A/N: Just a smutty little drabble, no plot! I normally hold myself to a rule not to write Pbois if I haven't watched them, but as a thank you 🎁 to @kokoluwie for making this amazing gifset, I had to break it 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my request and all your amazing gifs and edits from the Behemoth! trailer - we all benefit from your talent!! xoxox
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), established relationship, fingering, nicknames.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics ty😘😘
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Alex breaks from your heated, messy kiss and whispers your favourite words,
“Let me play you, darling.”
Giggling, you toe off your shoes and extend your hand to place onto top of his large palm, already upturned and reaching for you.
Both grinning dopily at one another, Alex raises your arm and spins you gracefully, much like you’ve seen him do with his cello and its endpin – a playful performance trick that never fails to awe the audience. His smooth, gentle handling of your body always has the same effect on you; by the time Alex finishes your turns, you’re in the living room, naked, all your clothes having mysteriously fallen away.
Cupping your face, Alex resumes kissing you; the press of his lips fervent, the dig of his calloused fingers firm, the pulse of his tongue against yours a testament to his restraint. You smile against his perfect lips, letting him chase yours as you turn away from him, resuming the desired position.
“What would you like to play tonight, my love? Bach? Beethoven?” you close your eyes, voice dreamy.
Alex presses himself close and hooks his chin over your shoulder, eyes darkening at the sight of the curves of your body, open and bare for him and him only; you feel him hardening against your backside. “Maybe just the fundamentals tonight,” he murmurs, hands sliding into place – one palming the swells of your breasts, the other snaking past your belly, “a musician is only as good as his foundation.”
You loll your head back against Alex’s hard chest – he makes you feel so cherished and venerated when he holds you like this, holding you like he does his most beloved instrument. Alex had once explained to you why the relationship between cello and cellist is the most intimate in all the symphony,
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
He loves you with that same gentle, thoughtful heart, and for that you love him with all of yours.
“An étude, then?” you barely have time to chirp your quip before Alex begins to play pizzicato with your body, strumming through the waves and dips of your dripping pussy with his strong, practiced fingers. He plays you from memory, knowing the map and tension of your body by heart – confidently and consistently, he plucks every note,
C string
G string
D string
A string
Sliding the rough pads of his fingertips through your folds, he expertly manipulates your pleasure so that you sing for him – a response to your lover’s call.
You cry out as Alex turns you into an instrument for his genius, showing off and alternating the same techniques that have made him a world class violoncellist: fingers dancing along your slit, he switches between stroke lengths - long and smooth, short and detached - so seamlessly, it makes you dizzy; anchoring his thumb, he rocks over your swollen clit with just the right pressure for your entire body to vibrate in ecstasy; sliding one, then two thick fingers into you, he drags, controlled, along the hug of your warm walls, coaxing from you his favourite song.
Far from being idle, the hand on your chest is equally as skillful, shifting between your breasts - toying, pulling and releasing its fistful of flesh to a hypnotic rhythm; nimble fingers arpeggiate, roll, and snap your sensitive nipples – pulling your perky peaks harshly upwards and releasing them to the twang of your gasps and melodic moans. Reaching your arms back to grab onto Alex’s neck, you fist the soft curls at its nape and arch, exaggerating the bounce of your tits – the sight is so lascivious, Alex has to bite a moan into your shoulder.
“Alex! Oh my god! Yes, please, please…”
“Please what, my darling?” a smirk is kissed into your skin, soothing the sting of his canines. Both of Alex’s hands slow and you whimper a soft, pathetic plea when you feel him withdraw from your cunt. He hums a sweet little harmony in your ear as he tortuously draws the back of his fingers through your slick like he would a bow over the strings of his instrument - purposeful, intentional. Chuckling at the way you jump when he knuckles over your sensitive clit, Alex asks you again, tone soothing and indulgent, “Yes?”
“Please, let me come, my love,” you barely recognize your own voice, it’s so airy and light, like you’re not even here.
Alex answers before you even finish saying the words, his desire to bring you to your climax overriding his patience. Without ceremony, he plunges his fingers back into your sopping hole and begins to thrust - fiery, impassioned, furioso. When you body starts to shudder from its impending crescendo, Alex bands his arm across your chest to hold you upright, rasping hot against your neck, “I’ve got you, darling.”
Continuing to piston in and out of your squelching cunt, his thumb circles your clit to an increasingly upbeat tempo, allegretto progressing to allegro; through your half-lidded eyes, you see Alex in your peripheral, his eyes closed, breathing laboured, soft curls bouncing wildly against his forehead. He’s lost now, lost to your pleasure the way you’ve seen him lost to the music, when he plays so passionately his arm becomes an extension of the bow. It occurs to you that tonight, it’s you who’s become an extension of him, his talent, his love.
The thought snaps the tightly strung wires in your lower belly and you come sharply, singing the high note that Alex wills from you. Slumping against his protective hold, you let Alex pull you down onto the couch and into his arms, cuddling you through your high with soft and tender kisses to your brow. When you finally return to yourself, you lift onto your knees and meet Alex’s mouth with a long, grateful kiss. Eyes full of love and mischief, your hand trails down his broad body to find the bulge in his pants waiting for your eager touch; smiling, you murmur against his lips, “My turn to play.”
If I don't read at least one phrase along the lines of "he had a behemoth size cock/member/dick" once I start reading Alex smut* I will be disappointed in us as a collective.
@baronessvonglitter (i'm especially looking at you and your PPCU Sex and the City fic "Guy Crazy"👀👀👀)
*** Disclaimer - I am trying to abstain until i see the movie from reading Alex fics, but those photos are making it very hard and some of you are very quick.
Summary: You help Alex practice a harder cello piece. But this practice is somehow entirely different from the previous ones.
Warnings: established relationship, MDNI (+18), swearing, subby Alex, sensory deprivation kinda (Alex is listening to music here), dry humping, fingering, brief oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, aftercare
Word count: 4k
Author's note: Look, I don't have anything to say. I think we all saw what we did yesterday, and immediately got obsessed. Did I write this during the night and fucked up my sleep schedule again? Maybe. But I think it was worth it. My darling Cha (@bergamote-catsandbooks) thank you for being so excited to beta read this story. Love you! 💜
The house is quiet. Quieter than on most days.
There isn’t any music echoing off the walls, no sound of cello creeping around every corner and the occasional curse of Alex when he misses a beat, or he makes a mistake.
It seems too odd. Your ears are already used to the constant loudness in the house, and now it is almost like it is haunted.
You shake yourself back to reality, giving the soup another stir in the pot before you reach to turn off the stove. You move to take a spoon from one of the drawers. The smells in the kitchen makes your mouth water, and your moves are maybe too quick as you taste the still too hot food.
The moment the spoon touches your lips, you hear a loud and frustrated sigh coming from the living room.
Well, maybe today isn’t as peaceful as you thought it would be.
You swallow that spoonful of soup, humming at the taste before you put the used spoon in the dirty dishes. It clatters against the plates, but you’re already out the door, worry filling you as you round the corner and your eyes fall on Alex.
You furrow your brows, not noticing anything unusual. Alex is laying on the couch, headphones on, tapping on the bunch of paper in front of him in his lap with a pencil. You almost swoon at the way he looks like. Black tank top with gray sweatpants. One of those outfits he wears when he’s not in his practice room, playing on his cello in just a shirt and his underwear.
“Alex,” you call out, but quickly realize that he can’t hear you because of the music playing in both his ears.
So you walk through the room, your bare feet tapping on the wooden floor quietly as you get closer. When you arrive beside him he still doesn’t look up, and as you sit down a soft breeze hits you through the open window behind the couch.
“Alex,” you try again, leaning closer to him.
When he still doesn’t pay any attention, not even turning his gaze towards you for a second, you do something that you immediately know you would regret after.
You take hold of the bunch of paper in his lap, placing it on the coffee table in front of you, followed by his pencil too.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he asks confused, brows furrowing, making the lines between them deeper.
You reach to push back his headphones, letting it hang around his neck as you look at him. “Lunch is ready,” you announce with a soft smile, pushing back a strand of hair that fell in front of his forehead.
His hands fall back onto his stomach, and with a frustrated sigh he throws his head back against the pillow. “I was in the middle of analyzing a very hard passage,” he murmurs under his breath, and you immediately feel guilty for interrupting him.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you couldn’t have known,” he shakes his head, lifting his head and looking at you. With one hand he reaches out, holding you by your waist and pulling you suddenly towards him. To prevent falling across him and landing on the floor, you throw your leg over his lap, straddling his hips. When your eyes fall on his face, you see a wide grin paying on his lips. “It’s okay.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, his arms circling your middle and pulling you down to his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck as much as the headphones allow, and you listen to the music playing from it, the pace too fast, notes flying so quickly you can’t even understand how someone is able to play that.
“What is it?” you ask, curiosity winning as you glance up at him from behind your eyelashes.
“Saint-Saëns, Cello Concerto No. 2, Op. 119,” he answers immediately. Your eyes widen at his precision for knowing the exact passage, and you smile up at him.
“Sounds complicated.”
“That’s why I’m analyzing it first. I may understand harder works, but not this one. The notes I’m making don't make any sense,” he explains, his thumb drawing small circles on your back.
“And it’s making you frustrated because you want everything to go perfectly on your first try.” It’s not even a question. You know him so well now, to understand that he’s a perfectionist, when it comes to his playing and music.
“At this point you know me better than me," he chuckles. He angles his head so he can place a soft kiss on your temple, hugging you tighter.
You stay like that for a few minutes. Him holding you, the music playing beside your ear, the occasional chirping of birds creeping through the window, filling the room. But no matter how peaceful the moment seems like, the position makes your legs go numb, so you start squirming in his lap, trying to find a better one.
As you move, you feel his hands tightening on your waist, and he lets out a low groan. “Shit. Stop moving around, baby.”
You look at him confused for a second, not understanding why he says that, but then realization dawns on you when you push yourself back to sit in his lap again. You can feel something hard under you, pressing against your center. You look at him with a surprised expression, but then a satisfied smile stretches across your face. “You’re hard.”
He tries to ignore your statement, clearing his throat as he looks up and down your body. “This is my shirt. The one that I played in yesterday.”
“Don’t avoid the conversation,” you warn him, leaning close so you are hovering above him, steadying yourself with your hands on his chest. “You’re hard just by me moving around a little in your lap.”
“That wasn’t moving around a little. You were basically dry humping me. Of course I get hard.”
“Oh, Alex. I see some concepts are not clear for you. This is what dry humping is,” you shoot back with a wicked smile, starting to move your hips around in his lap, dragging the most aching part of your body across the hard line of his cock in his pants, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the feeling, the thin fabric of your underwear not blocking the sensation.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips and guiding your movements as he occasionally lifts his hips to match your rhythm.
When he closes his eyes and throws his head back, you suddenly stop. He tries to thrust up again, but you lift off of him enough that he can’t reach you, and he looks at you with a wounded expression. “Why did you stop?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop, no? You said it moments before.”
“No, hell no. I don’t want you to stop. The music must have got to my brain for saying that. Too many notes, too many sounds, too many—”
You don’t let him finish the sentence, capturing his lips with yours. He groans into the kiss, and you take that quick moment to take control, slipping your tongue past his teeth. His hands wander down from your back to your ass, squeezing down hard when you teasingly nip at his bottom lip.
You can feel his hands moving again, up under your — technically his — shirt, caressing your back before he moves them to your front, moaning gently when he realized you don’t have any bra on. He immediately starts playing with your breasts, the callouses on his hands rough against your skin, but still igniting a fire on the path he takes with them.
You can feel the wetness between your thighs, and maybe because of the lack of oxygen getting to your brain because of the kiss, or because something else entirely, you get an idea you never had before.
You break away from him with a soft gasp, taking in a deep breath as you look into his eyes, seeing only hunger and desire burning in them, his soft brown eyes turning almost fully black.
When you feel like your brain can function again, you reach for his headphones, taking them off from around his neck, but not putting them down behind you on the coffee table. You just hold them while he looks at you with confusion. You nod towards his tank top. “Take it off.”
He complies without a sound, taking his hands from under your shirt and sitting up so he can quickly get out of his tank top, throwing it to the side. When he is done, he lays back again, his hands finding their place again on your waist.
You lift the headphones a little in the air, hovering above him again. “So I hear this piece is very fast. Must require some amazing finger work,” you wonder, and you watch how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I wonder how yours is compared to it.”
Without warning you take hold of his left hand, guiding it down along the waistband of your underwear until you dip it into the fabric, his fingers immediately swiping across your wetness. He moves to dip his fingers lower, but you stop him with a soft squeeze on his wrist, and you hold up the headphones in your other hand. “You’ll follow this pace, alright?” you ask, and lift it to put it on his head, but he is the one stopping you now.
“I won’t be able to hear you that way.”
“Take it as a challenge or an experiment,” you answer. “Imagine a deaf musician. They simply rely on their feelings and eyes. They feel the vibration of the strings under their fingers, see where they’re supposed to hold them down. You feel too, no?” you ask, bucking your hips into his hand, his fingers gliding across your folds again.
“I do,” he nods, his voice strained.
“Great. Good thing you have this piece on repeat.”
You place the headphones on his head, pulling them over his ears so he can only hear the music and nothing else. You nod at him, and he dips his fingers between your folds, swiping them back and forth until his index settles on your clit, drawing slow and tight circles over it.
But his pace is not matching the music you heard coming from his headphone earlier, so you lean down next to his ear, lifting one side of the headphone so he can hear you. “I don’t think the music is this slow.”
That is all you say before placing the headphone back on his ear and leaning back again. At your words his finger immediately speeds up, following the pace of the piece in his ear. His eyes are studying your reactions closely, and you can see them glint when your mouth opens around a soft moan, your eyebrows running together.
You reach to unbutton the shirt you have on, giving him a free sight of your bare breasts, and he doesn’t miss a beat as he sits up to take one of your nipples in his mouth while his right hand plays with the other. His tongue circles around the hardened nub while his index finger wanders downwards towards your entrance. You hold on to him with your arms around his shoulders, and you tilt your hips a little when he eases one finger inside of you, a soft moan leaving your lips.
He starts to move it in and out of you to the music, and you can already feel your walls tightening around his finger, your orgasm building up faster in you than you expected.
It doesn’t take long until he adds a second finger too, and you look down at him.
He is now resting his chin on your sternum, your nipple still glistening from his saliva. But in his eyes you see such concentration like you never saw before. He is looking out for every small breath you let out against his face, every time you open your mouth when you moan, every time you furrow your brow at the sensation growing in you.
And you know he can also feel the way your walls are tightening around his fingers.
So when the music hits another fast point and he picks up the pace of his fingers again, you let go. You fall forward, letting your forehead rest against his while your orgasm washes over you. Your thighs are shaking slightly around his, but he holds you up, slowing his fingers so you can ride out your high without him overstimulating you.
When you feel like your body can work again, you lean in to kiss him. He reciprocates it, pulling his hand out from your underwear to place it on your thigh.
When you pull back, you also push off one side of his headphones. “And how is your timing?”
“What do you mean?” he asks confused.
“Your timing. When you have to hold down the note, or jump into a passage,” you explain, trying to sound like you understand everything about his world.
“It’s pretty good I guess,” he shrugs, still looking at you with furrowed brows, trying to guess where this conversation is going.
“How about we practice that too?” you ask, slowly climbing off of him to lay down on your back. He follows you, hovering above you. “Do you want the underwear to stay?” you ask, hooking your thumbs in the waistband.
“No, not this time,” he shakes his head, his answer coming out breathless. You start pushing the lacy material off, but he takes over halfway down your thighs, pulling them off himself and throwing it on the ground. His eyes fall on your exposed center for a second, and before you can say anything, he is already laying on his stomach between your thighs.
You place your leg on his shoulders, but realize that this position easily pushes off his headphones, so you reach down to pull it back in place, keeping your hands on either side of his head.
He doesn’t wait for you to approve his action, he dives in, swiping his tongue all the way from your entrance to your clit. You jerk your hips at the sudden contact, and he places one hand on your lower belly to keep you still.
You let out a loud moan when he starts drawing quick circles over your clit with his tongue, you are sure that he can hear it even through the headphones. And when he closes his lips around the little nub and starts sucking it gently between his teeth, you know you won’t be able to last too long this way.
And the second time you come, you want that to happen on his cock.
So you quickly pull him up by his hair, and the sight of him with your wetness glistening on his mustache and beard makes you go dizzy. You partially push back the headphones from his ears again.
You open your legs wider so he can settle in, and when he is leaning comfortably over you, you reach down to pull down his gray sweatpants along with his underwear too. The moment his cock is free, your focus falls on it. His tip is already glistening with his precum, the head almost an angry red for being denied any friction for so long.
You place your hand on his stomach first, following that path of coarse hair from his belly button leading down to his cock, taking a hold of him.
He lets out a long groan above you as you gather his precum with your fingers, spreading it over his length as you stroke him a few times.
When you pull your hand away, he tries to chase it at first, bucking his hips, but then he waits for what you are going to do next. You reach up taking a hold of his headphones. “Concentrate on the timing,” you remind him before you put the headphones back over his ears.
He purses his lips, but nods. He reaches down between your bodies, taking a hold of his cock and guiding it through your folds a few times before he lines himself up at your entrance, pushing in slowly. Your walls stretch around his length, and you throw your head back against the pillows at the feeling.
He lowers himself closer to your body, his forearms resting on both side of your head, his chest making contact with your breasts.
When he bottoms out, you both let out a strained moan. He waits for a few seconds for you to adjust to his size before he starts moving based on the music.
His rhythm is steady, and when he hits the spot in you, you don’t even care anymore if he really is following the music’s timing, or he is just making it up. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders, keeping him close while you wrap your legs around his waist, the new angle allowing him to go deeper in you, making you see stars.
You are moaning at every thrust, and next to your ear Alex is grunting too, breathing heavily and occasionally cursing under his breath. You can hear the music drifting out from his headphones, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
You tear it off from his head, throwing it to the ground carelessly.
Alex falters for a second, pulling back to look down at you, and when you nod in encouragement it is almost like a spell falls over him. He leans down to capture your mouth with his, and he starts driving into you with more force and determination, and you can’t help but hold on to him tighter, every thrust sending you further up on the couch.
The living room is filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air. Now the house is not filled with cello notes bouncing off the walls, but with the music of two people merging into one.
“Oh God, Alex,” you moan into his mouth.
He groans too, closing his eyes tightly. “Fuck, I missed hearing your moans,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.
You can feel yourself get closer to your high again, and you pull back to warn him. “I’m close, Alex. I think I’m gonna—” Your sentence is broke off with a loud moan from you, your walls squeezing him tight as your orgasm washes over you in waves again, this one a lot more powerful than the previous.
Alex doesn’t stop moving above you, but you can feel how his thrusts become sloppier, and he doesn’t need more than a few before he comes hard, burying himself to the hilt, his warmth filling you. You can feel his cock twitching in you as your walls milk every last drop of cum from him, and then he collapses over you, careful not to crush you with his weight.
Neither of you says anything, but you don’t need to.
You brush your fingers through his hair, combing back the sweaty curls as he breathes into the crook of your neck. His hand is all over your body where he can reach — your arms, your shoulders, your sides, your outer thighs.
You have already learned that after such an intense time with you he always needs time to process. He is not used to such level of intimacy, not used to being vulnerable in front of anyone. So after these moments he needs some time to look back at them while you hold him close. Not because he is weak, but because he is afraid of the possibility that it was only just a dream that he made up to comfort himself.
And you always wait patiently until he is the one to break the silence.
Like now.
“I’m hungry,” he says with such simplicity that you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.
“I bet you are. We’ll need to re-heat the soup.”
“Maybe, but I don’t regret having this moment,” he shrugs, looking up at you with a loving smile. He cranes his neck to place a kiss on your jaw before he pushes himself off of you. Both of you let out a low hiss when he pulls out of you, the emptiness in you suddenly too unexpected. He gets up from the couch, pulling his underwear and sweats back on before he looks back down at you. “I’ll get a wet towel.”
You nod, resting your head on a soft pillow as you watch him walk away, the muscles in his back moving under his tanned skin, hips swaying slightly with every step he takes, making your eyes fall on the curve of his ass.
When he disappears around the corner, you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes for a few minutes, listening to the birds chirping outside under the window.
You only open them again when you hear his footsteps.
He kneels down beside the couch, cleaning you gently, and you watch in silence as he works. When he is done, you look around for your underwear, and when you see it on the ground you reach for it, but he stops you. You glance at him holding up a simple black material, and you look at him with a questioning expression. “A new pair of underwear. So you wouldn’t have to put on back one that is… well, you know,” he tries to find the words, and you consider it adorable how he stumbles over his own thoughts.
“I get it, don’t worry,” you reassure him, taking it from his hand to put it on. When the material sits around you comfortably, you take his face between your palms, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”
“Right,” he laughs nervously, getting up from the ground and pointing in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, get us some food then. I’ll be right back,” he announces.
Before he can disappear behind the corner you call after him. “Alex.”
He turns around quickly, eyebrows pulled up, waiting for your next words. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His lips pull into a small smile at those three words. He nods before he finally disappears.
He didn’t say it back. He never has, but you're patient with him. You know about some of the traumas that happened in his past. He sometimes is emotionally distant, but you don’t blame him. In those times you let him have his moment in his practice room, and when he comes out after spending hours in there, you keep him company.
Sometimes he talks about what happened at the rehearsal that day, or why he feels that way, sometimes he just prefers the silence and you close to him. There were times he asked you to read for him, or asked if he could play for you while you watched.
Even though he doesn’t say it out loud, you know he loves you. He shows it with his actions.
He just needs time to process his own emotions and feelings before he can say those three little words out loud too.
And you will be next to him when that day comes. Let it be days, weeks, months, or even years. But you know that you won’t ever be his first true love.
His true love will always be the music, and the beauty of playing. He fell in love with it as a child, and since then the bond between him and the music only grew. Nothing proves it better than him still playing on his first cello, that he got from his parents.
But you don’t mind. It was composed for him this way.
And his fingers run through the strings of life with a quiet, but strong confidence, creating a beautiful melody.
Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from it): @picketniffler, @speaktothehandpeasants, @harriedandharassed, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @misstokyo7love, @shadowqueen2024, @missadangel, @annwrites24, @eviispunk, @baronessvonglitter, @johnssherlock221, @goonersquad101, @my-tearsricochet, @nutbutterjellie, @kokoluwie, @cozymochaa
Some peope who were interested, but aren't on the taglist: @grogusmum, @vodkaandpizza, @peepawmiller, @kellyxo1, @mystickittytaco, @ningaispunk, @fckyeahsaltandpeppercurls, @loveoverpride, @pedrospurplerain, @chewie-bars, @604to647, @joelmillerpascal, @smvtluvr
i'm working on a full gifset of the trailer rn but i just needed to highlight this shot for a second.
i'm a violinist, so i can't come from a cellist's perspective, but i can come from a string instrument perspective.
this is probably the best faking of a string instrument i've ever seen? maybe my view is skewed because i love him and his acting, but when i heard about him playing a cellist, i planned on going into this with a more critical eye than a lot of others probably did.
the bow hold is REALLY good. he's actually using his wrist instead of his shoulder. he's got great back posture (!!), and his left hand is doing REALLY well. the little bit of vibrato with his pinky at the end is insane
and the fact that his bow strokes are matching up with the notes he looks to be playing?? he's on the right strings at the right time??
this is going to be my entire personality until december jfc
He does have a team but the thing about them is that they seem to be really bad at their jobs. The only thing they’re good at is helping him book new roles. There are people dedicated to his image and public perception/marketing of him to the public and some who should probably be really firm with him and his presence online. He’s gotten mobbed by people before on multiple occasions and had to walk around with security at times. I know he doesn’t do it often or all the time but his team also needs to be on top of him not following or his family following these stalkers or people that cross boundaries as ‘fans’. I use fans in air quotes because people like us wouldn’t do that shit it’s just weird and crossing boundaries.
He needs to have firm boundaries and stop that shit because it’s also a safety thing. Not just for him but for his family. They need to do their damn jobs more than just booking him roles. The general public still seems charmed by him and like him a lot which i expected but his team needs to do more. Way more. Another thing is that they also need to step in and stop being a bunch of ass kissers and to tell him what he needs to hear. There is too many people around him that don’t seem to check him and it’s clear as day. I’m not saying they’re all like that but enough of them are that it seems like nothing/nothing good is being done behind the scenes with his team besides keeping him employed. He needs a reality check and they need to get rid of his social media for now and sit him down and tell him that this behavior online and irl is just not acceptable
we want, but the facts remain: 1) There's no planet where he'd ever apologize for where his boyfriend works, that's not his problem/// I don’t think any of us want an apology for that, I think most people are just disappointed or at least surprised that he would “date” someone with such values (or that works in a place with this values), it’s not about him apologizing, it’s just that we didn’t think he would do it in the first place. And people are expressing this disappointment. I don’t agree with the hate towards him or his family. But if he wants to say he’s an activist he had to know he would be held accountable for it.
Rafa was doing this exact same thing with Luke Evans who got papped probably the same amount as Pedro at that point in his career. You can’t tell me the ostrich isn’t orchestrating a part of this.
For the millionth time - if TMZ is gonna shoot in a weird back alley in Beverly Hills where Pedro and Rafa both don’t live, they have to know they’re there… someone tipped them off.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
izzy806
prguitarman
pixelskylines
