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dilf-docs · 5 months ago

Text

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: prev | masterlist | next

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora / *i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal #call it what you want series

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kenyummy · 3 months ago

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✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

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School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

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tsglist is closed, sorry! but do try and keep up with updates thank you!!!

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sunnywalnut · 2 months ago

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Hey just want to let y'all know. Encouraging people to be better will never be a bad thing. It's actually normal.

The only difference with op is that

A: their "encouragement" isn't verbal like so many of us are used to

And B: they're using "treats" which makes it feel weird. But if anyone said they were taking their boyfriend out to dinner because he's made more of an effort to be there for them, y'all would be scrambling over each other to congratulate them. It's all about context.

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

#also people ARE animals tbf #we all work on the same basic mindset #using context that you are used to(i.e working with dogs) to understand the people you care about will never not be bad #because that's literally empathy #it's just that op actually said the quiet part out loud #ALSO sometimes neurodiverse people NEED to rely on background information in order to understand people and social cues #I'm autistic as hell. i should know #my ass learned to recognize emotions and social cues from dogs FAR before i could ever begin to recognize them in humans #AND THAT WAS WHEN I WAS A KID #and yeah!! i STILL rely on that self taught information to read humans!!#so realizing that humans and animals often have the same triggers isn't that far of a stretch #y'all just get squicked out when y'all don't immediately understand something #textpost #edit: just realized the double negative in prev tags #i meant that using previous context in order to understand people will never BE bad #my apologies

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 5 months ago

Text

How you reward the JJK men after they won their game

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, sports au, college au, smut, mention of mental health, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, oral sex (male receiving), heavy exhibitionism, dirty talk, use pet names, mdni

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

<< prev |

SATORU

“Fuck baby, that’s it…” Your large sweaty boyfriend pants underneath you. His hands are firmly wrapped around your hips, guiding your movements up and down his massive shaft.

The music and loud chatter from the after party is still raging on down stairs. Your college football team had managed to win the homecoming game against their rival team. It was a close game ending in 45-42. Your team had managed to kick a field goal as a last ditch effort to not go into overtime for a tiebreaker.

The party would soon be looking for the star quarterback to cheer him on, but little did they know he was too busy getting his fill of your pretty cunt.

The bed creaked beneath you two, and the air was filled with soft pants and hushed moans. Satoru was always on such a high after winning games like that. This was your second round. He barely got you through the door before he started on the first, taking you right up against the door — fast and hard to get the adrenaline out.

Now, it was time for the big celebration. “Sh-shit… so big, Toru. I-I can’t take it!!” You whined, but you and Satoru both knew that if he even thought about stopping right now, you’d probably cry from frustration.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was somehow heard over the blaring music. His shaft was coated in a thin slippery sheen of your arousal, easily impaling you over and over on his thick length.

“You can.. oh fuck- you can take it, sweets. Take it for me, yeah?” His pale blue eyes shined up at you as his skin was flushed. His white feathery hair was messily displayed on his head. He was always such a mess for you. “Just like thaat~ take it like a good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You were nearly drooling from his filthy words. Satoru was always so chatty when he was getting close, and judging by the way his swollen tip was frantically diving in and out of you and how his hands were holding onto you, jerking you around with little concern — he’s very close.

Satoru removed one of his hands to gently rub tight circles onto your sensitive clit. “Let me fill you up. Please — just one more time. Fuck, one more time of me filling up my girl’s pussy.”

Your head was spinning. How could you say no to that when your whole body was consumed in pleasure by him? Satoru could ask you to do whatever in that moment, and you’d happily agree.

“Yes.. fuck yes, please Toru..”

With the mention of your little nickname, Satoru lets out a groan, and his length pulses inside your spongy walls, pumping you full of his cum. It’s a mere seconds later before you’re spasming on top of him — gasping for air as you clench down on his length.

You two take a moment to sober up in each other’s arms — panting for breath and whispering loving words of praise. “You looked good out there tonight.” You murmured dreamily into his chest.

“Aren’t you suppose to say I did good?” Satoru asks with a small laugh. His hand is entangled in your hair, gently rubbing your scalp as he softens inside you.

“Eh. Same thing.” You respond with a happy laugh. It’s not long after that someone is pounding on the bedroom door — telling you two to take a break so they can celebrate Satoru’s victory.

SUGURU

“Mmm, sh-shit, sweetheart.. Gonna make me cum early if you keep that up..” Suguru groans as his oversized veiny hand holds a tight grip on your hair.

There was something so exhilarating about sucking your boyfriend off in the locker room after every basketball game he won. Any of his teammates could walk in right now and see you on your knees in front of him, his back pressed against the cold metal lockers as he guides your head slowly up and down his length.

He’d let his teammates watch too if they walked in. You’re so pretty when you’re in your element. It’s truly a sight to behold, and he doesn’t mind giving his teammates a little morale boost by watching his pretty girlfriend giving him head.

He’d break their hand and put them out of a career if they tried to touch you though.

His eyes are fixated on you. He always gives you such a loving look while you work hard on your knees for him. He knows you’re trying so hard to fit all of him in your throat, but he’s just too big.

With every whine and gag, Suguru growls in approval. His hand continues petting your head. “That’s right… Gag on me, sweetheart. Doin’ such a good fucking job." He pants, leaning his head back against the locker.

He can't help but slowly pump his hips back and forth, forcing himself further down your throat because he loves seeing the tears that gather in your eyes. He loves seeing how completely ruined you are after sucking him off.

You look up at him with such a pitiful look he can't help but shove your head down as far as your throat will let him, and he unloads completely down your throat. He lets out breathy moans and growls as his cock twitches, spurting ribbon after ribbon of cum.

"Good girl." He praises huskily before yanking your head back so he can press his lips to yours, hungrily seeking out your taste.

Before you know it, Geto has you bridal style in his arms. "Just you wait, sweetheart. I'll return the favor once we're back in my dorm." He teases with a smug grin on his face. If you performance wasn't enough to motivate him to win each game, your thighs wrapped around his head definitely was.

NANAMI

The first time Kento took you to the press box after having won a game and railed you until you couldn't think anymore was out of sheer convenience and adrenaline.

Now? It was more of a tradition. You don't even know why the school trusted him with the keys to the press box, but you didn't question it.

Your boyfriend was normally so gentle and doting. The only time you got to see this more rough, primal side to him was after a big win, and Nanami's team just won the game needed to make the championship game.

"Mmmph... you feel so g-good, darling." He enunciates his praise with open mouth kisses to your neck. His hands have yours pinned above your head as he has your back laid out on the control desk. Your pretty white skirt was hiked up to your waist, and he was stood between your legs.

Your hands try helplessly to grab at the desk, but his thrusts were too heavy for you to grab onto anything. The wood creaked beneath each brutal movement. Your legs were already trembling, and he had just started.

The sounds of wet slapping noises filled the press box. Luckily, no one was in the stadium right now, or they'd see their star baseball player filling up his pretty girlfriend so full right now. If either one of you pressed the mic accidentally, the speakers would blare from the sounds of your whines and lovemaking.

"K-ken~!" You whimper as your body squirms beneath his, trying to find the smallest bit of refuge from his heavy cock bullying its way between your velvety walls, thumping obscenely against your womb.

He releases your hands with a small grunt, grabbing onto your hips to try and keep you still. His muscles ripple with each forceful thrust. He just has all this energy after his games that he has to release somehow, and this wasn't enough.

"Fucking... come here." He suddenly demands before grabbing you up and lifting you effortlessly off the desk. There's nowhere for you to run off to anymore. Soon, the entire rhythm is set by how fast and hard he can yank your body up and down his cock.

You're quickly reduced to a whiny puddle in his arms, only able to stutter out his name followed by various curses. His hips quickly jackhammer into you, pistoning deeper than he ever has before.

You can't even choke out a single word before you're spasming all over his cock. Your walls clamp down impossibly tighter around him like a vice, causing him to groan in satisfaction.

"Thaaat's it~ That's a good girl. Shh, I have you." Kento purrs in your ear, still fucking you through your orgasm to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. Soon, he could feel his balls tightening, demanding that he empty himself into you. "I'm gonna cum, sweet girl. You... you're gonna take it, right?" He pants.

One frantic nod and a pitiful hum of affirmation later, and Nanami's pulling you down onto his cock as hard as he can, making you take him as deeply as possible whit his cock pumps you full to the brim of his hot sticky cum.

"Did so good for me.." He praises as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple. "You're a work of art, darling."

CHOSO

"Cho, you were amazing out there!" You happily praised your boyfriend as he carried you in his arms. You knew he never stuck around long after games, figuring it was just in his introverted to want to leave so soon.

"Mhm.." He shakily hums, cradling you closely to his chest as he was on a mission: get you back to his dorm as soon as possible.

"Are you okay, baby?" You ask in a concerned tone, hoping he wasn't having another panic attack like he did after that one game.

Sometimes the adrenaline of winning and the concept of having everyone's eyes on him was too much for him to handle. He was beyond lucky to always have either you or Yuji by his side to talk him down from whatever had triggered his panic disorder.

"I'm okay." He hoarsely whispered. No, it wasn't anxiety that had him nearly trembling while carrying you. It was something else entirely.

*** *** ***

"You said I did good, right?" He huskily whispered as he pawed at your pants. He had you trapped beneath him on his bed. The room was dark, only warmly illuminated by a small bedside lamp. The scent of Choso's cologne as well as the natural musk from sweat was heavy in the air between you two.

"Yes, baby. You did so good." You hummed in agreement as your heart pounded against your ribcage. There was something off about Choso tonight. His nervous yet assertive energy had you feeling on edge.

"I deserve a reward then, right?" He asks, slowly tugging down your pants. He holds your gaze, looking for any sign of hesitancy or discomfort.

"I-" You weren't opposed to what he was suggesting, but honest, you were just taken aback. Your normally sweet and loving boyfriend was trying his best to be almost condescending towards you. "What are you wanting as a reward, Cho?"

Now, it's Choso's turn to nervously gulp. He's sweating even more now -- so incredibly nervous to directly tell you what he wants more than anything in the world right now.

"I want you to sit on my face." He finally blurts out like ripping off a Band-Aid.

"You want me... to sit on your face... as a reward?" You question.

He eagerly nods, looking like an excited puppy.

You can barely get out the word 'okay' before he's tugging his hair out of the messy buns he had it in. His strong arms grab ahold of you and roll to where he's on his back, and you're straddling his chest.

He's put a lot of thought into this. In fact, he's fucked his fist more times than he can count to the thought of you riding his face, using him for your pleasure.

"Cho- my p-panties aren't even off!" You squirm to release yourself from his grip, but he just hauls you up closer to his face.

"Leave them." He demands lowly, looking up at you with lust-blown dark eyes.

... and that's how you end up marathon cumming on your boyfriend's face more times than you can count... as a reward for him.

TOJI

Win or lose, Toji bends you over and fucks you hard and fast in the penalty box after every hockey game.

Even if his team won the game, he still usually has so much pent up aggression to where he needs to let out some steam, and your pretty pussy is the perfect punching bag for his cock.

"T-toji-! Slow down-" You choke out in a whine. Your cheek is pressed up against the glass as his hands are wrapped around your waist, completely ravaging you from behind. You can feel your tears smearing against the penalty box, and your legs are starting to tremble. It's hard enough trying not to slide around on the ice.

Toji was seething. He had sat a good portion of the game in the penalty box for fighting one of the opposing players.

Apparently, the opposing team had a little strategy to get the best hockey player, Toji, out of the game, which included goading him about his pretty little girlfriend.

Not surprisingly, Toji was quick to take the bait and nearly tried to stomp on the fucker who dared to utter your name.

"You want me to slow down?" He laughs as his hips continue their frantic rampage. "You don't like it when I'm mean to you? Don't be a liar, girl. Your fucking pussy's trying to clamp down on me. 'm starting to think she won't ever let me go."

And the worst part is, he's right. You're uncontrollably fluttering around him, leaking all around his cock and even dribbling onto the ice because your body loves how rough he is.

You're crying now out of sheer pleasure and overstimulation, unable to even choke out a response. Luckily for you, your boyfriend isn't a complete monster, and he hunches over your back, wrapping his big thick arms around you so you don't have to worry about slipping and falling.

"Answer me, girl." He grunts, using his new position to pinch on one of your nipples. "You love this shit, don't you? Say it."

"I love it-!" You cry out, allowing yourself to be free and vulnerable in the moment with him where no one else can hear you. "I love you-" You add as you don't have the mental capacity to hold yourself back.

The sudden warmth of your confession has Toji's hips stuttering. For once in his life, he's off balance. In a quick movement, Toji sits down on the bench, and he slams you right back down onto his lap, his cock impaling you on your way down.

"I'm gonna ruin you, doll." He growls into your ear, wrapping a hand around your throat as he pins your back to his chest. His hips rock back and forth, still pumping you so full. "You're mine -- mine to ruin. I fucking love you."

He came to the realization of his own feelings when he was ready to risk it all - his place on the team, his hockey scholarship, his freedom over some sad sack of shit who spoke your name in a foul way.

SUKUNA

Sukuna’s a little deviant when it comes to his rewards.. As soon as the kicker scores the last field goal needed for his team to win, Sukuna is charging out to the stands with a face of stone.

People literally make way for him, terrified of the way he looks. Plus, they all saw what a monster he was out on the field. It doesn’t take a genius to know not to fuck with him.

The only person who doesn’t move or dodge him is you. You give him the biggest hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and praising him for how well he did out on the field tonight. I mean, he only crushed three peoples’ ribs tonight. He was learning how to control his temper.

He doesn’t respond to your praise, only giving you a grunt before he unceremoniously slings you over his shoulder. He’s come to claim his prize of the night.

No one notices you two slip off into the darkness of the night — far away from the Friday night lights. Sukuna carries you out to where some random person’s car is parked, and he can’t resist himself anymore.

It’ll be a while before anyone makes it out to their cars anyways.

Bending you over the hood, you quickly start to protest and squirm, whining about how you will be caught, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to be listening.

“Be good.” He demands in a low grumble as his oversized fingers hook into your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down around your knees in one tug.

“Sukuna-“ You plead once more, but as soon as his fat fingers swipe across your cunt, gathering your arousal, you know you’re done for.

“Hm? What is it?” He asks with obvious amusement. He finds it cute how you still deny liking being manhandled, but your pretty glistening pussy says otherwise.

“We can get in serious-“ Your breath hitches as his fingers delve inside, slotting right between your warm velvet walls. He’s already filling you up so good, you can’t even find your words anymore.

Sukuna just smirks, knowing he has you where he wants you. You’re so addicted to his touch, you’re willing to slut yourself out on the hood of some stranger’s car for him.

He’s convinced now. You were tailor made just for him. No one will complete him the way you do, and even if they did, Sukuna would end them just to find you again.

He pumps his fingers in and out of your slippery cunt while keeping his other hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades, forcing your face down onto the cool metal of the car beneath you.

His hips roll and grind against your backside, letting you feel his raging erection through the tight spandex pants of his uniform.

He’s working you so perfectly, curling his fingers just the right way and thrusting them so hard he’s practically lifting you up just by his fingers in your cunt. You’re nearly drooling against the car, letting out the most erotic sounds as you can’t be bothered to care anymore.

The pleasure builds and builds, and you start to hear voices in the distance. For whatever reason, it only heightens the experience.

“Come on. Give it to me.” Sukuna growls as he pushed his hips harder against your ass. “Give me what I want.”

“Suku-“ Your cry is quickly interrupted by Sukuna shoving his fingers into your mouth. His other hand is pounding your g-spot to no abandon, making fat tears well in your eyes.

He’s leaking gossamers of pre-cum in his pants, and he growls from the thought of making you lick it up later. For now, he’s going to indulge ruining you against this stranger’s car.

The voices grow a bit louder, and it all becomes so much. You cry out against Sukuna’s fingers as you feel yourself clamp down on his fingers, and the sound of water hitting the ground is heard as your release washes over you.

“Did you just- Fuck me..” He groans, seeing now as your clothes are soaked, and you even managed to get some on the car.

He withdraws quickly, knowing he’s running out of time, and he bends over, pulling your now soaked panties and shorts up over your waist. He makes sure to fasten your shorts before he throws you over his shoulder again to haul you to his dorm room.

“You’re going to do that for me again as soon as we’re home, flower.”

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jesuistrestriste · 1 year ago

Text

♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.

Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.

Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.

Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.

You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.

After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.

You three talked—or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.

They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.

Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.

After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..

"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.

Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.

He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.

He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.

"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”

“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”

He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”

You shake your head, “why not?”

“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”

“Ohh.. right, I forgot he mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.

“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.

He smiles wider, “Why?”

“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.

Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.

"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

"You're just so.. so nice."

He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What?" you laugh.

"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.

Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..

"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.

"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."

"What 'connotations'?"

He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."

You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.

"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.

"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"

"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.

"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.

Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.

"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.

And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.

His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.

Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"

You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like it’s a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.

"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.

"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.

He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.

Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..

Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.

Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.

His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..

"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.

He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.

A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-

"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.

You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.

"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.

"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."

It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you—skin to skin; raw—sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.

Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."

A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.

When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.

After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it—you just taste so fuckin' good.

"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"

You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.

"Suck," he whispers.

You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.

He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he can’t stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.

Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.

He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.

While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.

You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.

"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.

Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.

Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.

Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.

"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."

"Ye— Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.

Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.

"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."

Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud—borderline-pornographic—moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.

"You're so fucking pretty... you're so— you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.

You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.

"I— I'm gonna—!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.

He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.

"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.

You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.

"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.

"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.

"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."

Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes — you’re thrown over the edge.

"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH—!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.

He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.

His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.

As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.

After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.

He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.

You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.

A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.

"So.. can I get your number?"

"After round two," you whisper with a smile.

"Deal."

note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !

divider credit: @benkeibear <3

#art donaldson the man that you are #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic #dom!art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers film #challengers smut #mike faist #mike faist smut #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #sub!reader #dom!character #soft dom!art donaldson

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