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worlds-we-write · 4 months ago

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Let Me Hear You

pairing: Pedro Pascal x Plus-Size/Curvy Reader

summary: A chance encounter at a BDSM club leads to a slow-burning, electric connection. As their nights together grow more intense, desire and trust begin to blur the lines between pleasure and something deeper. Word Count: 6.8K Tags: Heavy smut, BDSM themes, blindfold, restraints, spanking, flogging, orgasm denial, oral (f + m receiving), dirty talk, unprotected p in v, toy usage, praise/degradation, established kink consent, body worship, aftercare.

You step into the dimly lit club as midnight approaches, the heavy thrum of bass immediately pulsing through your body. The air is warm and tinged with the scent of amber and leather, matching the low red glow of lights that casts everything in a seductive haze.

You were dressed for the setting: a black strappy corset that hugged every curve of your body like it worshipped it, high-waisted mesh-paneled pants, and a bold red lip.

It had taken courage to come, but once you were here, something settled in your bones. Like you belonged.

The music is a hypnotic blend of synth and percussion, loud enough that conversation means leaning in close. You find an empty spot at the counter and order a drink, letting the music wash over you while you scan the room.

A playful guitar riff from a familiar song comes on, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” – not a track you expected to hear in a place like this, but it sets the perfect mood.

You tap your fingers in time on the bar top, softly humming along. Suddenly, a warm voice speaks near your ear, just loud enough to cut through the music.

“You have good taste,” the man says, motioning to the ceiling where the speakers are hidden. “Not many people appreciate this song anymore.”

Startled, you turn to face him and are met with a pair of friendly brown eyes and a teasing smile. The club’s soft lights dance across strong features – scruffy salt-and-pepper stubble along a sharp jaw, tousled dark hair, and a presence that is immediately disarming and electric all at once.

It takes you a second to place him. Pedro Pascal, your mind registers with a jolt. You almost doubt yourself in the dark, but that distinctive, warm grin and the confident ease in his posture are unmistakable. For a split second you’re starstruck – you've admired him on screen for ages – but you quickly remind yourself to breathe. Here, he's just a gorgeous man in a bar making conversation.

You laugh softly, leaning against the bar as you recover from the surprise. "I could say the same. Joy Division in a club is a bold choice," you reply, raising your glass slightly in a toast to the DJ. "But I'm not complaining." Pedro clinks his own drink to yours. "To good music and unexpected company," he quips, eyes not leaving yours as you both take a sip.

He sat down beside you like he’d been invited by fate.

The conversation flows easily from there, starting with music. It turns out you share an affinity for 80s post-punk and alternative rock. He grins with genuine enthusiasm when you mention your love for The Cure and Depeche Mode, and soon you're comparing favorite albums. The bond over music comes naturally, each shared reference and passion forming a crackle of connection between you.

The longer you talk, the closer Pedro shifts toward you, drawn in by the mutual excitement. The club around you fades slightly out of focus; the only thing in sharp detail is him – the way his eyes light up when you make a witty retort, and the subtle, crooked smile that tugs at his lips every time you surprise him with another common interest.

As the minutes pass, your initial nervousness melts away, replaced by a warm glow fueled by both the alcohol and Pedro’s undivided attention. He is charismatic in a quiet way, not the boisterous type you often encounter at bars. Instead, he listens intently when you speak, and his responses are thoughtful, laced with a flirty edge that makes your stomach flutter.

You notice the way he occasionally glances down at your body appreciatively, though he is nothing but gentlemanly in his words. It's in those brief, heated glances – a sweeping look at the curve of your hips, or the way his gaze lingers on the swell of your breasts beneath your top – that you sense a deeper interest than just friendly conversation. Each time, he meets your eyes again and smirks as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you feel your skin flush warm under his gaze.

When you tease him about one of his movie roles, a playful glint sparks in your eyes – your little hint of brattiness showing itself.

"I hope you dance better than you did in that one scene," you jibe lightly, referencing a comedic moment from one of his projects with a grin.

He lets out a surprised laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you caught that, did you?" he says with mock chagrin. He steps a half-step closer, close enough that your shoulder brushes against his chest. "I promise I'm much better with my moves in real life." The double entendre in his words is unmistakable, and paired with that low, honeyed tone of his voice, it sends a thrill up your spine.

You raise your chin a little in challenge, eyes sparkling. "Is that so? Maybe I'll have to see for myself." It's bold – the words just slip out – but judging by the way Pedro’s smile darkens into something more primal, it was exactly the right thing to say.

He tilts his head, studying you for a moment with that intense gaze. "Careful," he murmurs. "I might hold you to that." His fingers lightly brush the back of your hand resting on the bar, a brief test of boundaries that leaves tingles in their wake. You feel your breath catch, heart skipping a beat at the contact and at the promise woven into his words.

Before you can respond, the DJ transitions into another track – this time something more industrial with a throbbing beat that vibrates through the floor. The crowd cheers and some people head to the dance floor.

Pedro’s attention flickers toward the dancing bodies and back to you. He leans in, lips near your ear so you can hear him over the music. "Do you want to dance?" he asks. His breath is warm against your ear, and the closeness makes you shiver pleasantly.

You nod, taking his hand as he offers it. The air between you is charged as he leads you to where others have started moving.

The music is dark and sensual, and Pedro wastes no time finding a rhythm with you. His hands slide to your waist, fingers splaying just above the curve of your hips, and you automatically move in closer. Your bodies find a slow, grinding sway to the music. With him behind you, you can feel the heat radiating off his body and the solid firmness of his chest as it presses against your back. The intimacy of the position sends your pulse racing.

His thigh slips between yours from behind as you move, allowing you to rub against it slightly with each sway. You let out a soft, involuntary gasp at the friction. Pedro hears it; you feel the rumble of a satisfied growl low in his throat as he tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you to grind just a little harder.

"That's it," he murmurs close to you, the encouragement almost lost in the music, but you catch it. One of his hands skims up your side, trailing the outline of your curves. He’s testing the waters, seeing how you respond, and your body answers for you by arching into his touch.

The club lights flash intermittently, and in those flickers you catch sight of his face over your shoulder. His eyes are half-lidded, focused on you with open desire now, and his lips are parted as if savoring the moment. You realize you're wearing an almost identical expression – completely caught up in the heat that's building between you two on the dance floor.

When his hand daringly grazes the side of your breast, you respond with a playful wiggle of your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale from Pedro. He chuckles low in your ear. "Brat," he whispers, the word dripping with amusement and a hint of warning. The label sends a flush of both embarrassment and excitement through you. You like that he’s noticing your teasing, and that he's calling you out on it in such a delicious way.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you reply innocently, turning your head so that your cheek nearly brushes against his lips. The coy tone in your voice is belied by the mischievous grin you can't hide.

Pedro just shakes his head with a soft laugh, and then you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth as he nips lightly at the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. The sensation draws a surprised moan from you before you can stop it. The spot he bit tingles, and you suspect he might have left a faint mark. His tongue swiftly follows to soothe the spot, a silent apology that only stokes the fire inside you.

He presses a kiss to your neck, lips warm and lingering as the song continues to envelop you both. "You drive a hard bargain," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rougher now with arousal. "I was going to behave myself a little longer, but you're making that very difficult."

There's a tension in his tone – restrained, as if he's holding himself back. That realization sends a thrill through you: the knowledge that he wants you, that you're tempting him to lose composure.

By the time the track ends, you are both breathing a little harder, and not from the dancing alone. The air between you is thick with lust and unspoken possibilities. Pedro gently turns you to face him. His hands remain on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles that make it hard to think straight.

“You come here to watch?” he asked, voice low and edged with something darker. “Or to play?”

You met his gaze and smiled slowly. “Maybe both.”

He stood, offered a hand. “There’s a room in the back. Private. Stocked.” His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up. “Let me take care of you tonight. Show you how good it can feel.”

You barely remembered the walk—just the pressure of his palm on your lower back, the faint scent of tobacco and leather clinging to him, the heat curling low in your stomach.

Your heart is pounding with excitement and a touch of nerves as Pedro leads you down a short hallway to one of the private rooms. The hall is quieter, muffling the club music to a dull thump behind closed doors.

At a discrete black door with the number 7 on it, Pedro pauses and turns to you, his eyes serious for a moment beneath the lust.

"Before we go in," he says quietly, "you can say no at any time. If you change your mind, just tell me and we stop. Okay?" His expression is earnest, and the fact that he's checking in so considerately makes you melt a little.

Your pulse flutters. You nod, appreciating the care. "Okay," you reply softly. "I'll tell you if I want to stop." The hint of a grateful smile touches his lips, and he squeezes your hand. With that reassurance, he opens the door and ushers you inside.

The room was dim, backlit by soft amber lights. A four-poster bed sat in the center, draped in black. Shelves lined with implements: paddles, floggers, ropes, blindfolds, clips, vibrators. Like a curated museum of sin.

He turned to face you, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “Color system?”

“Green,” you whispered.

“Safe word?”

You told him, and he kissed the corner of your mouth like a reward.

“Clothes off. Slow. I want to watch.”

You undressed under his gaze, heart hammering. When the corset finally slid off, baring your full curves to him, his eyes darkened.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured, stepping forward to kneel in front of you. His hands gripped your thighs, pressing kisses along your hips, your belly, before spreading you open and burying his face between your legs.

You cried out, one hand bracing on the bedpost, the other tangled in his hair. His tongue was relentless—broad strokes, focused flicks, slow circles that teased your clit just shy of what you needed. He pulled back when you were right there, his lips slick with you.

“You don’t come until I say. Understand?”

You nodded, breathless.

“No, baby. Say it.”

“I won’t come until you say,” you gasped.

“Good girl.” he praises, and your heart skips at the warmth those words ignite in you.

You suspect he can feel the way you shiver at the praise because he smirks knowingly and leans down to kiss you again. As he does, his hand reaches above your head. You hear a soft clink of metal on wood – likely him grabbing something from the headboard or a nearby hook.

He breaks the kiss and you feel the cool touch of leather encircling one wrist, then a soft click – a cuff fastening. Your pulse quickens as he gently but firmly pulls your other wrist up and secures it as well.

You test your arms and find them bound together by what feels like a short bar or strap, and attached to the headboard. Excitement and a tiny bit of panic intermingle, but mostly it's a heady rush to know you're now effectively at his mercy.

You felt vulnerable and feral all at once.

Pedro’s voice was close, teasing your ear. “You look like a fucking goddess tied up like this. All curves and heat and need.”

The first slap of the flogger made you jolt. Not pain—more of a sting, a delicious bite that spread like heat across your skin. He struck you again. And again. Each one met with a moan that made him growl.

“You take it so well,” he murmured. “I can see you dripping from here.

He sits back on his heels between your legs for a moment to admire his handiwork: you, naked and bound beneath him, chest heaving with anticipation.

"You look incredible like this," Pedro says, voice rough. He runs his hands from your wrists down the length of your arms, then over your collarbones. The lightest touch, yet it leaves a trail of goosebumps. "All mine," he adds, almost to himself, as his hands travel further down. They glide over the soft swell of your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples again briefly, then continue down your torso.

When his palms flatten against your belly, you tense slightly out of habit, but his touch there is warm and appreciative. He notices your reaction and meets your eyes, pausing his exploration.

"You're so damn sexy," he says fervently. "Every part of you."

To prove his point, he lowers himself and presses slow, sucking kisses across your belly, showing extra attention to the parts you feel shy about.

Each kiss is like a balm, erasing a bit of your insecurity. You can only whimper and arch under him, any self-conscious thoughts drowned out by the pleasure of his lips on your skin.

His mouth continues its journey downward, and your breath hitches as he approaches your aching center. He shifts, hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders.

Instinctively, you try to close your legs at the intensity of the anticipation, but the position and his grip prevent it.

"Easy," he soothes, planting a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh. "I’ve got you."

And then he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs something – a soft black silk blindfold. You hadn't even noticed it laying there. He holds it up briefly as if to show you.

"This okay?" he asks, the final check. Your heart is in your throat with excitement as you nod.

"Yes, please," you manage to say. The idea of surrendering your sight to him sends another pulse of arousal through you.

Gently, he slips the blindfold over your eyes and ties it snugly at the back of your head. The world goes dark. Immediately, your senses heighten; you can hear your own breathing and the distant muffled bass from the club outside, feel the slight coolness of the room on your heated skin, and smell the subtle mix of your arousal and his scent (a mix of his cologne, woodsy and spice, and the musk of sweat from your heated activities).

The bed dips as he settles back between your legs and you feel his hands on your knees, sliding up to part your thighs further. You are completely exposed to him, blind and bound. The vulnerability is intense, but instead of fear, you feel exhilaration. Every nerve is on fire waiting for his next touch.

His fingertips trace feather-light patterns along your inner thighs, avoiding the place you need him most, and it's maddening. You let out a soft whine, lifting your hips a little, silently begging. He chuckles darkly.

"So eager," he murmurs. A smack lands on your outer thigh – not too hard, but enough to make you gasp. "Stay still, cariño," he growls, the dominant edge in his voice unmistakable now. "I'll give you what you need. Be patient for me."

You bite your lip hard, trying to obey, trying to still the trembling of your thighs. But he isn't making it easy.

You feel the bed shift as he lowers himself, and then – oh god – the first hot, broad lick of his tongue up your slit. A cry tears from your throat at the sudden jolt of pleasure. He groans against you, apparently enjoying your taste as much as you enjoy his tongue.

He starts slow, languidly exploring your folds with his mouth, teasing every sensitive spot except the one you want him to focus on most. He avoids your clit at first, licking around it in cruel teasing circles, making your hips twitch upward seeking friction.

He notices and one strong arm comes across your hips, pinning you down firmly against the mattress. "I said stay still," Pedro admonishes between kisses against your inner lips, voice vibrating directly against your core.

The sensation makes you moan wantonly. You force yourself to still your hips, gripping the cuffs binding your wrists to give yourself something to hold onto.

"Good girl," he purrs, and rewards you by finally wrapping his lips around your clit. The suction and the sudden flick of his tongue over that bundle of nerves make you nearly scream.

Only the awareness that there are other rooms and people beyond the wall keeps you to a loud cry. Pleasure radiates outward from your center, and your toes curl in your heels as he works you with expert attention.

Pedro feasts on you like a man starving, alternating between suckling your clit and dipping his tongue inside your entrance to lap at the flood of arousal there. The lewd wet sounds of his mouth on you and your own helpless moans fill the room, an erotic symphony accompanying the distant bass.

Your world narrows to just these sensations – the heat coiling in your belly, the pressure building inside as he relentlessly pleasures you. He slides two fingers into you without warning, and they slip in easily with how wet you are. He curls them just right, finding that spongy spot inside that makes you cry out his name.

"That's it," he mutters against your clit, voice rough. "Moan for me. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel." You oblige with another loud moan, no longer caring who might hear. He pumps his fingers steadily, a firm rhythm that has you hurtling towards climax faster than you expected.

Your breathing turns ragged, thighs quivering around his head. You can feel the orgasm approaching, a tightening low in your belly.

"Pedro," you gasp, a warning, as your muscles start to clench around his thrusting fingers. "I-I'm gonna—"

Suddenly, he withdraws his fingers and mouth completely, pulling away from you. The loss of contact is so abrupt, it's like a bucket of cold water. The almost-orgasm that was within reach shatters and dissipates, leaving you on a cruel edge.

A firm slap to your thigh. “No. Not yet.”

You sob in frustration at the denial, hips bucking upward desperately, trying to chase his mouth. But his arm still pins your pelvis down and now his other hand comes to press on your inner thigh, keeping you spread but offering no relief.

You whined, hips bucking. He chuckled, low and dark.

"Not yet, hermosa," Pedro tuts. His voice is smug and dripping with control. "You were going to come without permission." Even though you can't see him, you just know he's watching you with that infuriatingly sexy smirk, enjoying the way you squirm.

You whine, nearly a wail, and tug at your restraints. It’s half reflex, half hoping maybe you could free a hand to finish yourself because you're throbbing with need. But the cuffs hold firm. "Please," you manage, your voice high and needy. "Please, I need—"

A sharp slap lands right on your swollen clit, shocking you. It wasn't very hard, more surprising than painful, but it makes you yelp and instantly silences your begging. Your clit throbs from the light impact, somehow adding to the overwhelming cocktail of sensations rather than diminishing it.

"What did I say about patience?" Pedro growls. He's still between your legs; you can feel his hot breath against your overstimulated center.

"You'll come when I let you, understand?" His tone is commanding, the rough Dominant you sensed in him fully present now. Yet beneath it there's a thread of care – he wants you to feel good, just on his terms.

You nod frantically, forgetting for a moment that he might want a verbal answer since you’re blindfolded. "Y-yes, sir," you stammer automatically. The honorific slips out without thinking, but it feels right on your tongue.

He inhales sharply, clearly affected by the title you granted him. "Good girl," he rumbles, and you practically preen at the praise despite your predicament. "Let's see if you can control yourself for me. If you do..." He trails a finger teasingly through your slick folds, avoiding your clit this time. "I'll make sure your mind blanks out from how hard you come. That's a promise."

His words alone send a thrill through you. You nod again, biting your lip. "I’ll be good," you breathe. "I promise."

"That's what I like to hear," Pedro says. Then, to your surprise, you feel him shift away.

The weight on the bed changes as he moves, and you hear the soft rustle of him removing his jeans and perhaps his boxers. Your heart jumps at the realization that he's undressing; soon you'll feel him skin to skin.

You strain to hear any little sound – a zipper, fabric hitting the floor – and your anticipation spikes knowing he's likely naked now, or nearly so.

The next thing you feel is the bed dipping again and the heat of his body covering yours as he returns to you.

His mouth captures yours in a ravenous kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips and chin, an erotic reminder of what he was just doing to you. The kiss is bruising and hungry; you return it with equal passion, tongues tangling.

His bare chest is pressed to yours, the hair on his torso tickling your sensitive nipples as you arch into him. God, the feeling of his warm, solid body on top of you when you can't use your hands to touch him back – it's a special kind of torment.

You instinctively spread your legs wider to accommodate him between them, and you feel the hard length of his cock brush against your inner thigh, so close to where you need it.

A moan slips from you into his mouth at the tease of contact. You want to see him badly – to take in the sight of his naked form and the lust on his face – but the blindfold forces you to experience it differently, focusing on sound, touch, and taste. In some ways, it's even more intense this way. Every brush of his skin, every breathy sound he makes is magnified.

"You want me inside you, don't you?" Pedro husks against your lips as he breaks the kiss. He starts kissing along your jaw and down your neck again, his hips grinding slowly, letting the tip of his cock slide through your slick folds without entering. It's a tantalizing preview that has you trembling.

"Yes," you gasp, back arching as he teases your entrance. "Please, Pedro... I want you. I need you."

He groans softly at your plea, clearly stoking his ego and desire. "You feel how hard I am for you?" he whispers, shifting to rub the head of his cock against your clit once, making you both moan.

He's indeed rock hard, and you can tell he's of considerable size. The thought of that thickness stretching you makes your walls flutter in anticipation.

"Condom?" he asks suddenly, voice strained like it's taking all his self-control not to just take you right now.

"Please... I- I'm on the pill," you manage, desperate for him not to stop and break this momentum. And you trust him; after all, he's been responsible in everything so far tonight, and you find yourself willing to take this pleasure raw.

He growls in appreciation, understanding your meaning. "Good girl."

The tip of his cock finds your entrance and he begins to push in slowly. Both of you gasp – you, at the stretching burn as your body adjusts to him, and him, at the sheer tight heat of you enveloping him inch by inch. Even with how wet you are, the girth of him is a delicious challenge.

He pauses once the tip is in, to let you catch your breath. "Relax, baby," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth sweetly, a tender contrast to the filthy act of him breaching you. "You can take it."

You nod, forcing yourself to unclench, to breathe. He circles his hips a little, working himself deeper, then pulls back a touch, then slides in further.

Inch by inch, he works his cock into you, carefully but persistently, until finally, with a low groan, he bottoms out. He is seated fully inside you, his hips flush with yours.

The fullness is overwhelming – bordering on too much – but then your body adjusts and it transforms into an incredible sense of being completely filled, utterly possessed.

You cry out at the sensation, head thrown back; if not for the cuffs you'd be clawing at his back. "Oh my god..." you whimper. "Pedro..." His name on your lips comes out half-sob, half-moan. He stills, buried deep, allowing you to accommodate him. You feel so stretched, so vulnerable, tied up and blindfolded with this large man inside you. And you feel amazing.

He kisses you softly, tenderly, lingering for a long moment while you both just revel in the feeling. His hand finds yours, fingers entwining in a reassuring squeeze above your head. It's oddly sweet and grounding in the midst of such raw passion. "Doing okay?" he asks, slightly breathless.

You manage a smile between panting breaths. "More than okay," you assure him. "Please move." You roll your hips a little to emphasize your need, earning a hiss of pleasure from him as your movement squeezes him inside you.

"As you wish," he replies, and you can hear a smile in his tone.

He withdraws slowly until just the tip remains inside, then thrusts back in with a controlled, firm stroke. The friction of him dragging against your inner walls makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You choke out a moan. He starts a steady rhythm then – pulling out and sliding back in, gradually increasing the pace as he gauges your reactions.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he picks up speed. The bed creaks softly with the force of his thrusts now. The room fills with an erotic melody: your helpless cries and gasps, his ragged grunts, the slap of skin on skin as his hips meet your thighs. He pounds into you, each stroke hitting deep and rubbing that perfect spot inside that makes you see white-hot pleasure.

Your bound hands clench uselessly above you, desperate to cling to something. The coil in your belly that had been wound tight from earlier starts tightening again quickly – too quickly. You realize with a start that you're already on the brink from how expertly he's fucking you, combined with the earlier denial. And he hasn't given you permission yet.

Desperately, you try to hold back, to last longer. But Pedro knows. He can feel the way your pussy is fluttering and clenching erratically around him as your body races toward release.

He slows his thrusts deliberately, grinding into you deeply but more slowly, holding you just at the edge. It's agony and ecstasy. You actually sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes under the blindfold from the intensity of needing to come so badly.

"P-please... please, sir," you beg in a broken whisper, not caring how desperate you sound. "I c-can't... please let me cum."

Pedro lowers himself onto his forearms, changing the angle slightly as his face comes right next to yours. His thrusts remain slow and torturous. His breath is hot on your ear as he speaks, voice gravelly with restraint.

"You want to cum, sweet girl?" he drawls, licking a stripe up the side of your neck that makes you shudder. "You've been so good for me... took your spanking so well, let me tie you up and use you... such a perfect little submissive."

His words are like fire, each one fueling your desire. You nod frantically, a tear finally escaping down your cheek from sheer overwhelming need.

He kisses that tear away softly, a brief tender gesture that contrasts with the edgy control he's exerting. "Shh, don't cry. I'll take care of you," he whispers, and those words themselves feel as comforting as a caress. "You want to cum?" he repeats, speeding up just a fraction, his hips snapping a little harder into yours again. "Then cum for me. Come on, baby, let go. You've earned it."

The permission – so graciously given in that rough, sexy voice – is all you needed. You don't hold back; you can't at this point even if you tried. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

You let out a wail as your entire body tenses, then shatters into pure ecstasy. Your pussy clenches violently around Pedro’s cock, pulsing in waves as you cum harder than you ever have in your life. Pleasure ribbons out from your core to every limb. It's so intense, it's almost overwhelming – tears leak from your eyes beneath the blindfold as you sob through the euphoria.

"That's it... fuck, yes, that's it!" Pedro groans. Feeling you cum pushes him right to the edge. He curses under his breath in a mix of English and Spanish, his control finally shattering. With a few more hard thrusts, he holds himself deep inside you and lets go.

His body shudders above you as he releases, hot spurts filling you as he moans your name. The sensation of him coming inside only prolongs your orgasm; you swear you feel each pulse of him as another aftershock ripples through your own body.

He collapses against you, catching most of his weight on his elbows so he doesn't crush you completely, but enough that you feel deliciously pinned by his spent body. Both of you are gasping for air, trembling in the aftermath.

Your heart feels like it's pounding in your throat, and your limbs are heavy and boneless in the wake of such an intense climax. You distantly note that your cheeks are wet from a few tears, but you're too blissed-out to care or feel self-conscious.

For a long moment, the only sound is the mingled panting of your breaths and the muted bass from outside. Still blindfolded and bound, you float in a haze of satisfaction. Pedro peppers soft, lazy kisses along your jaw and neck as you both come down, murmuring praise between each one.

"You did so well," he whispers, voice hoarse but gentle. "So perfect, cariño."

Each word of praise warms your chest with a different kind of pleasure – pride, contentment, even love. With your hands still bound, you can only tilt your head toward his kisses, silently showing your appreciation.

Eventually, he gently withdraws from your oversensitive body, making you both hiss at the aftershocks. You feel suddenly empty without him, but the loss is soon replaced by gratitude as he moves swiftly to untie your wrists.

The leather cuffs come loose and your arms are finally free. They ache dully from being restrained in one position for so long. You flex your fingers, and before you can even wince at the soreness, Pedro's hands are there rubbing your wrists softly, massaging away any stiffness.

He reaches behind your head and carefully unties the blindfold, pulling it away from your eyes. You blink a few times, adjusting to the low light.

The first thing you see is his face hovering above yours, concern evident in his furrowed brow. His hair is a sweaty mess, curls sticking to his forehead, and his lips are kiss-swollen. To you, he’s never looked more gorgeous.

"Hi," you whisper with a tired smile, meeting his gaze.

He smiles back, relief and tenderness in his expression. "Hi, hermosa." He brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there. "These okay? Not tears of anything bad?" he asks softly, referring to the tears you shed at the peak of it all.

You shake your head, leaning into his touch. "They were... very good tears," you assure him with a soft laugh. "That was just... intense." A flush warms your face as you recall how desperate and loud you got. "In a good way," you add quickly, not wanting him to worry.

His shoulders relax and he chuckles quietly. "Intense is one word for it." He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, this time slow and sweet – a stark contrast to the feral kisses from before. You sigh contentedly into it, wrapping your now-free arms around him to hold him close.

You both linger like that for a while, trading soft kisses and tender touches as you bask in the afterglow. Pedro’s hands roam over you in light caresses, as if he can't get enough of touching your body – but now those touches are soothing, affectionate strokes along your sides, your hips, your thighs. He handles you like something precious, and it makes your chest tight with a warm emotion that goes beyond simple lust.

At one point he breaks the comfortable silence, murmuring, "Stay here, I'll be right back." He slips off the bed, and you watch, unabashedly admiring the full view of his naked form as he walks to a small en-suite bathroom attached to the room.

The red light bathes his muscular back and perfect ass in a flattering glow. You bite your lip, already feeling a pleasant ache between your legs that will no doubt remind you of him for days.

Pedro returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a bottle of water. Ever thoughtful, he tends to you first, gently cleaning the stickiness from between your thighs and wherever else the evidence of your lovemaking lingers.

His touch is careful and respectful, almost reverent as he cleans you, making sure not to overstimulate now-sensitive areas. It’s such an intimate, caring gesture that your heart swells. When he’s done, he helps you sit up enough to take a few sips of water, making sure you're hydrated and okay. You murmur a thank you, touched by his attentiveness.

He then quickly sees to himself with the cloth, wiping his lower abdomen and any remaining wetness. Afterwards, he tosses the cloth aside and joins you back on the bed, pulling you into his arms without hesitation.

You go willingly, nestling against his chest. He’s warm and solid, and his natural scent mixed with a hint of sweat is oddly comforting in the aftermath of sex. One of his arms wraps around your back, the other hand comes up to stroke your hair.

"You alright?" he asks softly after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence. There’s a hint of vulnerability in his tone, as if he's truly concerned that he might have been too rough or that you might regret this.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes search yours, and all you can see in them now is a gentle earnestness that makes you smile. "I'm perfect," you reply, and you mean it. "That was... beyond anything I imagined." A light laugh escapes you. "You, Pedro Pascal, definitely live up to your reputation."

He laughs at that, a real, warm laugh that rumbles in his chest under your cheek. "Oh? And what reputation is that?"

You pretend to consider, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. "Heartthrob. Charmer. And, based on tonight... very skilled." The last part you add in a teasing whisper, and you feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles again.

"I'm glad I haven't disappointed," he says, tilting your chin up with a knuckle so he can steal another soft kiss. His expression grows a bit more serious afterward, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You were amazing. So responsive and trusting." He smirks then, adding, "And just the right amount of bratty."

You giggle, feeling heat rise in your cheeks at his praise. A comfortable lull falls between you as you both simply enjoy the closeness. It's surprising, perhaps, how natural it feels to lie here in the arms of a man you technically just met tonight.

But something about the intensity of what you shared feels bonding – as if you've known each other longer. The way he's holding you, warm and protective, you certainly feel cared for.

Eventually, you know you'll have to leave the room and step back into reality. But for now, wrapped up in this sensual afterglow, you allow yourself to just be. You pepper a tiny kiss on his collarbone and sigh happily, closing your eyes.

Pedro shifts slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks quietly.

You smile against his skin. "Just thinking how I don't want this night to end," you admit softly. It's a vulnerable confession, but in this red-lit cocoon of a private room, with your body still humming from multiple orgasms and your heart fluttering with endorphins, it feels right to be honest.

He pulls you a little tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It doesn't have to, not yet," he murmurs. "We have the room for as long as we want." There's a comforting promise in his tone.

You tilt your head up. "As long as we want, hm?" You raise an eyebrow playfully. "Planning to keep me all night?"

His eyes darken a fraction, that familiar smolder returning just a bit. "If I had my way, I'd keep you much longer." He says it with a half-smile, but you sense the sincerity beneath it. "At least until we work through that entire wall of toys." He nods toward the array of BDSM implements displayed, a mischievous glint in his eye now.

Your breath catches at the idea, a fresh flicker of arousal stirring in your belly despite your satiation. You laugh softly, feigning exasperation. "Insatiable," you accuse, but your grin gives you away.

He laughs and nuzzles into your hair. "For you? Absolutely." Then he takes a deep breath, voice turning earnest once more.

"I'd love to see you again after tonight... if you want." The hint of uncertainty – almost shyness – in his proposition is endearing coming from a man who just had you tied up and screaming his name.

You answer by lifting up enough to kiss him deeply, pouring your gratitude and enthusiasm into it. When you part, you whisper, "I do want." You rest your forehead against his, smiling. "Maybe we can explore that list of favorite bands we talked about over drinks, and then some."

The grin that spreads across Pedro's face is radiant. "It's a date," he says softly, sealing the promise with another tender kiss.

Later, wrapped in his arms, the room still scented like sex and skin and sweat, he kissed your shoulder and said softly, “Next time, I’m tying myself up. Let you have your way.”

You smirked. “You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

His laugh was pure sin. “Now that sounds like a challenge.”

AN: This.... ended up a LOT longer than anticipated. Huge love to all my plus-size babes—you deserve to be worshipped and ruined just like this. 💋 There’s definitely potential for a part 2 👀 I’m already thinking about what happens after this night. Let me know if you’d want to see it continue!

#pedro #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal simp #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x plus size reader #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x y/n #fanfic #pedro pascal smut

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zepskies · 5 months ago

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Here are some of my favorites! (A revamp of my old rec list.) They will span Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net, as I did a lot of my early reading/writing on other platforms.

Keep in mind, I probably like several fics from each of these authors, but I'm featuring one or two that I very much enjoyed.

SUPERNATURAL FIC RECS

[OS] = One-Shot || [S] = Series || [HC] = Headcanon

Dean Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Dean x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Alisha Ashton

Clear the Area - [S | Excellent 4-part series!] This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OC's shoes. Sorta set end S8. Slightly AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker. Everyone is healthy. Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact.

✦ @luci-in-trenchcoats

Feral [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Feral is an Alpha’s most dangerous state. Pure raw instinct. A killing machine with no thought. Only an Alpha under extreme duress can submit to their feral side and they rarely can come back out of it. It takes highly specialized rehabilitation to even have a chance at working. When a feral Alpha comes into the reader’s low level rehab facility one night, she knows he’s a dead man walking. But he doesn’t deserve to die and a split second decision to help him escape before that can happen will put them both on the run. He’s no ordinary Alpha though. He’s Dean Winchester. The boy who went missing all those years ago. The boy that made everyone realize no one was safe from the Alpha black market. The man that could destroy them both with one wrong move…

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend [HC] (Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy, and Russell Shaw included)

✦ @deanbrainrotwritings

Wild Flower [OS] Dean gets hit by a spell when fighting a witch and assumes it was harmless or ineffective. He was wrong, but at least he wasn’t dead. He’s a woman now.

✦ @waynes-multiverse

Creature of the Night [OS] When her car breaks down on a dark lonely road, she is lucky a handsome stranger takes her in. Grateful, she is willing to do anything to repay his kindness.

Headcanon: Valentine's Day [HC] (Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition) How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean [HC] Smutty headcanons with Dean...

✦ @rizlowwritessortof

Take a Shot [OS] Let’s face it, his henley looks good on both of you…

Late Night Show [OS] You’re spending a little down time at Bobby’s when HE shows up with his brother. You try to ignore those old feelings for him, but when you accidentally walk in on him pleasuring himself, all bets are off.

Lost in You [OS] A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected.

That’s How It Should Be [OS] (Sheriff!Dean x Reader) Sheriff Dean Winchester/Reader have to escape, quick - but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time…

✦ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

The First Time Series [S] Even though he's a lot older than she is, and more experienced in every possible sense, Y/N finds herself incredibly attracted to Dean Winchester. Amazingly, one day she starts to think that maybe the attraction isn't all one-sided.

The Dangers of Hope [S | Endverse!Dean] When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

It's All For You [OS] After a hunt gone wrong, all Y/N wants is to make Dean feel better. Will he let her?

Things Learned and Unlearned [S] Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

Say I'm Beautiful [OS] You're feeling a little self conscious about your weight so Dean decides to show you how sexy you are. Dean x Reader Warning: negative body image, swearing Rated M for smut so go forth with caution.

✦ @ejlovespie

It Ain't About Pity [OS] (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) Dean Winchester has eyes for the reader. She has no idea. When he finally figures out why she’s been dieting, he isn’t pleased.

✦ kittenofdoomage

More to Love [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Plus-Size Omega!Reader) Reader is a hunter, and an Omega, an unusual combination. She’s always been mocked for her size, so she keeps to herself but a case Garth persuades her to take ends up with a confrontation she never saw coming.

Never Spoken, Always Said [OS] He doesn’t say the words much but he shows her every day.

Taste [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) The reader is pregnant with Dean's baby. Spanning the first year or so, we join them as they discover new things about each other.

✦ @impala-dreamer

A Simple Kinda Man [OS] Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it.

Like Heaven [OS] (Dean x Curvy!Reader) Y/N’s request might throw him off for a second, but he’s never going to deny her, not when it feels so good in her arms…

Take a Break [OS] Laundry can be annoying and overwhelming, so it's important to take breaks now and then...

✦ @justagirlinafandomworld

Remind Me [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) There was no escaping what happened to you. There wasn’t a magical number of days in which you would simply get over it either. It happened and you had to live with it. But your alpha would never leave you to work through it alone.

Delicate [OS] Dean made you feel things no one else ever had. But is it a good idea to see this through?

The Fallout (Alpha!Dean x Beta!Reader) [S] When Sam meets his true Omega, you fear your time with the Winchesters is fated to end. Before they can hurt you, you decide to distance yourself. But Dean isn’t willing to let you get away so easy.

✦ @spnbabe67

Girls, Girls, Girls [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) While on a witch hunt Dean gets hit with a spell. Later at the hotel, Dean feels the effects of the spell and Tori has to help him through it.

✦ @chevroletdean

NSFT Alphabet [Dean Winchester] [HC]

Masturbation [Dean Winchester] [HC]

✦ @thatonewriter15

Unspoken [OS] How many reasons are there to love Dean Winchester...?

✦ @iprobablyshipit91

Twenty Minutes or Less [OS] Dean raises an eyebrow at you, cocky smile firmly in place. "I bet I could get you there in twenty minutes or less.”

Magical Blooms [OS] After all, there was a flurry of customers walk through the doors to Magical Blooms each and every day, and quite a number of these were regulars. Just because one of those regulars was an undeniably gorgeous man that flirted shamelessly...

✦ @jawritter

Feral (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) [S] True mates don't exist, at least that's what everyone tells you. It's nothing but a childish, fairytale notion to believe that such a person exists. Someone that is made just for you, your person. Who knew they were so wrong…

✦ @marvelfanfn2187a113

Here For You (Dean x Little Sister!Reader) [OS] You help Dean through a couple different kinds of pain.

✦ @deanwinchesterswitch

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas [S] Dean’s holiday spirit is nowhere to be found. Fed up with his Grinch-like behavior, Nicole is determined to open his heart again to the wonders of the world around them and help him find joy in the Christmas season.

✦ @spnexploration

Collared [S] Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

✦ @kaleldobrev

Old Man [OS - Part of a Series] Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way.

✦ @deanwritings

Friends with Benefits [S] After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

✦ @waywardxwords

Safe [OS] You had hoped to get in and out when you heard what town the next hunt was in. Unfortunately, you can’t outrun your past. You, also, can’t outrun those old feelings--panic, anxiety and fear. You had hoped you’d never have to share this part of your life with Dean, but things don’t always work out the way we had hoped.

Witches [OS] While hunting a witch, you accidentally stumble upon her collection of sex pollen.

✦ @acreativelydifferentlove

Carry On [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) You’re an Omega in a small rural town. When your father’s gambling and drinking leaves him with a debt he can’t afford to pay, he offers you to a group of Alphas. Dean Winchester is an Alpha desperately trying to escape his past and pain. Can you save each other?

You're Home [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) After years away at college, you have finally returned to your home town. In order to settle back into the community, you have to seek permission from the Head Alpha. What happens when you see his son for the first time since presenting as an Omega?

✦ @deanwanddamons

Helping Hand [OS] Dean is tired after a hunt, so asks Sammy to drive Baby. You and Dean cuddle up in the back seat.

✦ @mind-empty-just-fictional-people

Love Language [OS] You’ve never said it, neither has he…is that weird?

✦ @pink-sparkly-witch

The Widow [S] Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don’t End with Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.

✦ shirleypositive72

While They Dance On A Pin (Jane Series 5) [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) Sam, Dean, and Jane have been on the road almost constantly since Dean's return from Hell. They're finding Seals, finding danger, finding out each other's secrets. But it's what they find when they open the door to one more motel room that sends Dean back into his darkest moments. An OC's experience of episode 4x16, On the Head of a Pin.

✦ BeccabooO1O

She's My Cherry Pie [OS] Dean was drunk. So terribly drunk. And it was hilarious. Just some karaoke!Dean (aka the best Dean of them all).

✦ @pamwritessometimes

Roots in My Dreamland [OS] Dean encounters a mysterious forest spirit who’s an enigma.

✦ @supernotnatural2005

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Edging [OS] Exploring new kinks with Dean. How far can you push him before he breaks?

Happy Accidents [OS] (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Lebanon [OS] A wish gone wrong right brings back a familiar face. However, you all soon discover it's not as simple as it seems when what you’ve all accomplished, and your family, hangs in the balance.

Burning for You [OS] You're pregnant and it's awoken something feral, something instinctual in Dean.

✦ @ambiguous-avery

When He Slides In [OS] And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

✦ @bettystonewell

To You I Belong [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

Another Notch on His Belt [OS] Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex.

✦ @lamentationsofalonelypotato

It's Not a Big Deal [S] (Dean x Reader x Soldier Boy/Ben love triangle) Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

✦ @thoughtslikeaminefield

Deep [OS] Dean shows her more about pleasure than ‘deep’.

✦ @cheynovak

Four Men, One Birthday [OS] A birthday gift to me from lovely Cheyenne. 💜 Four birthday themed stories with Dean, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw.

✦ @teamackles96 [HC]

Headcanon: With My Dad By My Side Snapshots of parenthood with Russell Shaw, Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy/Ben, Mark Meachum, and Boaz Priestly.

Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden:

✦ adventuresinposting

Damages [S] Ben is in a car accident causing a fractured skull. Consequentially he remembers Dean. Ben tries to find Dean, who is now a retired hunter after losing Sam in a final battle. This is the story of Dean finding something and someone to replace the hole in his life left by Sam.

✦ FaithDaria

One Step at a Time [OS] The Winchester way of life changes, and Dean adjusts accordingly.

✦ bloodmagik

A Dad By Any Other Name [OS] Ben is sick and Dean stays home with him while Lisa is at work. Lisa learns something about Dean's relationship with Ben.

Sam Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Sam x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Avrilando

While You Were Sleeping - [S] (Sam x OFC) A seriously injured unconscious man is in the hospital Rachel volunteers. With no idea who he is and if anyone is looking for him, Rachel decides to keep him company while he's sleeping. With The Eyes of a Loving Man [S] (Sequel to While You Were Sleeping) Continuing through Sam and Rachel's relationship with all the highs and lows of dating a hunter. Mostly a collection of oneshots and some connecting stories.

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

It's Your Birthday [OS] The Winchester's find out it's your birthday and insist on celebrating with lots of alcohol. Sam introduces you to body shots and things get heated.

If You Give a Moose a Muffin [OS] ...he'll want kisses to go with it.

✦ ALoversDream

All of Me [OS] (Sam x Plus-Sized!Reader) Request where the reader (even thought she's usually pretty confident) is slightly insecure about her looks, and because she's plus-size. It ends in fluffy weight smut.

✦ BeccabooO1O

Could Have Told You That One, Winchester [OS] Imagine sitting one Sam's lap while you two are researching. She was reading one of the books about mythology for the Winchester's current case when she heard a frustrated groan from across the table. Sam Winchester had his laptop in front of him and various books of lore scattered around it.

✦ @princessmisery666

Samnesia [S] (Sam x OFC) Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam’s life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love.

✦ @ohsc

Delicate [OS] Sam being intimate with an inexperienced reader.

**I will keep adding to this list as I read and explore! Please reblog the fics you read and let these amazing authors know what you thought of their work. 💜

I have several more stories favorited on my FF.net account. (Beware if you try to read any of the stories I wrote there though. Some of those are old as hell and not to my current standard. 🤣)

Dean Winchester AU Fic Rec List

Original SPN Fic Rec List

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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castielscaplan · 8 months ago

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Impala Drama (Dean W.)

Summary: you find out your best friend, Crowley, painted your boyfriend's beloved car.

Warnings: pranks and fluff, an angered dean, high school AU

WC: 555

Read on ao3!

The hallway buzzed with its usual high school energy—students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming, and chatter bouncing off the walls. You leaned against your own locker, spinning the combination dial lazily as you waited for your boyfriend, Dean Winchester, to show up.

You spotted him a mile away, storming down the corridor like a freight train. Jaw clenched, fists balled, and muttering under his breath, Dean looked ready to pop a gasket. Right behind him, strolling with the smugness of a cat that caught the canary, was Crowley Fergusson—resident troublemaker, prankster extraordinaire, and Dean’s archnemesis since kindergarten.

Dean stomped up to you, slamming his palm against the locker beside yours. “You will not believe what this jackass did,” he growled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Crowley.

You arched a brow, crossing your arms. “Do tell.”

Crowley leaned casually against the lockers, his devilish grin widening as Dean fumed. “Oh, don’t worry, love. I already told her what I did. Painted your precious Impala bright pink. Quite the improvement, if you ask me.”

You blinked, a snort escaping before you could stop it. “You—you painted Baby pink?”

Dean whipped his head around, glaring at you. “It’s not funny, Y/N! The car looks like a damn Barbie Dream Car!”

That was all it took. You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as you doubled over. The image of Dean’s beloved black Chevy Impala rolling through town in eye-searing hot pink was just too much.

Dean groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. My own girlfriend thinks this is hilarious.”

“Well, it is!” you managed between giggles. “I mean, come on, Dean. It’s not like he totaled it. It’s just...pink!”

“Oh, it’s not just pink, darling,” Crowley cut in, smug as ever. “It’s neon pink. With sparkles. You should see it in the sunlight. Truly a masterpiece.”

Dean rounded on Crowley, pointing a finger at him. “You’re gonna fix this, Fergusson. I don’t care if I have to chain you to the hood until you do.”

Crowley merely shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You know, I think pink suits you, Dean-o. Adds a bit of flair. Maybe a Hello Kitty decal next?”

You lost it all over again, doubling over as Dean turned back to you with a look of sheer betrayal.

“I can’t believe you’re on his side!” he exclaimed, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a grin.

“I’m not,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “But you’ve got to admit, Dean—this is a classic Crowley move.”

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well, classic or not, it’s not staying. You,” he jabbed a finger at Crowley, “better start scrubbing. Now.”

Crowley raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll fix it. But admit it, Dean—just for a moment, Baby looked fabulous.”

Dean groaned, turning back to you as Crowley sauntered away. “I swear, one day, I’m gonna kill him.”

You grinned, threading your arm through his. “Sure, you will. But until then...think about how funny it’ll be when people see that car and think it’s yours.”

Dean groaned again, but this time, he pulled you closer, planting a quick kiss on your forehead. “You’re lucky I like you, smartass.”

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blooming-cecilia · 2 months ago

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i don't know dahlia all that well yet since i've yet to play the interlude (i'm waiting for miss erika's lines to be patched in 🙂‍↕️🤞)

buuut based on the vibes i've been getting...

in the context of lunasmr's wedding audio, i feel like if dahlia ever found out his bestie venti here got married WITHOUT any officiant or witness? he would set off and FORCE him to get a proper ceremony at the church lmfao 😭

i can see it happening post honeymoon audio, once windblume and venti get back to their normal lives

venti's at the tavern as usual but still kinda riding the wedding bliss. while on break from his Very Exhausting job of entertaining the masses, he's chosen to sit with a bunch of his tavern buddies and dahlia. everyone at that point has noted how extra happy the bard is that night, and venti accidentally says the truth without realizing it's consequences, happily yapping about his marriage and honeymoon bc hehe hes very in love so why wouldnt he yap about getting married to his beloved <33

and everyone's just ?!?! but dahlia. ohhh dahlia. he's appalled and after a few moments of silence just sets off on venti. what do you MEAN you got married. with no officiant? no other witnesses?? just both of you??? your marriage isn't OFFICIAL YOU FOOL

venti realizes his mistake and tries to get him off his back but nope! dahlia's not having any of that! he WILL have a proper ceremony This wednesday (aka, the Latest gap in his schedule) and NO he cannot get out of this.

doesn't matter if he knows venti's barbatos or not, dahlia feels like someone who would tell off someone even if they're above him in whatever rank. as long as there's something wrong, he WILL correct it. so there really is no other option but to comply 🤡

sooooo venti has no choice but to tell his beloved windblume that uhhh Well. that second wedding he promised them they'd have if they wanted?? Guess It's Happening Now

and even then it's like, the barest minimum wedding with the deacon and two other witnesses (one from each side)

(unless his windblume wanted to invite more folks of course!)

all because he's annoyed about having to been told to do another wedding just because he was told it wasn't leGaLLy biNdinG 🙄😒

grumbles about it to his windblume as they both get ready that fateful wednesday morning,

"i'm literally god. i should be allowed to legalize my own marriage. why does the church have to approve of MY MARRIAGE. shouldn't have said it with dahlia around, i knew he was gonna nag ..."

"to be fair, he's got a point. i did try to tell you."

"NOT YOU TOO >:("

windblume kisses his cheek and tries to soothe their (soon to be?) husband, barely holding back a laugh.

"well, aren't you glad to be able to marry me again? you were the one excited about having a bunch of weddings!"

the pout from venti's face falls into a small smile.

"that's about the only good thing from this whole nonsense, anyway."

he leans over to kiss his beloved,

"you know i'd marry you every day if i could, my love."

bonus: the best man

let me preface this by saying that because it's mondstadt and because i say so, i believe any person can be elected as a primary attendant/witness regardless of gender. so, i think venti could (and would) have chosen literally anyone available (lol) for his side

but i think it would be funny if he chose diluc as his best man

i was mostly thinking of this in the context of my yumeship, but also? he would probably be chosen because he:

1) knows who venti is so he likely understands the full context of this out of the blue wedding

2) he can roll with the punches and adapt fairly easily

3) venti has a sense of humor

i'm imagining him just dropping by the winery and asking like, "heyyy master diluc, r u free this wednesday? yeah?? ok can u come for a little thing i got going on at the church, promise it won't take up too much of your time <3 k thx see u!!!"

just making it sound super casual like he's asking to hang out. which was super sus already especially with that location. but he got no other clue on why, so he just gets there and BOOM. it was. a weddign . and he's. venti's best man?????????

was So confused getting there early and seeing an unimpressed dahlia waiting. he thinks he got it wrong and was gonna apologize but THEN dahlia goes,

"are you one of his witnesses"

".. what?"

"the bard and [windblume]'s wedding. are you their witness"

(realization)

"...............yes"

and he just sits there waiting along with windblume's chosen witness while inwardly groaning and cursing out venti in his head

not because he had to play best man. he wouldn't have minded. but he would have preferred to have been told he was attending a wedding!! he should have been in a nice proper suit rn!!

he doesn't even have a gift for the couple! though he supposed that can always come later, it still feels wrong to be THIS unprepared and it's on what he thought was gonna be a Perfectly Normal Wednesday Afternoon

somebody save him

#tulip brainrots #lunasmr #venti x reader #i guess it deserves that tag #dahlia genshin #diluc ragnvindr #silly brainrot time #srs tho we've never gotten to tackle the aftermath of that audio LMFAO #like mond's favorite bard got married??? on a monday??? and nobody knew???#and luna's venti is saur in love you KNOW he yapped about it to anyone who would listen as soon as they got back #it really was only a matter of time before it reached the ears of the church. ofc someone in there would do something #mondstadters have all the time in the world to gossip anyway #anyway im just living for the apparent bestie vibes these two got going on and with that personality i just know dahlia's a lotta fun #esp with venti. but because theyre besties + know each other well they r also each other's worst enemies. simply bc they know each other /j #its done out of love tho!!! but damn that is kind of annoying and mindly insulting to venti #i would be insulted too if i was told my love alone isnt legally binding 😔✊#anyway i love making diluc an unfortunate victim to venti's shenanigans #chose him bc hes close to my sona but it's also just funny to mess with him like this #plus he's honored and would have accepted it anyway but goddamn tell a man so he can dress up and be pretty #and get u a nice gift #that's his main concern tbh bc hes got no business telling the couple how to do their wedding #i wanna support yall as best man but u gotta let me in on the plans first smh #feel free to imagine windblume's best person/person of honor and the shenanigans of explaining this situation #id love to hear takes on other witnesses lol #ALSO while they never explicitly invite anyone else i feel like after venti yaps about it at the tavern #they actually do get some guests! mostly those curious enough to see if it actually happens lol. but also to see their fave bard get married #so that church would be full of people after all so yayyy happy end #but also this annoys diluc further bc hes there in his everyday clothing and everyone else is at least wearing their sunday's best LMFAOOOO

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lyraoftheevergreens · 1 year ago

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More To Love

Daemon Targaryen x Plus-size Wife

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Smut! Minors do not engage! NSFW

Summary: His wife y/n Stark is beginning to feel insecure as she continues to gain wait with each child she bares him. He is the only one who can comfort his sobbing wife when they are forced to return to Kings Landing for a name day celebration for the princess.

Authors note: I suck at summaries. I wish I could just put “Daemon fucks the sad away. Like the good husband he is.” From one big girl to the next I hope you all enjoy this <3

Warnings: smutty smut smut, oral female receiving, p in v, Self degradation, Minor spelling and grammar errors. Semi edited

Word count: 2,280

Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, wielder of dark sister, rider of Caraxes, father to Baelon II, Aenar, Naerys, Aelor, Rhaena and Elaena. Husband to Y/n Stark. He married you when his brother ascended the throne, while it was no secret your family, house Stark, supported Rhaenys is claim to the throne. Your father had you marry Daemon to hopefully stop any retribution from there vote against Viserys. While your marriage was one of political duty it didn’t stop you from loving him nor he loving you. You left the north to join him in Kings landing, where you were to wed. You were just as wild as him, nothing was ever gonna stop him from falling in love with you. You had the distinct Stark characteristics of long brown hair and grey eyes. He could stare into your eyes for the rest of his life 8 years of marriage and already the two of you had 6 children and possibly another on the way. The two of you had decided it would be better to raise your children at Dragonstone without the input of others after having your first two, as well as the murmurs and rumors. You received much judgement for choosing to nurse your children rather than a wet nurse do it. It also didn’t help that you allowed your children to share the bed with you Daemon. People of the court were constantly murmuring about your family and they way you and Daemon are raising your children. They thought it repulsive that your children sleep in marital bed. It’s not as if you perform marital acts with your children present, they were far from any of that when it occurred. Then you became pregnant with Naerys, once you began to show the murmuring became worse. “How could they let there children sleep in such filth, now this child will have to sleep in it to.” “And the king allows this to happen in his castle.” “Have you heard, the dress makers had to make her new gowns again.” “How could the prince lay with someone so large.” “I suppose he has no problem lying with someone of her size when he lay with whores.” “I would not be surprised should he return to the pleasure houses, one could only lay with cattle for so long.”

Once you told Daemon what you had heard the two of you were gone to Dragonstone taking all your belongings and staff and you left. You and Daemon made sure the lust for one another would never die as you two continued to grow your family. Taking you on caraxes to Essos, leaving your children in the care of their maids. Or simply slipping into other bed chambers of the castle (empty ones, you two weren’t one to fuck on other people’s beds), or the beaches of Dragonstone to spend alone time together.

The king called for a feast to celebrate Rheanyra’s 13th name day. Daemon decided to leave for Kings Landing on Caraxes to ensure your rooms were prepared in time for your arrival with the children. Naerys is the oldest of your girls and most stubborn, like her father, refused to go on the ship with you and her siblings. Both you and Dameon felt it wasn’t a good idea for a child of only 5 years to fly on her own on via dragon back. Ultimately you and Daemon decided to allow her to fly with him on Caraxes. You knew your husband would protect your daughter with his entire life. He strapped her to him to ensure if she fell asleep she was still safe with him. He made sure to help you and the children on to the ship and to see you all off before leaving himself with Naerys. Your children loved seeing there father leave on Caraxes, they flew a bit to close to the ship causing it to rock knocking your boys to the floor, they laid there for a moment causing you to laugh as well as you held on to the knight your husband had assigned to you for the trip, Ser Ander.

Once arrived at the Kings Landing port you were met with your husband and daughter. Your daughter ran into your arms and told you how amazing flying on Caraxes was. Your boys told their father how much they enjoyed Caraxes rocking the ship and how they can’t wait for there dragons to be able to rock ships. You all left in a carriage to the Red Keep, and once arrived you were greated by Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra.

“Y/n, we are so glad you and the children have arrived safely.” Greated Viserys with a smile as he hugged you.

“Thank you your grace, we thank you for your invitation.”

“Please Y/n, you are my good sister, call me Viserys.”

“I will try my best, Viserys.”

“Aemma, how are you?”

“I’m quite lovely. Your self?” She asked as she rubbed her bump, you hadn’t known she was with child again.

“Lovely as well. Rhaenyra, how have you been as of late? Are you excited for the celebration?”

“I am, thank you.”

The exchange between Rhaenyra, Aemma and you felt strange in whole. You feel them judge you from their looks. You had put on a considerable amount of weight from the last time you were in kings landing and you could tell they judged you for it. While Aemma had been with child just as many times as you, you had the weight gain to show for it as she did not.

“Come let me show you to our rooms.” Daemon must have felt your unease as he thankfully interrupts the awkward exchange. The twins were to sleep with you and Daemon and the boys and Naerys in the chambers next yours and Dameon’s. Once alone you began to speak freely to Daemon.

“She’s with child once more? Poor Aemma, I pray that this babe is healthy.”

“Yes it’s quite tragic. I remember the two of you always being with child around the same time.”

“Yes, and that’s why it saddens me because we have 5 beautiful children they have one.”

“I know my dear-“ Daemon was interrupted by your children running in. Your youngest boy running behind being only 3 years of age.

“Kepa! Look they have it here! Aenar show him!” With that your second son hands his father his favorite Valyrian dragon book. All your children loved when Daemon would read to them.

“Yes there are plenty of books, perhaps we can go to the library on the morrow.”

“Yes!” Your children were so excited. They loved their father so much and it helped that he was a good one at that. Always reading to them, taking them to tend to there dragons and teaching them how to wield a sword (wooden sword).

The day had turned to night and you were nursing both twins when your husband had entered the room after seeing your other children to bed. “They are all asleep.”

“Oh good, thank you my love.” You thanked your husband and he walked over and kissed your forehead before sitting in the chair across from where you sat on the bed. He watched as you nursed his children and something began to stir inside him. Once done he took one babe and you the other and placed them in the children’s bed the maids had put in the room for the twins to sleep with you and Daemon. You had both drifted off the sleep, your head on Daemons chest and his arm around your shoulders holding you to him.

You woke the next morning feeling bloated and nauseous. The fact that none of your clothes were fitting quite right didn’t help either. You had not bled for two moon cycles now. A part of you suspected you were with child once more but you wanted to believe it wasn’t true. Daemon had entered the room after taking the boys and Naerys to the training yard, finding you sat on the floor crying.

“What has happened ñuhon dōna ābrazȳrys?”

(My sweet wife)

“Daemon.” You choked out in between sobs. He went to the floor with you holding you into his chest. “I’m with child. Again.”

“This is amazing!” Daemon said kissing your forehead.

“Tis not. I’m going to get wider, my skin will have more marks.”

“Yes but you always get smaller again. And I have scars on my body do you not love me?”

“Of course I love you, but your scars are from battle, mine are from the stretching of my skin.”

“Your skin that covers your body. Your body that grows our babes. Our children.”

“Daemon admit it. I do not get smaller, with each babe I birth I do not shrink back down in size. I will never be the size I was when we wed.”

“That is perfect for me. 6 children you have given me, soon 8-“

“There are no more twins growing in my womb.”

“We will see.” He says with a smirk. “I do not care for your size. Just means there is more to love. You are my wife, my wolf, my life and I love you. I love the marks on your skin, it’s proof that you birth my heirs, my children.”

“My marks can be hidden with gowns Daemon. With each child I birth I go up in size. I have birthed 6 children, soon to be 7 and I’m already in need of larger garments. I am huge, I’m ugly.” You sat on the floor crying into your husband’s chest when he speaks up. “I will not have you talking about my wife like this.” He picks you up with ease from the floor and toss you on to the bed. “Daemon!” You shout his name. “No, this is my wife you are discussing. Mother to my children. I will not have you slander her so.” He rips your night shift off you and you lay there bare before him. He is now on top of you and you begin to cover your growing breast when he grabs your wrist and pins them above your head, he holds them there with one hand. He kisses the palms of your hands,” these hands care for our children, they care for me, massaging parts of my aching muscles.” Kissing down both your arms. “These arms hold and comfort our children. They wrap around me at night with love, and sometimes pleasure.” He then takes one of your breast in his mouth, flicks the bud of your breast with his tongue while his free hand massages the other, he then repeats the same releasing you from his mouth to say,” these breast that kept and continue to keep our babes fed, these breast that I worship so, I thank the gods every time they grow larger.” He covers your growing abdomen in kisses,” this, this is where our babes grow, you keep them safe inside you. Our proof of the love we have for each other, proof of my love for you in the children we create.” He lowers his head between your legs and flicks your pearl with his tongue. He licks a big stripe up your core as he stays between your legs for quite sometime your a moaning mess when he releases you,” this cunt that squeezes my cock tight, that births our children,” he kisses down your legs, his hands now gripping your thighs, “these I love to hold apart while I have you screaming with pleasure while I devour you, to prevent you from squeezing my head with them. Your legs though that run to our children at the first cry. I love every part of you, small or big, you are my wife and I will worship every part of you.” With that he brings his mouth back to your pearl and uses his fingers to thrust in and out of you, his free hand massaging your breast. “Daemon please.”

“Please what my sweet wife.”

“Your cock, please.”

“As you wish ābrazȳrys.” With in second Daemons fingers were replaced with his thick, hard member thrusting into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, you moaned in pleasure as he fucked into you. “Keep moaning my sweet girl, let the whole castle know your husband makes you feel this good. Let them know how I worship you so.”

“Yes, Yes! Daemon.” You screamed and moaned for him, giving yourself away to the pleasure your husband gave you.

“Yes my dear, release your self on my cock, my good girl.” With that you were a moaning screaming mess as you reached your release, your nails clawed at his back, as you wiggled under him in pleasure, he fucked you through your release eventually reaching his own from feeling your cunt flutter around his cock. He let out a throaty moan into your shoulder as his seed filled you. He pulled out of you after a moment and layed next to you pulling you into him. His hand grabbing your ass and striking his palm to it,”I almost forget, this,” he grabbed,”this I absolutely love, I love to feel my stones smack against it as I fuck your sweet cunt. Or when I take you from behind I get to watch it shake as I pound into you.”

“Daemon!”

“What! It’s true! I love every part of you y/n. You are my wife, no matter your size i will worship you till I draw my last breath.

“I love you too.” You kiss his chest and he speaks once more. “Truly I thank the gods everyday for your growing tits and ass. I suppose it’s true what they say, you don’t know that something is missing from your life until you have it.”

“I assume in this case it’s tits and ass?”

“Not just any, your tits and ass my sweet wife.”

#daemon targaryen x ofc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon Targaryen smut #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd daemon #daemon targeryan #Daemon one shot #daemon Targaryen one shot #hotd #daemon x plus size reader #daemon Targaryen x plus size reader #daemon Targaryen x plus size female

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i-heart-yellowstone · 8 months ago

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A Boy Named Cooper Norris

Hello, my readers. This is a preview of a Yellowstone / Landman crossover idea that I had recently. Please let me know if you would like this to actually happen.

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Faith's pov

Walking on the campus I felt the wind blow up the back of my green dress. Thankfully I decided to wear leggings underneath it even if it was another hot day in Texas. Frantically moving my head back and forth I knew that I probably looked like a fool not being able to even find my way back to my dorm room after leaving my family in the parking lot seeing as they had a long drive home.

Stopping on the middle of the sidewalk I turned the campus map in different directions in my hands hearing someone walking up behind me so I asked my question. "Excuse me, could you point me in the direction of the East Wind dorm building?"

"I can show you something better than that. My bed specifically." A guy tan with short black hair smirked quickly walking up and pushing my body up against the nearest campus light post.

I grunted against his tight grip on arms, dropping my backpack and map on the grass. "Please let me go. I - I don't know you. I'm just looking for my dorm."

"You want me. You want me by walking on this campus by wearing that dress. I know it." The guy put his face closer to mine making me get even more uncomfortable.

Shaking my head I attempted to push him off of me but he was much stronger than I was. "Please just let me go."

"Nah. I'd rather have my way with you."

Another male voice joined the conversation causing me and the guy holding me hostage to turn our heads in the direction of the new voice. "The girl said to let her go."

"I wasn't asking for your permission." The stranger snapped at the other guy who had begun to take a few steps toward us.

The new guy who was wearing a red baseball cap with a big letter T on it. He turned his hands into fists challenging the stranger. "Clearly you didn't ask for hers. Now you heard her, let her go before I make you."

"You're gonna make me. Ha. Yeah right, little worm." The stranger dryly chuckled hiking up part of my dress

The other guy suddenly ran forward tacking the guy who previously had his hands on me. The new guy wrapped his arms around the guy's waist slamming him down onto his back on the grass. "I warned you once. I don't want to have to warn you a second time." The guy who was bothering me moaned in pain, stumbling up to his feet.

"I'll remember this, worm." The stranger spat in his direction walking away and leaving the two of us alone.

Releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding in I brushed my hands down my dress fixing it as much as possible. "Thank you. Um can I ask how you learn to fight like that?"

"I wrestle here at Texas Tech. I haven't seen you around here before. Are ya a new student?"

Tucking some loose hair behind my left ear I replied. "I am actually. My parents had to head back to our family ranch in Montana this morning. And I um - don't even know where my dorm building is at."

"I can help you find it. Oh here's your stuff back. I'm Cooper by the way. Cooper Norris." He reached down scoping my backpack and map into his hands while introducing himself with a weak smile on his lips.

I smiled sliding my backpack onto one shoulder eyeing his face seeing he had dark brown hair tucked underneath the Red ball cap and dark green eyes. "I'm Faith, Faith Dutton."

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Montana." He chuckled, gesturing with his hand with me standing beside him where we appeared to be almost the same height. "Come on, your dorm should be just around this next corner."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong

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celtigxr · 7 months ago

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THE PINK DREAD - CH. 33 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As the Valyrian houses gather for the anticipated dinner party, King Viserys has an unexpected announcement to share. Word Count: 6070 CHAPTER WARNINGS: We're still talking about menstrual blood. I also only proof read this once, cause ya girl is getting lazy. So apologies for types/grammatical errors, and odd sentencing/wording.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is another one of those chapters I'm not particularly happy about. I think my problem is that I absolutely LOATH writing scenes where there are more than four people. Because there are just too many moving parts and I feel like I need to acknowledge everyone's existence. It's tiring. Anyway, I hope this reads better than I feel like it does.

The Small Council Chamber was at its fullest for the first time in years. Though there was a single marble left unclaimed in the centre of the table, a white and grey granite sphere that would belong to the Master of Ships. Alas, with Lord Corlys occupied near a decade in the Step Stones, and now incapacitated to near death, the subject of anointing a new master of ships was broached several times in the past, and that day was no different.

“Word has it that the Cannibal has moved all the way north west, settling in the mountains around Iroman’s Bay. Dalton Greyjoy told me himself that the Ironmen have begun preparing ships with scorpions, and arming themselves with harpoons, ready to take down the beast,” Larys leaned back in his chair, eyes casting over the nearly full table before landing on the King. “He said that he is willing to take down the nuisance at your pleasure, your Grace, and all he asks is for a seat on this Council and a bride with a generous dowry.”

“Of course he did,” Lord Bartimos rolled his eyes.

“Your Grace, we do need a Master of Ships,” the Lord Hand reminded, and everyone’s eyes strayed to the lone marble in the hexagon. “Lord Dalton is an exceptional sailor and captain, and has one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms, next to the Redwyne’s.”

“Yes, but might I remind you of his reputation,” Daemon shot Otto a look. “He’s done far worse than I, and yet you kept me farther away from this Council.”

“Daemon, please,” Viserys lifted his hand, already tired. “We are not going to bring up the past today…” He turned to look at Barty, who appeared to agree with Daemon, predictably. With a sigh, Viserys lifted his arms, “Tell Lord Dalton I will think on it. Until then, there are many others that we must consider.”

“Like who, your Grace?” Lord Wylde raised an eyebrow.

“Lord Manderly, for example, or Ser Cedric Redwyne, Lord Corwyn’s most accomplished son,” The King answered swiftly. “Not to mention, Lord Clement and Arthor Celtigar, Bartimos’ sons. Clement has possessed the seas since his youth, and knows Lord Corlys personally.”

At the mention of his sons, Barty’s chest swelled, “It would be a great honour, my King. My boys would make you proud, should you have them.”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Hand of the King; he appeared as if he was holding on by a thread. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he clamped it shut after sharing a look with his daughter beside him.

Having a Celtigar on the Small Council again would impede Otto’s ambitions. With Bartimos back, Rhaenyra could tell that the Hand was becoming more irate and impatient, making his motives clearer with every desperate attempt at salvaging Hightower power. His plan was thwarted when Viserys’ health improved; he was no longer addled with Milk of the Poppy and strained with pain, making it easier for Otto to manipulate by the power of suggestion and urgency. Ever since Lyonel Strong had stepped down as Hand and was tragically killed in the Harrenhall fire, Otto’s re-admittance into the position was merely due to the lack of better prospects. At that point, Viserys’ relationship with Bartimos was strained, otherwise the Claw Isle lord would have taken Lyonel’s place.

However, now they are friends again, it was only a matter of time before Viserys realized he could replace Otto with him. The man’s presence in the Small Council while not having a title to belong there was enough of an implication. It would only take a few pushes until Otto finally snaps, forcing the King to do so. Ultimately, that would be a win for Rhaenyra, ensuring that there is no more Green influence whispering in her father’s ear.

Rhaenyra swiveled her eyes to Alicent for a moment, before moving her gaze onto her hands folded on her lap. She and the Queen have been cordial since Visenya’s funeral, though they have yet to share any true moment of reconciliation. At most there were glances of pity, sadness, longing, mutually understanding that they both wished to bury the axe. It was just a matter of who was going to lower their weapon and make the first wave of the white flag. After her conversation with Jacaerys the night prior, it would appear that she would be one to do that.

Otto was wrapping up the final details of the Tourney, after making suggestions for possible low-born men to be knighted and even chosen to be a Kingsguard. Then he asked if there was anything else that needed to be brought up before they departed, and Rhaenyra felt a sense of deja vu.

“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,” she stood up slowly as everyone remained seated. “Several years ago, I stood in this Council Chamber with what I believed was a wise and honourable offer… I said it then, that we are one house, but we have since been divided all these years.” Her eyes roamed the table, noting everyone's expressions one by one. Daemon looked expectant, Otto looked too controlled, Alicent appeared conflicted, and her father’s pleasant smile of encouragement filled her with hope. The first and last time this was mentioned in this room, Alicent barred more mental strength than he.

“His Grace wishes this to be a season of peacemaking, which I heartily agree… As does my son, Jacaerys, who was the one to bring this up to me.” Bartimos tilted his head towards Daemon, his brow furrowed.

Rhaenyra turned to address him first, “Lord Bartimos, your daughter is simply lovely. You know well that I adored her when we both resided in the Red Keep, as I did her mother… A union between our families would have been ideal, yes, but I made a promise to my son that I would give him the liberty to choose, as my father gave me when I was his age.”

The Lord of Claw Isle seemed to deflate in his seat, his eyes seemed to age as he blinked defeatedly, “My Princess, I would like to apologize for any insult my daughter has—”

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her hand up to stop him, “Apologies are not necessary. There was no insult to be had… On the contrary, Jacaerys and Valeana got along well enough, but nothing beyond cordial companionship. Instead, your daughter has inspired my son…” Rhaenyra trailed off and looked back to Alicent. “He has approached me to inquire about the possibility of taking Princess Helaena’s hand in marriage. As it happens… He has already discussed it with her privately.”

Alicent straightened in her seat, her mouth hung open with the incapability of articulating a response. Her eyes casting over to her father did not go amiss, and neither did Daemon’s look towards Bartimos.

“Helaena has not mentioned this,” Alicent stated, her tone betraying her need to disbelieve her ears.

“It appears to be a new development,” Rhaenyra folded her arms in front of herself diplomatically. “Though Jace has said he wished to court her quietly and without stress to ease Helaena’s mind.”

“Well now,” The King finally spoke, his smile widening. “I did not wish to say it… But this was something I always wished had happened all those years ago.”

“But your Grace, we have already discussed betrothing Aegon with–” Otto was promptly cut off by Viserys.

“It was discussed and I made the decision of it not being discussed further,” Viserys looked at Otto, his purple eyes wide with the unquestionable authority of a King. “Helaena is too soft for Aegon. You of all people understand his appetites, as you spend most of your day containing the deplorable truths he hides in Flea Bottom. I know he loves his sister, but it does not go beyond that… And I believe everyone in this very room could all agree… He does not wish to marry Helaena, as much as she does not wish to be married to him.”

The Lord Hand visibly sunk into his chair, his hands lifting in a feeble attempt to convey surrender. “Aegon is your first born son, your Grace. If there were anyone to marry first, it would be him. He is well past the age.”

“I’m aware, Lord Otto,” The King smiled ironically. “Though as you are all aware by now, Aegon is in a very unique situation. And if the whispers have any merit,” His eyes flickered over to Larys, “It’s the same situation as my other son.”

The King fell quiet, looking down at his four fingers as they drummed the marble sitting in its nest in front of him. Then he moved his eyes onto his friend, Barty, who sat at his right. Bartimos stared back, his jaw taught as they silently communicated the obvious.

“I am inclined to allow the chips to fall where they may,” Viserys finally says, lacing his eight fingers in front of himself. “For my daughter, Helaena, however, I wish the world for her… And what better world can I give her than one where she is to be a future queen of the Realm, to be married to a honourable, compassionate, and strapping man like my grandson? Alicent, my dear, do you not agree?”

The question was a challenge, to gouge a reaction out of his wife. If Alicent did not agree, she would voice it. But something kept her lips buttoned, and she looked wide eyed between her husband, her father, and her former friend. If only Rhaenyra could read her mind, to know what she knew, to feel what she felt. Instead, the Princess waited with baited breath.

Alicent slowly stood up from the table, her fingers anchoring her body on the table as she did. Her eyes found Rhaenyra above everyone else’s, effectively avoiding the imploring eye of her father. With a swift movement, she grabbed her goblet, and raised it to the Princess.

“I agree,” her answer fills the room, stirring emotions. “It is time we repair the rift between our families, and make our house whole again.”

When Valeana woke up that morning, it was earlier than she typically would find herself in. Shyla was missing from her bed, which only reminded her of her dream. A wave of nausea hit her; it felt like guilt, it felt like loss. It was so much simpler then, to choose both and have them willing. But it was not reality, as much as she curled back into her pillows, hoping to fall back into that dream that ended so unsatisfyingly.

There was a distinctive squish between her thighs when she moved, and she internally groaned and threw her head back. She must have bled through her rag during the night. Carefully she moved her body over to inspect the sheets underneath her, finding it clear, thank the gods. Then, Valeana quickly strapped on Lady Footlyn so she could clean herself at the washing basin in the corner. A meticulously humiliating process she had to do every single morning the last few days; every moon for the last 8 years. Only 40 more to go.

Though when she pulled up the damp cloth, she didn’t find what she expected. Her moon’s blood was over, what remained was slick, translucent, with a pinkish hue (likely remnants of her blood). Cringing at herself, she resumed her cleaning, ensuring that her thighs were thoroughly dry. At least she didn’t need to plug herself with cotton anymore.

Over breakfast, it was collectively decided that Shyla should no longer suffer another night trying to sleep next to Valeana. Apparently, she had snored so loud and stuttery, Shyla had to check to make sure she was breathing several times.

“You sounded like you were a street cat being mounted by a direwolf, Val,” Shyla rubbed the corners of her eyes. An apt description, considering what she was dreaming that night. Unfortunately, there was a lack of Cregan. Perhaps another night.

Floris was violently reluctant in giving up her single bedroom, but it was put to rest when Shyla expertly handled it.

“It’s alright, Floris. The settee is kind of comfortable… I guess I can stay there for, what…two more moons? My neck won’t hurt forever.”

So, it was decided. Floris’ single room would be Valeana’s. The transition between rooms was a series of glares and muttered remarks as trunks of clothing were moved from one room to the other. When it was all settled, Val collapsed on the larger bed with a sigh. Floris’ former bedchamber was smaller, situated just above the one Valeana shared with Shyla. Stairs lead to it, a circular room in the spired tower above their family’s wing of the Holdfast. There was a larger tower on the opposite end, where her parents’ were. Unlike her former accommodations, this one’s balcony was considerably smaller, just enough for a lounging chair and a tea table.

Aemond would have a harder time climbing up there.

Val lolled her head towards the inconspicuous bookcase, now empty of Floris’ belongings. Almost forgot about that. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, now truly taking in how blissfully removed it was from the rest of the apartment.

A smile crept on her face, slow and devious, just as her hand moved up the hem of her skirt.

The highly anticipated, but even more dreaded gathering of the Valyrian houses would take place that evening for supper. Valeana had spent the entire day making Queen Alicent’s dragon dress with Rosy in the private confines of her new bedquarters to kill the day. While her maid could not talk, she was actively listening as Valeana imparted ideas for her own gown for the Creature Ball. In the end, she decided to be a white lioness, a homage to her mother.

By the time it was time for her to get dressed for supper, the Queen’s dress was practically finished. All that was left was a final fitting to ensure everything was in place, which they had plenty of time for. The Creature Ball would not happen for another moon, at least, some weeks after the Tourney and the Victor’s celebration in the pavilions was over.

There was, however, a formal dress code for the evening. Everyone must wear the colours of their house, which meant that the Celtigars will be garbed in whites and reds, including Floris.

“Why was she even invited,” Valeana ranted to Rosy as the girl helped her pull the solid vermillion dress over her head. “She’s not a Celtigar, she’s not Valyrian.”

And yet Floris wore Celtigar colours, a red bodice with matching tiered layer, an ivory skirt underneath and trumpet sleeves. A ridiculously extravagant dress that expressed something that she clearly is not. All that was missing were crabs embellishments, like Shyla’s.

Her younger sister’s dress was mostly white, save for the inside of the corset in the front, and the stripe of red on the hemline of her skirt, sleeves, and square neckline. Her mother wore a solid red dress, much like Valeana’s, but hers had far more bedazzlement with pearls and polished quartz, which matched her statement necklace.

Valeana had a fair amount of vermillion and ivory coloured dresses, enough to fill two trunks over had she brought her entire wardrobe with her to King’s Landing. Though there was one in particular that was her favourite, one that she had only worn once at her coming out ball on her 18th name day two years ago. It was a bit romantic, perhaps a little much the evening, but the King did request his guests to wear formal attire. And Valeana was feeling particularly romantic that evening.

The skirt was slimmer than her usual gowns, but still held a petticoat underneath to keep shape. Though unadorned with embroidery, it was flowy and delicate. What made the dress her favourite work was the sleeves and the neckline. The sleeves were trumpet shaped, though entirely made out of vermillion dyed veil-type lace that exposed her arms from shoulder to wrist. The dress itself was designed around this fabric, so the lace was the focal point. The bodice had a lace corset in the front, and the neckline was sweetheart shaped, bordered by more lace that framed the tops of her bosom, clavicle, and over her shoulders with a patterned fringe.

Rosy plaited her hair intricately, though its loose appearance made it appear effortless to anyone who didn’t look too close. Four smaller braids beginning from her scalp met in a knot at the back of her head, and the rest of her hair was pulled into two thick messy braids.

Valeana stood after strapping on Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, then shook her hips around, making the dress swish around her legs. Looking up at Rosy, she asked, “How do I look?”

The mute girl communicated with her hands, a language that Val slowly learned over time. Her fingers made a crown on her hand, and then she covered her left eye before pointing at her heart.

Prince Aemond will love it.

Valeana smirked bashfully, “And what about Prince Aegon?”

Rosy stared at her with a tilt of her head as she considered the question. Then she motioned with her fingers around her chest, and made a squeezing motion.

He will enjoy that part.

Valeana threw her head back in a laugh, then turned around to go find her shoe for her right foot. Her eyes glanced at the bookcase, the one that hid the hidden passageway, and she couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow at the mere possibilities this room offered.

The dinner was being hosted in the Holdfast’s private ballroom, designed for family-only events and intimate parties. The Celtigars are the first to arrive, Bartimos leading the charge in his ivory doublet, trimmed in red, marching red grabs on his shoulders. Ursula behind, then Clement in a dark red doublet, and Arthor wearing similar. The girls filtered in right after, Floris, Valeana, Shyla.

There were two tables positioned in a T shape, but separated by a platform. The smallest table sat horizontally on the platform with larger chairs. Two in the middle that faced the hall itself were the tallest, and the most ornate, a visual indication that it belonged to the King and Queen. The longest table was placed vertically below the platform some distance away; it had a total of fourteen chairs.

“I suppose that is where us kids sit,” Arthor comments as he moves around his family to take a gander around the ball.

There was a band in the corner, playing lightly to create a background ambiance. Drapes were pinned to the ceiling, red, black, white, aquamarine; the colours of the Valyrian houses. Valeana noted green was distinctively vacant in the decor, as were the Hightower banners. On poles that flanked the fringes of the ball room, the sigils of House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar stood proudly one after the other. At the very end of the ballroom, beyond the modest dance floor, was a statue of a dragon with three hands, candles were placed on its pedestal, illuminating it from below.

Valeana stared at it for a moment, examining each head closely, particularly the one in the center that faced the room, eyes trained forward.

The dragon must have three heads, a voice echoed in the back of her mind.

Not long after their arrival, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon strode in with their litany of children, save for the younger ones, Viserys and Aegon, who likely were put to bed by then. After the obligatory formal greeting, the growing crowd began to mingle. Clement went to crowd Daemon, and Jacaerys slowly made his way towards Valeana, who lingered around the statue.

“The milkweed plant worked,” Jace said cheekily, his hands behind his back.

Val grinned at him, “I told you. Did you talk to your mother about it?”

He nodded, “I did. She told me she had wished for it years ago, but was thwarted by Alicent. I’m guessing the Queen wished Aegon and Helaena to be wedded, but that was not going to come to pass…”

She hummed in understanding, “And what does Helaena think of it?”

“She has told me she cares for me, but she does have reservations about being Queen. I assured her that if she wishes it, she will be Queen in title only, and that she does not need to be obligated in affairs of the court. I only wish for her to be contented, and not forced into a loveless marriage where she is not appreciated.”

Valeana smiled softly and placed a hand on his bicep, “You’re a sweet man, Jace. She is very lucky to have you.”

He looked down, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. Jace nodded his thanks, and then lifted his gaze up at her, “You look very pretty, by the way. That colour suits you.”

She pursed her lips sheepishly, “Thank you, my Prince.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about us? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives—”

“Don’t push it.”

Upon entering the ballroom, Aemond’s eye immediately found her, like a moth to the moon. The vibrant red of her dress contrasted greatly against the canvas of grey stone and wooden floors, like an orange-red rose growing on a vine along the face of the castle. He barely registered the formal greetings towards the King, he was too busy examining the narrow space between his Valeana and Jacaerys. He locked eyes with his nephew, and the insufferable bastard smirked at him before turning to her and saying something.

Aegon appeared at his side, just in time for Jace to walk away from her, “Does he believe he still has a chance with her?”

Aemond could only grumble in response as Jace strode by them. “Uncles,” he greeted with a short nod of his head, and a faint smirk at the end of his lips. Aemond’s body prickled; he was so worried about Aegon, he had forgotten about Jace. He did not seem to appear a threat anymore, with Valeana very obviously showing disinterest in the forced courtship, but that was contradicted by their show of friendliness.

Did she grow close to him during that day in the Godswood? He didn’t ask how the ride had gone when he was on her balcony, he was too consumed with the need to be with her, he had pushed it out of his mind completely.

His father and mother moved to their centered seats at the table on the platform, which signaled everyone to do the same. Without being instructed, it appeared that everyone knew where they were to be seated. The elder generation took their place at the King’s table; Bartimos on Viserys’ right, and Otto on Alicent’s left. Rhaenys sat across from him, Daemon across Alicent, Rhaenyra across her father, and finally, Ursula sat across from her husband.

At the longer table, it was a bit more chaotic as people scrambled to claim seats next to people they wished to be rooted next to, and actively avoided those they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond shared a look before they practically scrambled towards the approaching Valeana, who was about to take a seat next to her brother. Aegon, though, rested his hand on the small of her back, and guided her to the other end of the table.

“Where do you think you’re going, Lady Valeana?” He smiled against her ear as he pulled out a chair near the end of the table. After he tucked her in, Aegon settled into the seat on her right, next to Helaena. Aemond took the seat on Valeana’s left, the very end of the table.

Even though everyone in the room presently was aware on some capacity of his affection for Valeana, Aemond still had to keep the appearance that he wasn’t. He hadn’t the opportunity to end things with Maris, and the servants and guards that milled the room were just as responsible for the whispers as the ladies of court were. The last thing he needed was for Borros Baratheon to learn about his dishonourable snubbing of his daughter through a maidservant.

Aemond was about to place his hand discreetly on Valeana’s knee underneath the table, but he looked up to realize he was sitting directly across from Lucerys, who watched him with oppressive entertained scrutiny. Valeana must have sensed the tension, because she turned to him with concern etched in her features. No words were said, but her hand reached under the table and squeezed his thigh comfortingly. The corner of his lip twitched at the contact.

The long table was quiet as everyone settled, only the sound of music and the shuffling of servants were heard. Even the King’s table was subdued with its chatter, reduced to murmured compliments. The tension hung in the air like the wrought iron candelabras that were suspended from the ceiling with thick chains. The weight of Vaemond’s sudden and brutal execution was still a fresh memory, but there was also something else amongst the adults that appeared to keep their shoulders squared. Particularly the Lord Hand, who’s eyes were darker than usual. Aegon caught his eye before their grandsire moved it onto Aemond. A silent reprimand, though neither prince knew what they were being scolded for.

The first course was gradually spread along the tables; smaller fare such as mutton stew, fresh bread and soft butter, cured sausages and spiced olives. Grilled vegetables and various sliced cheeses, accompanied by jams from different fruits; fig, grape, strawberries. Salt water oysters were piled high on a bed of salt, next to it were steamed mussels in a red sauce.

“Let us pray before we begin,” Queen Alicent said loudly enough for all in the room to hear. Her piousness is not shared with most in the room, but none seemed to protest, save for the slight exasperation found on Daemon’s features. Everyone collectively bowed their heads and wove their fingers on their laps, everyone except for the Blacks, who only folded their hands.

Aemond respected tradition, even if it was from his mother’s side. He and his siblings may have been raised to worship the faith of the Seven, but They held very little value in their life. Aemond, too philosophical, too agnostic, would say that Their existence is both plausible and impossible. If the Father was just, the man sitting in front of him would have paid for the sin of slicing Aemond’s eye clear from his head. If the Mother was merciful, the woman sitting next to him would have both of her legs. Life was not fair, the gods less so, but out of respect for deities that he may one day face, he bowed his head and prayed when he was supposed to.

Aegon, on the other hand, was different. He believed in the Seven, sure, but also believed they didn’t love him; that they turned their backs on him the day he was born, and decided that he was their mistake that they were trying to forget. It should have been Baelon that survived, not him. Baelon would’ve been the heir his father always wanted.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent led the prayer. “May the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. May the Maiden shower us with love and light during this Royal Conclave. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

There was a notable shift to the atmosphere that could be tasted on the tip of everyone’s tongue at the mention of Vaemond. Lucerys’s mouth pinched and his eyes roamed the table before resting them on his lap; his step-sister beside him blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep a stoic face; Rhaenyra stared vacantly at a spot on the table, her nostrils flaring; Daemon rolled his eyes to the back of his head; Valeana gave a barely audible sigh through her nose, the creases between her brows deepening.

Before people could tuck into their meals, the King pushed himself up, his weight held up by his cane; ivory and ironwood, a dragon nesting on the top. Everyone looked up at him expectedly and he looked at all their faces with a smile so contented, so peaceful, it was enough to forget that all other individuals in that room hated the other for one reason or another.

“This is an occasion of multiple celebrations, it seems,” his mouth widened as his teeth peaked from behind his lips. “Tonight is the first night in generations that the three great Valyrian houses are united under one room. The Targaryens, the Velaryons, and the Celtigars all survived the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Aemond’s eye drifted over all the faces here present. There wasn’t a single true Velaryon by name present; the only two that held blood of a Velaryon were Targaryens by name. No, the Velaryons were nearly a dead line. Vaemond’s sons were the last true Velaryons, but they were not here. They were no older than Aemond’s nephews, Viserys and Aegon the younger, and by now they would be learning that their father was dead. That half his head rolled around like a flipped coin on the flagstone floors of the Throne Room, less than a minute after he shouted ‘bastards’ at the top of his lungs.

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.”

Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, as she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

The implication of their father’s speech was thick in the air, and hard to ignore. Both Princes exchanged glances of disbelief, and yet the way Valeana and Jaceaerys were speaking with each other when they first entered… What the hell was going on? Was… did Valeana…? No, no, surely not…

Aemond’s fingers were visibly trembling under the table, his eye prickling, and his ribs felt like they were going to crack under the pressure of his rapidly beating heart. Aegon was less conserved than he; his mouth twisted as if he was trying to swallow down bile. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of the table, ready to push his chair away and leave the room.

But then the King continued.

“Luke will marry his cousin, Rhaena, and together they will one day become Lord and Lady of the Tides. And as for my eldest grandson, Jacaerys, my daughter’s heir… Well, he has asked for the hand of the purest soul in this room. It fills my old heart with immense joy to announce the betrothal between Prince Jacaerys and my little butterfly, my daughter, Princess Helaena, the future King and Queen of Westeros. I wish them a lifetime of happiness, peace, and prosperity.”

“Here, here,” someone had said through the sounds of clapping.

Aegon had made a brief screeching noise with his chair in his failed attempt to leave. He instead spun to Helaena sitting next to him, who held a sheepish, shy smile, lavender eyes avoiding everyone in the room, other than Jacaerys who was watching her with fondness.

“Helaena and–” He began, but cut himself off, turning back to Valeana. “Were you aware of this?”

Val leaned back into her chair, her fingers laced innocently in front of her, “I kind of had a hand in it.”

Aegon practically sunk in his chair, his hands raking into his scalp. The adrenaline seeped out of his pores and landed on the floor. He lulled his head to look at his sister, and then back at Valeana, “I do not know if I feel better.”

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “Did you think he was referring to me?”

He leaned into her, his voice a whisper, only loud enough for her ears, “Darling, I was very nearly going to kidnap you right here and now.”

Aemond physically felt like he nearly avoided a landslide; visually, he remained impassive, if not a bit bothered around his one expressive eye and flared nostrils. Still his shoulders relaxed once the relief washed over him like a cool breeze on a humid day, which softened the blow of the knowledge that Jacaerys was marrying his fucking sister. A development that he realized was his second least favourable probability, right next to Jace marrying Valeana.

No, he thought as he glanced at Aegon, leaning into her space like she was the only source of heat in the middle of winter. The third least.

Facade be damned, he could not sit silently by while his brother was allowed to publicly stake his claim on his woman, like she was some newly discovered, unoccupied patch of land. Aemond leaned back in his seat haughtily, and without a word spoken, he reached under the table and scooped up Valeana’s left hand that sat idly on her thigh. Ignorant to his intentions, she instinctively wove her small fingers in between his large ones, likely believing for a split second that he simply wanted to convey relief in the shadows. However, he had no intention of keeping it in the dark any longer, not now when the stakes were growing too high.

It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed a very large statement. Aemond pulled their conjoint hands above the table and laid it between them, his thumb moving rhythmically over the back of her palm. Those closest to them had their attention ripped away from their plates and conversations to stare. He could feel her hand tense in his, and he watched her in his peripheral as she turned to him, mouth ajar, eyes wide.

Aemond tilted his head in her direction, eye lifting to meet her marbleized peridots, blinking up at him in shock. His smile coiled at her reaction.

“Ao jurnegon gevie isse bona grēza, ñuha jorrāelagon (You look beautiful in that dress, my love),” his voice was velvet on bare skin, soft, sensual, erotic. “Absolutely stunning.”

On her otherside, Aegon leans forward into the table to openly glare at his brother. His jaw rotates as he grinds the back of his teeth; the only visual proof of him trying to contain himself. In the end, he huffed an ironic laugh, and then smirked at his brother’s brazenous.

Aegon moved his chair closer to Valeana, the legs roughly screeching against the floor hollowly. With his side now flushed against hers, he draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a peck on the corner of her mouth.

“How lucky am I to have the most gorgeous creature on earth at my side,” his tone was saccharine and sanguine, his eyes were predatory and possessive.

Valeana could do nothing but remain trapped between them, not knowing where to rest her eyes. When she found the most neutral point, it was Lucerys and Rhaena who sat across from them. The latter looked partially mortified, partially intrigued, and the former seemed like he was about to combust from amusement.

On the other end of the ballroom, on the platform, seated at the end of the shorter table, Otto Hightower watched the whole thing from his perch. His chest swelled with a sigh of exhaustion and growing impatience. He was getting too old for this shit.

“Seven bleeding Hells,” he muttered, loud enough to garner the attention of his daughter beside him.

“What is it?” Alicent asked in a low tone, her brow creased in concern.

Otto turned to her slowly, “Your fucking sons.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR SNEAK PEEK Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig… And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all. Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of the table. Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him. “Final tribute...”

Notes: F I N A L T R I B U TE Get ready for a whole chapter dedicated to fucking speeches XD Because by god... I'm never...I'm never gonna watch that episode again, I've seen it too many times to write this chapter and the FemAegon oneshot.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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ash5monster01 · 2 years ago

Text

Not Just The Books

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, no use of Y/N, smut, nudity, language, fluff, friends to lovers, minors DNI.

Summary: Steve catches you reading a smutty book and before the embarrassment can settle in you realize he is more interested in doing the stuff in the book with you.

word count: 3.5k

Masterlist

It was not uncommon for you and Steve to be able to sit in silence comfortably. Sometimes having the presence of a friend while you did different things was so much better than being alone. So you both sat comfortably in his living room, you in the easy chair, lamp on to illuminate your book, and him in the center of the couch, slumped down, as he watched whatever was on TV. The sound didn’t bother you as you read, you normally were in another world, not noticing the things around you. So even though Steve had the TV blaring with the hearing of a Grandpa, you didn’t even mind, the TV could explode and you wouldn’t notice. Thing was Steve always noticed you, even if his favorite movie was on TV.

So when he spotted you uncrossing your legs it peaked his interest. You still hadn’t torn your eyes from the book to see he had noticed your movement. Steve had almost turned away until he saw you had pressed your legs together, your teeth capturing your bottom lip. His heart accelerated slightly because he knew that kind of movement. He had caused many of girls that kind of movement, so when you started to shift in your seat, your breaths coming out in smaller pants he realized there was something more to the book you had tightly gripped in your hands. You still didn’t even flinch as Steve stood and walked over to you, in fact you couldn’t even tear your eyes from the page as he quite literally did it for you.

“Steve!” you screeched and he quickly noticed how dilated your eyes were, how fast your chest rose with each breath. You looked like a woman starved.

“Since when do books make you act like that” Steve teased, eyebrows raised highly and you felt the embarrassment burn through you.

“Please give me my book back” you begged, hand out, waiting for him to hand it over.

“You know, normally I would” and the panic started to set in as he turned the book towards himself. Steve never attempted to read your books. Why now?

“Please Steve!” you we’re quick, lunging towards him, but he was quicker. Your voice was rough, all worked up, and no one had even touched you.

“It’s always Steve you need to read more, when was the last time you opened a book, and now you don’t want me too?” he knew he was getting under your skin and you just prayed he woundn't read the page you were on. If there was some higher power out there they would keep him from reading that page right now.

“Just not that book, I was enjoying it” even Steve could hear how uncomfortable you sounded as you said it. It was as if you were trying to get him to cough it up without knowing what was so interesting about it.

“Well, I want to see what’s so good” and just like that his eyes dipped down and you launched for him. Yet Steve escaped your grasp, running across the room, and leaping onto the couch where he stood. Book now face open and you got to watch him read it in real time, like he was on a stage.

Claire panted out heavy breaths, skin on fire everywhere he left a wet love bite and blew on it. She tried to steady her breathing but as his wet kisses trailed down her stomach, finishing on the waist band of her shorts, she couldn’t quite seem to stop the breaths that came out.

Slowly his fingers curled into her waistband and she lifted her hips to make it easier, a silent conformation that what he was doing was okay. As the cool air of the bedroom hit her dripping core she couldn’t help but whimper over the thought of him burying himself between her folds.

“So perfect” he spoke, his tongue darting out to take a small taste. “And sweet”

Then just like that he was devouring her completely. So fast her back arched without her knowledge, pressing into him as he deliciously lapped up everything he could. Eating her out better than anyone ever had, and as his nose nudged against her clit she couldn’t help but begin to feel the coil tighten in her stomach. He had barely done anything and she was already ready to cum.

“Holy shit” Steve muttered, dropping his arms that held the book as he looked down at you from the couch. Very much unable to meet his eyes as he realized exactly what you were reading.

“Can I have my book back now?” you nervously asked, arm rubbing up and down your other one. Steve jumped back down to the ground. Trying to regain your gaze.

“Want to explain this to me?” he asked, holding it over and you quickly snatched it back.

“Not particularly” you now hyper aware of exactly how alone the two of you were right now.

“You like to read dirty books” he chuckled like a little kid and finally you dared to glance up at him only to see a smug look on his face, like he obtained information he was going to hold over your head for years to come.

“Most girls do Steve” you hissed attempting to hit him with the book but he quickly stopped you, his head coming to a shake.

“Whatever you say, it just looked like you were really enjoying it. I’d never seen you so…” he paused, trying to think of a word, and your heart accelerated. Thumping quickly against your ribs and you prayed he couldn’t hear it. “Worked up”

You sucked in a sharp breath as he said it and the air around you turned heavy. This had gone from embarrassing to mortifying because not only did you get caught reading about sex but you got caught for it turning you on. Steve had noticed you were turned on and now you wished he didn’t notice you even existed. “Can we not talk about this, I was acting like I always do”

“That’s a lie, you wouldn’t move while reading even if a tornado came through here but you couldn’t even sit still. You were needy and I know it because I’ve seen it a hundred times” now you were red as a fire truck and Steve was enjoying this way too much. Yet he was also getting turned on which he shouldn’t have because it’s you. His longest and oldest friend, the one he can be completely comfortable with but now he wanted to know exactly how wet you were from that stupid book and he wanted to see if he could get you wetter.

“Ah yes, King Steve, ruler of sex. Can’t take a hint but knows when a girl is turned on” you told him sarcastically, annoyed he insisted on embarrassing you further.

“So you admit to being turned on?” he said with a smirk and you rolled your eyes with a groan.

“My God give it a break, yes I was turned on, is that what you want to hear?” you asked him and as you let out heavy breaths and waited for him to give a sarcastic answer it never came. Instead he stared you down, like you admitting this suddenly made you a four course meal. Steve had never looked at you like this and now you were nervous all over again but about an entirely different thing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you nervously asked, attempting to back away from him because now the foot and half between you two was way too close.

“I’m not doing anything” he told you, stepping towards you to shorten the distance again and you wished he hadn’t of done it because now Steve was replacing the guy in the book for you.

“Yes you are, you’re looking at me like you want to kiss me” you said, trying to make it sound like a joke but even to you is sounded nervous. Steve just tilted his head, eyeing you up and down completely.

“It looks like that because I do want to kiss you” how was he so comfortable talking to you like this? You had never crossed this line before and now you wanted him to touch you and stay away all at the same time. “So can I kiss you?”

“I uh, I I..-“ you stammered, unsure how you went from peacefully ignoring each other to the edge of the line. If you say yes you would give him a reason to cross it and that was a lot of responsibility for a person.

“I need an answer sweetheart, because I really really want to kiss you” he spoke slowly and you swallowed hard, still turned on from the book and now a little turned on by him.

“Uh yeah, I-I guess” you told him and a grin cracked across his face and before you could say anything more his hands were on your face and drawing your lips near his own. He waited a minute before pressing them to yours, whether is was hesitant or savory you weren’t sure. But after a steady breath he pressed against you, mouth hot and slotting between your own lips perfectly. He was a good kisser but you already knew that.

It took only seconds for it to get heated, his hands tugging lightly at your hair and tongue grazing your lip. You parted in an instant, letting his tongue tangle with your own and then it was over. He had you backing up all the way to wall, your back thumping against it, and his knee wedging between your legs. Against your better judgement you started to grind against it, unable to stop your self considering how worked up you had been. “Getting yourself so turned on without any release, seems like torture sweetheart”

“There was going to be release, later, when I was alone” and your response had Steve’s head tipping back as he let out a groan.

“Still unfair, why don’t you let me take care of you?” Steve coaxed and you involuntarily ground down on his leg, knowing release was right around the corner if you just let him. Was it worth it though? To cross this line just for some sweet release? For a touch that could unwind you more than your own hands could? You knew Steve was a good lay, had been legend among the Hawkins High halls because of it. Should you even find out for yourself with risk of ruining the friendship? Fuck it.

You didn’t even have to answer based on the way your lips smashed back into his own. He met your pace in the blink of an eye and you couldn’t keep yourself from pulling at the hem of his shirt, trying to lift it above his head. Even needier at the sight of his bare torso you began to ride his leg like your life depended on it. A deep chuckle left his throat as his hands dug in the doughy flesh of your hips, slowing your movements against him. He wanted to take his sweet time with you and if he went any slower you were going to be a whining mess.

“What do you need baby?” he asked against your neck, sucking hard on the sensitive spot there and you were in no position to care that he probably gave you a crimson hickey.

“Take off my shirt” you told him with a groan, keening as he licked the sore spot of your neck. He obeyed, removing the baggy T-shirt you had worn over here just to be met with the sight that you had forgone a bra. You watched as his eyes turned almost black at the sight of you, swallowing thickly before cupping his hands around both your breasts. The minute he began to knead the flesh your head was hitting back against the wall, fighting from grinding on his leg again. Something about Steve needily groping your chest ignited a fire within you and you had been doing good until your nipple was sucked into his warm mouth and involuntarily you bucked your hips on his leg so hard you felt your hips bones hit his own.

"Such a needy girl" he teased before moving to suck on your other breast. As much as his words turned you on you still found yourself needing to feel more in control. Steve would be too cocky knowing he got you to so desperately fall apart like this. So in a moment of courage you took some intiative. With his eyes still closed, mouth littering your breast with hickeys, you dropped your hand down and grasped his hard on through his sweats. You felt the squeak from his throat on your breast as you began to stroke him through his pants and just as the girls had said in highschol, Steve was intimidatingly big.

“Looks like the book turned more than just me on” you teased, a sly smile on your face and Steve removed his mouth from your breast, tongue grazing up the skin of you neck till he was face to face.

“That’s not the book, that’s you” he told you and these words gave you the rush of confidence you needed for your fingers to slip below his waist band and grasp his cock right at the base. He hissed at the feeling of your cool fingers and the attention you were giving him.

“Stevie is needy too, what does he need?” you hummed, eyes wide and innocently looking up at him. He squeezed his own eyes shut as you slowly stroked him, prepared to ease him out of his pants.

“Baby this is about you” he told you, trying his best to back away but you had a grip on him that he was enjoying way too much.

“I know, that’s why I want to do this” and you were spinning both of you around, pressing him against the wall he previously had you caged in. He groaned as you dropped to your knees, breasts swinging as you finally pulled his sweat pants down. His length stared you down but he looked delicious as ever. If someone had ever suggested you’d be sucking your best friends cock tonight you would’ve told them they were lying but now here you were, taking him into your mouth. You hummed at the saltiness of his skin, tongue swirling around his swollen tip. He grabbed your hair without even realizing, trying to ease you to take more of him. Slacking your jaw you allowed him to glide in and out of your warm mouth, letting him hit the back of your throat, humming against him which made him writhe against the wall.

“Okay, stop I’m going to cum” he pulled you off of him, arms easing under your own and lifting you to your feet as if you weighed nothing. You smiled deviously at him, chin slick with spit and he didn’t waste two seconds before pulling you into a deep kiss. “It’s my turn to get a taste now”

He was mumbling against your lips, arms wrapped around you as he carried you over to the couch he had been watching TV on. Once he had you laid gently across it he was removing his own pants and dropping to his knees to remove yours. He made sure to take his sweet time, pulling the soft material down your legs, memorizing the cream color of the lace panties that had been soaked against your mound. You tried not to whine out as he touched you everywhere but there. You were on the verge of begging until he finally moved to pull the cream fabric off of you. You went to close your legs but his arm stopped you, keeping you wide open for him.

“So perfect” he said and you groaned out.

“Don’t tease” and Steve knew you meant both about the book and about how he was taking care of you. So he just grinned before dipping down and licking a long stripe through your folds.

“And sweet” and you didn’t have any time to yell at him because he was devouring you whole. Your stomach jumped as he sucked harshly at your clit, back arching and pressing your pussy straight into his face. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, more than likely leaving bruised finger prints but you hoped they did. You wanted to remember the mind numbing head Steve Harrington gave you. You almost didn’t expect him to be so good at eating you out. You should’ve thought because your heels were digging into his back, hands tugging harshly as his curls, and you were moaning unapologetically because he was just that good. You could feel the coil begin to tighten in your stomach and you were grinding against his tongue, movements getting faster indicating you were right there. It wasn’t until his lips wrapped around your clit did you find yourself begin to snap, shaking as your body seemed to leave earth and come back to you all at once.

“Hope you’ve got another one in you baby” he cooed, kissing up your stomach and breasts. He finally met your mouth and even though you were already half worn out you found yourself gripping his cock in your hand again. He winced due to holding his own orgasm off and your thumb gently rolled over his tip.

“Show me what you’ve got Harrington” you were telling him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before sucking on his neck. Steve hoped you were leaving your mark and soon enough you were lining him up between your legs. You shuttered as he ran himself through your slick.

He couldn’t wait any longer and finally he was pushing himself in you, bottoming out in seconds as you fully sucked him in. He knew not to move as your mouth froze against his neck and he moved to kiss your lips, an apology and promise that it would stop hurting soon. He was in his own pain of needed relief until your hand was grazing down his bare back.

“Please move, I’m begging you” and he didn’t need to be told twice as he pulled back and slammed into you again. You moaned loudly and he quickly found his pace, moving in and out of you as best he could. Swiftly you grabbed his hands, placing them on your breasts which he didn’t hesitate to grip. He used them for balance as he slammed in and out you, massaging them and loving them as best he could. The way you were reacting made him realize this was what turned you on most, attention to your breasts. Needing to have his release soon he dipped down, removing one hand to suck at your nipple as hard as he could, hips still slamming into you. The wet heat of his mouth had you keening in seconds and you gasped out, trying your best not to yell.

“I’m coming Steve, fuck cum in me please” you begged and he almost came right there as he heard those words. In moments you were pulsating around him, clenching tightly and milking him for all he was worth. The tightness of you made him follow right after, thick ropes shooting into you. You panted heavily as you gripped his shoulders, indicating him not to move.

“I want you inside of me a little longer” you told him and he slowly eased down onto you, trying his best not to move and overstimulate you.

“Where the fuck did this behavior come from?” he asked, pressing gentle kisses to the hickeys he had littered your breasts with. He was trying his best not to get hard over the fact he was still inside of you.

“I’ve always been like this Steve” you told him, feeling him twitch inside you.

“This dirty, why haven’t we been fucking sooner?” he chuckled, mouth kissing your chin and you rolled your eyes.

“Because I don’t fuck around Steve, and I always told myself that if we did this it had to be real” and the weight of your words hit him with surprise. Yet it wasn’t the kind of surprise you had expected.

“You mean to tell me you liked me this whole time too? Then what the fuck have we been waiting for?” he groaned out and your eyes widened as you reached for him.

“You like me too?” you hopefully asked and he smiled, lifting to press his mouth to your own. You winced as he slipped out of you, no doubt a mess all over the couch that now had to be cleaned.

“Hell I love you, I’ve always loved you” he told you after a beat and you smiled up at him, realizing you should’ve read dirty books around him sooner.

“We’ll in that case, let’s do this again”

For you to enjoy <3: @jjmaybankswifes-blog @halflifejess

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theetherealbloom · 6 months ago

Text

Your Love Feels Like A Sunday When You Got Nowhere To Go

Summary: You are Pedro’s date to the SNL 50 celebration as his newly engaged fiancée.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Hi! Yes, I am still working on It Could Happen To You. School is being a bitch and I’m just in a weird headspace rn lol. Anyway, since this is basically a series now… I’ll make a series masterlist for this soon tehe.

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

Song: Your Love by JISOO

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

THE BOWERY HOTEL — DAY

You arrived a day before the taping of the SNL 50th anniversary show, the energy of New York buzzing all around you. But inside the hotel suite, it was just you and Pedro, wrapped up in a world of your own.

Sweet, romantic Pedro. The man who hadn’t stopped calling you wife since he slid that engagement ring onto your finger.

You twirled the sparkling diamond under the dim lighting, still not quite believing it was real. It had been just over a month since Pedro had proposed, and somehow, you were still catching yourself staring at it in disbelief.

From across the room, Pedro watched you, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Caught you staring again,” he teased, voice warm with amusement.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s new. Let me have my moment.”

He pushed off the doorway, crossing the room in a few strides before wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s not new to me,” he murmured against your temple. “I’ve known you were mine for a long time.”

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’m not your wife yet, Pascal.”

Pedro hummed, his nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Hmm… nah. You are.”

You swatted at his chest, but the way his eyes twinkled made your heart melt.

“You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

Pedro chuckled at your faux annoyance, his warm breath ghosting against your lips as he leaned in. “You’re so cute when you pretend to be mad at me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his fingers before capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

You melted instantly, hands threading into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss grew hungrier, his lips moving against yours with a languid sort of urgency, like he was savoring every second.

His hands roamed—one resting on the small of your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your robe, fingertips teasing against your bare skin. A soft hum escaped you as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You gasped, breathless, gently pushing at his chest. “We have lunch with Javiera.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Mierda.”

You giggled as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression somewhere between frustration and mischief. “Did I forget to mention I invited her to watch you perform?”

“You did,” he huffed, pouting slightly. “And I love that she’s coming. I do. But do we have to be on time?”

You gave him a pointed look.

Pedro sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine. Fine.” He took a step back, raking a hand through his already tousled hair. “But just so you know, you owe me later.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Oh, cariño.” His voice dropped to a sinful murmur as he trailed a slow finger down your arm. “Later tonight, I’m going to have my way with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you smirked, smoothing your robe as if unaffected. “We’ll see about that, Pascal.”

His grin was full of promise. “Oh, we will.”

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

Lunch with Javiera was set at a quiet corner table in the hotel's restaurant, a space that offered just enough privacy for a family catch-up without feeling too closed off. The scent of fresh bread and herbs lingered in the air as you sipped on a glass of chilled wine, the engagement ring on your finger catching the soft afternoon light.

Javiera beamed as she reached for your hand, examining the ring for what was probably the fifth time since you sat down. “It looks even better in person,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “I still can’t believe you two are finally engaged.”

Pedro, seated beside you, chuckled as he reached for a piece of bread. “Finally? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Javiera gave him a knowing look. “Oh, come on. Everyone saw this coming except you.”

You laughed, nudging Pedro playfully. “See? Told you.”

He huffed dramatically. “Unbelievable. My own sister conspiring against me.”

Javiera grinned, sipping her drink. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her when she’s not around. You’ve been a goner for a long time, hermano.”

Pedro didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he turned to you, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted at the way he was looking at you. Before you could say anything, the waiter arrived with your meals, setting down plates of fresh seafood and warm pasta.

Javiera leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So, have you two started thinking about the wedding?”

Pedro answered before you could. “She keeps saying she’s not my wife yet, but I don’t know… feels pretty official to me.”

You groaned. “Pedro.”

Javiera laughed, shaking her head. “He’s never going to let that go.”

Pedro grinned, cutting into his food. “Nope.”

You sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “We haven’t talked about it too much yet. Everything’s been moving so fast. But we will.”

Javiera nodded in understanding. “Well, no matter what you decide, just know the entire family is already planning in their heads. Mom is probably dreaming up wedding decorations as we speak.”

Pedro groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Dios mío.”

You giggled, squeezing his hand under the table. “At least we know it’ll be a party.”

Javiera smirked. “A very loud one.”

As the lunch carried on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing, reminiscing, and warmth. The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting a golden glow over the table, and you found yourself stealing glances at Pedro every now and then—marveling at the fact that this was your life now.

Engaged. In love. Surrounded by family.

And if Pedro had his way, he’d be calling you his wife a lot sooner than you expected.

THE BOWERY HOTEL — EVENING

After a long, exciting day, you and Pedro decided to call it an early night, opting for the comfort of your hotel room over any glamorous outings. Room service had just arrived, and the two of you sat on the plush bed, plates of warm pasta and glasses of wine spread out between you. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow of the bedside lamps casting a cozy warmth over everything.

Pedro swirled his wine glass lazily, leaning back against the headboard with a contented sigh. “This is perfect,” he murmured, glancing at you with the softest eyes. “No loud crowds, no cameras—just us.”

You grinned, taking a bite of your pasta before setting your fork down. “I still can’t believe you’re going to be on SNL again. It feels like just yesterday we were watching your first episode from our couch.”

Pedro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I was nervous as hell back then.”

“You were incredible, though,” you said earnestly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “And you’ll be even better this time. I’m so proud of you, Pedro. Not just for this, but for everything. For who you are.”

His ears tinged pink, and he let out a bashful laugh, shaking his head. “Stop, you’re gonna make me all emotional.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, scooting closer. “You work so hard, and you never let the pressure change who you are. That’s why people love you. That’s why I love you.”

Pedro set his wine glass aside and turned to face you fully, his expression melting into something unbearably tender. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “But I thank whatever force in the universe brought you into my life every damn day.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re just saying that because I let you steal half my food.”

Pedro smirked, feigning innocence. “Who, me? Never.”

Before you could protest, his fingers darted to your waist, tickling you mercilessly. A shriek escaped your lips as you collapsed onto the bed, writhing in laughter. “Pedro! No—stop! I’m gonna spill the wine!”

He was laughing just as hard, his face split into the most joyful grin as he kept at it. “Not until you take back that accusation!”

Through uncontrollable giggles, you tried to escape, but he was relentless, his hands finding every ticklish spot. “Okay, okay! You’re innocent! You’re a saint!” you gasped between bursts of laughter.

Pedro finally relented, collapsing beside you, both of you breathless from laughing. You turned to face him, your eyes still shining with amusement, but the moment shifted as his gaze softened, darkening with something deeper. His hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline.

“You really do mean the world to me,” he murmured, his voice hushed and full of emotion.

Your breath hitched as his lips met yours, slow and deliberate, the laughter between you fading into something softer, needier. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you melted into him, sighing against his mouth. His body pressed against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. The air grew thick, charged with heat and unspoken promises. Pedro’s lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make you shiver.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back as his hands explored, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles over your bare skin. “Then maybe we should do something about it,” you whispered, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Pedro didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment your lips met, any remaining restraint melted away. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The heat between you was intoxicating, a slow burn that built with every kiss, every teasing graze of his fingertips over your exposed skin.

His mouth was hungry, insatiable, devouring you with a passion that made your breath hitch. He kissed you like he’d been starving for you, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His tongue swept against yours, deep and slow, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips that only spurred him on.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me, cariño.”

You gasped as he rolled his hips against yours, the hard press of him igniting something primal deep within you. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more—more of him, more of his warmth, more of the intoxicating way he made your body feel like it was on fire.

“Then show me,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but Pedro heard it loud and clear.

His answering smirk was sinful. “Oh, I plan to.”

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress in the most delicious way, making you arch into him instinctively. His hands wandered, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your stomach before tracing a slow, teasing path upward.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you. Touching you.”

You shivered under his touch as he pushed your shirt up higher, his fingers grazing over your bare skin with a maddening slowness. His lips followed, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower and lower, until he reached the edge of your bra. He paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, silently asking for permission even now.

“Pedro,” you whined, your body arching toward him, desperate for more. “Please.”

That single word sent a visible shudder through him, his control hanging by a thread. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered before finally peeling your shirt off, his eyes darkening at the sight of you beneath him.

His lips were everywhere—on your throat, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts. He took his time worshipping you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The contrast of his rough stubble against your soft skin made you gasp, sending a delicious ache straight to your core.

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, your nails digging into his back as he teased you, his lips hovering just above where you needed him most.

Pedro chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “Patience, mi amor.” But the way his voice wavered, the way his own body trembled against yours, told you he was just as desperate.

And then—finally—his mouth was on you, his kisses turning scorching, his hands gripping your thighs as he moved lower.

The next moments were a blur of pleasure, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, his touch unraveling you until you were nothing but gasps and moans beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow grind of his hips against yours sent you spiraling higher and higher, until you shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, completely undone.

Pedro didn’t stop. Not yet. He guided you through the aftershocks, whispering sweet praises against your flushed skin, his voice raw with love and desire. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect for me.”

When you finally opened your eyes, dazed and blissed out, Pedro was hovering above you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper—something more than just desire.

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Always.”

Your heart swelled, your body still humming with pleasure as you reached up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over the stubble there. “I love you too,” you murmured, pulling him down for a slow, languid kiss.

And as he wrapped you up in his arms, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, you knew—there was no place in the world you’d rather be.

THE NEXT DAY…

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

The hotel room buzzed with energy, a symphony of laughter, light conversation, and the occasional pop of a hairspray bottle. Your glam team moved around you in a carefully choreographed dance, curling strands of hair, blending makeup, and adjusting the final touches of your red-carpet look. The air smelled of floral-scented powders and expensive serums, mixing with the faint, crisp scent of fresh linens from the open balcony door.

It was a beautiful afternoon in New York, golden sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. The excitement in the room was palpable—not just for the event, but for you.

“So,” one of the hairstylists, Bella, said with a teasing grin as she ran a brush through your hair, “how does it feel to be engaged to Hollywood’s most beloved man?”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at yourself in the mirror as the makeup artist dusted a final touch of highlighter on your cheekbones. “Surreal, honestly. I keep waiting for someone to shake me awake and tell me it’s all a dream.”

Another stylist, Marie, chimed in, hands on her hips as she admired your nearly finished look. “Well, if it is a dream, you’re living in the most romantic one ever. That ring? Stunning. And the way he looks at you? Girl, you won.”

Your heart squeezed at her words, warmth blooming in your chest. You knew exactly what she meant—Pedro had a way of looking at you like you were his entire world, like nothing else mattered when you were in the same room. Even after all this time, it still made you breathless.

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and in walked Pedro, freshly showered, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar, citrus, and something undeniably him—filling the room. His tousled curls were still damp, his beard neatly trimmed, and he wore a fitted brown V-neck shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, paired with black dress pants that hugged his hips perfectly. A blazer hung over his arm, though from the easy smirk on his lips, he didn’t seem in any hurry to put it on.

And, of course, he was grinning.

“Talking about me?” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt as he sauntered in, hands casually slipping into his pockets.

Your stylists all exchanged knowing looks before Bella smirked. “Oh, always.”

Pedro chuckled, then placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning down so his face appeared beside yours in the mirror. His deep brown eyes flickered over your reflection, admiration evident in his gaze. “Damn, Hermosa…” His voice dropped lower, more reverent. “I might have to fight off every person at this event just to keep their eyes off you.”

Your stomach flipped at the intensity in his tone.

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. “Smooth.”

“I’m serious,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. The heat of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

Marie let out a dreamy sigh. “Ugh. The romance.”

Pedro straightened, clapping his hands together with a playful grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you all to it. Just needed to see my girl before we head out.”

But as he turned to leave, he caught your gaze in the mirror again, his expression softening into something deeper, something unspoken. And then—he winked.

A flutter of warmth spread through your chest, and you realized something.

No matter how many times you saw him, no matter how many times he looked at you like you were the only person in the world—you would never get used to it.

As the final touches were made, you finally stepped into your dress—a breathtaking gown that made you feel like a dream. It was an elegant yet modern off-the-shoulder number, the fabric a deep, rich shade that complemented your skin tone perfectly. The fitted bodice flattered your curves, while the flowing skirt trailed behind you like a soft cascade of silk.

You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric before turning toward the door—where Pedro was waiting.

He was already dressed in his full look, a classic black suit tailored to perfection, the crisp white dress shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar just enough to drive you a little insane. His salt-and-pepper curls were styled just so, his beard neatly trimmed, and his warm brown eyes—those eyes that always made you feel like the only person in the room—were already locked on you.

And when you stepped into his view, his breath audibly hitched.

"Dios mío…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it, felt the weight of it settle deep in your chest.

A slow, smitten smile tugged at your lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Pascal.”

Pedro exhaled a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart as he took a step closer. “Mi amor, if I wasn’t already planning to marry you, I’d be proposing again right now.”

You let out a breathless laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.” His hands found your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric as he shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. And I mean that. Completely. No exaggeration.”

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling too fast, too much, because—God, how did he do this to you? How did he make you feel so seen, so loved, so entirely his without even trying?

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Pedro, you can’t say things like that.”

He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Because…” Your voice wavered, and you let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Because you’re going to make me cry.”

Pedro’s expression melted into something impossibly tender. “Oh, baby…” He cupped your face instantly, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he studied you, his own eyes glassy now. “Then let’s cry together. Because fuck, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”

Your breath hitched, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. Pedro caught it with his thumb, brushing it away before leaning in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips—like he was sealing in everything he couldn’t say.

You clutched his lapels, pulling him closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Pedro huffed out a soft laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You existed, mi amor. That’s all you ever had to do.”

A choked laugh left your lips as you shook your head. “You’re the most sickeningly romantic man alive.”

“And you love it,” he teased, his nose nudging against yours.

“I love you,” you corrected, voice barely above a whisper.

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his expression so full of love, so full of everything that it made your chest ache. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing your engagement ring before intertwining your fingers.

“You ready?” you murmured, voice still thick with emotion.

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. “With you?” He smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”

And with that, you stepped out into the night, hand in hand, heart in heart, ready to take on the world—together.

ROCKEFELLER CENTER, STUDIO 8H — EARLY EVENING

The moment you stepped out of the car, camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Pedro’s hand was warm in yours as you both made your way down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose for photos. Reporters called out his name, some calling yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nerves crash over you.

Pedro must have sensed it, because he squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper, “Breathe, baby. I got you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away.

You reached the interview section, and almost immediately, Entertainment Tonight flagged you both down.

“Pedro! Congratulations on SNL’s 50th! And—oh my gosh, congratulations to both of you on the engagement!”

Pedro beamed, pulling you a little closer. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s been a hell of a year.”

The reporter turned to you. “How does it feel to be engaged to the Pedro Pascal?”

You laughed. “Honestly? Like dating a golden retriever with a credit card.”

Pedro clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow. Betrayed on live television.”

The reporter laughed. “Well, it’s clear you two are head over heels. Pedro, can we expect wedding bells soon?”

Pedro turned to you, his smile softening. “Whenever she’s ready. No rush. I just know she’s it for me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned back to the reporter, your own smile matching his. “Yeah. He’s it for me, too.”

And as the night went on, with the lights, the cameras, and the sea of Hollywood’s biggest stars surrounding you both, you knew—Pedro was right. You were already his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

STUDIO 8H – SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE 50TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

You loved watching Pedro perform on stage. It was one of your absolute favorite things. The way he commanded the room with effortless charisma, the way he delivered every line with that perfect balance of humor and sincerity, the way he owned the stage—he was a natural. An absolute force.

And really fucking funny.

Sitting in the audience, you could barely keep it together. The energy in the studio was electric, but nothing compared to the way your heart pounded watching him up there, in his element, making an entire room—hell, millions of people—laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And then it happened.

The skit with Sabrina Carpenter had already been hilarious—Pedro leaning into his role, playing it up with exaggerated expressions and that perfect comedic timing that had everyone in stitches. But when the music kicked in and he suddenly started hip-thrusting into the air, fully committing to the bit with zero hesitation, your jaw unhinged.

“Oh. My. God,” you breathed, your entire body stiffening as your brain tried to process what you were seeing.

Javiera, sitting beside you, didn’t miss a thing.

“Are you—oh my God,” she cackled, smacking your arm. “You’re so done for.”

You barely registered her words because your entire world had narrowed down to him—Pedro, on stage, grinding the air like it was his job, all while belting out the ridiculous lyrics to the skit’s song.

Your face was on fire.

“Shut up,” you hissed, pressing your hands to your face in a weak attempt to cover how absolutely hot and bothered you were.

Javiera just laughed louder, fully reveling in your suffering. “No, no, no—don’t go all shy now! Own it, babe. That’s your fiancé up there.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. “And let’s be real… if he’s that good at hip-thrusting in public—”

“Javiera!” you choked, shoving her while she doubled over in laughter.

You turned back to the stage just in time to catch Pedro glance toward the audience, his eyes scanning the crowd before they found you. And oh, the moment he locked onto your completely flustered, scandalized expression, his lips twitched into the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen in your life.

That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

He winked.

You swore your soul left your body.

Javiera grabbed your arm, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, you’re in trouble tonight.”

And yeah. She was absolutely right.

You were in so much trouble.

But before you could even fully recover from the absolute chaos of Pedro’s hip-thrusting performance, the next skit rolled in—and it wrecked you all over again.

Pedro walked onto the stage, transformed.

His usual effortless charm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a full-blown, committed hillbilly persona. He wore the most ridiculous wig, long and messy, nearly covering his eyes, and a graphic shirt that looked like it had seen better days. The second he opened his mouth, putting on that exaggerated twang and delivering his lines with painstakingly perfect comedic timing, you lost it.

Javiera was right there with you, grabbing your arm as she wheezed through her laughter. “Oh my God—look at him! I can’t—”

You could barely breathe. “Stop, I’m actually about to die.”

Onstage, Woody Harrelson and Kate McKinnon were trying—and failing—to keep straight faces as Pedro went all in on the character, telling some completely unhinged story about how the aliens had abducted him and taken a very inappropriate interest in his “hillbilly butt.”

And then came the moment—

Meryl Streep, Meryl fucking Streep, turned to Pedro, trying to deliver her line with composure, but Pedro—your Pedro—gave her this completely deadpan look, blinking beneath that ridiculous wig before delivering a line so absurdly timed, in that perfect hillbilly drawl, that Meryl Streep—the queen of acting herself—broke.

Her head dipped forward as she cracked up, covering her face, shaking her shoulders, and the entire audience erupted.

You lost your mind.

“Oh my God he just made Meryl Streep break character,” you gasped, gripping Javiera’s arm as you struggled to stay upright in your seat. “That’s it. That’s the peak. That’s the moment.”

Javiera shrieked through her laughter. “Your fiancé just made one of the greatest actors alive break on live TV. Babe, you won.”

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to pull yourself together, but Pedro kept going, doubling down on his character’s antics, sending the entire studio into absolute hysterics. The audience was howling, and you? You were on the verge of falling out of your damn seat.

To say you were proud of Pedro was the understatement of the century.

He was killing it.

And when the skit finally ended, the camera catching Pedro barely holding it together as Woody clapped him on the back and Meryl wiped away her tears of laughter, you saw it—that look he gave, that quick flicker of his eyes searching the audience, finding you.

And when he did?

He grinned.

That big, beautiful, unbelievably smug grin.

And you knew.

You were so in trouble tonight.

STUDIO 8H – LATER THAT NIGHT

After his skit, he’d barely disappeared backstage before returning to you, his face still slightly flushed from all the laughter and adrenaline. And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more irresistible, there he was—dressed in a plain white henley, the soft fabric stretching just right across his chest, his sleeves pushed up enough to show off those strong forearms.

And those glasses.

The square-framed ones that made him look ridiculously handsome, the ones that had your brain short-circuiting every time he wore them.

Oh, you were so done for.

Pedro slid back into his seat between you and Javiera, flashing you a small, knowing smile. His hand automatically found your thigh, squeezing lightly—just a touch, nothing inappropriate, but enough to send heat flooding through your body. You swore the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

So you did what you knew would drive him crazy.

You turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him dizzy.

Pedro inhaled sharply through his nose, but he barely hesitated, responding immediately—his hand sliding up to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to claim you, as if he wanted to pull you into his lap right then and there. His lips were warm, soft, and eager as they moved against yours, deepening the kiss just slightly. His thumb brushed over your ribs, and you felt the way his breath hitched, like he was fighting the urge to take things further.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his henley as he kissed you like he needed you—slow, lingering, with an almost teasing edge.

Javiera groaned beside you. “Alright, you two, I am still here.”

You pulled away with a breathless laugh, Pedro’s lips still chasing yours even as you separated. His forehead rested against yours for a lingering second, and when he finally pulled back, he gave you that devastatingly soft look—the one that made your heart flip inside your chest.

“You keep kissing me like that, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise, “and I’m not gonna make it to the after-party.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trace along his jawline. “Who said we’re going to the after-party?”

Pedro’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. He gave your thigh another squeeze, this time lingering a little longer.

But before he could say anything—

Paul fucking McCartney took the stage.

The first notes of Golden Slumbers filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like something magic.

Pedro’s entire body shifted as if on instinct. His fingers laced through yours, squeezing tight, before pulling you up with him.

“You’re dancing with me,” he murmured, voice low and full of emotion, his breath brushing against your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“You act like I’d ever say no.”

Pedro chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. His other hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly as he swayed you in slow, easy circles.

His touch was everywhere—warm, solid, grounding. You let yourself melt against him, your cheek resting against his chest as the music carried you both away.

“Once there was a way… to get back homeward…”

Pedro hummed softly against your temple, his voice low, affectionate. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, the way his fingers traced lazy circles against your spine.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Your throat tightened. “I think I do.”

His lips brushed your forehead. “You’re everything to me.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting his words settle in your heart like something precious.

As Carry That Weight began, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers, laughter, voices singing along. Pedro lifted your hand, spinning you gently before pulling you right back into his arms.

You laughed, breathless, the warmth in his eyes making you weak. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Pedro’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with so much tenderness. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than I know how to say.”

And that was it.

You surged forward, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. It was soft, full of love and something deeper—something that felt like forever. Pedro kissed you back just as sweetly, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

As The End played, the final notes echoing through the studio, you held onto Pedro like he was your whole world.

Because he was.

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andy-15-07 · 12 days ago

Note

Hi, I hope you have a great vacation! I had an idea of a premise where reader is an interviewer and she has to interview Pedro Pascal. However, it’s obvious that Pedro has a thing for her and it blows up on the internet. Then when they run into each other again they talk about it and laugh and Pedro admits that everyone was right about him having a thing for her. I just thought this was a cute idea and I’m glad that you’re able to take a break and relax :)!

Off the Record

PAIRING: Pedro Pascalx reader

WORD COUNT: 954| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller Masterlist

You’d been nervous about this one , but you’d told yourself that was ridiculous. You’d done dozens of interviews before. A-listers, Oscar winners, infamous directors, chaotic press junkets with cast members bouncing off each other like kids on a sugar high.

But Pedro Pascal is different.

Maybe it’s the way he greets everyone on the crew by name, or the fact that he compliments your earrings before you’ve even settled into your seat, or the way he laughs when you ask your first question , that full-body laugh that makes his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle like he’s telling you a secret instead of a story.

Whatever it is, it makes you just a little reckless. A little softer than usual, leaning closer, your laugh mixing with his until the whole room feels smaller, more private somehow.

The interview goes viral within hours.

There’s a clip someone posts on TikTok , just the two of you, knees bumping under the tiny studio table, Pedro looking at you like you’ve just hung the damn moon.

Pedro Pascal looking at his interviewer like THAT?? the caption says. He’s in love, your honor. It’s so over for us. She’s giggling like they’re on a date. WHO IS SHE??

The comments spiral out from there. Your phone pings nonstop for days. Your boss sends you a link with a “well done” and a wink emoji. Your best friend calls you at midnight to scream-laugh into the phone , tell me you’re at least gonna fuck him, please.

You ignore it as best you can. Kind of. You watch the clip too many times, replay the moment he’d brushed his knee against yours and hadn’t moved it away. The way he’d looked at you when you thanked him for coming , warm and easy, like he’d wanted to say something else but didn’t.

Weeks pass. The internet moves on , mostly. But every now and then you still see edits pop up on your feed: your laugh, his soft eyes, the tiny smile he’d given you when you’d told him you hoped he got a break soon.

And then you see him again.

You’re covering a small premiere , nothing huge, a new indie film that Pedro’s rumored to be attached to as a producer. You’re half-focused on your notes when you hear him before you see him , that laugh, again, a little lower than the last time, and when you glance up he’s already looking at you.

“Hey,” he says, warm and a little smug, like you’re an inside joke he can’t wait to tell. “Look who it is.”

“Pedro,” you say, trying for professional but you know your grin gives you away. “Long time no see.”

“You’re everywhere I want to be, apparently.” He gestures to your mic, the backdrop behind you, the bright lights. “You gonna interview me again?”

“Not tonight.” You step closer before you can think better of it, lowering your voice just a little. “I think you broke the internet enough last time.”

He huffs a laugh. “That wasn’t me. That was you.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, teasing. “Pretty sure it was the way you were looking at me.”

Pedro’s mouth twitches , that soft, crooked grin that makes your stomach flip. “So you saw that, huh?”

“Oh, everyone saw that, Pedro.” You laugh when he rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but still grinning. “It’s a whole meme now, you know.”

“I know.” He lowers his hand, slipping one thumb into his pocket as he looks at you , softer now, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Everyone was right, you know.”

“About what?” You shouldn’t ask , you shouldn’t , but you do anyway, because you’re only human and he’s looking at you like that again.

“About me having a thing for you.” His voice is so casual, so impossibly gentle it makes your breath catch. “They weren’t wrong.”

You blink. Open your mouth. Close it again. “Is this, are you,”

“I’m asking if you’d let me buy you dinner, off the record.” His grin softens into something real, something that makes your skin flush warm under the studio lights. “Somewhere with bad lighting and good food, where I can look at you like that all night and nobody gets to film it.”

You shouldn’t say yes. You should think about your job, about the rules. About the fact that you’ve never really crossed this line before.

But he’s standing there with that sweet, crooked smile, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying not to touch you in front of all these people , and you know, deep down, you were gone for him the second he brushed your knee under that table.

So you smile back. Shrug, casual, though your heart is pounding like you’re still live on camera.

“Off the record?” you echo, grinning when his eyes light up.

“Off the record,” he promises, stepping just close enough that his arm brushes yours.

“Then I’d love to.”

Later, when the photos come out , the two of you leaving the tiny late-night taco place at midnight, Pedro’s hand at your lower back, your laugh half-hidden behind your hand , you don’t care what the internet says.

You care about his hand warm on your hip in the back of the car, his soft thank you murmured into your hair when you kiss him first, and the way he smiles when he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye.

“Next time,” he whispers, mouth brushing yours, “we’ll give them something really worth talking about.”

And when you laugh, you know this time it won’t just be for the cameras.

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ieatpussyfromtheback · 29 days ago

Text

You Forgot Your Hoodie (Again)

You weren’t sure when Pedro’s hoodie officially became yours, but it might’ve been the third time he left it at your apartment “by accident.”

This morning, you’re wearing it again—big, soft, and smelling faintly like his cologne—as you scroll your phone with a cup of tea. You’re not expecting him for another few days. He’s in London, doing press for some new project you can’t pronounce the name of, smiling that charming, slightly sleepy smile on every red carpet.

And then your phone buzzes. A FaceTime from Pedro.

You answer, and he’s lying sideways on a hotel bed, his hair a little messy, a plate of room service in the background.

“You are wearing it!” he says, eyes lighting up the moment he sees you in the hoodie.

You snort. “You left it again. It’s mine now. Finders keepers.”

He sighs dramatically. “Is this how you treat internationally adored actors? Robbing them blind?”

“You’ll survive, movie star.”

Pedro grins, and for a moment, he just looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. Not like someone with a regular job and a messy closet and social anxiety at restaurants—but like someone who completely has his heart.

“You know,” he says, voice softening, “I’m on red carpets, giving interviews, smiling at cameras… but the best part of all of it is knowing you’re home, wearing my hoodie, drinking tea. Makes the whole circus feel worth it.”

Your cheeks burn. “Pedro.”

“What? I’m being romantic. I’m good at it. Let me have this.”

You roll your eyes, smiling so hard it hurts. “Fine. But I’m keeping the hoodie.”

He leans into the camera, eyes twinkling. “That’s okay. I left another one in your closet anyway.”

#70s #artists on tumblr #alternative #animals #aesthetic #60s #80s #pedro pascal x plus size reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #so cute #famous era #famous y/n #famous au #foryou #fypシ #tumblr fyp

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lainiespicewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Coach Syverson

Okay, Y'all I'm trying something new and posting one of my Henry Cavill Character fics. I haven't posted a fanfic in so long it's gonna be a short story probably only a two-parter maybe 3. Let me know what you think! I loved writing this. I think it's so cute!!!!

Warnings: None for Part 1 :) Definitely will be smut in part 2!

High school football coach Sy and school guidance counselor OFC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was locked in a trance, typing in progress notes from an early morning meeting I’d just finished with a student. The sounds of the office, which was just coming to life outside my door, fuelled me. I almost never came in this early. But, one of my seniors was having a crisis and this was the only time we could work into her busy schedule. It��s gonna break my heart when that girl graduates this year. I get so attached to the students. I can’t help working as a school counselor. It's hard not to.

“You’re in early,” The voice coming from the doorway made me jump. He chuckled softly. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” After a brief heart attack, I finally looked up. I smiled when my eyes met his.

“No, it’s okay, I just didn’t see you! Good morning Coach, What can I do for you?” His soft blue eyes held my gaze, before shooting me a gentle smile. Coach Syverson and I had become good friends since he started working at the school a little over a year ago. Like many good high school football coaches, they made a history teaching spot for him. Unlike others, he’s actually a great teacher!

I met Logan Syverson for the first time in a staff meeting. Our principal introduced him at the beginning of the meeting going on and on about all the improvements he would bring to our team and our community. He certainly looked like a football player. The guy was huge! Tall, large muscles, and a full beard. His eyes were a deep blue. He had a winning smile and a southern accent. The English department was drooling. I hated him immediately.

I figured he was just going to be a self absorbed prick like the last coach. who only cared about the popular students, peaked in high school, and got fired because he got a little too close to one of the cheerleaders. We were not at all sorry to see him go. Well, those of us with half a brain weren’t anyway. Some of the community and staff were more worried about the football program. But I digress.

I was even more annoyed with him when I caught him falling asleep during the same meeting 30 minutes later when we were discussing the budget for new textbooks. I’m not exactly sure what came over me but I kicked him under the table. He was immediately alert. I expected him to glare at me. Or maybe even smirk. But the look on his face could only be described as apologetic. He quickly caught up to me when we were leaving the meeting. “Some first impression I made, huh?” When I didn’t immediately respond he added. “I swear I’m not some asshole that doesn’t care about education, that’s not like me, just didn’t sleep much last night. I had to take my dog to the emergency vet, she broke her leg in the woods late in the evening and didn’t get back until late and…”

“Is she okay?” I asked quickly. He looked completely dumbfounded.

“Uhm what?” He asked, clearly confused. I smiled sympathetically. I did exactly what I told my students not to do and judged him too quickly and I felt like an ass about it.

“You’re dog, is she okay?” He smiled softly and nodded.

“Yeah, Yeah she is. They got her all wrapped up and in a cast, poor pup, but she’ll be alright.” There was a brief pause and then. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“The students know me as Miss Plummer, but it’s Alayna. And um.. Sorry I kicked you. I don’t know why I did that.” I smiled sheepishly.

“Alayna,” He repeated. And then chuckled and squeezed my shoulder “No need to apologize, I’m glad you did. That would’ve been embarrassing. Falling asleep in my first staff meeting doesn’t really look good. Thanks for saving my ass back there!”

We were fast friends from that point on!

Sy pushed off the door frame he’d been leaning against and walked into my office. “Brought ya coffee, I was gonna sneak in and leave it on your desk but I guess it’s you surprising me this morning,” He said, setting the cup from our local coffee shop down on my desk.

“That’s sweet of you!” I took a sip and almost choked. I expected just plain black coffee. He wasn’t the kind of guy to order fancy coffee. But this was actually my coffee order. “How did you know my coffee order?” He had a big grin on his face now.

“I remembered it from that morning when we ran into each other in line a few weeks ago. Thought I’d be nice and bring my work wife some coffee since I was there.” He shrugged. He really was such a sweetheart. He looked tough and scary. I know he did. When he and a few of the other teachers in the history hall gathered between classes they looked intimidating. At least from a student's perspective.I knew them all well though. I’ve talked with students failing his class because they wouldn’t ask questions. When I asked why, they said they were nervous. But he was certainly no one to be afraid of. Yes, he could yell, but he saved that for the football field. The man was a damn teddy bear.

“Thank you!” I smiled. I quickly looked out into the guidance office to make sure there were no students around. “But I know you didn’t walk all the way down here just to bring me coffee for the hell of it. You’re buttering me up for something. What do you need, Logan?” He laughed and shook his head plopping down on the edge of my desk.

“You know me too well, sugar. Two things!” He said. I rolled my eyes. “Hey now young lady, don’t get an attitude with me I’m not asking you to give up a kidney!” I hid my smirk behind a sip of coffee and nodded at him to continue. “First, Can you look up Ty’s grades for me just at some point by the end of the day. He came into my office this morning and was all nervous about his algebra grade, swearing up and down it’s because he failed one quiz. But, I’m pretty sure,” I cut him off.

“He’s not turning in his homework because he just started dating Caitlyn and they’ve been staying up texting all night.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, Yeah, How’d you know?”

“Caitlyn stopped in to see me this morning and we had a chat about it, amongst other things. I’ll double check but I’m sure you’re right. I’ll email it to you so you can have a chat with him. I was going to call him in today but he listens better to you. When you talked about being a veteran and your time in Iraq at the Labor Day assembly, I think that really struck something with him. He looks up to you.” his eyes locked with mine and he smiled softly placing his hand over mine on the desk just for a second.

“Thank you for saying that,” He said before moving his hand and leaning on the desk again. I just smiled.

“What’s the other thing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because you could’ve just sent me that in an email.” He smirked. And his nose crinkled a little. Oh no.

“So our first away game is tomorrow night,”

“I know,”

“And you’re a big football fan, and you love those boys don’t you?” He was deflecting

“What do you want, Sy?” I asked again. He let out a long breath.

“Carol was supposed to be a student chaperone for the student fans buuuttt well, you heard her kid is really sick? I need you to come chaperone. Actually. I kinda already said you would.” He quickly stood up from my desk and backed up to the other side, like he was afraid I’d hit him.

I just leaned back in my chair and groaned,

“ugh Sy! What if I had plans?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. He chuckled

“You don’t!” I scoffed

“You don’t know that?” I retorted. He smirked

“Yeah, what big plans do you have for Friday night?” He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. I sighed.

“Okay I don’t! But I could’ve!” I argued. “Why, didn’t you ask one of the other guys? Like Nick or I don’t know Mike?” I asked.

“Nick’s an assistant coach, he’ll already be there. And we both know as much as Mike loves teaching…he does not want to spend his Friday night with the kids and at a football game making sure there’s no funny business. And you love the kids.” He was pleading now. Practically giving me puppy dog eyes. “And…Maybe I want you there,” He winked playfully. I looked down and jiggled the mouse on my computer to hide my blush.

Jessica, who works the front desk of the guidance office swears he flirts with me. But I know he’s not. We’re friends. Good friends. We tease each other to make work a little more fun at best. But that's all it is. A man like Logan Syverson would never look twice at a girl like me. He’s fit and strong and tall and handsome. I’m pretty but I’m short and round and a little too quirky for my own good. Girls like me only get men like him in the movies. And I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise. Moment’s like these though. I do wonder a little. But I don’t let my thoughts wander too far.

“Oh yeah?” I joke, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean maybe you’re our good luck charm. You’ve been at all our home games this year and we haven’t lost a game.” He said with a cheeky smile.

“We’ve only had two Sy.” I say matter of fact. He just shakes his head.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not good luck, but okay,” He held his hands up in defeat. “If you don’t want to do it I’ll figure something out. I messed up and didn’t ask you first. I’ll tell the boys their favorite guidance counselor doesn’t want to come support them. It’ll break their little hearts sugar but I’m sure they’ll find,” He pauses and lets out an exaggerated sigh “Some way to pull through and play a good game of football.” He frowned, shaking his head. I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows looking straight at him.

“Are you done?” I deadpanned. He snickered softly and nodded. “Fine, I’ll go,” He smiled and walked over squeezing my shoulder.

“You’re the best! It’s supposed to be chilly! Wear a sweater! And Free coffee,on me all night! I promise,” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” I chuckled.

“Seriously, I owe you sugar! I’m happy you’ll be there, I better get goin, class starts soon and I probably shouldn’t be late being that I’m the teacher,” He chuckled.

“Get out of my office Logan!” I laughed. He smiled.

“You’re the best!” He said one more time before finally walking out of my office. I shook my head and tapped at the keys on my keyboard to wake up my computer. I felt eyes on me and looked up to find Jessica standing in my doorway.

“Don’t start!” I warned her.

“Please, sugar. I really want you there!” she mocked. “He knows your coffee order, Alayna. How long are you going to ignore what’s right in front of you?” she asked exasperated.

“It’s not like that Jess, He was just being sweet because he needed the help.” I said.

“Like you wouldn’t have done it anyway. You were trying to play coy but we both know you would have done it anyway.” She laughed. I blushed. And threw an eraser at her.

“Get back to work!” She laughed.

“Whatever you say… Sugar!” I snorted and we both chuckled for a minute. “I mean it Alayna, He’ll be kinda busy during the game and yes you’ll be keeping an eye on the students but take the opportunity to flirt back, he likes you, I’m not wrong!” She turned and walked back to her desk before I had a chance to say anything. And before I could spend any more time thinking about it my email notifications went off pulling me back into my work.

The rest of my work day went by in a blur. I had meeting after meeting with students. My seniors were in panic mode, my juniors have early onset senioritis, and the freshman and sophomores came into vent about the daily woes of high school drama. Oh to be 16 again.

With a full schedule of meetings I barely had time to eat lunch even in my office. When my phone lit up with a group text from two of my girlfriends asking about our weekly Thursday night dinner. I was quick to respond.

(I’ll be there!) I sent the text, before packing up my desk for the evening. It had been a late night for me so it was just past 5. I didn’t bother going home first to change into something more casual. They were used to the office style by now. I felt my shoulders relax a little as I slipped into the booth next to skyler.

“Hey!” she said cheerfully, slowly pushing the glass of white wine they’d ordered for me closer.

“You know me so well!” I smiled at her.

“Long day?” Hayley asked from across the table, she picked up a tortilla chip and filled it with queso. I shrugged.

“Not long in the sense that it was rough, just busy,” Skyler nodded and took a sip for her wine glass.

“I feel that. I tried to get some school work done while the kids were down for a nap.” She runs an in-home daycare. She adores kids. But she’s also going back to school for a degree, Pediatric nursing. She’s a saint. I don’t know how she does it.

“I commend you babe. The school is asking me to take classes, they want someone to take on the position as school psychologist. They’ve been trying to nudge me toward it the past couple of weeks. It’d be a raise but, that on top of the current workload? I don’t wanna drown myself ya know?”

“I totally get it, it’s not easy! But you should think about it. You’ve talked about it before! At least consider it.” Skyler said.

“She’s got a point dude,” Hayley added. “Look at you guys moving up in the world while I’m stuck with an art block. If I can’t think of anything, my online shop isn’t gonna take off and I’ll be stuck at the factory forever!” She groaned and downed a quarter of her strawberry lemonade that was no doubt spiked. I looked sideways, meeting Skyler's eye. She was giving me the same look.

“You’re just getting started Hayley.” Skyler said.

“I know but if..”

“Ah, no buts!” I cut her off “We have to allow ourselves room for mistakes and error when we’re trying something new. You will get there. Give yourself the love you give your art! I don’t wanna hear anymore of that self deprecating bullshit from you! The people love their ghost fish!” I demanded, trying to hide a chuckle. She could be so stubborn! She was starting an online etsy shop for commissions and spreading the word through social media. She had all these fun ideas. She was a great artist. But of course it’s not an easy way to make money. And right now, things were slow. She would get there though! I know she would!

“Have I ever told you how annoying it is when you use your psychoanalysis shit on us?” she deadpanned.

“Everyday but I still do it anyway, and that’s why you love me!” She just laughed.

“Yeah okay buddy. Enough work talk, I lifted a bunch of heavy shit all day and I don’t wanna think about it. I just wanna eat my chips and queso and get drunk with my friends!” She said and scooped another chip through the queso. I laughed and held up my glass

“Cheers to that! Although we all know damn well it’s a Thursday night and we all have to get up early and we drove separately so drunk is relative but yes!” Skyler laughed and clinked her glass with mine.

“Let her have her moment. Cheers to drunk Thursday dinner!” she said.

“Fuck yeah!” Hayley added and added her glass in with ours. We all took a drink and it was quiet for only a second.

“So,” Skyler spoke immediately. “It’s been a week, what's new?”

“Nothing for me, just still considering the offer to go back to school. My job would pay for it. Love life is still dry and I’ve bought like 3 new spicy romance books on my kindle this week!” I said laughing.

“Fun!” Skyler smiled. “Hayley?” She asked and directed her attention across the table.

“I went to Target and spent an obscene amount of money on fall stuff. We have a fall party coming up at work that I volunteered to do face painting for, but that should be fun! Oh there’s this new movie that came out I want you guys to come see with me I was hoping maybe tomorrow night?” she said. I started to agree. But then remembered my conversation with Sy earlier.

“Oh tomorrow night? I can’t. I’m actually busy!” They both looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Since when are you busy on a friday night?” Hayley asked. Here we go. This is gonna open a whole can of worms. If Jess was good at getting my hopes up about Sy, these two were going to have me down right delusional.

“There’s a football game. I like to support the team.” I said. Skyler snickered and a smirk spread across Hayley’s face.

“You like to support the coach you mean?” Skyler asked.

“That’s not true! I’ve always been a football fan!” I defended myself. Hayley chuckled

“Sure but since when do you go to away games? Isn’t it like 2 hours away?” She raised an eyebrow. I sighed.

“Coach stopped by the office this morning, one of the other teachers that was supposed to chaperone the roadies tomorrow canceled and since he and I are friends he volunteered me to do it. He buttered me up with free coffee this morning and practically begged me to go tomorrow and… I just can’t say no to him. Plus he said he really wants me to be there.” I swirled my wine glass and stared down at it. I knew the looks they were giving me. I heard skyler squeal.

“Shut up! He asked you to come because he wants to spend time with you! Watch, I bet next week he’ll ask you out!” She bounced in her seat.

“He does not! He’s going to be busy with the team! He’s not going to have time to talk to me or anything.” I said taking a big gulp of wine.

“Why else would he say he wants you there though. And clearly you want him to hang out with you. Or you want to hang out with him. Or you wouldn’t have given up your precious Friday night in!” Hayley smirked.

“Okay, so what if I do. He’s not into me like that. He’s just friendly. He’s southern, it's just how he is!” I said, trying to hold onto whatever sanity I had left.

“Really?” Skyler said. “Does he bring anyone else coffee? Ask if he can eat lunch in anyone else’s office?” Hayley but it

“Didn’t he get you a christmas gift last year?” she asked.

“He was my secret santa!” I stated. They both sighed.

“ I don’t know why you can’t see it but he likes you!” Skyler said. I started to object but Hayley cut me off.

“You don’t have to believe us. Just pay attention to how he acts around you tomorrow and the next couple of days. He's trying to make a move. And I know you have your little no coworkers rule,”

“Because if…”

“Ah, I don’t wanna hear it! He’s clearly trying to get your attention. And you work in a public high school it's not like everyone else isn’t hooking up.” She stated.

“She’s got a point, remember all the teachers when we were in school? And he’s not just trying to hook up. He’s playing the long game,” Skyler said. “All we’re saying is IF we’re right,”

“And we are,” Hayley added. Skyler gave her side eye but laughed.

“If he asks you out you should give him a chance. We’ve never met him but it’s clear he’s so into you. And he seems like a great guy. Don’t push him away because something COULD go wrong.” she said. At that point the waiter came up and we placed our order. I also ordered another glass of wine. But a wine buzz wasn’t enough to convince me they were right. Sy couldn’t like me. I wasn’t his type. But it didn’t matter. I will go tomorrow and have a good time watching the game and cheering on the boys and watching Sy in his element. And when it’s all said and done I’ll ride home with the student section and maybe catch the chance to say goodbye to my friend before we leave. And on Monday everything will be as it always has been. Sy and I are friends.

I repeat that to myself as I walk the hall toward the gym after school on Friday. I turned down the hall toward the locker rooms and found his office door open. Sy was leaning back in his desk chair watching the tape from a few weeks ago. He noticed me before I spoke. He paused the video and smiled.

“Hey you! To what do I owe the honor? You never venture down this way?”

“Just coming to double check the plan for tonight! We’re meeting back here at 5:15 and the bus leaves at 5:45?” I asked him. He nodded, running a hand over his beard.

“Yeah, but I was thinking, you got plans for dinner?” He asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh I was just gonna run home for dinner, why do you ask?” I leaned against the doorway and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched curiously as he chewed at his bottom lip for a moment.

“I was gonna grab a bite to eat in town before the game. I won’t have time to go all the way home. Do you wanna come with me?” He finally made eye contact with me again and gave me a soft smile.

“Oh um,” I hesitated for a second.

“I’ll buy,” He smirked. I rolled my eyes.

“You don’t have to do that, Sy,” I said softly. He stood up grabbing his keys off the desk.

“I know, I want to.” He smiled and brushed his shoulder against mine as he walked out the door. “Come on, I’ll drive.” I raised an eyebrow

“Driving me to dinner and you’re paying? Sy if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were flirting with me.” the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk and he stopped walking. He turned toward me and bit his lip trying to hold back a grin.

“Alayna,” He chuckled nervously, “I find it hard to believe after all this time…” He was cut off by a loud whistle down the hallway.

“Well ain’t that a cute couple!” a voice said in a horrible mock southern accent “Get it coach!” One of Sy’s boys called from just outside the weight room. Another one of the football players popped his head out the door to see what was going on and started making kissy sounds with his lips. Sy dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head but his shoulders shook when he chuckled, giving him away. He loved those boys he couldn’t be mad if he wanted to be.

“Tyler you’re already on thin ice don’t make me bench you tonight! You too Matt. Don’t think I forgot about the little stunt you pulled in the parking lot last week!” He gave them a stern look

“Sorry coach!” they said in unison

“It was funny though,” Matt mumbled. Sy shook his head

“Sure, You boys get out of here and get something to eat, I don’t need you passing out on me on the field tonight.” He held Matt’s gaze.

“It was one time!” He stressed.

“And it’s only gonna be one if I can help it. Go eat!” He barked. The boys immediately straightened up and nodded.

“Yes coach!” Logan just chuckled and we kept walking.

“They adore you,” I said. He smiled

“Nah, they just know I’m not kidding’” I laughed.

“Oh come on Sy, you aren’t that mean, or you wouldn’t care so much,” We walked out the back door to the teacher parking lot and headed to his truck. “Hey… what were you saying earlier,” He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about sugar,” He smirked.

“Sure you don’t cowboy,” I rolled my eyes and hopped up into the truck after he unlocked it. He slid in next to me and started the engine.

“Where do you wanna eat?” He looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter to me, you’re buying,” I said flatly.

“Sugar,” He threw his arm over the back of the seat, his fingertips brushing my shoulder, as he backed out of the parking spot. He left it there as he pulled out on the road. “Don’t be shy with me, I know you love food darlin. I’ll drive all around town and we’ll starve until you tell me what you want.” I looked over at him just in time to make eye contact before his eyes shifted back toward the road. He shook his head and tried to hide his smirk.

“You are so dramatic,” I teased, trying to play it cool but I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks.

“Oh, I’m dramatic? Weren’t you the one tearing up in her office because of a book you were readin?” He snickered. I reached over and playfully smacked him in the chest.

“Shut up!” I laughed. He held his hand to his chest feigning hurt.

“Ow!” He pouted.

“That did not hurt! I barely hit you!” he side eyed me still pouting but the corners of his mouth started to break into a smile

“Over here committing spousal abuse.” He shook his head. I laughed so hard I snorted.

“We’re not married Sy!”

“You’re my work wife, it's the same damn thing” He chuckled. “Seriously, where do you wanna eat, I’m starving.”

“My god Logan,” I laughed. “Um fine, I haven’t tried that new sushi and ramen place yet!” I said. He almost slammed on the break.

“You haven’t?! That place is right up your alley, all trendy and shit. It’s real good too!”

“You think I’m trendy?” I raised an eyebrow. He looked over for a moment and caught my eye giving me a gentle smile.

“I think you deserve to be taken out to nice places.” And here I was blushing again.

“Sy,” I started but my phone buzzed in my lap distracting me, I wasn’t really sure what to say anyway. It was a group chat with the girls asking me what time we leave tonight. They were going to have a field day with this. And instead of just replying I decided to start a fire. I tapped my screen to open my camera and held it up to take a selfie “Smile, cowboy.” He chuckled.

“What are you doin over there, sugar?” He smirked but glanced over at the camera quickly so I could snap a quick photo.

“Lighting a match.” I smirked. He bit his lip and chuckled softly.

“You’re something else,” He spoke as we pulled into the restaurant. I quickly sent the picture to the group chat and slid my phone into my purse.

Sy was right. This place was incredible. And very trendy.

“God I can’t get over how good this place is!” I said for like the 4th time. Logan smiled.

“I told ya, Darlin,” The waitress came and brought out our bill and I reached for my purse. “Hey, No, I told you, I’m paying.” He said pulling out his wallet and handing his card to the waitress.

“Thank you Sy, I appreciate it,” He grinned.

“Anytime, you deserve it,” I blushed, “ you’re really saving my ass tonight.” I forced a smile, so that’s what this is about. I told the girls this was all just because he needed something.

“It’s no big deal Logan.” I said. I pulled my phone out and checked my messages. There were like 10 from the group chat now.

“OMG YOU'RE WITH HIM?!”

“You didn’t tell us you were getting dinner with him.”

“UNLESS THEIR NOT GETTING DINNER ;)”

“What else would they be….oh”

“Alayna you better not be fucking the football coach right now.”

“Leave her alone Hayley she can fuck him if she wants to BUT IF YOU DO I WANT DETAILS”

“ALAYNAAAAA”

“GIRLLLL ANSWER USSSSS”

“Seriously dude you can’t just send us a picture of you with your hunky football coach man crush and just disappear.”

“OMG THEY’RE TOTALLY FUCKING”

I held back a smile and shook my head.

“It is a big deal,” He said and grabbed my hand across the table. “I’m glad you’re gonna be there tonight.” I smiled but pulled my hand back.

“Sure, because you needed another chaperone.” I joked. His eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head catching my eye.

“Yeah, but I wanted it to be you, I like hangin out with you. And you’re really fun to watch in the stands. I didn’t know you could be so…aggressive.” He smirked.

“I’m just really passionate about football!” I argued. “And how do you know you like hanging out with me? We've barely seen each other outside of work.” I questioned.

“Well we should change that,” he said.

“Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?” I asked. I knew a lot about him but he never mentioned any relationship. I’d be stupid to think he wasn’t seeing someone. He laughed. God I loved that sound.

“Don’t have one sugar,” He said with a mischievous grin on his face.

“How?” It was my turn to be confused.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” He retorted quickly.

“I … because…” I stuttered, unable to come up with an answer.

“Haven’t found the right guy yet huh?” He pauses, “guess that’s where I’m at, she just ain’t found me yet.” He smiled. Right then the waitress came back with his card. “Thanks honey,” He said, giving her his signature smile. He signed the receipt and stood from the table. “We oughta get going. Don’t wanna be late for the game!”

Sy drove us back to the school and parked his truck next to my car. “Oh no!” I sighed.

“What's wrong?” He asked.

“I was going to grab a sweatshirt when I went home and,” I opened my car, turning on the light to look in the back seat. “I don’t have an extra in my car.” I pouted.

“Is that all?” He chuckled. He reached into the back seat of his truck and pulled out a black hoodie. “Here. I always have an extra in the truck you can wear mine. Don’t want you to catch a cold.” I took it from him tentatively.

“Sy, this is your coach sweatshirt.” I said.

“One of ‘em yeah.” He smiled.

“I…okay,” I just shook my head and pulled the hoodie on. He bit his lip.

“Looks good on ya,” He smirked.

“Shut up,” I rolled my eyes. Before we could continue to tease each other the buses pulled up. And I could see some of the students' cars pulling into the student lot “We’d better head over there!” I said quickly. Logan nodded.

“Yeah, we better get going.”

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