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somnoir · 23 days ago

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Down Bad in Distress

Bruce Wayne is kidnapped... A lot. And it's always so weird that only Batman is allowed to save him. That this dumb, charming, but kidnap-able Billionaire doesn't have a bodyguard.

Now, Bruce can simply go "Oh, we've got Batman. No need to worry for that!" But people are fussy nowadays. He underestimates just bow much Gotham loves their disaster of a prince with a golden heart. Even his company employees are begging him to hire a bodyguard. (This is from the many files being sent to his office, obvious recommendations on competent bodyguards)

Cut to the new bodyguard for hire—who was recommended by Alfred of all people (something about him being the disciple of a good old friend of his). The man was large. Fucking huge. Taller than Jason, if one would like to admit (Jason is his 6'4" baby and this fucking fridge if a man looked 6'6").

But he was all soft and warm. Like a golden retriever the size of a bear.

Anyways, Danny was a rather kind man. When he wasn't following Bruce around and playing bodyguard, he was indulging the kids. Entertaining them with the most obscure things and stories from his childhood. Better yet, Danny would be the kids' bodyguard rather than Bruce's whenever they went out.

It was a miracle when they realized that Damian wasn't reacting badly to the man. Very strange since Damian would think it'd be shameful for someone to protect him during the day. But then again, Bruce once saw Danny effortlessly pick up Damian so his son could coax a cat out of a tree. That was most likely the kicker.

Anyways, Danny looked and felt soft.

It wasn't easy for him to settle into the man's ever present presence, but it's been almost four months since Danny's been hired and Bruce doesn't even flinch when the man brightly greets him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, mr. Wayne!" Danny would say, all teeth and bright eyes in his suit.

"Bruce," he'd correct immediately.

And then Danny would pause, laugh, and— "Good morning, Bruce."

Then his kids would follow and Danny would affectionately greet them all, ask where they plan to go and if they needed Danny to follow.

His bodyguard was like sunshine and warmth incarnate.

But if course, Danny was a bodyguard.

There were instances where Bruce would have to take a second to remind himself that this man that would look down at socialites like he's ready to crush their hands is the same one who once gave him puppy-dog eyes to back up Damian when his son asked to keep the kittens.

That the same man who grabbed someone by the scruff of their collar like they were weightless was the same one who talked about poetry and literature with Jason.

That the man who once hauled Bruce off the ground and walked right out the gala when the smoke alarms blared is the same one who would gently coax Tim off the coach and into a proper bed.

But right now, that's not his concern. No. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he's gotten kidnapped again.

Everyone was most likely alerted. They were. He could hear Red Robin, Blackbat and Spoiler talking over the comms, checking in on Red Hood and Robin in case things went off.

"B, don't move. These guys are more prepared than the usual ones." Tim's voice filters into the comms, evidently annoyed. "I've got Oracle checking if there are any bombs in the place."

Bruce stayed silent, watching the masked men and women walk around, guns in hand and crates surrounding them. He had been knocked out during a party. The last thing he saw was Danny's eyes—god, it frightened him a bit. How those pretty blues suddenly turned green like Jason's.

Then he was here. Most likely with a concussion.

"B?"

"I'm okay... Be careful..." He murmurs under his breath, hearing his children sigh in relief.

"Good. We've got Red Ho—What the fuck is that?" Barbara immediately cut herself off, her voice strained and pitched with surprise.

"Oracle?"

"Spoiler—Do you have a view on that?" Oracle frantically asked. "Shit—the cameras just went down. Guys?"

"is that—" Stephanie chokes out, "Is that Danny?"

Bruce froze. Danny?

Jason always knew that Danny was kinda off. The first time he met the man, it wasn't his size that Jason immediately noticed. It was how his eyes flashed green when they met his. At first, he felt threatened, ready to attack whatever the fuck thought it was a good idea to infiltrate his family.

But then... Then Danny smiled at him. Offered his hand with a kind greeting. Jason took that hand and... And felt calm. Like the buzz in his head melted away, like the Lazarus was cleansed.

And Danny most likely knew. Because the man was smiling in satisfaction, like he was pleased that Jason suddenly didn't feel starved and angry and hurt.

"I don't know what happened to you kid, but whatever the hell did, it wasn't good for you. Hopefully you'll get better now." Danny whispered softly and then withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back.

Jason doesn't know what the fuck Danny was but the man was worth keeping around.

Admittedly, he turned to Danny a lot nowadays. Jason can't call Bruce all the time. No. His relationship with Bruce still isn't good enough to warrant Jason to call him constantly.

But Danny? Again, Jason doesn't know what the hell this guy is but whenever Jason was in trouble, he dialed Danny's phone immediately. And he came... Every, single, fucking time. No questions asked, just pick Jason up and patch him up like nothing.

Danny was a good guy. Like sunshine, like golden retrievers. All teeth with some fangs.

And that same guy just snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.

"Hood... Are you seeing this?" Robin asked beside him, equally stunned as they watched their usually kind and sweet bodyguard effortlessly tear through the group of men with his bare hands. There was already blood around. Everywhere, maybe. Some already on Danny.

"He's on a fucking warpath." Jason murmurs. Every bit of admiration he had for Danny just multiplied by a thousand when he watched him grab a gun right out of a guy's hand and slam it into their head. Fucking amazing.

If Bruce doesn't square up and ask this guy on a date, Jason would have to start planning to parent trap them.

Fucking shit, he needed this guy as a dad.

The doors don’t just open—they explode off their hinges, a violent crack echoing through the warehouse. Guns swing up, barrels glinting under harsh light, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the figure in the doorway.

Bruce’s pulse slams against his ribs.

And then Danny walks in, dragging a half-conscious man by the leg, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He doesn’t even look winded.

Blood stains his usually pristine uniform—smeared across his face, streaked over the white of his shirt, soaking into his knuckles. His tie is gone. His collar is open, a few buttons undone, exposing a sliver of skin beneath the mess. There’s blood on his face, drying in streaks, and his knuckles—his knuckles are raw, dripping, alive. He looks… disheveled. Lethal. Gorgeous.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S DANNY!" Spoiler screeched, "HE'S BODYING THOSE FUCKERS! RED! RED, ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?!"

"SOMEONE RECORD THIS! SHIT! SOMEONE RECORD THIS!" Red Robin replied, equally loud and frantic as if trying desperately to find the old camera he used to stalk Bruce many years ago.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t hesitate.

Danny launches the man he was dragging, sending him crashing into the nearest gunman with a sickening thud. Before anyone can react, he moves—crossing the room in impossibly fluid strides, twisting a wrist until a gun clatters to the floor, elbowing another man so hard in the ribs that something audibly cracks. A shot goes off, a wild, panicked attempt—Danny doesn’t even flinch. He snatches the arm holding the gun and bends it the wrong way. The scream is immediate.

Bruce’s breath catches.

Another man rushes Danny with a knife—big mistake. Danny catches his wrist mid-swing, wrenches it to the side with bone-snapping efficiency, then drives the same blade into another attacker’s thigh. The man howls, but Danny is already moving, slamming someone’s face into the nearest table hard enough to leave a smear of red on the wood.

They never stood a chance.

Two minutes. Two damn minutes, and the entire room is a battlefield of unconscious, broken bodies.

And Bruce cannot focus.

Bruce barely registers Jason swearing at him through the comms, telling him to get it together. He can’t.

And then Danny turns to him.

His face is splattered with blood, his chest rising and falling steadily as he steps forward. His hands, bruised and raw, reach out, and Bruce swallows hard.

Danny kneels, gaze flicking to Bruce’s bound wrists, and his touch—gentle, so gentle—works at the ropes with precise care. The knots had been tight, biting into his skin enough to bruise, to draw blood. Danny’s jaw clenches at the sight.

Bruce should say something. Should thank him. Should not be thinking about how unfairly attractive he looks like this—wild, wrecked, utterly devoted.

But he can’t help it.

He’s so gone.

"Mr. Wayne."

On instruct, Bruce corrects him. "Bruce."

And Danny pauses.

The chaos settles—not in the room, where bodies lay crumpled, groaning, and barely conscious—but in him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bruce to see it.

Blue flickers into green. A warning. A promise.

Bruce doesn’t look away. Can’t. Even as Danny tilts his head, something unhinged curling at the edges of his smile. His chest rises and falls, slow, deliberate, the blood on his face catching the dim light. His knuckles, split and raw, flex at his sides before he exhales a laugh—low, sharp, guttural.

Almost a growl.

And Bruce—God help him—feels something thrill in his spine.

Then Danny takes his wrists. Carefully. Reverently. Those same hands that had snapped bones and silenced screams mere moments ago now hold Bruce’s bruised, bloodied skin like it’s something precious.

Then—cold.

Not warm. Not comforting. Cold lips, pressing soft against each wound, his touch featherlight against the raw skin. Bruce shudders.

Danny pulls back just enough for Bruce to see his lips—stained red with his blood. And he grins, sharp fangs more prominent than ever, his eyes molten with something Bruce can’t name.

"Bruce…"

Danny says it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a goddamn claim.

Exasperated. Excited. Fond. And something else entirely.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Bruce… Or I might just end up blowing up Gotham to get you back.

Bruce’s breath stutters.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Bruce is so utterly gone.

(Someone laughs in the background, shadows curling at their feet. Lady Gotham is pleased.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

#danny phantom #Down Bad in Distress #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny fenton #batfam #crossover #batman #bruce wayne #bodyguard au #men look hotter when bruised and bloody #Bruce agrees #He should not be attracted to his bodyguard when he is covered in blood #Bruce Wayne did #“Touch him and you die” trope #Danny is unknowingly very posessive of this man #Lady Gotham is very pleased that the Ghost King likes her knight #Jason is so ready to parent trap his dad and the cool bodyguard that's most likely not human #Bruce cannot for the life of him accept that he is so utterly gone for his bodyguard #Batman unknowingly hires a protection spirit as a bodyguard #the consequences is the ghost king going feral the moment the subject pf his protection has been taken and threatened #Danny has essentially devoted himself to protecting the bats #the batkids do not know their bodyguard (new dad) is an eldritch being that has basically staked their claim on them #Clockwork and Alfred are besties #or mayne exes who are still friends

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dilf-docs · 5 months ago

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All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!!, use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me)

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I missed you so much" you pout.

"I missed you too" he whispers out, getting tired.

He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"Missed how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #marcus acacius #joseph quinn #connie nielsen #may calamawy #paul mescal #i love him #so down bad for my latino man #pls excuse the filth<3

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