please please PLEASE more hyperspermia with joel. maybe a longer fic where he just keeps filling reader over and over and over and talking sooo filthy. maybe sprinkle in some mean joel… 😔
(need this man #raw)
One more
Parings: mean!joel miller x fem!reader
Content warnings: explicit content 18+, overstimulation, breeding kink, hyperspermia, degradation (calling reader 'milkslut', 'cumdump'), praise kink, cock bulge/belly bulge, cum inflation/swollen belly, hair pulling and slapping, possessive and mean!joel, choking (consensual), dirty talk, use of pet names 'babygirl' and 'sweetheart, excessive cum play, potential physical exhaustion/weakness of reader.
Word count: 1000
Your body's already trembling neath him, the sheets ruined, soaked with sweat and slick and cum, but dosent stop.
He can't.
He needs it.
Needs you. Like this.
He mutters something under his breath, something low and filthy and before gripping your hip, hauling you up onto your side. You're pliant, twitching, a gasp trapped in your throat as he rolls you, presses his chest to your back and sinks back inside your slick, aching cunt.
Slow. Deep. Possessive.
"Fuck- joel-"
"Shh. Shh, baby. I know."
His voice is all gravel and heat, right at your ear as he presses his palmdown over your belly. "Just one. Just need one."
But it's never just one with him.
He drives in again. And again.
Thick and hard and dripping wet, dragging the mess of himself lit of you, only to bury it back in with a bruising slap of skin. You're so full, streched wide and trembling as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper inside. "So fuckin' tight," Joel grits out, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shouler. "You feel that, sweetheart? That's all me. All that mess dripping down your thighs. Fuckin- look at you." He fists your hair and makes you lift your head just enough to see the bulge in your stomach, his cock, thick and swollen, pushing up against the swell in your belly as he pistons inside you.
"Milkslut," He growls.
"That what you wanted? That why you were beggin' earlier, grindin' all needy on meoke some dumb little bitch in heat?"
You whimper, tears spilling. It's too much- but you crave every second of it. "Uh-huh," He smirks, breathing hot filth into your skin.
"You like being red, don't you? Like gettin' filled up, leaking all over the fuckin' sheets like a messy little whore." His voice drops, darker now. The pace is brutal. The sound of your soaked pussy clapping against his hips is loud in the room,arched only by your stuttering moans.
"Mine"
A hard thrust.
"Mine"
Another.
"Say it."
You can't even form the word, not when he's gripping your throat, not when your brain's short circuited from the pleasure, your cunt spasming around him from the fourth orgasm he's wrung our of you in the last hour.
He doesn't care.
"Say it."
"Y-Yours, Joel- oh fuck, I'm yours-"
"That's right, baby."
He slaps your ass, watching it jiggle. Watching you take it.
"Good fuckin' girl, such a good little cum dump for me. Gonna fuck a baby into you, keep you swollen all the fuckin' time."
You clench.
That breaks him.
His thrusts go sloppy as he empties into you again, groaning loud, hips grinding into the mess between your thighs, making sure mome of it leaks out. "Goddamn - take it, sweetheart. Don't spill a drop. You hear me?" Your thighs are shaking. His seed is leaking. And Joel just laughs, low and mean.
"Better get used to this, darlin'. 'Cause I ain't pullin' out ever again."
~~~
You've already lost count.
Maybe it was the third time he came- maybe the fifth. It's impossible to know anymore with how long he's kept you pinned, stuffed full of his cock, held there like a ragdoll while he fucks you into the mattress. His chest is slick with sweat, body heavy and burning against your back as he thrusts up into you, rutting slow and deep. Every movement makes your cunt squelch loud, messy, soaked in his cum and slick and spit and who the fuck knows what else.
"You hear that?"
Joel bites your earlobe as he pushes in to the hilt.
"You fucking hear that, baby? That's me pourin' into you again"
And he is.
You feel it.
Another thick gush floods you as he groans, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles, pumping rope after rope of heat so deep it makes your eyes flutter back. The pressure builds in your belly, a warmth that spreads slow, growing fuller, heavier, deeper.
"Shit- fuck," You whimper, voice shaking. "Its- joel- it's too much, I can't-"
"You can, sweetheart. You will."
He smirks into your neck, teeth grazing skin. "This cunt's made to take it. My messy little milkslut."
Your belly's swollen now, soft and rounded where his cock bulges up through your skin. His hand spreads wide over it, pressing down just enough to feel himself from the inside. "Fuckin' look at this," Be growls, voice dropping filth.
"Can feel my cock through your tummy. You're so fuckin' full, babygirl. Stuffed to the brim and still takin' it. "
He pulls back just an inch only to ram in again.
A squirt of cum spills from between your thighs. It's not the first time. Wont be the last.
"There it is. Can't even hold it anymore."
He watches it leak down your ass, pooling beneath you on the sheets.
"Made my own little cumdump. Look at that mess. So greedy for it. "
Another thrust. You sob into the pillow, overstimulated and burning. Your thighs are shaking, soaked with slick and sweat and his endless release.
"Gotta keep fuckin' it back in"
He shoves deeper, groaning.
"I ain't done. Not 'till I plug you ful. 'till there's no room left in that little pussy of yours."
You're whimpering, clawing weakly at the sheets.
"Say it," He grits out, slapping your plump red ass.
"Say what you are."
"I'm- I'm your- your milkslut," You gasp, breath hitching.
"Fuck Joel- I'm your filthy little milkslut-"
"Good fuckin' girl."
Another load floods you. Thick, hot, endless. Your belly streches a little more beneath his hand and Joel moans sl deep it rumbles against your back. "That's it. Take it. Take every last fuckin' drop." When he finally stops moving, cock still twitching inside you, you feel it. The sheer weight of him isndid. How soaked you are, how ruined.
But Joel just keeps you there. Plugged full, your cunt fluttering weakly around him.
You're shaking.
He laughs softly and strokes your belly.
"Gonna knock you up real good this time, babygirl."
was just thinking about how old as fuck bf Joel would have you in bed by 9pm and had to write it 😭😭 all fluff xx
It’s 8:42 when he flicks off the living room lamp with a sigh, the whole house dipping into that familiar, sleepy hush. You’re already brushing your teeth, barefoot in his flannel that hangs loose and low, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you lean over the sink. He watches you from the hallway like he always does, arms crossed, eyes soft, like he still can’t believe you’re here—his—night after night.
By 8:56, you’re both under the covers. Clean sheets. Fresh pajamas. His arm is warm around your waist and the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze in. The town outside is quiet. Your limbs are tangled, skin on skin, and he smells like cedarwood and peppermint toothpaste and the kind of comfort you never thought you’d get to keep.
You glance at the clock. 8:59.
“You made me boring,” you whisper, smiling into his chest. “I used to be wild. Fun. The last one to leave the party.”
Joel’s voice is low, sleep-soft. “You’re still fun. You’re just tired now.”
“Because I’m in bed at nine. You’ve aged me.”
He snorts, the sound muffled by your hair. “You’re the one who yawned through dinner.”
“You were the one talking about home insulation and firewood like it was the highlight of your week.”
He chuckles again, hand smoothing down your back beneath the blanket. “That’s ‘cause it was.”
You bite back a laugh, snuggling closer, cheek pressed to his chest. You can hear his heartbeat—steady, warm, yours. His other hand cups the back of your head like he needs to keep you there, needs to hold on even in sleep.
“You like our little life?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter now, almost shy.
You blink up at him, and the look on his face is so open, so tender, it makes your breath catch. That furrow between his brows, the one he always wears like a shield, is gone. He looks… safe. Happy. Home.
“I love our little life,” you whisper. “I’d go to bed at 7 if it meant doing it with you.”
He smiles. Really smiles. The kind that starts in his eyes, slow and crooked and completely devastating.
And then he leans in, presses the softest kiss to your lips, like a thank-you. Like a goodnight. Like a promise.
Summary: Pedro is all yours after the Super Bowl ends.
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Tags: bf!pedro; drabble; established relationship; oneshot
Warnings: +18 content; MDNI; smut; cum; nudity; inappropriate language
A/n: first of all: LATINO POWER! second: I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND, HE LOOKED SO HANDSOME AND HOT IN THAT WHITE OUTFIT. Im happy that Pedro participated in this show that's so important for the Latino people, it means so much to us! I'm so proud of my roots and it's so good to have someone like Bad Bunny and Pedro using their influence to speak out in such dark times as this. I couldn't be more proud and grateful for the greatest halftime show ever! I love you Benito and I fucking love you Pedro! About this little fanfic, it's just a passionate rambling of mine. This man deserves all the love in the world and as long as I'm alive he will be loved and desired in all my stories! And last but not least: ICE OUT! AND FUCK YOU TRUMP!
Word count: 689
Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl performance had been historic, featuring some of the biggest Latin celebrities of the moment.
And of course, Pedro Pascal was there.
Your man looks radiant: his curls loose and moisturized by Coco, his eyes shining with emotion, the first buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the skin you had left flushed the night before. Pedro is so shy that you can tell exactly how nervous he is, and at the same time how happy he is to be there. He films and takes pictures of everything, thinking about how much you’ll love seeing it all once he gets home. And when he does arrive, he’s still buzzing with adrenaline from having taken part in something so important.
You wrap your arms tightly around him and scatter kisses across his face, so proud of the man you chose to spend the rest of your life with. He is one of a kind in every sense: the most loving, the kindest, the most empathetic. You met at a political protest, and from that day on, you never let go of each other.
It felt like a meeting of souls.
Even though he is famous and you are just an anonymous person, Pedro has never made you feel less important. There was nothing you didn’t know, nothing that ever made you feel absent from his life. Even when you couldn’t be with him in moments like that, he always made a point of returning to you as soon as possible. Like now, in his bedroom, city lights reflecting over his bare chest. You trace invisible lines with your fingers along the small marks on his neck left by time.
He is entirely beautiful from head to toe.
His hands rest slowly on your hips, a crooked smile forming the familiar dimples on his lightly shaved skin. You smile back and brush a curl away from his forehead before he leans down to kiss you. His kiss is unhurried, his warm tongue exploring your mouth as the two of you roll naked across the bed, him leaving you on top. His slightly calloused hands slide along your back as you straddle him and feel him fit inside you.
Bracing yourself against his chest, you take control, moving exactly the way he likes. Pedro is completely submissive to you, letting you do whatever you want and placing your pleasure above everything else. Watching your body overtaken by desire is his greatest pleasure, listening to your breaths, your moans, the furrow of your brow when you’re getting close. His loving gaze admires your body, sculpted perfectly for him, your hips moving in a constant rhythm, your long hair—his favorite—falling in layers down your back.
He loves the rosy hue that spreads across the apples of your cheeks and your lips, left damp from their shared kisses, as the sexual act goes on.
When you open your eyes, he knows, telepathically, that you’re close, and sensing your exhaustion, he switches positions.
Pedro sinks into you, gripping your hips firmly with one hand while the other cups your cheek, keeping your eyes locked on his. He likes fucking you while looking into your eyes, diving into the deep glow of your dilated irises. It excites him even more; his cock feels heavier between his legs, and he nearly cries out when you wrap your legs around his hips and tighten around him in response to his movements.
That’s enough for him. Pedro rushes to kiss you, and you both cum at the same time, the kiss breaking as a rough moan spills from his mouth against yours. You smile, breathing hard, your fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck while he drags his nose along your cheek and buries his face in your neck.
Pedro feels undone and lets out a nasal laugh. He wishes he had lasted longer, if it weren’t for how overstimulated he was.
He breathes hot and heavy against your skin, then lifts his face again, meeting your satisfied smile.
“I got you.” you murmur. He smiles and presses a languid kiss to your mouth.
summary: you and harry fuck in the shower. you later realize that something has changed.
warnings: 4.8k wc. explicit content. pre-established fwb. handjob. fingering. unprotected p-in-v shower sex. fluffy aftercare. feelings get involved. contains a minor spoiler. no physical description of the reader other than she has hair.
a/n: full disclosure, i haven’t seen materialists (& idk if i ever will bc from what i heard about what happens, watching it will just make me mad lmao). anyway, after seeing this gif and harry edits, something possessed me to write this.
as always, hope you enjoy and feedback would be much appreciated!
Fuck, you need him.
Again.
Badly.
You had stirred awake at the sound of the shower turning on in the private en-suite, your hand brushing across the silk sheets beside you that are still warm. Then, comes the tender, pulsing ache between your thighs, one that sharpens when your memory starts drifting back;
His mouth, his fingers, his hands. Skin on skin, your breaths and moans intertwined like your bodies were, moving as one.
It has only been two, three hours since Harry's cock was buried deep inside you, his voice low and sinful as he whispered the filthiest things into your ear. He made you cum for a third time right there that night, much harder than the previous two (or ever)— and god, it was so intense that you passed out in his arms immediately after.
Now, you lie in an empty bed that’s too big for one person, craving Harry again as if you weren’t satisfied the last time. The truth is, he’s ruined you. He has from the very first moment you started sleeping together. Three months ago, to be precise, when this arrangement—pure hot sex, no strings attached— was agreed upon. You never expected it to leave you this wrecked and wanting more and more.
Harry is charming, handsome. Irresistible, addicting. Like he’s the only thing in the world that could pull you apart and piece you back together under the same touch.
And he’s in the other room. Standing alone, naked under a spray of water. Just several strides away.
Without a second thought, you throw back the covers and roll out of bed. Your bare skin prickles from the chill in the air; your body throbs from the earlier activities, and you almost couldn’t walk a straight path. But you don’t seem to care. Your feet carry you towards the bathroom door left ajar, not wasting any more time.
The warm, humid fog greets you at first. The water pattering softly against the pale white tile masks the noise of your movements as you approach the misted-glass shower stall.
Harry doesn’t notice you immediately, allowing you a few seconds to admire the sight of his broad back and shoulders. The way beads of water glisten and slide across taut muscles that ripple under his skin as he lathers soap unhurriedly all over his body.
Not only does he fuck like a god, but he looks like one, too.
He hums an unfamiliar tune to himself, quiet but rich; smooth and warm like whiskey. It echoes off the walls, the rumbling sound close to a touch you somehow feel even if it didn't land.
Your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your lips. It's sweet, slow torture— you standing there and not saying a word, not reaching out. You can't tear your eyes away, not that you wanted to. Fuck, no. You're going to savor every second of this, commit each detail of Harry to memory, and tuck it away with all the other dirty ones.
And when you've finally had enough— when the blooming heat in your belly has melted down your restraint— you slip into the shower stall behind Harry, pressing your body gently into his solid back. He doesn't tense up at your unexpected presence. If anything, he relaxes more with you there. Steam envelops you as your hands glide over his slick chest, feeling the thrumming beneath your palm when he chuckles.
"Didn't mean to wake you, baby. You should've stayed in bed, I wasn't going to take too long," Harry says, his hand catching one of yours to bring up to his lips.
In return, you softly kiss the hollow between his shoulder blades. "And lose out on an opportunity to watch you in the shower? No, thank you. Besides, m'not really tired anymore."
"Sure about that?" He wonders, and you can practically hear the smirk in his tone. "Thought I wore you out pretty good earlier."
"Mhmm, you did," you murmur against Harry's back, your hands beginning to drift down his chest, fingers slowly caressing his soft belly, and the thatch of hair there. You almost miss the subtle stutter of his breath, drowned out by the steady cascade above your heads. "But I missed you and this..."
Harry lets out a soft groan when your hand lightly brushes against his cock, which has been stirring with interest from the moment your touch landed upon him. You grin at that, unseen by him, of course. You relish knowing how fast he gets worked up by you, from not doing too much at that either.
"Needy, needy girl," he cooes, thinking he’s in complete control here, just like always. Harry tries to turn around and face you, but you gently push forward, pinning him to the wall.
You keep your body flush against Harry’s to give him no room to move. He doesn’t fight it, though, which is more surprising to you than not. Perhaps he doesn’t make an attempt because your fingers are now wrapped around the girth of his cock, choosing to surrender to baser urges rather than delay relief.
But then again, you know Harry. You know he likes it when you show him what you want. When that bold confidence of yours doesn't shy away from him, acting as though you're worth more than his wealth and yours combined. It's what drew him to you when you first met at some glitzy gala in Manhattan neither of you wanted to attend in the first place. Maybe you taking the lead for a change is turning him on more than he anticipated.
“Fu-uck, baby. That’s it,” Harry grunts, rough and ragged. He leans forward, bracing an arm against the shower tile as you continue pumping his length with long, steady strokes from behind. His hand finds your other resting low at his hip, and he laces his fingers with yours, his grip tightening, grounding— you’re not entirely sure if he was holding back or barely holding on.
Slick from the coated mix of water, soap, and his own arousal, your hand moves up and down Harry’s shaft, hot and heavy, effortlessly. You see the way his head dips down to watch you work him over with such practiced and devastating ease. Every drag of your closed palm, every twist and tug and squeeze, unravels him in a way that he can’t and won’t stop.
Harry’s close. You’re well acquainted with his body at this point to be sure of that. You can feel it with each broken breath pushing past his lips, in the slight shiver beneath his skin, the tight rise and fall of his chest. How his hips jerk into your fist with small, shallow, desperate thrusts, a string of curses and praises muttered low along with your name.
There's something thrilling about having Harry like this, teetering over the edge. You could draw it out, tease him helplessly. Leave him aching, begging, and trembling like he often does to you.
But you didn't come here for that. As much as it lit a hot, dangerous fire within you, you wanted Harry to fuck you. You wanted the throbbing cock in your hand back inside you, to quell the ache that no fingers, mouth, or toys could ever do.
Your rhythm falters, then eventually stills. Harry is quick to react, a sound caught in his throat— half-protest, half plea. He inhales sharply, body tensing when he’s pulled back from the very brink. His head lifts from the tile where he’d rested it, and he glances over his shoulder to meet your hazy eyes.
The heat in his gaze is dark, searing, and hungry, as if he doesn’t at all appreciate the fact that you’ve stopped so abruptly.
“Not gonna finish what you started, baby?” Harry pants, his hand reaching down to drape over your fingers that remain loosely curled around the base of him. He twitches against the softness of your palm. “Didn’t think you could be cruel.”
“Cruel? Never. Well, at least not now anyway,” you reply, placing a kiss on the center of his spine. “I was hoping that you would finish inside me instead.”
“That can be arranged.”
You wring Harry’s cock with one last slow pull, just enough to make him shudder, before letting him slip from your grasp. It’s only then that you take a step back, allowing him space to turn to you.
And when he does, you feel the power shift back to Harry. Something low in your belly coils so tight that it almost hurts. Your eyes drag over him without an ounce of shame— flushed, gorgeous, and hard.
Fuck, Harry is so hard, his tip swollen and a shade or two darker. Just one look at him and your pussy clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. He notices this, notices how your thighs press firmly together from the mere anticipation, your eyes locked in a silent, electric exchange.
Then all at once, Harry’s mouth crashes onto yours, fierce, bruising, and urgent. The force of which nearly causes you to stumble if it hadn’t been for his steady grip settling on your waist. His other hand slides behind your head, angling you perfectly for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue insistent and greedy as it dives past your lips in a hungry sweep.
He doesn’t slow down, not even as he backs you against the cool tile of the wall. The shower stream hits only Harry now, his body shielding you from it, the heat of him replacing the warmth of the water on you.
Harry’s lips break away from yours, dragging them across your cheek, along the line of your jaw. He continues down onto your neck, his mouth moving with a purpose; teeth grazing lightly, nipping and sucking against your tender flesh until it undoubtedly leaves a bloom of color— you feel it, even if you can’t see it.
“So fucking beautiful… and all mine,” Harry rasps, the words meant for you, but just as much for himself.
You see his throat work as he swallows, his large hand skimming up the curve of your waist, thumb brushing gently under the swell of your breast. His heavy-lidded eyes take in every inch of you before him, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you bare, wet, and wanting— like he’s looking at something so sinfully holy.
“Yours,” you whisper, and hearing it hits Harry like a live wire.
Because suddenly he’s surging forward, his mouth claiming yours again with kisses that are all messy and consuming, that leave you with no room to breathe.
Your head starts to spin, and your knees buckle from the intensity. But Harry's there, trapping you between his chest and the shower wall, keeping you upright, fully flushed against him.
Harry only breaks away from your lips when you arch your back slightly, rolling your hips against his. He lets out a groan, rough and guttural, his breath hot and uneven as it fans over your face. You rock against him once more, and he hisses at the sensation— at the sweet friction he gets from each grind against your pelvis. His warm, glistening precum smears across wherever it can reach.
“Feel that, baby?” Harry husks as your eyes drop to where the rigid line of his cock ruts between the two of you. “That’s all you. You did that. Made me so hard…fuck I can’t even think anymore. I need you— gotta have you."
A hand then comes into view, trailing from your waist to your hip, and then dipping lower and lower until he’s palming your sex, groaning low when he finds the slick mess pooling down there.
“God, you’re soaking wet. Haven't even touched you properly yet. All this from jacking me off, hmm?”
You answer with a breathless whimper when Harry leisurely drags two digits through your slit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers. Your gaze follows as he lifts his hand to his mouth, sliding those fingers covered in a thin sheen of desire between his lips, sucking and savoring the essence that is purely you.
He hums in satisfaction. "You taste so sweet, darling. Wish my legs weren't shot, ‘cause I'd go down on you right here, right now."
A renewed rush of heat spreads under your skin as you’re reminded of how unbelievably good Harry is at eating pussy. It’s earth-shattering each and every time. He listens to your body, knows exactly what to do and when to give it to make you come undone easily. You love it mainly because he’s not just going through the motions like your exes used to. No, not him. Harry will happily bury his face between your legs as if he’s a starved man.
Any and all thoughts in your head dissolve the instant the pad of Harry’s thumb brushes over your clit, sending a jolt straight to you. He holds your gaze, watching the pleasure ripple through your expression. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip to chase the lingering taste of you as he continues the tender assault on your sensitive bundle of nerves that soon has you writhing beneath his touch.
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s gotten you to this point. How he’s not even inside of you yet, and if you let him, you could cum just like this. But you’re so wound up, so desperate to be filled more than anything that you don’t want that. You don’t want to prolong this. You couldn’t wait any longer.
“Want—want more, Harry, shit… fuck me. Please, fuck me,” you plead to him, and he stops, his fingers immediately pulling away, and damn it, is this how it felt for him when you took your hand off his cock just like that?
Harry flashes you a knowing smirk, but he doesn’t leave you hanging for long, though. He kisses you once more, this time unhurried. Softer. Much, much softer now, like he's kissing you simply because he wants to feel your lips on him again, to get his fill of it before his hands rest on your hips, gently coaxing you to turn and face the tiled walls behind you.
“Bend over a little for me, sweetheart. Hands on the wall— good, just like that. That’s my girl.” Harry guides you into a comfortable enough position, his voice thick as he speaks, nearly strained as though it bears the weight of his own arousal. He smooths his hand down the length of your spine, coasting along the curve of your ass where he squeezes the soft skin of it.
You hold your breath believing it might keep you from falling apart due to impatience, waiting for the heavy press of him against your entrance, the raw slide of hard flesh that makes you squirm at the intrusion. And it does. You feel the familiar flare of pressure as something sinks into you— a finger.
Then, another.
Harry couldn’t help himself. How could he when your dripping pussy is staring straight at him? Two of his fingers don’t fill you the same way his cock would, but at least your wishes have been granted somewhat.
Selfishly, you want more. Not this. More.
But when those two, thick digits delve in as far as they would go, it shuts you up long enough to get lost in the sensation. Harry doesn’t rush, and you’re too distracted by his skilled fingers working inside of you to protest. He crooks them just right, just enough that he’s pushing up against that spongy spot of yours that has you keening.
“Wanna make you come on my hand, my darling. Love the way you squeeze my fingers when you do.”
You shake your head deliriously. “On your cock, baby. I need your cock, been needing it so bad ever since I woke up.”
“You sure? We got all the time in the world for that—”
“Fuck me with your cock, Castillo,” you cut Harry off with a near growl, drawing an amused chuckle out of him. “Fuck me right now, or I swear I’ll just find somebody else—”
Your unserious threat is swallowed by the whine escaping you when Harry withdraws his fingers. Before you could recover from the loss, he’s gliding his length between your wet folds, the very tip of his cock nudging your swollen clit. The sudden contact makes you gasp and sway, your footing slips for a second, but his hands on your waist keep you firmly in place.
“Harry, please. Enough—no more teasing.”
“Shhh, it’s alright,” Harry croons, his hips shifting back the slightest, and you know what’s coming next. You’re sure of it this time. “Gonna take care of you now. Need you just as bad. Relax for me, baby.”
You suck in sharp breath, fingers flexing against the wall as the thick head of Harry's length breaches your cunt at last. He eases himself inside of you, inch by inch, so agonizingly slow that it drives you mad. He doesn't do this out of cruelty, but rather with a tenderness, making sure that he doesn't hurt you even if it feels like he's splitting you in half.
“F-Fuck honey, this pussy’s so tight for me,” Harry mutters through gritted teeth when he finally bottoms out, his fingers digging into your hip, allowing a few moments for you to adjust.
The stretch of him, the fullness Harry brings— fuck, it’s everything you’ve been aching for and more. You can’t explain how it’s possible, but somehow he feels even better right now. Maybe it’s from the build-up, the angle he’s got you in, or the way the warm air clings to your damp skin, amplifying every touch, every spark he sets alight within you.
Whatever it is, it has the nerves in your body pulsing to life, like a hot electric current running through your veins.
Harry holds onto your shoulder with one hand, the other splayed across your waist, and he starts to move inside of you. His thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate, reaching a depth that has your walls helplessly fluttering around him.
And he feels it, too. You know he does, because his pace picks up, knocking the air out of your lungs. His grip clamps down on you, not so much to maintain your balance this time, but to pull you back onto his cock as he pushes in, as if he couldn't get close enough.
"Fuck—don't stop. Just like that. Please, don't you dare fucking stop," you cry out, voice frayed at the edges. Your mind scatters with each snap of Harry's hips, which seemingly have grown much harder at your words, hitting the sweet spot that he had teased earlier over and over again.
“Never, baby,” he chokes out. “Never gonna stop. Feels too fucking good.”
The noises trapped within the walls are filthy and obscene. There's the wet, rhythmic squelch of Harry's cock driving into; the frantic slap of the front of his thighs against the back of yours. The lewd symphony of your strung-out whines and his deep, throaty groans.
If Harry had neighbors, they would have certainly loathed him. And you. Mostly you, with your loud, unabashed moans from being fucked into oblivion in every room, on every surface of his home.
“M’close, Harry,” you tell him as the burning warmth in your core begins to crescendo towards your peak.
Harry lets out a hiss when your cunt tightens its walls around him, like it's warning him of your fast-approaching climax in case he hadn't heard you the first time. "Keep squeezing me like that darling, and you're gonna make me cum too."
Your legs shake as Harry pounds into you with reckless abandon, his control slipping away as he chases his own release. But he won’t allow himself to fall before you do. He makes sure of that once his fingers land on your delicate clit, rubbing in tight circles, trying to time with his increasingly sloppy thrusts.
Glancing over your shoulder, you arch your spine as much as you can until his chest brushes against your back. Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his scruff on his lower jaw scraping roughly against your skin.
“Need you to cum for me—fuck, baby cum now,” he urges, his tone wrecked, his restraint obvious. He’s right there with you on the edge, not letting go. Not yet. He couldn’t, wouldn’t.
But you do. You cum for Harry, the tension in your body snapping and unraveling all at once. You couldn't speak, not that any coherent thoughts were forming in your head. Not when the waves of pleasure come crashing down on you one after another, after another.
You barely hear the strangled groan behind you, nor register the way Harry’s hips stutter against you. Your pussy gushes around his shaft, clenching down on him hard, and that’s all it took. He buries himself to the hilt with a broken sigh of your name, his throbbing cock spilling deep inside of you, filling you up to the very brim.
Stillness passes over you and Harry. The shower is still running overhead, now the only sound in the room along with your tangled, labored breaths. He doesn’t pull out right away, and you’re glad he didn’t.
You allow this connection to remain for a minute or two more, before his softening length slips out without truly meaning to. A warm trickle of his seed slides down the inside of your leg, mixing with the rivulets of water on your skin, and you both share a hum at the sight.
Carefully, you shift your weight and turn, feeling the fresh new ache between your thighs. Harry’s heady eyes are already on you when you face him. His arms move instantly, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, two hearts slowing down together to a calmer beat.
He kisses you tenderly, sweetly. The heat between you has now softened, like the burn of a fire that has settled into embers. It's moments like this where you look at Harry differently, as if he's not just a man you befriended after crossing paths one night, who, after finishing a bottle of Château Margaux, later became someone you seek out for relief.
Here, he’s… more. You don’t know how much more or why that is, and honestly, you’re terrified that this is currently crossing your mind.
“You okay there?” Harry asks quietly.
Pushing the confusing thought away, you're quick to nod and smile, brushing his wet hair back when it clings to his forehead. "Never better. Although, may I suggest investing in a shower bench? Could be helpful whenever we decide to fool around here."
He laughs lightheartedly. “Don’t worry, it’s already on my to-do list.”
“Good. It baffles me that your bathroom doesn’t already come with it, considering this penthouse cost you $12 million.”
“Why? Does your modest $5 million condo have one?”
“Duh, of course. It’s one of my non-negotiables. Makes shaving a lot easier, among other things.”
Harry shakes his head, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Guess that means we’re showering next at your place then.”
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” you reply with a soft chuckle. “You can see the benefits for yourself. Especially with your uh…”
You trail off, motioning to the healed scars running down the length of each of Harry's legs. He'd hidden them from you at first, choosing to have sex under the sheets, never letting you close enough to notice. But you did by accident some time ago, though you never asked where they were from. He's hesitant to share, still is, but you don't force him. You figure he’ll tell you once he’s ready, if and whenever that may be.
A gentle smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I’ll call up a contractor tomorrow. But for now, why don’t I wash you up before we head to bed?”
“You calling me dirty, Castillo?” You tease as he directs you closer under the spray of water. Undeniably, though, there’s something about the affection in his tone and his offer that has your heart stumbling.
“You are,” Harry smirks, taking his shampoo bottle from the nook and squeezing a generous amount of it into his hand. “You crashed my shower because you woke up horny. Almost got me off with just one hand, then you were begging to get fucked by my cock.”
You moan softly from both his retelling of events and the feeling of his hands in your hair, fingers lathering the shampoo into your scalp. Your eyes flutter shut as he massages your head, swaying just slightly from the motion of his hands.
The scent of cedar wood floods your senses—god, you’re not sure how you’ll make it through the entire day tomorrow smelling like Harry, feeling like you’re still wrapped in him completely.
“You always do this?” You question low, eyes peeking open after thoroughly rinsing the suds out of your hair. “Wreck a girl’s pussy then bathe her gently after?”
Harry reaches for the body wash. “Only you.”
You had half-expected him to give you a witty remark, but what came out of him instead carried a certain tenderness that’s becoming more and more familiar. It leads you to speculate whether he notices that, too.
A new kind of shiver sweeps down your spine as Harry glides his now soapy hands over you. He starts at your shoulders, moving down to your arms, then across your chest. There’s so much care when he circles your breasts, touching them not out of lust, but with something very sincere. Intimate. He later bends down a bit to reach the inside of your thighs, brushing clean the remnants of your mixed release there.
By the time Harry rinses you one last time, your chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with him.
“This feels… oddly domestic.” The words tumble out unintentionally as Harry switches the shower off. You wait too long to take it back, and you can’t explain what you mean by that either.
You might have offended Harry when he doesn't respond right away, just pushes the shower door, and grabs a towel hanging nearby. He spends the stretch of silence drying you off before he bundles the cotton fabric around your body, tucking it at your chest.
Afterwards, he steps out of the stall, reaching for a second towel to quickly pat himself dry. He wraps it low around his hips and shifts back to you, extending a hand out, palm up. His fingers close gently around yours, guiding you forward— out of the warmth and into the cool air that raises goosebumps on your skin.
Then came his voice, much softer than you’re used to. The sound of it twists in your gut. “You didn’t like it?”
“No, I mean— yes. Yeah, I liked it. It was really… nice,” you ramble, struggling to find the right words to say here. But your answer was the truth. “Sorry, just not used to it, that's all.”
“Me neither,” Harry whispers. There’s a flicker of understanding in his warm gaze, and it swirls with something that you couldn’t quite pin a name to, or perhaps you’re simply not ready to. “It felt… nice. Doing that—for you.”
You fall into silence once more, though this time it rests lighter on your shoulders. A smile blossoms across your lips when you notice Harry still staring at you, looking as if you’re not a luxury, but a rarity—the one thing in this world his money can’t buy.
The lines between the two of you are blurred now. At least to you, they were. You wonder at what point it all changed. Or maybe it had been a slow, gradual shift, and it's only begun to catch up to you.
Either way, you and Harry were never meant to be this close. Purely sex, that was the deal. But now…
Now, he’s kissing you again, each brush of his lips demanding nothing more than you can give. You can taste the faintest trace of you on his tongue when he weaves it into your mouth, coaxing a pleased sigh from you that he drinks in without pause.
Then, Harry pulls away for a breath, his forehead resting against yours. You couldn’t remember what you’d been thinking or why it even mattered. Your mind, so noisy several moments ago, has gone blissfully blank.
You know without a doubt that it’s all because of him.
“Is this too much?” Harry asks, the weight of the question hanging in the air.
"No," comes your answer. You say the following words almost as if they hold something fragile. "It's perfectly enough for me."
Soft and slow, you press your lips to Harry’s again—and it would make you the richest woman on earth if you could just stay this way for as long as he’ll keep you close.
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: Your neighbor plays his cello way too fucking late, and all you want to do is get off and get to sleep...
Warnings: smut, masturbation, cello lessons, grey sweatpants, hot neighbor, voyeurism due to thin walls, bach, i have zero clue about this character but i want to fuck him, riding, unprotected p in v, finger fucking and sucking, like he HAS to be good with his hands right?!, written in a fevered few hours, i feel like that jon hamm gif
Words: 3,000
A/N: Did I fuck off and ignore work for a few hours to write this? Yes. Am I going to have to pay for it by working tonight? Yes. Is it worth it? I don't know man, I'm horny af for this new character. Siri, play "Fresh Out The Slammer" because I feel rejuvenated in my delusional porn writing. Gif made by me because I'm that fucking insane.
After Hours Masterlist
Masterlist
—-
The notes mock you, mock the catch of your breath, the beat of your heart, the way your fingers move across your clit, pressing and swirling. You’re so close, and yet so far. Your trusty vibrator, rose, and grinder sit discarded on your quilt. The mournful music filtering in through the thin bungalow walls and windows is not helping. So close. So far. Your orgasm drowns again.
You slap your hand down against your stomach, killing the last vestige of your mood and roll off the bed. You just wanted ONE singular orgasm, something to take the edge off. But no, there’s a sad cello playing some sort of depressing, somber thing that just leaves you even more frustrated.
You check your phone and grumble. 11:39. Who fucking needs Vivaldi or Bach this loud after eleven?
Your new neighbor, apparently.
You don’t even bother to close your robe when you stomp out into the damp night. Your bare feet squelch in the wet grass, and you don’t care. The music gets louder when you get to your neighbor’s door. It’s nice? You guess. You don’t even know anymore.
You pound on his door. Three rasps. You give your neighbor time. Nothing. So you pound again. Until the music stops. Footsteps get closer, floorboards creak.
The door opens, just like your jaw drops. Dark hair slicks back from a face that the gods might as well have sculpted. Sharp cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips, big brown eyes. He’s in a black tank top, ridiculously broad shoulders escaping the flimsy fabric. His gray sweatpants hang loose on his hips. His whole look suggests either a strategic carelessness or a total lack of giving a shit. It might be due to how fucking horny you are, but your new neighbor could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
His dark eyes size and assess you. Your robe. The flimsy, light pink tank top sticking to your skin, the short, barely there sleep shorts with tiny, green polka dots. Your hair’s probably a mess, your skin still damp with a sweat of frustration. He looks almost amused at the sight of you, but his eyes linger a little longer than propriety should suggest at your thighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks. Deep, kinda dark, like a freshly poured cup of your favorite coffee.
“It’s la—” your voice squeaks. You clear your throat, square your shoulders. “It’s late. Your music. It’s… loud. Some of us have to, you know. Sleep.”
He leans on the doorframe, folds his arms, and your eyes square in on the way his biceps bulge, the line of his forearms. “Sleep,” he says.
“Yes. That’s right. It’s past 11.”
“Didn’t think it was that loud.”
“Could you turn it down at least?”
A thick eyebrow arches up. “Guess these walls are paper-thin. I suppose I could use a different bow.”
There’s no shame in his voice, no apology, and it just irks you more. You wobble a bit in the way he looks at you, half wanton desire, half boredom.
“I’d… appreciate that.”
“Mm,” he says, and his lip quirks up in a maddeningly handsome smirk… like he knows he’s gorgeous and getting under your skin. “You best get back to… sleep,” he says.
You nod, because you have no other fucking clue how to respond under his heated, cocky gaze and the revelation that the music was being played by him and not a too-loud stereo.
The silk of your robe swishes across your hot skin as you make your way across the grass to your bungalow. You’re sure your neighbor’s watching you the whole way and you don’t dare look back.
He keeps his word, you can barely hear the music when you lie back down in bed. Fuck him for being beautiful. Your whole body is still reverberating from the baritone rasp of his voice. You press a pillow over your face and scream an annoyed sound into it, as the heat of his gaze still blooms across your body.
At least now all you can hear is nothing but the sound of your breathing, picking up when the heel of your hand slinks its way back between your thighs. Jesus Christ, you’re even wetter now. You’re leaking a frustrating hunger, the image of your neighbor’s big shoulders and golden skin playing in your mind. You imagine his biceps pinning you down and his thick fingers hooking against your waist as he pounds into you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, picturing his wide palm against your mouth. You wonder what he sounds like when he cums, is it as sad and tragic sounding as the music he plays?
God, it’s so easy now. Your body’s arching up, desperate to feel how soft his tank-topped chest is when it’s shoved against your chest. You can almost feel him, the weight of him atop you, his dark eyes searing into you as you edge yourself closer and closer. You’re pressing needy circles against your clit, your thighs tensing and toes curling. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan out, too loud for your own good and the silence of your own bungalow. Your hips are moving against your hand harder, faster, and when you think of that damned smirk of his and the way he’d watch you shatter apart for him, you orgasm, hard and hot and loud. “Oh fuck, godddd,” you moan. You don’t even care. You want him to hear it. Maybe he will, with the thin walls. Maybe he won’t, because he’s too busy playing that damned music. Maybe he heard a hint, and now he’s sat, frozen in his chair, bow in one hand, listening to your own symphony between the walls.
—-
Two nights of silence, and then you hear it… a loud cat-like moan around 11 PM. Followed by another high-pitched mew. “Aleeeeex,” the shrill sounds. “Oh god, Alex.”
So, your hot neighbor’s name is Alex.
A rhythmic thumping starts up against your wall, fast, brutal, not sweet. You can’t help yourself as you move towards the wall, listening in for any type of low grunt or groan, but there’s nothing… just a repetitive smack of wood against drywall and the squealing of a woman.
You roll over, turn on your speaker, and pick up your phone. You know the perfect song. You scroll to the B’s in your music, find Cello Suite no. 2 by Bach, and let the sad, melancholy play… loud.
The pace just behind the shared wall picks up, and the wails of the woman speed up, along with the tapping against the wall. Now it’s your time to smirk, take that, Alex, and whoever he’s decided to fuck.
And when the roaring sadness of the music slows and quiets at a point… you hear it. A long, low groan timed perfectly to the song, almost like he was waiting for it.
You feel the angry roar of want in your body at the sound of him and let the song fade out as you reach into your drawer and pull out your vibrator.
—-
The next night, the cello is back, at 11 on the dot. Louder. Like it’s back to mock you. You shake your head and smile, willing it not to bother you as you turn in bed and put a pillow over your ear, but even through the muffled down, you recognize the song. It’s Cello Suite no. 2, just like you played him last night.
Damn, he’s talented. You have to give him that.
By 11:30, he hasn’t stopped, and the cello almost plays like a siren song to you and your sleepy, horny frustrations. You step out into the night air, and you swear the cool air hisses against your heated skin. No robe this time, just you and your light blue silky, short nightdress, complete with the lace trim across your breasts.
You punch at his door again, then stand back, arms crossed. You’re sure your nipples are pressing against the thin fabric, and you don’t care.
He answers almost instantly, and good lord, he’s only in a pair of boxers and a loose, button-up shirt.
“You’re playing on purpose now, aren’t you?” you ask him, no greeting, just attitude.
“I need to practice. Figured you’d like to hear it.”
You snort. “So why that song?”
His hand rests against the doorframe and he looms over you. “Thought I’d return the favor of last night.”
You roll your eyes and huff. “Thanks.”
He turns his head back to his living room, then back at you, deep brown eyes searing into you. “Come in. I’ll play you something else.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway.”
You don’t say anything, you just walk past him into his place. It’s neat, in order, vintage furniture with modern touches. His bow is discarded on the floor, the cello leaning against the wall.
He lifts his hand, guides you to his couch, a soft, buttery leather that dips when you settle on it, mindful of just how short your nightdress is. He bends to pick up the bow, and your throat goes dry as you stare at his ass. You blink yourself back to reality as he takes a seat and places his cello between his legs. God, his legs, strong and dusted with hair, he looks to be golden all over.
He begins playing. Something you don’t recognize, but it’s smooth and sultry. Your heart and body answer, heating and beating with each note of music that flows from the instrument.
Alex doesn’t look up, he’s transfixed by the music he plays, and you’re just as spellbound. You’re sure you’re breathing hard, sure your pulse is thrumming along to the song. You don’t know how long you sit like that, mesmerized by the music and the man. If this is how he looks as he plays, then you’ll surely sacrifice the nights of sleep, just to let this beauty out into the world.
His head tips back, neck straining as his head lulls back and forth, caught in the notes, and when he looks at you, dark brown eyes meeting yours, you know he can see the way your chest is rising and falling, the heat of your stare. He gifts you one of those damned smirks, but this time it’s different. It’s heated and full of desire. He watches you watch him, and you can’t look away. Every note he plays flows through you, from your ears to between your thighs.
Alex’s arm slows, the bow stopping, and the last warble of the strings escapes the cello. He sets the cello against the wall with reverence, his loose shirt gapes open as he turns, exposing golden chest and a dark line of hair. You try to adjust how you’re sitting, the leather couch sticking to you with the heat of your thighs.
His eyes roam over you, from your bare legs up to your chest, up, up, finally meeting your eyes again. He licks his lips, pink tongue against his plush bottom lip. He smiles, hot, knowing, painfully cocky. “Did you like it?” he asks.
You answer with a bobble of your head. Any type of words would just fail to be husked out of your dry throat. Goodness, you want him. You want him a way that’s almost embarrassing in the desperate, feral way you do.
"You want to try to play?" he asks.
You’re silent again, just another nod sent to him.
He pats his thighs, beckons you over, and you rise and pad towards him, going to exactly where he wants you. He parts his legs, and you straddle his lap, your back meeting his chest. You’re painfully aware of the silk of your dress clinging to the arch of your ass, the way your thighs bracket his, his skin meeting your skin. You move, hoping he can’t feel how wet you are for him, but you hear the small grunt, and you know he absolutely can.
He picks up the cello and sets it between both of you, the smooth wood is cool against your thigh. He wraps his arms around your waist, enveloping you in his strong arms, his chest flexing against your back.
You’re glitching, absolutely dumbstruck by how gentle and low his voice is as he places your fingers over the strings. “Here,” he whispers, guiding your hand to the cello’s neck. “Thumb here. Not too tight.” His hands are big and hot. His breath fans across your ear, and it makes you shiver.
“Now, try,” he says, handing you the bow. You attempt to make a song, but you’re so heady off the closeness of him that you’re too clumsy to do anything right. The bow draws across the strings, and it’s… like a car crash of a note, but he tightens his arms and chuckles low against your ear.
“Again,” he whispers, and you try. This time, the note is softer, a pleasant hum leaves the cello. “Good,” he says, lips grazing against your earlobe. He rewards you by letting his hand skim against your thigh.
There’s a shared hunger, an almost understanding, guided by the music and want that’s drifted between the walls. You melt and tense at the same time, and you feel the press of his cock against you when you tilt back and press yourself into him.
He slides his hand up, rucking up the hem of your dress. “You still want to play?”
You’re dizzy, barely holding onto the bow. “No.”
“Then set the bow down.”
You obey, letting it clatter to the floor. He takes the cello from between your legs and sets it aside while keeping you still locked against him, hand splayed against your belly. “Spread your legs,” Alex tells you.
You instantly spread, letting him slip his palm between you and trace your soaked pussy through the wispy layer of your lace panties. You almost lose it right there, hips jerking at the thick, callused fingers of his exploring the drenched line of your cunt.
He lets out a low, incredulous growl as he touches you, pressing his mouth to your neck, sucking at the skin. “Feel good?” he rumbles. “Yeah?”
“Fuccck,” you manage.
He smiles into your neck, slides his fingers into your panties, parts you, thick, middle finger slowly exploring before plunging deep into you. You moan, noisy and erupting, louder than any song he can play.
He fucks you with his hand, two fingers, thick and skilled, shallow then deep, giving you a pattern you’ll never guess. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you stupid with just how good he is at this. You’re sweating now, shaking, under the control of Alex’s possessive hands against your body.
He’s rutting and hard against you, whispering “that’s it, that’s it,” over and over as his fingers play you like an instrument he’s mastered.
You cum for him, so hard you shudder and squeeze. Head knocking back against his broad chest. He growls, licks up the sweat of you, holding you tighter as you ride and writhe against his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out, yanks your panties to the side, and frees his cock from the thin cotton of his boxers. You don’t know if you’ve ever wanted someone so bad before and when he brushes the fat tip of him against your accepting hole, you gasp at the promise of his size.
It’s one monstrous, behemoth of a thrust that makes your eyes flutter shut and all the air escape you. He fucks up into you hard, and you grab at his big hands, holding on as the old wooden chair frame creaks. He’s so fucking thick, overwhelming and rough, but Christ, the way your slippery cunt swallows him, it’s like he was fit for you. You ride him, back rubbing against his chest as he pumps in and out of you, the noise of your slick and his grunts crescendoing in the sex-heavy air.
He grabs your hips, planting both feet on the floor, and starts railing up into you so deep you let out a sob of his name. He’s rewarding and withholding at the same time, sliding all the way out, holding you above himself, letting you beg for him, until he plants all of himself into you. He slinks a hand up your body, thumb stroking your cheek before he sticks two of his fingers into your mouth.
You taste the sweet tang of your orgasm, tongue licking at the rough and ridges of his fingers. You suck, and he groans, bucking so hard the chair actually scoots back across the floor.
He must want to see you desperate and dumb, his other hand moving between your legs, playing with you there. It only takes a couple strokes of his fingers against your puffy, needy clit for him to orchestrate your orgasm out of you. It’s shocking how fucking hard you cum for him, how white your vision goes, how the pulse of your body pulses a cacophony of beats. Alex fucks straight through your orgasm, cock spearing you as you whimper around his fingers and drip around his cock. But, he’s losing it now, panting into the crook of your neck, hips snapping so loud against you.
He pulls out, and you feel the slide of his cock head against your clit when he cums, thick, white ropes painting against your panties, your belly, the silk of your dress. You’re still floating high like the music notes he plays, a trembling mess in his arms when you lean your head back and can’t help but laugh. Alex chuckles, too. Both of you are sticky and soaked, pressed together, glazed in shared sweat and cum.
The cello sits unused, the bow on the floor. Alex’s forehead rests against your shoulder as he comes down. You think he’s going to say something smart and frustrating, but he just kisses your shoulder blade and tightens his arms around you.
his voice is the first thing you feel—low, rumbling, warm against your shoulder before you’re even fully awake.
“come back here…” he murmurs, eyes still closed, arms searching blindly until he finds your waist and drags you closer with a small, sleepy groan. he buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to climb into your skin, breath fanning over your collarbone.
“you left,” he complains, voice so deep it vibrates through you.
“pedro, I moved like… two centimeters.”
“too far,” he mumbles, nuzzling even closer.
his curls are a soft mess, falling over his forehead, warm from sleep. you slide your fingers into them without thinking, brushing gently, and he melts instantly—literally melts. his whole body softens, a shiver running down his spine.
“mmh… don’t stop,” he breathes, words heavy with sleep, like honey dripping from his tongue.
you keep playing with his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he lets out this tiny sound—half sigh, half whine—that makes your heart flip.
he tips his head back just enough to look at you, lids heavy, lashes messy, mouth soft. “you’re gonna kill me,” he says, barely audible.
“how?” you whisper, smiling.
“being this… this warm,” he slurs. “this soft with me. I can’t handle it.”
he pulls you fully on top of him, guiding your thigh over his hip, keeping one hand on your lower back, the other sliding up your arm like he needs to feel every inch of you. he presses little, lazy kisses on your jaw, each one slower than the last, like he can barely keep himself awake.
you brush your fingers through his hair again and he moans—quiet, breathy, absolutely helpless.
“that good?” you tease.
his eyes fall shut again, head tipping into your hand. “you have no idea,” he whispers, voice thick and gravelly. “touch me like this forever.”
he’s so needy it’s almost ridiculous—nuzzling your chest, curling his fingers into your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, holding you tighter every time you shift.
“stay,” he begs softly, barely conscious. “just… stay with me a little longer.”
“i’m not going anywhere,” you promise.
he hums—content, small, safe—and pulls the blanket higher around you both before tugging you into his chest like you're the only place he can fall asleep.
“good,” he whispers, almost dreaming. “i sleep better when you’re touching me.”
you kiss his hair. he smiles against your skin.
and then, still half-asleep, he adds, “i love it when you play with my hair… makes me feel yours.”
summary: you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret until you get cast in your first movie together and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between rumors 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
