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manjiiros · 1 day ago

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i walk around all day thinking: i’m going to die in the universe you loved me in. i get so jealous of euthanized dogs. -june gehringer

info. sae understood you better than anyone else so now what? angst, platonic!reader x rin, slight graphic descriptions of grief, parental abuse mention, female reader, sorry if this doesn't make much sense lol.

IT’S WINTER AND YOU’RE TRYING TO REMEMBER WHAT IT’S LIKE TO FEEL SAFE. But the truth is that you don’t. You’re waiting for something-- someone-- to jog your memory, but you know better than that. You’ve always known better than that. Your mother once told you that it was stupid to get your hopes up because life didn’t work that way. And maybe some small, insignificant part of you would always hope she was wrong, but you both knew the truth. The only way forward was something you were never good at: letting go.

Standing in front of an electronics store, you stare into the window display where a giant TV resides. The screen flashes images, but you didn’t care for a majority of it. What had caught your attention was far more specific.

A football game.

Your hands are shoved in the pockets of your coat, your warm exhales combating against the biting cold air. It’s apathy painting your face, but a snake curls in your chest and constricts your heart. It aches like a dull headache; consistent and a nuisance. The crowd roars from the anticipation and excitement of the match as the commentators narrate each moment. The language they speak isn’t the one you’re familiar with, but you don’t care what they’re saying. Your eyes are trained on only him. The way he runs, dribbles, kicks the ball with a bruising force. Every movement is meticulous, specific to what he needs and wants at that moment.

Two older men stand just a bit away from you with their arms crossed and their lips moving. Their conversation is mere background noise at first, but his name flows off their tongue so effortlessly. How envious you are that it doesn’t burn their mouths the way it does yours.

“Wish Sae Itoshi would just play for Japan! We might have a real shot at the World Cup if he did.”

The juxtaposition of the situation doesn’t escape you. They’re enjoying it, you’re mourning him like a dog. You always have. It’s not pride that swells in your chest as you watch him play. All the filth and grime of bitterness grows like mold between your ribs. You consider what you’re doing now as punishment, but for what? This was not your betrayal yet the need to torment yourself persisted like someone with nothing to lose.

He looked so similar to the image of him you had in your heart but with all the maturity of the years you lost with him. His eyes are cold and calculating, but just as captivating as they always were. Decorating them were the long lashes you used to count whenever you stood very close to him-- a proximity you wouldn’t share again. Sae is different, yet achingly familiar and it makes you want to puke. What else about him changed? You wanted to know. You wanted to dig deep inside him and pull him apart thread by thread until his bones were embarrassed, memorizing it all like a prayer. To know him just one more time.

But there was no more “one more”. It’s a fact you couldn’t swallow down because when you try it’s too thick and suffocating. Instead you’re left choking on the would’ve, could’ve, should've.

The televised crowd cheers. A team celebrates on the pitch. The middle aged men next to you laugh. And it frustrates you so much you have to push down the lump in your throat. There’s nothing to be happy about. Why is your pain so inconsequential? Why does no one seem to care about it? You suck in a quick breath and hold it tightly in your lungs as your lips pressed together firmly. Sae Itoshi has had permanent residence in your heart since the day you met him. No matter how deep the anger ran you could never erase the trace of him he left on you. He sutured his essence into your skin, embedded every fiber of your being with his presence. It was unmistakable: he was a part of you forever.

You could tear yourself apart piece by piece. You could scrub your skin raw until blood flowed down the shower rain. You could scratch and peel away your flesh until you got down to the bone. You could do all that and, still, Sae would still be there every hour of every day. Morning, noon, and night. A ghost of the past you could not escape no matter how far you ran. And there was only one person who understood you, who listened to you when you needed to talk: Rin.

The one you were on your way to meet up with had you not gotten distracted. Your eyes, however, could not leave the screen. Even as your feet began to turn with significant hesitation, your gaze bore into the live feed of the football match. Into him. And, as if you had been in a trance, as soon as the camera pans away to a different shot excluding him, you rotate your body full and walk away. Icy air nips at your flushed cheeks and nose while grey clouds blanket the sky. It doesn’t take long before a figure comes into view. He stands just in front of the large open iron gates with his hands in his coat pockets. The sound of your approaching footsteps catches his attention and his head turns to look at you. There’s silence at first then he turns to face you fully while you offer a small smile.

“Hi, Rin.” Your voice is so soft, featherlike. Almost as if you’re scared to speak any louder. Rin nods his greeting and allows you to approach him so you can walk beside him through the gates. It’s a maze of headstones and tombstones. Not a word is shared between you both as you navigate it. At least not until you near your destination.

“Why did you even want to come here?” He asks, but there isn’t any annoyance to it. It’s just a genuine question dripping with curiosity. And you don’t know how to even respond to it because an answer doesn’t come to mind. Instead your eyes look skyward as if searching among the thick barrier of clouds will give you one. When none comes forward you just allow your eyes to fall forward again and continue walking. It never occurred to you that there was even a reason. Maybe you wanted to confirm what you already know or maybe you hoped it would bring you some closure. Last night the need to do it, however, had enveloped you. You found yourself texting Rin asking him to join you and like the good friend he is he agreed without complaint. That may have just been pity, but you’d take it.

All movement comes to a halt as you stand before a particular grave. Rin stands at your side with a watchful gaze on you. Your expression is just as unreadable as he expected. There’s writing engraved in the stone and the site itself is barren of any offerings. That was the permanent state of it; left just the way you thought was deserved. And, still, it didn’t make you happy. It didn’t feel like enough because no matter what the suffering inflicted on you could not be felt six feet down.

Rin doesn’t say anything still and neither do you. A crow calls out in the distance. You can see him out of the corner of his eyes glancing at you every so often before falling back on the tombstone. There’s an expectant look in those teal irises like he was waiting for you to start raging or crying. Then the silence feels a bit too much. He parts his lips, but hesitates before the words start rolling off his tongue, “She was difficult.”

It sounded so stupid the moment it left him, but he couldn’t figure out what else to say. Internally he cringes and externally he watches as you lower yourself into a squat. Your knees are pressed tightly together and your arms encircle them in a firm embrace as your chin rests atop them, “I’m glad she's dead.”

Rin shows no indication that he’s shocked or surprised. In truth, it was exactly what he thought you’d say. Your mother wasn’t just a difficult woman, she was cruel right down to the marrow of her bones. Her every word was soaked in venom, her opinions were spoken as if they were fact. If there was a thought to be shared she never shied away from it even if it hurt you. Often you wondered what it was about your very existence that sickened her. Was it the way your appearance mirrored your father? Were you just a child brought into this world without meaning? Her hostility never quite made sense to you, but you endured it all the way.

And you despised her for the way she still left you wanting for her affection. A desperate search for her approval that you’d never get in this life. It made you feel pathetic.

“Did you tell him? When it happened?” Rin asks with a tinge of hesitation. Neither of you liked bringing him up, but he wanted to know.

“No, he wouldn’t have responded anyway.” You murmur low and search deep in your memory to when it all happened-- the day your mother passed away. She had been sick in the hospital for awhile and you had been at school that morning. A teacher hurries to call you out of class, urgency engulfing her tone and her expression. She leads you to the main office, has to sit down, and the principal delivers the news. Then they leave to give you time alone fully expecting you to succumb to your grief. You didn’t, though. It all actually felt rather hollow like someone had reached into your ribcage and pulled out all your insides. When you pulled out your phone to call someone the first contact you opened up had been his. And at that moment you realized you would never have that safety net you had grown so attached to. The one person you wanted the most had disappeared without a word. He up and left you.

The days following were a blur. The aftermath floated in your memories as fragments you couldn’t piece together. But what you do remember was the way you constantly stared at his contact with your thumb hovering over the call button. And then when you finally pressed it and brought the device to your ears, the line never rang. Not once. A confirmation, a dreadful gut punch of your reality. You did try, but what did it do for you?

“Are you actually glad?” His question doesn’t catch you off guard. Rin had learned to see right through you just the way Sae knew how to.

“No…” It comes out meek, hesitant like you were struggling to contain it. Without warning tears began to prickle your eyes and you’re trying to blink them away to no avail. Your face doesn’t scrunch. It remains neutral despite the overflowing of tears. You continue speaking, “I hate them both…for leaving the way they did. There’s nothing to be happy about… Not his career, not her death. I hate feeling so unfulfilled…”

His teal eyes bore into the top of your skull as you mumble out such vulnerable words. There had been the truth, the one he had been wanting to drag out of you. In front of him wasn’t the woman you became, but the fragile little girl who wanted to be wanted. The same one that cried when she scraped her knees as Sae put a bandaid on her. The same one who tried to keep up with them playing soccer despite how clueless she was of the rules. The same one who would hang out at their house for as long as possible because she didn’t want to go back to a place she couldn’t call home. The same one who wept in front of him one summer evening as she confessed her hidden feelings for his brother to him. Rin could feel it-- that anger curling inside him-- as he watched you.

“I’m going to surpass him. And when I do you can laugh in his face first.” Rin places his hand atop your head in comfort. His declaration sinks in and, suddenly, you snort a genuine laugh. You use the sleeve of your coat to wipe away remnants of your crying before standing at full height again. The look in Rin’s eyes, however, is serious. He means it. But you already knew that because Rin always meant what he said to you.

You look at Rin with your lips curling into a toothy grin, “Okay, but you better keep your promise. I’m going to be really mad if you don’t.”

He scoffs, flicking your forehead as if you said something stupid. A yelp escapes you as you cover your forehead with both hands. Rin turns around in preparation for you both to leave, “There isn’t an ‘if’ because I’m going to do it.”

“You’re so mean!” You whine, but you turn on your heels to follow him back through the maze.

Rin's tall form retreats off into the distance, his hand waving a loose farewell as he does. You give a small wave of your own as you watch him slowly get smaller and smaller the further he walks. Your other hand is shoved deep in your coat pocket. The pads of your fingertips touch along your phone until you grip it firmly in your hand and pull it out. Something overcomes you. You’re not quite sure what it is, but you allow it to happen nonetheless. The screen lights up and your thumb dances along the screen to unlock it. It swipes over to your contacts, opening it up and scrolling until it lands on a certain name.

Then hesitation starts to dig its talons into you. You knew what your heart was trying to convince you to do, but your brain was far more logical. You tried many times, but the results were always the same. It always led to you being swallowed by disappointment and deep sadness. It was a lesson you had learned time and time again until you finally felt too scared to do it again. There’s a grimace on your face as you fight against the urge, but eventually that feeling wins over. A deep inhale and you squeeze your eyes shut as you press the call button and hold the receiver to your ear.

It’s rings. It always does. And it rings one, twice--

There’s a click on the other line. Then a deep, bored voice on the other end speaks up, “Hello?”

All at once everything around you started to crash down. You don’t know if it’s in a good way or not, but you do know how your heart races and your body gives out. You drop to your knees so suddenly you’re glad no one else is around to see it. They might have tried to check on you, asking if you needed an ambulance. Your lungs feel as if they can finally breathe while your hands tremble so hard you worry you’ll drop your phone. Then the tears come instantly after and they pool along your waterline before cascading down your cheeks. Your stomach lurches from the violence of your raw emotions unearthing themselves.

Breathlessly, you gasp out, “Sae?”

#sae itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #my works

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cococubess · 2 days ago

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Sofia the First Pre-Canon Headcanons

because i guarantee royal magic won’t touch on the characters pasts

The Village

• Miranda had a bad relationship with her parents and ran away in her teenage years. This is why Sofia’s maternal grandparents are never mentioned.

• Miranda didn’t intend to stay in Dunnwitty long, but met Birk while passing through and eventually they decided to settle down there together. Neither had great childhoods, and committed to making Sofia’s the best they possibly could.

• Miranda and Birk’s wedding was the cheapest option in a dingy little church, but it felt infinitely more special to the extravagant one she had with Roland.

• Jades mother died in childbirth and her father is constantly busy with work to support himself and his daughter. This is why Jade is always alone, even on her birthday. Miranda and Helen would almost always have her staying at their homes because of this.

• Jade has a fear of abandonment because of how often her dad is gone, causing her to act out when she thinks someone is leaving her (A Tale of Two Teams, for example).

• Ruby is the only one in her trio of friends that has both biological parents still alive. Even though her dad is never mentioned, I like to think that he helps to provide for the family meaning that Helen has extra time to be a Buttercup troop leader.

• When Birk died at sea, half of Miranda’s income was gone, causing her to severely struggle with money even more. She didn’t tell Sofia that Birk actually died, just that he got lost at sea. In reality, he was confirmed dead, but she didn’t have the heart to break it to Sofia, who figured it out on her own anyway.

• Sofia was 4-6 years old when Birk died so her memories of him are sparse. They were very close when he was alive though.

• When she got called to the palace to make Roland new shoes, Miranda didn’t intend to pursue him romantically, but took the opportunity to try and get more money out of it by talking to him kindly and humanizing herself so he’d feel sympathetic and pay her more for the job.

• This is why she brought Sofia to the appointment despite not needing her help- she figured that the king would be more likely to pay better if he saw that Miranda had a child.

• Roland, however, thought it was love at first sight. Realizing that she could get more than just donations out of him, Miranda, despite not immediately feeling much attraction to him, did everything she could in order to woo him.

• Miranda did eventually end up loving Roland as well, but it was never the same way she felt about Birk.

• While doing something morally wrong in using Roland for his money, Miranda had good intentions, only wanting to be able to provide a good life for Sofia.

• When Roland insisted he buy her anything she wanted as a wedding gift, Miranda only asked he buy the village shoe shop in order to preserve Sofia and her old life. This is why it hasn’t changed at all, as Sofia says, when they visit it in Forever Royal.

The Castle

• Roland and Lorelei’s marriage was arranged by his father. While they did love each other, Roland felt more strongly towards Miranda.

• Amber was always told by the castle staff that she looked like her mother growing up. This stopped when Roland remarried, but left a lasting impression on her.

• Roland never destroyed the wishing well because he still had some hope that he could use it to bring Lorelei back.

• All portraits of Lorelei but one were destroyed after her death, which Roland keeps hidden in one of the castles secret passages.

• Roland chose the amulet for Sofia for the reason he told her, but also because he knew how much Tilly loved it at Sofia’s age. He told Sofia that it’s “very special,” since Tilly told him the same thing when they were kids.

• Tilly was very close to being the one to save Elena, but Elena worried that she was a little too scatterbrained to pull it off and waited for Sofia instead.

• Tilly and Cedric never got to know each other all that well as children, but had sympathy for one another as they were both the least favorite child of their respective families.

• Tilly was bullied at Royal Prep (I assume that’s where she and Roland went) because of the way she acted- she never let it get to her though.

• The secret passages in the castle (as seen in the Secret Library, for example) were made as ways for the servants to get around, but were forgotten about overtime. Some of them are still used for the same purpose, but other ones were blocked off.

• Cedric has scars across his body from failed spells and experiments. He feels that they make him a failure, hence wearing several layers of clothes to hide them constantly. The worst of the scars are on his hands.

• Cordelia had Calista out of wedlock, something extremely frowned upon at the time. Despite their bad blood, Cedric never looked down on his sister for it, sparking an agreement that they would get along for the sake of Calista.

• Calista’s only male role model growing up was Cedric which is why she fixated on him so much. Cedric is so uncomfortable with the attention because of how his other family members look down on him. He is scared that Calista’s love for him will one day fade like his sisters did, and is afraid to get attached to her because of it.

there is infinite material to work with, i swear. i think i’ll try to make a timeline of all the episodes at some point too. and who had the amulet when…hmm…

#sofia the fandom #sofia the first #stf #cedric the sensational #cedric the great #cedric the sorcerer #headcanon #princess amber #elena of avalor

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imnez-daydreams · 3 days ago

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bouncing around the walls of my room. new chapter from pookie !!

"Dex sat perfectly still on the couch, his back leaning against the cold wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and her body folded softly into his side like something precious. His arm remained around her. Protective. Present. He hadn’t even blinked too hard."

"She let him hold her. And he hadn’t let go. Not for a second. His thumb had traced circles against her shoulder without realizing it. Barely-there movements. Slow. Rhythmic. Calming."

what do you mean dex stayed awake and alert the whole night not only protecting reader but as if to commit everything about them to memory. like dex doesnt know the next time he'll have this so he's relishing in all the details of their time together, of reader. and caressing reader in a calming manner that dex doesnt even realise he's doing ?? when is it my turn to snuggle up next to dex/wilson bethel.

"And he didn’t move either. He wouldn’t dare. Because even if I didn’t say it out loud, he felt it. The ache. The sadness. The weight of something shifting in me. I didn’t want to go. And neither did he want to let me."

"He knew every routine. Every schedule. Every blind spot. He knew the system better than the people who built it. And that meant he’d been here too long. That meant he saw it all, day in, day out. That when I came last night, he didn’t hesitate to hide me because he already knew what would happen."

"Because this is his life. A clockwork cage."

RAHHH just let dex and reader have a happy ending together pretty please :( if not together then just let dex be happy please please please raey :(((. that later part of the paragraph brought me back to the opening scene in ep 9. where it looked like dex had been in that mental institution for so many years and so drugged up that his cognitive (?) skills were barely there. dex's life being a clockwork cage. stop. stop breaking my heart raey :(

"And without thinking, without planning, my fingers moved. They slid up into his hair. Slow. Gentle. Thoughtless. Just once. I stroked through it lightly. Soft enough that it could be mistaken for absent-mindedness. But he knew better. He inhaled. A sharp breath. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t lean away."

i like how both dex and reader were doing things without thinking. like their affection for the other runs so deep that these comforting touches come without a second thought, almost on instinct. ohhh to be able to run my fingers through his soft hair.

"He just let me. Because maybe he needed it just as much as I did. Because maybe this was the only version of goodbye we could have. The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty."

"It said everything we couldn’t."

"I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to leave."

touched starved dex ?? but also how dex and reader were able to communicate without words, how with that small touch they both still knew everything it meant.

"But I felt it, in the way his fingers hesitated at the hem of my shirt, the way his eyes followed the shape of me like he was committing every second to memory."

"He just looked at me from where he sat, hands resting on his thighs, elbows bent, chest rising in slow, even pulls like he was focusing on breathing so he wouldn’t say something he wasn’t supposed to."

committing reader to memory, raey we truly are one mind. also focusing on breathing so dex wouldnt say something he wasnt supposed to ?? what is it dex. is it. is it that you love reader. hmm. hmm indeed.

“No, because there’s a scale, okay? There’s the oops-our-faces-collided kiss, and then there’s the I-want-to-live-in-your-mouth kiss- where did we land?”

ofc gigi makes me smile after that heartbreaking beginning LOL shes so funny.

Another pause. I blink hard. “He looked at me like he needed it. Like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.”

“You probably are,” she says. “That doesn’t mean you owe him everything. But it means something. It means you’re in deep.”

i know that reader and gigi dont know about dex's north star but i like how they both understand that reader means something to him, that reader is impacting/affecting dex so much as if they are now his only lifeline. i also appreciate gigi keeping it real and telling reader they dont owe dex everything.

"The place his hand had been. The spot where his thumb had traced like it meant something. Like I meant something."

stopp this is the second time for reader to say/think that :(( you do mean something !! you mean everything to dex !! im saying this about a character insert thats supposed to be the person reading lol, but of course raey has me pitying this character with her amazing writing.

"I’ve skipped our sessions. Avoided eye contact with anyone who even breathes near his wing. It’s not fear that keeps me away. It’s control. Because I can’t be near him. Not without losing something. My job. My license. My goddamn sense of self-preservation."

props to reader for realising how willing they were to do dangerous things for dex and trying to stay on track butttt idk if im overthinking but im like kinda worried how this might look like to dex ?? cos of his intense fear of rejection and abandonment. like his reactions to his coach benching him and to dr mercer getting sick. to reader it may seem like they are trying to go back to the professional route but to dex it would more likely seem that reader rejected and abandoned him just after that connection they both established and shared, just like everyone in his life has done yaknow ??

"Like whatever spark had been in him last time I saw him, whatever warmth, whatever storm, had dulled. Not gone, but buried. Locked somewhere deeper than before. He holds my gaze, but not like he used to. There’s no pull. No weight. No invitation."

"If avoiding him felt like rejection. If silence, to him, sounded like regret."

NOOOOO. fml. why am i right i didnt want to be right. dex's walls are back up, he's guarding himself again because he let reader in only for them to leave.

"He’s holding something back."

"He’s protecting himself."

"I’m the one who stayed gone. And now I’m here, acting like it didn’t cost him something."

this shit hurts not even gonna cap. like worse than someone you hurt crashing out is their silent acceptance. their walls being built back up. reader trying to stay away so that it wouldnt cost them their job and license, not realising it cost dex everything to let them into his heart. i hate it here.

head in hands. raey. you are shattering my heart into pieces with your writing. expecting the excuses, because to dex this isnt the first time he's been rejected or abandoned, because this is what he's used to. people leaving him. i cant.

oh my gawdDddd. i cant even analyse the last few parts anymore this shit is devastating its all hurt no comfort :"(((( dex being so so closed off. dex not being angry, not reactive, just quiet resignation, quiet acceptance. "you acted like you did". just shoot me now omg. i wonder what dex is thinking. what he thought during those 7 days. reader had a life outside, they had other places, other people to depend on but dex didnt have those luxuries. what happened when they were together was the only thing dex could think of, the only company he had 24/7 for a week was those memories. dex probably had thoughts of "i told you so" like chastising himself for letting reader in just to be rejected and abandoned again.

in conclusion, raey this chapter wasnt boring in the slightest. it pulled at my heartstrings and tore it apart. (in a good way of course dont worry !). while it hurt to read i think it was realistic to have this chapter, reader's actions were understandable but so was dex's reactions to it based on his history. as always, thank you raey for writing !! (and breaking my heart jokes jokes haha). cheers to more chapters, i have my full trust and confidence in you that youre cooking up a 10 course meal for the upcoming chapters :p

CHAPTER 10

⌖ continued scene from chapter 9

The room was still. Not just quiet, but still. The kind of stillness that only comes after something breaks wide open and leaves nothing but breath and bones and soft air behind. The kind that sinks into the walls. Into the floor. Into the weight of what was said without ever being spoken, she was asleep. Curled against him. Her breath is soft against the curve of his neck. One arm tucked beneath her, the other resting lightly across his chest. Her fingers were slack, but still touching him. Like her body knew what it wanted even in sleep. He hadn’t moved. Not once. Not since she drifted off hours ago. Dex sat perfectly still on the couch, his back leaning against the cold wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and her body folded softly into his side like something precious. His arm remained around her. Protective. Present. He hadn’t even blinked too hard. His eyes had stayed open, heavy but alert, adjusting to the dimmed lights and the creeping hours. He’d stayed awake through all of it, the silence, the tension easing from her body, the faint shift in her breath as sleep took hold. He couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t risk it. Not with her here. Not in this place. The air was different now. Lighter somehow. Not because the tension was gone, but because it had finally taken shape. No longer a thing hidden under words or silences. It had been seen. Felt. Breathed. She let him hold her. And he hadn’t let go. Not for a second. His thumb had traced circles against her shoulder without realizing it. Barely-there movements. Slow. Rhythmic. Calming. The hours passed. The quiet deepened. And then the light started to change. Not artificial. Not the dull white hum of overhead fluorescents. Real light.

Morning.

It came in slowly, soft and golden, through the narrow sealed window on the far wall. A sliver of sun barely breaking the horizon. But he saw it. Felt it. A shift. The beginning of time is catching up. He looked down at her. The way her lashes brushed her cheeks. The warmth of her breath steadied against his jawline. She looked peaceful. And that alone made something inside him ache. He hadn’t seen peace in years. Not real peace. Not like this. He let it sit with him for a moment longer. Just a moment. Then slowly, gently, his hand came to rest against her back. He rubbed slow circles. Barely enough pressure to stir her.

"Hey," he said softly, voice still rough from disuse. "Wake up."

I stirred. Just a little. A quiet breath pulled in. My brows knit together in confusion, not fully aware yet. He leaned in. Kept his voice soft, steady. "It’s morning. Time to go." My world came back in pieces. The weight beneath me. The warmth pressed along my side. The slow rise and fall of his chest under my palm. And then his voice. My eyes opened slowly, blearily, blinking past the blur of sleep. Morning light filtered in. The dull buzz of distant security buzzers kicked on in the hallway. A signal. A countdown. My body tensed before my brain caught up. Panic flared hot in my chest. But before I could speak, before I could move, he said it again.

"It’s okay." His hand stayed steady on my back. His voice didn’t waver. "The guards are switching. The doors will open in a few minutes. You have one chance to get out. You can do it without being seen."

I didn’t move. Not yet.

My head stayed where it was, rested gently against his shoulder, my forehead tucked into the line of his jaw. And he didn’t move either. He wouldn’t dare. Because even if I didn’t say it out loud, he felt it. The ache. The sadness. The weight of something shifting in me. I didn’t want to go. And neither did he want to let me. I swallowed thickly. Eyes wide now, but not from fear. From the way it hit me. This man, this patient, this story wrapped in barbed wire and silence, he knew. He knew every routine. Every schedule. Every blind spot. He knew the system better than the people who built it. And that meant he’d been here too long. That meant he saw it all, day in, day out. That when I came last night, he didn’t hesitate to hide me because he already knew what would happen.

Because this is his life. A clockwork cage.

I almost forgot. Forgot that I was his doctor. Forgot that I’d been assigned to him. That he was a case file. A report. A decision pending. I forgot because none of that felt true anymore. Not after last night. Not after this. My chest ached. And without thinking, without planning, my fingers moved. They slid up into his hair. Slow. Gentle. Thoughtless. Just once. I stroked through it lightly. Soft enough that it could be mistaken for absent-mindedness. But he knew better. He inhaled. A sharp breath. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t lean away.

He just let me. Because maybe he needed it just as much as I did. Because maybe this was the only version of goodbye we could have. The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.

It was full.

It said everything we couldn’t.

I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to leave.

We sat like that. Still. Quiet. Breathing each other in like the moment could last. Until finally, he spoke.

"You have to go."

His hand brushed my side, light, almost reluctant.

My throat tightened.

My eyes stayed closed for a breath longer.

Just one.

Then I nodded against him, small and tired, and the world tilted forward again.

I sat up slowly.

He let me.

His hands slipped away from me like they’d never been there, like he was trying not to make the moment harder than it already was. But I felt it, in the way his fingers hesitated at the hem of my shirt, the way his eyes followed the shape of me like he was committing every second to memory. The space between us stretched, and it ached. My feet touched the floor, cold and flat. I stood, slowly, knees stiff, muscles sore, heart even worse. He didn’t move. He just looked at me from where he sat, hands resting on his thighs, elbows bent, chest rising in slow, even pulls like he was focusing on breathing so he wouldn’t say something he wasn’t supposed to. And I didn’t blame him. Because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say either.

Thank you?

Goodbye?

See you in session?

None of it felt right.

None of it fit.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Chapter 10

The door clicks shut behind me.

I don’t even take off my shoes.

I just stand there in the dark, keys still in hand, the faint sound of the city bleeding through the windows like it’s trying to ground me. It doesn’t.

My heart is still somewhere in that room.

Still pressed up against his.

I stare at the floor. Swallow hard.

Then I reach for my phone.

It rings twice before she picks up.

“Hello?”

"Are you awake?" I asked.

A groggy pause. "No. What do you want?" I let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. Almost.

“Gigi...”

Something in my voice must’ve given it away.

"I slept with Benjamin Poindexter,” I said that to really wake her up.

There’s a beat. Then softer, sharper:

“In your dream?”

I don’t sit down. I just pace. Hand in my hair, heart still racing. “No”

Silence.

Then-

"...What? I- Are you joking? Because I just woke up, and I don’t know if this is a dream or not." I laughed. A real laugh. It slipped out before I could stop it. "Not the kind of sleep you have in mind, I fell asleep on him.”

"Wait, what do you mean- wait, how and what led to this? What’s going on? I’m so confused."

"I kissed him-"

“YOU WHAT?”

I repeat, quieter this time. “Well, he kissed me and I kissed him back.”

Another pause.

Then Gigi speaks again, faster, louder:

“Wait, wait, wait, babe, are you serious?”

I close my eyes. “Yes, G”

“what the FUCK?”

I stayed silent, letting her process this.

"Oh my god. How? When? Where? Are we talking full-on kiss or like... ‘accidental brush of lips during a shared hallucination’ kind of kiss?"

I close my eyes. “Gigi-”

“No, because there’s a scale, okay? There’s the oops-our-faces-collided kiss, and then there’s the I-want-to-live-in-your-mouth kiss- where did we land?”

I lean against the wall, exhaling hard. “We landed in the second one.”

Gigi lets out a gasp so dramatic it almost echoes.

“OH MY GOD,“

"Calm down," I said. "Just listen. I’ll tell you everything. From the beginning."

And I did.

Every detail. From the moment I left the apartment to the second the door closed behind me at the facility. I told her about the anger, the kiss, the tension, the lockdown, the way his arms felt around me, the silence we shared, the weight of it all.

She sat in silence for a beat.

Then: "...Okay, wow"

I let out another laugh. Felt the heat of the water rise against my chest. "Yeah."

"Wait. Was he good?"

I laughed, "I’m hanging up,” shaking my head.

"No, but seriously, how was he?"

I sighed. Loud. Like it came from somewhere deep.

Before I could answer, she cut in.

"You’re in love with him."

"No, I’m not."

"You’re so in love with him."

"Gigi- It’s complicated."

"Yeah. Complicated like a felony." We both laughed. after that, I just sat in silence, then she cut my thoughts off with "how are you feeling?"

“I’m scared,” I say eventually. “Not because I regret it. I don’t. I’d do it again if I was standing in front of him right now. But I’m scared of what it means.”

She doesn’t interrupt.

“I broke rules, Gi. Big ones. I crossed a line that I can’t uncross. And I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t even think. I just felt.” I sit down now. Finally. The weight of it all is catching up to me. “I’ve never wanted anything like that,” I whisper. “Like him. It’s terrifying.”

Gigi exhales softly into the phone. Then, after a moment-

“Okay. First of all- holy shit. Second of all, you are allowed to want things. Even reckless things. Even things that could blow up in your face. That’s how you know they matter.”

I press the heel of my palm into my eye. “It was stupid.”

“It was human.”

Her voice gentler now.

“You’re allowed to be human.”

Another pause. I blink hard. “He looked at me like he needed it. Like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.”

“You probably are,” she says. “That doesn’t mean you owe him everything. But it means something. It means you’re in deep.” I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“And... what happens now?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

But I know I’ll see him again.

And I know whatever this is...

It’s not over.

Later That Night

The day moved on.

Somehow, I didn’t break.

I went to work. Answered emails. Sat in meetings. Reviewed case notes that had nothing to do with him. I avoided the wing entirely. Took a longer route just to steer clear. Told myself it was discipline. Control. A decision made from a place of logic and self-preservation. But now the sun's gone, and logic doesn’t follow me home.

I lie in bed, sheets cool against my skin, the ceiling above me a dull blur in the dark. I haven’t turned the lights on.

Can’t.

I’m not tired, but my body aches like I’ve run a marathon barefoot. Everything feels sore. My chest, my legs, my eyes, especially my eyes. It’s not the lack of sleep. It’s the restraint. Holding it in all day. Holding him in all day. I shift slightly, turning onto my side, and my fingers move without thinking, pressing lightly against my jaw. The place his hand had been. The spot where his thumb had traced like it meant something. Like I meant something.

I let them stay there.

Just for a second.

My breath catches.

It’s ridiculous how real it still feels.

Like my skin remembers.

Like he left something behind.

I pull my hand back. Bury it under the pillow. Try to swallow the burn climbing my throat.

This is why I didn’t go today.

Because I know myself.

I know that if I walk into that room again, I won’t be able to stay on the right side of that line. The one I’m already straddling. The one I already crossed.

I want to go back.

God, I want to.

But I can’t.

Not again. Not this soon.

I can’t keep risking everything on a feeling I don’t even understand yet.

So I lie here. Still. Quiet. Staring at nothing, with too much of him lodged behind my ribs.

And when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Just once. I don’t check it.

I already know it’s Gigi.

She’s probably sent five memes and a paragraph of sass.

But even she can’t reach me tonight.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself I’m doing the right thing…

It doesn’t feel like it.

Not when every part of me is still in that room.

Not when I still feel like I’m supposed to be in his arms.

─────── ⌖ ───────

ONE WEEK LATER

It's been a week since the kiss.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours of trying to outrun my own skin.

I’ve skipped our sessions. Avoided eye contact with anyone who even breathes near his wing. It’s not fear that keeps me away. It’s control. Because I can’t be near him. Not without losing something. My job. My license. My goddamn sense of self-preservation.

I broke into a federal facility for him.

What else am I willing to do?

That’s what terrifies me.

It’s not him. It’s me. I don’t trust myself, I can’t help myself. So I banned myself. One week. No contact. No sessions. I rerouted my schedule, redirected other patients to fill his slot, and avoided all mention of his name on the official rotation.

But today, it catches up with me.

A sharp knock on my office door. Before I can even say Come in, it opens.

My boss.

"You haven't seen Poindexter this week."

It’s not a question.

I set down my pen slowly. "I've been reorganizing case schedules, and-“

His voice slices through the space like a scalpel. He shuts the door behind him, and suddenly the walls feel smaller. "You missed sessions. Not just any session- his. He’s top priority, and you're well aware of that. "

I look down at my desk. My nails press into the grain of the wood.

"He requested a session."

That gets me. I blink up at him. "He what?"

"Asked for you. Specifically."

My throat tightens.

He doesn’t wait for a reaction. "He never requests anything. And now he’s asking for you. Whatever rapport you’ve built with him, keep it going. Don’t lose it. You see him. Today." He’s out the door before I can even nod.

The silence that follows is so loud, I swear it rattles my teeth.

I sit there, frozen.

He asked for me.

Of course he did. Of course, he kept track. He sees everything. He's always seen me. My hands are already shaking as I reach for my phone. I don’t even think, just dial.

“Hello?”

Gigi’s voice.

Thank God.

I grip the phone tightly. "I can’t do this."

“Do what?”

I press my palm to my forehead. "He asked for me."

There’s a pause. Then, softer-

“Oh.”

"I haven’t seen him since that night. Since the kiss. I’ve been avoiding him. Actively. I changed my schedule. I’ve been hiding, Gi. Like a child."

“Sweetheart, you broke into a building for him. You’re not a child, you’re a woman with terrifying commitment to your bad decisions."

“I can’t be near him. I can’t even look at him. Because I’ll-” I stop. Swallow. “Because I won’t stop."

Gigi doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ll ruin myself for him. And I don’t even care. That’s the problem.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Gigi’s voice softens. “So ruin yourself a little. Then un-ruin it. You’re allowed to want things. Even the complicated ones.”

I exhale.

“I’m seeing him today.”

“Good. Walk in there like his doctor, not the woman who aggressively made out with him.”

My lips twitch. “It wasn’t aggressive.”

“Whatever, just try not to get on top of him today. Be a bit professional, get the job done. And if there’s time, maybe a little makeout sesh won’t hurt.”

“I’m ending the call.”

She laughs out loud before I hang up.

Stare at the wall.

And then I stand.

Because I have a session to take.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The walk to his wing feels like walking into the center of a flame.

Everything burns.

I keep my eyes forward, my steps slow but steady, fingers curled tight around the edges of the clipboard I’m not even using.

The usual guard isn’t there. Instead, it’s someone new. Tall, older, with buzzed silver hair and sharper eyes than I expected. He glances up as I approach. “Dr. Y/L/N for Benjamin Poindexter,” I say, voice steady. He nods, expression unreadable, and steps aside to run the standard check, badge, quick scan. Then, without a word, he gestures me forward and walks with me down the hall. We stop outside the room. He knocks once, firmly, then opens the door. “Poindexter,” the guard says, “Dr. Y/L/N is here for your session.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough to make my pulse stutter.

The guard doesn’t seem fazed. He gives me a look, some kind of signal I’ve done this enough times to understand, and steps back.

I walk in.

The door closes behind me with that same heavy finality.

And there he is.

Dex sits on the couch, legs apart, hands clasped loosely in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t greet me.

He looks at me.

No- he looks at me.

He just looks at me.

And I feel it.

That look.

Not sharp. Not smug. Just still.

Still and... quiet.

Like whatever spark had been in him last time I saw him, whatever warmth, whatever storm, had dulled. Not gone, but buried. Locked somewhere deeper than before. He holds my gaze, but not like he used to. There’s no pull. No weight. No invitation.

Just... distance.

And for the first time since the kiss, I wonder if I hurt him.

If avoiding him felt like rejection. If silence, to him, sounded like regret.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

The silence builds between us like a second set of walls.

I take my seat across from him, carefully. Trying not to make a sound. Trying not to breathe too loudly or move too fast, like anything might make it worse. I place the clipboard in my lap, but I don’t look at it. I can’t.

Because he’s still watching me.

I clear my throat, barely a sound.

My voice is small when it comes out. Tight.

“How are you?”

It hangs in the space between us, that question.

A simple one.

Harmless. Professional.

But it doesn’t sound like a doctor checking in on a patient. It sounds like something else. Something heavier. Something late.

Dex doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes stay on mine. Unblinking.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then, finally-

a hum

I nod. Just once.

But he sees it. That flicker behind my eyes. That twitch in my throat.

I shift in my seat. Press my thumb to the edge of the clipboard in my lap. I don’t look down. I can’t.

Because he still hasn’t looked away.

His eyes hold steady, but there’s something in them I didn’t expect.

Not anger.

Not coldness.

Just... restraint.

He’s holding something back.

And I realize with a quiet ache-

He’s not punishing me.

He’s protecting himself.

I’m the one who left.

I’m the one who stayed gone. And now I’m here, acting like it didn’t cost him something.

I look at him again. Softer this time. Quieter.

He blinks once. But he doesn’t speak.

And for a moment, I feel like I don’t deserve to be in this room with him.

I swallow.

My fingers tighten slightly around the clipboard, edges pressing into my palms. I look at him, really look at him, and I know I owe him more than a question.

I owe him the truth.

Or… at least some version of it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come last week.”

The words are quiet. Stiff. Like they don’t fit right in my mouth.

“I’ve been… trying to fix my schedule around. Things got complicated.”

He doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t shift.

Doesn’t say a word.

But I see it, just beneath the stillness in his face.

In his eyes.

That flicker of something.

Disbelief, maybe. Or disappointment.

He doesn’t buy it.

He knows me too well now.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even press.

He doesn’t challenge me. Doesn’t ask why.

He just looks at me.

Like he’s already heard every excuse I didn’t say out loud.

Like he expected them.

I drop my gaze for a second. Exhale through my nose.

“I should’ve come.”

Softer this time. Almost to myself.

“I know that. I-”

“Start the session.”

He doesn’t raise his voice.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just says it, flat, even, decisive.

And somehow, that’s worse.

It knocks the breath right out of my chest.

Not because he was cruel.

Because he wasn’t.

He was calm. Controlled. Detached.

Like the door he just spent weeks cracking open, slammed shut again, and I’m the one who locked it.

I freeze.

For a moment, I don’t even remember what I was going to say. It’s like he pulled the ground out from under me with three words.

Not “It’s okay.”

Not “I understand.”

Not even anger.

Just start the session.

Like, I’m not allowed to explain.

Like whatever I felt during that night. Whatever I thought we both felt was a glitch in the system that needed to be ignored, scrubbed clean, and replaced with protocol.

It stings.

Low and deep.

Like, he doesn’t want to hear my apology.

Like, he doesn’t trust it.

Or maybe, worse, he doesn’t trust me.

I swallow hard. My throat feels too tight. My fingers shift around the clipboard I haven’t even opened yet. I nod once. Almost imperceptible. Like I’m trying to nod past the ache in my chest.

I try to breathe.

Try to remember why I came here.

Try to remember who I’m supposed to be.

But the line between doctor and woman, professional and personal, just blurred into something jagged and sharp, and now I’m the one bleeding from it.

I clear my throat, adjust the clipboard on my lap like it matters, and begin.

“Can you walk me through the last seventy-two hours, any notable triggers, changes in behavior, sleep disturbances?”

Nothing.

Not a flicker.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just stares past me. Not at the wall. Not on the floor. Just... through.

Like I’m not even here.

Like I’m a voice on a recording.

I try again. Ask a different question, reframed, softer.

Still nothing.

He’s back to the version of himself I met on day one. The one who gave me nothing but silence and surveillance. The one who looked at me like I was just another body taking up space.

And for some reason-

It triggers something in me.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

But that quiet ache, the kind that slips between your ribs before you realize it’s even there.

Because I missed him.

The version of him that spoke. The one who made me feel like we were building something. Trust. Progress. Something that wasn’t manufactured. Something that wasn’t just part of the job.

And now, that’s gone.

Like it never existed in the first place.

Like I imagined it.

I blink down at the page, pretending to read my notes even though they’ve turned to static. My throat tightens. I keep my face still, perfectly composed, but my eyes-

God.

They always give me away.

So I stopped looking at him altogether.

I lower my gaze. Fix it on the corner of the clipboard. On the smooth line of my pen resting across the page. On anything that won’t betray me.

Because if he looks at me too long-

He’ll see it.

He’ll see the hurt in my eyes. The small, sharp cut he left there with three words and a wall of silence.

I ask another question.

He doesn’t answer.

My voice stays even. My tone remains professional. I don’t crack.

But inside?

I feel it happening.

Like pressure building behind a dam.

Like I’m trying so hard to be the doctor in this room when all I want to do is explain myself.

Still, I keep going.

Because I have to.

Because if I don’t, I’ll break.

I don’t ask another question.

I just sit there.

Staring down.

The silence stretches long and wide between us. It settles over the room like dust, coating everything, my lungs, my spine, my skin.

And still, he just stares.

No movement.

No words.

Just… watches me.

And I hate it.

I hate this.

I hate that this is what we’ve become, two people sitting across from each other like strangers again, as if the fire between us never happened. As if I didn’t fall apart in his hands and leave pieces of myself behind in this very room.

But what I hate more than anything?

Is knowing I’m the reason he’s like this now.

I pushed him away.

I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to.

But I did.

I thought I was protecting something, my job, my license, whatever scraps of control I had left, but I never once stopped to think about him. About what It would feel like to be looked at for the first time in years and then left to wonder if it meant anything.

I didn’t consider that silence cuts both ways.

And now?

Now I’m sitting in the wreckage of that decision, unable to breathe, unable to speak. My thoughts are running wild, faster than I can catch them, piling up in my chest like smoke-

I did this.

I made him retreat.

I put that look in his eyes.

It’s my fault.

All of it.

And still, I can't bring myself to say it. Not aloud. Not yet.

So I just sit there. Letting it build.

Letting it burn through the inside of my ribs until my bones feel hollow.

I keep my head down because I can feel it, my eyes glassing over. The tightness was building in the back of my throat. I’m dangerously close to cracking, and the only thing holding me together is the clipboard in my hands and the silence I refuse to break first.

But it’s not silence, really.

It’s judgment.

It’s punishment.

And I deserve it.

Still, I want him to say something.

Anything.

Scream. Curse. Laugh. Kick me out, just don’t sit there and look at me like I’m nothing.

Because I’m not nothing.

Not to him.

I don’t know how much time passes before I finally inhale again. It doesn’t feel like breathing. It feels like surviving. And when I finally speak, my voice barely makes it across the space between us.

“…Can you tell me about the last seventy-two hours?”

I returned back to the first question, my voice is soft. So quiet, it doesn’t sound like me. But it’s the only volume I have left.

And still, he says nothing.

But his eyes-

They flicker.

Just once.

And even though it’s the smallest shift I’ve seen from him all session-

It feels like a fracture in the silence.

Something in me holds onto that.

Because it means there’s still something there.

Even if it’s buried beneath all the things I didn’t say.

I somehow managed to speak,

“Dex… please… please say something…”

My voice breaks on the last word. Barely held together. Barely me.

I don’t dare look up. My hair’s fallen over my face, curtain-like, my last defense. A soft shield against the weight of his silence. Against the way, I know he’s still watching me.

But somehow…

Even now…

He gets through.

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in that still, heavy way that fills the space between us like smoke.

And then, finally-

“What do you want me to say?”

His voice isn’t cold.

It’s low. Steady. Stripped bare.

I blink, staring at my lap, chest tight, heart clawing at the inside of my ribs.

I keep my eyes down, throat tight. “Anything.”

A soft hum.

Then, quieter, calm, but too direct to hide behind:

“Do you regret it?”

The question slices through me.

My breath catches. I sniff quietly, my fingers trembling as I tuck my hair behind my ear. The movement feels too loud, too exposing. My defenses go with it.

I lift my gaze. Slowly.

And shake my head.

No.

Never.

Not for a second.

A small, deliberate motion.

My eyes are still wet, but I don’t blink them away.

And just as the silence stretches-

“Speak,” he says.

One word. Low. Firm. Almost quiet enough to miss, but I don’t.

It lands like an order and a plea all at once.

My voice responds before I can think.

“No,” I say. “I don’t regret it.”

The weight of those words settles heavy between us. No echo. No space left for anything else.

Just that.

And him. Watching me.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Almost like he’s waiting to see if I’ll take it back.

But I don’t.

Because I mean it.

Because whatever this is, however it ends, I needed him to know.

He nods once. A low hum escapes him, not dismissive, not satisfied. Just… restrained.

Then he says, quietly:

“You acted like you did.”

It hits like a punch to the ribs. No accusation in his tone, just truth. A tired one. The kind that’s been sitting on his chest for seven days straight.

And I feel it.

So I lean forward just slightly, voice cracking again:

“I’m sorry.”

That softens something, just a little.

Not in him.

But in the air between us.

Because when I say it again, quieter this time-

“I really am sorry.”

I mean it. Every word. Every crack in my voice, every breath behind it. It’s not for the sake of professionalism, or recovery, or control. It’s just me. Raw. Honest. Apologizing for how I handled it. For how I handled him.

For leaving him in silence for a week when I knew better.

He doesn’t react right away.

His expression stays still, unreadable.

But I see it.

That flicker in his jaw. That brief shift in his breathing. The almost-imperceptible way his eyes narrow, not with anger. With something else.

Recognition. Pain. Maybe both.

He leans back slightly. Not away. Just… breathes.

And for a moment, neither of us says anything.

It lingers there, my apology.

His eyes don’t move. Still watching. Still quiet.

But not cold anymore.

Not distant.

Just… unreadable.

I inhale slowly. Try to steady my voice before it cracks again.

“I think I should go.” It comes out softer than I meant it to.

His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t stop me.

“We’ll have another session tomorrow,” I add, rising slowly from my chair, smoothing the front of my coat like that small motion might hold me together. I reach for the clipboard I haven’t touched in minutes.

“Rest.”

One word. Final. Like I’m giving instructions, like I still have control of this dynamic.

But we both know I don’t.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Hey guyssss, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Its not really my fav chapter its so boring im so sorry, but trust me im cooking.

chapter 11 is almost done and im working on chapter 12!

anyways enjoyyyy!!!

yours truly,

raey ♡♡♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

#benjamin poindexter x reader #bullseye x reader #benjamin poindexter #bullseye

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sf-bl · 5 months ago

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So, this image set is my attempt at drawing a scene from chapter 41 of the fantastic Lost and Found by @caffeinatedowlbear: the moment close to the chapter's end when Rhys finds himself looking at Jack across the table. Please excuse my lack of expressive words for why I loved that moment of looking so much. Due to brain weather, I can't decide which version(s) of the images to include here. As a workaround I'm going to post them all. Here goes:

And also:

A Jack for the road.

Let the degree of picspam signify how much I've enjoyed this universe and its exploration of the characters. That is: a lot.

#rhack #posts and runs away #based on: lost and found by caffeinated owlbear #wish I could have pulled this together better #but it was such a pleasure to read think about and draw

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fabshroom · 1 year ago

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I am so so glad that Kazuha likely won't have a rerun until Summer because rn I'm really doing everything I can to get the last few Primos in my world to pull for Wriothesley to hopefully win the 50/50 and get his C1.

My brain pretty much looks like this rn

#i totally didn't spend 30 minutes to put every achievement i have into a checklist just so I have a better overview of hidden ones I miss #theres only three hangouts left i can do #and a handful of sets in the teapot #luckily the monthly shop and abyss reset soon #thats at least a few more wishes then #i think with everything i could get together a 10 pull but thats pretty much it #praying that I get lucky and dont lose to Diluc *again*#Wriothesley #fabshroom ramble

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atlxolotl · 1 month ago

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Transcript and links to Reddit under the Read more:

I miss my husband so goddamn much

February 27th, 2025

I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest.

I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another.

They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left.

I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?

I hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise.

EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative.

Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month.

Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach.

EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened.

[UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago

March 2nd, 2025

Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression.

I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to.

We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years.

What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*.

I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted.

He was dating someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious.

We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed.

I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though.

I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me.

Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3

EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update.

EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not, reddit.

[FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night

March 5th, 2025

My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered.

A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore.

He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God.

He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal.

At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted.

I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine.

Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes.

#i love love #Reddit #Reddit post #romance #lgbt #LGBTQ

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tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Men In Uniform F*ck Better!

Synopsis. You want him and you want him now. It doesn’t matter if you have to fúck him in his uniform - in fact, it just might make it better.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] professor! Gojo x Reader, yakuza boss! Sukuna x Reader, calligrapher! Geto x Reader, baker! Nanami x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, no curses! AU, oral (male + female receiving), men at work, manhandling, marking, slight gúnplay, degradation, smacking, choking, Sukuna is mean but he’s a yakuza boss so, spitting, semi-public, brat-taming, bunch of heinous stuff idek, cúmplay, slight foodplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.6k

A/N. Was gonna add Choso and Toji but this got too long, dw I’ll make separate ones about them later <3

♡ NANAMI KENTO - The baker

Watching Nanami Kento at work could make even the most ardent non-believers worship God.

Kneading. Spreading. Every motion of his strong hands deliberate and purposeful. Muscles rippling in his forearms with each movement.

You watch - almost hypnotized - as the devilishly handsome baker at your favorite bakery prepares his dough for tomorrow. By God were you glad you managed to bat your lashes just enough to convince him to let you stay after closing - for educational purposes, of course.

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily as long fingers sink deep into the dough, squeezing. Pulling. Teasing. A delicate bead of sweat trickling down between his furrowed brows and disappearing enticingly between those chiseled collarbones. Oh, how you wished it was you under his hands instead.

“How long’s it gonna take? I see the way you’re watching me, y’know.”

A low rumble breaks the silence, sending tremors down your spine - all the way to your already-heated cunt. Eyes snapping up to meet Nanami’s darkened ones, your face burns at being caught red-handed. Stammering out excuses, “W-wha- I didn’t-”

Soft dough now forgotten, he steps closer, presence overwhelming, dominating the space around you. “Always do. Watching me with such slutty eyes.” Low words that make your pussy throb. You’re dumbfounded by his eyes, intense and stripping - making you feel so exposed and vulnerable before him.

In the dimly lit kitchen, the tension is palpable. You can’t help but lean into his presence, standing toe-to-toe with his muscled front.

With a slight smirk curling his lips, Nanami leans in, his breath warm against your ear and making you shudder in anticipation. “But don’t worry, darling. I like it.”

They’re the last words said before he pulls you into a searing kiss, a hand tight around your neck, neat fingernails digging into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer to him as his tongue demands entry, intertwining with yours. It’s possessive, it’s feral - and tastes oh so very sweet - just like his delicate pastries.

Nanami breathes you in like a man starved. A desperation that carries into your frantic fingers untying that godforsaken apron.

And in his steady hands as they lift you up as if you weigh nothing, fingers groping and kneading your ass as he seats you on the kitchen counter. The surface cold under where your skirt was messily bunched up. “Mm- hngh- please, Nanami.”

Pulling away with a final bite to your lower lip, he leaves a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down your body that send chills racing through you, and have your thighs rubbing together for an ounce of friction.

“Tch” Of course, he wasn’t a fan. Grip bruising, manhandling your legs open so shamefully, he splays you out deliciously for him. Nanami’s greedy gaze devours the sinful way your dripping cunt leaks through your thin panties - ones you wore especially for him.

Seems he knew too, pushing his glasses up contemplatively before dropping onto his knees with a fucked out oh. “Always knew you were naughty, darling, but to be such a slut? Driving me crazy, hm?” his voice thick with desire and whispered mere millimeters away from your swollen folds.

Moaning softly, you arch your back into the warm breath hitting your quivering cunt, whining out an embarrassed “Noo- only for you, Nanami.”

“Oh yeah?” Huffing out a dark chuckle, he all but rips off your soaked panties. The tattered fabric stark against the sterile floor. You gasp at the cold air that hits your heated cunt - but not for long, because Nanami’s hot mouth is on it like a man dying of thirst.

Nose-deep in your pussy, the cold metal of his glasses makes you flinch in sensitivity. His hands spread your cunt bruisingly, letting his tongue bully it’s way past your folds, urgently lapping at your juices as if you were the sweetest damn thing he’s ever tasted.

Chin hitting your cunt, nose rubbing against your pulsing clit, he makes out with your sloppy pussy in methodical, merciless movements of his tongue that have you keening and bucking your hips for more more more.

Looking up at you over his glasses, his hungry gaze devours your half-lidded eyes, the grip searing on his hair, and the whimpers of his name leaving your swollen lips just as greedily as the mouth on your slutty cunt.

“Wanted this right, darling?” he murmurs, lips hot against your own. Vibrations making slick bead out of your cunt and pool onto his waiting lips. “Wanted to break under my hands?”

“Yes. Yes, yes yes, s’all I’ve wanted.” teary whimpers leave your bruised lips, you craved the sting of his hands, the burn of his fingers. Your hips buck uncontrollably, grinding yourself against his mouth as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Hands now groping every inch of skin he could find, leaving pretty purple marks that remind you of his mouth-watering pies.

Exploring every curve and valley, bending you to his will, languid where his tongue was merciless. Savoring you. Groping your breasts, squeezing your ass, as if he wanted everything all at once.

Your entire body was sore now. Cunt throbbing in sympathy with the tender flesh. Marks littering your skin as if you’d been thrown to the wolves. Ah, all these weeks you’d been right - heaven really was in Nanami Kento’s hands. And right now you were putty in them.

He grasped your thighs, squeezing them roughly and lifting them higher, opening you wider for his unforgiving pace. Clearly enjoying the way your face contorted in pain and pleasure, Kento slipped a finger inside you. One. Then two. Stretching you to your limits. Spreading open your already-stretched entrance further.

His fingers frantic now, fucked-out, jerky movements. Wilder. Animalistic. Driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Open your mouth.”

You listen - drunk on his tongue as yours lolls out so lewdly. The taste hits you before the realization - sweet sugar and the taste of you on your tongue as two thick fingers are shoved into your mouth. They reach the back of your throat, pressing hard onto your tongue. You force yourself to fight off the gagging as some animalistic part of you sucks desperately on them for the sweet, sweet taste.

“Almost as sweet as you.” Nanami groans, words muffled into your cunt and sending white-hot pleasure racing up your spine. Words hanging in the air, he speeds up the movements of his mouth, frantic movements matching your need for more.

Your climax hits you with a jolt, cumming till you see stars behind your eyes. Maybe it was his words, maybe it was the way his tongue quirked just right on your throbbing clit to make you throw your head back as you fell apart underneath him.

“Hngh- Oh fuck, Nanami. M’cum- cumming!” you whine, grinding your cunt down impossibly harder on his pretty face. Fingers tangled in his silky blond locks as you force him deeper, riding out your high greedily.

You’re still dazed - vision blurry as Nanami pulls away from your cunt with a lewd squelch! getting up from his position kneeling on the floor. “So delicious on m’tongue, darling.”

Devastatingly handsome face flushed, breaths ragged, muscled front now pressing against your sinfully spread legs. And in your orgasm-hazed mind you still manage to hear the arousing clink of a belt unbuckling, and the metallic screech against marble of the nearby bowl of your favorite frosting being pulled closer. White - to match the precum dribbling down his leaking cock.

The distinct feeling of something wet and achingly hard against your needy cunt.

Oh. Ah, it really was a sweet, sweet life.

♡ GETO SUGURU - The calligrapher

You didn’t exactly think the live calligraphy show your friend dragged you to was about to have you on the edge of your seat.

But here you were.

Eyes locked on the way the tall figure onstage, clad in a dark yukata - sinfully slipping off to reveal a milky, toned shoulder. Geto Suguru exudes an air of raw sexuality that the entire audience was aware of, eyes not being able to decide between the masterpiece on the canvas or the masterpiece of a man on stage.

His fingers, long and agile, effortlessly over the bamboo pen. Each stroke a sensual caress, dark eyes pools of desire that match his long, flowing locks, and the inky characters on the page.

Chest heaving with passion, with a final, dramatic sweep of his arm, Geto completes the last stroke. And as the audience erupts into applause, you merely stay rooted to your seat, thighs pressing together and breath caught in your throat - only one thought ringing in your mind.

You just had to have him.

Which is why you found yourself following your friend to the chaotic atmosphere backstage. But despite the buzz of activity, you could still hear Geto’s deep, velvety voice carrying through the crowd.

Pushing through the sea of people, “Ah! Long time no see, Geto-san. This is my friend, she really enjoyed your performance tonight,” your friend introduced, gesturing towards you.

Eyes gleaming he turns to you, “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it very much.” you grin, batting your lashes. Relishing in the way Geto’s dark eyes appraise you from head to toe. Taking in every inch of you - and you do the same.

Geto’s eyes harden, as if deciding on something. “I’m flattered. Why don’t you two lovely ladies join me for some drinks with the crew?”

Yeah, you had to have him - you just didn’t think that would be so easy.

Walls lined with paintings, the scent of ink and sin hung heavy in the air, as you two snuck away from the animated group downing celebratory shots. Geto’s hand hot in yours as he leads you down a dimly-lit corridor to “his favorite lil’ spot”, as he’d whispered to you.

You could tell you were getting closer - because Geto promptly pulls you closer, hands grasping your waist possessively.

“No turning back now, pretty girl.” he whispers, breath hot against your ear.

“S’all I want, Suguru.” you mutter, desire coursing through you like a wildfire, pooling into something sticky and hot at your cunt.

Perhaps seeing the pure, feral need in your eyes, Suguru murmurs, leaving no room for disagreement now, “Follow me.”

The room he led you to was heady with seductive candles, beautiful artwork lining the walls. His own - you assume, as Suguru leads you to a low wooden table in the center of the room. On it is a bottle of sake and two cups.

Movements fluid and precise, Suguru pours the sake, filling it to the brim. He hands it to you, eyes never leaving your face. “Drink up, pretty girl.” he hums, low and seductive. And honestly fuck stranger danger, how could you not when he looks at you like that?

So you drink, sake burning its way down your throat. Predatory eyes locked on you as you set down the cup, Suguru’s mouth quirks up into a sly grin around his as he asks, “Liked it?”

You’ve barely gotten out the nod - not trusting yourself to speak - before Suguru downs his shot abruptly, slamming down the cup with a thunk!

Lips parting slightly, slender fingers squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrasing pout. Forcing you to look up at him with an almost predatory grace as he looms closer. You don’t know if you should’ve expected the steady, warm stream of sake and saliva that hits your tongue. Sliding so obscenely down your throat.

Guess Suguru Geto was filthy in bed where he was the embodiment of grace in public.

It’s sweet on your tongue - both the sake and Suguru.

Eyes glassy, a mixture of sake and drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth - Suguru really can’t help the lips that come crashing down on yours, tongue plunging deep into your mouth. His tongue was relentless, keeping yours intertwined in a heady kiss.

Arms wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to his heated body. Hands tugging on your hair, mapping your curves. All the way up to cup your breasts, thumbs running tight, little circles around your perked nipples.

You moan into the heated kiss as something rock-hard pokes your thigh. Hand greedily grabbing at his yukata with the need for more.

Breaking the kiss, Suguru’s breaths come in ragged gasps. “On your knees, pretty girl.”

And what Geto Suguru wants, Geto Suguru gets.

Which is why you were sat, eyes hungry and greedily watching the way Suguru slowly, and deliberately peels open the front of his yukata, exposing his toned torso. A sly grin curling his lips at you gape at his leaking cock, standing proud and achingly hard. Thick and unforgiving.

Fuck, could you really take him in your mouth? He was at least twice as big as anyone else you’ve been with before…

“Open.” he orders, voice low and commanding and making your cunt clench so deliciously in anticipation. Suguru’s flushed tip pokes your lips - glossy with sake and saliva - precum salty on your tongue. God, he was huge. Parting your mouth wider, lips stretching around his length you desperately try to fuck him into your mouth - eager to please.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Because Suguru has a searing grip on your hair, holding your head steady as he pushed his cock all the way down your throat. Delicate veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth as he starts up a steady, merciless pace fucking your mouth as if you were nothing but a fucktoy.

“C’mon now, you said s’all you want. Better act like it, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly, pushing you impossibly further down so that your nose presses into the tufts of thick, black hair at his pelvis. Like delicate strokes of a fine art. Breathing in the heady, masculine scent so sinfully.

This man is a masterpiece, you think deliriously - completely cock-drunk as you gag around his length, eyes burning at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. Over and over. A ceaseless cadence you were losing your mind to.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, jus’ like that.” he hisses, as you tongue at his slit. Fingers deftly pressing around your neck to feel his dick ramming down your throat.

The once-serene room rings with your pathetic, wet gurgles around Suguru’s cock and the smacking of skin on skin as his heavy balls hit your chin. “Take it, take it all.”

You moan, body arching as you claw at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Nails digging neat lines down his milky skin. Balls tightening, he thrusts animalistically into your mouth, each one deeper and harder than the last, cock sliding in and out of you brutally.

Messy.

Saliva and precum drip down his length, dirtying his yukata. Tears streak down your cheeks onto Suguru’s wrist, fingers tightening ferally around your throat. Blood roaring in your ears, choking at both the throbbing cock and the hand blocking your airway.

It was so fucking messy.

So it only made sense that Suguru’s orgasm was the same.

With a guttural cry of your name, Suguru came in hot spurts of cum, shooting rope after rope down your ready throat as his cock pulsed and stuttered in your mouth. You felt so dirty, his seed pooling on your tongue.

But he wasn’t done - no, far from it - pulling out from your abused mouth with a lewd pop! Twitching cock heavy on your face as he paints your face white. Hips bucking deliriously, a smug smirk playing on his lips at his masterpiece.

Face and mouth covered in his cum, fucked out enough that you basically had heart eyes looking at Suguru, you ready yourself to swallow it all. Needing to taste Suguru immediately.

Ah, but one can’t get everything they want.

Because Suguru drops to his knees, hand still tight around your throat as he captures your lips with his. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, forcing his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself. Tasting you. It was absolutely animalistic.

A barely-lucid, disappointed whine leaves your swollen lips as he pulls away. Only to spit once. Twice. Three times on your face.

You flinch as wads of saliva and his cum hit your face, warm and dripping down your cheeks. Staining the pristine tatami mats below as they fall with a resounding tap! tap! tap!

And you gladly offer yourself up for the abuse. A fucked out smile spreading across your face as you take in the feeling of being so debauched by Suguru. Somewhat-delirious, you barely register the dark mutter against your ear, “Hope you’re not tapping out yet, pretty girl. I haven’t even gotten out my paintbrushes yet.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - The yakuza boss

“Strip.”

Standing in the dimly lit room, red-hot irritation flashes behind your eyes as you bristle at the words falling out of his mouth - devastatingly handsome had it not been for that smug, leering smirk.

Eyes half-lidded, long legs spread on that gaudy armchair, smoke falling from Sukuna’s lips as he stares at you intently. Eyes piercing through yours over his cigar. Demanding compliance.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rip your gaze from his, flitting panickedly between the imposing yakuza boss in front of you - all alluring tattoos, and heavy, gold rings - and the glinting pistol that lay silently on one, muscular thigh.

You can feel the heat of his gaze burning into your skin as your hands tremble, fumbling with those tedious buttons. Breathing heavy, nipples hardening - your top hits the floor. God, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into.

Cursing your father’s debt, you move on to your pants. Desperately trying to avoid catching a glimpse of those blown-out pupils, something prickly and hot pooling in your stomach. Shit. You won’t start liking this - you refuse to start liking this.

One by one, it falls away. Leaving you bare and completely exposed under Sukuna’s intense scrutiny. A low growl escapes his lips at the way your thighs clench together so sinfully, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

“Come here, doll.” Low, raspy words that go straight to your cunt. But you steel yourself, heels clacking against the polished floor as you step closer. And closer. Watching the way he drinks in your naked form.

But apparently too slow.

Before you can even react, a muscled arm reaches out, pulling you to fall into his waiting lap, straddling those toned hips. A jolt of electricity going through your body as you register the cold metal of the gun digging into your leg.

Sukuna leans forward, the scent of tobacco and sin overwhelming your senses. “Dance f’me.”

Shit. How dare he talk to you this way - and how dare you let your pussy clench in anticipation at his demeaning tone.

Biting back a groan at the way your hardened nipples brush against his button-up, you tentatively roll your hips forward. A thrill going straight to your pussy as something long and thick presses against you. Involuntarily, you press closer, grinding against him. Hard.

Large, calloused hands find your ass. Squeezing roughly to pull you closer, rocking your hips back and forth on his throbbing erection. Back and forth back and forth back and-

Cool metal pressed against your skin - the barrel of his glinting gun pressed lightly against your forehead. Goosebumps erupt down your spine, painfully prickling at your skin as you realize just what the fuck he was doing. “As much as I love you humping me like a bitch in heat, doll. I asked you to dance f’me.” he murmurs, tone was positively dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Well, you think, gritting your teeth in determination. Might as well give the bastard what he asks for.

Staring defiantly right into those darkened, intense eyes, you begin moving your body agonizingly slow. Hands tantalizingly tracing the outline of your body. Teasingly caressing the skin, sliding your fingers along your collarbone, down your rib cage, grazing your navel before slithering lower. Lower.

Your soaked cunt forming a wet patch right on his straining erection.

Sukuna’s eyes follow your every move - every circle of your hips down on his throbbing bulge. The corner of his mouth curving into a satisfied smile as he takes in the sight of you so sinful and shamefully exposed for him.

The desire simmering beneath his composed exterior is basically palpable.

And then, it snaps.

Suddenly, his arm snaps up, grabbing bruisingly at your waist. With a slow, deliberate motion, he takes a long drag of his cigar - blowing the smoke right in your face, the warm breath mingling with the heady air.

Your surprised gasp is swallowed by his heated kiss, tongues wrestling as a hand digs into the tender skin of your neck. As if he owns you.

Hips bucking wildly, and more frantically on Sukuna’s clothed cock - the expensive fabric of his pants now wet with your slick and his precum. You lose yourself in the moment.

But what you do register is the sharp unzipping of his pants.

Snapping your eyes open, they meet with the large, leaking cock now pulsing in his hands, prominent veins glistening with precum that dribbles down his flushed head. Pulling away, you rip your gaze from his throbbing erection to look in his eyes - with what, fear? Anticipation? Both?

Sukuna lounges back on his armchair leisurely, relishing the way you watch - somewhat-awestruck - as his large hand begins moving in small, unhurried motions up and down his rock-hard length.

A harsh push of the barrel against your forehead snaps you out of your debauched reverie. “Didn’t tell ya to stop, did I, doll?” he hisses out, venomous and needy.

The tension in the room is almost tangible, the air thick with lust and fear. As you watch the rhythmic jerks of Sukuna’s hand on his erect cock - up and down up and down up and- your body betrays you.

Mind hazy with arousal, you place your hands on his shoulders, cunt clenching at the strong, defined muscle beneath your fingertips. You lean forward, lips meeting his in a desperate, desperate kiss.

Pulling away, you reach for his heavy cock, wrapping your fingers around it, feeling it’s thickness and the heat. Sukuna lets out a low growl, eyes closing momentarily as you begin to stroke him in urgent, desperate tugs that have his hips bucking involuntarily.

As you let him fuck your fist like his own personal fleshlight, you grind down against his thigh. Hard. His tight, twitching ball stimulating your clit just right as you get yourself off on Sukuna like a bitch in heat.

Maybe it was the pure feral need in your hazy eyes - or maybe it was the way you lean your head into the gun pressing against your forehead - but Sukuna’s eyes widen, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. Only growing more amused by the second as you lean impossibly closer to take the cigar from his hand, placing it between your lips.

Drawing deeply, inhaling the sweet, rich flavor of the tobacco. As you exhale, you deliberately blow the smoke into his face, the tendrils of vapor swirling around his beautiful features, mixing with the sweat and the scent of his cologne.

A deep bark of laughter makes Sukuna throw his head back - and you to clench around nothing on his lap. Hips becoming more and more animalistic against his. Your wrist now aching and wet with precum, becoming so, so sloppy trying to get both yourselves off.

Sukuna wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, his hand cupping your breast possessively. The other surges back with the gun on your forehead - where it had been faltering from pleasure before. “Make us come within the next five seconds before I blow your head off, doll.”

One.

Your fingers tighten around his cock, milking him. Movements from both ends become more and more filthy with the need to release.

Two.

You cup his heavy balls in your hands, clit catching on his zipper and making you mewl at the stimulation.

Three.

A thumb pressing down between his balls, hard. Hips stuttering with your impending release, losing your mind with each stroke.

Four.

Sukuna body goes rigid, choking on what sounds like your name, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he throws his head back and-

Five.

Cums all over your fist, thick, hot spurts of seed that paint your hands white. Splattering on your palm, and onto the chair below. You not too far behind as your body bows into his, stars behind your eyes as you chase peak after peak grinding down on his lap. You shudder, release taking everything out of you until it’s nothing more than mere tingles.

A finger on the trigger. Pulling.

Click!

As Sukuna’s maniacal laughter rings in the heady room, you blink away the haze of your orgasm as you realizing with a jolt that there were no fucking bullets.

Yet this bastard shot you anyway.

Skin heated against yours, lips ghosting your ear as Sukuna whispers. Low and gravelly.

“I don’t need a gun to kill, doll.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The professor

“You see, I really, really need this A to pass, sir.” you bat your lashes innocently, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet.

Short skirt hiking up as you lean over the desk in Professor Gojo’s stuffy office. Making sure that tight top you purposefully wore lets those striking blue eyes see a perfect view of your breasts - no bra today, of course.

Eyes flickering down. Once. Twice.

Success.

Yet, Professor Gojo’s easy grin stays steadfast, “Well, maybe you should have studied harder then, hm?” You’d almost be fooled by his little act, yet your eyes catch the way he subtly crosses his legs, something stirring in those alluring cerulean eyes as he looks up at you through his lashes.

Deciding to play along, huffing as you cross your arms across your chest, “I did, maybe you should just let me take on an assignment for extra credit.”

His eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows raising in question, “What kind of assignment?”

You bite your lips coyly, holding back a smirk at the way he makes it so easy for you. Reaching out immediately to trace a thumb across his full lips, leaning down far enough that your tits were basically spilling out of your top now.

“The one where you fuck me, right here. Right now, on this desk.”

You could feel his pulse quickening against your hand, voice strained with need. “I should fail you right now for this.”

Brushing your lips against his earlobe, you whisper, “But you won’t, sir.”

Before you can react, in one, fluid motion strong arms lift you off the desk to splay you out so sinfully on it. You almost get whiplash from his pure strength, brought back only by the feeling of his muscular thighs warm against your ass.

“If you want that A, then prove how badly you need it.”

Your heart races as you nod, cheeks flaring with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. With a feral grin, you spread your legs apart, toying with that soaked g-string - exposing your bare pussy. Beads of slick pooling underneath you on the desk as the way Gojo’s eyes harden as you clench around nothing.

You trail your hands enticingly down, down down. A delicate finger swiping at your folds, collecting your juices - popping right into your mouth. A smug huff of laughter leaves you at the way Gojo’s mouth drops into a surprised oh!

“You’re such a lil’ fucking minx, princess.”

You needed him now.

Rubbing your thumb over your swollen clit, index finger bullying its way into your snug cunt the way you wanted Gojo to. You gasp, arching your back as waves of pleasure, “Oh, sir! Mmm- feel s’good inside me. Want more- hah-”

Pornographic whines of pleasure send blood rushing straight to Gojo’s cock. He was losing his mind at your little show. He was going insane.

“Your turn now.” you mewl,

Your hungry gaze was locked with Gojo’s as he stands, removing his belt and unbuckling his pants. Your eyes follow the movement greedily, mouth watering at the impressive size of his erection. Leaking tip furiously flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink. Delicate beads of precum smearing on the frantic, jerky movements of his fist up and down and up and down and-

It’s a silent staredown. Your fingers matching the delicious rhythm of his fist, urgently fucking yourselves to each other. Trying to see who would break first. Up and down up and down - in and out in and out. Faster.

“Didn’t think you were all talk, sir.”

That’s what makes the great Gojo Satoru break. Surging forward in hasty steps, your hands pinned to the cold surface of the desk, pussy now quivering in loneliness.

Smack!

“Count to five, then I’ll give what you want. If you can’t even do that then I don’t think you deserve an A, princess.”

“O-one.” You whine at the harsh hand that smacks your ass, large handprint stinging into your searing skin.

“This the hand?” Gojo whispers, voice ragged. Inspecting your hands before his tongue sticks out to lick a long, languid stripe up your fingers, pooling your juices on his tongue. Pretty blue eyes rolling to the back of his head as he licks your fingers clean so filthily.

Electricity courses through your veins as his long fingers deftly rip off your flimsy g-string, pocketing it safely in his work pants. You have half the mind to snark about it before you register Gojo’s throbbing cock flush against your pussy, leaking tip teasing in between your dripping folds leisurely.

Your slick mixing with his precum, trailing down down down his glistening length, pooling on where he tightly gripped his base - splattering onto the hardwood office floor with a deafening tap! tap! tap! that matched the heartbeat in your ears.

“Beg for it, princess.”

“Hmmm, no.”

Smack! Smack!

“Ah! Three! Hah- please, sir.”

You didn’t even know exactly what you were begging for - but you got exactly what you wanted. Breath catching in your throat at the way Gojo pushed into you with a raspy grunt, cock hot and heavy against your fluttering walls.

His sheer size makes you feel like you’ll split apart any second now, but oh how you desperately wanted to be broken by him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gojo began to thrust. Shallow, mindless strokes, each one just to drive his enormous cock deeper to fit into your snug, ravaged cunt.

“Fuck me, please, sir. Need you feel me up insi-”

Smack!

“...four.” you whisper, voice strained with need and frustration.

Ass sore, marks probably there for days. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as Gojo loses grip on his restraint - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. Sheathing himself inside your dripping heaven till his heavy balls smacked your clit, your ass flush against the neat tufts of white at his pelvis.

Wasting no time, Gojo starts up at an uncontrollable, merciless pace, every inch of him being forced all the way into your snug pussy. Your walls suck him up greedily as his prominent veins throb and graze just right on all your sweet spots.

“This what you wanted, princess?” he rasps out, pace unwavering. “This is what you wanted, right? To be fucked like the pretty little slut that you are, huh?”

“Yes! Yes, please, sir.”

Each ramming of his cock drives you further and further up the cold desk, a pathetic little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth at each slam. Knees weakened by his relentless pounding, you didn’t know how you were gonna hold yourself up anymore-

Ah, but you didn’t have to. Gojo Satoru, ever the gentleman, wrapped a single, muscular arm under your hips, kneading the skin underneath his fingertips, fucking you deeper onto his cock as if you were his personal fucktoy.

“Oh fuck! Hngh- sir, right there.” you yelp at the new angle, his furiously flushed tip kissing your cervix so painfully good, g-spot abused as he grazes it over and over.

Smack!

“Ah, sir! Five-”

And then you’re cumming. Hips pushing back animalistically, fucking yourself through your high. Chasing peak after peak.

Boneless and exhausting, dripping cunt clamping down on him you mewl, “Fill me up inside, sir! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs.” At the sound of your voice, Gojo’s eyes rolled back, his features contorted in pure ecstasy as his cock twitches savagely inside you, finally letting himself release. Cum gushing out in thick, pulsating spurts.

Filling your abused pussy to the brim, coating your walls an obscene white. Gojo keeps fucking himself through it, milking even the last drops of his length on your cunt. Breaths ragged, hips animalistic, low murmurs of your name leaving his lips.

And as his climax bates into nothing more but mere tingles, lust-hazed, tired ears catch the distant knocking from outside. Ah, right that appointment.

Blinking back the vision to his eyes, he looks down at you. All fucked-out, swollen lips pouty, and his cum dribbling enticingly down your thighs. Oh how he just wants to bite into you - or have half the mind to just send you out there like this to show all those college losers who you belong to.

Or, he thinks, eyes twinkling as he looks down at the generously large space under his desk.

You catch his gaze, a dangerous glint in them as he maps every curve and dip of your body. Marked and so very obviously his. Your pretty lips falling into a soft oh! as you realize just what idea was forming behind those darkened blue eyes.

“Come in.”

Before you know it, you’re shoved hastily under the desk, Gojo’s still-furiously flushed tip kissing your bruised lips as the door swings open. God, if every assignment was like this then you’d probably end up valedictorian…

A/N. Can’t believe this got me b@nned for like a hour bro pls.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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personapeters · 5 months ago

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✰ 𝐛𝐟!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞!𝐠𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— rich boyfriend rafe and his whole heartedly pogue girlfriend

rating: sfw — cw: none

— boyfriend!rafe who… actually gets annoyed when you spend your money instead of his: “look, baby, i know you can but why when i’m literally throwing my card at you?” he questioned. “i’m not taking it, rafe,” you rebutted. “yeah? okay, don’t,” he mumbled, casually dropping a banded stack of cash onto your lap.

— boyfriend!rafe who… absolutely judged a book by it’s cover when you first met, knowing you were from a side of town he didn’t favor, but your beauty was something he couldn’t ignore. though, his outlook barely shifted; technically, not all pogues were trash, but he considered you to be the one and only exception.

— boyfriend!rafe who… is used to getting what he wants, so he was highly taken aback when you declined his first offer to go out. it was new and completely foreign, but it only made him want you even more — he’s always had a desire to obtain the ‘unobtainable’

— boyfriend!rafe who… caught so much shit from topper and kelce when they found out about his relationship with a pogue; so much so that rafe almost fought them over it, telling them to ‘get the fuck over it’ and to never speak on you again.

— boyfriend!rafe who… on occasion would reluctantly let your pogue friends go out on his yacht with the two of you for the day, which ultimately would end with him dropping them off an hour (or four) early. he wants them miles away from his pristine boat but loves how happy you look when you were all together.

— boyfriend!rafe who… hears you mention liking something once and makes sure it’s in your hands before the following day ends. they were always simple things like a cute t-shirt or sunglasses, which, to him, were so cheap and mundane that he found it rather adorable when you’d cherish them like literal gold.

— boyfriend!rafe who… isn’t too fond of where you live — your house being small, somewhat falling apart, and overall something far below rafe’s standards. he wishes you’d take him up on his offer to simply get you an apartment on his side of town: “okay, but it’d be so much better for you… and you’d be closer to me,” he mumbled, a small smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips.

— boyfriend!rafe who… takes you riding on his dirt bike to go sightseeing across figure eight, often taking the long way home just to feel your arms wrapped around his waist for just a little longer. you once asked if you could drive it, which would have been your first time, to which he immediately said, “fuck no, what — you tryin’ to break your neck? no.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… tried his first ever boxed mac and cheese with you, as random as it was, after you insisted it’s the greatest inexpensive food on earth; him beforehand saying, “what? y/n, that’s fucking powder…” but after he tried a bite of yours, he reluctantly said, “it’s not that bad… i might see the appeal.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… gives you ‘ultimatums’ when buying you clothes (although, you always insist you don’t need them), saying he’ll get you whatever you want as long as you try on some of his picks first. he would have gotten whatever you wanted regardless, he just liked seeing you model for him, which, secretly, you knew.

— boyfriend!rafe who… buys you extremely expensive jewelry and lies about the price, saying it’s a hundred times cheaper than it is to avoid you trying to give it back. he enjoys watching the dainty bracelet on your wrist or gold studs in your ears glint in the sunlight, knowing that you’re clueless on that fact that they’re the nicest money could buy — he needs only the best for his girl.

— boyfriend!rafe who… truly hated physical touch until you showed him it could be gentle — that it could be sweet, and warm, and kind, and didn’t have to leave him bloody or sore. he loves when you run your nails gingerly across his scalp or hold his hand in your lap, twisting absentmindedly at the rings adorning his long fingers; a type of touch (and love) he’d never felt before

— boyfriend!rafe who… craves your validation, no matter how big or small. he just needs to hear that he did something right, something good, something you’re proud of. he wants to hear you tell him he did a great job at making you dinner or picking out a dress for your spontaneous outings — your approval means so much more to him than you’d ever know.

— boyfriend!rafe who… uses his high status to (begrudgingly) help your pogue friends get out of whatever trouble they land themselves into, knowing it means alot to you and takes a weight off your shoulders: “m’doing this for you, alright? not them, you.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… is pretty heavy on pda. he doesn’t care whose watching when he lazily drapes a possessive arm around your shoulders, or when he kisses you messily with full force; whether it be a kook or pogue witnessing his shameless affections, he didn’t care — who’d dare to say something about it?

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

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Call It What You Want

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

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

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

word count: 11,706 words

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

part: prev | masterlist | next

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

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

You take your seat and so does Jimmy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. My. God"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never a fan of secrets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was hard.

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

But God has heard your prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm all ears"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could you ever say no to this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both stop.

The sound gets clearer.

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

A knock in Pedro's trailer.

And you are inside. Both.

While you're grinding him.

With his skirt on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck this shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spit on your hand, and he gulps.

"Somethin' like that"

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

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

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

"I'll be there, Paul, just―Fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He points down.

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

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

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

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

But then Paul got sick.

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

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

"Tell me"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pedro, no seas necio!"

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

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

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

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

"And I'm Pedro Pascal"

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he was gonna play, so were you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's so crazy"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oomfs"

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

This is easy. It was all over your timeline.

"Protective mom" you answer on a beat.

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

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

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

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

"It's people's princess"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Greta Gerwig, actually"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W-wait a minute"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, that's dissapointing. Please continue"

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

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

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

You can't help but laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah" he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Connor?" she asks, confused.

"Incorrect. Three points" while pointing you three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No peeking" Connie berates as Pedro laughs.

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

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

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

"Yes, Joseph"

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

"No, but it's in that-"

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

"...family of thought" he finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It really is not" Connie agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"February" all of you say.

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

"Second" Mescal reveals. "Point to Joseph"

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

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

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

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

"What is my full name?"

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

"Pedro Pascal, something, something" says Joseph.

"Nope"

"No?"

"Pedro Maria, Jose Maria Pascal" Paul struggles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul gets angry. That sore looser.

"That's absolute bullshit"

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

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

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

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

Quinn raises his hand. "It's me"

"That you're my favorite actor?"

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

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

"Do you remember?" Joseph insists.

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

"Oh" he sounds rather dissapointed.

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

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

"Marlon Brando?" Connie guesses.

"Is it Harrison Ford?" Fred guesses.

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

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

"As a kid?"

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

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

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

"Oh, he is" you add. "Videos of you dancing are lovely. Ever thought of getting back in the bussiness?"

He laughs, what appears to be a light blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Sure, darling. When you ask me to dance, I'll be there"

Nobody comments on this, too busy waiting for Pedro to say yes or no to the answer they believe to be right. But he isn't saying it is. Now you remember why.

"Come on, come on, come on" Paul begs.

"Can any of you guys remember?" Pedro pleads.

They insist that he danced in Spain, then New York, then settle with Spain again, even Pedro confirming so. But it still isn't the answer written on the card, no matter how much the boys insist.

"Connie?" he tries. She just looks confused.

"The answer in the card is-"

"Waiter" you answer. "You were a waiter"

Now you have three points under your belt.

"Why do you always say the answer at last?!" Paul grumbles. "You are cheating!"

"I'm not" you laugh the accusation off. "You just can't accept I'm better"

"Si que lo eres" Pedro agrees. "Es divertido hacer que se enoje Paul"

"What did you say about me? It's not fair, you're probably sharing the answers!" he's still adamant on insisting with the supposed cheating issue, making you laugh.

Now it's Connie's turn, who starts with: "How many languages do I speak?"

You put a puzzled look.

"You speak seven, eight maybe" Joseph guesses. Pauls says she speaks french, "but most likely seven"

Pedro points his finger at him. "Once he gets going, he's on a roll"

"Joe's got it" Connie agrees.

"Paul, end this reign" Pedro jokes. He looks rather frustrated.

"And the bonus points" Connie offers. "Okay, bonus, what are they?"

"This is an emperor's reign" your husband adds.

Joseph answers: Italian. Danish. English. Swedish. French. Spanish. Norwegian.

Connie agrees she speaks Spanish, making you jump in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't know that!" you beam. "Wait, does that mean you did get what Pedro and I gossiped about you?"

"What?" Joseph asks.

"Nada" you quickly correct yourself. "Yo no dije nada"

"Not that much. I just speak a bit of Spanish. I mostly dominate my own language, German and English"

"You blew our cover!" Pedro nags, hitting your bare leg, yet its devoid of anger.

"He needs a bonus" comments Connie, surprised at Joseph.

"This is horrifying" Pedro says when Joseph gets another point and a fricking bonus on top of that. "This is a slaughter"

"Oh, for which film did I have a gym built in my garage?"

Both Joseph and Paul answer the question correctly, saying Wonder Woman. The latter is quick to state they both get that point.

"That's one for me" Paul says, then looks at you. "And none for you"

You stick out your tongue at him as Connie reads the next card.

"If I were to take this cast on a vacation where would I take you?"

"Ibiza" answers Joseph. Connie agrees in Spanish, with a cute and excited correcto.

Your husband feels the need to crack a joke at Quinn's expense.

"Somebody was paying attention to Connie Nielsen very closely during the shooting of this movie"

"Okay. What is my favorite curse word in Danish?"

"Fuck" Pedro tries.

"No"

"Nobody is going to get that, Connie" Paul bickers.

"Oh, I don't know any Danish" you lament.

"At least now you know how it feels" Mescal drops, making you snort. You playfully kick him on the ribs with your shoe.

"It's very simple" Connie gives as a clue. "It's the same word in every language"

"Shit" Paul tries.

"Satan" she reveals.

Everybody is laughing in confusion at that, saying there's no way you could use that.

"Vos Satan!" Connie curses.

Now it's Fred's turn.

"What is my weirdest on-set habit?"

"I haven't noticed you do anything weird on set" Paul tells.

"I have" Pedro interrupts.

They all get on a small briefing about what could it possibly be, that it was weird, and wasn't part of his character, as you ponder. It was funny before, but now Paul is behind you by a point. So think fast.

"Yeah. I would say being yourself" Pedro jokes, but surprisingly, it works.

"Me! Five points for Pedro" he celebrates as you all laugh. "Love Fred. Oh, Fred"

"Oh, oh, okay" he moves to the next question. "What is my favorite reality TV show?"

Joseph tries with Survivor and Paul with Alone. Truth is, you don't watch any show of said kind, only vagely hearing about Love Island.

"You and I have talked about reality TV" Pedro reveals, "It's just that we never identified one"

They keep guessing shows that sound like a foreign language to you.

"You know what's offensive? That I'm the second youngest of this cast and I have no idea what are you all talking about"

"She's not to be trusted" Pascal quips, "can't trust someone who doesn't appreciate the art of reality TV"

You huff, annoyed.

"Is it A&E stuff?" Pedro asks.

"Yeah, it's the competitive cheapskates" Fred answers. "It's people that really save money on everything"

Pedro gets the point because he mentioned the A&E bit.

"There's like this amazing guy that made a stew out of fish bones, and I just thought it was incredible" he shares. Then, moves to the next question. "What is my go-to crafty snack?"

Nobody remembers eating snacks on set, and Fred gives the clue that it's a drink. Joseph says it's a smoothie, and he does remember it but it isn't the answser.

"I'm thinking of something specific. That Emerge-C that you put in the water"

"Oh, that's very good" you agree, so does the rest, even discussing the best colors

"Who in the cast would I ask to bail me out of jail?"

Everyone even Pedro agree its him. Everyone gets a point, yet Joseph remains ahead.

It's Joseph's turn. "What is my favorite sport?"

"Skateboarding" Paul is so quick to answer, earning him two points for both being correct and time.

"What celebrity do I get mistaken for?"

"Daisy Edgar-Jones sometimes" says Mescal. Of course he had to bring her up.

"No, she gets mistaken for me" Joseph jokes. "Yeah, poor Daisy. But I'm writing it down"

"That was the two letters?" Pedro notices. Still, no one gets it.

It's fucking Justin Timberlake. You'd never guess that.

"What is my favorite film franchise?"

You've probaly named all the existing franchises to no avail. You think fo your dad, a huge geek, trying to remember if there is one missing.

"Oh- Lord of the Rings!" you both answer with Paul at the same time.

"C'mon!" his celebration is short lived when he realizes you tied to him.

"What is my favorite British slang word?"

Pedro says it can't be said, but Quinn insists they can, even adding it's his favorite one too.

"We can say bad words? We can say-?" but the camera beeps over it.

The answer is Bellend. What even is that? Joseph feigns sadness and Pedro keeps apologizing, even as you sit on the chair.

"Okay. I'm last"you wiggle your eyebrows with interest. "Let's see. Okay, first question: what did I take from the Gladiator II set?"

"You took something?" Joseph asks on disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I take something?"

"Is it like an item or memorabilia?" asks Connie.

"It's an item" you uncap the marker, scribbling down the answer.

"It's a short word" Fred points out, but still can't provide a guess.

"You took the rings home" Pedro answers. You snap your had on his way, probably obvious. "What? You told me" he says.

Of course Paul complains. "Hey, that isn't fair! He knew the answer before!"

"Well, if you payed more attention to me, you'd know it"

Lies. Pedro knows because it's sitting in the jewelry box inside your house.

"See? I do pay attention" Pedro playfully hits Mescal.

"I could pay you more attention" he looks at you.

"Alright, then do. Ready? Next question: what is my go-to movie? Oh, this is a good one. I'm always changing it, but most of the time I end up choosing the same one"

They all give you a puzzled look as you scribble.

"C'mon, guys! I've said it on interviews before too. Paul?" the man shrugs. "Thought you said you'd pay me more attention. Heads up, you're doing a terrible job so far!"

"Hey!" he protests. "It's not fair if the answer's changing. Give us a clue"

"You didn't give any clues to yours!" you giggle. "Besides, I don't want you to win"

"Hey, that's against the rules!"

"I'd say it depends on the season" Pedro speaks up. You quirk an eyebrow. "Like, if it's changing, I don't think your Christmas go-to movie is the same as your summer one"

"Actually" you smile fondly, "that is true. On summer, it's Mamma Mia. So I suppose, if you can't guess the one, that'll do"

"No" he smiles, cheeky. "I know it too"

"Yeah?" you challenge, "what is it, then?"

"It's Thelma and Louise" he answers, and your heart beats fast.

"How do you know?" Paul inquires. "Somebody was paying attention to Y/n L/n very closely during the shooting of this movie"

Ah, his joke from earlier. Joseph giggles behind him. Karma, he supposes.

"She said it on an interview, guys. C'mon, learn your sources!"

"Okay" you clear your throat. "What movie got me into acting?"

"Thelma and Louise" Joseph tries.

"No" you laugh, "you're just recycling the answer"

"Is it an old or modern movie?" Connie asks.

"Hmh, old" you pause, "just not... I don't know if you'll ever guess it"

"Is it a Pedro Almodóvar film?" you shake your head. "What? You're always mentioning him!"

Pedro looks into your eyes amid the others' discussion, and you can tell he remembers the conversation.

"There isn't one"

You smile, chest pounding at his soft tone.

"That's correct"

"A trick question?!" Paul yells. "I quit"

"When there's just one left?" you tease.

"Yes, because you've been hiding it all the time but no more" he counters, pointing both you and Pedro. You feel the space getting smaller, breaths going from even to noticeable. "You are sharing answers"

You try to make your breath of relief pass as a chuckle.

"I'm not even gonna win, relax. And drop the charges, please. Loose like a man"

"You didn't explain it though" Connie speaks. "What did Pedro mean?"

"While I have many movies that are inspiration to me, they aren't the reason I chose this path. I did it because I saw an Oscar's ceremony when I was 11" you explain fondly, feeling warm at the memories. "I still remember when they handed the award to Diablo Cody for best original screenplay. I don't know, man, it moved me. What it meant for young artists who came from nothing. I guess I wanted, one day, to be the one standing there, for other dreamers to see it's possible"

"Wow, that's beautiful" Connie says.

"Thank you" you get flustered. "Suppose it was worth it, you know, to do interviews about not really knowing my cast mates" and laugh.

"How does Pedro know, though?" Joseph asks.

"We talk a lot" you clear your throat. "Last one: what indie horror movie did I make a small appearence in? I'm feeling generous because it's the last so I'll give you a clue. It's a Stephen King adaptation"

Paul is the first to speak. "You where in a-"

"Yeah but it wasn't such a huge role. Don't make yourself any ideas"

"I have no idea" Connie surrenders. "Other clue, as in how many words?"

"It doesn't even have any words" you laugh. "You give up? It's 1922. Was an extra as well. Made me think Netflix had my name highlighted in the extra call sheet, because I did so many minor and background roles during that year. Grateful, though, because now I get to be Rome's empress and not fortune teller or highschool #6"

The interview ends, and the camera may or may have not captured the last seconds, Pedro's gaze fixated with you the entire time.

elysyannemimi: we all saw that right? GET PEDRO AND Y/N IN A ROMCOM ❗THEIR CHEMISTRY IS INSANE❗ at0michips: love paul and y/n so much 😭😭 gimme enemies to lovers RN ㅤㅤbobgirllll: at0michips wait what if paul and y/n are secretly dating 😳 ㅤㅤann-gell: bobgirllll quick question are u dumb unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they're married. it has to be. trust me ㅤㅤstarlightt180: unhing3dprincess BESTIE U ARE BACK

You arrived in London today. The premiere will be in a few days, and things have been, well, hectic.

Lux couldn't stop talking all the plane ride, but your mind kept going back at the email your manager had sent you before you had boarded the plane.

It's catching upon you, read the haunting message. Attached below, a TMZ article that claimed a regular church attendee had seen you both getting married. It also used a lot of the noise fans had been making on social media, connecting dots or just hyping up the undeniable chemistry. It ended with a little paragraph saying it was obvios, and they're just hoping you'd confirmed it.

You came to realize you didn't care about it anymore. Sure, the pushing around annoyed you, but the thought of still keeping your marriage under wraps feels pointless now. Why wouldn't you shout to the world how in love with your husband you are?

Yet, when you arrive at the hotel, you keep the same protocol of arriving after Pedro, who has already checked in with two keys, claiming its for him and his sister, while you ask for the key to Lux's actual room. After you swipe cards with her, you head over the room you'd be sharing with your husband.

His face appears in your frame, everything happening quickly.

"Get inside. Now"

Your body is dragged inside the hotel room, not even giving you time to swipe the key for yourself.

"Pedro!" you exclaim, between surprised and confused. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Did you read it?"

"What? The article?" your tone is filled with annoyance. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he snaps, voice raising higher. "Don't play dumb with me. You know fans have fuelled the rumors, and tabloids have started digging every corner in fucking California"

"So, what? You're acting as if people finding out is the worst thing in the world" you roll your eyes.

"It is, yes!" Pedro bursts out, caving in to the stress.

It feels like you've been hit across your face.

"Excuse me?" you seethe, hurt etched all across your features. "Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit you're married to the person you supposedly love the most?"

"I love you, y/n. It's just-"

His voice softens, trying to reach for you, yet you pull back, his hand falling to his side in an akward manner. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" he repeats, sounding much more sure this time.

Your frame seems smaller as your voice comes out hoarse, filled with emotion, appearing to be in the brink of tears:

"Then why do you act like you're embarrassed of me?"

He hates himself for making you feel this way, making you think things that aren't true.

"I don't. Never" he emphasizes. Then, tries to reach once again when you move a little bit closer to him, recognizing that's your way of letting him know you're ready. "You're the most precious thing in the world to me, don't ever think the opposite" then he sighs, heavy. "I'm just scared"

You silently ask him to explain, rubbing his thumb soothingly across his tattoo.

"You're so young, and I'm, well- I know we're aware of it, but people are cruel and the press is ruthless. I don't want to see your name dragged across the mud because you decided to marry me. Your career is starting, and I'd never forgive myself is something happened to you because of me. Not trying to make this about me, yeah? But this industry is fucked up. You've work hard to get to where you are, and it'll be unfair if you'd loose it. I'm scared because us..." he wavers, words trailing off. "I want us to be. I wouldn't want to live in a world without you, i-it would kill me not to have you be my wife"

You desperately want to kiss off the worry on his face, but let him finish.

"N-not saying our love is weak, or anything! That a couple of opinions or tabloids will- you know? Just, I-I don't want them to break us apart. Mi vida, you're the light of my life. Please, forgive me, I-"

He feels his throat closing up, words failing to come out. You sense the grip on your hand to be stronger, immediately letting loose of it.

"Hey. C'mere" your voice is tender, allowing him to bury his face in your stomach as you comb his messy curls with your fingers. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere"

He lets himself melt under your touch, his mind loosing itself in the soft of your digits and your perfume up his nostrils. He's again breathing normaly, hands now hugging your waist.

"There you go. Better?" Pedro nods, still not being able to talk. "That's okay, take all the time you need. We have all day"

"Do we?" he raises his view, his eyes soft yet there is something else to the brown shade.

You hum as to nod. "We agreed to join Lux for dinner. It's barely 1pm"

"Tell me you're thinking it too" his voice cuts throughout the air, boucing off the tapestry on the walls.

You laugh, nervously. "I don't think I do"

"Hmmh, I see" he stands up, towering over you. "You sure you don't?"

"You sure you want this?"

Before you know it, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, cutting off all words to be said. What a waste of air, anyway. You are quick to reciprocate, whimpering against his lips.

Pedro picks you up like you're as light as a feather, his arms flexing as he carries you and places you on the bed, frame hovering over yours. He breaks the kiss to breath, but you're pulling him back in, his hold on your hips tighter and the wet spot in your panties wetter.

"Look at you, pretty baby. So needy" he whispers against your face, hot breath lingering above your lips. "And mine. Mía. Only mine"

"I am, yes. Yours only. Need you so bad right now, papi" you answer in a rush. "Now shut up and fuck me"

"Con gusto" he chuckles darkly, "gotta keep the wife happy"

"Happy wife, happy life" you recite, stripping him off of his plain shirt, revealing his toned torso, bulging biceps defined by the movements. You gulp. "Fuck, papi. Gotta thank Marvel for this. I love all of your versions, but I can work with this too" you dreamily stare at him, your hands cupping his face.

He strips the rest of his clothing, but a cute blush adorns his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's Scott's fault too"

Your impatient fingers reach the middle of your panties to rub your clothed pussy, letting out a sound that darkens his hazel orbs.

"Fuck that guy" you mutter. Pedro laughs.

"Thought you said you loved the guy"

"Until I learned what he said about your body" you groan, still rubbing. "Connie told me"

His hands now travel to remove your clothes, almost ripping them off.

"Who cares? I just want to fuck you now" he breathes out, practically drooling at the sight of your damp panties. "Lemme take this off too"

He unhooks your bra, seeing the hard nipples. The urge to lick them is so bad, but his desire to fill you silly to the brim is stronger.

You see his hesitation, which is why you grab him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses back fiercely, labored breaths as he struggles to focus on your lips, his wet mouth darting to your jaw, neck and collarbones. His hands roam all over your body, needy.

"Gotta be inside of you, mami. Can't wait any longer"

"Then stop waiting" you plead, tugging at his boxers with urgency.

Seeing you so cockhungry, lips parted and pupils blown wide makes his hard dick twitch with anticipation.

He mutters a labored fuck, aligning himself to enter your sticky folds. Pedro enters your tight pussy with a low groan, burying himself deep inside of you, used to his length by now. You're basically begging for it, nails digging and eyes supplicating.

He can't deny you anything, can he?

A messy whine leaves your widened mouth as you adjust, pleasure mixed with pain.

"Mhmm" you moan.

"Mhmm what?" he mocks. "You asked for it. Now take it, cariño"

He thrusts deeper into you, watching in awe how his dick enters your pussy; it was always perfectly, your pussy made for him.

"You're drippin' baby" his rough voice caresses your cheek. He kisses the are, giving a lick to the sweat starting to form. "S'fucking tight too"

You move your hips towards him, trying to augment the friction. The overstimulation starts to cloud your sense, reducing you to a whiny mess as you grip his steady arms.

"I can't think of anything but you, baby" he confesses between grunts, "filling up your pussy to the brim, you dripping with my seed for days"

You moan at the filthy words.

"Love how you take my dick, amor" stretching you as Pedro moves in and out. "S'made for me"

"Yes" you moan, skin slapping sounds bouncing off the walls. "Fuck, I love your dick..."

His pace picks up, and it comes to a point where he's just fucking you silly, his grip on your hips surely to leave a bruise as you keep spilling obscene sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Your pussy's mine, yeah? No one else gets to have you like this"

"N-no, just you, Pedro. My h-husband" you manage to squeeze, more moans vocalizing the pleasure you felt with each thrust, his big dick inside of you moving in a a steady rhythm, making your eyes roll back further and orgasm closer.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he finds impossible to resist the urge anymore, licking the sensible skin and hard nipples, your hands moving to his back, scratching him harshly, both chasing your release.

"Please!" you whine out loud, not caring how desperate you sound.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

But your husband knows you, so he indeed starts to fuck you harder, heavy breaths and slippy kiss noises hanging in the spaces between each thrusts. He pants with every motion of his dick, a knot forming on his belly.

"Shit, baby. I think I'm gonna cum. Gonna come so hard"

"Do it. I'm on birth control, remember?" you groan, feeling your high approach as well. "Fill me up, please. Give me all your cum"

Your bodies move as one, precise thrusts hitting exactly that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, chasing your orgasm. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with his and then he's saying:

"I love you, y/n. So much"

Your heart skips a bit, his dick twitching inside as his gaze glimmers with adoration and possesiveness, teeth grazing your skin with marks for him to call you his.

"I love you too, Pedro. More than you know"

A final thrust is delivered. Fuck, feels so good you think you hear him say. Just like promised, he fills you with his release, shots of his thick, warm cum inside your sticky walls. You follow soon, back arching, toes curling, and both head and eyes rolling back. Pedro falls on top of you, his broad body collapsing over yours, as you both pant hard, trying to steady your pulse and breath. He then removes himself and positions you to be the one on top now, lazily throwing the covers over your bare bodies. We need to shower, you said, but he argued you'd do it later before going out.

"I needed that" and you happily hum in agreement at your husband's dragged out words.

Your head falls and rises, with the movement of his chest, silence settling on the previously filled with sex noises room. That until he speaks up:

"One day, I'm gonna fill you up so good until you have my babies, mami" he murmurs, just then realizing what he said. But you snuggle closer, hand and legs drapped over his bare body. You look at him closely, seeing nothing but certainty on his eyes.

I choose you. I'll always choose you.

"Whatever it is with you" your nose brushes his, a small sweet kiss on his lips, "I want"

His eyes shine, probably with tears or the glow of affection.

"Let's do it"

"What?" you look into his eyes for any sign of doubt, bull all you see is love. "Pedro, are you serious?"

He nods. "Wouldn't you want that?"

You feel the corner of your lips pull up.

"Never have I wanted anything more"

poppysplayground: Y/N AND PEDRO RED CARPET DEBUT AT THE LONDON PREMIER OF GLADIATOR II WTF I JUST WOKE UP ptwt is in SHAMBLES mostannoyingbillioner: UM HELLO pedro showing up with two hot women on his arms LUX GIMME A CHANCE pompeiianbollockr: WAIT WDYM THEY ARE MARRIED?!??! ALL THIS TIME?@?#? HOW???! NEED BIGGER CAPS TO SCREAM I'M GOING INSANE at0michips: that article better come out now or i'll burn the TMZ building ann-gell: not me thirsting for a married man 😭😭😭 how they kept this a secret for so long?? we should've noticed ㅤㅤunhing3dprincess: ann-gell i did. knew betting my grandma was the way all along ㅤㅤpyramiidsf: i'm gonna start betting my grandma too

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal #call it what you want series

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