered around with flickering candles inside. The theme for your costumes had been a matter of heated debate all week, but in the end, you’d settled on something so ridiculous it was perfect.

You, in a buttoned-up suit and black tie, with a fedora perched on your head, were Oppenheimer.

Pedro, in black pants, a black shirt with white fringe, a pink bandana draped around his neck, and a white cowboy hat—was Cowboy Ken.

Together, you were, you guessed it: Barbenheimer.

For hours, you floated around the party, telling people, “We’re Barbenheimer!” while Pedro chimed in, “Or more like Kenenheimer, don’t you think?”

The whole night you were drifting from conversation to conversation, catching up with your girlfriends. All your old dramas are revived that night, and it is so sweet. But eventually, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for a moment of peace away from the noise. You opened the fridge to grab another drink when you heard the familiar sound of Pedro's boots behind you.

"Well, hello there," he said, setting down two empty beer bottles on the island. His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that you recognized immediately.

You turned around, leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, hi, baby.”

You took a step towards him, your eyes shamelessly raking over his cowboy getup. He really had committed to the role, he hadn't taken that hat off all night.

Pedro noticed your gaze, smirking as he adjusted his hat. “What are you up to, Oppie? Did you need a drink, or are you just here to admire the view?”

You chuckled, crossing the kitchen to stand in front of him. “You know,” you began, running a hand up the front of his shirt, “when you decided on Cowboy Ken, I was a bit skeptical. I thought you were going to look funny…”

“Oh yeah?”

“But it turns out,” you continued, letting your voice drop, “it’s actually really hot, mister.” Your fingers trailed slowly over the lapel of his shirt, down to his belt.

Pedro tilted his head, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, eyes gleaming. “I guess I have a thing for cowboys now.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke. “Good to know,” he whispered. His hand came up to rest on your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The smell of him, that mix of cologne and something distinctly Pedro, filled your senses.

The morning after the party, you woke up to a flood of notifications. He was fast asleep next to you. Sleepily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through the pictures from last night, stopping at the one you'd posted of you and Pedro in your costumes.

The caption: "Save a horse, ride a Ken."

It had been quite a hit. People were already loving the playfulness of it, but then you noticed Pedro’s comment beneath the post. Of course, he couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire.

Pedro had written: "How about we skip the horse and go straight to the riding? 😘🐎"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at the screen. It was so him. And of course, the comment section below his was already blowing up with people reacting insanely to it.

This man.

December 22, 2023

Santiago, Chile

Christmas in Chile was supposed to be calm—a peaceful, family-filled holiday with Pedro’s relatives. You'd imagined quiet dinners, soft music, and some traditional Chilean dishes. But in typical Pedro fashion, things didn’t stay quiet for long.

It started innocently enough. The two of you had decided to explore the local market, weaving through the crowds, hand in hand. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of grilled meats and roasted chestnuts, the hustle of people bartering, chatting, and living. Pedro was telling you something funny—some story about when he was a kid and his brother dared him to climb a tree.

You weren’t really listening, though, because your eyes kept catching on the colorful stalls and bright trinkets. It was the perfect, chaotic slice of Chilean life.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. One minute Pedro was laughing, and the next, his foot caught a loose cobblestone, and down he went. Time slowed for a moment, and all you could do was gasp as you saw him hit the ground, his arm awkwardly twisted beneath him.

“Pedro!” You shrieked, rushing to his side, heart hammering in your chest.

He winced as you kneeled beside him, your hands hovering over him like you weren’t sure where to touch. His face was scrunched up, but he looked up at you with that familiar grin, trying to calm you down despite the clear pain written across his features. “Baby, it’s fine. Calm down.”

But it wasn’t fine. His right arm looked wrong, and even though he tried to brush it off, you knew better. Panic twisted your stomach, and before you knew it, you were helping him up, heading straight to the hospital.

The next few hours were a blur of waiting rooms and x-rays, and you held your breath every time Pedro winced. By the time they had him in an arm sling, you’d run through every possible scenario in your head, imagining the worst. But Pedro, as always, was trying to make light of the situation, his laughter filling the otherwise sterile room.

When you finally sat beside him, a mix of relief and exasperation washed over you. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” you teased, leaning over, your earlier panic slowly dissolving.

Pedro smirked, eyes sparkling despite the bandages. “Maybe later,” he said with a wink, his tone low, full of innuendo.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even in pain, even with his arm in a sling, Pedro was Pedro—never one to let anything dampen his spirits for long.

A couple of days after the initial chaos settled, you found yourselves at his family’s home. Pedro’s sling stood out against the twinkling Christmas lights, but he didn’t seem to care. And neither did you, because as you sat together, surrounded by family, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. Even if your quiet holiday had taken an unexpected turn, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

December 31st, 2023

Los Angeles, California

New Year’s Eve felt different this time around—different in the best way possible. There was a softness to the night. The party swirled with music and movement, friends mingling and dancing in the flicker of colorful lights. But even with all that, your attention was fully drawn to him.

Pedro looked ridiculously adorable, even with his arm in a sling from that incident, and to top it off, he wore this silly pointy party hat that somehow made him even cuter. Every time you glanced at him, your heart warmed a little more. He had been a trooper through the night, navigating conversations and laughter with his usual charm, but always with that one lazy smile he reserved just for you.

After a few drinks, you found yourself perched on his lap, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His left arm, the one still functional, wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. You were rambling about something silly, pestering him like you often did, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Understood," he said, his fingers tapped lightly against your lips, a gesture that you had come to love.

You caught his fingers, pretending to bite them before leaning in for a kiss. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and familiar, and despite how long you’d been together, every kiss still made your heart race a little.

The song playing in the background, Do Friends Fall in Love?, fitted perfectly.

His hand slid gently down your back, making you shiver at the contact, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your hip.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, laughing softly as you nuzzled closer. “You’re an open book, Pascal,” you teased, rolling your eyes dramatically, though your words were laced with affection. “Easy to read.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you that half-smile, the one that always made your heart flip. It was a smile full of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t but wasn’t about to tell you.

“Oh yeah?” he muttered, leaning in closer, his lips grazing your ear, making you blush even in the warmth of the crowded room.

The night carried on around you, the music mixing with the hum of laughter and conversations, but your attention never wavered from him. The countdown to midnight began, the excitement in the room rising as everyone gathered with glasses in hand, but you were only aware of the way Pedro’s thumb traced patterns on your thigh, the way his eyes softened as they looked into yours.

“Five… four…”

The rest of the party blurred, voices fading into the background as the two of you stayed locked in that moment.

“Three… two…”

Pedro’s eyes never left yours, and in the space between heartbeats, the room fell away. His gaze was warm, intense, and full of love—so much that it felt like you could melt under it.

“One!”

Cheers erupted around you, glasses clinking, people shouting “Happy New Year!” But you barely heard any of it because Pedro’s lips were on yours, warm, gentle, and full of everything that made your heart feel like it was soaring.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but smile, resting your forehead against his, feeling the soft tickle of his breath against your skin. “Happy New Year, baby,” you whispered, your voice filled with affection.

He smiled back, eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. “Happy New Year, mi amor,” he replied, his voice low and tender, the words settling between you like a promise for the year to come.

a/n: alright so this was so nice and fun to write. please pleaseee let me know your thoughts besties!!! and don't forget to reblog and like. much love <3

next and final part!

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #love is complicated fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you

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