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theetherealbloom · 4 months ago

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You Got Me So In Love, I've Never Been This Possessive

Summary: While on a scenic boat trip along the coasts of Malta, you bask in the crystal-clear waters, and laughter with Pedro’s cast and crew. Despite his injured arm keeping him on the boat, Pedro can’t keep his eyes off you.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Swimming, Bikini, Flirting, Teasing, Cast, Pedro Fell Down The Stairs, ER visit, Hurt-To-Comfort, Mild Spice, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 5K

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS!!! Y’know how I said there would be a part two? Yup. Also, I know no one asked, but back in High School, I fell down the stairs… A LOT. Like every year for six years. No major bones were broken, only a sprained ankle every time I fell down the stairs, so in a way I guess I was lucky. PSA to always hold the hand railing, and like Pedro said, it can happen to anyone!

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: Te Quiero by KISS OF LIFE

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PASCAL RESIDENCE, CHILE — AFTERNOON

The sun bathed the Pascal family home in a golden glow, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked empanadas and the gentle hum of conversation. You were seated on the patio, your legs tucked under you, watching as Pedro animatedly retold a story from his teenage years. His siblings—Javiera, Lux, and Nicolás—listened with rapt attention, their laughter bubbling over when Pedro’s dad chimed in with his version of events, insisting Pedro had exaggerated again.

“Exaggerated?” Pedro placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I would never! Everything I say is 100% true and scientifically proven.”

“Scientifically proven to be full of nonsense,” Nicolás teased, earning a round of laughter.

You couldn’t help but grin, soaking in the easy camaraderie of the family. Pedro’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like second nature. He glanced at you, his dark eyes soft with a love so deep it made your chest tighten.

“Tell them,” Pedro said, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Tell them I’m not lying.”

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head in mock consideration. “Well… the story did sound a bit too good to be true.”

“Et tu, mi amor?” he groaned, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

Javiera, ever the ringleader, stood and declared, “Enough storytelling! Let’s put her to the test. If she’s going to be part of this family, she needs to learn brisca.”

Pedro leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Fair warning: They’ll gang up on you.”

“Good thing I’ve got you on my side,” you murmured, a soft blush rising to your cheeks.

“I’ll always be on your side,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple that sent a shiver down your spine.

A FEW HOURS LATER…

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Pedro had wandered inside to grab more drinks for everyone while you stayed on the patio with Lux, discussing her latest project.

The sound of a crash shattered the peaceful air. You froze, the glass in Lux’s hand slipping and shattering on the ground.

“Pedro!” you gasped, bolting toward the house.

Inside, you found him crumpled at the base of the stairs, his face pale and contorted in pain. Nicolás was already at his side, his hands hovering uncertainly as if afraid to make things worse.

“Call an ambulance!” you shouted, your voice shaking as you knelt beside Pedro.

He looked up at you, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth, but his wince betrayed him.

“You’re not okay,” you said, your hands trembling as you gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “What happened?”

“I missed the last step,” he muttered, trying to manage a weak smile. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”

“Pedro, this isn’t funny,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes.

Javiera appeared with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Lux crouched beside you, her face pale as she reached for Pedro’s uninjured hand.

“Help’s on the way,” Javiera assured you, her voice steady despite the panic in her eyes.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You kept your focus on Pedro, your hand gripping his tightly. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”

THE ER — EVENING

The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit you as you paced the waiting room, your heart pounding in your chest. Pedro had been whisked away for X-rays, and you felt helpless, the absence of his hand in yours leaving you cold.

When the doctor finally emerged, you rushed to meet him, Javiera and Nicolás close behind.

“Mr. Pascal has a broken arm,” the doctor explained. “It’s a clean break, but he’ll need surgery to set the bone properly. We’re scheduling it for late January.”

Relief and worry collided in your chest. “Can I see him?” you asked, your voice small.

The doctor nodded, and you followed the nurse to Pedro’s room. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a temporary sling, his face pale but his smile still intact.

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, perching on the edge of his bed. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you said, your voice breaking as tears spilled over.

Pedro reached for your hand with his good arm, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” he murmured, his eyes glistening.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I thought… I thought something worse happened. I couldn’t breathe until I saw you.”

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the pain. “And I’ll be fine. Especially with you by my side.”

You kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of love and relief into the touch. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the fear begin to fade, replaced by the overwhelming gratitude that he was still here with you.

“I’ll take care of you,” you promised, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Pedro smiled, his gaze tender. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world.”

And in that moment, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile walls of the hospital, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you.

FORT RICASOLI, MALTA — DAY

The sun was high over Fort Ricasoli, the Mediterranean breeze carrying a salty tang as waves crashed against the nearby shore. The reconstructed Roman Colosseum loomed grandly in the fort, its grandeur a perfect backdrop for the epic Gladiator II production. You stepped out of the transport van, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright Maltese sun, a bag slung over your shoulder filled with Pedro’s essentials—medication, snacks, and a cold water bottle you knew he’d try to avoid drinking unless reminded.

As you walked toward the set, Pedro spotted you first, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart ache with affection. He was seated in the shade near the makeup tent, his left arm encased in a royal blue cast that made him look both ridiculous and endearing.

“Hi,” you called, setting your bag down beside him. “I’m here to be your nurse.”

Pedro’s grin widened, his dark eyes softening. “You’re more than my nurse. You’re my lifesaver. And I love you so much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “How’s the arm?”

“It’s humiliating,” he muttered, holding up the cast as if it were a mark of disgrace. “Everyone keeps staring at it. Or laughing. Or both.”

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,” you said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Besides, it’s a great conversation starter.”

“Oh, yeah. Real smooth. ‘Hi, I’m Pedro Pascal, and I fell down a flight of stairs like a medieval jester.’”

You smothered a laugh just as Joseph Quinn sauntered by, pausing dramatically to give Pedro an exaggerated salute. “How’s the mighty warrior today? Still battling gravity, I see.”

“Go away,” Pedro groaned, waving his good arm dismissively.

“You’re a walking PSA now,” Fred Hechinger added as he passed. “Don’t text and walk down stairs, kids!”

Denzel Washington approached next, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “And here I thought I was the one who’d pull a stunt like that.”

“Traitors,” Pedro muttered, pulling you closer as if you could shield him from the teasing.

Coco, his ever-sassy hair stylist, smirked as she fixed his curls. “Just make sure she doesn’t trip over your ego next.”

“Coco!” Pedro whined, but his cheeks flushed, his pout making him look boyish and undeniably adorable.

Ridley Scott ambled over, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. “Take it easy, Pedro. You’re not 25 anymore.”

“Gee, thanks, Ridley,” Pedro huffed, pulling you against him as if seeking comfort.

The day pressed on, the heat making Pedro’s clinginess somehow both unbearable and heart-meltingly sweet. Despite the steady teasing from the cast and crew, he stuck close to you like a second shadow whenever he wasn’t on set, his blue cast drawing as much attention as his ever-present pout.

During a break, he tugged at your hand, a soft whine slipping from his lips. “Go with me?”

You glanced up from the book you were pretending to read. “Go where?”

“Craft services,” he said, gesturing toward the shaded area where snacks and cold drinks awaited. “I’m starving, and I need moral support.”

“You literally just had a protein bar,” you teased, but stood anyway, slipping your hand into his.

“As long as you hold my hand,” you added with a smirk, letting him lead the way.

His good hand entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin as you walked. “You know I’m not letting go, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Reaching the craft services tent, Pedro made a beeline for the iced lemonade, his cast making the process comically awkward. You reached over to help him hold the cup steady as he poured, ignoring the amused glances from the crew around you.

“I got it,” he insisted, though his pouty tone betrayed his frustration.

“Sure you do, Mr. Dexterity,” you teased. “Here, let me.”

As you steadied the cup, Paul Mescal appeared beside you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “What’s it like being Pedro’s personal assistant and cuddle therapist?”

Pedro narrowed his eyes, his body shifting slightly as if to shield you from Paul’s teasing. “She’s an angel,” he declared, his tone defensive. “Unlike all of you degenerates.”

Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of chips. “Touché.”

Connie Nielsen joined the growing group, her warm smile softening the teasing atmosphere. “An angel with the patience of a saint,” she agreed. “He’s lucky to have you.”

You squeezed Pedro’s hand, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Oh, I know.”

Pedro leaned down, his voice low and sweet in your ear. “Remind me to buy you something shiny and expensive later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered back, brushing a kiss to his cheek just as Coco walked by, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.

“Are we making out by the lemonade now?” she quipped, adjusting Pedro’s wig as she passed. “Just don’t knock over the drink dispenser, Casanova.”

Pedro groaned, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying his amusement.

When Pedro was shooting, you stayed nearby, perched under an umbrella with a bottle of water and a timer set for his next dose of medication. He’d been restless all morning, constantly checking in between takes to make sure you were still there.

The moment the director called cut, Pedro scanned the area until his eyes landed on you. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a beeline toward you, his costume slightly dusty from the action sequence.

“Hydrate,” you ordered the moment he reached you, holding out the water bottle.

He wrinkled his nose but took it, his good hand struggling to unscrew the cap. You wordlessly reached over to help, earning a sheepish look from him.

“You know,” he said after a long sip, “you’re bossier than Ridley.”

“You love it,” you countered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel you’d tucked into your bag.

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you. “I do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “A little too much.”

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his tone, and you reached up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Good. Now go back to work. Ridley’s glaring at us.”

He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the director gesturing for him to return. “Fine,” he grumbled, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

As he walked back toward the set, Ridley shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “That woman of yours has you wrapped around her little finger.”

Pedro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t I know it.”

THE XARA PALACE RELAIS & CHÂTEAUX, MALTA — EVENING

The day had taken its toll on both of you, but by the time you returned to the cozy luxury of the hotel suite, Pedro’s exhaustion only seemed to amplify his need for affection. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he flopped dramatically onto the small couch, casting a forlorn look your way.

“Come here,” he said, his good arm extended toward you like a lifeline.

You chuckled, slipping off your sandals. “I thought you were tired.”

“I am,” he replied, his lips twitching into a pout. “But I’ll sleep better if you’re right here.”

Shaking your head fondly, you joined him on the couch, only to be pulled down against his side the moment you were close enough.

“It’s too hot for this,” you teased, trying—and failing—to push against his firm hold.

“Don’t care,” Pedro murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck as if you were the only source of comfort in the world. “You make everything better.”

You sighed softly, your resolve melting as your fingers found their way into his curls. They were still slightly damp from his post-shoot shower, and you gently combed through them, marveling at how they always seemed to spring back into place.

“I think that’s the heatstroke talking,” you quipped, though your voice was warm with affection.

“No,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “That’s the love of my life talking.”

Your hand stilled for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle wave. You pulled back slightly to look at him, but Pedro didn’t let you get far. His warm brown eyes met yours, brimming with sincerity that made your breath catch.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how deeply his words had affected you.

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his tone so soft and certain it made your heart ache in the best way.

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re lucky I love you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin.

Pedro grinned, his good arm tightening around you as he pulled you even closer. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant sounds of the Maltese evening outside. Pedro’s breathing began to slow, his head resting heavily against your shoulder as he drifted off. His cast was awkwardly propped up on his chest, and you carefully adjusted a pillow beneath it, not wanting him to wake up sore.

As you gazed down at him, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, your heart swelled with a familiar ache—one born of overwhelming love. He might’ve been clingy and dramatic, prone to complaints about his cast and the heat, but he was also tender and selfless, with a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

You traced the curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, marveling at how even in his sleep, his hold on you never loosened. He was steady and constant in a way that made you feel safe, loved, and utterly at home.

He might’ve fallen down the stairs, but it felt like you were the one falling—deeper in love with him every single day.

Later that night, as the two of you lay tangled together in the king-sized bed, Pedro stirred, his voice groggy but laced with warmth.

“Are you still awake?”

“Barely,” you murmured, your head resting against his uninjured shoulder. “Why?”

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing over your arm in lazy circles. “Just wanted to say… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me. For putting up with me being clingy. For loving me even when I’m ridiculous,” he said, his voice soft but earnest.

You smiled in the darkness, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It’s not putting up with you, Pedro. It’s just loving you. And it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotion.

“You deserve everything,” you replied, your voice firm despite the tears prickling at your eyes.

Pedro’s arms tightened around you, and in that moment, the world outside the four walls of your suite seemed to fade away. There was only the two of you, tangled together in love and gratitude, the promise of another day together stretching out before you like a gift.

And as you drifted off to sleep, cradled in his embrace, you couldn’t imagine a place you’d rather be.

COASTS OF MALTA — MORNING

The morning sun bathed the harbor in a soft, golden glow as you and Pedro stepped onto the pristine deck of the yacht, greeted by the lively chatter of his castmates and the crew. The day promised adventure—an exploration of Malta’s dazzling coastlines, including the famed Blue Lagoon, Crystal Lagoon, and the secretive caves on Comino. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and the water, impossibly blue and inviting, stretched out like a gem-laden carpet before you.

Pedro lingered close to you, his blue cast slung in a casual sling, though it didn’t stop him from giving your hand a light squeeze. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing.

"Don’t get too excited," he murmured with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming. "You’ll make me look bad."

You bumped your shoulder into his, rolling your eyes. "I can’t help it if I’m more fun than you."

"More fun? Or more distracting?" His gaze flicked briefly to the bikini peeking out from your cover-up, his expression bordering on predatory before he quickly masked it with a playful smirk.

“Behave, Pascal,” you teased, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.

As the boat cruised toward its first stop, the Blue Lagoon, the mood was light and cheerful. Connie and Fred lounged near the bow, animatedly swapping stories with the crew, their laughter carrying over the soft sound of the waves. Coco flitted around like a hummingbird with her camera, capturing candid shots of the lively group. Near the railing, Paul was attempting to teach Denzel a ridiculous dance move, the two of them tripping over their own feet and causing more chaos than rhythm.

You stood near Pedro, feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin, the gentle breeze teasing at your cover-up. A playful grin spread across your face as you untied the knot at your waist, sliding the fabric off and tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. The vibrant bikini beneath was perfectly chosen—bright and bold against your skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel confident and beautiful.

Pedro, seated comfortably in the shade with his injured arm resting on a cushion, froze mid-sip of his drink. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes darkening as they traced every inch of your form. Appreciation was clear in his expression, but it was the simmering heat in his stare that sent a thrill down your spine.

You stretched your arms over your head, feigning oblivion to his attention as you joined Coco and Paul in their antics. The movement made your waist curve just enough to draw a quiet groan from Pedro’s lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by Coco. She smirked, leaning down to whisper as she passed him.

“Subtle,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

Pedro didn’t even attempt to hide his grin. His eyes stayed glued to you as he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can you blame me?”

Coco snorted. “Not one bit. But maybe cool it unless you want everyone else to notice how thirsty you are.”

“Let them,” Pedro muttered, mostly to himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you laugh with Paul, the way your body moved under the bright sun making it nearly impossible for him to look away.

When you caught his eye and shot him a playful wink, his good hand flexed against the armrest of his chair, the urge to pull you back to him almost too strong to resist.

Later, as you leaned over the edge of the boat, peering down at the water with Paul pointing out fish, Pedro’s voice rumbled low behind you.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

You turned to find him standing close, his cast resting awkwardly at his side. “I am. The water’s beautiful,” you said with a smile, but his eyes weren’t on the water.

“They’re not the only thing,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist.

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “Pedro Pascal,” you teased, stepping closer. “Are you flirting with me on a boat in front of all your castmates?”

“Flirting?” He scoffed, his voice rich with amusement. “I’m just admiring. Can’t a man admire his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated, arching a brow.

He smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “The girlfriend,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a shiver racing through you despite the heat.

You bit your lip, glancing around at the others, who were too distracted to notice the charged moment. “Behave yourself,” you whispered, though your heart raced at the way his good hand brushed lightly against your hip.

He grinned, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m trying, but you’re not making it easy, sweetheart.”

The way he said it, rough and low, had your stomach doing flips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes told you he knew exactly the effect he was having on you—and he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

When the boat anchored near the Blue Lagoon, you practically bounced with excitement. “I’m going in!”

Pedro chuckled as you grabbed your snorkeling gear, pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to miss me too much,” you teased before hopping off the boat with an elegant dive.

“Not possible,” he called after you, his voice tinged with laughter.

The water was cool and crystal clear, every ripple catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. You swam alongside Coco and Paul, laughing as he tried to outswim everyone only to splash clumsily when Coco teased him about his lack of grace. Schools of fish darted around you, their silvery bodies glimmering in the lagoon’s shallows, and the thrill of the moment made you forget the world beyond the sparkling blue waters.

Pedro watched from the deck, his good hand cradling a drink as his cast rested on his lap. He smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of you. You were so effortlessly kind, so radiant, laughing and splashing with his friends as if you’d known them your whole life.

“She’s really something,” Ridley remarked as he joined Pedro at the shaded table.

“Don’t I know it,” Pedro replied, his voice warm with pride.

“She’s good for you,” Ridley said simply, his tone laced with a rare softness.

Pedro glanced at the director, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’s my soulmate.”

Later, you clambered back onto the boat, droplets of water clinging to your skin, sparkling in the sunlight as they traced lazy paths down your arms and legs. Your grin was infectious, the kind of radiant joy that could light up an entire room—or, in this case, the deck of the boat. Pedro’s eyes were glued to you, as though the rest of the world had faded into the background.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement but warm with affection.

“The best,” you replied breathlessly, grabbing a towel and wringing out your hair. “You should’ve come in with us. The water is incredible.”

He raised his cast dramatically, pulling a mock grimace. “In case you forgot, I’m a bit handicapped here.”

“Oh, poor baby,” you teased, crouching beside him. You leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh. “Next time, I’ll stay on the boat with you. We can sulk together.”

Pedro’s good hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer before you could stand. “Don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Watching you have fun out there is the next best thing to being in the water myself.”

You arched a brow, motioning to your bikini with a teasing grin. “You mean you like the view.”

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, “I love the view.”

The heat of his words sent a shiver down your spine, making your cheeks flush. You swatted at his chest playfully before standing and tossing the towel over your shoulder. “Careful, Pascal. You’re not supposed to overheat with that cast on.”

The boat anchored near the caves on Comino, the turquoise water shimmering like liquid glass. Pedro waved you off with a mock sternness, insisting you go explore while he stayed behind.

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, settling back into his chair with a small smirk. “Don’t get lost in there.”

You rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss before diving into the water with Paul and Fred. The group swam toward the darkened entrance of the caves, their laughter echoing off the limestone walls. Inside, the sunlight filtered through cracks, casting dancing patterns on the rocky surfaces.

Pedro, stuck on the boat, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His gaze followed you like a shadow, lingering on the curve of your body as you moved effortlessly through the water. Every so often, you glanced back at the boat, catching him watching you. He didn’t even pretend to look away, his expression soft, adoring, and entirely unguarded.

When you returned, dripping wet and exhilarated, you plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding at the intensity of his attention.

Pedro turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your hand finding his on the armrest. “You’re laying it on thick today,” you joked, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“It’s the truth,” he countered simply, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

Your moment was interrupted by Paul’s exaggerated wolf whistle from across the deck. “Get a room, you two!”

Fred chimed in with a loud groan. “Some of us are single and fragile!”

You laughed, your head falling back briefly before you turned to Pedro, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “They’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, they are,” Pedro said, leaning in close. “You’re all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone was playful but sent your pulse racing nonetheless.

Later, as the boat rocked gently in the open waters, you sat on Pedro’s lap, his good arm wrapped securely around your waist. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold.

“Pedro,” you said softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh. “Can we stay like this forever?”

His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his smile tender. “I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

The weight of his words settled over you, grounding you in the moment. You bit your lip, leaning in closer until your noses brushed. “Please just kiss me already.”

Pedro didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of unspoken promises and a depth of feeling that took your breath away. His hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as the world around you seemed to disappear.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft laugh. “I think you might be my soulmate,” he said, his voice a mixture of awe and certainty.

Your eyes searched his, and for a moment, the noise of the others and the gentle lapping of the waves faded entirely. “I think you might be mine too,” you whispered, sealing the moment with another kiss.

Laughter and chatter echoed around you, the boat a hub of joy and togetherness, but for you and Pedro, time seemed to stand still. In his arms, surrounded by the beauty of Malta and the warmth of his love, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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silhouettecrow · 2 years ago

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365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 214

Adjective: Raspy

Noun: Whisper

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Raspy: hoarse or harsh-sounding

Whisper: a soft or confidential tone of voice, or a whispered word or phrase; a rumor or piece of gossip; (literary) a soft rustling or murmuring sound; a slight trace, or a hint

#sorry for being a little late again #guess who accidentally fell asleep yet again #on a different note we had a christmas in august thing at my work today and we did secret santa as a part of it #the person i had seemed to really like what i got them which is a relief #and my secret santa did a great job and actually managed to get one of the books on my list #if we were villains by m l rio #(i was worried cos i only put books on my list and i was afraid who got me wouldnt be able to get one in time so i think i lucked out)#and on top of that a coworker and i talked for over two hours after work about some similar (negative) experiences weve been having lately #and we made a plan of how to address them with our executive director cos they sure as hell need to be addressed #its honestly just all a mess but im hoping to make postive changes for our organisation and if i have to make waves to get there i will #anyway for the prompt #this one is a bit straightforward in terms of there is a pretty obvious interpretation of 'raspy' 'whisper'#(although you could choose a different definition of 'whisper' to go with)#but interpreting the meaning or purpose of the 'whisper' being 'raspy' is where the creativity stems from #is it horror? is it tragedy? is it comedy (via misunderstanding)? et cetera #im probably going to lean more horror or tragedy myself but we will just have to see #thanks for reading #writing #writer #creative writing #writing prompt #writeblr #trying to be a writeblr at least

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hrrtshape · 1 month ago

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" there is no new information on here "

there is nothing new. no revelation, no eureka moment, no half-lit epiphany waiting in the wings to drape itself over you like some scene-stealing ingenue. not in shifting, not in loa. this is not a murder mystery; the butler did it, the secret was never secret, and the call is always coming from inside the house.

but then again, the debate flares up, bright and exhausted, like the end of a cigarette crushed against marble. tiktok is misinformation central, tumblr is an echo chamber, et cetera, et cetera. apples and oranges, atomic bomb and coughing baby. false equivalence. but sure, let’s pretend.

if you think the community is boring, i regret to inform you: you are looking for the plot twist in a story that does not require one. you are waiting for the second act crisis in a structure that is flat by design. you are watching water boil and bemoaning its predictability. shifting is easy. loa is easy. the mechanics are not some esoteric alchemy known only to those who speak in riddles or upcharge pdf guides. you just do it. you know and it happens.

but there will always be some industrious soul stepping onto their soapbox, announcing, with the breathless urgency of a man who has cracked the zodiac cipher, that they have discovered "the secret." as if there is some clandestine order, some walled garden of enlightenment, some ineffable password to be whispered at the gates of the promised land. but let’s be serious. it’s all one big game of emperor’s new clothes. the trick is that there is no trick. the prestige is that there is no prestige.

people will dress up the simple in filigree because they cannot handle the terrifying freedom of ease. they will spin their wheels because stillness scares them more than failure. they will reject the plain truth in favor of the labyrinthine lie because, deep down, they want the struggle. the suffering. the uphill battle. because what are we without a climb? what are we if it’s just......easy?

you don’t need another revelation, another discourse, another rearrangement of the same three puzzle pieces. shifting is easy. loa is easy. and the only real "secret" is accepting that it always was.

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daphwritesworld · 2 months ago

Text

#11 A. Putellas— Go Fuck Yourself.

content: Top!Alexia, Bottom!Reader, hate sex, impact play (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), orgasm denial, breath play, oral (r receiving)

warnings: public sex, bathroom sex, choking, degrading language (being called a bitch lol), impact play (literally one whole spank)

synopsis: You and Alexia have this toxic cycle of fighting in public and then fucking it out in private…what happens when those worlds start to blur?

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here’s a little something i found at the bottom of my google docs. my heads been feeling a little better, so hopefully tomorrow i can get some writing done!! the new Keira content is making me go into OVULATION btw 😮‍💨 the part 2 fic ideas have been steady BREWING my friends 😩

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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“Go fuck yourself, Alexia!” Those four words led you to exactly where you are right now…Bent over the sink of a nightclub, your captain behind you as her fingers piston in and out of your pussy. The LED lights of the club above you drown you in a sea of red. The color suits her, that’s all you think of as you watch her through the mirror before you. You’re drooling at how her muscles bulge out of her dress, and her hair cascades down, framing her face perfectly. Her lips reach for the back of your neck, leaving some bites in her wake as she starts fingering you faster. You swear you can feel the shake of the bass of the music inside your cunt, pushing back onto her thick digits as you chase the feeling. She’s got you wholly at her disposal, the rage burning through your veins turning into pure desire. You two always end up like this, and the girls have started taking bets on how long it’ll take you both to just finally get together.

No one can give the same spitfire back to Alexia…no one except you. She doesn’t intimidate you like most. You have no problem laughing in her face and calling her an idiot. You’ll gladly tell her off for being a bitch or going too hard on a certain team member during practice. When everyone is quiet and respectful, there you are with a smirk gracing your face and a smart-ass reply ready to be fired off your tongue. It’s like you see a challenge in getting away with pushing her buttons and driving her to the edge…Well, until she fucks you back into submission. It’s a vicious cycle that you both keep dancing around– but a welcome one at that.

“Segueix muntant els meus dits com una gossa en calor,” it comes out raspy and ends with a bite to the lobe of your ear. Her teeth pulls your skin for a second, a sharp sting settling in as she trails her lips further down.

(keep riding my fingers like a bitch in heat.)

“i’m not your bitch— ahh!” She cuts you off with a harsh thrust of her wrist. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you how your tits start bouncing from the force. Your hips are digging into the counter so hard you know there will be bruises there later. Little reminders of her for you to reminisce about later.

She keeps up this rougher pace, harsher words spilling from her mouth before she gets distracted by marking the back of your shoulders with hickeys. “C-Can I cum?” It comes out in a desperate plea, one Alexia can’t help but laugh at.

A deep laugh that sends vibrations through your spine. Her free hand lands a sleep on your ass before it finds home making a ponytail of your hair. She yanks it until your back is against her front, her fingers somehow reaching even deeper inside of your pussy. You can’t hold back the whimpers this time— tired of being vowed to silence by the blonde behind you. “Say it,” it’s whispered against the back of your neck.

Your brows furrow as you search your brain for what she wants, “P-Please?”

Her pace starts to slow, a smirk growing on her face shown to you through the reflection on the wall. “How nice of you, bebita. But I mean admet que ets la meva puta.”

(admit you are my bitch.)

Your wide eyes meet her sharp ones in the mirror, watching your every reaction as you process her request. “No!”

She fakes a pout at you, cooing as she kisses your shoulder before pulling her fingers out of your pussy. “That’s too bad— tenia moltes ganes de veure’t venir.”

(I was really looking forward to seeing you cum)

You turn around now that you're freed from her grip, turning her back towards you. Your arms go up around her neck, pulling her down until your lips meet. She tries to back away at first, but your lips are like a drug to Alexia. Always there to drag her back down into this spiral of fighting, fucking, and repeat. She groans into your mouth when one of your hands pulls at the hair around the nape of her neck. She responds with a bite to your lower lip, dragging it away as she pulls back to put a hand back around your neck. Her other one falls to your waist, pushing you until your back hits the counter. It takes about 0.2 seconds for her to lift you up and set you on it, your legs spreading to make room for her on instinct. Her fingers find their way back inside you, three slipping in this time instead of two.

A shuttered gasp escapes you as she stretches out your cunt. You can hear the sounds of it now— the wet noises filling up the space over the music as Alexia uses her body weight to help her pound her fingers into you. She squeezes her hand around your neck, cutting off your air as she fucks you stupid. Your high is approaching faster this time, hurling towards you at the spread of light. Your legs start to shake and your pussy tightens around Alexia’s fingers.

You don’t even have to say anything for her to know you’re on the edge, she knows your body better than you at this point. Every flinch, twitch, grind, gasp, or whimper has a special code that only Alexia knows how to crack. She leans your foreheads together, “Say it or i’ll leave. Et deixaré aquí gotejant i necessitat.”

(I’ll leave you here dripping and needy.)

You find your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, trying to use every muscle in your body to hold back your orgasm as you debate the decision in your head. But as you feel her starting to slowly pull out, a loud declaration falls from your lips. “I’m your bitch! Sóc la teva petita puta!”

(I’m your little bitch!)

She surges forward at that, crashing your lips back together. “Go ahead, Cariño.”

Alexia swallows up your moans as you two keep kissing, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as she fucks you through your orgasm. You’re about to stand up and put your panties back on when she pushes your chest back. She slides your panties off around your ankle and tucks them into her purse sitting beside you on the counter. “W-What are you doing—”

“Shut up!” She growls out as she starts lowering herself between your spread legs, hands wrapping around your thighs as she keeps you held in place. “Estic intentant menjar el meu sopar.”

(I’m trying to eat my dinner.)

She licks a teasing strip up between your folds, avoiding your clit as she leans forward to press a gentle kiss to it. Alexia can feel your pussy throbbing against her puckered lips and she can’t help but groan. A hand tangles in her hair as she dives into your cunt, pulling at the perfectly styled strands as she works your overspent hole with her tongue. And as she pushes your hips further back onto the bathroom counter, your back hitting the cold glass of the mirror, you can only think one thing:

I really am Alexia’s bitch.

#A.Putellas 11 #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas fanfic #woso smut #woso writers #woso fanfics #woso x reader

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cercandodiscrivere · 3 months ago

Text

Cadere | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.7k

warnings | 18+, infidelity / cheating, dark themes (mentions of war, death and murder), murder plans as part of sex talk, prayers, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | The last time you dared to beg the gods for favour, you pleaded to be given to a man over another.

It seems just like a cruel joke how your wish was granted now—a jest that only serves to make you beg once more.

gifs by @whereisyourpippinnow.

“Dea, quae thalamorum custos es et coniugii praesidium, domum meam ab hostibus defende, me tua virtute sustenta.”

The voice, a low and steady murmur, seeps into the room like a wisp of warm air: Lucilla's prayer is not so much a plea as a soft-spoken lament, her words coated in a quiet sorrow that seems to echo throught the marble walls.

The words she whispers are unfamiliar, not part of the litany you were taught at the temple. Each request is carefully considered and every word is chosen with intention.

The last time you pleaded to the gods with such desperation, it was to beg for them to alter the path your father had chosen—but no divine messenger appeared in his dreams. The gods had greater concerns than the unwanted marriage of a young girl.

You wondered if they watched when your father confirmed Tiberius Aemilius Marcellus’ desire to wed you. If they knew the torment of leaving the sanctuary of the home you had grown in.

If they noticed how, even if you still tried to tint your prayers with the same devotion, they always tasted as sour as vinegar on your tongue.

“Virum meum sanum et incolumem redde, ut cor meum eius reditu gaudeat.”

The voice brings you back to the present.

Lucilla may have been careful with her words, but she showed little regard for the dove that she had her servants sacrifice. A delicate creature, even with its feathers stained red: an offering to Juno, the guardian of the household and of women. A gesture to secure your husbands safe return from battle.

You had anticipated a prayer to Mars, a tradition before men embark on glorious battles (although Tiberius, if he could hear your thoughts, would remind you that the true glory comes only after the brutality of war).

Lucilla appeared to share a similar opinion. "Leave it to the men to pray for war" she said when you had asked her. "We women pray for our lovers' safe return".

Affection is the closest thing to the sentiment you feel for Tiberius: more unbridled feelings are reserved for poetry and drama, not arranged marriages. He is a kind and devoted man, as is expected. As a Legate for the army, he ensures your safety: as his whife, your heritage secures the continuation of his bloodline—and that is all.

“Why not pray to Victoria, then?”.

“Victorious or not, let them come home alive—for if a man dies at war, sad is his wife’s fate”.

And with that, you knelt and bowed your head, listening intently as the woman begun her pleading.

The room is now filled with a dense and overwhelming aroma of incense; the scent clings to your throat, suffocating the air. As the smoke rises in coiling tendrils, it wraps around you, casting flickering shadows that dance along the walls.

The night outside is eerily quiet, the sound of men's laughter echoing through the walls: tomorrow morning, when the Emperors will bid farwell to the soldiers and their purpose, there will be no mirth.

The Emperors.

Your family had once been part of Settimio Severo’s court, your father a cousin to the imposing ruler. You grew alongside his sons—a past far enough that seems almost like a dream. Once, you used to hide with Caracalla to infiltrate the adults’ cenae, trying to steal wine without being seen. You would watch Geta as he trained, a lanky child with a gaze too serious for his age.

It has been years since they watched you leave, the bright nuptial flammeum still pinned to your hair. Now, all that remains to fuel your fantasies are fading memories and the echoes of laughter from the banquet; a grand celebration held by a General seeking approval from his Emperors.

One where lieutenants indulged in sweetened wine, losing themselves in its intoxicating spices.

A gathering not meant for women to attend.

“Pacem et securitatem mihi largire, et ne sinas me in bracchia malignorum cadere, ut sub tua misericordia vivere possim”. Lucilla’s voice falters as she finishes the prayer, the room falling into an unsettling stillness.

In the distance, someone shouts while others laugh. A servant standing behind you moves, her tunic brushing against the floor.

Lucilla's eyes quickly glance in your direction before she speaks. “Will you walk with me in the gardens?”.

To catch one last glimpse of our husbands is the implicit proposition; and while in every other situation you would never deny a woman of such high status, there is nothing you desire less—because catching a glimpse of Tiberius would mean seeing his domine. Your heart would not dare.

“Your request is kind” you answer, hoping your voice comes out as somber as hers. “But I have a son to go back to”.

You regret the excuse almost as soon as it leaves your lips, for the saddened look Lucilla gives you almost makes you stay. Out of all the things you could have said to her as you left her alone in the darkness of her home—filled with Acacio's men but devoid of any comfort for her—somehow it feels as if you chose the most hurtful one.

A moment later, her lips curve upwards in what could be considered a smile; yet it appears more like a mask meant to please others than a genuine reaction.

“I understand”.

Still smiling, she orders a servant to inform your litter carriers to wait for you at the entrance.

You bid Lucilla farewell with a respectful bow, one that she does not seem to register. Escorted away by her ancillas, you assume she will not walk through the gardens now that you are gone.

Indifferent to men’s affairs, the moon casts a silver glow — and yet the night is still too dark, too overwhelming to bear alone.

You should reach the entrance: but as you stand in the peristylium, your feet refuse to move. In the middle of the open courtyard, ecircled by towering columns, you can’t help but feel trapped.

Beyond the opposite wall lies the raucous dining hall, the air filled with laughts and shouts.

There’s music. There’s the sound of plates clattering and glasses clinking, accompanied by the occasional splash of wine that some drunken guests might have spilled. There’s footsteps, right behind you.

Footsteps. Behind you.

"Leaving so soon, without greeting the guests?".

You spin around, your breath catching in your throat —and there he is, just a few steps behind you. Geta.

Bathed in the moon's ethereal glow, his features are sharper than you remembered. You had always envisioned him and his twin as shining gold: gold like their crowns, gold like their coins and their brooches and the divine blood that flows whithin their veins.

Under the silver light, he instead emerges from darkness like a haunting memory from your past.

"Domine" you say as you lower yourself into curtsy—for an Emperor who speaks is one who demands an answer.

Even with your head bowed down you can sense how the ceremonious response displeases him.

"Ah, so formal” he remarks, his tone still teasing. “No need”.

His hand gently lifts your chin, straightening you. “I recall a time when you would refuse to bow before me, just out of stubborness”. A small grin appears on his face—and for the second time tonight, you can't help but feel that something is off about the smiles on everyone's faces.

“You would throw tantrums, and father would force me to apologise on my knees” you agree.

I miss those moments, you almost say—but it would make you seem too desperate.

Geta laughs openly, his hand still resting on you. He’s getting closer; you can almost smell the sweetness of the wine on his breath.

“It’s too early to be leaving” he says. “We haven't seen each other in years. It would be a pity to waste such a rare occasion”.

It occurs to you that you’re entirely alone with him now, and for just a moment you wonder if wandering the house alone was the best idea: your instinct is to give the same excuse you gave Lucilla—the longing to be in his presence so overwhelming it almost scares you.

…and yet, he wants it too. You cannot refuse an Emperor's request.

“You are right. My servants can wait a bit longer; catching up with an old friend is more important. Let’s talk, then”.

Geta laughs once more, his nose almost touching yours as his fingers gently rest on your cheek.

“Who said anything about talking?”

His lips meet yours a moment after.

It’s an insistent kiss, one that will leave your lips raw and red.

Instinctually, you reach up and twine your fingers into his hair while his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you even closer. The resulti s that you fell trapped again—between his warm body and the chill of the marble column—and for a breathless moment, you lose yourself in the feeling.

It’s the sound of something hitting the floor, distant but still uncomfortably near, that has reality crash back like a cold wave.

You pull away abruptly, your heart racing. “Stop” go on go on go on.

Geta leans back just enough to give you space to speak.

"Tiberius is on the other sideof that wall" your voice is trembling—fear, excitement, shame. "A servant could walk this way at any moment. This is madness".

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, as if your words hold no significance. "You recall" he says instead, "you recall when your father would demand that you apologize on your knees". He moves closer, but instead of kissing you again or pushing you to the ground, Geta shocks you by dropping at your feet himself.

His intense gaze used to be a serious one—almost too mature for a young and careless man—but now it’s wild, deranged. "If he let you stay, I would have adored you. Worshiped every step you took".

You do not respond to the delirious declaration, too dazed to do anything beside gasping for air.

“You look just as good as I remember” his voice is soft. “Charming. Sweet. Beautiful… a shame, to see you leave with a man so insignificant”.

As he speaks, his hand sneaks under your tunic, inching up and up and up as he stands.

“I… We can’t” you are not even sure if he hears you. Shame swirls in your loins, mixing with desire—and despite all reason, you don’t stop Geta as he pushes the layers of your skirt up to your hips.

He presses against you once more, his gaze never wavering from yours. He doesn't need permission; even he knows he already has it. He wants to hear you admit that you want him just as much as he wants you. He wishes for surrender.

You whisper his name, unsure if it's a scolding or a plea. He leans in closer, planting fiery kisses along your neck. His mouth sucks on your skin until you moan into the air above him, fingers tightening into ginger strands of his hair.

It’s too much.

It’s not nearly enough.

“Yes” you say. This time your voice is clear. “Take everything you want”.

“I will”.

With that as a last warning, he spears two fingers inside of you, finding you wet and wanting. You hold onto his shoulder tightly, your chest rising and falling with each breath as a loud moan escapes your lips, only encouraging him to continue.

You've shared nights with your husband before—but not like this, never like this.

"Please-" you gasp, trying to hold on to some sense of modesty while also giving in to the rough, demanding movement. His pace is fast and unrelenting, and the most careless of you eagerly surrenders to them in hopes of reaching release.

Geta's grin stretches across his face, victorious as if he has just won a fierce battle. “Oh, it would be a shame to leave you to that man”. His lips caress your ear. “But you won’t be with him for long”.

The worlds ring wrong, but you can't bring yourself to look away from him. You stand still, unable to move, overcome by ecstasy, destroyed by the intense passion that he effortlessly ignites within you.

“Battlefields are cruel. Soldiers get hurt” he continues, and his choice of topic is so strange that it snaps you back to reality. “It is not uncommon for a legate to lose his life in action”.

“What-” and it’s all you can get out before you're overcome with pleasure once again, completely helpless in its grip. You need more, need him, need something that will consume you entirely so you don't feel as dirty as you do in this moment.

Geta seems to understand. The fingers draw away; but before you can even register the loss, he aligns you with his cock and pushes inside.

You let out a sigh—in relief or shame or both—and his hand darts to your throat, not enough to cut off your air but just to silence your whine. The possessive way he grasps you only adds to your arousal.

“Yes, he won’t have you for much longer” he growls again. “I’ll make sure of that”. The confidence in his words is laced with lust: he exudes strength and control– yet, it seems that you have the power to unravel him just as much as he can unravel you.

The pace of his hips is bruising: almost too much to bear, but you can't get enough of it. He's claiming you as his own, branding you with every movement, inside and out.

“Tell me you are mine, just mine”.

“I am yours” you almost scream. “All yours, only yours”.

He lets out a rough groan, using the hand around your throat to grip your hair as he thrusts into you.

A thin layer of sweat has coated his forehead, furrowed brows and parted lips giving away his concentration. Whether it's the feeling of your burning flesh against his, or the whispered fantasies he keeps confessing to your skin, it has his body in a wreck of tension.

His lips leave your neck, chapped and red, his movements now erratic as he nears his impending orgasm.

He does not look at you when he comes: he rolls his eyes up at the dark sky, daring the Gods to judge him. You both dive into each other one last time, clawing, grasping, lost in fiery ecstasy that leaves you moaning beneath Geta as he empties himself inside you.

The act alone leaves you shaken, your back curved and legs trembling as you cry out at the top of your lungs. You hold onto his feverish and heated skin, so that when you come back to your senses the first sensation you feel is Geta—all over you, claiming you as his own.

He traces his fingers over your skin, and you feel completely undone. Spent.

As your heart rate slows and your breathing steadies, the sounds around you begin to resurface: the cacophony of laughter, gentle strumming of lyres, soldiers shouting at each other. You scan the peristylium, looking for any servants or guests meandering about.

“Hush, don’t worry” Geta says, redirecting your attention back to him.

He leans in closer, but instead of seeking another kiss, he simply rests his forehead against yours. “Soon, we won’t have to hide”.

He speaks of war again, and all the ways a man can perish: and as he does, a shadow creeps over his face, sinister and cold. You feel a chill run down your naked arms, this time not from shame.

Geta laughs and promises luxurious silks with precious jewels. He tells how perfect you will be by his side, in gold. How you will bear his heirs—and his alone.

The last time you dared to beg the gods for favour, you pleaded to be given to a man over another.

It seems just like a cruel joke how your wish was granted now—a jest that only serves to make you beg once more.

It’s true that you may never be as devoted as Lucilla is: and yet, as Geta pants beside you, her earlier words still echo in your mind.

Pacem et securitatem mihi largire [grant me peace and safety]

Et ne sinas me in bracchia malignorum cadere [and do not let me fall into the arms of the wicked ones].

#emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #gladiator ii fanfiction #emperor geta x you #geta x you #geta x reader

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